Hornet's Nest: A Post Apocalyptic EMP Survival Fiction Series (The Blackout Series Book 5)

by Bobby Akart

  “Alpha One, Juliette One. Over.” The radio interrupted Stubby, who was deep in thought.

  “Go ahead, Juliette One.”

  “En route, Alpha One. Will be switching comms to local in thirty minutes.”

  “Roger that, Juliette One. I’ll inform Bravo One.”

  “Copy. Thanks,” replied Alex.

  Stubby laughed to himself. Alex Ryman, fifteen-year-old Rambo. Never underestimate the determination of an extremely pissed-off woman.

  Stubby had instructed Alex to join the two-way communications system established by Coach Carey and the Tiger Resistance. These were two distinct and separate operations. If Junior’s men did get wind of their ham radio chatter, he might not think to listen on the two-way frequency bands. Stubby was amazed that Junior hadn’t picked up on the Tiger Resistance already. Unlike his brother, Junior had no military sense whatsoever. Rollie Durham would have posed a much different adversary on this day.

  John Wyatt approached on horseback and Stubby greeted him outside Shiloh Church. “We’re as ready as we’ll ever be,” said Wyatt as he slid off his chestnut stallion.

  “Do you think he’ll take the bait and turn down Hamburg-Purdy Road?” asked Wyatt.

  “Yeah, Junior will bull ahead until he cracks his head on a block wall. That’s what I’m countin’ on. He’ll come right down below us, not thinking of the consequences, hell-bent on whatever drives the boy.”

  “Alpha One, Charlie One. Over.”

  “Go ahead, Charlie One.”

  “Three more KIA. Remainder has pushed into Hooker’s Bend. Scorched earth strategy. Repeat. Scorched earth strategy.”

  “Roger, Charlie One. Out.”

  Stubby clipped his radio to his jacket and rubbed his fingers through his hair. Junior was out of control. It would be a bloodbath up there, and when Junior didn’t find what he was lookin’ for, he’d head back this way.

  Stubby suddenly wished he had more men, a lot more.

  Chapter 27

  Morning

  Veterans Day, November 11

  The Arnold Home

  Hooker’s Bend

  SMACK! THUD!

  The jaw of Ben Arnold probably broke on the last swing of the chair leg as it slammed into his face. His wife cried uncontrollably as she lay half-naked on the floor. Any attempts to go to her husband’s aid earned her a swift kick to the ribs. Her son’s body blocked the entrance to the small farmhouse, gutted with a large hunting knife. He’d attempted to run into the house when Junior and his men rushed down the Arnolds’ driveway. Junior’s man shot him in the thigh, which slowed him, and another ripped the knife through unarmed Bennie Arnold’s chest, killing him instantly.

  “Where are they?” screamed Junior as he grabbed Arnold by his salt-and-pepper hair and wrenched his face upward. Junior leaned into the man’s face, which had been torn open by the blows.

  “Arrrgh, waah, who,” the words came out of the incoherent man’s mouth.

  “You do know! Somebody has to know!” screamed Junior as he shook Arnold’s head violently, slinging blood on his sobbing wife. “You’re gonna tell me or I’m gonna gut you like your kid. Now, once again. WHERE ARE THEY?”

  “Please, mister,” pleaded his wife. “My husband can’t take any more. Leave him be!”

  Junior let go of Arnold’s hair and pushed him violently to the side, causing him to topple out of the remaining dining room chair.

  “Good idea, Mizzzz Arnold,” said Junior. “Maybe me and the boys should have a go at you while the man of the house watches through the only eye he’s got left. Whadya think, boys?”

  Nobody answered because they knew Junior wasn’t really seeking an answer. He stood over the woman, who was making every effort to cover up where Junior’s men had ripped her dress off. Nobody said a word as Junior crouched down next to the woman. He fiddled with her hair and then started to pull at her dress. Mrs. Arnold cried uncontrollably, holding onto her dress, with her husband barely clinging to his life.

  “It won’t be so bad, ma’am,” snarled Junior. “After we’re done with ya, we’ll do the humane thing and kill ya so you won’t have to live with the pain.”

  “Nooo,” moaned her husband as he lay on the floor, staring at his wife. He lifted his arm and pointed towards the front door. “Thhhlowww.”

  Junior patted Mrs. Arnold on the thigh and returned his attention to her husband. He knelt on one knee and turned his head sideways to look into the man’s face.

  “What’s that? Did something jostle your memory? Spit it out. Come on now.”

  The man coughed some blood, barely missing Junior’s face, but he gathered the strength to speak.

  “Thy-low. Thy-low!”

  Junior reached back and yanked the woman’s dress out of her clutches, leaving her body exposed. He gently wiped the blood off Arnold’s face.

  He whispered in Arnold’s ear, “Where? Whereabouts in Shiloh?”

  “Ubby. Ack Ubby.”

  Junior stood up and paced the floor. The woman began to crawl towards her husband and Junior flung her dress at her. “I knew it! I knew they were lying to me that night we went to that country singer’s place. It all makes sense now. They said they were from Nashville.”

  Junior continued to pace.

  “Can we please get my husband some help now?” begged Mrs. Arnold.

  Junior ignored her. “Cherry said they only seemed to care about crossing the bridge. When he pressed them, they said they were going to Memphis. These people ain’t stupid. They were never going to Memphis. They were going to that ranch where Stubby lives. I’ll betcha they’re friends with that other country fella in Saltillo too!”

  “Please, mister, can we help him now? He told you what you wanted to know.” Mrs. Arnold had resumed sobbing now and made no effort to hide herself. Junior turned and looked at them and tilted his head as if confused. Then, calmly, he pulled his .357 and shot them both in the head.

  “Let’s roll,” he said to the four men in the foyer.

  “Are we headed to Saltillo?” one of the deputies asked.

  “No siree, Bob,” Junior replied. “We’re headin’ down to Shiloh to even a few scores. That’s where the real party is.”

  Chapter 28

  Afternoon

  Veterans Day, November 11

  Hardin County High School

  Savannah

  The short trip up CR69 into Savannah was uneventful. A 1970 Ford F-150 farm truck led the way, with most of the girls huddled amidst hay bales to stay warm. Temperatures were dropping and a fog was settling in over the river and into low-lying areas inland.

  “Isn’t meeting here risky?” asked Chase. The shuffling feet of the group echoed down the dimly lit hallways. Alex briefly had visions of a typical school day at Davidson Academy, where she’d be walking with friends or catching the eye of a good-looking guy. Locker doors would be slamming and jokes would be exchanged as teenagers learned the art of social interaction.

  It was the first time she’d thought of her normal life in a long time and she quickly gained the strength to shut the memories out of the present. She turned her attention back to Beau, who had provided her a long hug when he’d greeted her at the truck. She’d felt something. His embrace was more than a hey-old-pal-it’s-nice-to-see-ya hug. It had feeling and warmth. She didn’t want to let go. Maybe this will all be over soon and we can see what happens between us.

  “We’ve been monitoring the deputies’ activities since the night of the rescue,” said Beau. He glanced at Alex and smiled. “Junior’s men did a sweep of the high school just a few days ago and, of course, found nothing. We don’t use the building often and nothing important is stored here. It made sense today because of the large group.”

  Voices could be heard from around the corner of the next hallway and the girls began running toward the sounds. Shrieks and cries of excitement marked the reunion of the guys from the Tiger Resistance and their female classmates, who’d been in hiding for two and a half
months.

  All of the teens were friends and some were family. Alex and Beau allowed the reunion to last ten minutes because they felt it would relieve the tension and create comradery amongst the newly created team.

  Jimbo and Clay Bennett made their way through the crowd to say hello to Alex. She really liked these guys and would’ve been buddies with them at home. Beau introduced them to Chase and then he led Chase to meet the other guys. As they made the rounds, Coach Carey emerged from stage right and signaled for Alex to join him. She gave each of the Bennetts a quick hug and jumped on stage.

  “Okay, everyone, let’s get started,” said Coach Carey, nodding in Colton’s direction.

  Only a few of the voices subsided. He tried again. “Tigers, all of you, let’s focus. There’ll be plenty of time to reunite after we kick some butt tonight!”

  Coach Carey couldn’t help going into rah-rah mode, which had the opposite effect of his request for quiet. The impromptu pep rally lasted another five minutes until it finally died down on its own.

  “Good job, Coach,” Alex whispered in his ear with a grin.

  “Yeah, sometimes I can’t help myself,” he replied and then Coach Carey turned his attention back to the task at hand.

  “Ladies, welcome back!” he exclaimed. He removed his hat and adjusted his hair. Alex thought Coach Carey looked tired, but in the low light, everyone looked gaunt. “I wish this was a homecoming in the traditional sense with a bonfire rally, a barbecue cookout, and some good old-fashioned football, but it’s not. All of you have been thrust into the real world at a young age. We’re all in a real bad situation where people don’t follow any rules, including those given to us by God. As a result, we have to adapt our way of thinking to protect ourselves.”

  “We’re ready, Coach,” shouted Jimbo Bennett.

  “Yeah,” added several of the girls.

  Coach Carey held his hands up, acknowledging their willingness to take on a difficult task. Colton gave him a pat on the back, encouraging Coach Carey to continue.

  “At this moment, Junior and over forty men are terrorizing people across the river. Alex’s and Chase’s families, together with their neighbors, are waiting for our illustrious sheriff. I have no doubt that Junior will get what he deserves. Our job is just as important. We have to take out the head of the snake—Ma Durham!”

  “Dang straight,” yelled one of the guys.

  “Save her for Alex!” shouted one of the girls.

  “Yeah, that was the deal!” shouted another.

  Coach Carey instructed Beau to wheel a whiteboard onto the stage and asked Alex to pull the lanterns together to provide better light. As the light and board united, a clearly marked layout of the town with certain landmarks could be seen by the group.

  “As you can see,” said Coach Carey, “there are four major checkpoints controlled by Junior’s men, the most important of which, for our purposes, is the west bridge. He has men stationed at the jail, the hospital, and at the two major stores acting as warehouses—Lowe’s and Walmart. There are still eighteen armed men guarding these locations and at least two more located at Cherry Mansion with Ma.”

  “We’ve got ’em outnumbered,” said Clay.

  “And I’ll betcha Junior took his best men with him across the river,” surmised Jimbo.

  “That’s true, boys, but make no mistake, although this may be the practice squad, they’re armed and most likely scared after what Beau did to their buddies at the hospital that night. A scared man can be more unpredictable and dangerous.”

  “How’re we gonna play it, Dad?” asked Beau.

  Coach Carey returned his attention to the whiteboard. “Our primary goals are to take over control of the west bridge and capture Ma. That means the bulk of our activity will take place on the east side of town.”

  “Wait, Coach, don’t you mean the west side of town at Cherry Mansion and the river?” asked one of the girls.

  “No, ma’am,” he replied. “The Tiger Resistance is all about subterfuge. Trust me, we’ll have teams in place to take the prize, but the rest of you will play an important role. If we can divert just two men away from the bridge, that cuts their manpower down by a third—a huge strategic advantage for us. If one or two more abandon their post at Cherry Mansion, then we’ll have the numbers.”

  “Coach,” started one of the guys, “when we take the bridge, won’t Junior’s men come back towards us?”

  “They will, but we’ll establish a wall of blockers along CR128 and fight them back.”

  The group began to mumble and whisper to each other. One of the most dangerous parts of the mission was preventing Junior’s men from returning, en masse, to the west bridge and Cherry Mansion. Coach Carey wasn’t thrilled at the thought of engaging experienced thugs in a gunfight.

  “At that point, we’ll have won the battle and we’ll throw it in their face. Perhaps they’ll disperse, or we’ll have to take them out.”

  A hush came over the room as reality set in. Take them out. There would be shots fired in both directions. People died in gun battles. Alex decided to add a few words.

  “Hey, y’all. I’ve been in gun battles. I’ve been shot at and I’ve killed before too. I prayed about it and made peace with it. These are horrible criminals that we’re dealing with. They have killed or tortured your friends, family, and the community. We all agree it’s time to stand up against evil. Blood will flow on both sides, but we’ll not surrender until you have your town back.”

  “We’re ready, Alex,” said one of the girls.

  “We are too,” chimed in one of the Tiger Resistance.

  “We’re all Tigers now!” exclaimed Jimbo Bennett, causing the pep rally to begin again.

  Coach Carey made no effort to tamp it down, but he instructed Beau and Alex to move into the group and pair them off into guy-girl teams.

  When the fifteen pairs were established and field assignments made, Coach Carey led the newly expanded Tiger Resistance in prayer.

  “Dear Lord, thank you for the privilege of leading this brave group of young people as we embark on an unthinkable task against the evil enveloping our town. I thank you for each of the talents you’ve bestowed upon them and I pray that you give them the strength to use those gifts in the face of killers.

  “Watch over them and protect them from injury. God, fill them with your spirit and courage as they fight for their families, neighbors, and the rest of your children. Amen.”

  Chapter 29

  Afternoon

  Veterans Day, November 11

  The Woods

  Shiloh

  One of the Mennonite men on horseback flew down the gravel road toward Shiloh Church. By the speed of his horse and the look of fear on his face, Stubby knew it was time for battle. He received the report and immediately warned his men to get ready. He cued the mic on the Baofeng to contact his outpost at the intersection of the CR22 and Hamburg-Purdy Road, which meandered through the leafless oaks at the base of the steep ravine where Stubby stood alone.

  “Delta One, Alpha One. Copy.”

  “Go, Alpha One.”

  “Sitrep.”

  “Vehicles approaching from the north. Five. No, check that. Six trucks and cars. Over.”

  Stubby held his breath. If Junior sensed a trap, he might make an effort to continue southbound through the blockade somehow. This plan depended upon Stubby’s knowledge of Junior and the predictability of his actions.

  “Roger, Delta One.”

  Seconds seemed like hours. Silence filled the air until a smattering of raindrops began to fall on top of the dead leaves scattered through the woods.

  “Alpha One, this is Delta One. The convoy has stopped. Confirmed. Junior is in second vehicle. Repeat, Junior is in vehicle two, a blue Pontiac LeMans. Over.”

  “Roger that, Delta One. Continue to advise.”

  More seconds ticked away. Stubby wiped moisture from his brow, a combination of nervous sweat and a steadier drizzle. Any soldier who claime
d to enter battle without trepidation was being disingenuous. Besides, fear of dying tended to keep you on your toes.

  “Moving. High rate of speed. Headed your way. Out!”

  Stubby had a minute to ready his troops. He switched to the Midland two-way radio.

  “Game time, boys! They’re comin’!”

  Over the rustle of leaves and the falling rain, Stubby could hear the distinctive metallic clicks of rounds being chambered and charging handles being pulled. His men had superior positions for the battle—well-concealed high ground. Now, he needed their booby traps to work by flattening the tires of the lead vehicles and distracting the occupants inside.

  The roar of the engines of the sixties and seventies vintage automobiles could be heard as they rounded the bend. The men were instructed to wait for Stubby’s command after the lead vehicles were incapacitated. If the tire-puncturing devices failed, the last two men in Stubby’s skirmish line, Jake and Javy, who were instructed to take out the tires. It was a well-thought-out plan with backup contingencies considered. The rest was mano a mano.

  The dual exhausts rumbled toward him and then music came to his ears in the form of exploding tires.

  POW! POW! POW-POW! HISS!

  Stubby didn’t hesitate as he keyed the mic.

  “FIRE AT WILL!”

  CRACK! CRACK-CRACK! CRACK!

  Suddenly, Stubby’s mind left the woods of Shiloh and transferred into the jungles of Cambodia. A war was a war when bullets whizzed by your head as the enemy returned fire.

  He knelt behind a fallen tree and riddled the side of a vehicle with bullet holes. The sounds of broken glass, screams of pain, and shouts of instructions pounded his psyche. In his mind, he was forty years younger now and ready to take on the V.C., or Junior.

  Bullets shredded the bark of the oak trees as Junior’s men gained their footing at the back side of their vehicles. As instructed, Stubby’s guys shot out the tires of the vehicles, rendering them useless for travel, but excellent to Junior’s guys as a protective barrier.