Unknown World: The EMP Survivor Series - Book 3

by Chris Pike

  Walking back inside, he set the items on a table.

  Amanda was sleeping soundly.

  Chandler unclipped his ASP Scribe flashlight from his front shirt pocket. A high-powered flashlight for its diminutive size, which was no more than the length and width of a pen, the beam had the ability to blind. He had been surprised that it worked after the EMP, but having it stored in a metal gun safe probably protected its electronics. It had been a good luck gift Dillon had given him for the trip to Austin. He clicked it on and gave the interior a onceover. The ceiling was peppered with mud dauber nests, a problem for sure in the summer, but not now.

  A wood-burning stove sitting in the middle of the room appeared to be workable and similar to the one at Amanda’s grandfather’s house. Chandler brushed off a decade’s worth of dirt and debris and opened the door, gauging if the thing was safe to use. He also checked for any unwanted guests. He cleaned out an old rat’s nest and shined the flashlight in looking for any beady eyed reflections.

  So far so good.

  Remembering the pile of firewood stacked against the house, he retrieved a few logs, shaking them out before entering the house to make sure there were no black widow spiders or scorpions hiding in the crevices.

  He cleaned out the old ashes from a previous use, tore out pages of magazines someone had set near the stove and removed a newspaper still in a plastic wrapper.

  Taking two pieces of firewood, he placed them on the side, positioning them so there was a space in between them to create a heat chamber. Next he put the rolled up newspaper and loose magazine pages in the space, followed by kindling and larger logs. He lit the newspaper with a match, and soon the kindling caught. He closed the door, leaving it open a crack for ventilation, and stepped back.

  Chandler shrugged out of his coat and draped it over the sofa where Amanda slept. She shifted, yawned, muttered something, then it was quiet again. Nipper lay curled in a ball at her feet.

  Five minutes later, he checked the fire. It was roaring, giving off an incredible amount of heat.

  Chandler placed the dog food on the floor then went about the mundane business of eating by himself. He silently ate the rations, chewing deliberately. He wasn’t hungry and ate more for sustenance than pleasure. He gave the last bite to Nipper, who had been waiting patiently for a handout. It was the third venison sandwich Chandler had eaten since they left the safety of Holly’s ranch. The simple meal satiated his hunger, so at least that was positive.

  He went to the kitchen and checked the cupboard, not expecting to find anything useful. To his astonishment, he found a kerosene lantern which still had fuel in it. He struck a match to light it.

  The kitchen was nothing to write home about. Whatever appliances had been there had been removed or stolen, a broken dish had been left on the counter, and the rusted sink had a layer of grime obscuring what at one time had been white porcelain. A chewed up box of rat poison was on the floor, along with a box of what appeared to be cereal that had been ripped into and gnawed on.

  There was nothing of use in the kitchen so Chandler stepped back into the room where Amanda slept.

  The wood-burning stove had warmed up the room to the point he had to remove his outer shirt, leaving him with a t-shirt.

  Boredom had become an ever present reality in the post-EMP world. No more computer searches, video games, or even television. Chandler’s mind was ever active, and he did not relish a boring night after such an exhausting day. He spotted a long, interesting wooden box on top of a chest of drawers.

  He opened the box to find an old style sharpening stone. Fourteen inches of micro porous stone that felt smooth to the touch, yet the pores were sufficient to remove a precise amount of steel to sharpen a razor or a knife. Long stones like these were a thing of the past since the invention of modern diamond sharpening stones.

  Chandler’s hand went to the sheath of his SOG Bowie. He touched the outer pouch containing a three inch diamond stone that he used out in the field. He opened the snap and pulled it to reveal a blade nearly ten inches in length. It had a good edge, but he wanted to turn it into a great edge.

  He placed the stone on the table and went to work.

  He positioned the blade on the nearest end of the long stone and used both hands to keep the angle steady as he pushed the blade to the end of the stone. When at the end, he pulled the blade back toward his body in a long, circular motion, continuing the process until he deemed the side was polished enough. He then flipped the blade to repeat the process on the other side.

  Two hours passed surprisingly quickly. Chandler was almost finished, feeling the smoothness of the new edge.

  Chandler’s Uncle H.V. had taught him how to sharpen knives, including one last trick to see if the process was finished. He put the knife edge facing away on a paper towel and pulled it back to him. If the edge passed over the paper towel without grabbing it, then the edge was perfectly smooth.

  He flipped the knife to test the opposing edge.

  His knife-sharpening skills passed the test. The edge was perfect. If there had been any resistance he would have resumed polishing.

  With a satisfied grin he slid the knife back into its synthetic sheath. Anyone that faced this knife now would be in for quite a surprise.

  Amanda woke groggily and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. “Where are we?” she asked. “And how did we get here?”

  “You fell asleep while we were riding. I thought it would be a good idea to stop and get you warmed up. How do you feel?” Chandler asked.

  “Okay, I guess. I’m not cold anymore. I didn’t realize how cold I was.”

  “You were worrying me,” Chandler said. “You were becoming hypothermic.”

  Amanda sat up and pushed the sleeping bag off of her. “I feel much better. What time is it?”

  “I don’t know. Check your pocket watch, the one your grandpa gave you.”

  “I forgot I had it.” Taking it out, Amanda flipped it open. “Almost eight.” She closed it and placed the watch back into her pocket. “Is there anything to eat?”

  “Come sit here at the table and I’ll make you dinner.”

  “What’s that on the stove? You cooking something? Soup by any chance?” She rubbed her hands together briskly at the thought of hot soup.

  “Tomato soup and grilled cheese is unfortunately not on the menu tonight.”

  Amanda’s shoulders dropped.

  “But we do have hot tea.”

  Chandler poured Amanda a cup of hot tea into one of the Stanley cookware containers. Steam from the hot tea wafted upwards, and Amanda wrapped her hands around the cup, warming them. Chandler offered a venison sandwich and bottled water to her. She greedily ate the entire sandwich, along with a helping of canned peaches. She finished the hot tea then gulped down the entire bottle of water.

  “I didn’t realize how hungry and thirsty I was.”

  “You’ve been shivering and burning a lot of calories. It’s easy to get dehydrated in cold weather without knowing it.”

  “How much further to Austin?”

  “Several more days. I can only push the horses so much considering they’re packing extra weight. Forty miles a day is the limit.” Chandler leaned back in his chair and studied Amanda. “I’ve been thinking about something you said.”

  “What was that?”

  “About how you can never go back. What did you mean by that?”

  Chapter 4

  Good question, Amanda thought.

  One she didn’t want to answer. Rising from the chair, she went to the window, staring out into the cold black void. The wind whipped the shutters and whistled up through the eaves of the house. Nipper had returned to the sofa and curled into a snug ball atop the sleeping bag. Even though it was warm in the room and Amanda had removed her coat, a sudden chill captured her and she shivered. Her back was to Chandler.

  “I was in high school when I met him.”

  “Him? Who are you talking about? An old boyfriend?”
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  “I was at a gas station pumping gas and having a difficult time with the nozzle. For some reason, I couldn’t get the gas to pump. This guy came over and asked if he could help me. I told him he could. He laid on the charm, complimenting me, asking me what college I was going to.” Amanda shook her head at the memory. “I can’t believe how gullible I was. It disgusts me now, but at the time I was so flattered he thought I was older. When you’re a seventeen year old girl, all you want to do is to look older. I told him I was still in high school and when he asked which one he said he had gone there too. We even had some of the same teachers so I knew he was being straight with me. I was so stupid. I knew he was older, but I didn’t realize how much older.”

  “How much older?” Chandler asked.

  Amanda swiveled around and met Chandler’s eyes. “Ten years.”

  “Quite an age difference between seventeen and twenty-seven. That’s basically my age now. I can’t believe your parents would let you date someone so much older than you.”

  “They didn’t. I understand now there’s a big difference between seventeen and what I am now,” Amanda said. “At the time I didn’t because teenagers think they know it all.” She stepped away from the window, walked over to Chandler, and sat down next to him.

  “Amanda, we all went through that phase, including me.”

  “I think I’ve aged ten years in the last few months.” Amanda’s voice was repentant and her gaze dropped to the floor. She picked at a ragged hole in her sweater, pulling a thread.

  With a gentle hand, Chandler lifted her chin. “You don’t look ten years older, in fact, when I met you I thought you were still in high school.”

  “My grandpa said someday I’ll appreciate not looking my age.”

  “Your grandpa was a smart man. I wish I could have known him.”

  “He was a good judge of character and I could tell he immediately liked you.”

  “I immediately liked you,” Chandler said.

  Amanda smiled. “And me you.”

  Nipper was curled into a tight ball on top of the sleeping bag. His eyes were open and he was listening to the conversation. Not the words, which were meaningless, but rather Amanda’s and Chandler’s tone and body posture. Nipper had studied his mistress long enough to understand she was experiencing physical and mental stress, which manifested in her sluggish movements and furrowed brow. Nipper was still getting to know the man, seeing he was new to the equation, adding a mixture of confidence and tenderness. He had never raised his voice or hand in anger, yet the maleness of his persona could not be dismissed. He was a man that commanded respect.

  Nipper uncurled from his sleeping position, rose, and stretched in the way dogs do. He jumped off the sofa and padded over to Amanda. Looking at her, he waited until she patted her thighs, encouraging him to jump in her lap. At the first pat, Nipper jumped into her lap with the ease of a cat. Amanda stroked him along the ruff on his back, then behind his ears, finishing with a scratch between his eyes.

  “Has he eaten?” Amanda asked.

  “Yes. I fed him while you were sleeping.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Tell me the rest of the story,” Chandler said.

  Amanda let out a big breath as she petted Nipper. The connection seemed to calm her. “I had to sneak around because I knew my parents wouldn’t approve of the age difference. I had been a straight A student, involved in the Honor Society, drama club, this club, that club. You name it, I was in it. I was the poster girl for being involved.”

  “You talk about being a straight A student in past tense. What do you mean by that?”

  “When I first started seeing Zack, my grades were perfect. I was on cloud nine. I tingled at the thought of him. He was so…what should I say…” she paused, searching for the right word, “…so forbidden. A bad boy. He was the apple in the forbidden garden. Not to be touched or tasted or experienced in any way.” Amanda lifted her gaze and made direct eye contact with Chandler. “Am I embarrassing you?”

  “No.”

  “I couldn’t study, couldn’t eat. My grades dropped.”

  “Didn’t your parents notice?”

  “They did,” Amanda confirmed, “but I told them my classes were hard and that I was stressed out.”

  “Hmm.”

  “I thought I was in love with him. After my parents went to bed, I would sneak out of the house through my bedroom window. We had a two-story house with a weirdly shaped roof that sloped across the front part of the house. I would leave the bedroom light on so Zack would know I was in my room. He’d park on the corner and when it got dark, he’d whistle—sorta like an owl hooting—to let me know he was waiting for me. All I had to do was to walk down the ramp, slide off the roof, and Zack would whisk me away in his truck. We’d go to his apartment. Drink, listen to music, and…” Amanda paused, “… and other things.” She dropped her eyes, unable to look at Chandler. “I’m not proud of that.”

  “It doesn’t matter to me.”

  Amanda nodded.

  “I take it he wasn’t a dinner and a movie kind of guy.”

  “We never went out. I was too afraid someone from school would see me. I never even told my best friend. Besides, Zack was afraid of being busted. Remember I was only seventeen. His friends knew about us because he liked to brag to them. They would be at his apartment sometimes, crashing on the sofa. They never seemed to have jobs, just sat around and watched TV and drank. I couldn’t understand why Zack hung around those guys.”

  “Did he have a job?”

  “Yes. He worked at an auto repair shop. He could fix just about anything with wheels on it. He was quite good, and talked about opening up his own repair shop.”

  “Did he?”

  “I don’t know. Something changed in him, or maybe he had been like that all along, which is what I suspect now. At the time, I was too blind to notice. It was like I couldn’t do anything right. He was always criticizing me. I was stupid and thought that’s what the guy in a relationship did. Whenever I started talking about going to college, he’d tell me college was a waste of money and only for nerds. I challenged him on that and he hit me. Left a big bruise under my eye.”

  “What did your parents do?”

  “I lied and told them one of the rafters on the stage ceiling fell and hit me when I was working on a play.”

  “They believed you?” Chandler asked incredulously.

  “Why not? I had never lied to them before.”

  “Your parents found out eventually, right?”

  “They did.”

  “How?”

  “One night when the furnace stopped working, my mom came up to my room to give me another blanket. I wasn’t in my room, and the window was open a crack, and that’s when they found out I had been sneaking out of the house. They waited up for me and confronted me about what I was doing. Now that I look back on it, I was relieved they had found out and made me stop seeing him. They gave me an ultimatum that I could break up with Zack or else they wouldn’t pay for college. Quite frankly, it was an easy decision. I realized I didn’t love Zack and that he was only a teenage crush I had outgrown. When I told Zack it was over, he went ballistic, saying all sorts of bad things about my parents, about how he’d make them pay.” Amanda dropped her chin and glanced away.

  Chandler picked up on her change in demeanor. “What’s wrong?”

  “I miss my parents. I feel guilty because there were times I wanted them dead,” Amanda said.

  “All teens think that at one time or another about their parents,” Chandler said.

  “Yeah, but if it hadn’t been for Zack, they’d still be alive.”

  Chapter 5

  Zack Durant stood on the observation deck at the University of Texas Tower, cursing and waiting for his shift to end. Cold wind whipped around him. He peered out over the campus while he sighted unsuspecting travelers through the crosshairs of his 50 caliber Barrett M107 rifle.

  He pulled the collar of his winter co
at up around his neck and stamped his feet to get his circulation going. He paced the narrow corridor of the observation deck, which afforded a 360 degree view of the city.

  On a clear day, visibility was fifteen miles.

  To the east was I-35, and beyond that was the poor side of town, the side of town with knife fights and killings over a few dollars. South had a good view of the capital and downtown area. West was suburbia and Dellionaires, and their mansions and fast cars, nestled in and among the hills. To the north was cookie cutter suburbia.

  Situated in the middle of the famous forty acres, the three hundred foot high tower boasted twenty-nine stories and hailed as a distinguishing landmark in Austin. It was the scene of a mass murder in the 1960s where a deranged sniper picked off unsuspecting students and anyone unlucky enough to be in the crosshairs. The limestone walls of the observation deck still bore the scars of bullet holes.

  The Tower, originally built to house the library of the University of Texas, had a closed-stack catalog system requiring students to request a book and wait for up to an hour for it to be retrieved. As the university grew, it soon became obvious a more modern library was needed for the closed-stack system. The way of the calling system for books went the way of the horse and buggy. The building now contained administrative offices and reading rooms for students.

  Zack, always an opportunist, had seen the EMP attack and the resulting effects as a way to propel his life’s ambition, which was to control as much as he could, anyway he could.

  In the years since his break-up with Amanda, he had opened up three car repair shops, hired the best mechanics, charged ridiculous prices, but if there was one thing Zack was good at, it was opportunity.

  Four years prior, he set up the first shop on a lot in east Austin dotted with scrub brush, surrounded by unsavory shops and even more unsavory houses, rented by equally unsavory characters. Gunshots and fights were common, but as word got around Zack delivered on what he promised, business boomed. His ads were all over TV, and at first he was the laughingstock of the city until it became clear he was building a car repair empire and becoming a reputable businessman.