Aftermath (Book 2): Aftermath

by Donovan, J. S.

  Having temporarily escaped her memories, Naomi stepped out of the basement. She held the shotgun low as she looked down the hall. Her body felt like it had been whipped with wet rags. Her muscles felt stretched.

  She exited the front door and glanced at the rising sun.

  The world was quiet.

  Wind disturbed the thin top layer of snow, causing it to sweep like fine sand across the yard’s white surface.

  Naomi drew in the crisp valley air and held it in her lungs. She looked past the trees and to the tall mountains beyond. To route the enemy, Allen and Dean had run that way. God only knew if they were still alive. Naomi had to assume the worse.

  Her gaze landed on the tattered greenhouse. Stealing her will with a deep breath, she nestled the shotgun’s buttstock firmly against her shoulder and started toward the door.

  She stepped over a thug’s frosty cadaver and carefully pushed the door open with her foot. Broken pots and dirt scattered on the floor and shelves of the greenhouse.

  “Cal?” she carefully called out.

  She moved through the small greenhouse, seeing spent shotgun shell casings on the floor, but no blood or body. It was the last place she’d seen her husband during the battle.

  She exited out the back, feeling her world spin.

  A wave of sadness crashed over her heart, followed by regret. The last memories of their marriage pre-EMP was spent in a melancholy work cycle where their most intimate interaction was the half-hearted “have a nice day” they said before heading to work. Naomi ran her practice out of her office in downtown Philly while Calvin worked in the electronic engineering program at the University of Pennsylvania. A month ago, they would never have imagined harming another human being. Since then, Calvin had beaten two robbers with rebar to save their 1983 Land Rover, Naomi had cut off the fingers of the man trying to assault her daughter, and now they’d been through a shootout where Naomi had killed at least two people and Calvin had killed at least one.

  Naomi leaned over and dry heaved.

  She let out a silent cry and turned to the east.

  A few miles that way was the location of the scrapyard. She might have lost her husband, but she could still save her daughter.

  Maybe I can negotiate with them? Naomi thought foolishly. She knew it was a stupid dream. These people would never give back her daughter. They probably just wanted her to lure Naomi away from the supplies. Nevertheless, she’d trade everything to hold Trinity and Calvin again.

  Something moved beneath the greenhouse.

  Naomi twisted back and aimed her shotgun.

  Hands up, Calvin crawled out from under the small gap beneath the greenhouse. His stylish glasses sat lopsided on the bridge of his nose. A crack ruptured the right lens. His brown eyes were wide on his geeky-looking face. Dirt painted his clothes and cheek.

  Naomi lowered the gun and blinked once at the man.

  They started to walk to each other. After two steps, their walk turned into a sprint that ended in a heart-lifting embrace. Naomi kept her hand on the weapon and hugged him with one arm while Calvin squeezed her so tight she couldn’t breathe. Naomi didn’t care. Even if the sun and moon were to explode right now, she wouldn’t let go.

  Calvin sniffed in her hair as if it were the only flower in a snowy wasteland.

  “I love you,” he whispered.

  Naomi only squeezed him tighter.

  Time seemed to stop.

  Years of dead marriage seemed to be washed away in the simple moment, but all the joy came crashing down when Calvin asked, “Where’s Trinity?”

  Naomi felt she’d just fallen into a black pit and smacked her face on the harsh reality of the situation.

  “Someone…” Naomi started to say but stopped. She didn’t want to speak it. Her words had power and the moment she vocalized them, her fear would be real.

  Calvin released his hug but kept hold of her upper arms as he looked intently into her eyes. “Naomi, tell me what happened.”

  Her teeth chattered.

  It took a few breaths before she found the words. “Someone took her, Cal. Someone has our daughter.”

  It took a second before a stir of emotions raced across Calvin’s face. First shock, then dread, rage, and finally hopelessness.

  “We’ll find her,” Naomi said, unable to filter the lack of confidence from her voice.

  Calvin took a few steps away and ran his hand up his scalp.

  Naomi looked down at her feet.

  Calvin turned back to her. “What about the others?”

  “I assume Becca is with Trinity. Cathleen is…” Naomi’s voice trailed off as she remembered the woman’s dying breaths, “gone. Dean and Allen went after the enemy late last night. ”

  “So that’s who I heard,” Calvin thought aloud. “And that bastard Conner?”

  Naomi shrugged. She felt the weight of the shotgun at the end of her arm.

  Calvin ran his hand down his tightlipped mouth. He took a deep breath. “We need to find him.”

  Naomi agreed, despite the fact that Conner had tried to stab out her brother’s eye less than twelve hours ago. If not for the intruders, Allen would’ve opened the Irishman’s throat more than he already had.

  Naomi and Calvin walked around the back of the house. Burned and broken, a portion of the fortifying fence stood. Bullets lodged in the outdoor bathtub. One chipped paint off the red well pump. The shed door was open, but there was no one inside.

  Naomi and Calvin called out for Conner.

  The breeze replied.

  A few dead bodies scattered the woods beyond the broken fence, but Naomi assumed they were the highwaymen from Madison or part of the Scrapers.

  “Conner!” Naomi’s voice cracked.

  Nothing.

  She gave Calvin a discouraged look.

  He tilted his head and slightly squinted his eyes.

  “What?” Naomi asked.

  He hushed her.

  They listened.

  Faintly. Only louder than the wind, Naomi thought she heard someone say, “in here.”

  She carefully approached the simple-looking outhouse.

  Calvin followed her. He grabbed the rope handle.

  Naomi took a few steps back and aimed the gun.

  Calvin’s lips slightly parted as he watched Naomi and waited for her signal.

  Naomi nodded.

  Calvin yanked open the door.

  Naomi hastily aimed the shotgun into the privy.

  The wooden seat and four wooden walls lacked decoration. There was no one inside.

  Naomi’s carefully asked, “Conner?”

  The toilet spoke. “In here.”

  Keeping the shotgun nestled against her shoulder, she walked to the crap hole and peered down. The whites of two horrified eyes looked back from the darkness. Naomi undid the latch that had fallen shut and lifted up the door-like seat.

  Knees pulled close to his chest, six-foot-five Conner Ryan cowered in the pit full of frozen feces. Chalky brown powder coated his heavy jacket, turtleneck, and strong jaw. Sweaty, spiked-shaped bangs fell over his wrinkled forehead. Joints popping, he pulled himself up. Naomi backed up, giving him room to climb out of the pit. His foot caught the ledge and caused him to fall into Naomi. She caught him and helped him steady himself.

  They walked out of the outhouse.

  Calvin watched indifferently. “I knew I smelled something funny.”

  Conner gave him an uncaring look before doubling over and vomiting.

  Naomi watched with an icky face. “You good?”

  Grimacing, Conner spit. A broken scab leaked blood down his neck. Hunched, he planted his hands on his knees and scanned the backyard. “We won?”

  “We’re alive,” Calvin replied dryly.

  Tasting something bad, Conner scrunched his face and spit again. “Becca?”

  Naomi and Calvin’s sober expression caused Conner to look ill. Ill-er.

  “Dead?” Conner asked cautiously.

  “T
aken, we believe.” Naomi said, trying not to choke up. “Trinity, too.”

  Conner processed the information. “Scrapers?”

  Naomi felt suddenly cold. “That’s our guess. The men from Madison are...” Not able to find a better way to say it, Naomi said, “Dead.”

  Conner wore a thousand-yard stare.

  Calvin crossed his arms. “We’re going to look for the girls. Come with us.”

  Conner kept staring. “What do you think they’ll do to them?”

  Naomi’s stomach knotted. Tears welled in her eyes.

  Conner sucked air through his nose. “What are we going to tell Cathleen?”

  “I’m sorry, Conner,” Naomi said softly.

  It looked like Conner had just been stabbed. “...Dean, too?” he asked hesitantly.

  “I don’t know,” Naomi admitted.

  Conner lowered to the snowy dirt. He sat, his legs spread out. In all her years of doing therapy, Naomi had never seen what she saw in Conner just then. It was like a light went out inside of the handsome Irishman. His eyes were broken windows in an abandoned house. Processing the loss of his family, he sank deeper into docile madness.

  “Conner?” Calvin asked.

  “Dad, Dean, Cathleen, Becca… I promised Sean I’d take care of them…” Conner’s voice trailed off.

  Calvin took a few steps closer. “Conner, can you hear me?”

  The shell of the man said nothing. He didn’t blink. He scarcely breathed.

  Calvin hesitantly shook his shoulder. “Help us find Becca. It’ll be good for you.”

  Naomi looked at Conner with pity. “Let him be.”

  Calvin turned back to her, not understanding.

  Naomi took her husband’s hand and interlocked their fingers. “We’ll find Trinity ourselves.”

  Calvin closed his lips and looked at the shell that was Conner. After a moment, Calvin said a resolved, “yeah.”

  He carefully drew Conner’s pistol out of the holster and quickly stepped away. Conner didn’t try to stop him. He didn’t move. He didn’t react.

  Armed, the Baxters headed to the eastern woods, in the direction of the scrapyard.

  They traveled through the snow-dressed forest. Icicles dangled from leafless branches. A few corpses littered the forest floor. Naomi rolled them over with her foot. They were strangers with slack jaws, half-open eyes, and icy bullet holes. Naomi recognized a few of them from Madison, the town ten miles away. They were highwaymen who tried to rob Naomi a few weeks ago, but her group had gotten the best of them. They must’ve been in cahoots with the Scrapers. Naomi didn’t fully understand the alliance between the two groups, but the men from Madison must be pretty loyal to be used for the assault’s frontline defense.

  Naomi let the shoulder sling carry the weight of her shotgun. The weapon’s frame bobbed against her stomach with every tired step. Calvin kept pace with her. He rubbed a smudge from his glasses on the corner of his shirt. The dirt made it worse. Huffing, he put back on the fractured bifocals. His pistol’s handle jutted from the back lip of his pants. By the stiff nature of his walk, he was nervous a sudden movement might set it off.

  They followed behind a couple of sets of footprints.

  They were too large to be from the girls. Last night’s snow had mostly filled them in. Shell casings spotted the path as well.

  Thirty minutes into the walk, Naomi came to a sudden stop.

  Calvin took a few more steps before he turned back. A question lingered behind his closed lip.

  Naomi sniffled and scanned her surroundings. This deep into the woods, the trees had a mythical quality about them. They stretched far in every direction. Apart from a few game trails, there were no designated paths; only gopher holes, bushes slouching under piled snow, and the unadulterated wilderness.

  Calvin started walking to her.

  Naomi raised her hands slightly. The gesture was enough to get Calvin to stop.

  Something felt off.

  Naomi’s skin crawled.

  She fought off a shudder.

  The rhythmic thumping of her heart quickened.

  Something moved just out of sight.

  Calvin perked up. He reached for the pistol stuffed in his pants.

  Naomi’s hand instinctively found her shotgun and her finger lingered just above the trigger.

  Suddenly, she twisted back.

  A recently disturbed bush swayed in the far distance.

  Behind her, snow fell from a branch and slopped on icy dirt.

  Pulse pounding, Calvin and Naomi stood nearly back-to-back. They rotated in a small circle, watching their surroundings.

  In the corner of Naomi’s eye, a shadow dashed behind a tree.

  Naomi sucked in her breath and aimed her weapon. The trunk was too thin to hide anyone. Did she imagine the movement?

  Breath misting, she eyed the woods. She opened her mouth to call out, but the words swelled in her throat.

  “Naomi.” A bead of salty sweat trickled down Calvin’s dirty cheek. “There’s someone out there.”

  Snow crunched.

  Back to back, Naomi and Calvin continued rotating.

  More trees.

  More snow.

  More uncertainty of an unseen sniper.

  “Bang.”

  3

  Walk

  Naomi aimed her shotgun at the man behind the tree. Behind the fat trunk, his hands held a large chromatic revolver with its barrel aimed down.

  Naomi lowered the shotgun. “Dean?”

  The leathery-faced man stepped out from behind the tree. He had a V-shaped body with skinny legs and broad shoulders. His shifty eyes were grey like chips of dirty ice. The skin on his cheeks had old acne scarring. His hair was brown turning grey. He kept his revolver low. His expression was naturally hostile.

  Calvin let out a relieved breath, “Not funny, man.”

  Dean smirked. “Just the two of you?”

  Naomi answered his question. “Conner’s back at the house. Where’s Allen?”

  A gruff voice sounded in the distance. “Here.”

  The bear-like man stepped over a felled tree and joined them in the clearing. A heavily modified assault weapon was slung over his back. Dry blood crusted in his bushy salt-and-pepper beard. His posture was stiff, reminding the world of his years serving as a Navy Seal. His weary, sorrowful eyes watched them.

  Eyes watering, Naomi embraced her brother. His body was like a chunk of rock. He hesitantly hugged her back with one arm.

  The embrace ended swiftly.

  Calvin made a face as he shoved his pistol back into the lip of his pants. “What happened last night?”

  Allen bounced his eyes between Naomi and Calvin. “After getting the upper hand, Dean and I eliminated the rest of the tangos in the woods.”

  His objective nature worried Naomi.

  “It took the whole night,” Dean added. “We finished the job, though. Cleared out the runners before they could reach the scrapyard.”

  There was some smug pride behind his words. Naomi remembered Dean confessing to being part of a Philadelphia drug ring. Violence seemed the only thing he liked more than his widowed sister-in-law. Naomi hadn’t told him that Cathleen was dead. That would be a conversation best saved after they got the girls back.

  Allen eyed Naomi suspiciously. “What are you doing out here? I told you to stay in the house.”

  Calvin answered for her. “We believe Trinity and Becca have been taken.”

  A desperate frown sank Naomi’s face. “I’m guessing you didn’t see them pass through.”

  Allen and Dean shook their heads.

  Naomi rubbed her brow. “We need to find them before they get too far.”

  “You want to look for them now?” Allen’s question was rhetorical. He didn’t need to remind her that none of them had gotten any sleep last night.

  Dean breathed in the mountain air. He looked eastward. “No time like the present.”

  Thoughts raced behind Allen’s sober
ing eyes. Eventually, he nodded.

  Then they were all off to the scrapyard.

  Like a panther hunting unknowing prey, Dean moved fluidly through the trees, ready to make the assault on the scrapyard after the nightlong firefight. The rest of them didn’t share the same enthusiasm.

  Somehow stiff and sluggish, Calvin dragged his feet and yawned frequently. He just wanted to get their daughter and call it a day. Was there a plan for the brilliant rescue? Of course not, and the lack of forethought weighed down the logically-minded man.

  Naomi felt the same weight. Her parenting instincts prompted her to take the necessary actions to save her daughter, but she didn’t have clue what to do when they arrived at the scrapyard. She glanced back at Allen. His face was a chunk of stone: chiseled and unreadable. Despite his lack of expression, Naomi had a pretty good idea he was not a fan of this mission.

  As they neared the cliff’s edge, they lowered to their bellies and army-crawled to the cusp of the forty-foot drop. Below, three lines of razor wire ran around the top of the scrapyard’s chain-link fence. Piles of junked cars and metal littered the property. A few roads led from the yard’s entrance gate to the pill-shaped workshop and two-story house. On a mountain’s face about a half mile away, a colonial-style mansion could be seen amidst thick foliage. It watched the scrapyard like God’s eye.

  In groups of two, armed men and women patrolled the yard. They had long rifles and pistols. There was a pair of guards in each quadrant along with two pairs that made a full rotation through the yard. There were two more guards hidden by the yard’s gate. Naomi only knew their location from the last time she scouted out the compound.

  Allen counted fourteen just on the outside. “They’ve grown.”

  Fear balled up in Naomi’s core.

  It had been five days since her last visit. For them to increase in number since meant that her adversaries were expanding their influence. Worse was how fast they had mobilized after the EMP blast. It had only been a month since the blackout, and they had already cleared Madison and instigated raids.