Blackout Series Books 1-2 (A Post-Apocalyptic Dystopian Thriller)

by Adam Drake

  But instead of pulling out a gun, Martin fumbled open his fly and pulled out his dick.

  Stunned, Nate watched as Martin pissed on Unger's corpse.

  “I was supposed to be the one that killed him,” Martin said through gritted teeth.

  Nate laughed loudly in genuine delight. What a sight to see as this little fat man emptied his bladder on the body of his old boss. “He pissed you off, too, huh?”

  “Yeah,” Martin said, angling the stream to spatter Unger's ruined face. “And now I get to piss off him.”

  Nate laughed some more. He liked this Martin guy and decided he wouldn't kill him after all.

  No, he thought. I'll keep him for myself.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Wyatt

  “Murderer!”

  The woman's scream snapped Wyatt out of his trance. He'd been staring down at his sneakers, watching the pool of blood flow around them.

  The other people in the clinic were running for the door, pushing to get out.

  To get away from him.

  “Don't move,” the security guard said from behind him. Wyatt felt his wrists being cinched together. Not handcuffs, he knew what those felt like. Plastic ties. Good.

  “You've made a hell of a mess,” the guard said as he grasped Wyatt's arm. His grip was like a vice, strong and unbreakable. “People come here to keep from dying, not the other way around.”

  Wyatt was struck by the odd comment. He'd just murdered two of the Feral Kids right here in the middle of the clinic's lobby in front of dozens of witnesses and this guy was making jokes?

  The bodies of Scarface and Casket lay contorted on the floor. Casket with a knife jammed through his face, and Scarface with his throat slashed wide open like a crimson grin.

  “They were laughing at Ethan,” Wyatt mumbled.

  “Shut up,” said the guard.

  After Wyatt killed the Feral Kids the doctor of the clinic had leapt into action, trying to save both of the them. But a quick assessment told the story. Neither Casket nor Scarface would be tormenting any more homeless again.

  The doctor leaned over Casket's face, looking at the fatal wound. “God damnit,” he said. He looked up at Wyatt with an expression of confusion. “Why did you do this?”

  “It was their time,” Wyatt said with a dismissive shrug. “The world is a better place now.” His tone was casual, but he meant what he said. Killing them felt right, now that it was over and done with. The impulse had rushed through him, carrying him along like a twig on the shoulders of a mighty river. There was nothing he could have done to stop himself. It had to be.

  The doctor shook his head then said to the guard, “Get him out of here!” He rubbed at his glasses and smeared blood along his nose.

  “Where?” the guard asked. “Outside?”

  The waiting area was now clear of people, most of whom stood clustered outside the front windows in the growing dark. Wyatt could hear their chattering, terrified and excited. Some stared at him with shock and horror.

  A nurse stood cowering behind the reception desk, eyes locked on the two bodies.

  The doctor waved at her. “Peggy! Go grab my keys in my office, quickly.”

  The nurse blinked in confusion and after casting a glance at Wyatt, hurried off down the dark hallway.

  “You'll put him in my truck for now until the police come,” the doctor said, moving over to look at the crimson smile across Scarface's throat.

  “Maybe we should lock him in a room,” the guard said. “It would make more sense.” Despite the chaos Wyatt had just caused, the guard wasn't rattled. Like a double homicide was something he dealt with on a regular basis. Wyatt couldn't decide if that was a character trait he liked or should be suspicious of.

  The doctor stood. “All the rooms are occupied.” He pointed at Wyatt with a trembling finger. “And besides, I don't want him anywhere near our patients.”

  Wyatt felt disappointed. He would have thought the doctor could have been more calm in such a situation. Obviously he'd never been a combat medic which, considering how things were shaping up outside, would be a good skill to have.

  The nurse returned and handed the keys to the doctor.

  “Do we have any candles?” the doctor asked her. He dropped the keys into the guard's huge hand.

  “Candles? Uh, no. Not at all,” she said, casting furtive glances in Wyatt's direction. She was pretty. Older, maybe in her mid-forties, but that didn't bother Wyatt. He liked women in uniform.

  The doctor waved at the guard. “What is this maniac still doing here? Get him out and watch him!”

  The guard pulled Wyatt around the bodies, their shoes leaving macabre impressions on the linoleum tiles. “Watch your step,” the guard said as they passed Ethan's body on the gurney.

  He let himself be guided to the front doors which were still propped open. As Wyatt and the guard moved outside the crowd of people backed away, some gasping.

  “Excuse us,” the guard said and escorted Wyatt over to a giant hatchback parked nearest the door.

  Figures the doctor would have the best spot, Wyatt thought as the guard took him to the passenger side door and fumbled with the keys in his hand.

  Wyatt looked over the darkening parking lot and out at the main street. Cars, trucks and busses were lined up in both direction, bumper to bumper and stock still. No one moved. Things had not changed much since Wyatt took Ethan into the clinic.

  Now he knew it was all for the better.

  “This is a good thing,” Wyatt mumbled.

  “What?” the guard said, finally unlocking the door and opening it. “What did you say?”

  Wyatt offered the man a syrupy grin. “This is all a good thing that's happened. Trust me on that.” He felt the conviction down in his bones.

  “Uh-huh,” the guard said and shoved Wyatt up into the passenger seat. With his hands restrained behind his back, it made sitting uncomfortable.

  “I'm not comfortable,” Wyatt said. He felt sleepy, like a nap was needed now more than ever.

  “Shut up, and don't cause any problems,” the guard said. Confident Wyatt was secured, he fished a phone out of his uniform's front pocket.

  Wyatt watched him with pity and shook his head. “No need for those anymore, friend. Today has changed that.”

  The guard thumbed the buttons on the phone which looked like a toy in his massive hand. The screen remained dark. No rings or beeps. “Damnit,” the guard said.

  Wyatt watched him for a few moments as he futilely tried to resurrect the little device. “Do you know what is going to happen?”

  The guard looked up and arched a brow at Wyatt. “Yeah, I know what's going to happen.”

  “What?”

  “I'm going to hand you over to the police, is what's going to happen. Then I'm going to submit an overtime sheet and demand a danger pay bonus.”

  “Danger pay?” Wyatt laughed. The term was odd to hear out loud. “That's not what I meant.”

  “Okay, what do you mean?” the guard looked frustrated. Wyatt felt for him, he was having a rough day. Something Wyatt could identify with.

  “You're not going to hand me over to the police,” Wyatt said.

  The guard scoffed. “Oh, no? What am I going to do with you then?”

  “You're going to let me go.”

  The guard laughed, a deep barking sound. “That's rich. You really expect that, huh? Murder two people in my clinic and just waltz away?”

  “No, you're going to let me go because I have a job to do.”

  “And what's that? Kill more people?”

  Wyatt shook his head, the approaching night felt like cotton against his senses. “I didn't kill people,” he nodded toward the clinic and the bodies inside. “Those weren't people.”

  The expression on the guard's face said he thought Wyatt was nuts. “If those aren't people, then what are they?”

  “A beginning,” Wyatt said, smiling wide. He rested his head back against the seat.

  The g
uard scoffed again. “Damn nut-job. Murderous, killing nut-job. But you still didn't answer my question.”

  “Which was?” Wyatt said through lidded eyes.

  “Why would I let you go after what you just did?”

  “Because I have a job to do, and not you nor anyone else can stop me from doing it.”

  “What job is that?”

  Wyatt thought for a moment, then said, “I don't know. It's not clear to me, yet.”

  Some people at the front of the clinic starting yelling at each other. Then a man pushed a younger woman, who fell down against the glass window causing it to rattle.

  “Hey!” the guard said. To Wyatt he said, “Stay put and don't be stupid.” He slammed the door and went over to the brawling couple shouting for everyone to calm down.

  Wyatt watched as the guard tried to maintain order. Even despite his size, things were getting out of hand. The people were agitated. Not just at what Wyatt had done, but the fact that this entire situation was confusing, and it wasn't getting any clearer.

  He looked over each one, men and women, husbands and wives. They were all at the start of a great change. Sort of like himself, only Wyatt knew his change was for a greater purpose. What it was he couldn't be sure, but he wasn't worried. He'd get a sign soon enough.

  A strange sereneness passed over his body as he contemplated the possibilities of what his new job would be. Whatever it was, it would finally give him something more to strive for than simple survival. No more dumpsters, no more cans, no more bottles. No more being afraid.

  Killing Casket and Scarface had dislodged something inside him. A jagged thing which had been stuck in his soul for so long he'd forgotten to even dream anymore. Now, he was in a dream.

  “Penny for your thoughts?”

  Wyatt turned to the voice. Ethan was sitting in the driver's seat, looking at him with a wide grin.

  “You're dead,” Wyatt said. “What's up with that?”

  Ethan shrugged. “Can't say for sure. Only I know it has something to do with you, of all people. Damned if I can figure out why.”

  Wyatt looked Ethan over. His friend looked just as he was before Casket had sliced him up. Rough and ready for a day of dumpster diving. Was he an angel? He didn't look it. But he didn't smell bad anymore. In fact, Wyatt was certain Ethan smelled like peppermint.

  “No,” Wyatt said sitting up. “You're dead. I saw you die. Then you talked to me from that gurney like nothing had happened. Now you're here in the doctor's truck like it was something I wanted.”

  Ethan looked around the truck's cab and placed his hands on the wide steering wheel. “This is the doctor's truck? Damn fine set of wheels, if you ask me. Guess he could afford it, being a doctor and all. Although I think he kind of sucks at his job considering he couldn't save me.” His face scrunched up in thought. “Do doctors have their pay cut when someone dies in their care?”

  Wyatt shook his head, his eyes never leaving Ethan. He was here. Really here in the truck. Wyatt could feel his presence just as if someone alive would be. “Why are you here?”

  “Enjoying this fine example of American automotive craftsmanship!”

  “No,” Wyatt said, shaking his head. “Why are you here for me? Are you a figment of my imagination? Am I suffering a trauma of some kind?”

  Ethan's smile slipped a little as he matched his friend's stare. “I'm not a figment of anything. I'm your friend and always will be. Trust me on that. And as for suffering a trauma,” he raised his hands at the darkness around them and the people clustered outside. “The entire universe is suffering a trauma on a massive scale. But it doesn't have to be that way. It doesn't have to be as painful as it might be unless something happens to ease them through this great change.”

  Wyatt blinked in confusion. “Gibberish. Pure Gibberish. You're not Ethan. At least not the Ethan I knew. You're something else.”

  “No, Wyatt,” Ethan said. “I'm still me. Only now I've changed, just like everyone else out there is changing, only they don't know it yet. But they will, they certainly will.”

  “Yeah?” Wyatt said, feeling his anger grow. “And how do I fit into all this? You said I had a job to do. What is it?”

  Ethan matched Wyatt's gaze. “Because your job is to save them.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Nate

  “I think you've earned yourself a bitter beer,” Nate said. He handed Martin a bottle from the cooler. “In case you wanted to reload for another round.”

  Martin twisted off the cap and took a sip, his hands trembling.

  “Here,” Nate said pointing to one of the chairs. “Take a load off.”

  Martin dropped into it and sighed. He looked exhausted and Nate suspected it was from more than the day long hike pushing a wheel-barrel of prawns. It was his mind that was tired.

  Nate sat in the other chair across from the little fat man. “Sorry I stole your thunder,” he said.

  “What do you mean?” Martin asked. His eyes were watery as if he might burst into tears.

  “Killing Unger,” Nate said. “I know a lot of people had it out for him, but I was the one who got to pop that cherry.”

  Martin waved a hand. “No, don't apologize. The bastard deserved it. The things he did to me...”

  Not sure he was ready for a sob story, Nate said, “He did a lot of crappy things to a lot of people. That was pretty much his job after all. But he got his comeuppance and there's no taking it back.”

  “I know. I just didn't expect him to be dead so soon. I thought there would be time for me to find a way to get to him.”

  “Like a poisoned prawn?”

  Martin laughed. “Or maybe a poisoned import beer.”

  Nate spit out his beer and laughed. “Okay, that was good one.”

  Both men went quiet for a time. Nate leaning back and looking at the stars, Martin staring into the dying fire in the barrel.

  Martin finally asked, “Did they attack you?” He motioned to the other bodies with his beer bottle.

  “More or less. They tried to rescue their king and were slain for their efforts.” He was impressed this guy wasn't rattled at the sight of so many dead.

  Martin looked the bodies over. “You killed all of them yourself?”

  Nate didn't have to answer. He just took another swig.

  “Damn,” Martin said. “That's impressive.”

  They both watched the apartment burn like the fire was possessed with unfettered rage. If people had escaped they didn't do it from this side of the building. The heat was intense, and the flames brightened the back lot as if it were day.

  “So what happens now?” Martin asked.

  Nate knew he wasn't talking about the burning apartment. “I dunno,” he said with a shrug. “What do you want to happen?”

  Martin shook his head. “I'm at a loss. I'd resigned myself to having to work for this asshole for the rest of my life, or until I found a way to kill him. Now none of that matters.”

  This was music to Nate's ears, yet he still wasn't sure about this guy, having just met him. So he asked, “What if we were to go try and help those people?”

  Martin looked to the burning apartment. “Are you kidding? Why would we do that? If we go try to help, then their problems become our problems. And, I dunno about you, but I got my fill already.”

  Nate chuckled. Okay, he thought, this guy isn't a total fool.

  The smoke from the apartment inferno drifted over to where they sat, ruining their little get together.

  “Let's move this party inside,” Nate said standing. “Besides, these guys are starting to really smell.”

  Nate followed Martin into the bar where they sat at one of the tables close to the front doors. The smoke was barely noticeable in here. Even the occasional screams from the apartments were muffled.

  Peaceful.

  “Are you armed?” Nate asked.

  “Only with a bad attitude,” Martin said.

  “You're going to need more than that from now o
n,” Nate said. “As you know, the shit has hit the fan and things have changed.”

  “But this can't last too long, can it? The power will come back on tomorrow, or soon after. It has to.”

  Nate reveled at the sound of desperate confusion in Martin's voice. “I don't think so. I believe this is the end-game which has fallen upon us and we need to get prepared.”