Solar Storm (Survival EMP Book 1)

by Rob Lopez

  There was another car about half a mile down the road. Scott and Rick took the gas cans for a stroll.

  “Can we trust that guy?” said Scott as they walked.

  “He’s got us this far, hasn’t he?”

  “He missed his landing target by two countries. Seriously, do you think his idea is any good?”

  “You’re right. I vote we should go with your idea.”

  Scott looked at him. “What idea was that?”

  “Exactly,” said Rick. “You don’t have any. Quit bitching and get with the program.”

  “I joined up to bitch. It’s not just a right, it’s a pleasure.”

  “Gets a little wearing after a while.”

  “So see a therapist. You in love with Kowalski now? That’s nice. Let me know when the wedding is.”

  Rick gave him a side glance. “You’re an asshole.”

  “Best way to be, now, the way things are. Don’t trust anyone who isn’t. Anyone perfect is hiding something.”

  They reached the car, which turned out to be another Volvo. “Just for that, I’ll let you suck the gas out of the tube.”

  Scott took out his knife and snapped open the fill cap. “See? Even you can be an asshole. I had to do the last one.”

  Rick took hold of his rifle and looked around. “Means you’re getting good at it. Why waste a valuable skill like that?”

  In the far distance were two large, industrial sized barns. From that direction Rick spied figures approaching on bicycles.

  Scott spat out a mouthful of gas and dipped the tube in the can.

  “Heads up,” said Rick. “Cyclists approaching.”

  Scott straightened up and aimed his rifle, looking down his 4x ACOG sight. “They’re all guys, and they look pissed.”

  Rick had already deduced that from the furious way they were cycling. Moving away from the flammable can, he positioned himself near the front of the car. Scott moved a few paces out, forming a blocking line with Rick. The cyclists closed the gap quickly, braking hard a few yards away when they saw the rifles. There were four guys, varying in ages. Two wore bib-and-braces overalls, the others dirty jeans and wool shirts. One of them dropped his bike on the ground and took two steps forward, gesticulating and yelling. Rick didn’t understand a word he said, but he gathered the guy wasn’t too happy about the gas being siphoned. He didn’t bother replying, checking instead for possible weapons in the group.

  The yelling guy tried to make a move towards the gas can, and Scott aimed his rifle, clicking off the safety. “You back the fuck up,” he said in a tone that needed no interpretation.

  So this is how it begins, thought Rick. Two groups squabbling over a rare resource that they both needed. Maybe this was the guy’s car. Maybe the farm claimed ownership of it since they considered it to be in their territory. Or simply because they thought they needed it more. The weapons, in this case, decided the issue. One side had them, the other did not. These guys couldn’t call the police, and once they’d flown off, Rick wasn’t worried about receiving an extradition notice. No such thing as property law now. Ownership belonged to whoever could take it and keep it, whether by force or by guile. In spite of centuries of law and order, most people quickly understood that, whether they agreed with it or not. That’s when they realized that rights were a fiction, a comforting myth that meant nothing without force to back it up. The next logical step was the forming of protective groups or gangs. Everything flowed from there: from the coalescing of tribes to the creation of nations. Niceness only came from full stomachs, and morality was just the frosting on a very dirty cake – the generous indulgence of the victors.

  When it came down to it, civilization was but a thin veneer.

  The guys backed up as Scott requested, and the gas continued to trickle into the can. Studying the looks on Rick’s and Scott’s faces, they turned away and returned to the farm.

  Rick didn’t have to think about whether he would have shot them if they attempted to fight. He knew he would have. And they knew it too. Just for a can of gas.

  Scott was right. This was the Time Of Assholes.

  33

  “What do you mean, you’re not gonna let us through?” shouted Lauren, exasperated. “We’re just following the road. Who do you think you are?”

  The gruff woman behind the barricade thrust her shotgun towards Lauren’s face. “I am telling you one last time. You are not coming in.”

  “You don’t own the goddamn road!”

  Lauren was dead on her feet. Having finally cleared the metropolitan areas and the suburbs, she and April found themselves tramping through the lush wooded hill country north of the Bull Run river. Million dollar properties with winding drives and several acres nestled in the forest, some dating back to the civil war. The area looked too genteel to be comfortable with refugees. Lauren had already found one road barred against her, some small town deciding that they didn’t need any more strangers coming through. Now, having detoured several miles, she found another obstacle. The Union army had been stopped twice at Bull Run, and it seemed Lauren wasn’t going to have any better luck.

  The woman at the barricade wore a shooting vest and was flanked by two guys who let her do all the talking. One of them carried a Bushmaster M4 carbine, and even in civilian semi-automatic configuration, it was enough for Lauren and April to feel they were considerably outgunned. They kept their own pistols hidden.

  April stepped forward before Lauren blew up completely. “This woman is trying to get home to her kids,” she said. “We’re not asking for help. We just want to pass through and then we’ll be on our way.”

  “I’ve heard that story before,” said the woman haughtily. “Go back to where you came from. You’ll find nothing here.”

  Lauren looked ready to hit her when one of the men, an older, bearded guy, put his hand on the woman’s shoulder and said something quietly to her. The woman, as highly strung as Lauren looked to be, backed away reluctantly, glaring at Lauren and April.

  The bearded guy, smiling wanly, took her place. “Sorry ladies, but this is officially a no-go area, by order of the town council. If you back up a few miles and take the next right, you should be able to find a road that’ll take you where you want to go, wherever that is.”

  “We’ve been that way already,” said Lauren, fuming. “We got the same treatment.”

  “Then you’ll have to go the other way and head through the city of Manassas.”

  Lauren didn’t want to go through another urban area. “We’re just trying to pass through. If you’re that uptight about it, you can escort us. You can’t seriously think we’re a threat to you.”

  The guy put on the airs of a man who was just obeying orders. “Sorry, but you’ve got to understand. We’ve had a little trouble, and some robberies. Folk who simply passed through could have acted as scouts for some of the badder elements. We’re just trying to take care of our own. In our shoes, you’d do the same.”

  April touched Lauren’s arm. “Okay, we’ll go. Thanks for your time.”

  “There’s Federal camps being set up. Maybe you’re better off going there.”

  “Again, thanks,” said April, trying to pull Lauren away.

  “You ladies should be careful on your own. There’s some real bad dudes out there. We’ve had reports of a couple of them in an old pickup going around robbing people. Even tried to kidnap a girl from our neighborhood, which is why Mary here is so protective. So take care, out there.”

  “Asshole,” muttered Lauren as she walked away.

  “Keep smiling, girl,” said April between her gritted teeth. “Soon as we’re out of sight, we’ll try and cut through the woods.”

  *

  Grandma Daisy sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the wind-up carriage clock. Ticking loudly, it was the only thing working in the house. Inherited from her own mother, it was something Harold disliked, on account of the ticking. When he was angry he threatened to remove it, but he never touched it. Daisy c
ompromised by fashioning a cover cut from an old blanket to muffle the noise at night.

  When Lauren was very young and had trouble sleeping, Daisy put the clock in her room to soothe the nightmares away.

  It was a shame it wasn’t doing much to fend off this particular nightmare. Daisy winced as the stomach pain came again. She wanted to lie down but that made the pain worse. She’d suffered from gastric ulcers in the past, but they’d eased in recent years, so she didn’t have any medication stocked. The tablets she took for her cholesterol and her heart had nearly run out, and her thyroid problems left her weak and tired. She still had half a bottle of pills for her hypothyroidism, but her hormone levels must have dropped further due to the stress. It had happened before, necessitating a visit to the doctor to alter the dose, but that was no longer possible. The arthritis in her hip meant she couldn’t walk far without pain, and the joint contributed to her tiredness by not letting her sleep.

  None of that, however, was worse than the grief over Harold’s sudden passing, or the anxiety she felt for her daughter. For those things, there was no medicine at all.

  The clock ticked steadily, willing her to take a nap and let the heavy eyelids close. It would have been bliss if she could, but her stomach ulcer had other ideas. She really needed to go and rest in an upright position. Picking up the burdensome revolver, she heaved herself up and dragged her feet to the chair in the living room.

  From there, she had a view of the street, but it only served as a sorry reminder of the mess she was in. On the opposite side, Elena’s house stood empty. Daisy bitterly regretted her final words to her. If she had any sense, she would have gone with her. At the very least she could have promised to join her afterwards. There was no need to lose her temper like that.

  But she hadn’t wanted to go. She still didn’t. The chairman had come to persuade her to leave, but she’d remained adamant. Her daughter was coming home, and she would be here for her. She couldn’t bear the thought of her little girl arriving to an empty house, wondering where her mother and her children were.

  The poor girl didn’t yet know that her father was gone.

  Daisy rocked away the ache. It didn’t matter that her daughter was a grown woman. She would always be Daisy’s little girl. When she’d joined the army and gone away to war, Daisy had worried herself sick, pestering her with messages and frustrated with the communications difficulties. The nightly news was filled with images of soldiers on the move and journalists reporting from rooftops as Baghdad shook under bombardment. Daisy watched avidly, looking to catch a glimpse of Lauren. She lost weight thinking about what might have happened to her. Every day for a year, she heard reports of the brutal insurgency and the roadside bombs. She stopped caring about the rights and wrongs of the war. She just wanted her daughter to come home. When Lauren finished her tour, Daisy wept with relief for three days. A weight had been removed from her shoulders, and her little girl appeared taller and hardened by the experience. She’d been a little worried when Lauren introduced Rick to her a few months later, wondering at the wisdom of having another soldier for a partner. Daisy hoped it wouldn’t influence her to return to Iraq for a second tour, as many soldiers were doing. The announcement of a pregnancy, and of her engagement, banished her fears. Lauren was going to leave the army and raise a family, and that was music to Daisy’s ears. Becoming a grandmother was bliss, especially knowing her daughter was staying in the area. Rick’s continual deployments were a concern, but Daisy got over that. If anything happened, she would always be around to help her daughter take care of things.

  There were no images on TV now, no journalists to explain what was happening in the world. The fate of US personnel overseas was a mystery. The whereabouts of her daughter, equally so. She’d initially assumed it was just a matter of travel, that transport systems would be fixed or improvised. The awful silence in the house and on the street told a darker story. Everybody had left and Daisy felt abandoned. The hope that her daughter would make it home grew fainter with each tick of the clock.

  She didn’t feel strong enough to be the sole carer of two grandchildren. It wasn’t fair that they should endure this, but she really didn’t know how to ease the situation for them. The food was running out, and each day left her weaker and more frail. Her determination to keep them safe for Lauren’s return clashed with the realization that her own time was running out. And if she couldn’t make it, what would happen to them?

  Daisy dried her eyes.

  “Are you crying, Grandma?” said Lizzy.

  She’d approached so quietly, Daisy hadn’t noticed her. “No, honey. Just something in my eye.”

  Lizzy unwrapped a napkin, revealing the remains of a tortilla. She held it out. “You have to eat, Grandma. Here, I saved this for you.”

  Daisy’s eyes welled up again. “Sweety, you shouldn’t have.”

  “Please eat, Grandma.”

  Daisy didn’t have the heart to tell her that eating only aggravated her ulcer and made the acid pain worse. “Don’t you want to share it with your brother?”

  Lizzy appeared ashamed. “He’s not here.”

  Daisy caught her breath. “What do you mean?”

  “He’s gone out. I’m sorry, but he told me not to tell you. He’s gone to see a girl.”

  Daisy hadn’t heard him go out. The children were as quiet as mice these days, and Josh had been acting strangely. She berated herself for not paying enough attention. Heaving herself out of the chair, she gripped the sideboard to steady herself. “Pass me the gun, Lizzy. Quickly now. And fetch me a walking stick.”

  *

  Josh hid in the trees by the creek, staring at the makeshift refugee building. He’d hung around, waiting for Skye to turn up, but it was getting late now, and she hadn’t shown. He hadn’t been sure what he’d say to her if she did. He only knew he needed to see her.

  The highway by the building was quiet, and he hadn’t seen anyone around. He wondered if maybe she’d left, and the building was empty. He didn’t really want to discover that, because that meant he’d lose her forever, so he hesitated to check it out. In the end, however, if he wanted to know either way, he’d have to risk disappointment.

  And rejection.

  He’d spent the afternoon interpreting and reinterpreting what she’d said. Unwilling to come to the obvious conclusion, he’d agonized over the possible meanings until he could stand it no longer.

  He needed to tell her how he felt.

  Gripping his golf club, he padded to the side door of the building.

  It was open, so he walked right in, and the smell hit him immediately. It was just like the smell he’d encountered upon entering Grandpa’s room. The skylights gave the interior a diffuse, dim glow, and when his eyes adjusted, he saw the bodies.

  They lay in different positions, their postures indicating complete indifference to where they died. Some were half covered in blankets, others were not. Josh covered his nose with his sleeve, unable to comprehend the horror. Stupefied by the sight, his heart pounding with a rising panic, he finally remembered what he’d come in for.

  He might not want to know, but he had to be certain.

  Disturbing clouds of flies, he wandered the vast floor, craning his neck to try and identify the bodies without getting too close. The old supermarket retained some of the old signs, hanging from the ceiling with wires, and it was obscene to witness corpses lying under fresh meat notices, or reclining on Special Offer posters. Gagging on the stench, Josh kept moving until he spied the body of a girl.

  He knew immediately from the clothing it was her. Shuffling forward, he leaned over, hoping she was just curled up in sleep, and she looked indeed as if she’d just laid down to rest. The shard of glass and the pools of blood from her slashed wrists told a different story. She lay with an arm across the chest of a bloating corpse, and Josh guessed that was her mother. But only from the hair, which looked the same as Skye’s. The face was an unrecognizable mess.

  Josh reached o
ut with shaking fingers, daring himself to touch Skye’s skin. He couldn’t believe she was dead. If she still had a pulse, he could maybe save her.

  A corpse nearby moved, and a head lifted up. It was another woman, and her face was pale and ghastly, but her eyes retained life, and she locked Josh in her awful gaze. “Go,” she said, coughing. “Before he comes.”

  Josh saw her ripped clothing, just like Skye’s. Saw some of the same bruises on her face. And realized why Skye had rejected him and forced him away.

  She was trying to protect him.

  It took slow seconds for this to dawn on Josh, and he turned to late to see a man bearing down on him.

  The man must have been hiding, or sleeping, in a back office. Unshaven, haggard and wild eyed, he held a chef’s knife in his hand.

  Josh ran towards the door, but the man anticipated him and moved with surprising speed to block him. Josh backed away, not sure what to do next, and the man leered and pointed the knife at him. “You look well fed,” he said. “You got food somewhere?”

  Josh darted to one side, making another attempt for the door, but the man matched his movements, preventing his escape.

  “You think a few scraps from the church was going to be enough?” continued the man. “You thought it’d be okay to let us starve while you rich, pious bastards hoarded food? Tell me where it is, boy, and I’ll let you live.”

  Josh backed away, stumbling on a corpse. Skye’s corpse.

  “You liked her?” sneered the man. “She was sweet, I can tell you. More than you could have handled. Lead me to the stash, and I’ll make sure you get a chance to be with a girl for real. It’ll be our secret. What do you say?”

  Furious at the man’s words, Josh bellowed at him and charged, swinging the club at the side of the man’s knee. The man jerked, his leg giving way, and swung his knife at Josh as he passed. Josh ducked under the blade and swung the club again, slamming it into the man’s back. Seething, he wanted to smash the man’s head, but the flailing arms blocked his target. Charging again, he brought the club down with all his might.