EMP: Heading Home

by Harp, Wilson

  There were only a small handful of men eating at the tables when we entered, but Colonel McDearis was one of them. He wasn’t actually eating yet, but there was a bowl in front of him and four more set around the table he had taken near the center of the tent.

  “Come in, Kenton travelers,” he said as we entered. “Let’s eat and talk a bit this morning.”

  We sat down and looked in the bowls. It was a porridge of some kind, thick and hearty, and most importantly, warm. As we ate, a soldier approached the table and set down a large pitcher of milk and five glasses.

  “So tell me about Kenton,” McDearis said. “Is it really as nice as all the reports say?”

  We talked about the town and the struggles we had been through. We explained how we had organized the fields and divided the labor before the army arrived. He was very interested in how Lester had been able to convince the town to leave him alone. It never occurred to me the town would have considered doing anything drastic, but Ted gave detailed accounts of some debates the town council had concerning Lester’s compound.

  We talked about how the next year might go, and he asked our opinions of the world away from Kenton. Ted and Kenny had seen more than me or Anne. They had been authorized to scavenge in Poplar Bluff by the army and had made several trips each. They both agreed the area around Kenton had stabilized and they didn’t think the army had to worry about riots or violent clashes between various groups. At least not on a large scale.

  McDearis just nodded as he listened. He would ask the occasional question, but for the most part he was just interested in what we had to say.

  “Tell me, Colonel,” Anne said. “How bad is Cape?”

  The colonel shifted in his seat. “It’s pretty bad.”

  He sat back in his chair and looked down at his hands as he talked.

  “I was actually in town the day… you know, the day the EMP hit. I was the CO of a communications unit with the National Guard. I had taken some of our best techs to talk to some of the engineering students at SEMO. There was some work which was quite impressive and I also thought we might be able to pick up a couple of recruits by showing them they could serve in the guard using some of their schooling.

  “We had got some rooms at a local motel and were asleep when the EMP hit. We did what we were trained to do and uniformed up and headed towards a location where we could establish a base of operations.

  “I made a mistake. We were near the school and I knew the lab we had just seen the day before had top end communications equipment, therefore we headed that way. Some of the students, awakened by the blast, confused and scared by the loss of all power and devices, saw military men on the campus heading to a destination with purpose. Soon the rumors flew the military was involved with what happened.

  “Word spread beyond the campus and some of the townspeople heard the military was experimenting up at the school. They found us in the communications lab trying to get anything to work. They wouldn’t believe us when we said we had nothing to do with what happened and when we tried to keep working with equipment, they trashed the lab. Two of my men were hurt as they tried to stop the mob, and some of us took exception to that.

  “But there was no back up, no police or other law enforcement, and when the mob had swelled, they drove us back into a small room in the lab where we locked and barricaded the door. Some were calling for others to set the room on fire to smoke us out.

  “A few hours later, some police finally arrived, but it was too late. The mob had whipped itself into a frenzy, and when the police tried to disperse the crowd, the people attacked.”

  McDearis stared at his hands for a few seconds and closed his eyes.

  “The police opened fire on the crowd and killed several students. They started chasing those which fled and soon had dozens of rioters, some of them badly wounded, locked in various rooms in the science building. They eventually found us and we were able to leave, but when it looked like the police and military were working together, the paranoia of the crowds increased.

  “Some took up arms against us. Others fled the area. But the paranoia still has a stranglehold over this region.”

  “Still?” Ted asked. “It’s been nine months, there can’t be people who still believe this was a military or government action.”

  Colonel McDearis shrugged. “I think the problem is if one of your predictions comes true, it doesn’t make you less crazy. There were some survivalist nutjobs in the area which believed the government was going to do something like this. They thrived on conspiracy and prepping and when the rumors of the military being involved soaked into the consciousness of the area, these survivalists found a congregation to preach their conspiracy theories to.”

  “Yeah, those crazy survivalists,” Ted said.

  I remembered my dad and Luke and how they said Ted had been called a nutjob and a conspiracy nut before the EMP. I had a feeling the colonel was about to lose the goodwill of his audience.

  The colonel looked at Ted and his eyes widened as he realized he had said the wrong thing.

  “Well, that’s the history of this sad town,” he said as he stood. “I guess you’ll want to be on your way.”

  I was taken aback by his dismissal until I looked down at my bowl. I had devoured every drop of porridge while he had told the story. I had lost track of time.

  “I take it you want to cross the bridge?” the colonel asked.

  “That’s correct,” said Kenny.

  “I have a patrol heading to the bridge to relieve the guard stations. They’ll take you all the way to the other side and as far as our control reaches. You are welcome to travel with them if you want.”

  “You don’t want to try and stop us?” asked Anne. “Isn’t it dangerous?”

  “Maybe, but the winter’s been harsh and it’s been a few weeks since we have had any serious type of problems near the bridge. Maybe it’s all dying down finally. Or maybe it is just a mid-winter reprieve. Either way, I can’t imagine you would travel this far and not try to cross, regardless of what I said.”

  The colonel left the tent as we sat around the table.

  “That was quite some story,” Kenny said. “You think it went down that way?”

  “Sounds plausible,” said Ted. “Just not sure about the first night.”

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “His hands,” said Kenny. “Looking at your hands while you tell a story can sometimes mean you are being very careful about what you say. Like maybe there’s some information you don’t want to reveal.”

  “You think the military had something to do with it?” Anne asked.

  “Of course not,” said Ted. “But he might have done more than just run and hide when a mob came looking for the military men on campus.”

  The tent door opened and a rough looking soldier peered in.

  “You the civvies I’m taking out to the bridge?” he asked.

  “We are,” I said.

  “Then get your gear and let’s get going. Sun’s almost all the way up.”

  The tent door shut as he left.

  We gathered up our gear and hustled outside. There we saw the rough man as he looked over his men.

  “You ready to cross the bridge?” he asked as we approached.

  “Yes,” Anne said. “How long do you think it’ll take?”

  “We should have you in Illinois in a little under three hours. My name’s Harris. If you need anything, holler. You’ll be bringing up the rear.” He turned to his men. “Let’s move out!”

  Sergeant Harris and his column marched straight out of the camp. His men followed in his wake and we had to step out of the way to keep from being knocked over. We fell in behind them and headed north into Cape Girardeau itself.

  The walk into the city was easier than I had anticipated. The road was smooth and clear. But as we traveled, I realized there were very few intact buildings. Even through commercial areas, there were just pillars of steel and concrete which poked out of large, r
ounded piles of rubble. We could clearly see where buildings had been, but there wasn’t enough left to take shelter from a storm.

  As instructed, we marched behind the column. Just in front of us was a two-wheeled wagon being pulled by two of the soldiers, it was full of supplies and gear for the guard stations along the way.

  “Have you noticed yet?” Ted asked.

  I looked around and tried to imagine what he meant.

  “No birds,” Anne said. “Nor squirrels. Haven’t seen one since late yesterday afternoon.”

  “A few rats,” Kenny said. “And a couple of stray dogs over there.” He nodded off to the left of the road.

  One of the soldiers pulling the wagon heard us and joined in our conversation.

  “I ain’t seen a squirrel or rabbit north of the camp in close to three months. Not even any tracks,” he said.

  “Why?” asked Ted.

  “The rejects live from here to at least ten miles north. They don’t know how, or maybe don’t care, to build up supplies and find a way to live. They just kill and eat whatever and whenever they can. Squirrel, rabbit, possum, coon… whatever they can find. We’ve even found cat and dog carcasses half eaten when we’ve come across some of their camps.”

  “What about the scavengers themselves? Do you ever see them?”

  “Not too much, anymore. They run and hide. Never stay in one place. They used to shoot at us. We had some real old fashioned firefights. But once the snows fell it got real quiet. Every now and again we have someone take one or two shots at us, but they scamper away. Usually don’t even know where it came from. But I haven’t had to duck for a few weeks now.”

  “Have any of them come in?” asked Anne. “Surely some are tired of living this way or get hungry enough to just come in and give up.”

  The soldier shrugged. “A few have come in and surrendered, but mostly because they are too sick to survive much longer. They need medical care for the most part.”

  “Jackson,” Sergeant Harris snapped. “Sounds like you are keeping our guests company.”

  ”Yes, Sergeant.”

  “And you can hold a conversation and keep your eye out for danger at the same time?”

  “No, Sergeant. Sorry, Sergeant.”

  “Hopkins will take over for you. Get to the front and keep your eyes open,” Harris said.

  Jackson handed over the wagon to Hopkins who fell back without a word. The chastised soldier ran to the front of the column.

  “I’m sorry,” Ted said. “We didn’t mean any harm.”

  “No harm,” said Harris. “Jackson just likes talking more than keeping an eye on things.”

  “He mentioned some of the scavengers coming in for medical treatment. How are your medical facilities?” Kenny asked.

  “Improving,” Harris said. “We have ten actual doctors now and more than two dozen nurses. They’ve set up a hospital in Sikeston with surgical rooms and everything. The colonel likes to keep a team in Camp Cape, but most are working behind the lines now.”

  The soldiers in front of us picked up the pace and we had to jog to keep up. We headed toward a large structure which seemed to be patched together with large sheets of plywood and scrap metal.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “The entrance to the bridge,” said Harris. “The bridge itself is still some distance, but we’ve built this protected causeway to prevent access to the bridge itself from the scavengers.”

  “How long is the causeway?” Ted asked.

  “Just at a mile.”

  “How did you build it?”

  “Gathered materials from the city, whatever would provide cover. Started building it when we were constantly coming under fire. Was easier to drive them off when we didn’t have to worry about them flanking us so easy.”

  I looked at the protective wall as we neared. Almost every surface had been torn by a bullet. I couldn’t imagine being forced to rely on plywood and thin sheet metal to protect against gunfire. It was better than nothing, but it still wasn’t much.

  Several soldiers stood just inside the mouth of the structure. They waved at us and urged the soldiers in the column to hurry.

  We made it into the structure when Harris barked out four names. Those four soldiers went to the wagon and pulled out the supplies they would need to man this check point. Harris started the march again as the four fresh soldiers started the process of taking over for their tired comrades.

  “How long will they have to stay out here?” Anne asked.

  “Two days, then they’ll go to Sikeston for three days, then back to Camp Cape and their next assignment.”

  “How far apart are the checkpoints?” Ted asked.

  “About a quarter mile. Close enough so you can get some backup, not so close that we’re wasting manpower.”

  The wall of wood and metal stretched unbroken along the north side of the road. Along the south, there were some gaps where materials had been shifted to the direction most of the danger had come from. Ted pointed at a couple of holes in the wall as we continued.

  “Those are pretty fresh,” he said.

  Harris glanced up at the holes. “Every few days some moron decides to waste ammo and punch some holes in my wall. It’s nothing major, though. Haven’t seen any real danger for almost two months now.”

  The further we went, the more vehicles had been used as reinforcement for the wall. Some of the cars and trucks looked to be in good shape, others had clearly been used for target practice. Occasionally a tractor trailer would make up a section of the wall itself. There were two stacked up on top of each other as we reached another checkpoint. I couldn’t imagine how hard it must have been to manage, especially when you didn’t know if someone would start shooting at you.

  We dropped off another four soldiers and emptied the wagon a bit more and then moved on.

  “There’s the bridge,” Harris said as we approached another set of stacked trailers. “Not too much further now.”

  Four more soldiers left the column and set about preparing the checkpoint which led onto the bridge itself. Ahead of us was a narrow gap to walk down the center of the bridge. Cars, trucks and other vehicles were stacked up along the wall which was a good 12 feet high on both sides of the bridge. The area where we could easily walk was no more than ten feet across. Several large gaps were positioned in the wall to provide the defenders with a clear view.

  “Oh my Lord,” said Anne as she made her way to one of the gaps.

  I followed her and looked out. From the height of the bridge, I could see the city on the bluff overlooking the Mississippi river. I gasped as it came into clear view.

  “Most people have that reaction,” Harris said. The column of soldiers had paused to let us have a good view of the ruins of Cape Girardeau.

  It looked like the city was hit with a huge bomb. It reminded me of the images of Hiroshima or Dresden in World War II. It was simply a wide swath of destruction which hugged the river. A field of concrete rubble pierced by steel stalagmites which marked the remains of buildings. It was an unholy land of ash and pain. My heart clenched. If Cape Girardeau suffered this level of devastation, what would Chicago look like? Could anyone still be left there?

  “Oh, David,” Anne said. “It’s much worse than I imagined.”

  I tore my gaze from the desolation and looked at my friends.

  “I still have to go,” I said.

  Ted nodded. “We’ll go with you.”

  We resumed the march across the bridge as I considered what I had seen. How many nights did I lay in bed in Kenton and try not to imagine the worst situation? And now I have seen the nightmares I kept at bay in full display before me. I felt sick as we continued.

  As we approached the final check point, the soldiers in their position did not turn to greet us. They stayed focused on something beyond the bridge. And they remained quiet.

  “Something’s out there,” Harris said. He ordered his men to approach the checkpoint with care and motioned
us to stay back as they investigated.

  “Gabeheart,” Harris said. “What is it?”

  One of the soldiers glanced back at Harris. “Something in the woods, Sarge. Something big. Saw it move a few minutes ago.”

  Harris slid around until he could get an angle to look out of the structure.

  “I see it,” one of the other soldiers said. “I have a clean shot. Oh, this is good.”

  The sharp crack of the rifle echoed through the stillness. I waited to hear any other shots, but there were none. The tension in the soldiers at the checkpoint melted away and elation took its place.

  “That was a fat one,” Harris said. “Go gather it up. Good shot, Merck.”

  Harris looked back at us with a smile. “That’s some good news for you and us,” he said. “Three deer, all of them fat and healthy looking. Probably means not many scavengers nearby and we get to have venison for dinner tonight.”

  We smiled back at the hard-nosed soldier. He was a man of his times, brutal when it came to survival. But he was human as well, and we wished him and his men a good meal back at camp.

  The two soldiers had the fallen doe dressed by the time we stepped off the bridge and onto the soil of Illinois. It was a fat doe like Harris said, probably seventy pounds.

  We turned our backs on the shelter of the bridge and turned north on the highway. I had seen the destruction of Cape Girardeau and it hadn’t broken my resolve. It had strengthened it instead. There was no way I was going to leave Lexi and Emma in a hellhole like that. Not one more day than necessary.

  The sun was high when we started down the highway without an escort. It felt like when we left Kenton, leaving behind safety and shelter as we went to rescue my family. The snow was mostly melted, although deep patches still lurked in the shadows of the patchy trees, and the road was free of obstacles.

  We had gone maybe an hour when I smelled smoke. The road wended away from the river by about a quarter mile, and a screen of trees blocked our view, but I clearly smelled smoke on the west wind.

  “Does anyone else smell that?” I asked.

  The others stopped and sniffed the air.