Turning Point: A Post Apocalyptic EMP Survival Fiction Series (The Blackout Series Book 3)

by Bobby Akart

  “Exactly.”

  Madison pondered this for a moment as she watched the sun begin to set across the Tennessee River. Madison wished she could remember her high school days better. She couldn’t specifically recall a kid code from those days, but she was sure there was one.

  “Okay, kid, let’s get organized and find your father,” said Madison, changing the subject. It was getting dark. Time to mount a rescue.

  “What’s the plan?” asked Alex as she helped Madison unpack the trailer rack in order to gain access to the Wagoneer’s tailgate. Alex and Madison hoisted the generator out of the way and emptied the last of the gasoline into the truck’s gas tank.

  “Let’s dig out a few things,” said Madison as they lifted the rear hatch. “Be careful with this glass.” They picked out the shattered rear window, which had been shot out in the I-840 gun battle.

  “You know what, Mom,” started Alex as she removed the contents of the back of the truck onto the grass. “None of this scares me anymore.”

  “You’re joking, right?” said Madison.

  “No, seriously. Ever since I shot that Holder man, I’ve come to accept this way of living. I’ll admit, and I didn’t really let you know this, but I was messed up that afternoon after I shot him.”

  Madison stopped unpacking and turned to her daughter. “Come here, honey. Your dad and I knew that was traumatic. Taking another person’s life is something nobody should have to deal with, especially a teenage girl.”

  Alex chuckled and said, “No, you don’t understand. I wasn’t upset. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I had to get my head together that afternoon because I couldn’t figure out why it didn’t bother me.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah, I guess I’m just one of those natural-born killers.” Alex laughed.

  “Alexis, that’s not funny,” said Madison sternly.

  “C’mon, Mom. Of course I’m kidding. I’m just sayin’ that since that day I’ve come to accept that we’re going to be shot at, often. And we’re going to have to shoot back to survive. I no longer look at the people trying to kill us as human beings. They’re animals on the attack and we have to do what it takes to defend ourselves.”

  Madison looked at her daughter and wished she had Alex’s fortitude. She simply nodded her head, indicating she understood, and then finished cleaning out the truck. As she did, Madison realized being a mother included learning about the strengths you didn’t know you had and facing threats you didn’t know existed. Somewhere over the last sixteen years, Alex had become ahead of the learning curve.

  Chapter 32

  DAY SEVENTEEN

  8:00 p.m., September 25

  Pickwick Street

  Savannah, Tennessee

  Colton had fallen asleep amidst the six full-size stuffed Bengal tigers that inhabited the disagreeably dark, damp basement underneath the home on Pickwick Street. At first glance, the taxidermy tigers appeared to be staged for the purposes of causing any intruder to run screaming into the night. Their menacing fangs and piercing eyes were frighteningly realistic. But after careful inspection, with his weapon drawn, Colton realized that the basement was full of paraphernalia and trophies from the local high school, whose mascot was obviously the tigers.

  Colton found a place in the corner of the basement where an old recliner had been discarded. He made sure Alex’s iPhone was on and that it still had a decent charge. He wrapped himself in a maroon and white Hardin County High stadium blanket and quickly fell asleep with gun in hand.

  It had been several hours when the shuffling feet on the wood floors above him caused decades-old dust to fall onto his face, waking him up. He could barely make out the muffled voices from the occupants of the home, but it appeared to be several people. Colton checked Alex’s phone and saw that it was eight o’clock. He was pleased to see that the battery had also retained its charge.

  He considered his options. Colton was well-hidden here. If he were a hiker lost in the woods, he would stay put. The worst thing that he could do was wander in the wrong direction, expending energy and putting the girls at risk chasing after him. Second, he had adequate shelter and safety.

  Colton doubted that the locals were going to give up looking for him. As if to reinforce that belief, Colton heard a car pass in front of the house, which caused the shuffling upstairs to stop momentarily. Are they hiding too?

  Under these circumstances, he felt helpless. There really wasn’t a clear choice on which direction to travel. He knew nothing of his surroundings and had no idea where the girls had escaped to. In the end, he forced himself to wait—with his new pals, the tigers.

  He wandered around the basement, using the illuminated iPhone as his source of light. Workbenches lined the perimeter of the room, which also included a wood-burning furnace and two hot water heaters.

  He found a plastic cup amidst the Hardin County High gear and emptied some of the water out of the hot water heater into it. It smelled okay, so he gave it a quick taste. Winner! Colton quickly gulped down the pint-size cup and filled another. He took his time with this one as he started to survey his surroundings. Other than some tools and boxes filled with high school stuff, most of the contents of the basement were unexciting.

  Then Colton spied a padlocked box on top of one of the cabinets. It looked somewhat like a guitar case, except it was rectangular in shape and longer. Curious, he figured out a way to pull the case down and examine it. Colton found a five-gallon bucket and turned it upside down so he could use it as a step.

  Colton reached over his head and slid the case towards him, which brought a cloud of dust into his face. He resisted the urge to sneeze, but he couldn’t.

  ACHOOOO!

  The force of the sneeze caused Colton to lose his balance on the bucket, and he crashed to the dusty floor with a loud groan—the much sought after case on top of him. As this happened, the illumination on the iPhone timed out. He was in the dark, sprawled out on the floor. And it was deathly silent above him.

  Did they hear my fall? There wasn’t any movement, and Colton held his breath, straining to hear. All of a sudden, the people above him ran through the house. He could hear voices and the sound of someone descending the stairs of the home, taking two at a time.

  Colton scrambled to his feet and fumbled in the dark for the phone. He knocked over the water and it drenched the iPhone. In that moment of panic, he was glad he’d purchased Alex the iPhone 7 model, which was waterproof for those days she hung out by the pool. It was amazing how the mind raced in a moment of stress to matters unrelated to the threat at hand.

  He found his way to the stairs leading to the outside. He hastily climbed up them—three—four—five. Colton hit the top and started to burst through the doors just as they were opened up for him. Colton stumbled and fell onto the dewy grass outside.

  Colton rolled over onto his back, where he faced four shotguns and half the starting linebackers of the Hardin County Tigers football team.

  Chapter 33

  DAY SEVENTEEN

  9:00 p.m., September 25

  Clifton Road

  Savannah, Tennessee

  Moving at night was much easier than during the daytime. Madison and Alex cast their fashion sense aside as they put on the darkest clothes they had, dressing in all of the ninja attire they could find among their belongings. Alex even succumbed to her mother’s wishes and wrapped a passé Mickey Mouse fanny pack around her waist to carry extra magazines for the AR-15. It was a trade she was willing to make for the right to carry the best weapon the Rymans possessed.

  The fanny pack also carried another essential tool Alex had grabbed at the Holders’ home that day—a FLIR Scout mini-thermal monocular. Jimmy Holder had shown her how effective it was to see in the dark one day when he turned out the lights in the Holder basement. At first, Alex thought this was a ploy by the younger teenage boy to make a move on her. But he was showing her how the night-vision device worked.

  The one-handed button desig
n and compact size made it ideal for the type of activity the Ryman women were undertaking tonight. Under most circumstances, in an urban environment, there would be too much ambient light for the thermal monocular to work. But tonight, other than the headlights of the sheriff’s posse traversing the streets of Savannah, it was pitch black.

  Madison carried her phone and the ETON crank radio in a Louis Vuitton backpack. Colton had provided a halfhearted objection to the inclusion of the LV bag, but when Madison explained it was the only small backpack accessory they had, he reluctantly gave in. She was glad she had it now because it could easily hold the LifeStraw, two bottles of water, the radio, and extra ammo for their two nine-millimeter handguns.

  Madison also brought the Midland two-way radios she’d purchased at Walgreens in the hours before the solar storm hit. The black handheld radios could monitor and transmit over fifty common channels with up to a thirty-six-mile range. It took about an hour to charge each of the two-ways using the truck’s cigarette lighter. She and Alex each had one in case they got separated. More importantly, they could scroll through the channels, listening for chatter from the locals who were hunting for them and Colton.

  After they got the necessary gear together, they began to work their way into Savannah.

  The girls had been ecstatic and rejuvenated up on the mountain when they’d powered up Madison’s iPhone and activated the Footprints app. They’d immediately located Colton via the app. His position had not changed the entire time—a residence on Pickwick Street, the same county road that they were on. This location was about three-quarters of a mile east of the point they were separated, so it was natural to assume Colton was hiding out and waiting to be found.

  They walked for about two hours as they carefully made their way into the neighborhoods on the north side of Savannah. The number of vehicles crisscrossing the streets in search of the Rymans had lessened.

  They ducked in behind a utility fence as a vehicle approached. After it passed, they slipped in behind a house, turned up Alex’s squelch, and scanned through the channels, listening for activity. Although the Midland boasted a thirty-six-mile range, that must’ve meant mountaintop to mountaintop across the Grand Canyon. It wasn’t until they were within a mile of other radios did they actually pick up any discernible conversations.

  “I’ve got something, Mom,” said Alex as she pulled the radio away from her ear and turned up the volume.

  “Whadya want us to do? Keep lookin’? Over.”

  “Nah, Junior said pull back into town. He’s got two cars headed to the Clifton Road bridge over the creek now.”

  Alex laughed and elbowed her mom. “Junior?” She snickered.

  Madison laughed with her. “I reckon,” she replied mockingly. The conversation between the men continued.

  “Them women ain’t that stupid, are they? They ain’t comin’ back after we run ’em off.”

  “Hey!” protested Alex. “They didn’t run us off.”

  “And we ain’t stooopid,” complained Madison.

  “Don’t matter. Come on back into the station. Junior is organizing a search of the town. We’s goin’ door to door to find that feller that run off.”

  Alex and Madison began to elbow each other and then spontaneously laughed out loud. This was followed by high fives and a jumping chest bump. You’d think these two had just won the Super Bowl.

  In their minds, they did. Colton was alive and safe.

  Chapter 34

  DAY SEVENTEEN

  9:00 p.m., September 25

  Pickwick Street

  Savannah, Tennessee

  “Spread those arms and legs,” said one of the men standing over him. They kicked his legs apart and Colton willingly spread his arms. One of them reached down and grabbed his gun out of his paddle holster. “Now, don’t move.”

  Colton tried to get a better look at his captors, but it was a dark, cloudy night. He counted four sets of legs, all men, dressed in jeans. Two of them appeared to be older teenage boys, heavyset, wearing high school letterman jackets. A third boy wore jeans and a camo sweatshirt, while the fourth man, maybe fortyish, wore shorts and a pullover long-sleeve shirt.

  They whispered between themselves before addressing Colton. “On your feet, buddy, real slow like. No sudden moves, ya hear?”

  “Okay,” groaned Colton. He was really sore from the escape earlier in the day and the tumble out of the basement just now. “I don’t want any trouble.”

  “Well, sir,” said one of the younger men, “from what we’ve seen of ya so far today, you ain’t nuthin’ but trouble. C’mon now.” The young man helped Colton to his feet and began to dust off his back.

  “We need to git inside, boys, before they drive by again,” said the older man.

  “Yeah, I wanna get back on that Bearcat,” said another.

  “Come along, bud,” said the older man to Colton as he led them around to the front of the house. As the group arrived near the porch, he raised his fist and looked both ways down the road. He then waved them forward and the boys picked up the pace and headed to the front porch, leading Colton into the house.

  “Check his pockets,” said the older man. One of the boys quickly began to pat Colton down from behind. He pulled the iPhone out of his pocket and handed it to the man. “Is that it?”

  “Yeah, Coach.”

  Coach? Colton was beginning to get the picture.

  “C’mon,” said the man identified as Coach. He led Colton into the kitchen and pointed to a breakfast table and chair. “Let’s pull up a couple of seats and get to know one another. Okay by you?”

  “Sure,” replied Colton. Colton slowly eased into a chair and left his hands on the table where they could be seen. He didn’t want his movements to be misinterpreted, resulting in a mistake by a nervous teen with a gun. He also couldn’t lie this time. They had Alex’s phone, which would provide them his true identity. “My name is Colton Ryman and I’m from Nashville. My family and I were simply passing through when these men—well—I don’t know what their intentions were for sure.”

  “We do,” said one of the boys, who had more to say until Coach raised his hand, indicating for him to keep quiet.

  “Where ya headed?” asked Coach.

  “West, toward Memphis,” replied Colton. He didn’t feel the need to disclose his true destination.

  “Mr. Ryman, my name is Joe Carey, but they call me Coach. This here is my son, Beau. These other two boys are the Bennett brothers, Jimbo and Clay.”

  Colton let out a huge sigh of relief. He was safe. “It’s a pleasure to meet you folks,” started Colton. “I didn’t mean to break into your cellar, but I needed a place to hide and regroup. Those men were chasing me with dogs and guns.”

  “Yessir, we know,” said Beau. “Me and the boys saw you pull down Water Street and we followed you until they tried to steer you into the jail. You did the right thing in runnin’.”

  Colton rubbed his hands together and got emotional. “I hope so. I’m worried about my wife and daughter. I left them alone to fend for themselves. I don’t know if they’re okay. I don’t—”

  “Now, hold on, Mr. Ryman,” said Coach Carey. “We believe your family is safe. They got away.”

  The boys started laughing. Beau spoke up to explain. “Yessir, they got away all right, and tore up the north part of town in the process. They drove that Wagoneer like a couple of crazed lunatics. Your wife led them boys on a chase that would make Fast & Furious proud. She took out a fence, led Boone together with his pride and joy Dodge Charger into a swimming pool, and shot out Junior’s tires.”

  “Classic!” said either Jimbo or Clay Bennett, giving each other high fives. Colton couldn’t tell which Bennett was which because they were identical twins.

  Colton didn’t have time to enjoy the news that the girls were safe. Coach and the boys were having too good of a time laughing about the driving prowess of his wife.

  “Oh yeah, the best part was Junior losing his mind. We
heard over the scanner that your daughter hung out the window and shot out their tires. Junior smacked them boys around for lettin’ that happen.”

  “Who’s Junior?” asked Colton.

  “Oh, that’s a story you gotta hear,” said one of the Bennetts.

  “All right, boys, I’ll tell Mr. Ryman all about it, but we’ve got some work to do tonight,” started Coach. “First off, return the gentleman’s gun and cell phone.”

  The boy set his weapon on the table and Colton immediately holstered it. The man gently placed the iPhone down. Colton pressed the on button to check the power levels. It had nearly sixty percent battery life. He was mad it himself for using it as a flashlight in the basement. It had sucked the life out of the battery.

  “You expectin’ a phone call, mister?” Beau laughed.

  Colton smiled and put the phone in his pocket. “Nah, it’s my daughter’s phone. We installed a tracking device on it so we could check on her whereabouts when she was out at night.”

  “Whoa, great idea,” said Coach.

  “Our momma had the aliens implant a chip in our skull so she could track us.” A Bennett laughed.

  Beau slapped the side of his friend’s head. “That rock’s too hard to implant anything in it. That’s why we had to put you guys on defense, right, Dad?”

  “Hold up!” protested the quiet Bennett. “We’ve played offense before, right, Coach?”

  “Yeah,” interrupted Beau, who was now having a good laugh. “Back in the peewee days maybe!”

  Coach stood and calmed down the ruckus. “Okay, boys. We’ve all had a good guffaw. Jimbo, I need you upstairs on the night vision and monitor the scanner. Clay, we’re gonna need some help tonight. Round up about five of the fellas. Swing by the shoe store and pick up some M-80s and cherry bombs. We’ll need ’em.”

  “What about me, Dad?” asked Beau.

  “Son, take a rifle, a radio, and head across town. Pick up some help and make your way over toward Clifton Road. If they’re tracking this gentleman’s phone, they’ll walk straight down until they hit Cravens.”