The EMP Survivor Series (Book 2): Uncertain World

by Chris Pike

  Chandler carefully estimated the length of the front of the office, drawing a straight line, then indenting it where the plate glass windows were. He traced the rest of the building into a rectangle then meticulously penciled in desks and chairs, walls and doors, the break room, hallways, the bathrooms, and conference rooms. Toward the back were four holding cells.

  Handing the drawing to Dillon and Holly, he instructed them to memorize the interior. “Pretend you’re walking into it and having a conversation with someone. Visually imagine the rooms and where the furniture is.”

  “This is quite good,” Dillon said.

  “Like I said, I was an unwilling guest there.”

  Using a fresh piece of graph paper, Chandler drew where the buildings were on the town square on the street grid. He labeled the streets, and to the best of his recollection, he drew the town square.

  The stores included a café, an antiques store, a few empty buildings, a home health care business, clothing, realtor, insurance agency, all of which were centered around the three-story courthouse.

  “The county courthouse was built in the early 1900s with a grand staircase leading up to the second floor which houses the county clerk, district clerk, county judge, land records, oil and gas records, and just about any paperwork and records dealing with the county,” Chandler recited. “The first floor, only accessible through an inside staircase, contains historical records and old furniture. The dome and clock tower were destroyed during a fire in 1909 and never replaced.

  “I’m telling you all of this because I won’t be positioned there.”

  “Why not?” Holly asked.

  “For a several reasons. The roof isn’t easily accessible because I’d need a ladder to climb to it. The roof also is too slick and I don’t have a good line of fire from the courthouse to where Cassie and Ryan are being held. Besides, I have to be able to get down quickly in case something goes wrong.”

  “What about the water tower?” Dorothy suggested. “It’s really high and has a panoramic view of the city.”

  “I’d be a sitting duck up there and wouldn’t be able to get down quick enough if someone spotted me. My only choice is the Feed Store Café, which is less than a hundred yards away from the sheriff’s office. It has an awning that will conceal my climb from the street, and the roof is the highest of the buildings. From a distance standpoint, the shot is easy and wind will not be a factor. The only potential problem will be the glass, but I’m almost positive it’s not bulletproof. If things go to hell in a handbasket, I can run to the sheriff’s office using the adjacent roofs in order to back you up.” Chandler took a breath.

  “What do you want me to do?” Holly asked.

  “Let me think a minute.” Chandler asked for the drawing of the sheriff’s office in order to check it, making sure he hadn’t left out any detail, regardless how insignificant it may seem. Even the coffee pot was labeled, the pencil holder on the front desk, stapler, rulers, phones because in theory, any of those items could be used as a weapon. He rotated the paper back to Dillon, then explained the building configuration from memory.

  While the plan was being discussed, Dorothy found three Styrofoam cups and poured beer into each one. Setting the cups on the table, she said, “It’s warm, but it’s better than nothing.”

  Chandler took a swallow, letting the drink take the edge off the tense situation. “It’s perfect.” He gulped the rest down and gave the cup to Dorothy. “Okay, Holly, you’ll be the decoy. I want you to go to the front and knock on the door.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “No. Women aren’t as threatening as men, and Cole won’t know what we have planned. You make him think you are alone and that you aren’t armed. You make some sort of excuse regarding why you’re there—”

  “He’s not stupid,” Holly interrupted.

  “Right,” Chandler said, “but he is a man, and you two have a history. You’re a woman, so use your womanly wiles.” He put up a hand to stop any protest. “Don’t give me any grief about that either. You use everything God gave you, and since you aren’t as physically strong as Cole, you’ll have to use your wits to outsmart him.” Chandler looked at her more closely. “Didn’t you two have a child together, and didn’t that have to do with you representing Cole?”

  “Yes,” she snapped, pissed at Chandler’s ability to see the truth about human nature.

  “Something about he’d tell you the child’s name if you won the case.”

  Holly nodded.

  “Okay, good. Use that. And while you’re distracting Cole, Dillon will be at the back door, prying it open.”

  “A crowbar will do the trick,” Dillon said.

  “Just keep it quiet, and be sure to look out for booby traps, since Cole is supposed to be so sharp.” Chandler meant it, although there was some sarcasm in his voice.

  “Holly, Dillon mentioned a stash of guns under the floorboards. Could you show me, because I don’t want you going in completely unarmed. Also, do you wear an underwire bra?”

  “Yes, why?” She offered an offended expression as she pointed down to her parents’ secret stash of guns.

  Chandler rummaged through the pile and smiled, searching for a particular item. He kept the tone strictly business, resisting the temptation to make a joke. “There’s an ingenious holster called a Flash Bang, which hangs a small pistol from mid-point of a bra. I can’t find the holster in here, but I can rig one up. You just happen to have the perfect gun for the job. Dillon, can you get me a canvas tarp and some copper or light gardening wire?”

  Dillon returned momentarily with a roll of copper wire and pliers with snips. He placed a dirty painter’s tarp on the floor because he knew Holly did not want it on her good dining room table.

  “This gun is a Kel-Tec P32, which features a seven round magazine plus one in the chamber. It’s not much bigger than a weak .25 auto, but packs a lot more power in a lightweight package.” Chandler unloaded the gun and handed it to Holly. “Try the trigger.”

  “Why?”

  “So you’ll know how it fires. It’s called dry firing. It’s okay, it’s unloaded.”

  Taking the gun, Holly pointed it at a light switch and pulled the trigger. “It’s pretty hard to pull, but I can do it.”

  “I just wanted you to note that a heavy trigger pull causes the gun to pull downward if you aren’t careful. If you have to shoot, shoot two or three times to the chest, then move to the head. Some people take time to die, and you don’t want to give them time to take you with them.”

  Holly looked toward Dillon for input.

  “Listen to the man. He knows what he is talking about.” Dillon held out his hand. “Hand it to me. I’ll load it up for you.”

  Chandler passed the ammo box to Dillon. “Holly, take off your shirt. I need to see what I have to work with.” Chandler immediately regretted his poor choice of words and before he could correct his statement, the heat rose in his cheeks, reddening them.

  “I see why you never went into politics,” Holly smirked. All of them broke into hearty laughter, and the tenseness of the situation evaporated. Even Dorothy, standing outside the room, gave a rare belly laugh.

  Holly removed her shirt and draped it over a chair.

  Standing close to Holly, Chandler fiddled with the copper wire Dillon had given him earlier. He created a wire connection in the middle of the bra, securing each end to the underwire. He then looped several times to create a central backing from which the main retention wire would be attached.

  It was an awkward moment, seeing that Holly had her shirt off, and while Chandler worked he couldn’t help but notice her assets covered in a nice lacy bra.

  Sensing the awkwardness, Holly said, “Next time, I’ll wear a bra equivalent to grandma panties.”

  Dorothy chuckled under her breath, while Dillon cracked a smile.

  With the support reinforced, he made a wide wire hook to hold the trigger guard of the P32 securely in place. “I am hopin
g that this gets past a search. Your proportions should offer adequate camouflage,” Chandler said without emotion.

  “Mr. Spock couldn’t have said it better,” Dillon teased.

  “Holly, if you have to shoot,” Chandler said seriously, “don’t stop until your target is dead. If you shoot at the head, shoot into the flat areas of the skull so that a shot doesn’t glance off by accident. Once you have made your shots, keep your gun and also pick up your opponent’s gun. Step outside immediately so I know that you’re alright.”

  Holly nodded her understanding.

  Dillon passed the now loaded P32 to Chandler, who placed it for a right handed shooter. Chandler bent the wire loop upward to secure it to Holly’s bra. “All you have to do is grab the grip firmly and pull down. Don’t put your finger in the triggerguard until the gun is on target. You should be able to get past a cursory ‘feel up’.”

  “Thanks, I’ll walk around and get used to it.” Holly paced around the room until she showed no outward signs of her new discomfort. Cole was smart, so she could not take any chances.

  “I saw a handgun that I would like to borrow, if it is okay,” Chandler said, Holly nodded. He pulled a Smith & Wesson Model 29 .44 magnum revolver from the stash. “Your dad is a man after my own heart. Is it too late to be adopted?”

  “Perhaps we can make an exception for you.” Holly winked at Chandler.

  Dillon motioned to the dusty grayish white painter’s tarp Chandler had asked for earlier. “Will this work for you?”

  “Perfect,” Chandler said. He shook it, sending dust motes floating into the air.

  Holly sneezed.

  “All I need to do is to paint and texture it enough that it looks like the feed store roof from a distance.”

  In real life, objects, like a roof, were not perfect. There were few straight lines in nature, dirt dulled colors over time and made surfaces non-reflective, while weathering took away that new luster. Chandler knew this and shot the tarp several times with black spray paint to simulate sloppy repairs with tar. He used fireplace ash with glue to create a dirty, weathered look. Sewing a ball cap underneath the front section of the tarp would allow him to don the covering quickly and to move hands free to his firing position.

  Chandler continued to sew without looking up. “Dillon, could you go over your role?”

  “I’ll enter the back using the crowbar while Holly enters the front of the station. Dorothy will give me the hand signal to go in. Next, I’ll move through storage and into the cell area, watching for any booby traps,” Dillon recited. “I’ll neutralize Cole’s two henchmen if they are in the area, free the hostages by whatever means necessary, and move them back out the door. Once we are out safely, Dorothy will fire three shots as a success signal and Holly will exit the front door while Cole investigates the shots. Chandler, you will take out any unfriendly party that follows Holly out the front door. Did I leave anything out?”

  “That’s the plan in a nutshell,” Chandler said. “If something goes wrong and Holly does not reappear, I’ll leave my position and rush for the front door using handguns. If the operation lasts more than seven minutes, I’ll retrieve Holly by force and we’ll try to determine what happened to you and the kids.”

  Chandler looked directly into Dillon’s eyes, confirming that Dillon understood he would probably already be dead if the seven minute scenario occurred.

  Chandler instructed Holly to wear a loose, random patterned shirt, one which wouldn’t print a gun. She assured him she had such a shirt and went to find it.

  Next on the agenda was what Dillon had to do. “With any luck,” Chandler said, “they’ll come out to the front room to see what’s going on with Holly, leaving only one person in the back.”

  Since the county jail was ancient, Dillon would need to find a key to the cells. “I can pick the lock if necessary,” Dillon said. “We were taught that in the military, and fortunately I packed my lock-picking kit in my original bug-out bag I brought here. I know old locks tend to be stiff from years of dust and excess paint.”

  Holly arrived with her new shirt, buttoning it. “You’re a man of many talents.”

  Dillon winked at her. Holly tossed him a knowing smile.

  “Okay,” Chandler said, “Dillon, once you get Cassie and Ryan out of their cells, tell them to go back the way you came and hightail it into the tree cover. Take two extra pistols and give one to each of them. Be sure to warn them about Dorothy giving the all clear shots. By the way, can Cassie shoot?”

  “When she needs to.”

  “Good enough. From there, they need to cross Market Street and head over near the post office where our horses will be. Since we’re taking all three, Cassie and Ryan can double up and ride one of the horses. Give them directions to Holly’s ranch.

  “Holly, you’ll need to position Cole near the plate glass windows where I can get a good shot. Be aware of the direction that I’m shooting from so that in case for some godforsaken reason the bullet exits Cole, you won’t get the leftovers. A bullet that passes through a body can still be deadly.” Chandler took a breath, then asked, “Everybody understands what they need to do?”

  A quiet and tentative voice asked, “What do you want me and Anna to do?” It was Amanda.

  “Sorry, I forgot about you ladies,” Chandler said. “You and Anna need to stay here and guard the place. Buster and Nipper too. If anyone shows up uninvited, slip out the side window and fire warning shots when we return so that we don’t ride into an ambush. And Holly,” Chandler placed his focus back on her, “remember, once you get Cole into position, I’ll own him. He’ll never be any more trouble to you or anyone, ever.”

  Later that night after Dorothy, Anna, and Amanda went to sleep, Dillon, Holly, and Chandler went over the logistics and tactics one more time until finally Chandler was satisfied.

  “There’s only one thing that we haven’t planned for,” Dillon said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Without clocks working, how do we know what time to leave?”

  “I’ll take care of that,” Chandler said. “I’ve got a built-in alarm clock. We’ll need to leave no later than 5 a.m. because we need to get into position before sunrise. I estimate it will take us thirty minutes to get into town walking the horses at a moderate pace. Holly, you can come with us to the post office where we’ll leave the horses, but you’ll need to backtrack then take a direct route to the sheriff’s office, just like you were riding there straight from your home.”

  “I’ll do that,” Holly said. “It sounds like a thorough plan.”

  “I think we’re ready,” Dillon chimed in.

  “There’s an old saying that no plan survives first contact. That means that some detail of the plan is bound to go wrong. You need to remember where each of us are and know that we’ll do whatever we can to get everyone home. Now let’s all try to get some shut-eye while we can. We’re going to need it.”

  * * *

  The night was long and sleep eluded Dillon. He tossed and turned, going over every thinkable contingency. He mentally reviewed the layout of the sheriff’s office, where the furniture was, the offices, closets, file cabinets, cells, even the bathroom stalls in case someone hid in there. The wind moaned around the house, the night was dark, and Dillon finally drifted off to sleep for what seemed like a minute.

  He awakened to Chandler nudging him.

  “Time to go!”

  Chapter 34

  As Chandler had planned, they arrived at the post office about thirty minutes before sunrise. Dillon and Chandler tied their horses to the bike rack at the post office, while Holly held her horse back. Dorothy began working her way around the buildings to her position as rear lookout.

  “You remember the route we talked about, right?” Chandler asked.

  “Yes,” Holly said.

  “When you pass by the tree cover where Dillon will be hiding, you’ll have five minutes to get Cole to open the door. I’ll already be in position on the caf�
�.”

  Dillon sensed Holly’s apprehension. She had been quiet during the ride from the ranch to the city, and her brow was uncharacteristically furrowed.

  “You’ll be okay,” Dillon said in his best reassuring voice. “Stick to the plan.”

  Holly nodded. She pulled on the reins, spurred her horse, and disappeared in the low light. She backtracked a few blocks, turned on Highway 87, then went one block past Main Street.

  The air was still and thick with dew on this October morning, and as Holly rode past where Dillon should be, she slowed her horse and using the sign they’d agreed upon, dipped her chin in Dillon’s direction.

  The sheriff’s office came into view and the sight of it caused Holly’s heart to beat faster. Cassie’s life was in danger and she knew how broken Dillon had been thinking his daughter had died in the plane crash.

  It was now or never.

  Holly dismounted her horse, walked it over to the grass in front of the sheriff’s office, and loosely tied the reins to a lamppost. She took a deep breath and went to the front door.

  The door along with four panes of glass on each side was set in about four feet from the building façade. A large Coca-Cola vending machine obscured the view of one of the plate glass windows.

  The door was locked as they had suspected. Holly knocked on the door, rattling the windows. It was dark inside and the glare of the rising sun reflected on the plate glass windows.

  Holly stood there a moment, unsure how to proceed. She took a step away from the door and looked left and right. There was no movement on the street.

  She just about jumped out of her skin when the door popped open and she saw Cole. They locked eyes, two people harboring ill will toward one another; one a predator, the other who could possibly become one under the right circumstances.

  “Fancy seeing you here,” Cole said, the first to speak. “Didn’t expect to ever see you again.”

  “We had a deal, remember?”

  “Yeah, I remember.”

  “You said if I won the case, you’d tell me the name of our child. I’m here to collect payment.”