Dark New World (Book 2): EMP Exodus

by Holden, J. J.

  Ethan said, “So what all do you have down here? Rations, communications, medical, or what?”

  “This bunker is made of five buried and reinforced forty-foot shipping containers. They needed reinforcement because, as I found out, if you just bury a cargo container it can buckle from the weight overhead. Anyway, the five containers are all interconnected. One is a sleeping bay, like on a submarine, with eighteen berths and tons of shelves. One holds my firearms, chemicals, electronics—including two HAM radios and a dozen handheld radios—and other miscellaneous crap. The third and fourth ones hold enough food for the whole clan for probably a couple years, if we ration it. And we’re in the fifth one, a living space and communications center. Two side tunnels lead to hidden escapes around the farm.”

  Frank grunted. “What did that set you back?”

  Cassy shrugged. “Money’s worthless now, of course, but when my husband died he left enough to get the farm mostly finished, and to put in my bunker. I think getting the containers and placing them came in under fifty thousand, and I had a lot more than that. The rest I spent on finishing out the bunker’s features and completing the farm, like getting the swales and berms dug in, the windmills and solar installed, the HAM radios set up. I have five each of .22 rifles, .308 rifles, AR-15s, 12-gauge shotguns, and .40-caliber pistols, along with some crossbows and about ten thousand rounds of ammo for each type of gun. Backpacks, med-kits, extra pots and pans, wool blankets, bathroom incidentals. Even a small prepper and intensive farming book collection. The works. Enough for all of us, and for the neighbors I’ll be inviting in—the ones I’ve made friends with and know they’ll be a good fit, and will contribute something to the group.”

  Ethan looked Cassy in the eyes, and in a pleading voice said, “Please tell me you remembered to set up an antenna for the HAMs…”

  “I do have one plus a spare, but we’ll have to set it up. We’ll also have to set up the solar panel system, get it checked out, and tie in the backup windmill generator. That isn’t hard, so we can get that done after breakfast. Anybody hungry?”

  * * *

  1000 HOURS - ZERO DAY +10

  Why couldn’t this be as easy as crafting items in his online games, Ethan groaned as he tested his setup. The HAM antenna was in place, and he’d spent the last hour in the living room getting his programs installed on the laptop Cassy gave him. Soon he’d be ready to broadcast again, and also to connect to his hidden satellite connection. He was eager to see if the 20s had sent him anything since the last time he’d connected. One last test was running on the laptop before he’d consider it ready.

  There was a noise from the computer, a “job finished” beep, and Ethan smiled to see that everything checked out. He was ready to go. He clicked on a desktop icon of an antenna, bringing up his comms program suite. He’d written most of the code himself. He watched with satisfaction as his backdoor satellite link connected, then ran a series of searches for VPNs around the world, many of which had been installed by malware on the PCs of unsuspecting people.

  Most of his pre-EMP connections were greyed out, no longer operational. Still, within a few minutes he’d found six around the world, and stopped the program. Then he clicked another button, and the graphic display showed his satellite connection bouncing from one VPN to the next, a chain of links that would make it nearly impossible to track him in the time he’d be online. In a few seconds, the graphic display of the network changed from pulsing red to solid green. Show time.

  The now-familiar dialog box opened on his screen after the last connection was made, and showed only one message.

  > Attn: Dark Ryder - Update and Instructions

  > Well done, DR. We see you have stopped moving in an ideal location for a base of operations. Advise if this is final location. Attached is a file to download latest data for broadcasting. Be advised, satellites show few enemy patrols in the region. Intel says area deemed too sparsely populated/farmed to be of interest at this stage. However, at least two groups numbering approx. 20 each active in the area. Base camps appear to be east and west of your current loc. in forest to north. They are confirmed raiding local homesteads/houses for supplies. Taking people back to basecamp. Suspect for sustenance, as victims not visible on next satellite pass. Good luck.

  Ethan cringed. Could things really be that bad out there already? Yes, he supposed they could. By the Rules of Three, people could only survive about three weeks without food and even accounting for most peoples’ pantries, the food had been gone for a week. That was a long time to go without food. Not fatal, but not everyone was going to let their kids go hungry for a week when human “long pig” was everywhere for the taking. Disgusting. The good news was that there weren’t many enemy soldiers in the area. That was something, at least.

  He replied in the dialog box,

  > DR responding. Confirm location final. Thanks for intel update. Will grok attachment and broadcast later. Need to figure out how to broadcast without drawing enemy attention to location.

  The response came quickly.

  > DR: We ack. Fear not. Solution ready. We have several repeaters set up in your region; will pick up sig and bounce them around. Enemy will not know which one. They’ll eventually check out all of them, recommend relocate to broadcast then bugout, change loc each broadcast. Avoid pattern such as circle around base. Notify us and receive ack 5 min before each broadcast so we can bring them up. Please ack.

  Ethan acknowledged, and then the window closed on its own; his 20s contact must have closed the connection remotely. So, he could broadcast in relative safety, but would only be able to do it a few times before they pinned down which one was the live connection, just by process of elimination. If he broadcast too many times they’d probably send a drone to blow him up, and that would be the end of transmission. Worse, he’d only know when he’d hit that magic number when he saw a drone-launched missile rocketing toward his face. Super.

  Ethan pulled up the file attachment, decoded it, and began reading. It was in the same format as before, listing enemy unit, estimated manpower, location as of last broadcast, and current last known location. That was followed by a list of supply cache coordinates, along with the categories and quantities of supplies each one contained.

  At the end of the document was the intel summary. It seemed mostly the same; the enemy was solidifying control on the areas they already occupied and were struggling in New York and Florida though making headway despite significant casualty rates. Then something grabbed Ethan’s attention: “Operation Backdraft is a go.” Whatever that meant. But if the 20s were coordinating an operation-level action, that could only be a good thing for America.

  - 23 -

  1300 HOURS - ZERO DAY +10

  PETER RAN ON foot. He’d been eating a lunch of freshly-foraged berries and plants when a group of nearly two dozen people stumbled onto him.

  Peter slowed to a walk and cursed himself a fool for letting them sneak up on him. It wasn’t really his own fault, he fumed. He was tired and foggy-headed from not eating enough the last few days. Not for the first time he wished he still had the horse he’d left the Farms with, but at least he had his important gear in his backpack, along with his notebook, and he’d grabbed his rifle.

  It occurred to him that perhaps he’d made a mistake letting his Scout companions go home without him. It would be a dangerous journey, and some extra muscle would be nice. Water under the bridge, though. Now he had to get home fast, and the faster, the better. He decided to take the road, trading safety for speed. He hoped the hungry mobs had given up on the roads by now, and his way would be mostly clear.

  He came upon a large road, Highway 322, which would take him south all the way to West Chester, close to home. Fifty miles to go. A quick calculation with his most recent pace count told him it would take about two full days to walk that far in his current state, but at least it would be on level ground, and fairly direct.

  An hour later, still on the road, he trudged up a low hill
. Reaching the crest, he looked ahead for any movement and then saw, at the base of the hill maybe a hundred yards away, a half-dozen people surrounding a red car. They were pounding on its windows, which were tinted to the point that Peter couldn’t see into it. Near the car were a single sleeping bag and a backpack, but with the amount of debris scattered around it looked like the pack had been emptied. Peter didn’t see any rifles among the attackers.

  Damn it all, he’d have to either take a wide berth around that mess or go through it. And these assholes were probably attacking one unarmed person. Peter imagined the terror of whoever was hiding inside the abandoned car, and grew angry. The attackers were a bunch of unprepared animals, reduced to looting others who had prepared better just to survive. It wasn’t right.

  Peter muttered, “Okay, you vermin. I don’t want to go around you, and whoever you’re looting needs some help. I think I have the perfect, win-win solution. Sucks to be you bastards.”

  He raised his rifle and sighted in, adjusting for distance and elevation, glad he felt no wind. A burly male with a baseball bat, grinning savagely, was his first target. Bang. The man’s neck spouted a geyser of blood, and he flopped over backwards. Peter quickly took aim at another, a woman, and she went down clutching her chest.

  The others stared at the two people on the ground and looked confused, which made Peter grin as he dropped his third target, a skinny man wielding a knife. The remaining three ran from the road. Peter shot one in the back, and the last two sprinted out of view. Surprise was such a useful tool when dealing with problems like this.

  Peter walked steadily down the hill, rifle at low ready but not directly aimed at the car, and came to within twenty feet before stopping. It was a beautiful car, he mused, an old Camaro that had been perfectly restored and painted bright red. He glanced at his watch—a quarter to four—and then stood still, simply looking at the car and waiting.

  Five minutes later, a man stepped out of the car with a limp. He was of average height but muscular, with short hair and a goatee that stuck out past a scraggly, newly-growing beard. He wore a white t-shirt and jeans, with black boots, and he looked more cautious than scared.

  Good, so he wasn’t a coward. Peter would have hated to waste bullets saving a coward. “I’m Peter, and you’re welcome.” Peter kept his face carefully neutral. “Got yourself in a pickle, did you?”

  “Yes, sir,” said the man, also keeping his face unreadable. “I thank you for the help, mister. As you see, I don’t have much to steal, if that’s what you’re about. My name’s James, but my friends call me Jim.”

  “Nope. I just don’t like to see people taking from strangers. Plus, they were in my way. Nice car. But, the lights went out over a week ago. Why on earth would you just sit here that long? You must’ve figured out help wasn’t coming.”

  Jim scowled. “I’ve been here since last night. Where are you heading?”

  Last night? That didn’t add up. Peter said, “South, around West Chester. Sorry, I thought that was your car. It sure is nice, though.”

  “Well, Mister, it is my car. I hid the keys, so don’t think of taking it. I don’t suppose you would, though. You had your chance to kill me already.”

  Peter felt a tingle race up his back. A working car… He knew in theory that some cars must still run, but hadn’t hoped to see one. An idea occurred to him. “Well, that’s right. I could have, but I don’t much care for murder unless a man deserves it. You’ve done me no wrong. But I reckon that means you have nowhere to go, or you’d be there.”

  Jim nodded slowly. “Yes. I’ve been driving around looking for a place to land, but everywhere is either burning or taken. And without a gun, I’ve had to escape trouble a couple of times in my car. I’ve stayed out of the towns, though. Too dangerous, and the pumps don’t work anyway. I stopped here to siphon gas last night, and just didn’t much feel like driving nowhere in particular today. I guess that was a mistake.”

  “When you stay put, people come across you. I had a horse, this morning. Same situation as you, except they ate the horse and left me to run.”

  Jim grinned. “Well, Peter, I’ll tell you what. If I give you a ride to wherever you’re going, are you willing to ride shotgun and keep away the rabble? Maybe resupply me when we get there?

  It was Peter’s turn to smile. “Jim, that’s a fine idea. But there’s no need to resupply and send you on your way. I have people, a community. Give me a ride, you’ll earn a spot if you want it. They’re good, hardworking people. You aren’t coming with your hand out, either. That car of yours is a meal ticket. And I give you my word, I won’t let anyone take it from you. What do you say?”

  Jim stood tall and limped up to Peter with his hand out. Shaking Peter’s hand, he said, “That’s a bargain, mister. I sure am glad you came along when you did. I don’t know if I’ll take you up on the community thing, but I’ll give you that ride home. We’ll see how things go from there. Sound fair?”

  Yes, thought Peter, that sounded very fair indeed. Now instead of being two full days of walking through chaos, the trip would be only a few hours. Even if they had to camp out for a night, he’d be home first thing in the morning. Peter smiled.

  * * *

  1600 HOURS - ZERO DAY +10

  Ethan grunted as he set down the battery and inverter. Next to him, Amber gently set down his transmission rig. One of the Marines stood guard as he got down to business. Soon he had the flexible antenna set up, the radio plugged into the inverter, and connected the battery. He brought up his computer, plugged it into a Raspberry Pi module, and opened his translated and recoded file. Locking the “transmit” button into the on position, he clicked another icon and stood back as the coded broadcast went out on a loop.

  Amber shook her head. “I have no idea what all that does, Ethan, but I hope these 20s guys make good use of whatever you’re sending out.”

  Ethan grinned. “It’s not the 20s who use it, but the various resistance groups running around fighting the invaders, and some prepper compounds who participate some of the time. I have to imagine some of these resistance groups were organized well before the EMPs went off, but that’s not really my problem. I’m just one of a handful of agents who do this work to keep the communications flowing as best we can.”

  “You’ve said all that before,” Amber chuckled, and Ethan was glad to see her smile. She hadn’t smiled much since Jed died.

  Then the thought of Jed crashed into Ethan, and he cringed from the guilt he felt. He struggled to regain his composure, but Amber had seen the look.

  “Yeah, I know. I miss Jed, but none of us think it’s your fault. He went battle-mad, Michael says, and maybe he saved us but his death was his own fault. I never hated him, Ethan. I just hadn’t been in love with him for a long time. He felt the same way.”

  Ethan shrugged. “Yeah, I know all that. I just wish I could have saved him. I was right there, and I felt powerless. I watched him die.”

  Amber put a hand on his arm. “You were powerless, Ethan, at least to save him. But you drew their fire so he could get close, when you missed with your grenade. We are alive because my husband died, and his kids at least get to know their father was a hero to us all. You are, too. You flanked them under fire, just like Jed. It could have worked out differently, but what happened is done. Life is what it is.”

  “So,” Ethan began tentatively, “where does that leave you and me?”

  “Nowhere, at the moment. You know I have feelings for you, Ethan. That hasn’t changed. But Jed’s kid deserve time to grieve before they see mommy with another man. Frank and Michael deserve that, too.”

  “But what do you deserve, Amber? Don’t you deserve a fresh start? I think Jed was about to have The Talk with you about Jaz, from what I’ve heard. Just gossip, but it sounds right. He wanted to be happy. You deserve the same.”

  “Ethan, sweetie, listen. I do deserve to be happy, and so does everyone. But this is not the time for us. We can’t be together right now. I
don’t know how long it’ll take, but I know I have to wait. We’ll see where things go between us then. For now, it has to be as it is—you and I are friends, good friends, but nothing more. Please, Ethan, I need you to understand. I need you to just wait until our kid is ready, and I’ve talked to Frank and Michael, and the clan is more settled. Will you just be patient?”

  Ethan’s heart sank into his throat, and he fought to keep his face from betraying him. He coughed once and then said, “Of course, Amber. I’ve been waiting. I can wait some more. Whatever happens, we’re friends. That’s what’s important.”

  Amber smiled and hugged him, and Ethan desperately wanted nothing more than for the completion alarm to ring on his computer so he could go home, and bury himself in the endless tasks of the homestead.

  - 24 -

  1600 HOURS - ZERO DAY +10

  CAPTAIN TAGGART LOOKED around the living room of the apartment. After meeting Mr. Black at the bridge, they’d fled further south, dodging patrols and hiding from drones. Black had eventually led him to this place, along with Eagan and a handful of Militia members and Black’s own men, who were all tattooed Latinos. Before the war, they were scum, thugs and gangsters, but now Taggart found himself fighting alongside them, and his respect for the gangsters had grown after seeing them fight and die for each other. In a way, life for them must have been much like military life for Taggart; the gang was their family as much as the unit was for Taggart. Maybe more so. And if regulations, or laws, got in the way of protecting their gang, those regs got sidestepped. Most of them would have made good soldiers if they could have just knocked the chips off their shoulders.