Devil's Homecoming: A Post Apocalyptic EMP Survival Fiction Series (The Blackout Series Book 6)

by Bobby Akart

  “Lead the way, Ranger Stubby.” Alex laughed, staring at Stubby with her thumbs hooked through her backpack straps.

  The two trudged through the underbrush until they found an opening near the parking lot of Aldersgate United Methodist Church. After observing the road for several minutes, they dashed across the street one at a time, prepared to lay down cover fire if they got surprised.

  Stubby was breathing hard after the forty-yard dash to Alex’s position. He crouched down on one knee and glanced in all directions to make sure they’d made the crossing unseen.

  “You gonna make it?” Alex chuckled as she looked through her scope toward their next destination, the Exxon across the intersection.

  “Yes, young lady, I’ll make it just fine,” said Stubby. “I’m not used to all this running. Unlike you, who spent your last couple of years chasing around a little white ball with a stick, I was managing fat, slow-moving cows. I’m a little out of shape.”

  “Golf is exercise!” Alex protested.

  “Sure it is.” Stubby laughed. “Listen, I’m better on short spurts rather than long runs. I can hold my own within ten to fifteen feet.”

  Alex burst out laughing. “Good to know.”

  “Seriously,” continued Stubby as he rationalized his getting out of shape as the years passed. “Some athletes are built for speed and others are made for the grunt work in the trenches. I’m more of a trench kinda guy, hence the nickname Stubby.”

  “What is your real name?” asked Alex, out of nowhere.

  Stubby shook his head and chuckled. “Clarence. Clarence Crump.”

  Alex couldn’t contain herself. She busted out laughing, so hard in fact, that she fell on her backside. “I’m sorry,” she started, attempting to regain her composure. “It’s just that, you know, you don’t look like a Clarence.”

  “That’s why I didn’t protest when they started calling me Stubby in high school,” he replied. “At five foot eight, it was easy to make fun of my height. But when I started packing on the muscle around sixteen, they shut their mouths after I busted a couple of them. One day, one of the bullies attempted to apologize for hanging me with the nickname Stubby. He called me Clarence instead. I busted him in the mouth for that too.”

  Alex continued laughing as she stood and adjusted her backpack. She returned to the seriousness of their mission but dryly added, “Stubby is better.”

  After analyzing the open intersection near the gas station, they decided to move farther north and cross where the woods covered both sides of the road. They found a number of trails used by local kids to cross from one neighborhood to another. Dotting the leafy floor were opened canned goods and cereal boxes. Alex surmised that people were foraging in the surrounding areas and used the woods for cover while they consumed the food. With the FEMA camp three hundred yards away, people apparently avoided entry as long as they could.

  Using the same cover-and-run method used earlier, they made it to the north side of the FEMA camp. Alex spotted a trail and began to make her way towards the entrance of the woods when Stubby stopped her.

  “Look down there,” he said, pointing to the sign of an auto salvage company. “On the way back, let’s see if there’s anything useful.”

  “Roger.” Alex chuckled.

  They raced through the well-worn path in the woods and around the back side of a looted Jehovah’s Witness Church. They were directly across from the entrance to the camp. The two carefully slipped around the building and crawled on their bellies to a hedgerow that gave them a perfect concealed location to observe the majority of the northern perimeter of the former junior college.

  Stubby pulled out an MRE energy bar and bit off a hunk. He handed the rest to Alex. She wolfed it down and then took a long draw of water out of her CamelBak. She powered up her cell phone and checked the time. It was almost one o’clock.

  “That took nearly an hour,” she muttered to Stubby.

  He pulled out his binoculars and studied the entire length of the Jackson State Community College. He began to describe what he saw.

  “The chain-link fencing appears to be ten feet high and topped with concertina wire.”

  Alex interrupted him. “What kind of wire?”

  “Concertina wire, or razor wire,” he replied. “It comes in large coils and the military uses it to create barriers. In a prison, it’s mounted to the top of fencing sometimes. This place has been fortified like a high-security prison.”

  Stubby continued his assessment. “In order to save resources, the fencing is stretched from building corner to building corner. The parking lot in front of the administration offices is open.”

  He reached into his backpack and retrieved the map drawn by the girls at Croft Dairies. He unfolded the cardboard material. He studied the names and locations of the buildings before he returned to observing the camp through his binoculars.

  “To the right of the large parking area, there is a long stretch of fencing connecting the administration building to the basketball auditorium. It encloses a baseball field and a large grassy space. Alex, there are hundreds, if not thousands of people milling around. A lot of them are wearing orange jumpsuits like you’d get in a county jail.”

  “Do you see any guards?” asked Alex.

  “Not from this vantage point. Let me have your camera.”

  Stubby took the iPhone and inched his way between the shrubbery so that his shoulders were protruding through the other side. He began snapping pictures from the left to the right. Then he activated the video function and filmed the entire stretch of fencing. Using his elbows, he slid back through the partially leafed plants.

  “There is a long section of woods directly across from where the refugees are milling about,” said Stubby. “Let’s cut through the woods and get a better look.”

  They quickly found their way behind the church and then ran through an open field until they reached cover. There weren’t any trails in this section of the woods, so they had to push their way through a lot of underbrush. Eventually they found a small side street that formed an intersection directly across from the baseball field where the residents of FEMA Camp #3 were gathered.

  Within minutes, they were once again in a well-hidden location with a wide field of vision to assess the camp’s defenses. First, Stubby used the camera to take additional pictures and more video footage. They got settled in and began their observations, periodically pointing out changes in activity.

  Alex grew restless and commented, “It’s another boring day at Camp Fema. The guards don’t move from their perches on top of the buildings. I haven’t seen any vehicles come and go. The people just wander around, but they don’t talk much. It’s a real snoozefest.”

  “Just the way we want it,” said Stubby. “My guess is that nothing much happens here, so both guards and refugees have grown complacent. I don’t know what the mood is on the inside. These people look like prisoners. Are they happy and well fed? Does this facility contain both refugees and those taken into custody like the Bennett boys?”

  “There is no hospital here,” added Alex. “How do we know for sure that Chase is here also?”

  Stubby thought for a moment. “There’s only one way to know for sure. We need someone on the inside.”

  “Oh yeah, sure.” Alex chuckled as she continued to stare at the camp through her binoculars. “You first, okay.”

  “Okay,” Stubby mumbled.

  “Wait, no way, Stubby. You can’t be serious? You can’t go in there.”

  Stubby slipped off his backpack and stowed his binoculars. He handed Alex back her phone as he sat with his elbows propped up on his knees.

  “Someone has to and I’m the logical choice,” replied Stubby. “Look at me. I haven’t shaved in nearly two weeks. Don’t I look like a straggler in from the road?”

  “Maybe, but that’s not the point,” argued Alex. “We’re not a hundred percent certain that the guys are in there. If you get stuck in the camp, then we have two resc
ues to deal with. Plus, it’s just not safe. What if Junior has some stupid APB or wanted poster hanging on the wall with your picture on it?”

  Stubby laughed and rose to one knee as he noticed the refugees were leaving the fence area. He glanced at his watch and noticed it was a few minutes before three o’clock.

  Ignoring Alex’s protestations, he said, “They’re going inside. Three o’clock sharp. They must be allowed some form of recreation time and then they’re locked up again.”

  “Okay, but you’re avoiding the point,” grumbled Alex.

  “No, I’m not,” said Stubby. “It’s something to consider. Let’s meet up with the rest of the group and look at all of our options. C’mon.”

  Stubby, wanting to avoid further discussion with Alex because he knew she was probably right, hustled toward the woods to trace back their route. Entering the FEMA facility was risky, but not because of wanted posters or any kind of all-points bulletin. There was the realistic possibility that they couldn’t break him out. Getting stuck in a FEMA camp was not in the plans.

  Alex and Stubby continued the trek back to the five o’clock meet-up with the rest of the team. As they walked, Stubby expressed his additional concerns about how they could create a distraction worthy of the attention of the half-dozen FEMA security guards posted around the recreation area.

  He was thinking of various options when they prepared to cross the highway near the auto salvage yard. He stopped and stared in that direction for a moment when something compelled him to look at the U.S. 70 Auto Salvage for answers.

  “Follow me,” he said to Alex, leading the way along the shoulder of the road. He broke into a jog in order to avoid their time exposed to any vehicles on the highway despite the fact they hadn’t seen one all day except for a lone military Humvee, which had pulled into the parking lot an hour ago.

  Alex picked up the pace to catch up, periodically turning around to check their six, as Stubby had taught her.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked as she caught up to his right shoulder.

  “We need a distraction. Maybe there’s something up here that’ll help. Just a hunch.”

  Chapter 18

  Late Afternoon, November 26

  FEMA Camp #3

  Jackson

  Darkness had set in as everyone gathered back at the vehicles stowed in the woods. It was colder too as the sun’s warmth, the source of life on Earth, as well as death, disappeared for the evening.

  “Do we dare build a fire?” asked Jake as he tucked his hands into his hunting overalls. Jake wasn’t built for recon work and didn’t have clothes for the task either. He did, however, have a full-sized pair of camo overalls for hunting. They were meant to be used in the winter and did a great job to ward off the nighttime chill.

  “I don’t think we’ll be here that long,” said Stubby. “This land yacht is big enough to fit all of us if we wanna stay warm while we discuss our options.”

  “Okay,” said Alex. “Beau and I will crawl in the back and you guys can have the front seats. Here’s my phone, Daddy.” Colton took Alex’s phone and then shot Beau a Daddy’s-watching-his-daughter look. Beau nodded, indicating that he was going to respect the boundaries that Colton expected.

  Once the group was in the car and their body heat warmed the interior, the windows began to fog up, causing all of them to complain about the heat. Windows were quickly cracked on all sides of the Chevy.

  “Coach, tell me about the southern perimeter of the camp while I study your pictures and video,” said Stubby.

  “I guess I would describe it as a mirror image of the north side,” started Coach Carey. “The several buildings to the east were interconnected by the chain-link fencing and razor wire. Then there’s a maintenance building before a long stretch of open ground, including a softball field. The fence contains this large open area until it attaches to the corner of the gym on the western edge of the campus.”

  “Were there people outside during the time you were watching?” asked Colton.

  “Yes, but only in the area of the ball field,” replied Coach Carey. “There are a dozen large white tents set up along the fence perimeter. At three o’clock, when the buzzer sounded, everyone moved towards the classrooms or into the tents. It must be overflow housing.”

  “Buzzer?” asked Stubby.

  “At around five ’til three, a buzzer sounded and the refugees began moving toward their housing units. Those in civilian clothes went into the tents and those in orange were entering the classroom building, which must be converted to some type of dormitory-style housing.”

  Stubby handed the camera back to Colton, who in turn passed it back to Alex. She and Beau swiped through the still shots on her camera, as well as the one he used.

  “How many guards did you see?” asked Alex.

  “One on the rooftop of the maintenance building and two stationed behind the classroom, um, dorm building, answered Beau.

  “What about foot patrols?” asked Stubby.

  “None on foot,” answered Coach Carey, and then he continued. “But we did see an old John Deere six-wheeler with a guard plus a maintenance man riding around.”

  “Could you establish any kind of pattern for their activity?” asked Stubby.

  “Nope.”

  The group sat silently for a moment as Stubby contemplated this information. Colton turned sideways in the backseat and rested against the passenger door. He pointed toward a bottled water and Alex handed it to him from the back.

  “Thank you, Allie-Cat,” said Colton.

  Beau snickered.

  “Shut up,” Alex teasingly admonished him under her breath.

  “Well, the good news is—” Stubby broke the silence. “The good news is that they appear to be undermanned to protect a facility of this size. Either the people inside aren’t dangerous, or FEMA doesn’t care if they get out. Regardless, I do think there is a way to pull this off.”

  “Tell us,” said Colton.

  Stubby folded up the campus map he’d been carrying for more than half an hour and put it on the dashboard. “I’m not gonna light up this map with a flashlight, but all of us have the visual in our minds. The south side has several spots hidden from the view of the guards on the roof. When they set up their security, they probably didn’t envision the dozen or more large white tents used to house temporary or new refugees. I suspect that these folks are still in street clothes because they’re the newest.”

  “Makes sense,” said Jake. “If that is true, then the boys may be sleeping in these tents.”

  Stubby sighed. “I’ve got to get inside, locate the boys, and be ready to bolt out of there when the time is right.”

  Stubby was prepared for the onslaught of protests, but he held his ground. He and the rest of the group knew this was a necessity. After the discussion subsided, Stubby laid out the rest of the plan.

  “Alex and I have identified the weakest part of their perimeter fence adjacent to the baseball field. There are two fence posts that are leaning toward the road because they were planted in a ground swale. Every time it rains, water puddles around the bases of these posts, causing their foundations to be weak in the wet soil. If we could pull the fence down in those two sections, it would direct the attention of guards and refugees alike to the gaping hole.”

  “Will you guys run out the front with the rest of the crowd?” asked Jake.

  Stubby shook his head. “Too risky. We don’t know how these guards will react. There’s a reason that they patrol the grounds from the rooftops and not near the refugees on the ground. If something goes haywire, they may have shoot-to-kill authority. We don’t want to be in a middle of a stampede turned killing field.”

  “How will you and the boys get out?” asked Coach Carey.

  Stubby sat up in his seat and looked them in the eye. “We’ll sneak out the back door. The guards will either react by joining the fight at the front of the facility, or they’ll hold their position but be distracted by the
chaos. We’ll slip to the rear of the tents and stay out of their line of sight. Your team will cut us an opening through the fence. While the crowd rushes through the front, we’ll escape to the rear.”

  “Sounds workable,” said Colton. “Let’s get started.”

  Stubby held up his hand to slow their enthusiasm. “Hang on, there’s bad news. I’m going to get in there tonight, but there’s no guarantee that I can find the boys by tomorrow. We can’t pull this off until we’re ready. We have to wait until the day after tomorrow to execute the plan. I can get a lay of the land and test the fences, so to speak.”

  “We have to wait two days?” asked Alex.

  “Yup, preparation for something like this assures the successful execution when the time comes,” replied Stubby.

  “I don’t like it, but only because I’m anxious to get the boys back and we don’t know what’s happening back home,” said Jake. “However, Stubby’s right. We’ll get our ducks in a row, bust you guys out, and get the heck out of Dodge.”

  Chapter 19

  Evening, November 26

  FEMA Camp #3

  Jackson

  Colton wheeled the Kingswood Estate into the parking lot of the salvage yard. The ambient light from the moon allowed them to traverse the back roads away from the camp, without headlights. Once they arrived, Colton, Jake and Alex hugged their friend and wished him well.

  “I’m gonna go on foot from here,” said Stubby. “The walk will give me some time to get into character. I want these guys to look at me like a refugee. We can’t afford any delays.”

  “All right,” said Jake, who pointed over his shoulder to an early-seventies model wrecker. “I’ll see if I can get this thing runnin’. We’ve got a couple of days to make it happen.”

  Alex spoke next. “Stubby, I’m gonna do recon again. You never know if things might change. If you are able to find the guys tomorrow and can make your way near the fence, it’ll help us a lot to know your status.”