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

by Bobby Akart

  “Will they all run?” shouted Stubby through the pouring rain.

  “Yes, sir,” replied Chase. “The front end got knocked out of alignment on this one, but it’ll get back to Childer’s Hill.”

  “What about weapons?” asked Stubby.

  “Big score there, General Stubby!” Colton laughed as he presented him with two fully automatic M4s.

  “Nice!” said Stubby. “How many?”

  “We gathered six plus ammo and magazines,” replied Colton. “We also have half a dozen forty-five-cal sidearms with backup mags.”

  “Body armor?” asked Stubby.

  “Nope, just their kits, or what’s left of them,” replied Colton. “They all had knives and leg sheaths, like this one.” Colton handed him a black leather sheath with the knife handle sticking out.

  “Hmmm,” mumbled Stubby to himself. He moved closer to Colton and saw that they were all the same. He mumbled to himself, “Ka-Bar straight edge. Probably all Marine issue.”

  Stubby handed the knives back to Colton and motioned for Javy to join him. He led him to the back of the Humvee full of the soldiers’ weapons. “Javy, get these guns wiped down and oiled as soon as you get back. We don’t want any rust.”

  Jake emerged from behind one of the trucks with a laundry basket full of liquor. “Of all the things these guys could rustle up, apparently booze was high on the list.”

  Stubby thought for a moment. Several times during the last few hours, this FEMA squad had been hailed on their radios by their CO in Savannah. Stubby feigned a reply, effectively using the weather and fake static to satisfy their calls. However, if the weather cleared in the morning, the proverbial gig would be up when they didn’t get a real response.

  He needed to create a working theory for Rollie and his subordinates for when they arrived tomorrow and found their comrades missing. The liquor gave him an idea.

  “Okay, listen up!” he shouted. “Load up these two damaged Humvees and take them back to Childer’s Hill. Chase, take a moment to tend to your horse and then meet me at the main house. Alex, come with me. I’ve got an idea.”

  The rest of the group shared duties of returning on horseback with another in tow or riding in the blood-soaked Humvees. Despite the torrential downpour, most of the group begged for horseback.

  Stubby took the liquor from Jake and pushed the basket into the backseat. As they drove to the house, Chase waved them down and he jumped in the backseat.

  “Hey, hey!” He laughed. “Are we gonna party?”

  “No,” replied Stubby. “But they are.”

  Stubby pulled up to the front door and the three of them piled out. The ground sloshed around their feet and a gust of wind caught Alex’s hat, sending it off into the darkness.

  “Whatever,” she said with a slight tone of disgust.

  As the group entered the house, they saw that the soldiers had made a mess of the place. But they also found more things of value. These men were undisciplined, as evidenced by their lack of a standing guard over their temporary headquarters and the way they’d acted in the field. The lackadaisical approach ultimately got them killed.

  Alex illuminated the room with the flashlight attached to the rail of her AR-15. “Should we clear the house?”

  “I don’t think it’s necessary,” replied Stubby. “Chase’s intel was on the money.”

  Stubby found a couple of Coleman lanterns in the dark and lit up the great room. “The generator is off. These fools probably didn’t try to fire it up.”

  “Look at these!” exclaimed Chase, holding up two shotguns. “They don’t look like my Remington.”

  Stubby took one of the weapons from Chase and examined it under the lantern. “This is a Benelli M4 Tactical. Again, Marine issue.”

  Chase lifted two heavy ammo cans and dropped them on the dining table.

  “Easy there, muscles,” said Stubby. “Bessie and your momma will slap you silly if you scratch their table. Do me a favor? Chase, go fire up the generator so we can see. We’ll turn it off before we leave tonight.”

  Stubby relocated the weapons onto the sofa and then he rustled through the kitchen, gathering up the MREs. Within minutes, the power was on and the house was lit up.

  Alex joined him and then caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. “Yep, I look like a wet rat.” After setting her rifle on the kitchen island, she fumbled with her hair and then reached into her backpack to pull out a boonie-style hat. She frowned, as the olive drab color didn’t suit her.

  Chase emerged through the kitchen side door and shook off the rain. “Do you reckon Noah’s Ark will sail down the Tennessee anytime soon?”

  “Yeah, no kidding,” replied Alex. She turned her attention to Stubby. “I’m gonna see what’s upstairs.”

  Before he replied, she bounded up the stairs. Stubby then laid out the plan for Chase. “Go outside and empty the liquor bottles in the yard. Leave a couple of them partially full. We’re gonna make it look like these guys partied hearty.”

  “I’m on it,” said Chase as he gathered up the basket and headed toward the front porch.

  “Gross!” shouted Alex from upstairs.

  Chase set down the basket and started up the stairs with his weapon drawn when Alex leaned over the rail.

  “Men are disgusting animals!” She groaned as she revealed the source of her displeasure. She held up three issues of smut magazines for Chase to see.

  “Oh, I thought it was something bad.” He laughed.

  “This is gross, Chase.” She tossed them down the stairs at him.

  Stubby emerged from the kitchen and started laughing. “Actually, they’re perfect. Alex, I need you to see if any of Emily’s unmentionables are still in their chest of drawers upstairs.”

  “What? No, I won’t,” said Alex adamantly.

  “C’mon, Alex,” Stubby continued. “We need them as props.”

  Alex glared at Stubby and Chase at the bottom of the stairs before turning into the Allens’ bedroom.

  Stubby and Chase returned to the task at hand. Stubby placed glasses around the great room and kitchen. He then prominently displayed the girlie magazines on the couch and tables. When Chase returned, the two of them partially filled the glasses and dropped the empty liquor bottles throughout the downstairs.

  Alex quietly found her way down and immediately covered her mouth with her free hand. “It reeks down here!”

  “Exactly,” said Stubby as he respectfully took Emily’s undergarments from Alex. He displayed them provocatively throughout the room.

  “Dude, this looks like an episode of Girls Gone Wild or an all-night frat party,” said Chase. “I’m sorry I missed it.”

  Alex gave him the look and shook her head in disgust. Stubby stood in the center of the room and examined his work.

  “That’s exactly the impression I was hoping for.”

  Chapter 32

  Late afternoon, December 1

  Savannah

  Roland Durham was the son of a rapist, and he would never forget that. He was also given the name Buford Pusser II before he was adopted by his stepfather, the late Leroy Durham. The resentment he held inside surrounding his birth and his later adoption, where his name was changed based upon his stepfather’s favorite cigarette, ate at him every time he came in contact with his mother and brother.

  As the boys grew up, Rollie always considered himself a Pusser. He emulated his famous namesake, the grandfather he never knew. He was tough and feared throughout elementary and high school. More than that, he was competitive. His physicality, something his younger brother didn’t possess, enabled him to excel in any sport.

  Yet he harbored a shortcoming that he was never able to shake, even in adulthood. His brother was the apple of his mother’s eye. Perhaps she couldn’t forget the memory of Rollie’s conception, or maybe it was because at one time, she really loved Leroy Durham. Either way, when her husband gave their son together his name, Rollie immediately became jealous and Junior became the
beloved son.

  Despite his potential, Rollie acted out, resulting in his sexual assault upon a young girl in his senior year of high school. Ma had scolded and belittled him, claiming that such activity was in his genes. Either way, he was yoked up out of bed one morning and hauled down to the Marine recruitment office, where he volunteered.

  Sometimes in life, you looked back at seminal events that, at the time, seemed dreadful. But as time passed and your life changed for the better, you realized that you became a better person for it.

  The Marine Corps turned Rollie into a man. He never looked back and he never returned home, until now. For a fleeting moment, he thought that he could enjoy small-town living again. However, the more the aggravations piled up, the more he was ready to get the heck out of there.

  Besides, there was the issue of Junior, whom he inwardly had no respect for. Junior was weak. He didn’t have the Pusser machismo and swagger. The sibling rivalry between the brothers had resulted in a competition for the attention of their mother. Junior had won the first round when Rollie was turned over to the Marines to be raised.

  While away from this dysfunctional family dynamic, Rollie realized that every relationship was fundamentally a power struggle and the individual in power was whoever liked the other person less. Rollie had come to despise Junior and he was going to make one last effort to gain his mother’s favor at his brother’s expense.

  If he failed, then it was adios muchachos. He’d be outta there.

  The afternoon meeting with Ma typically took place about an hour before sunset. She wanted to talk about the day’s events, give her marching orders for the next day, and then enjoy her sunset. Today, in this foul weather, there would be no sunset. And Rollie, who’d arrived early, decided to make his move without Junior being present.

  “Hey, Ma,” said Rollie with a hint of peaches and cream. “I’ve got somethin’ I need to talk with you about in private.”

  “You mean without Junior?”

  “Yes, ma’am. It’s about my job.”

  Ma gestured for Rollie to sit next to her in the parlor. The room was a showplace of antiques and Civil War memorabilia. The red velvet loveseat upon which Ma was sitting looked straight out of Gone With The Wind.

  “What’s on your mind, son?”

  Rollie adjusted his belt and slid his sidearm out of the way so he could get settled in a chair. “My arrival in Jackson was a stroke of luck for you and Junior,” started Rollie, getting right to the point. “You were scheduled for transportation to Atlanta to stand trial. I’m gonna tell ya, there ain’t much to these trials. They look at the affidavits and then they find you guilty. You get locked up in a federal penitentiary forever.”

  “Yes, I know. I’m very glad you protected us from that.” Ma studied Rollie’s face, attempting to probe his mind to see his intentions. He had to play it cool. She had a knack for seeing inside people.

  “I risked a lot with my superiors to come down here and clean up Junior’s mess,” he continued. “I wasn’t looking for anything in return at the time, but after more than a week now, I’ve got to make a decision.”

  Ma stretched her fingers then balled up her fists. Rollie knew her mannerisms. This was not an angry response, but rather one of concentration. She wanted to know what he was thinking.

  “What decision would that be?”

  “I’m catching a lot of heat from my commanding officer about the use of my team and the unit’s resources down here,” Rollie replied. “For the first few days, I was left alone. But last night, I got my butt reamed over the occupation of a dinky little town in West Tennessee, as he put it.”

  “Is he gonna make you pull out?” Ma asked.

  “Maybe, but maybe I won’t,” replied Rollie. He knew he was being too cryptic, so he best get to the point. “The attack on the refugee camp didn’t help, but I got that patched up. But now, I’ve lost a squad of six men hunting down Junior’s problem.”

  Ma sat upright in her chair and began to probe further. “You lost six men? Were they killed?”

  “No, they went missing, or AWOL,” he replied. “When they didn’t respond on the radio this morning, I sent another squad to find them. They were gone, together with their vehicles and gear. The place they were staying, the Allen place that Junior suggested, looked like a wild party had taken place. You know, booze and broads.”

  “So you’re pulling out because of that?” she asked.

  “No, well, maybe. You see, if I have one more problem like this, I’m gonna get reassigned, probably demoted or worse.”

  “Son, what can I do to help?” Ma asked sincerely.

  “I guess what I’m saying is,” started Rollie before pausing, “I’m risking my career down here for Junior’s debacle. I want to make sure that I have something at the end for me when I succeed.”

  Ma was trying to coax the purpose of this conversation out of him. “C’mon, son. Spill it. What are you saying?”

  “If I make a push into the south part of Hardin County and find these folks that Junior desperately wants to bring to justice, then in return I want to run things. Specifically, I want to move back to Savannah and be the sheriff, mayor, you know, the whole ball of wax.”

  Junior was eavesdropping in the foyer and began laughing. “You do, do ya? The whole ball of wax? Is that all? You want the whole enchilada too? What else can we adorn you with, King Rollie? Screw you, brother! You gotta lotta cajones comin’ here like this—making demands. For years, Ma and I’ve been holding down the fort. You wanna waltz in here with your fancy title and uniform, thinkin’ you’re gonna run things. Ma, I call bull—”

  “That’s enough, Junior!” Ma exclaimed, interrupting her youngest son’s tirade. “Rollie came to me to voice his genuine concerns for his career because, yes, he is cleaning up your mess.”

  “But, Ma, I’ve got it under control now,” Junior plead his case.

  “Maybe so, but it was your brother that made it happen,” she shot back. “Rollie pulled us out of that FEMA jail cell and gave us a second chance. We owe him for that. And, as requested, he rounded up all of the folks who opposed us and shipped them off to Jackson. He gave you a clean slate to work with.”

  Rollie sat silently and listened as Ma dressed down his brother. Junior’s tirade would have earned him a beat down when they were young boys. Now, Rollie bit his tongue and allowed Ma to fight his battle. Besides, there would come an opportune time to shut his little brother’s mouth.

  “I know and I’ve righted the ship. Just today, we put on eight new deputies to help cover the checkpoints. That freed up eight of his precious soldiers.”

  “They’re Marines,” Rollie gruffed. “Don’t call them soldiers.”

  “Whatever. Anyway, you can have them back,” said Junior. He turned his attention back to Ma. “I have everything going in the right direction. I can take over security now. Rollie can leave anytime he wants. I just need him to finish what he promised, which is to find the people responsible for all of this—Stubby Crump, the girl, and her parents.”

  Rollie began to speak and Ma held her hand up to stop him. She contemplated for a moment before rendering her verdict.

  “You’re both my boys and I’m not gonna choose between you. Here’s what I want you to do. Junior, put your folks in place and don’t mess up. Rollie, pull your men out of town and do whatever it takes to flush those vermin out of their holes. When can you do it?”

  “I can make the arrangements for day after tomorrow. But then what?” Rollie never got an answer to his original demands.

  “I will make no promises on where we go from here,” answered Ma. “I do have options that could work for both of you if you can manage to get along as brothers.”

  A bright light flashed in the window and then the crack of thunder shook the old home. Ma and Junior instinctively jumped at the sudden noise, but not Rollie.

  Lightning doesn’t make a sound until it strikes. I am lightning.

  Chapter 33
r />   Morning, December 2

  Pickwick Landing Dam

  The 249th Engineer Battalion stationed at Fort Belvoir, Virginia, deployed teams across the United States in a time of crisis. After 9/11, elements of the 249th had been instrumental in restoring power to Wall Street, enabling the world’s leading financial center to resume operations within a week. As part of Joint Task Force Katrina, Prime Power, as the battalion was known, had swiftly created the infrastructure necessary to rebuild New Orleans.

  Before the massive solar storm knocked out the power grid across the country, units had been deployed to assist in the operation of the most critical of the nearly eighty-one hundred major dams across the country.

  Like so many of its counterparts along the Tennessee River maintained by the Tennessee Valley Authority, the Pickwick Dam was a massive generator of hydroelectric power and its functionality was self-contained. The dam’s performance was dependent upon hands-on operations, not remote via the Internet like so many other utilities. The Pickwick Landing Dam had also been built in the 1930s as America attempted to pull itself out of the Great Depression. Its electronics were antiquated and in many cases were not hardened against the effect of a massive electromagnetic pulse like the one that had devastated the nation months prior.

  The small platoon assigned to the Pickwick Dam could only monitor its function, but couldn’t control its spillways. Their role was to prevent traffic from crossing the dam and to notify their superiors when they thought a breach might occur.

  When the solar storm had hit, all of the generating units in the powerhouses shut down. The closure of the gates caused water to be diverted to the north and south of the dam’s spillways. These embankments began to overflow, sending water across the top and eroding the land below the dam.

  When the water levels rose several weeks ago, alarm bells were not raised although the businesses and residents at the foot of the dam would have appreciated notice of the water overflowing. Without the functioning spillways, the massive volume of water found its way to the lowest point, around the sides.