by Hunt, James
“But why is someone shooting at us?”
“Are we under attack?”
“Where are the police?”
Everyone was afraid. The world had transported them into uncharted territory. They had no idea what was going to happen next, and the truth was, Ben didn’t either. But he knew things were going to get worse before they got better.
“Just get home,” Ben answered, retreating toward the door. “Get home and stay there.” He opened the door and turned back one last time to the faces peering at him from the darkness. Most of them would be dead within a week.
Ben stepped back out beneath the awning and moved quickly toward the sniper. He made sure to keep beneath the cover available to him and remain quiet.
The sniper was on top of an office building. Ben entered the first floor and saw a reception and cafeteria area where the employees must have taken their breaks.
With the elevators out of service, Ben found the staircase and moved cautiously. The windowless stairwell created a pitch-black environment, and Ben ascended slowly, mindful not to make any noise. But if the sniper had seen Ben make a run for it, then his element of surprise might be gone.
Ben traded the rifle for the Ruger since it was easier to use in close quarters. He kept the weapon aimed upward the entire trip up the stairs, watching the corners, his heart jumping each time he approached a blind spot.
When Ben finally reached the roof access door and saw that it was closed, he knew he could be at a terrible disadvantage based on the door’s location on the roof. Ben wanted to utilize the element of surprise, but if he were far away from the shooter, then it would give the sniper time to adjust based on how long it took for Ben to find the terrorist on the roof.
Ben approached the door. He gripped the handle, weapon at the ready. He took a breath to calm his mind and focus. When he felt the stillness fall over him, Ben opened the door.
The harsh darkness of the stairwell lightened when Ben stepped onto the roof, his vision quickly adjusting to the change in light. But the roof was lined with gravel, and the moment he placed his boot onto it, the sound gave away his position.
Ben saw the shooter at the corner of the roof turn, and the man quickly ducked behind a metal vent nearby before Ben could shoot him.
Repositioned, the sniper fired from behind the metal duct and forced Ben behind another vent, the bullet striking the metal with a heavy, metallic thud that vibrated the metal shaft.
Ben struggled to keep his hand steady. It was only a matter of time before the sniper managed to get close enough to finish him off.
Ben quickly peered around the left side of the metal shaft and saw the sniper still hidden. He then darted around the opposite direction, leading with the weapon. He moved quickly, knowing the crunch of the rocks beneath his boots would give away his location.
Two steps before Ben reached the sniper’s cover, the gunman stepped from around the metal shaft, leading with the rifle and his finger already on the trigger.
On instinct, Ben reached up and smacked the rifle’s barrel out of his way just before the sniper pulled the trigger. The suppressor dulled the sound of the gunshot, but Ben still felt the hot blast from the weapon across the side of his face.
Thrown off-kilter from having to knock the rifle away, Ben no longer had a shot with his pistol, so he used the momentum from his run and collided with the sniper.
Ben landed on top of the sniper when the pair of men hit the rooftop gravel, but the sniper was quick to swing the momentum in his favor. The pair locked horns, each of them wrapping their hands around each other’s throats.
The pressure in Ben’s head started to rise as the sniper tightened his grip. Ben struggled to catch his breath, and he felt his grip weakening. In a matter of seconds, he had gone from having the upper hand to knocking on death’s door.
Ben remembered his training—stay calm and alert in even the direst circumstances. He released his left hand from the sniper’s neck and reached for the knife on his left hip. His fingers were numb, and it took a moment for him to feel for the handle. The pressure continued to build in his head, the sniper bearing down with all of his strength. Ben thought his eyes were going to pop out of his skull.
A part of the knife remained pinned beneath Ben’s hip, and when he pulled it loose, it didn’t come out of its sheath all of the way.
Strength fading, Ben yanked it again, this time pulling the blade completely free. Unsure of where he was swinging, Ben stabbed the sniper, and the gunman released him.
Capitalizing on the momentum, Ben repeatedly stabbed, feeling the stiffness of muscles, tendons, and bones with each thrust.
The sniper collapsed onto his side, and Ben scrambled backward on his hands and feet until he smacked against the walled edge of the roof, where he watched the sniper struggled to stop the bleeding. He squirmed, his lungs filling with blood as he gargled and eventually choked to death.
Ben sat there for a moment after the sniper died. His breathing was still labored, and his mind wrestled with what he had just done. He had killed a man.
The ramifications of his actions were unable to penetrate Ben’s shock. He stared down at the knife in his left hand.
It was hard to see the blood on the black carbon steel under the cover of night. But Ben knew it was there. He shut his eyes and forced himself to regain control of his breathing. When he fell back into a steady rhythm, he opened his eyes.
The dead sniper was still there, motionless.
Ben stood and walked over to the dead body. He knelt and got a better look at the man. Ben saw where he had stabbed the sniper, catching the man in the right rib cage and the armpit. He had struck one of the major arteries, and the man had bled out.
The sniper was dressed in tactical gear, his face concealed by a bandana. Ben reached for the mask and pulled it down, shocked by what he saw.
The man was American. White male, probably mid-twenties. Of all the faces Ben expected to find behind the mask, he never expected this.
Ben patted down the man and found a wallet with identification. The driver’s license was from this state, and the sniper’s name was Mark Filler, and according to the ID, he lived in Asheville.
“This doesn’t make any sense,” Ben said, muttering to himself.
Why would a local do something like this? Was this man a part of the EMP detonation? Was he a lone wolf who finally snapped and simply used the EMP as a way to do all of the terrible things he had imagined?
Ben’s questions were interrupted by a muffled voice coming from beneath the sniper’s body. Ben lifted the body and searched for the source of the noise. He found a radio clipped to the man’s belt, and it was spouting the same strange language Ben had heard over the radio station on his drive home only a few hours earlier.
The radio sparked another series of questions, but the most pressing was how this man had a piece of technology that had survived the EMP. The only way Ben knew something could survive an EMP was if it were in a faraday cage. And if that were the case, then this Mark Filler must have known the EMP was going to detonate. Which led Ben to believe the man had been a part of whoever had set it off.
Unable to decipher the language, Ben turned off the volume and power but decided to keep the talkie. He thought it might be useful later. He then patted down the sniper’s body, taking a few other rounds of ammunition and the sniper rifle, knowing the weapons could come in handy if ran into any of the sniper’s friends.
Ben turned back toward the staircase when a hazy glow from the south disrupted the night. He stopped, glancing out past the city.
A forest fire had started around the source of the explosion from the powerplant. The blaze had already spread for a few acres, and the northbound wind was blowing it toward the city.
Ben knew how dry the forest was because of the drought. The fire would spread quickly, and nothing was preventing the flames from reaching the city.
Ben then hurried out of the building and sprint across the p
ark. He found Kurt right where he had left him, and the man was still alive.
“How you hanging, bud?” Ben asked, gathering their supplies.
Kurt had his eyes half-open, and he remained limp. “I didn’t fall asleep.”
Once Ben had gathered all of their supplies, strapping the backpack to Kurt so Ben could carry the weapons. It took some finagling, but Ben finally managed to get Kurt upright.
“Listen to me, Kurt,” Ben said, waiting until he was sure Kurt was paying attention. “I’m going to take you to the fire station. It’s closer than the hospital.” It also happened to be on the way to get his boys, and he knew he was going to need to make up time after this snafu. “But I need you to try to walk, all right? Can you do that?”
Kurt nodded and then grimaced as he applied what weight he could to his good leg.
“That’s good, buddy,” Ben said. “Now, we’re just going to take it one step at a time, all right? Nice and easy.”
Ben helped Kurt forward the first few steps, and then the pair fell into a rhythm as they crossed the park. After they had gone, slowly, the patrons emerged from the buildings, avoiding the dead on the ground as they scurried away.
4
L iz kept a tight grip on the clipboard with her left hand as she checked off the last box of their supply list in the basement. She was aided by the light of a kerosene lamp, though her eyes still strained. But she was thankful for the busy work; it helped keep her mind from going down too many dark alleys.
But now that Liz had finished, she exhaled an anxious breath. She thought about Ben, about the boys, and Sarah and her older sister. She didn’t like everyone being so far apart from one another, and she knew she would be on edge until all of her family was home under the same roof.
“I just have to keep pushing through,” Liz said, attempting to reassure herself, but she wasn’t successful. The worry was still there.
Liz picked up the lantern and took one last look at their supplies. They had enough dry goods to last them for a year. They also kept some solar charging batteries in a faraday cage that they could use to keep their freezers running.
Ben had also buried several tanks behind the house, enough to provide them fresh water for a year as well, but with the local rivers, it was only a precautionary back up. They had enough chemicals to treat the river water to make it potable.
Liz and her family were as prepared as anyone could be under the circumstances. But until all of her family was together, the supplies would sit idle and unused.
Liz returned upstairs and put the checklist into the kitchen drawer, where they kept all of their rotating prepper lists, then joined Susan in the living room.
Susan was laid back on the couch, both hands on her belly, watching the flicker of the flame of the kerosene lamp Liz had left for her while she checked the supplies.
“How are you holding up?” Liz asked.
Susan looked at Liz as if she hadn’t noticed the woman had entered the living room. She smiled and nodded. “Hanging in there.”
Liz scoffed. “When I was as pregnant as you are with Connor, I was not fine. I hated everything. I screamed at Ben over the smallest things. He couldn’t do anything right.” She laughed, and her tone elicited a smile. “So, how are you really feeling?”
Susan sighed. “I’m hot. My feet are bloated. I have to pee every two minutes. I think I might have even peed on your couch a little since I’ve been here.”
“We were going to throw it out anyway,” Liz said.
Susan laughed, and it faded gently as she grew more comfortable. And then her voice was overwhelmed by the same fear that had plagued Liz since the moment the lights turned off.
“I’m worried,” Susan said, nodding as she gently rubbed her stomach in a soothing gesture. “I’m worried about Kurt. About the baby. We read all of the baby books, but none of them mentioned anything about the world ending.”
“The world isn’t ending,” Liz said. “It’s just…paused.”
“Paused for how long?” Susan asked.
The truth was Liz didn’t know.
“Did you pick out a name?” Liz asked, changing the subject and hoping to distract them both for a little while longer.
Susan stared down at her stomach and smiled. “We were thinking about Ryan or Jason.”
“I like Ryan,” Liz said. “I had a cousin named Ryan, but he was my favorite cousin, so I might be a little bias.”
Susan wrinkled her nose. “I was leaning toward Jason. But Kurt was pro-Ryan.”
“Maybe it’s for the best,” Liz said. “I haven’t talked to Ryan in years.”
“It’s funny picking out names,” Susan said. “I almost feel like I’m starting to set my kid on a path before he’s even born, you know?”
“Ben and I went back and forth on Connor’s name for the entire pregnancy,” Liz said. “It wasn’t until after he was born and the doctor asked what name we should write on his birth certificate that we decided. And Connor wasn’t even in either of our top three names.”
“How did you decide?” Susan asked.
Liz smiled, remembering how little Connor had felt in her arms the first time the doctor brought him to her. Babies always had a good weight to them, something she was never able to express verbally. “It just sort of happened. I looked at Ben, and he looked at me, and we both just knew. It works like that sometimes. Not all the time, but…sometimes.”
“I just want him to be healthy,” Susan said, staring down at her stomach.
“You’ve done everything right,” Liz said. “And you’re young. Never underestimate the power of youth. Trust me.”
“You had your oldest when you were in high school, right?” Susan asked.
“Sixteen,” Liz answered. “And I had no idea what to do.”
“Does she know her father?” Susan asked, and then quickly corrected, “I mean her biological father?”
“He checks in every once in a while,” Liz said. “He was just a boy when I was pregnant. He’s still a boy, really. But my family was very supportive. I was lucky in that regard. I don’t know what I would have done if I’d had to do it alone. It would have been much harder, I’m sure.”
The talk of her daughter turned Liz’s thoughts to Sarah in Charlotte, and she wondered if she was all right and where she had been during the outage. If it was even that far spread. For all she knew, it could be limited to their small area. But why someone would detonate an EMP for only Asheville, she had no idea.
A knock at the door broke Liz’s train of thoughts, and she immediately tensed. She had her pistol on her, as was protocol for their household during emergencies. Even though this was only the first few hours, both Liz and Ben understood how dangerous it could become with something so devastating as an EMP.
Liz kept her hand on the pistol’s grip but kept it in the holster as she approached the front door where a muffled voice followed a second knock.
“Liz? It’s Margaret, are you home?”
Liz peered through the peephole and saw Margaret was alone, and Liz released her grip on the weapon as she unlocked the door.
“Margaret,” Liz said. “What’s wrong?”
Margaret Simmons had dressed like she was heading to the opera. A sequined top of black and white matched with a black pencil skirt and kitten heels. Her shiny, black hair curled in a perfect bob, and she wore makeup and freshly pressed nails. She was a rail-thin woman. Ben had once described her as a pencil with a face, though Liz wouldn’t have been so harsh.
“Is Ben here?” Margaret asked, looking past Liz and into the dark house.
“No, he went into town to get the boys,” Liz answered. “Is everything all right?”
Margaret twisted her face with worry, and she drew a sharp breath. “It’s the Percys.”
The Percy family owned the last house on their street, tucked back into the woods at the top of the road. Their family had lived in the area for generations, going back to the colonial settlement. They were al
ways quick to point out how their family had fought in the Revolutionary War, and they had deeper roots than anyone in the state.
They were also known drug dealers and criminals.
Liz stepped aside. “Come in.”
Margaret moved quickly inside, still squeezing her hands like a nervous tick. “Nancy has been seeing the Percy boy, Gray, and she went over there against our wishes. The moment the power went out, they started shooting guns and hollering, and Harry went over to get her back, but he hasn’t returned. I was hoping Ben could go to help him, but if he’s not here…” She bit her lower lip and drew a sharp, worried breath. “I just don’t trust those people.”
Liz knew the Percy family could be rowdy, but for the most part, they didn’t bother anyone on the street and kept to themselves. A part of that was because of Ben. He had gone to high school with Gray’s father, and the pair never got along.
Ben had a bad history with the Percys, and he still harbored resentment toward them for what happened.
“I’m sure Nancy will come home soon,” Liz said. “They’ll just drink until they pass out. That’s what they usually do.”
Margaret shook her head. “It’s different this time. They’re louder than usual.” The muscles along her face twitched from nerves, and she turned, finally noticing Susan on the couch. “Oh. Susan, I didn’t—What are you doing here?”
“Kurt went with Ben into the city,” Susan answered. “He wanted me to stay up here with Liz until they came back.”
Margaret walked to Susan and touched her arm, smiling. “How are you feeling?”
“Pregnant,” Susan answered.
Margaret laughed. “I can see that.” She released Susan’s arm and turned back to Liz. “Do you know what’s going on with the power? I tried calling the power company to get an update, but my phone died, and the computer in Harry’s office isn’t working. Nothing is working. I had to walk down here. In these shoes.” She pointed to her feet.
Of everyone on the street, Liz knew the Simmons family was the least prepared to handle the coming crisis. Harry Simmons was one of the richest men in the state, and his solution to every problem was to throw money at it until it went away. But no amount of cash was going to get them out of this mess.