EMP Post-Apocalyptic Survival | Book 1 | Shelter In Place

by Hunt, James

  16

  Dawn arrived to illuminate a changed landscape. What had once been beautiful mountain scenery was now nothing but a charred wasteland. The fires had stripped the mountainside of its vegetation, leaving behind tall strips of blackened and gray tree trunks.

  Smoke drifted up from the ashes, making the landscape look like some post-apocalyptic earth where hell had risen from the depths and taken over the planet.

  But what was eerier than the sight of the blackened earth was the silence. The wind blew, but it moved silently across the mountainside. There were no leaves to rustle, no bushes to shake. The only thing that moved was the lightly colored gray ash that had piled on the ground like dirty snow.

  The city of Asheville had fared no better. What buildings hadn’t collapsed were scorched and blackened. The color of the city had faded, replaced with the same black and white colors of the surrounding landscape.

  It was a world filled with nothing but the dead, save for the few who had managed to survive.

  Kurt Johnson lay on his back along the soot-covered ground just outside of the city. Ash covered his entire body, and his clothes stuck to him like a second skin from the sweat that had poured out of him as they waited out of the fire.

  The used fire pod was next to Kurt, the outside scorched and blackened, the material eaten away by the flames it had protected Kurt from. Inches had been the difference between survival and being burned alive.

  Footsteps sounded to his right, and Kurt turned and saw Captain Hawthorne walking to him through the woods.

  Hawthorne was still in his uniform, though it was in the same dirtied condition as Kurt’s clothing. A bad burn ran up the length of Hawthorne’s left arm, a byproduct of their narrow escape from the fires in the city.

  Kurt didn’t think they would make it, but he should have known better than to doubt the old captain. The man was the only reason Kurt wasn’t a charred skeleton.

  “Here,” Captain Hawthorne said, extending a half-drunk bottle of water to Kurt. “It’s the only thing I could find. The cap was closed, so I think it’s safe to drink.”

  Kurt didn’t care if the water came from the back of a toilet. He unscrewed the cap and tilted the bottle up, quenching his parched tongue. He drained half of what was left, and then stopped, realizing he was going to drink the whole thing without offering any to the captain.

  Kurt held out the bottle to Hawthorne, but the captain waved it away as he sat down across from Kurt next to where his own fire pod lay.

  “I’m all right,” Hawthorne said. “You need it more than I do anyway.”

  Kurt nodded and then quickly finished the rest of the bottle. He was still thirsty even when he finished, though he suspected he could have drunk a gallon and still be thirsty.

  Finished, Kurt dropped the bottle and then laid his head back, exhausted. “It’s like my insides got burned somehow too.”

  “Fire can get anywhere,” Hawthorne said. “It’s a wicked thing.”

  Kurt lifted his head again and propped himself up by his elbows. “Did you see anyone?”

  Hawthorne avoided Kurt’s gaze and shook his head. “Only bodies.” He wiped his palm down his face and then rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve been part of some bad fires, but I have never seen anything like this.” He dropped his arm and then surveyed their surroundings. “It’s nothing but ash. It’s like something out of the Bible.”

  Kurt reached out his hand and poked his fingers into a pile of gray dust. It was so light but gritty like sand. When he pulled his fingers out of the ash, little pieces of it lingered on his skin. He rolled his fingertips, causing the ash to drift from his skin and float back down to the earth.

  “We need to get out of here,” Hawthorne said. “You still need to be looked after more properly, and I need to get his arm checked out.”

  Hawthorne carefully rotated his arm, exposing the reddened and cracked flesh. It was a bad third-degree burn, and Kurt knew that if it didn’t get treated properly and soon, it would grow infected.

  “Where could we go?” Kurt asked. “The city’s burned.”

  Hawthorne nodded and then gently lowered his left arm back to his side. “The closest hospital outside of the city would be Blake General. It’s about twenty miles. It’d probably take us two days to get there in our condition.”

  “Two days?” Kurt asked. “Captain, I don’t have that kind of time. I need to get back to my wife.”

  Hawthorne gestured to Kurt’s leg. “And you plan on hopping there all by yourself?”

  “She’s pregnant—”

  “I’m aware of Susan’s condition,” Hawthorne said, and then he lowered his head, realizing how harsh his tone sounded. “I’m sure she’s fine. The Riker’s are looking after her.”

  While Kurt appreciated the captain’s optimistic attitude, he needed to learn that information first hand. He needed to see her, needed to make sure she was all right. The thought of losing her and the baby it was—

  “I have to find her, Captain,” Kurt said. “I need to make sure she’s okay.”

  Hawthorne slumped forward, nodding. “I know.”

  Kurt thought the old captain looked more tired than normal, and he wondered if the old man was keeping something from him. Kurt knew Hawthorne had saved his life. He owed as much to him as he did to Ben Riker for dragging him out of the line of sniper fire.

  “If we go, I’ll need to get you ready,” Hawthorne said.

  Kurt frowned, not really following what the captain was saying.

  “The bullet,” Hawthorne said. “It needs to come out, and then we need to stitch you up.”

  Kurt glanced down to his bandaged leg. He knew the captain was right. It was only a matter of time before the bullet caused an infection, and it would take longer for the wound to close without stitches, and Kurt wasn’t sure he would be able to survive another bleed out like he had before.

  The captain had already donated blood, and Kurt knew that drawing any more from the captain could put his life in danger. There wasn’t much room for error.

  “Okay,” Kurt said, the nerves beginning to set in from the pain he was sure would follow.

  Captain Hawthorne nodded and then gathered the supplies he had brought with them from the fire station. He sterilized the equipment, and then sat down next to Kurt’s leg and carefully peeled away the bandage that Ben had placed over the wound.

  Beneath was crusted blood, the wound already having the yellowish mucus membrane as the wound attempted to heal itself, the gathering white blood cells rushing to scab the wound over so it could stop the bleeding.

  “It’s going to burn,” Hawthorne said. “Bad.”

  Kurt tensed, bracing for the pain. “Just do it—gah!”

  Hawthorne wasted no time, dumping the peroxide over the wound and wiping the area clean. He then reached for the tweezers and brought them to the edge of the wound. He glanced once at Kurt and then penetrated the wound.

  The pain was so intense, so blinding that when Kurt opened his mouth to scream, there was no sound. The nerve receptors in his brain were overwhelmed by the flood of signals sent through his system.

  But when Kurt was finally able to vocalize, his throaty scream was short and echoed through the empty woods.

  A wall of white then blinded Kurt’s vision, and he bucked his hips, squirming over the burnt ground, pounding his fists into the dirt.

  “You need to keep still, Kurt!” Hawthorne kept one hand pinned down on the leg he was operating on and continued to push through the thick muscle, searching for the bullet buried deep within the leg.

  Kurt’s breathing grew faster until it felt like he was hyperventilating; his heart kickstarted hard in his chest, and it hammered so hard he thought it might burst.

  “I think I’ve got it,” Hawthorne said, his face set in concentration.

  Kurt couldn’t articulate the pain running through him, but he wanted to call the captain every name under the sun. And just before he managed to find his v
oice, Hawthorne pulled out the bullet.

  “Got it,” Hawthorne said, and then dropped the bullet into the dirt.

  The moment Hawthorne finished, the pain eased, and Kurt relaxed, his body lying completely still as his mind slowly recuperated from the traumatic event.

  “I have to stitch you up now,” Hawthorne said.

  Kurt said nothing as his endorphins kicked in to help alleviate some of the pain he experienced. He was so numb that he didn’t even feel the first few stitches Hawthorne put through his skin.

  “You did good, kid,” Hawthorne said, moving a shaking hand with needle and thread over the bullet hole. “You did really good.”

  “Thanks.” Though Kurt wasn’t sure what he actually did. All he did was not punch the captain. But maybe that did warrant a good job.

  Once the captain finished, Kurt could barely keep his eyes open. He glanced down at the wound before Hawthorne covered it with a bandage again and saw the crooked stitch work.

  “The scar will be bad,” Hawthorne said. “I know it’s not pretty, but it’ll hold.”

  Drenched in sweat, Kurt reached for Hawthorne’s hand. “Thanks, Captain.”

  Hawthorne smiled. “You’re welcome.” He stood his knees, cracking from the motion. “Listen, I’m going to see if I can’t find us some more water and food for the trip. You just stay here and rest.”

  Kurt nodded and then gave a thumbs up to the captain. “Yes, sir.”

  Hawthorne laughed and then disappeared behind him.

  Kurt wiped the sweat from his face. He reached for the plastic water bottle he had emptied and then tipped it back to get the remaining droplets. The few drops that rolled onto his tongue barely satisfied him and only made him thirstier.

  But he was alive. Kurt knew that was half the battle. All he needed to do now was make it home.

  Voices pulled Kurt’s attention behind him, and he sat up, looking to see what was going on. The voices were too far off for him to hear what was said, but he knew it was more than one.

  Kurt thought maybe the captain had found other survivors, but that thought shattered when he heard the gunshots that thundered.

  Two shots. Quick.

  Kurt froze and then listened to hurried shouts as the voices drew closer. Kurt looked to the rifle on his left and snatched it, but the moment he had it in his hands, he knew he was still a sitting duck. He needed to hide.

  With the voices growing louder and closer, Kurt rolled onto his side, the sharp pain radiating from the gunshot wound in his leg. The pain was enough to make him nauseous, but Kurt pushed through the pain and then got a bird’s eye view of his surroundings.

  The fires had taken much of the cover, but Kurt spied a cluster of rocks up a small hill. It was as good a place as any.

  With his one good leg, Kurt hopped up the hill, glancing back behind him as he saw the two figures approaching through the charred trees.

  Running out of time, Kurt jumped the last few feet, landing hard on his stomach, and quickly pulled his legs behind the rock.

  Body aching with pain from the quick jump upside the mountain, Kurt did his best to keep his breathing soft and quiet, but after the exertion up the hill, it was difficult.

  The voices eventually reached the small clearing where Hawthorne and Kurt had waited out the storm. He heard them kick the fire pods, but they were speaking a language Kurt didn’t understand, which made him remember what Ben had told him about on their walk into the city. He said he thought someone might have attacked the country, but he didn’t know who.

  Kurt tightened his grip on the weapon and kept it close. He kept his eyes open, hoping the enemy would go away but preparing to fight if he had to. Though, in his condition, he didn’t think he would survive.

  17

  T he river was too peaceful for the stress the morning had brought with it. Liz paced the riverbank nervously, glancing across the river to the charred remains of the forest where the fires had stopped just as Ben had said they would.

  But Ben had also said they would cross together.

  Liz had spent all night and all morning racking her brain for when she had lost sight of Ben and Connor on their retreat toward the water. She remembered seeing them, and then Margaret had joined them, and so did Nancy.

  After that, it all became a blur.

  Liz was so focused on sprinting toward the river and evading the flames that were licking at her heels that she had told herself that Ben would be fine. After all, he was in far better shape than she was, but she had forgotten how much he had already been through.

  But the trip from the city and back had taken its toll on him, Liz had seen it when he had returned home. But she never believed that her husband would fail. He had never failed at anything. Of all the people in her life, there was no one steadier than Ben Riker. The man was the foundation of the family. And he never cracked, no matter the pressure.

  But when Liz finally reached the river bank last night and splashed into the water, she stopped to turn around, expecting to find Ben with Connor in his arms. She was smiling when she turned, happy and ecstatic they had escaped.

  But the happiness quickly soured.

  Only the raging fires of the forest stared back at her, roaring their mockery of her hope. Liz had screamed Ben’s name until her throat was raw and her voice was lost.

  It had been Nancy that had pulled Liz back from re-entering the woods. Deep down, she knew it was too dangerous to go back into the fires and search for her Ben and Connor, but at that moment, instincts had replaced logic.

  When Liz and the others finally reached the other side of the river, Liz broke down and cried, which caused Tommy to cry as well. Though her son’s tears were only a reaction from his mother’s emotions, Liz knew the boy was in pain as well.

  Liz needed to be strong for him, but for one moment, she granted herself a short reprieve from bravery and courage and allowed herself to be small and scared.

  And so, Liz, Tommy, Margaret, and Nancy all sat on the riverbank last night and watched as the fires burned and raged.

  At some point, Tommy fell asleep, then Margaret, and finally Nancy. But Liz remained awake the entire night, watching until the fires had died down and nothing but smoke and ashes remained.

  The landscape Liz stared at now across the river was one of death. The morning light revealed the devastation of the fires.

  Every ounce of green was gone, replaced with different shades of black and gray, which contrasted against the clear blue morning sky.

  “C’mon, Ben,” Liz said, whispering the bits of hope to herself, clenching her fists at her sides. “Please.” The last word escaped in a half-prayer and half-demand, and her eyes watered as she refused to look away.

  Liz was so distracted, waiting for Ben to magically appear through the dead trees that she hadn’t noticed Nancy standing next to her until the young girl spoke.

  “My dad is still back there somewhere,” Nancy said.

  Liz turned to Nancy. Her clothes were still damp, her once freshly pressed and conditioned hair stringy and stiff from the river waters and the night on the ground. The waters had washed away most of the soot, but the soot had been replaced by the dirt of the riverbank where everyone had fallen asleep.

  “I’m sorry,” Liz said.

  Nancy nodded. “He told me to leave him. He knew I couldn’t take him by myself.”

  Liz frowned and then looked from Nancy to Margaret, who still lay on her side, her back to Liz and Nancy. “Your mother—”

  “She left us,” Nancy said. “She freaked out and said she couldn’t carry him. And then she ran away.”

  “She left you?” Liz asked, unable to hide the disgust in her voice.

  “Something broke inside of her,” Nancy answered, remaining stoic. “She wasn’t built for something like this. I had always thought my mom was mean, but I never realized she was weak.”

  Liz looked at Margaret one more time. The woman remained motionless.

  “I’ll nee
d to go back and find him,” Nancy said. “I want to bury him.”

  Liz nodded. “Of course.”

  Nancy finally turned to look at Liz, and Liz thought the girl had aged five years since the night before. “I might need help.”

  Liz realized what Nancy was asking. She didn’t think Margaret would be willing to help, or perhaps she didn’t even want to ask for help.

  “I’ll do it,” Liz said.

  “Thank you,” Nancy replied, and then faced forward again. “I hope they made it.”

  Liz drew in a sharp breath. “Me too.”

  “Mommy?”

  Liz turned and found Tommy sitting up, rubbing his eye, his arm covered in dirt. “Hey, baby.” She walked to her son and knelt, scooping him out of the dirt. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m hungry,” Tommy answered, his voice still incredibly sleepy.

  “We’ll get some food in a little bit, okay?”

  Tommy nodded and then yawned as he snuggled his small head onto her chest. Liz sat there for a moment with Tommy in her arms and watched as her youngest boy slept. She had never thought of the prospect of facing the coming days alone.

  If Ben was really gone, if they were waiting on the riverbank for someone who was never going to come, then Liz needed to accept the reality, grieve, and then move forward. Because she couldn’t allow herself to lose her mind with Tommy still here with her. She still had a son to take care of, and she needed to stick with the plan.

  “Daddy?” Tommy asked.

  Lost in thought, Liz glanced back across the river with longing and surprise. Her heart skipped a beat and then leaped into her throat. She walked toward the water’s edge, her feet splashing into the cool river that winded its way down the bank, and got a closer look at what her son had seen.

  At first, Liz thought it might have simply been her imagination that was getting the best of her, but the longer she stared, the more she was confident that what she was seeing was real.

  “Daddy!” Tommy pointed and shouted with excitement.

  Ben stumbled to the riverbank, Connor walking beside him, and the pair waved their arms. Liz raised her hand in reply and bounced up and down with excitement, which triggered a fit of giggles from Tommy.