End Days Super Boxset

by Hayden, Roger

  “Yeah,” Richie said. “You aim and pull the trigger.”

  “Good. Keep your eyes open and your ears to the ground.” With that said, Terrance walked by the front of the van and into the woods to their right, slouched over and staying low to the ground. His pistol was aimed steadily in the air. He didn't want to take any chances. He could smell fresh gunpowder. There was certainly something going down, but what he saw next surprised him beyond anything he could have imagined.

  From behind a thin, vine-covered bush that was thick with thorns, Terrance ducked down to see James slumped against a tree with three strange men standing over him. They were no more than five yards from where he hid, barely concealed. James had been shot and he was struggling to pick up his rifle, which lay on the moss-covered ground. A tall, skinny man with long stringy hair held back by a flag bandana and wearing old green and black military garb stood over James with his pistol aimed, apparently taunting him.

  “Just know that when you die, part of me will die with you,” the man said, ready to pull the trigger.

  An adrenaline rush jolted Terrance. It was a call to action, something similar to when he had stopped to help the beleaguered policemen after a riot nearly ignited in his son's high school in Atlanta. He was no saint or hero, but at that moment, he knew there were only precious seconds left, and he would have no choice but to shoot first and ask questions later, consequences be damned. He double-checked to make sure his 9mm pistol was locked and loaded, then raced out of the bushes and stormed towards Russell and his men.

  “Hey!” Terrance shouted, aiming his pistol.

  Russell stopped and looked over, momentarily distracted. Without another moment's hesitation, Terrance fired, hitting Russell right in the face. As his cheek exploded into a liquid burst of red, Russell fell to the ground, not even knowing what hit him. Stunned, Eli and Kyle looked down as their leader collapsed at their feet.

  Kyle looked up and over to Terrance as he approached with his shooting arm steadied. Their clueless bafflement hindered any immediate reaction. The rifles in their arms remained pointed at the ground. Terrance took advantage of their inaction and quickly pushed on, determined to take them out.

  “What the fuck?” Kyle said.

  Terrance fired twice, hitting Kyle in the chest both times. The gunshots were startlingly loud, and Terrance tried to steady his shaking hand. He had never fired a gun at anyone before, and the experience was surreal.

  Eli snapped out of his initial shock and raised his rifle. His chest burst open before he could even get the barrel in the air. The shot hadn't come from Terrance, however. It came from James. He held his rifle pointed upward, with its barrel smoking, then dropped it onto the ground while hacking up blood. Terrance’s heart beat rapidly—almost too rapidly—as he scanned the woods for other threats. After deciding the coast was clear, Terrance ran to James and fell to his knees in front of his dying friend.

  “James! What happened here? Where's Christina?”

  James struggled to speak. His face was ghostly pale and sweat was pouring from his forehead. Terrance had never seen a man look so sickly and weak. He noticed the T-shirts wrapped tightly around his chest and the large red stain that was soaking through.

  “They're...OK...I think,” James wheezed.

  “I need to know,” Terrance said frantically. He tossed his pistol to the ground and held James by his shoulder with both hands. “Where are they?”

  “We were ambushed. Long story,” James continued in a frail voice. “I think they got away.” He coughed again, then continued. “They tried to pull me to safety, but couldn't. They tried though.”

  Terrance took notice to James's blank, distant stare, as if he was trailing off somewhere beyond. “No! You're not going anywhere. You stay right here with me. I got the van, and we can get you to the hospital.”

  James looked up at Terrance and smiled. “It's OK. There's no other place I'd rather be put to rest than out here.” His breathing began to slow as his eyes looked beyond Terrance and into the sky. “Good seeing you, Terrance. Glad you finally made it back.” He coughed a little, then continued. “What the hell took you guys so long?”

  Terrance shook him, trying to keep his eyes open. “Come on, James. Let's get you in the van.”

  James was fading, his voice beginning to drift. “Cliff...that's my son’s name. Adam and Allie, those are my grandkids. Brianna, that's my daughter-in-law. Valerie, that's my wife.” He stopped and laughed a little. “OK, ex-wife. All such pretty names, and I love them all. Tell 'em I'll see 'em later…”

  His breathing slowed to a halt. His eyes dilated and his head tilted to the side. Terrance shook him some more and called out to him—again and again.

  He leaned in and took James in his arms, then let him fall back against the tree. Suddenly, he heard footsteps from behind them and grabbed his pistol. He dove to the ground, flat on his back, and aimed ahead. A wave of relief rushed over him when he saw Christina hunched over and walking toward him. The moment her eyes met his, she dropped the pistol and nearly fell to the ground.

  “Terrance?” she said in disbelief. “Is that really you?”

  His smile stretched from ear to ear, flashing the gap in his front teeth. “Terrance! Oh my God!”

  Terrance threw his pistol aside, jumped up, and ran to her with all the strength he had left. As soon as they embraced, he heard Paula's voice cry out to him from behind her mother. Further back were Mark and Janice, stunned to find him standing right in front of them.

  Terrance and Christina squeezed each other tightly as she showered his face with kisses. “Where did you come from?” Her eyes filled with tears as Terrance broke away for a moment to embrace Paula.

  The group was shaken to the core but happy, too. “I thought you were one of them,” Christina said, nearly crying. “I was ready to shoot you.”

  “I didn't know what to think. What the hell happened here?”

  Distraught, Janice suddenly pushed her way through the group. “James!” She dropped down next to his lifeless body, not wanting to believe what she was seeing. Mark kneeled next to her. Soon, everyone was gathered around James. Christina saw the three other bodies that lay nearby. Their grotesque open wounds startled her and she pulled Paula aside, blocking her view.

  “We need to get you out of here.”

  “The van is parked nearby. Tobias and Richie are waiting,” Terrance said.

  “You found Richie?”

  “Piece of cake,” Terrance said, trying to offer another smile. Their elation at finding each other again was tempered by the sight of James at their feet.

  “Go with your mother to the van,” Terrance said to Paula. He led them halfway to where the van was parked, just outside the tree line. “I want you to stay with the children. Mark and I will take care of this.”

  “There's two others,” Christina said. Terrance flashed her an inquisitive look. “Two others that I had to shoot. I don't know if anyone else is coming after us. There was this place we went to. We waited and waited for you. And then we had to leave and they followed us, and tried to kill us...”

  Terrance placed his hand on Christina's cheek, shushing her. “It's OK. You can tell me everything, but first go see the boys. The adults have work to do here.”

  Christina nodded and gave Terrance a hug. She took Paula by the hand and they walked off toward the van. Terrance turned back around and took a deep breath as Mark and Janice stood nearby with their arms around each other.

  “We've all been through some shit, Terrance,” Mark said. “It hasn't been easy.”

  “Sun’s going down,” Terrance said. “Let's move these bodies and go back to the bug-out house.”

  “We take James, let the rest of 'em rot,” Mark replied.

  “I know how you feel, but the smell alone isn't worth it. We have to bury them all.”

  Janice stepped forward, visibly upset. “I can't believe we're even having this conversation right now. I think I'm going to puke.�
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  “Let's try to keep it together. It's important for us, and it's important for the kids.”

  “Easy for you to say,” Mark said.

  Their argument stopped when they heard Christina squeal from afar, obviously ecstatic to be reunited with Richie and Tobias. Whatever horrors they had faced together or separately subsided momentarily after hearing a brief moment of joy.

  It was almost too much to take in at once. After they set up a small makeshift enclosure near the bug-out house, Terrance was told everything that had happened during his absence. He was told of the fire, their journey through the woods, and their arrival at Camp Liberty. Though they had only been split up for a few days, it seemed that he had missed an eternity. They told him of the townspeople and their attack on Camp Liberty, and then their eventual escape.

  “After James was shot, well, that's where you come in, Terrance,” Mark said.

  Terrance was speechless, as were Richie and Tobias. They couldn't believe that their little sister had endured such hardships. Their innocence seemed lost now.

  They would all sleep on the ground that night in an improvised shelter made from sticks, rope, and their extra clothes. Terrance pulled out what was left from his emergency food kit and divided it up to be rationed later. It was a quiet, solemn evening for the most part. Of course, there was concern about the remaining members at Camp Liberty and possible retribution. Mark and Janice were confident, however, that without Russell, there was no real leadership and the militia would soon disband. Maybe the Wilson boys and the college students would have some hope after all.

  The biggest obstacle they faced was the loss of James, though it seemed too surreal to believe. Gone was his bug-out house. Gone were their vehicles, all but the van. And gone, finally, was James. He was the reason they had come out to Milledgeville in the first place. He was their unelected leader, their organizer, the man they trusted with their lives.

  His body was wrapped and buried in the front yard of the home he loved. As for the others, Mark and Terrance dug a hole out in the forest—with what shovels remained near the bug-out house—and buried them. Mark only puked twice. Terrance seemed largely unaffected. He had never buried bodies with such wounds before, but for some reason, it had little effect on him.

  That evening—as they hydrated themselves from their water reserves and leftover scraps of food—the question came up of where they were going to go next. There wasn't much for them in Milledgeville, and according to James, things were only worse around town. They had Terrance's van, but not much fuel to go a great distance. Another fuel run would be necessary.

  Their next move would have to be a careful one. Recent hardships had placed some genuine burdens and stress on the fragile bonds within their group. It might be better for them to go their separate ways after all. Later that night, as the kids slept in their sleeping bags, the adults sat outside their shelter, under the stars, to discuss their options.

  “We have to keep moving,” Terrance insisted.

  “Yes, but where?” Janice said.

  “How about D.C.?” Mark suggested.

  Everyone stopped and looked at him. It seemed an insane suggestion.

  “Why D.C.?” Christina asked.

  “The crime there alone is concerning,” Janice added.

  Mark held his hands up defensively. “Hear me out for a moment. Look, I know D.C. is bad news. Here's the thing, though. I can remember during one of Russell's rants, he made the claim that Washington D.C. was one of the few areas still completely operational in terms of power and mobility and all that. Seems to me that if we really want some answers to this thing, we're going to find them there.”

  No one said anything, but they were considering Mark's point. They had few other options.

  Mark continued. “Either that, or we hide in the woods eating leaves. Or we go back to our homes and hope that everything fixes itself in time.”

  Janice spoke up. “I'll take the fixes itself option.”

  “Well, in that case, would you guys mind taking us back to Savannah?”

  Terrance stood up. “I think we're all forgetting what this is all about in the first place. I know that everyone has been through a lot. Richie, Tobias, and I have our own stories to tell. We came here to work together. We came here because we believe in each other and our ability to adapt and survive. We didn't ask for that EMP strike. We didn't ask for none of it, but here we are. Do I want to go home? Of course. We all do. But it ain't the same as it used to be. None of it is. Without James, I know all of this feels pointless. But you all damn well know he would have wanted us to stick together.”

  Terrance sat back down, somewhat satisfied with his speech.

  “I just don't know if D.C. is the answer,” Janice said after a pause.

  “Janice, it's all we have at this point,” Mark said.

  Terrance turned to Christina. “What do you think?”

  “I think that if we can make it there, we can make it anywhere.”

  Janice leaned in. “You mean physically make it there? Because even that's in doubt.”

  “I mean that we have to try.”

  It seemed decided among the group. They would pile in the bug-out van and make the drive to Washington D.C. It wasn't too far away, but a gas run would undoubtedly be necessary. The prospect of answers was too alluring to deny. Their lives were no longer what they were before the EMP strikes. Too much had happened. Mark screwed the lid off his canteen and held it up in the air.

  “To James,” he said. “The finest man in Milledgeville.”

  Everyone grabbed their water bottles and held them up. “To James,” they said in unison. They took a sip of refreshing water and continued to watch the fire in silence.

  In the darkness of the front yard, a cross made from two sticks bound together stuck out of the yard, overlooking the ruins of a once-practical home. It had become the silent resting place of a man whose roots were now one with the land he so revered.

  Moving On

  Mason had little trouble stealing a military Humvee. It seemed like his first big break. He watched the soldiers outside the hospital from afar, waiting for an opportunity. It came when the prospect of coffee was mentioned, and the soldiers scattered to the nearest tent inside the hospital gate to line up.

  They were, after all, National Guard soldiers who had been guarding the same checkpoint for weeks with limited information from their higher-ups. They had done all that could have been expected of them and more, even though it meant being away from their families during an unprecedented crisis. They were also kept in the dark about the true extent of what was occurring throughout the country. Had it been known, the state would have a more difficult time keeping them at their posts.

  Mason simply strolled to the nearest Humvee at the front gate, got in, and turned the ignition switch to the glorious sound of the engine's roar. He looked back quickly to see if anyone took notice. The thought of being pulled from the vehicle and tackled to the ground entered his mind, but he tried to stay positive.

  The sound of the engine had been heard by many of the soldiers lined up for coffee nearby, but they had all assumed that someone was watching the gate. They grew no more suspicious when the Humvee drove off. As far as they were concerned, it was a night patrol. Mason knew he was in view of the soldiers and didn't speed away to arouse suspicion or alert them of the theft. Once he was out of sight, he floored it to the nearest highway exit. He only hoped that he could remember how to get to his destination.

  Mason would have his own share of troubles trying to get to D.C. He had to backtrack before leaving Atlanta and find the farmhouse where he had hidden the USB drive. His memory was still hazy, and he was still in bad shape physically. The Humvee had terrible gas mileage and wasn’t the most inconspicuous vehicles around either. Once he found the USB drive, he’d then have a 700-mile trip to make where anything could happen on the way. The odds of succeeding in his mission seemed abysmally low. Had the Colombians killed hi
m, he wouldn't have to contend with any of it.

  Maybe he was naïve to think that a thumb drive could prevent a world war. The government was being played by infiltrators from within, as were the American citizens. Mason felt he had to alert the clueless government to what was happening from within. He, like other selected targets, had been marked for death. His colleagues had already been killed, and he was the only remaining outsider with knowledge of the conspiracy. Revealing the truth behind everything was now up to him.

  There were many things to contend with—government agents, the police, the military, even former associates who were working against him. It was the stuff conspiracy theories were made of, but no one in the country cared about a bunch of dead NSA employees—not when they didn’t have power, food, or water.

  Mason had no doubt that the President and his administration were devising war plans against the Middle East in retaliation for the EMP strikes. How they could even fall for such a ruse was beyond him. If the terrorist-sponsored states wanted to attack America, they would have used a nuclear warhead, dirty bomb, or a chemical agent. They wouldn’t have wasted their time using an EMP. Mason knew this.

  The Middle East was full of serious, fanatical leaders who believed that the annihilation of America was a part of their fundamental purpose. Would they risk their own destruction in retaliatory U.S. strikes? World affairs were fragile enough, and now everything was soon going to be up for grabs. It was only a matter of time.

  Mason was on the outskirts of Atlanta, approaching the rural enclave where he would find the abandoned farm. Somewhere on that farm was a pumpkin. In that pumpkin, in a sealed, airtight bag, he would find the USB drive. It was his life insurance policy, but it was also the reason he was marked for death. If captured, they would keep him alive in order for him to disclose its whereabouts. He would no doubt be arrested and tried for treason. But the real traitors were conveniently inside the government, where they could do the most damage. Exposing them meant everything to him.