Fifth Column: Post Apocalyptic EMP Survival Fiction (The Lone Star Series Book 5)

by Bobby Akart

  “They never did find any sort of collusion, did they?” asked Yancey.

  Acton leaned back and finished his whisky. “Nah, of course not, but it didn’t matter. The public thought it existed, and as a result, the three of us are sitting here instead of wondering where our next meal is gonna come from.”

  “Okay, back to the matter at hand.” The president wanted to hear about Yancey’s proposed tactic.

  Yancey laid out the initial steps, or at least those the president would be aware of.

  “The first thing you should do, Madam President, is make a phone call to Austin. Reach out to President Burnett, provide condolences, and offer to help in any possible way. Try to soften her with a spirit of cooperation. After all, both Texas and the United States are in the same situation now. Convince her that together, we can pull through this. But apart, both nations may fail.”

  Acton interrupted. “If she begins to ask about details, then relay what we’ve discussed but try to keep some things close to the vest. Propose a summit between high-level officials of the two administrations to open up the dialogue.”

  “Spirit of cooperation,” mumbled President Harman. “I like that. First thing tomorrow morning, I’ll make the call. Let’s bring the country back together again.”

  Chapter 46

  January 22

  Camp Lubbock

  Lubbock, Texas

  It was the day after the attack on the power grid and Holloway’s attempt to raid the Camp Lubbock armory. Duncan and his men worked around the clock to clean up their facility and make sure it was secured against a follow-up attack.

  Duncan’s request to his superiors for additional troops to be assigned to his unit, or at least designated to respond to unrest in Amarillo and Lubbock, was denied. The bulk of the Texas military forces were diverted toward larger metropolitan areas like Dallas, Houston, San Antonio, and El Paso, which were in a state of utter chaos. Commanders at Fort Hood were at a loss as to how they should quell the riots and the many uprisings throughout the city, which shared the Texas border with Juarez, Mexico.

  “We’re on our own, Espy,” said Duncan as the two men found a moment to take a break. With the interior of Camp Lubbock cleared of debris, they set about the task of securing the windows. First, they covered the openings with eight-millimeter plastic and duct tape. Next, sheets of one-inch plywood were taken from a local lumber company to cover the windows. What they sacrificed in natural light was replaced with ballistic protection against any subsequent attacks.

  Duncan’s concern for a repeat of yesterday’s assault was replaced by concern for the crowds that had gathered around Camp Lubbock made up of local citizens demanding answers. Camp Lubbock was the only representative of the new nation’s government in the region and was now looked upon as the primary law enforcement entity after the sheriff’s office had been destroyed by the rocket-propelled grenade.

  Thirteen deputies and Lubbock police officers had perished in the blast and subsequent fire. In addition, the Lubbock County sheriff advised Duncan that many of his deputies had quit or simply disappeared. Rather than serve and protect the community, they’d opted to protect their families. After hearing this news, Duncan wondered if they’d made a smarter choice than he had.

  Lucy’s words made the difference. He and Espy were both prepared to resign their positions with the TX-QRF if there was a direct threat to the ranch and its occupants. Lucy had convinced them to return to Lubbock and put Camp Lubbock back together again. However, between Fort Hood’s denial of additional personnel and the attrition rate for local law enforcement, Duncan began to wonder why he had to be the upstanding citizen. After all, he thought to himself, hadn’t his country abandoned him in a time of need?

  Espy didn’t respond, opting instead to lean his chair back against the wall, propped on its two rear legs. Duncan could see how exhausted his new sergeant was.

  “Espy! Are you awake?” Duncan teased his aide-de-camp and now close friend. Although he and Espy didn’t have the working relationship that Duncan had developed with Park, the two of them seemed attuned to each other’s movements when in battle. Park had been better at covert operations, but Espy was an excellent soldier.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Espy grumbled as he brought his chair down on the floor with a thud.

  “Seriously, you obviously lied about how long you slept last night,” admonished Duncan. “Go hit the rack for a while. The camp is under control, and I need to spend some time in the armory with a couple of the lieutenants. With our numbers down, we need to make sure our two four-man response units have the best equipment packed in their Humvees and ready at all times.”

  “We need the same thing,” added Espy as he stifled a yawn. “I’m talkin’ night vision, comms, stun grenades, several weapons options, and body armor.”

  Duncan stood up from his chair and walked toward the door. He waved at Espy as if to sweep him out the door as well. “On your feet, Sergeant. Get some rest, and I’ll pick the gear out.”

  “Sir, yes, sir,” said Espy with a grin. “I’m not gonna argue. I feel like the walking dead.”

  They strolled down the hallway toward the armory, and just as Espy reached his office/sleeping quarters, his satellite phone rang.

  Espy answered and made mental notes from the caller’s news. Duncan stood patiently by as Espy completed the call.

  “What?” he asked his aide.

  “A crowd of residents broke into the Walmart, and they’re carrying out anything they can get their hands on. Apparently, there’s fighting in the parking lot, as some people are waiting for others to do the heavy lifting by getting the loot outside, only to face an angry mob who wants to take their stuff when they reach the outside.”

  Duncan huffed and shook his head. “Sounds like a law enforcement problem to me. Looting, robbery, and B and E are all cop problems.”

  “Those were the cops,” Espy said dryly.

  “The cops called us to bust a bunch of looters?” Duncan asked in disbelief. “They do realize we’re the military, right? We break things and kill people. We don’t do crowd control and arrest looters.”

  Espy replaced the satellite phone into the holder attached to his belt. He exhaled before he spoke. “Actually, sir, under the martial law directive from the president, our duties include tamping down societal unrest.”

  Duncan shook his head in disgust. He, too, was tired. His men were not properly equipped to react to a real crisis, which in his mind involved large groups of armed men taking hostages or firing upon governmental facilities like sheriff’s offices, National Guard complexes, and power grids.

  He gritted his teeth and patted Espy on the shoulder. “C’mon, you and I can handle this alone.”

  “What? I mean, sir, are you sure?”

  “Espy, grab one of the Humvees with a Ma Deuce attached. Make sure we’ve got plenty of ammo.”

  Espy stopped in his tracks and studied Duncan. Duncan scowled as he stared at his young sergeant. Duncan was sure yesterday’s interrogation sessions were still fresh in Espy’s mind. It was possible that Espy thought he was becoming insane.

  “Espy? Are you gonna bring the truck around?”

  “Sir, um, should we talk about our ROE?”

  Finally, Duncan couldn’t hold back. He laughed and put his hand on Espy’s shoulder. “I’m not gonna massacre all the civvies. Is that what you’re thinking?”

  Espy stammered all over himself. “Well, no, sir, or I don’t know, maybe.”

  “I’m only gonna scare the bejesus out of them. By the time I’m finished stitching the front of Walmart with a hundred fifty-cal rounds, they’ll all scatter, leaving a big mess behind, but we will have fulfilled our obligation to tamp down the unrest.”

  “Sir, won’t that cause an uproar and bring a lot of attention to our methods?”

  Duncan smiled and nodded. “I hope so. Let them be afraid. Maybe they’ll stay home from now on.”

  Chapter 47

  January 22r />
  Near Armstrong Ranch

  Borden County, Texas

  It was just after dusk as Holloway gathered his reconnaissance team back together following a day of surveillance around the Armstrong Ranch and the adjacent Reinecke property where the Slaughters were living. That morning, after a good rest for his team, he had taken one truck and a few of his top guys to follow in the same direction the military Humvee had driven the day before. To his surprise, just ten miles away was a large ranching operation, which piqued his interest.

  From a safe distance, Holloway and his men used their long-range optics to study the property. They took the day to walk around the ranch until they ran into the Colorado River. Then they returned in the other direction until they came upon the Reinecke property turned Slaughter ranch.

  He considered employing his commandos’ abilities to sneak into the oddly configured dairy operation, kill all the inhabitants, and stake his claim. After additional recon of the big ranch, he decided this small makeshift dairy ranch could wait.

  He returned to Vealmoor and brought the rest of his men, who were distributed around the western and southern perimeter of the ranch. He also studied the map and showed another team the route to place themselves on the north side of the river, where they could make observations and report back their findings.

  All of his men were told to return to the small town they’d occupied after dark and were reminded to avoid detection. Holloway sensed this was the prize he’d been waiting for, and it had been just beyond his fingertips the whole time.

  In addition, based upon the roads in the area, he began to think that his adversary from the Texas Guard was connected to the property. If he was right, then this would be an opportunity to inflict some pain upon the guy who’d killed so many of his men. Even if the guy was unconnected to this particular ranch, then Holloway might’ve found a home.

  He lingered on the slightly elevated hill overlooking the western fence of the property as he tried to study their perimeter patrols. While they were frequent and the riders appeared to be armed with rifles, he didn’t expect they’d be a match for his trained commandos. He applauded the ranchers use of guard towers, but he laughed when he saw that those who manned the tower rarely used binoculars to survey their surroundings.

  “Nothing is a piece of cake, but this operation is pretty close,” he remarked aloud.

  Holloway left, and he gathered his men inside a large Quonset-hut-style prefabricated metal building to review their findings. Within an hour, they had created a fairly accurate map of Armstrong Ranch, including building placement, distances between structures, and manpower levels.

  They found several cans of paint and a four-foot-by-eight-foot sheet of plywood to use as a map. The map was hung on the wall of the building for everyone to refer to as they exchanged observations. Using nails and some colored electrical wiring, he assigned his men to precise points of attack. Their communications were limited, so they would have to rely upon visual and audible signals to advance.

  By midnight, the group had used the benefit of their years of training both in North Korea and in the U.S. as criminals to concoct the perfect plan to overrun and commandeer Armstrong Ranch.

  Tonight, they’d rest. Tomorrow, they’d conduct additional surveillance to confirm their approach. By early evening, they’d attack and conquer.

  Chapter 48

  January 23

  The Armstrong Ranch

  Borden County, Texas

  West Texas was all Preacher knew. He had been born and raised in the Midland-Odessa area, with a strict disciplinarian of a father and a librarian in the local middle school for a mother. The oldest of six children, Preacher, born Caleb O’Malley, had been a tough kid growing up. He was the consummate big brother, constantly helping his siblings and, when necessary, defending them from their bullying classmates in the schoolyard.

  The combination of living under his father’s thumb and the family’s strict Southern Baptist upbringing had transformed young Caleb O’Malley into a protector of his fellow man. After graduation, his family couldn’t afford to pay his way through college, so Preacher took a part-time job at a local meat-packing warehouse and attended classes at Midland College, where he majored in religious studies.

  When an opportunity arose to work at the Midland Baptist Church on a part-time basis, he was the first in line to be interviewed. He was hired to work in their bus ministry and later as an assistant to the youth pastor. Between his studies in his final year in college and his time spent around the church, both on and off the clock, Preacher had become a highly respected man of God.

  With a college degree, his fate became uncertain, as he had to transition from part-time employee of the church to a full-time, responsible adult. Mount Zion Baptist Church in nearby Big Spring provided the answer.

  An older church located in the heart of Big Spring, its preacher had pushed back against the trend to ask for more money from his congregation in order to build a bigger, better church. The regulars at Mount Zion lived at or below the poverty level. Most of the families had two or three children more than they could afford. Husbands routinely got into trouble due to drinking and drugs. Wives were abused. Kids ran away only to come home again after harrowing experiences on the road. It was a sign of the times in America.

  As new Baptist churches sprang up around town, the flock fled to the more opulent sanctuaries. When the preacher of Mount Zion suddenly passed away from colon cancer, the congregation was like a herd of sheep without a shepherd.

  Until Caleb O’Malley arrived. With the powerful endorsement of the church elders at Midland Baptist and the support of the Southern Baptist Convention, Caleb O’Malley became a full-fledged preacher.

  His congregation grew from less than twenty to a regularly packed house in the small church, which held forty-some congregants. He got to know them all personally. He was there to officiate their weddings and baptize their children. He was there to counsel couples before marriage and provide guidance as marriages fell apart. Preacher O’Malley had fulfilled his dream of helping people and presenting the gospel to all who’d listen.

  Then the fateful day came when he got too personally involved and let his anger get the better of him. Despite the great things he’d done as a preacher at Mount Zion, he forced himself into self-exile and a life on the Armstrong Ranch.

  Preacher rode alone that morning along the fence rows of a ranch he’d spent more than half of his life expanding, attending to, and calling home. The Armstrong family was his family. The ranch hands who resided at Armstrong Ranch were his family. This high-desert flatland full of tufts of dried-up tumbleweed thistle packed against barbed-wire fences that rested below the cobalt blue sky was his home.

  It was a place where he could breathe. He could look at the sky at night and gaze upon a million stars. During the day, he tended to his flock—people and cattle alike. At night, he continued to read the word of God, among other things. He never once reflected on his life and wondered what might have been if not for that night when he’d rescued a young family from the terror of an abuser. God had a plan for him, and he was not one to argue.

  “Hey, Preach, wait up!” Major shouted from a distance. His horse was trotting across the pasture in between the few dozen cattle that still milled about in this section of the ranch. Preacher had divided the herd so that forty percent were being held on the east side of the ranch and the remainder were scattered about the remaining parts of the ranch west of the house.

  “Mornin’.” Preacher greeted Major with a tip of his hat. “Everything okay?”

  Major pulled up alongside his old friend. “Oh, yeah. Thanks to you, everyone is settled into a routine, fully understanding that we live in a different world now.”

  Preacher pointed up ahead to a doe, which grazed alongside the cattle. The men rode at a safe distance, taking a moment to admire the beautiful animal rather than making her this evening’s meal.

  “Same world, no electricit
y,” said Preacher with a chuckle. “Oh, I can’t really say the same world. It’s more like the Wild, Wild West now.”

  “Ever since the EMP hit the rest of America, it seems like the rule of law has been thrown out the window. Law enforcement still exists, and our military has played a very active role in controlling people, yet lawlessness is everywhere.”

  Preacher adjusted himself in the saddle. “How does it all end?”

  “Whadya mean?”

  “You know, do you reckon we’ll have to live the rest of our days defending perimeters against hungry, desperate thieves and North Korean soldiers? Is there a point where the lights come back on everywhere, and folks go back to shoppin’ at Walmart and watchin’ high school football on Friday nights?”

  Major sensed Preacher’s melancholy mood. “Have you been readin’ dystopian books again?”

  “Yeah, Revelations.”

  Major laughed. “Come on, Preach! It’s not the end of the world. Yeah, things have changed for the worse. A world without power is horrifying for some, but if there is any group of people capable of surviving under these circumstances, it’s the folks on this ranch. I believe we can thank you for that in many respects. You’ve taught us how to live old-school, in the ways of self-reliance. It’s one thing to read about it in a book. Practicing the old ways of doing things was the smartest thing we ever did. I thank you for that.”

  “I know, boss. It’s just that I don’t understand people. Since the EMP, we’ve had several occasions when we’ve had to shoot at our fellow men and kill them. The first time it happened, we took them to the sheriff and found him murdered. Now, somewhere out there, a herd of hungry refugees could be heading this way or, worse, a couple of dozen North Korean commandos.”