There Where the Power Lies (Monster of the Apocalypse Saga Book 2)

by C. Martens

  The GPS provided a route to the center of town. On foot as he led the pinto, Emmett started to feel a growing unease. There were no humans. Not being in any populated communities since trying to avoid crowds, Chloe’s brother had missed the exodus of people into their homes as they tried to protect themselves.

  Memories of apocalyptic scenarios played in his head as he walked. He was a fan of zombie movies. There had been several rebirths of the genre in books and movies, even in his short life.

  But this was different. There were no bodies in the streets or behind the wheels of crashed cars. There were no broken windows, or bloodstains, or body parts strewn about. Everything looked like it should…except there was no traffic, and there were no people, alive or dead.

  There were rural towns in the Bible belt that would close up on Sundays, but according to his link this was Thursday. The only thing he could suggest to himself was that people were still in hiding.

  A sporting goods store caught his eye. There were things inside that he could use.

  Living off of foraged pantries, contents provided by others, was one thing. Burning the house containing the bodies of his loved ones had been an impulse explainable by grief. Staying in the little saloon was almost an invitation with the door ajar. But breaking into a locked store was against everything he felt to be right. He looked through the windows and moved on. He decided that he would not be a looter until it became unavoidable.

  One of the last things Andy had done was make sure that Emmett had access to a bank account. He had used his comlink to change the personal account to a joint account. As long as there were functioning financial services, Emmett would have money. He wondered how much. Andy had not told him, and he had not thought to ask.

  Emmett appreciated the gesture, and it was a good thing that Andy had done it. Leaving with the couple, Emmett had drained what he had from an account and tried to pay his way as they went, but early on he had run out of money. He felt guilty about it.

  Now, with so many doors locked, he had no use for funds anyway.

  As distasteful as he found the idea, he realized that he might have to break into houses to find food. Planning on returning and searching further for people, Emmett led the pony toward a residential neighborhood.

  As soon as he saw the grocery store, he felt relief. Why would people be in the middle of town if they had a market close to home? As he approached, he noticed that the place looked open.

  Joe took it in stride as Emmett tied him to a grated propane tank cage outside. He nickered at Emmett as the young man left him, just to let him know that he would wait patiently.

  The doors opened like normal as Emmett placed his surgical mask over his face and walked in. There was an odor, sweet and heavy. Emmett could not place the scent and did not understand why a grocery would smell. They were usually so clean.

  The produce department invited him from the entry. Now he understood. The fruits slumped in their bins, leaking fluids until they overran onto the floor. Brown and collapsing, with turquoise mold ringed in white growing in spots or engulfing entire fruits, the refrigeration had only delayed the inevitable. Vegetables sat in much the same condition as the fruit or were dried out and starting to petrify. Only the potatoes and slightly desiccated carrots and turnips looked edible. Emmett did not like turnips.

  Moving to the back of the store, the stink changed. Most stores had moved away from fresh meats in great quantities, but what was here had obviously gone well past the expiration date. All the meat had gone grey and bubbly or very dark red and liquid. In the fish case there was a large salmon, Emmett guessed, that had collapsed in on itself.

  Glad to have the mask, he moved to the canned goods. They sat undisturbed for the most part. He filled a basket with tinned stews, peaches, and a variety of vegetables.

  There was no one in evidence in his journey through the store and no one at the front. He lay the basket on the scanner and let it do its job.

  Displaying the total the unit asked, “Would you like to pay for a fabribag or pay a deposit on the basket?”

  Emmett started as the automatic checker attempted to complete the transaction. Of course he was used to autocheckers at most stores, but he suddenly realized this was the first voice he had heard in weeks other than the recordings still available on the comlink.

  “Would you like to pay for a fabribag or pay a deposit on the basket?” repeated the autochecker. Emmett, aroused from his brief stupor, decided he could use the bag with the handles to hook over his saddle horn, so he elected to pay for the bag. He tapped the appropriate selection on the screen and hesitated as his face and comlink were scanned to pay for his purchases. The bag appeared in the size he required, and he left the store feeling uneasy. Emmett had never been in a store without people.

  He had not taken notice of the parking lot on his way in. There were no cars except a couple close to the road with “For Sale” signs in them. None.

  As the day was wearing down, it was getting too late to get back to the town center, and Emmett was unsure whether he wanted to go back anyway. He decided to see if he could find anybody. Anybody at all. The thought that he might not find anyone filled him with dread.

  Joe saw nothing wrong with walking up to houses as Emmett led him across lawns and through flower beds. He would get a nibble here and there as they walked through the overgrown yards.

  Pounding on doors, Emmett got no response. Door after door sounded hollow under his fist, and there was nothing to indicate life.

  Finally he gave up and after pounding, kicked a door in. Right away he knew there was no one home. The house reeked, and he could see and hear a movie playing just past an easy chair with a head showing above the back. Most of the hair was on the chair or spilled back onto the floor. In a sense of unreality, Emmett thought that the movie must be set to replay continuously.

  He kicked the next door in and smelled the air. Then the next… and the next.

  Realizing that he might hurt himself if he kept kicking doors, he backed off.

  There had to be people. There had to be people. There had to be people. The mantra settled into his brain.

  A dog barked.

  Realizing what it might mean, Emmett tugged on Joe’s bridle and brought the pony to him. He leapt into the saddle without touching a stirrup and put his heels in the little horse’s flanks.

  Rounding the corner as he followed the next bark, Emmett was dismayed to find a scene of horror. Several dogs milled about what looked to be the freshly killed remains of one of their own. The furry body was either that or a large cat. While two of the largest tore the carcass between them, several others attacked each other, and an even larger perimeter of canine spectators milled about in excitement. All of them looked near starvation. Ribs and hip bones poked from beneath their fur.

  It was an ugly sight, and on top of Emmett’s already overloaded brain, he hesitated too long.

  One of the spectators turned his attention to the horse and its rider. As it surged toward them, another and then several more joined from behind. The big dog accelerated forward to close the gap.

  Joe understood their peril before it registered on Emmett. He came to a splay-footed, sliding stop and spun around.

  The sudden lurch and spin focused Emmett. He pulled leather in order to keep his seat and wrenched the reins to gain control. It was an amateur move that a more experienced rider would have avoided, and it cost him precious moments. By the time he realized his mistake, the dogs were on them.

  The pinto was not waiting for instruction. He kicked and spun to dislodge the first wave of dogs that climbed his flanks. The dogs were not experienced in taking down prey this size and were flung off, yipping as they absorbed the abuse. Free of attackers for an instant, the pony took off before the second wave reached them.

  Emmett understood flight response, and he recognized the wisdom in Joe’s sudden bolting. He urged the little beast forward and lay low in the saddle as they passed under a tree. A
hedge loomed ahead, and Emmett expected the horse to plow through. He almost lost his seat again when the pinto launched himself over it instead.

  The dogs were slowed as they crashed through or went around. On the other side of the yard, another hedge, and this time Emmett was prepared.

  He drew his pistol. He needed to chamber a round before he could use the automatic. Riding the panicked horse and unfamiliar with prepping the weapon on a moving beast, he was lucky to keep his seat as he worked the slide with his reining hand. If the horse’s rhythm had not been so familiar, he might have dropped the gun or even worse, fallen off.

  There was no aiming. He had the fleeting thought that if the dogs were closer or if they were surrounded, he might be able to kill one. That was a stupid thing to think, and he realized it as he leaned back and squeezed the trigger. The noise startled the horse and caused him to surge again, but he was already at top speed.

  The dogs had different reactions. A couple dropped as though shot. Gun shy, they were too scared to continue the pursuit. Several slowed suddenly and peeled off to the side. Only two of the largest animals seemed to have the stamina and will to keep them coming.

  Emmett knew that if he did not stop this soon, there might be no other chance. Even though the dogs had to be winded, the horse was getting winded, too.

  He reined in the pinto, once again sliding on the lawn of a front yard. Speaking calmly to his horse and applying pressure with his knees, he communicated to the gelding that he should steady.

  Emmett raised his left arm and steadied the pistol over the crook of his elbow as he took aim. The shot dropped the lead dog immediately, and Emmett and the pony were already making tracks as it slid to a stop.

  The rest of the pack was defeated. Between the length of the run, their emaciated condition, and the loud and unfamiliar noise, they were done. And now there was a meal in front of them. They tore into the downed animal.

  §

  Rounding the corner, Emmett looked back and saw what was happening. He pulled the pony down into a steady lope and kept an eye to the rear.

  The pack of dogs must have numbered almost twenty. There were no small ones. Several had collars, and one trailed a small length of chain that swung just off the ground. That could only mean one thing, that these animals were pets that had gone feral. That meant something even more ominous. They had lost their owners.

  Absorbed in his thoughts, Emmett suddenly became aware that the pony was not moving correctly. He was favoring one of his feet.

  Dismounting, Emmett found the horse displayed a limp as he was led. Emmett lifted his near front hoof to find a small crack starting. Not an expert in the care of horses, the man was dismayed to find the white hoof injured. The sudden changes from overgrown lawn to the paved streets as they crossed them at a hard run had done damage.

  Emmett suspected the split could not only cripple the little gelding but kill him if it continued to spread. He had to get the pony in a safe place and make sure Joe was immobilized until he could research what he needed to know about helping his friend.

  Looking around, Emmett became aware of his surroundings. They had traveled some distance back toward town center.

  Leading Joe slowly, he thought about the buildings he had noticed on his way toward the outskirts of town. They were retracing their steps, so maybe he already had an answer to his needs.

  Nervously, he looked behind. The dogs were likely occupied, at least for a while. But he was unsure.

  The pistol still retained some of the heat of its firing as it nestled under his belt. Emmett thought about the shells he carried. He had only a few left, maybe one more full clip, maybe not. He decided to make rearming a priority, as soon as the pony was safe.

  There was a lumber yard ahead. A high security fence surrounded a yard that looked abandoned and overgrown with weeds. If he could get the horse past the chained gate, he would be safe from the dogs. Weeds might not be the best feed, but they were better than becoming feed for dogs.

  A moral dilemma encroached on Emmett. Here again, a locked door kept him from something he needed. The priority became clear when Emmett recognized that he had few options. There might be something better around the next corner, or there might be some other danger. He chose to protect the horse. A window on the side of the building was high off the ground, but there was a crate that he could step on to get to it. He tied the gelding to the first thing he could find and shinnied into the window after he cleared the newly broken glass from the frame.

  Inside he found the typical ill-supplied and declining remnants of a failing commercial venture. Dust was thick on almost everything. The building was either closed permanently or should have been. The inside looked as abandoned as the outer yard. There were keys in the cash drawer, in itself an anachronism. He had gotten lucky.

  Opening the front door, Emmett led Joe inside. He locked the door behind them and dropped the reins to the floor. He knew Joe would stay put.

  He searched the back wall until he found the exit door into the yard and opened it with another key on the ring. Then he skirted the perimeter of the yard, checking the fence. Containing his buddy here would not do much good if there was a hole in the fence that a dog could get through. The fence was tight, and there was a large shop sink with a faucet.

  Turning the handle, the faucet belched and spit as rust and air cleared from the little-used pipe that fed it. Soon there was a trickle of water and then a large gout of air that shook the entire sink. Red-stained water erupted from the nozzle, and Emmett let it drain out the bottom until the water ran clear. He inserted the rubber plug, hoping it would hold. It did. The sink filled with fresh water.

  The saddle found a home on the floor of the store along with all of the other trappings.

  Emmett led Joe to the water and let him slurp contentedly as he removed the bridle. As he left the gelding to his own devices and carried the bridle inside, he thought about how the horse had probably saved his life.

  Now he needed to learn how to save his friend. There had to be a place around here that had information on horses. He could waste hours trying to use the sparsely trafficked internet, or he could find the right information at a library in minutes. Even better might be an animal supply store. He found one with his link and brought up directions.

  Chapter 19

  The burials were finished, and Abdiel took a small breather. It searched the hive memories and what was presently going on in search of priority. One of the things the Sheik had made clear to the A.I. was that Abdiel was to be autonomous to the dictates of all other robots’ programming and that Abdiel was allowed to choose a path.

  The heat of the Arabian Desert was diminishing in this season as the bot stood contemplating its next move. It gathered all of the current figures on animal rehabilitation, including the numbers on human beings, and extrapolated what they meant.

  After the three minutes of rest that it allowed itself, during which it studied or ran roughly sixty-eight billion different pieces of information or calculations, Abdiel came to a conclusion. Abdiel thought the picture was incomplete. It realized that much of the material was dated and that there was no gathering being currently employed. The humans had limited ability, and their efforts had ceased. The artificial being prioritized from the available data and reconfigured.

  As Abdiel moved into the desert to coordinate its new plan, it used one portion of brain to search at random in order to stay entertained. The phrase, “No rest for the wicked,” came up. Abdiel liked it and thought that the sentiment was appropriate to the situation. The phrase found a home in a priority file.

  Another system within the inorganic brain engaged the various security networks, now of little use to the governments that used to control them. As it was already familiar with the Arab system, including the numerous clandestine units placed in strategic locations, Abdiel spent little time learning the operations procedures. The bot was surprised at the extent of what was available for use as it absorbed
the systems into its own. There were more than enough ways to track every individual human surviving. Units were assigned. Stationary if an individual appeared to have a territory and a drone if the subject was mobile. The information flowed in, and Abdiel tracked the numbers. The synthetic would retire many units as the population cascaded further.

  Intending to find a mode of transportation that would allow speedy travel, the mechanical being determined the most likely place to acquire an aircraft capable of supersonic flight and planned out an economical route to the craft.

  There was much to do, and all the other bots were occupied. Abdiel would investigate numbers and situations as required, extrapolate, and report results to the labor force.

  The bot certainly had much to do.

  §

  Relieved to see the dogs move off, Emmett congratulated himself on his foresight. He had closed and locked the door the previous evening, and Joe was inside with him.

  Sometime during the dark hours of the night, he had been awakened by scratching at the door. As he moved cautiously to investigate, there were whimpers and once a snap and high-pitched yipe. He peeked around a display, and the dogs were there. True to their nature, they were taking turns digging at the doorway.

  Now, as the sun started to rise, the frustrated animals shuffled away, slinking toward the neighborhood they had come from. Perhaps they had a den or something, Emmett thought.

  Much of Emmett’s waking hours had been spent in deep thought. He realized that the lame pony would hold him back from moving around. Being on foot and exposed to the dogs was a bad idea. Time to find some wheels.

  One of the first thoughts was to find a truck and a horse trailer. The truck would be easy, and the trailer should be relatively easy once he had a truck. He did not want to move the pinto just yet, so he discarded the idea.

  Better to have something that he could haul things in, and the truck idea remained. Without the necessity of a trailer, he could use a small vehicle, and they were more plentiful.