The Systemic Series - Box Set

by K. W. Callahan

  The sound of splintering wood was the last thing this fool would hear. As his weight came down upon the first stair, he crashed through the weakened first three steps of the stairway – thus Joanna’s reminders of “one, two and three” to Janet and Shane as they came to the basement – and plummeted into darkness below.

  He made no sound as he was impaled upon the assortment of jagged instruments Joanna and Robby had affixed beneath the stairway.

  Upstairs she could see flames licking at the basement doorframe and smoke curling around its edges, giving it a sort of mystical look. Joanna could feel the heat as it began to find its way into the cool blackness of their final retreat.

  Now it was time to wait…to wait, to hope, and to pray.

  9:03 a.m.

  SOUTHERN ILLINOIS

  “So what’s the plan then?” Brian kicked a smashed half turtle shell off the road’s shoulder and down into the gulley.

  We were almost back to the entry road leading to camp.

  “What? For when we get back to camp you mean?” I said, confused by the question.

  “No…long term. I mean, we’ve walked for at least a couple miles and haven’t seen shit…not one car on the road…nothing. Obviously we’re out here alone. Are you planning to stay in this camp forever or are we going to move on? You know, try to find others. They’ve got to be around. We can’t be the only ones left.”

  I shrugged, “Don’t know yet. Of course I’m not expecting to spend the rest of our lives here; but for now, I think it’s better just to wait things out and play it safe. Winter will be coming on strong soon and I really don’t think it’s the right time to be packing up camp and starting to move. Plus, I think the situation in urban areas might still pretty touch and go. If we wait until next spring to relocate, hopefully things will have settled down. We’ll have a better grasp upon how to fend for ourselves, and people like us, those who are still left I mean, will hopefully have a better handle on things too. They won’t be so quick to pull a gun and try to take what we have since they’ll be better established themselves…at least I hope.”

  “You’ve put some time into thinking about this, huh?” Brian looked over at me.

  I shrugged. “Not a lot else to think about out here.”

  A noise on the road interrupted us. We both turned to look behind us. It was coming from the opposite direction from which we’d walked.

  “A car?” Brian frowned.

  “Sounds like it,” I said, pulling him along with me down into the gully where we knelt in the cover of a patch of cattails.

  The noise drew closer. “Sounds like multiple vehicles,” I said. “Must be coming from Avers.”

  “Yeah,” Brian nodded. “Wonder where they’re going?”

  It was definitely multiple vehicle engines we could hear. From our vantage point, I could see the turnoff for our camp and used it as a reference point as tiny specks appeared on the road in the distance and grew larger as they approached.

  “Sounds like they’re coming fast,” Brian said.

  I noted the hope and excitement in his voice.

  “Wonder if they ran into trouble up that way like we did?” he said.

  “Wouldn’t be bad if they did,” I considered. “It’ll keep them on the move. I don’t think we need anymore company around here. Hopefully, they’ll just keep going.”

  “You’re so negative,” Brian grinned at me. “Gotta keep your head up once in a while. They could be good folks, like us.”

  I gave him a not-so-sure look.

  “Well, you never know,” he shrugged.

  As the vehicles drew nearer, I pulled Brian back further among the reeds and cattails lining the road. The vehicles closed quickly, engines roaring, and then slowed.

  “What are they doing?” I hissed to Brian.

  I don’t know why I was whispering, it’s not like they had a chance of hearing me over the engine noise.

  We watched as six vehicles – a combination of pickup trucks and SUVs – came to a stop just before our camp entrance. My stomach churned. Why were they stopping? Were they looking for a good place to hide out? Would they find our camp? If so, would they be friendly and helpful or would they want to take it for themselves? My mind was racing, bouncing between thoughts of hope and fear.

  The first vehicle, an SUV, started to roll forward slowly while the others sat waiting behind it. Then its engine roared as it covered the last bit of ground between it and the camp entrance, made a hard left turn, and tore down the camp entrance. The vehicles behind it followed suit.

  “Shit!” I yelled, scrambling up the embankment and back out onto the road as the convoy disappeared behind the trees that enclosed the camp entry road.

  “Come on!” I yelled, looking to the ditch behind me for Brian, but Brian was nowhere to be seen.

  9:08 a.m.

  A light but steady rain was falling. Claire, like most of the camp, sat warm within her shelter. Some people were eating cold finger sandwiches – a small bite or two of meat on stale crackers – the standard breakfast fare now. Claire was sewing a pair of socks that would previously have met their demise in the garbage can back at home, at which point she would have promptly purchased new pairs on her next trip to the store. Not here. Not now. Here there were no replacements, no quick trips to pick something up at the store. She’d never realized how easy it was to take for granted something so simple like a pair of socks.

  Her insulin pump beeped. She swiveled in her sitting position to ready the “Low Battery” indicator flashing from the pager-like device affixed to her belt.

  “Damn,” she said softly.

  She still had plenty of AAA batteries, but this device was finicky. It would only take brand new, non-rechargeable batteries. At least half the camp’s battery supply was only partially-charged used options that had been pulled from among a variety of Jason’s baby toys before leaving home. More of the batteries were rechargeable. This left Claire with few fresh batteries with which to keep this life-sustaining device operating.

  She went back to her sewing. She’d deal with the pump later. She had to get every ounce of energy out of each set of batteries. And there was certainly no hurry today. It was going to be one of those days; she could just feel it. Hours spent sitting out of the rain inside the tent, looking for something, anything to keep her busy. She took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of moist dirt, decaying leaves, and the stale air inside their nylon and polyester tent.

  Jason was next to her, enjoying his morning nap. He had woken when John got up, excited and wanting to go with daddy, then he’d fallen into a sulking fit when he realized that he was to going to be left behind. He’d rallied forth after daddy left though to play with his army of pinecone soldiers and the twigs he used to build small structures in which to house them. John had whittled the bark and any sharp points off most of the wood to make it as child safe as possible.

  The pitter-pat of the raindrops against the tent fabric was soothing. It also meant that no one heard the alarm system that John had rigged go off, indicating new arrivals to the camp.

  It was by chance that Steve, out for a bathroom break, noticed the pots and pans toppled from their regular position.

  He ran to the nearest tent and found Will inside finishing up untangling a spool of fishing line.

  “Someone’s here,” Steve said, ruffling the tent canvas as his polite way of knocking before sticking his head inside.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The alarm is triggered. Come see for yourself.”

  Will grabbed a parka and shrugged it on over him as he exited the tent.

  “Stuff probably got wet in the rain and fell over by itself,” he said. “Or maybe John and Brian accidently knocked them over when they went out this morning. Did you hear them fall or just notice them?”

  “Just noticed them,” Steve nodded. “Maybe it’s Kevin or Chris,” he added hopefully. “I know that John sent them each a letter. Maybe they finally made it.” />
  Will stood, his head cocked, listening. He held up a hand for Steve to stop talking. “You hear that?”

  Steve stood still and strained to hear through the sound of the falling rain. “Engines?” he frowned.

  Will nodded, “Sounds like a few of them…and close.”

  “Maybe it is them! Let’s go see,” Steve said eagerly, starting off in the direction of the entry road.

  Will stopped him with a hand on his arm though. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait a minute.” The rain continued in a soft drizzle. “Listen, I know you’re excited that it might be your son, but it could be anybody. Could just be somebody checking this place out, seeing where the road leads. If it is Kevin or Chris, they’ll stick around. They’ve got nowhere else to go. But if it’s somebody we don’t know, they’ll probably just drive to the end of the road, see that there’s nothing there, and take off without any trouble.”

  Steve nodded, taking this in. “Yeah, but if…” he started.

  Will cut him short. “Let’s grab our guns and get Frank to go with us just in case. We’ll check it out, but we still have to be careful.”

  Steve started back to his hovel to retrieve his old duck-hunting shotgun he’d brought down with him.

  Will walked over and peeked his head inside his tent where Sharron was on the fourth flip-through of a home design magazine she’d found under the front seat of their mini-van. Sarah was playing with a doll her mother had allowed her to bring along, and Paul was trying his best to annoy his sister by pelting the doll with acorns as Sarah attempted to brush its hair. He whistled little incoming artillery shell sounds as he conducted his bombardment and then mouthed rumbling explosions.

  Will ducked inside then tent and grabbed his assault rifle from beneath a pile of folded clothing that sat atop the plastic storage bin that served as their dresser. Sharron had given him a hard time about keeping the weapon there, but Will had assured her the loaded clips would be kept in a separate secured location to placate her concerns.

  “Where you off to on this fine day?” Sharron asked him, still staring at the luxurious arts and crafts redesign of a classic Cape Cod living room in a home near Nantucket.

  “Just going to do some recon out on the entry road. No big deal,” Will answered nonchalantly.

  “Ooh, can I come, Dad?” Paul perked up. “I’m sooo bored,” he moaned.

  “Yeah, can he go, Daddy?” Sarah chimed in hopefully, ready to be rid of her bothersome brother and his bombing for a while.

  “Sorry guys, this is a grown up trip. Weather’s too bad for you to be outside anyway,” he added, noting Sharron’s eyes lift from the magazine upon his mention of it being a “grown up trip.” He detected a hint of worry in them as they glanced down to his weapon, but he ignored it.

  “Don’t want anyone getting sick. I’ll be back soon,” he said confidently to quell any other concerns his departure might raise as he dug several full magazines of ammo from a locked box they kept near the entrance of the tent. “Love you guys,” he added, blowing kisses to all.

  “You too,” Sharron and Sarah, said back.

  Paul just rolled over in a huff, recovering and reforming his pile of acorns in preparation for a renewed attack on his sister’s doll.

  ***

  Jake Stines was a big-time loser…at least until the flu hit. That’s when Jake’s tendency to act first and ask questions later – a trait that had landed him in Cook County lockup more times than he’d like to remember – started serving him well.

  As the rules of normal society began to crumble, Jake began to thrive. In fact, it was the first time in his 35-year existence that he’d actually felt himself somewhat successful. As Jake had utilized the faltering of local law enforcement during the flu’s outbreak to stockpile guns, ammunition, and whatever else he could lay his hands on and that he might find useful, he had also begun to realize that this was quickly becoming his kind of world…a world for the taking.

  Along his path of destruction and debauchery, he quickly began rounding up a group of like-minded individuals, those similar to him but not as strong-willed…in short, people he could control and who were happy being controlled. Maybe more importantly, they were people who were willing to do whatever he told them without question and all in the quest for short-term gain and immediate gratification. Guns, booze, bullets, and sex were the currencies in Jake’s new world.

  And Jake was becoming quite the businessman in the small section he controlled within the south side of Chicago. But Jake was savvy enough to realize that while he was currently a small fish in a big ocean, outside of Chicago, he could be a shark in a lagoon, picking off smaller fish at his leisure with little or no competition. So when one of his group brought him a letter that he’d found on a family they’d carjacked and killed on the west side of town, a letter about a secluded spot supposedly with plenty of supplies in southern Illinois, it started Jake’s wheels turning. He figured he could move outside Chicago and begin building his new empire, an empire that would allow him to live safely secluded from the competition of the big city. He could make tactical strikes, consuming surrounding resources until they were gone and then move on to better pickings. In the process, he could run things the way he wanted with little or no competition or interference.

  He admitted that it wasn’t the best plan, nor was he the best planner, but it was a plan nonetheless.

  Jake wasn’t a big guy, nor was he an intelligent guy, but he made up for his shortcomings in size and brains with plenty of tenacity and strength in other areas. He wasn’t particularly smart in the way that most people are smart, knowing how to use technology or being able to manage and run a successful business, but when it came to street sense and the ability to manipulate people, he was above average. He hadn’t just survived a pandemic that wiped out huge swaths of people – including some of the finest minds in science and industry – but thrived. He’d gathered a force of nearly 20 men into his company, but the first bad decision he’d made so far in their campaign of pillaging and destruction had cost him two fine soldiers dead and five more wounded.

  Stopping at those houses in the road-side shithole of Avers, was stupid. He should have known a spot like that would be picked clean by now. The place looked of shit, and it was shit. They should have just passed through and kept on going to the camp he had the letter about. But Jake found it hard to back away from temptation. Backing away made him look weak, and weakness was one thing Jake couldn’t and wouldn’t stand for in his organization. Now he had seven casualties on his hands. Chad was out with a bad concussion at best, a possible brain injury at worst from that load of debris that had fallen on him from above the last home’s front door. Spatz’s left foot and lower leg was torn to hell after he stepped into that hole full of knives. Bob had a rough looking bullet wound to his thigh, and Eight Ball took a bullet in the right shoulder and another to the hand. Links had some burns to his face and neck when an explosion had rocked him as he was preparing to enter the rear of the house. And he had no idea what had happened to Stomp and Zinger, the brothers he’d picked up outside Calumet City on the way out of town. All he knew was that they’d gone in the back entrance of the house and had never come out. Probably burned like rats along with whoever else had been holed up inside.

  It was a bad decision to try to take the house; a stupid one, but one he’d learned from. At least they’d come out on top, and most importantly, he’d saved face. Whoever was inside that house had burned along with it. He’d made sure of that. He’d watched until the roof collapsed, taking the second floor with it and pounding it down through the first and into the basement in a pile of smoky rubble.

  No one came out.

  So even down on numbers, Jake was optimistic about their next move. He still had a sizeable force, including several women, who in his opinion were just as accurate, if not more so with an assault rifle than most of his men. He’d found that he like to have some “badass broads” as he called them, tossed into the mix occa
sionally. They gave him an advantage in several ways. Not only did guys often find it harder to kill a woman than a man, but he’d found that women were much more selective with their firepower. While a guy would spray bullets wildly until his weapon was empty and then curse it angrily, women would gauge their ammo use, ensuring that they made their shots count. With a woman, it wasn’t about the amount of ammunition they used but how they used it. Plus, the women who’d joined him knew how to keep up moral after the fight, and Jake realized how important that sort of incentive was to a group of mercenaries like his.

  But they all knew that Ava was his and his alone. Nobody but Jake touched Ava…unless of course Jake wanted them to.

  Ava was a lanky, yet shapely Latina, with legs that would stop a freight train. Meanwhile, Jake was a pale, scruffy white boy, but with a sex drive and temper strong enough to tame Ava. She’d met few others who could come close.

  Jake used Ava as a sort of prize for his men; a bonus for a job well done. She was a reward for only the most heroic – or in their group of marauders – horrific actions. Ava was the Silver Star of commendations, a highly valued and rare award presented to a soldier on a one-night basis for going above and beyond the call of duty.

  Ava would be returned to Jake each morning at which point she would recount the night’s activities to him. After this, Jake would ensure that he one-upped whatever the soldier had done with Ava, and Ava would let him, reveling in his efforts to do it bigger and better every time. And he rarely failed her.

  Jake didn’t like taking Ava into the heat of battle with him, but he often did so for several reasons. First off, she was damn good. She could handle herself better and shoot straighter than any man. Secondly, he realized that his men fought better with her around, trying to impress her with their boldness and ferocity, hoping to gain a night – maybe even just an hour – with this prized possession. Like a sumptuous carrot dangled before a heard of jackasses, Ava was the one reward coveted above all others. No bottle of booze, no vehicle, no weapon, not even another woman could replace Ava as an incentive to get his men to do his bidding. And Ava was willing to go along with it all, rarely finding her lust-filled sexual appetite satisfied.