EMP Retaliation (Dark New World, Book 6) - An EMP Survival Story

by J. J. Holden

  Ethan laughed heartily. That was hilarious. Where did the kids come up with this stuff? After he regained his breath, he wiped his eyes and said, “She’s going to get such a kick out of that nickname. Thanks. Did you come up with it?”

  Obviously pleased, the girl said, “No, I think Brianna came up with it. Want to know what the kids usually call you when you—”

  Ethan was abruptly shaken like a ragdoll. He felt like a giant hammer had struck him. When he opened his eyes, he found himself looking up at the sky. His body wouldn’t quite respond to his mental commands, not just yet. Smoke filled the air. As he lay there, through ringing ears he faintly heard the sound of the Clan’s alarm siren. Had he been hit by a mortar?

  Finally, Ethan was able to partly roll over and got his arms underneath him. He counted to three and then shoved up, struggling into a sitting position, butt on the ground and legs out in front of him.

  The ringing in his ears began to fade. In its place, he now heard panicked, shouting voices getting closer. He became aware of an intense heat on his back and, still dazed, he turned his head to see what caused it. The Jungle nearest him was burning. He tried to move away, but found that his body was still totally uncoordinated. He tried to rise once, but fell. He decided to just sit there for a moment to collect his wits. What the fuck had just happened?

  Ethan felt hands on his arms that lifted him to his feet and held him steady. He saw there were Clanners holding him up. They had been doing guard duty, no doubt, and so they were the closest. He saw that Frank was hobbling toward him as fast as he could, his crutch a blur of movement. Ethan thought it looked funny, and realized he wasn’t thinking straight. Every thought moved through his mind at a snail’s pace, all cloudy. It felt like he was swimming through some sort of mental mud.

  When Frank arrived, he shouted, “Ethan, are you all right? Guard, get the medic. Ethan?—lower him down gently—you got a nasty gash. Did you hit a trap? Where’s the girl you were with?” Frank’s expression was pale and concerned. His questions came fast as a bullet train.

  Ethan struggled to keep up. He sure was dizzy… The guard lowered him to the ground, for which Ethan was thankful. His head didn’t spin so much now that he was sitting again. “No, I don’t think so,” he said, looking around in confusion. Was that the right answer?

  He saw a lump. He froze. Dawning horror washed over him. His eyes focused and he saw that the lump, lying among smoldering berry bushes, looked like the pulverized bottom half of a person. A young person. “Oh, Lord no…”

  Frank turned to follow Ethan’s gaze and froze as well. “Jesus Christ.”

  What else was there to say? What could they do? Nothing. But that couldn’t have been done by a Clan boobytrap. Their shotgun shell traps didn’t dismember people so violently, deadly as they were. “Frank, is that the kid I was working with?”

  Frank’s stillness and silence were answer enough.

  Then Ethan heard a whirring noise as the din quieted around him. He reflexively looked for the source, as did Frank and the others who had arrived to help. Artificial noises stood out like a sore thumb, these days.

  He saw a black and white drone, gracefully soaring above them on six whirring blades evenly spaced around the thin, flat edge of a central disk. Beneath the assembly was what looked like a rotary cannon with four wide barrels. One barrel still smoked. The drone approached and rotated. Ethan saw that it had a camera, which now faced him. Then it rotated again. When the camera assembly pointed at Frank, the drone stopped moving and hovered. Then it slowly approached Frank. It oozed menace.

  Ethan said, “Frank, don’t move. It’s got rockets or something.”

  Frank nodded stiffly. “Yes, I see that.” Then he shouted, “Everyone, move away from me.”

  As they began to move away, the drone emitted a faint continual beeping noise, which began to rise in volume and pitch. Ethan thought the effect was the most damn ominous thing he had ever heard. “Frank, it’s gonna shoot. Run.”

  “Yeah, right.” Frank didn’t move.

  Oh yeah, Frank was missing a foot. Not that anyone on foot could outrun an aerial drone anyway.

  From beside him, Ethan heard a deep boom that rattled his ears, and the drone seemed to practically disintegrate. When it hit the ground in a rain of fragments, Frank backed away as fast as his one foot would allow.

  Ethan turned and saw Michael standing behind him, holding a 12-gauge shotgun. He racked it to load another round in the chamber and put the stock back up to his shoulder.

  Ethan said frantically, “No, don’t! It has rockets. You could set them off.”

  Michael froze and didn’t fire, then seemed to relax as he lowered the shotgun.

  Whew, that was close…

  Michael said, “Where did it come from? Ethan, what’s the control range on those things?”

  Ethan shook his head to clear his mind. He still had three tons of mud rattling around his brain bucket. “Maybe a twenty minute flight time with that heavy loadout. More like fifteen. Range is a couple hundred yards at best.”

  Michael turned to the guard who had been helping Ethan and said, “You, go get a team together. Lock down the Complex, and dammit, lock down the refugee camp. No one in or out or you shoot the hell out of them. I’ll get another team to sweep the area with me.”

  The guard nodded and sprinted away. Michael gave Ethan a nod, then he too sprinted toward the Complex to gather troops.

  Ethan suddenly felt his thoughts clear up, and then realized what Michael had in mind. With so short a range on this style of drone, it had to be operated from someone nearby. The operator had to be either a Clanner, a refugee, or a spy. Michael had realized that in an instant.

  Ethan rose to his feet and staggered toward the girl’s ravaged corpse, or what was left of it. Frank soon joined him, and together they stared at her for a long moment. So young, and Ethan didn’t even know her name. She deserved better.

  He said to Frank, “Can you find out her name and let me know? She deserves to be remembered. This wasn’t her fault.”

  Frank nodded. They continued standing in silence for a few seconds, then Frank said, “Not her fault. Was it yours?”

  Ethan felt a chill run down his spine. It probably was his fault. Maybe a warning from the 20s, or Houle, their master. He looked at Frank but couldn’t tell from his body language what the man might be thinking. “I couldn’t say for sure until I examine the drone’s wreckage. Odds seem good this was the work of the 20s, though. Why they’d do this, I don’t know with any certainty.”

  Frank let out a long breath. “I’ll find out her name and let you know. Meanwhile, you find out if this is a 20s drone. And Ethan, I want a report from you in council tonight about why the 20s might have done this. It seems like a warning, and if you know something, or even just suspect something, I want to hear about it.”

  Ethan nodded slowly. “Of course, Frank. I’ll get it done.” He wasn’t looking forward to that presentation.

  The Jungle brush rustled and Lance Corporal Sturm emerged. Ethan was grateful for her arrival. The conversation with Frank had started getting awkward, and Ethan needed time to collect his thoughts before getting grilled further. Plus, he was bleeding from a scalp wound and those things bled a lot more than they should.

  Sturm carried her field medic kit with her, and he didn’t resist when she led him toward a large stone. He sat on it and then she began to work on him. She made a tsk, tsk noise with her tongue and brought out her sutures kit, but Ethan only cringed a little. She was never gentle when she worked, being efficient instead, but he felt like he deserved that at the moment.

  * * *

  Carl walked briskly toward Sewer Rat territory, just southwest of his own Timber Wolf turf. The Rats and the Wolves were on great terms, and he didn’t expect any problems getting in. Still, he carried five loose rounds of 5.56 ammunition in his pocket, just in case he had to motivate the gate guards to let him in. In his left hand, he carried an ornate bag w
ith a card in it. Inside the bag, wrapped in thin white tissue, was a fine glass fantasy figurine of an armed and armored rat, about six inches tall, carrying sword and shield. Sunshine would appreciate such a gift, he felt. She was a rough-around-the-edges woman and appreciated the thought more than the gift, but this had the added advantage of being both thoughtful and pretty awesome.

  Carl stopped at the gate and glanced at his watch. He had fifteen minutes to kill, so he chatted with the Rat guards, asking about their families and how they were getting along now that they were inside the Liz Town walls instead of out in the wildlands. The usual small talk. Such chatter could only improve relations with the Rats, even though they were pretty close already.

  When he glanced at his watch and saw he had five minutes until showtime, he broke off his conversation politely, and they let him in without asking for any bribes. Small talk could have a big effect.

  He made his way deeper into their territory, eyes roving, checking out how well the Sewer Rats had done in cleaning up their area. The walls were even taking good shape, and ought to be finished soon at the rate they were working.

  As he walked, he waved and smiled at the many Rats he already knew from his days sneaking into the wildlands with supplies for them. Those who knew him remembered his help fondly, of course, and most waved back with happy smiles. It made Carl feel good about what he had done to help them before they became a Band.

  It took only a couple minutes to get to the meeting point, a small garden someone had taken superb care of before the war, and which had survived untended until the Rats took over this area. The Rats looked after it carefully and well, for whatever reason. Maybe just to have something beautiful to look at in a dingy, gray landscape.

  Three cement benches were scattered throughout the small park, and Carl spotted Sunshine sitting on the middle one. He walked even faster until he got to the bench, then sat down and handed her the gift bag with a grin.

  “What’s this?” she asked, but she only wore a faint smile. She began to rummage through the white tissues.

  “A cool icon for your desk, maybe. It made me think of you, so I salvaged it. Hope you like it.”

  Sunshine finally got through the tissue to the glass statue. She held it up, examining it in the sunlight with that same half-smile. “Thanks, Carl. I love it.”

  He grinned again at her.

  Sunshine gently put the glass rat back in the decorative bag, then leaned against the bench’s backrest. She closed her eyes for a moment as the sunlight washed over her face. She looked stunning, lit up like that. A natural beauty.

  Carl said, “I’m so glad I finally got the time to make one of these meet-ups with you.” He let a sharp breath out through his nose. “If at first you don’t succeed…”

  Sunshine nodded, then opened her eyes. She looked sad, Carl thought, but he couldn’t think of any reason why she might be. She wasn’t crying, wasn’t shying away from him. No body language to say she was upset, just a vibe. A feeling.

  Carl let the seconds stretch in silence, then said, “Sunny, is everything okay? If something’s on your mind, you know you can tell me. I’m here for you, if you need someone to lean on. You know that.”

  Sunshine turned her head to look at him, but still didn’t smile. Then she looked away. “Carl, that’s just the thing. You really aren’t here for me to lean on. I’m not sure I can keep doing this, when you just don’t have time for me.”

  “That’s not true—”

  She interrupted him, snapping, “Yes it is.” She took a deep breath and continued, “It’s okay, though, really. It’s not like you’re obligated to be with me or anything. Like you said, we aren’t an item, and I have no right to feel bad about this. But I do feel bad.”

  “Sunny, there’s nothing to feel bad—”

  She held up her hand abruptly, again cutting him off. “Please, I just need to say this.”

  Carl felt his heart drop. This was turning into “the speech,” he could already tell. A breakup of a relationship that didn’t exist except in both their wishes.

  “I just thought, or maybe just hoped, that you and I might be more than friends someday. I like you, Carl. You’re a great person and a good friend. But I need to face reality.”

  A hundred thoughts sped through Carl’s mind. Finally, he said, “I want us to be more, Sunshine. We can figure this out.”

  Sunshine wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands. “No Carl, we can’t. I thought a lot about what you said the other day and you are right. You have an important role that entails serious responsibilities and I get that. I really do. A lot of people depend on you.”

  Carl’s heart beat faster, and his palms began to sweat.

  She stood abruptly, then turned to face him and continued, “So that leaves very little time for us. I can’t always be chasing minutes to spend with you, and I can’t be the one who distracts you when you have lives in your hands.”

  Carl’s throat tightened. “But—”

  “I just think it’s best if we both move on.”

  With that, she spun on her heels and walked away, her pace quick, as if she couldn’t stand to be near him anymore. Carl stared after her, but she never did look back, never gave him his chance at rebuttal. He glanced at the bench where she had been sitting and saw the gift bag. She had left his gift behind, just as she had left him.

  * * *

  Cassy left one of the earthbag houses to wander the farm, checking to make sure all was in order. Harvesting was still going full swing and the outdoor kitchen was packed with people going all-out to get the abundance preserved. Minus what was set aside for kimchi, meals, pies, and wines, of course. Her mouth watered at the thought of the blackberry wine being prepared right now. In a few months, it’d be drinkable by her standards. She smiled.

  Turning a corner, she nearly walked right into Ethan. She stopped abruptly with her face only inches from his, startled. Cassy grinned awkwardly. “Oh, Ethan. You scared me.”

  Ethan, however, didn’t smile.

  Cassy noticed his bandages then, and felt a trickle of alarm. “What the hell happened to you? Are you okay?”

  Ethan took a step back moving to a more comfortable distance. “Cassy. I’ve been trying to contact you. Where’s your damn radio?”

  Cassy looked down at her hip, where the radio sat holstered. The red “on” light was dark. She took it out of its enclosure and checked the volume/power dial, but it hadn’t accidentally been turned off. “I guess the battery died. What’s going on? What happened to you?”

  Ethan looked irritated. “First, Lebanon reports their northern areas are getting pressed hard by ’vader troops from the North Pennsylvania cantonment. Whats-his-name, General Park’s people.”

  Cassy frowned. “Damn. I thought they learned their lesson when they tried to move in at Brickerville last year. Is it a raid or an invasion?”

  Ethan shrugged. “I got a bunch of troop data from Lebanon. It’s too big for a raid. Maybe not big enough for a full invasion.”

  Cassy closed her eyes for a moment. “Alright. Maybe it’s a diversion. Maybe it’s a recon-in-force that went awry—”

  “Michael says there’s no such thing. Recon-in-force is code for intentionally getting stuck in combat and requiring reinforcements, so a real battle can happen despite orders to the contrary.”

  “Whatever. All I know is that it’s likely to escalate if they bring reinforcements. Okay, we got what, twelve battlecars running now? Let’s get them ready and… No, wait. Tell Frank that the Confederation requests the Clan send its battlecars to assist Lebanon.”

  “You got it. Should I ask him to mount up some troops as well?”

  “Yes, a company’s worth ought to do it for now. So are you going to tell me what the hell happened to you?”

  “You didn’t hear the commotion?”

  “No,” she said. “It must have been when I was in an earthbag house—those things are virtually sound-proof.”

  Ethan shoo
k his head. “No time to explain. Right now, we have a situation to deal with. Two of them, but I’ll tell you the rest when there’s time.”

  Cassy eyed his bandages and let out a frustrated breath. “Well, I hope Frank is at least handling it, if you won’t tell me.”

  “He’s the Clanleader now, Cassy.”

  “Yeah, I got that. Fine—I’m going to head down to the bunker to radio Lebanon directly while you work with Frank to get this circus organized.”

  Ethan nodded and strode away, pulling out his handheld radio. Cassy had no doubt he’d handle it efficiently.

  She returned to her house and went down into the bunker, where she sat at Ethan’s Comms Station. It was a desk with a bunch of handheld and shortwave radios on it. She keyed into Lebanon’s direct channel on a HAM unit. “Lebanon, Lebanon, come in. This is the chancellor.”

  A couple of seconds later, the HAM radio crackled to life. “This is Lebanon. Welcome home, Chancellor. Did Charlie Two advise you of our situation?”

  “Affirm. I’m requesting the Clan send their battlecars and a company of mounted troops to assist. How are you guys holding up?” She was relieved that the person on the other end sounded calm. It was a good sign.

  “So far, we’re holding fine and the fighting isn’t that intense. We have our own two battlecars on standby, not in the field yet, but the damn ’vader numbers are increasing. It’s like they drift randomly into the region and are just walking up to the battle to join in. It’s weird.”

  Cassy frowned. “Actually, that’s how they did it before, too, when they attacked Brickerville. It must serve some purpose, but even Michael doesn’t know what. I had almost forgotten that asshole Park’s cantonment was still out there somewhere.”

  “If even the Confed’s general doesn’t know why they trickle in like that…”

  “Yeah, copy that,” Cassy said. It was just a mystery. “So if the Clan agrees to send troops, the battlecars will arrive shortly and the riders, whenever they can get there. It shouldn’t be long.”