SHEDDING BOUNDARIES: an EMP survival story (The Hidden Survivor Book 4)

by Connor Mccoy

  The Court without Arthur would not be the same.

  Xander rolled free, blood running down his face, and struggled to his feet. A nearby enforcer jumped on the assassin and pummeled him with his fists, but Xander yelled at him to get off.

  “This one is mine,” he said and, raising the chair above his head, brought it crashing down on the assassin.

  “You sent me to kill him,” the assassin cried through his ruined mouth. “I did what you told me to do! You would kill me for that? May you rot in hell!”

  The chair came crashing down again and the assassin curled around his gut.

  “You crazy bastard,” the assassin mumbled. “You betrayed me. You betrayed all of us.”

  “Xander,” Chantal barked, “stop this at once. You have no right to beat this man. If you have issues, bring him to trial.”

  The chair came crashing down on the assassin’s head once more. He stopped moving. Then, he stopped breathing.

  Xander dropped the chair and stood triumphant. “I will not stop,” he said. “You’ve always been too weak. The Cut Court is mine now, and I will run it as I see fit.”

  “Xander,” she said again, “This is not how the Koupe Tribinal works. No one person is both the judge and jury. Why do you think I invited you and Arthur to sit with me on the Court? There must be balance for the Court to succeed. Balance, Xander. You cannot achieve that on your own.”

  “Balance!” he spat. “Balance is why there is still so much crime in the city. Balance makes us weak. Balance is what allows a woman to rob a man at gunpoint and go free. You can shove your balance. What the Court needs is someone with a strong hand. I can give it that.”

  He walked to the passageway leading back to the interior recesses of the Court and turned. “You should be gone when I return,” he said. “It irritates me to look at you.”

  When he had gone, Chantal stood shaking. That all she had built could be gone in so short a time was almost beyond her grasp. She had harnessed Xander’s brutality, used it to inspire obedience, and now the Court would die by it. And perhaps herself as well.

  She went to her room and collected her personal belongings, the items she used to keep herself self-centered, her talisman. She left the candles and the river rocks and her judge’s robes, but she took the painting Arthur had brought to her as a symbol of his loyalty. He had paid dearly for that loyalty, and she never would forget his sacrifice.

  She wondered where Arthur was now. And if they had laid him to rest. Had they dumped him in a ditch? Or in the gutter, to be taken away in the night, used as fertilizer and pig feed? She hoped they would give him a decent burial, but why should they? He was a traitor among them, a spy. Why would they honor him?

  His death was on her head. She had made the decision to send him into their midst. Had she not done that, Xander would have had no reason to have him killed. Had she just made the decision to let Melvin live, Xander would’ve had to live with that. But instead, she’d pitted them against each other and Xander had taken the upper hand because he was brutal and violent. Arthur’s compassion and rationality had no chance. She may as well have pulled the trigger. She never would forgive herself for her part in his death.

  She gathered her belongings and left the Court to walk the dark streets home without her attendant enforcer. She wondered where he was, if he’d been the man that Xander had killed, or if he out hunting the Melvins, or just at home with whatever family he had. She’d never know. She slipped through the shadows toward her apartment, feeling as though she might drown in guilt and sorrow.

  Glen surveyed his group of exhausted followers as they sat on the floor of what used to be the living room in Mia’s family’s apartment. Mia and Christian rested together, her head on his shoulder and his arm around hers. Mia’s eyes were red with grief and exhaustion and nasty red bruises stood out from Christian’s chin from where the enforcer had tried to throttle him. Sally’s eyes were swollen almost closed from weeping. Melvin sat with her, holding her hand and soothing her with his quiet voice.

  Glen wondered if they would become a couple. He thought that Sally had been attracted to Arthur, and he knew that Arthur admired Sally. But now Arthur was gone, and the world didn’t stop turning. Perhaps familiarity would breed affection in this case. He hoped it would be so for Sally’s sake. She needed companionship.

  At one time he would have said she needed protection, but he’d had his eyes opened. She could take care of herself, but she’d be happier with companionship, someone for her to take care of, and who would take care of her. Glen had enjoyed that long ago, but he didn’t know if he ever would risk it again. The pain of loss was so hard to shake.

  “So what do we do now?” Christian asked. “The Court is sure to be after us.

  “We could leave town,” Sally said. “Start again somewhere else.”

  “Or just switch locations in this town,” Mia said. “Move out into the suburbs and change our appearance.”

  “Change our appearance?” Christian asked, one eyebrow raised high.

  “You know,” Mia said, “dye our hair and cut it. One of you guys could dress as a woman, or Sally and I dress as men. Throw them off the scent. But we would have to move. I love where we are, I don’t really want to move.”

  “If we moved I’d have to develop all new contacts,” Melvin said. “Find suppliers. It might not be possible.”

  “Winter’s coming, and our building has heat,” Christian said, “and hot water. It’s a huge advantage.”

  “And we could house a lot of people there if we wanted to,” Sally said. “Like Ruth and her family. Then we’d have the manpower to grow food, and have a soup kitchen program. We could be a community, not just a clinic.”

  “We’d have to dismantle the museum if we were going to do that, but it would free up a floor and a half of rooms. This is a huge building,” Melvin said.

  “We could store the things from the museum in the basement. That way the history still would be there. And the building would be more practical. Instead of being filled with old things gathering dust, it could be filled with people.” Mia was catching Sally’s excitement.

  “We can make all the plans in the world, but unless we deal with the Cut Court and their enforcers, we’ll be dead before we can carry them out. All this dreaming isn’t doing us any good. We need a plan for taking out the Court. Or making an agreement. Something. If we just go back there and try and carry on, they’ll slaughter us the way they slaughtered Arthur.” Melvin was pacing now.

  “Did you notice? The female judge was shocked to hear that Arthur had died. She didn’t authorize it.” Mia had been looking at her when Glen had announced Arthur’s death. The woman’s face had crumpled.

  “I think she’d just realized she lost control of her court,” Melvin said. “You know she’s the architect behind it. It was her way of bringing order to the city.”

  “Brutality, more like it,” Sally said. “I wonder how long ago she lost control and if she’s realized she’s not getting it back?”

  “From the look on her face, it was today,” Mia said. “She was shocked. She hadn’t been consulted, and she certainly hadn’t authorized it.”

  “That’s all very well,” Melvin said. “But it doesn’t solve the question of what we are going to do. Leaving the city seems like the safest bet, but then we leave the people of the city in the hands of the enforcers. I don’t like that idea.”

  “No,” Glen said, “I understand if any of you feel the need to move on. I would not ask you to risk your own lives. But I am taking on the Court, and I am going to pull it down brick by brick. The people of the city will dismantle the Court, and we will build something beautiful in its place. The reign of terror must end. And I will help end it.”

  “How, Glen? How can you single-handedly bring down the ruling power? And what would you put in its place? You know a power vacuum always will be filled.” Melvin looked agitated.

  “We helped fill a similar power vacuum in a sma
ll community upstate,” Glen said. “They moved back to a democratic style of government. They use solar panels for power. They have a catchment for water collection, and disputes are managed by the local mayor if they cannot be resolved by the citizens.”

  “I know that was a small community,” Glen continued, “but how much more powerful are the citizens of the city if they are to unite in a single purpose? If I can harness their energy, show them how powerful they are in their own right, how to develop their own government, then this city has hope. I will not flee when I know I can free this city of its torpor. And of the malignant power that has filled the power void.”

  “If you are staying, then I am staying,” Melvin said. “In fact, I don’t know that I could have brought myself to leave. There are so many people who need me. People I may have neglected in service to the clinic.”

  “I’m staying,” Mia said, “I have a purpose here.”

  “I’m staying if Mia is staying,” Christian said.

  “And me,” Sally said.

  “We should try getting some sleep,” Glen said. “Tomorrow is going to be an interesting day.”

  Glen checked on the children sleeping in the three bedrooms and was surprised at how many there were. Robbie was the leader and protector of upwards of twenty-five children. He could have run an orphanage. He was smart, compassionate and a resourceful child. He would do well in the new world.

  Glen made a mental note to make sure these children all were getting fed regularly and getting medical care. As he exited from the third room he heard the front door clicking shut, but wasn’t surprised, he knew Melvin often roamed at night, checking in on the elderly and the disenfranchised. Everyone was disenfranchised these days, but Melvin kept an eye on the more severely so.

  Glen went into the kitchen so as not to disturb the others as he created his plan for the next day. He leaned against the counter, figuring out the steps that would bring them to the point where they could pull down the Cut Court. He knew they needed to not only destroy but also to build up to make the transformation complete. And the people needed to believe they had the power to make changes.

  He felt a change of mood steal over him as he planned. Hope, resolution, and strength were going through his mind. They could take action that would change the face of this city. If one small town in the sticks could grow food, harness the sun and draw water from the Earth, then the people of this city could do the same. They would do the same.

  He was sure there must be people in this city who had the knowledge needed to build windmills, to integrate solar panels into existing electrical systems. The wiring – the physical infrastructure was all still there, or were the wires fried as well as the component parts? Glen didn’t know.

  He shook his head. There were plenty of people who understood electricity and EMP events. He’d leave that to them. What he did know was that there was plenty of wire in the world and the community of New Town had managed to use solar panels to generate electricity for the town. If they could do it, Detroit could do it. They might have to find where the rich and powerful were hiding, but that was doable.

  There was so much people could do if they would work together. They could organize themselves into boroughs, growing food, erecting solar and wind power, creating medical facilities. They didn’t have to be living on the streets, sleeping in abandoned cars, and fearing every movement in the dark.

  There was so much more than that to life. So much a cohesive community could bring. Look at the medical clinic. He could not have brought that to life by himself, but with a few adults and a small army of children, they had done so much. They had built an organization that served the community while the community made sure that they had what they needed to stay alive. Glen was convinced that this could be accomplished on a much grander scale. That the city could be vibrant, active and safe once again.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Melvin left the apartment quietly and slipped through the darkened streets back to the museum. He watched the building for at least thirty minutes before he used his key to open the side door and slip inside. He made his way to his bedroom, where he slipped into a black T-shirt and hoody before picking up his backpack and heading back out again. He’d been in the building for less than ten minutes, all told, and hadn’t seen a soul.

  He walked through the streets back to the areas of town where few would venture at night. He checked doorways, alcoves, courtyards and park benches for people in need. Twice he dragged bodies to the curb to be collected. There seemed to be fewer deaths than usual, and he wondered if the clinic was making a difference. He liked to think so.

  He was reaching for a packet of soup to feed a young man sleeping in a doorway when he realized he’d forgotten to fill his thermos with hot water. He told the boy he’d be back and went in search of an old friend who might be able to help him.

  She was an older woman, Katie, whom he had helped in the early days after the EMP, and who had given him a place to sleep in return. She had encouraged him to use his skills to help people, to go out into the world and attempt to make it better. He owed her a lot.

  Hoping she still was living in the same spot by the river he made his way down to the water and found her tiny travel trailer where it always had been. “Katie?” he called quietly, “Katie, are you here?”

  There was movement from the trailer, and a light flashed on his face through the small window. She had focused a flashlight on him. In the back of his mind, he was amazed there still were functioning batteries after all this time. In the front of his mind, he hoped it was her examining him, and not someone who might take exception to his face and shoot him.

  “Melvin?” her voice was low in the night. “Where have you been all this time?” the door opened, “Get in here.”

  She enveloped him in a two-armed hug. It was the kind of embrace a mother gives when she hasn’t seen her child for a long time. Then she held him at arm's length and shook him. “Where have you been, boy? I was worried you might have met your maker.”

  She was graying, he noticed, and fine wrinkles had begun developing around her eyes. She also was dressed like a bag lady, a dress over pants and under a pullover sweater under a cardigan, a defense against the approaching cold. But her eyes were bright and clear, and she was smiling.

  “A lot has happened, Katie. I’ve been helping to start a clinic for the regular people, the families who live on the streets. I actually live with people now. They are almost like family.”

  “Tell me about them,” she said, “while I boil water for tea.”

  “That’s the main reason I’m here. I left without hot water, and cold soup is so dismal. Can you boil enough for my thermos?”

  “I’ll trade,” she said. “You tell me about your people, and I will give you boiling water for your waifs. Deal?”

  “Deal,” he said. She would have given it to him anyway, he knew. But she was lonely, and we all need human conversation.

  “Well, get started then.” She filled a pot from a plastic bottle, most likely filled from the river. When the pan had been balanced over a can of Sterno she came back to sit with him, the tiny living area dimly lit by the light from the Sterno can.

  “So, tell me,” she said.

  “First, there is Glen. He’s the de facto leader of our group. The eldest, the most educated, the most thoughtful. He’s a surgeon, and I get the impression he was somebody once. Important, you know. One of those talented and driven people who others look up to. He’s haunted by something in his past, but he doesn’t say what it is.”

  “Then there is Mia,” he continued, “she’s an organizational whiz. I don’t think she knew what she was good at before we started the clinic. But she keeps us all in line, and as efficient as we can be under the circumstances.”

  “Christian is Mia’s boyfriend. He’s young and restless. Has a past, I think. Things he’s not proud of. But apparently, he kept Mia and Sally alive until they met Glen. Glen saved his life. Christian has
a scar right across his stomach where a bear supposedly got him. But it looks like a knife wound to me. But what do I know? A bear’s claw could look like a knife wound, I suppose.”

  “The last of us is Sally. She and Mia have been friends since college or maybe high school. A while anyway. She’s got fantastic nursing skills. She works a lot with Glen, and I think she has a crush on him. But he’d never take advantage. I admire her, but I think she is in love with a man who was killed by the Court today, so she’s devastated. Well, we’re all devastated. Arthur Davis was a good man. Compassionate and fair. The world needs more men like him. Not fewer.”

  “Arthur Davis, the judge on the Koupe Tribinal?” Katie asked. “I owe him my life. I’m sorry if he is dead.”

  “How did he save your life?” Melvin asked. “He was trying to save mine when he was killed.”

  “The man who used to own this land made a complaint against me being here. He lied about what I was doing, and the hard judge, Xander I believe he is called, sentenced me to death. Judge Davis argued for my life, and my life was spared. Then Judge Davis went to the man and made some deal with him so he wouldn’t complain about me again. He came and gave me the deed to this land. Not that anyone really owns land anymore. But it’s nice to have the deed.”

  “He made an impact before he left this world, that’s for sure,” Melvin said. The water had begun to boil, and he got up to pour it into the teacups and into his thermos. He felt a pang at Katie’s story. If Arthur had not defied the court and saved the condemned man, perhaps he still would be alive today. But no. Xander would have found some other way and some other time to eliminate Arthur. He wanted the power for himself, and Arthur was in his way.