EMP Aftermath Series (Book 1): The Journey Home

by John Winchester

He hit the brakes hard, his back tire coming a few inches off the ground. A seed company?

  The homestead Wyatt talked about. Vegetable seeds would be immensely useful to his family once they arrived at the homestead. This was a resource that could sustain them for the long term.

  He looked around, checking the streets for people. Spotting nobody around, he warily circled the building. In the alley behind the building a cargo bay door sat partially open, the gap large enough for him to squeeze through.

  Jack stashed his bike behind a dumpster in the alley and concealed it beneath a flattened cardboard box.

  His heart beat faster as he slid under the bay door into the building. This section of town was a ghost town, but he still felt guilty about going into the building without permission.

  Large skylights in the ceiling high above illuminated the warehouse, providing light. He passed aisle after aisle, finding nothing but rows of empty shelves. Somebody had already taken everything of value.

  He made his way to the business office a few aisles over. A fine layer of dust coated everything, indicating the place had not been visited in quite some time. He picked up a clipboard from off the desk. He reading the packets of papers clipped to the board. The papers were marked in the bottom corner with a fancy seal, embossed into the paper.

  Authorized by the Federal Emergency Management Agency, issue by Justice Mark Weldon

  Jack scrolled down several lines to the interesting bits,

  U.S. EMP Response Committee Confiscation Act Article 12

  The government had picked the warehouse clean. Typical. They could put the stockpile of seeds to good use, but it was more likely that the seeds would be forgotten in a government warehouse or mismanaged by bungling bureaucrats, if there were any bureaucrats left.

  Disappointed, he made his way around the shelves, quietly making his way back to the open bay door and his bike. Rounding the corner of an aisle, his foot caught on something in his rushed exit, and tumbled forward to the ground.

  He threw his arms out in front of him, absorbing some of the blow with his forearms, but still landed hard on his face. Shaking off the pain, he picked himself up. Blood dripped from his nose, and he pinched it shut between his thumb and finger to stop the bleeding.

  Sticking out from underneath a shelf at the end of the aisle was a cardboard box. Jack picked the box up and hefted it, surprised to find it wasn't empty. Curious, he read the shipping label.

  Michael Barrens

  3482 Concord Avenue

  Milltown Alaska

  Michael wouldn't be stopping at the store anytime soon to inquire after his lost package. It was fair game now. Jack ran his thumbnail along the seam, cutting through the packaging tape. The box was stuffed with seed packages, and there were hundreds of types of vegetables, and several varieties of each.

  Someone, somewhere was looking after him. This was enough seed to start an enormous garden, a small-scale farm even. It was far more than he could use or plant in one season.

  In his excitement at the discovery, he pictured the homestead, details brought to life by Wyatt's descriptions. He closed his eyes, experiencing the fullness of the vision. A farmhouse, gently rolling fields, animals grazing in a pasture. A gentle spring rain moistening the freshly turned earth, delicate green shoots popping up from the ground. He pictured his family working together in a large garden, hoeing dirt around neat rows of winter cabbage. Wyatt, backing an antique tractor out of the barn, a plow hitched to the tractor. It was all there, everything he needed, at Wyatt's homestead. The seeds. His vision was complete now.

  Jack resealed the box, elated with his discovery. He slid the box under the bay door, and lowered himself to the ground, rolling under the bay door and into the alley.

  Before he could get to his feet, fists pummeled him, sending him to the ground

  "Found your ass," the man with the red mohawk yelled.

  A heavy blow landed on his forehead, followed by kicks to his midsection. The two men kicked and punched him relentlessly, their fists and feet wracking his body with pain.

  Jack tried to get up off the ground and fight back, but he was pushed back down. Unable get to his feet, he covered his head with his arms, trying to protect his head.

  "I told you to stop, you stupid mother," the shorter thug shouted. "This is our neighborhood. You don't belong here."

  Kicks landed on his back and his legs. A powerful kick hit him in his side, knocking the wind out of him. Pain exploded in his ribcage, lightning stung his side as he tried to breathe.

  The beating continued for several minutes. His front teeth wiggled loosely as he passed his tongue over them, he spit out a mouthful of blood, the iron taste turning his stomach. His entire body beaten, bruised, and in pain. He couldn't see out of his left eye. Was it swollen shut, or had they put out his eye?

  "Stupid ass, coming down here. This is our turf, you don't take shit without us saying so."

  The man with the mohawk picked up the box of seeds and ripped it open.

  "What the hell is this? Seeds? You taking a beat down for some seeds? Stupid ass."

  The other man cackled, "Yo, we beat him bad bro. Look at his head. Look at how bad he's swollen up. He's bleeding all over."

  "Grab his bike and that backpack. Let's see if Big D will give us something for it. Throw them seeds in the bag, shit, maybe he'll take them too."

  Jack grunted, his mouth filling with blood again, obstructing his breathing. He spit the blood out and moaned.

  "What? You want some more?" The thug with the mohawk shouted.

  Jack watched in horror, unable to move as the thug with the mohawk picked up a brick off of the ground. His lips twisted in a sneer, and he brought the brick down, smashing it over the top of Jack's head.

  Bright white light filled his vision, his head felt like he'd stuck his tongue in an electric socket. Trying to get up and run, his body wouldn't respond. Black spots winked in and out of his vision, the spots growing larger by the second.

  The thugs gave him a final kick, and took his bike, his backpack, and the box of seeds with them as they left the alley.

  Jack rolled onto his side, vomited, and blacked out from the pain.

  Chapter 32

  "First things first guys. Danny, you are to stay in my sight at all times from now on. If you have to use the bathroom, you're going with your brother. We all need to communicate where we are and what we are doing. Second, we don't leave the house. We don't want to give Rob the opportunity to break in and be waiting for us when we return. Finally, Kenny, you and I are going to keep a gun on us at all times. Pistol, shotgun, I don't care which, but we need to be armed," Amy said.

  "Does that mean no more fishing?" Danny asked.

  "I'm afraid so Danny. We have enough food and fresh water in the basement to last us a long time. Maybe Rob will leave when he runs out of food. There can't be that much food left to scavenge. The fresh fish was wonderful and I really appreciated the work you did, but I am not willing to risk your lives over it."

  "We should also keep plenty of ammo upstairs. Should move the gun safes upstairs? Going to the basement takes too long," Kenny said.

  "Excellent points Kenny. OK guys, any other ideas to keep the house safe? If we're going to stay, we have to defend the house, our lives depend on it," she said.

  "We could make booby traps, like some cans tied to strings that somebody would trip over and make a lot of noise," Danny said.

  "That's a really good idea Danny. In fact, we can use that idea on all the windows and doors. Something to let us know if a window or door is opened. Anything to give us a little extra time to react," Amy said.

  "I've been thinking about how to make the doors and windows stronger. We could board up the windows and make a little window to shoot out of, like with a sliding piece of wood or something to cover it. And we could put a big piece of wood across the doors to keep people from bashing them down. Dad has some metal brackets in the workshop we could use," Kenny said.


  "Good. Where can we get the wood? We can't risk going across town to the hardware store. Is there anything around us we can use?" Amy asked.

  "I know! There is a whole bunch of wood over there, on the street behind us. It's on a big truck," Danny said.

  "Hey, yeah, he's right. They were building a new home over there. There are all sorts of plywood and lumber. How will we get the wood here though, without leaving the house unoccupied? We shouldn't split up, but we shouldn't leave the house empty. Do we have a way to be in both places at once?" Amy asked.

  A window shattered in the living room, sending shards of glass flying all over the room.

  Amy flinched, and then ran to the window to find a large rock on the floor amidst the glass. She looked out the window, startled to find a tall man with a shaved head and tattoos running away from the house, his middle finger extended upward as he ran.

  "That's from Rob bitch," the man yelled.

  Across the street at the Moore house, Rob leaned against a parked car, cigarette in one hand, a beer in the other. His was face a swollen mess of black and blue, his eye swollen completely shut where she'd struck him with the bat. He raised his arm high in the air and lifted his middle finger.

  Two rough looking men standing behind Rob laughed loudly and pointed at the house, cheering on the skinhead that had thrown the rock as he rejoined the group. The skinhead picked up another rock from the street and launched it towards the house, falling harmlessly into the front yard.

  So he did have a gang. This was not welcome news. Rob was bad enough on his own, and these men looked like hardened criminals.

  "Stay away from the windows boys. Rob has some new friends, I'm sure there will be more rocks coming through the windows."

  No sooner had she spoken than another man broke from the group and ran into the front yard, lobbing a rock against the house. The rock landed on the roof with a thud, and then tumbled onto the front porch.

  Kenny took the rock from the living room floor, and used it to break out the remaining shards of glass hanging from the window. He lifted his pistol up and fired two shots out the window.

  The gang scurried behind the parked car, yelling insults and threats across the street.

  "Kenny! What are you doing?" Amy yelled.

  "Target practice," he said.

  "Relax mom, I'm not going to shoot them. You and Danny go get the wood. If I'm here shooting at them, they won't know you're out getting the wood, they're pretty stupid," Kenny said.

  Uncertain, she looked through the window at the group of thugs across the street. They popped their heads up periodically and lobbed rocks, which fell far short of the house.

  Kenny was right, if they wanted to get the wood to fortify the house, this was their opportunity. She may as well take advantage of the diversion.

  "Only fire warning shots Kenny. I don't want you shooting someone, we don't know who these people are. Some of them might have just fallen in with the wrong crowd, or are trying to show off. Throwing rocks at our house isn't enough to kill someone over," she said.

  "Mom, did you see those guys? They aren't hanging with the wrong crowd. Get real. That tall guy has tattoos on his face. Who has tattoos on their face? These guys are convicts. Chill out, I won't kill anybody. I'll only shoot if they come into our yard, as a warning."

  She didn't feel right about it, but they did need the lumber to cover the windows and bar the doors.

  "Come on Danny, let's go get the wood while Kenny keeps them busy. We have to hurry," she said.

  They ran through the back yard and hopped the short chain link fence into the neighbor's yard. The gate on the opposite side of the yard was rusty, and squeaked loudly as she opened it. It wasn't loud enough to be heard over the shouting, but it still made her cringe. Shots rang out. Kenny was keeping the gang busy as promised. They moved cautiously through the neighbor's houses, until she spotted the construction site with the wood.

  "There it is," Danny said, pointing at the truck.

  The home was half finished, construction halted when the EMP hit. All that had been completed was the poured foundation and wooden frame. The truck parked on the street in front of the house held the materials needed to finish the job. Large bundles of plywood, two by fours, and other lumber were strapped down to the flat bed.

  Amy fumbled with the winches holding the lumber strapped to the flatbed until she figured out how the release worked. Free from the straps, she slid a sheet of plywood off the truck and lowered it to the ground.

  "Danny, we'll have to take these one at a time, they are really heavy. You pick up that end, and watch where you walk so you don't trip."

  They lugged the sheet of plywood through neighbor's yards, and tossed the sheet over the fence into their back yard.

  "We're going to need ten or eleven of these to cover all the windows. We'll get the other wood last, it will be lighter," she said.

  Danny rubbed at his arms. It wasn't work for an eleven year old, but he would have to work through it and do his best, she needed his help.

  Twenty minutes of moving wood and they were both exhausted. They had all the wood they needed to fortify the house. Back in the house Danny collapsed on the couch, sitting up momentarily to chug down the glass of water she handed him.

  Kenny was still at the window, eyeing the gang across the street. The gang was quiet now, no longer throwing rocks or shouting insults. They stared at the house, talking and pointing across the street. Whatever it was they were talking about, it was bad news for her family.

  "We're done Kenny, we've got the wood. How did it go?" she asked.

  "They stopped throwing rocks a little bit ago."

  "Really? That's surprising," she said.

  "Well, I shot one of them."

  "What happened? I told you to only fire warning shots," Amy said. She looked out the window, expecting to see another corpse on the front porch.

  "They started yelling that I was a chicken, that I wouldn't shoot them. One of them ran over and tried to open the front door. I had to shoot him. He's not dead. It hit him in the arm. After that, they stopped coming into the yard," he said.

  Amy squeezed Kenny's shoulder, reassuring him. "You did what you had to do. Come on, you go get some food and take a break. I'll keep an eye on them for a while."

  She watched the gang through the window, wishing she could read their minds. The wounded man held his bloody arm, shouting and pointing across the street. Rob gestured at the ruined half of his face and yelled at the man. Whatever he said silenced the man. They had underestimated her family twice. They wouldn't be so rash next time.

  She gave Danny and Kenny an hour to rest and recover. In a few minutes, she would get the boys up and put them to work. They had to fortify the house as soon as possible. They had guns, but if Rob's gang caught them off guard, they could storm the house and overpower them, even if all the gang had were knives and hand held weapons.

  They would bar the doors, secure the windows with plywood, and then keep watch over the house for as long as it took. She couldn't leave the food and supplies to venture into the unknown. There was no guarantee that Rob wouldn't follow them. And Jack. She couldn't give up hope that Jack. He would come home.

  Chapter 33

  He should be dead. His first thought as he regained consciousness.

  Jack grabbed the edge of the loading dock and pulled himself into a sitting position. His head throbbed mercilessly, his ears ringing as he felt at the golf ball sized lump. His left eye was completely swollen shut, his right eye cloudy and filled with black spots. The alley spun, as if he were drunk.

  He waited for the dizziness to pass, the wild spinning making his stomach turn. He doubled over and heaved, the motion lighting up every damaged nerve in his body. Splintering pain went through his ribs with every breath he drew.

  Jack cleared his throat and wiped the blood away from his mouth.

  He was so close to home and yet still so far away. All this way, only to be
shown how powerless he was by a couple of thugs. Shown how weak he was, and how unprepared. He didn't even get a punch in. How could he get his family out of the city safely if he couldn't even keep himself safe?

  Hopelessness consumed him. He lay down on the ground in the alley, and cried.

  All of the doubts and fears he'd kept bottled up during the ride home surfaced. The beating had unstopped the cork of his soul. Was his family even alive after all these weeks? Would he arrive home to find them all dead? If they were alive and he got them out of the city, would he be leading them to an even worse fate? A homestead in West Virginia... bringing his family to the rural Appalachians, and he didn't know anything about farming. Was he being stupid again?