EMP Aftermath Series (Book 1): The Journey Home

by John Winchester

  Amy pumped the shotgun and chambered another round, swinging the barrel around to the second gang member.

  The tall skinhead stood there unmoving, stunned at the sight of his dead friend. His mouth hanging open, he looked up at the shooting window, his eyes going wide as he realized where the shot came from, and how close he stood to the opening. He dropped the gas cans and turned to run.

  He took two steps, and then stopped suddenly, throwing his hands up into the air in a gesture of submission and backed up towards the house.

  Amy lined the green laser dot up on the back of the man's head, ready to take a shot. She slowed her breathing down again to ensure the shot wouldn't go wide. Her finger slid into the trigger guard onto the trigger and she started to pull, but paused. Something wasn't right here.

  The tall skinhead turned around, his hands clutching at his throat as he staggered about, a distant look on his face. A thin red line spread across his throat from ear to ear, and blood erupted from the wound. The thug fell to his knees, gripping his throat, trying in vain to stop the blood pouring out of the wound. Blood squeezed between his fingers. He coughed, spraying blood across the patio, and fell to the ground next to his companion.

  The skinhead thrashed about on the patio, and a man appeared where the skinhead had just stood, a long bloody knife in his hand. Tall and wiry, his lean musculature showed through his ripped shirt.

  Who the hell was this guy? He was dirty, and looked like a bum in his tattered pants and worn shoes. His eyes shone in the dark from underneath an uncombed mess of dirty hair, his gaunt face marked by a long red gash on his grime-smeared cheek.

  This wasn't any one of the gang members she'd seen before. Rob's gang wouldn't be caught dead looking as filthy as this man. There was something about his eyes though. He looked just as dangerous as the rest of them. Kneeling down next to the thug, the stranger sunk his knife deep down into the skinhead's neck just at the shoulder. The skinhead stopped thrashing and lay still on the ground.

  The man pulled his knife free, and moved over to the heavyset thug she had shot. He slid the long knife into the same spot as the other man, ensuring he was dead, then wiped his blade off and put it back into his sheath.

  Amy followed the man with the shotgun, green dot painted on his chest, wondering if she should shoot him. Who was this man was, and why had he intervened? It was every man for himself after the EMP. A painful lesson that had taken her too long to learn, but she had learned it. People didn't take risks for strangers like that anymore. There wasn't anything at stake for this stranger.

  "Kenny, there's a strange man out there. He just killed one of Rob's gang."

  "Really? What is he doing now?"

  "I don't know, but he killed the tall skinhead with just a knife. Should I shoot him?" she asked.

  The stranger lifted his head, his eyes flickering to his right. He crouched down low and moved against the house, flattening himself onto the ground. Crawling on his hands and knees, he disappeared into the long grass of the yard, his dirty skin camouflaging him.

  Amy let her finger off the trigger as he drew out of sight.

  "I lost him, he's crawling through the grass next to the house," she said.

  Curious, she went to the side of the house and peered out another peephole. A third dead gang member's body lay face down on the ground in the side yard. His eyes wide open in a blank stare, his head was turned the wrong way around, neck broken.

  "Kenny, stay here with Danny. Keep the back of the house covered. If you smell smoke, don't wait for me, just get your brother out and run. Run as fast as you can, as far as you can, and get away," Amy said.

  Danny whimpered, huddling against the couch. Kenny squinted his eyes, peered out of the slit, pistol in hand.

  "Got it. They won't get past me," Kenny said.

  The stranger was nowhere to be seen, and Amy ran to another peephole on the opposite side of the house.

  The stranger wrestled with one of Rob's thugs, the fat loud one with jet black hair. Their arms locked at the shoulder, each tried to throw the other to the ground. The fat thug had the upper hand, his heavy bulk larger than the stranger, and he threw his weight to the side, sending the stranger flying into the side of the house. The stranger's knife flew from his hand into the long grass.

  The fat thug rushed forward, circling his hands around the stranger's throat and squeezed tightly. The stranger gasped for air, scratching and pulling at the thug's arms as he tried to break free. The fat thug lifted the stranger off the ground as he choked him, his face turning red as he spluttered and coughed.

  Amy put the shotgun up to the shooting slot but couldn't find a clean shot, the stranger's head moved in and out of the way as he struggled to get free.

  The stranger held his hand up to the fat thug's face, straightened his thumb, and jabbed it deep into his eye.

  The fat thug gave a shrill scream like a child and released the stranger. He clutched at his wounded eye, blood and pink fluid running down his face.

  The stranger dove for his long knife laying the grass, and thrust it up under the fat thug's ribcage with a grunt. He pushed hard on the blade, slipping it in until the hilt met the thug's body. He stabbed the blade in twice more, each stab going in a different direction under the man's ribcage. The fat thug fell over, and the stranger pulled the blade free and wiped it clean on the dead thug's shirt.

  He rested with his hands on his knees for a moment, chest heaving mightily as he caught his breath. After a moment, he slipped around the corner of the house and disappeared from sight, leaving another dead thug in his wake.

  Amy ran to the front door, following the direction of his travel. She looked around for signs up Rob's gang, but found the area clear of danger. The stranger outside the door mimicked her action as he himself scanned up and down the street, his shoulders tense and alert. He turned to the house, his chest heaving, winded from the exertion of killing the gang members.

  "Let me in. They're all gone now," he said.

  "Who are you? Why did you help us? What do you want from us? There's nothing here for you, we don't have anything," she said, the barrage of questions flying from her lips. Whatever the man wanted, he was dangerous. He'd just killed most of Rob's gang with nothing but a knife and his bare hands. She wanted no part of him. She had to protect her boys. She couldn't trust someone that dangerous around her sons.

  Danny appeared as he came around the side of the house, running directly towards the man.

  Amy's heart skipped a beat as her son wrapped his arms around the dirty stranger and clung to his waist. The stranger ruffled the hair on Danny's head. Her eyes focused in on the stranger's knife, held in his hand on top of Danny's head, too close for comfort.

  How did Danny get out there? He was supposed to be with Kenny inside the house. A thousand fears crossed her mind at once.

  "Daddy," Danny cried out.

  Amy threw the door wide open and brought her pistol up to the stranger's face. Damn it. It was Danny and his delusion of seeing his father, all over again. It would end up getting him killed.

  "Let him go right now," she said.

  "Amy, I'm not going to hurt him, or you. I'm home," he said.

  "Home?" she asked.

  His voice was ragged and raw, but she knew that voice from somewhere. Amy brought her hand to her mouth. Tears ran down her cheeks, her mind telling her that the impossible was happening. This man was scarred, dirty, and deadly. His face was familiar under the dirt, and he was the same height, but he was wiry and strong, not like her Jack. The way he carried himself; alert, with confidence and agility. This couldn't be her husband.

  "Jack? Is that really you? It can't be."

  "I'm sorry Amy. I'm sorry it took me so long to get home," he said.

  "Jack, how did you get--"

  Amy craned her neck, eyes following a Molotov cocktail as it arced high over their heads and smashed into a thousand shards of glass against the roof of the house. Flames spread quickly alo
ng the eaves of the house as the gasoline splashed earlier by the thugs ignited.

  Squinting her eyes against the sudden bright light from the fire, she saw a dark figure running up quickly behind Jack.

  Rob, wielding a knife, and coming straight at Jack.

  Jack seemed to sense something was wrong because he pushed Danny out of the way, just in time to be bowled over by Rob's assault.

  Rob tackled Jack and the combined weight of both men slammed into her, knocking her against the house. Amy's head cracked against the doorframe and she dropped to the porch. Her ears rang loudly and spots appeared in her vision. The world looked like a kaleidoscope as she tried to hold her head still against the spinning.

  Rob screamed a feral cry of hatred as he brought the blade down. He sat on top of Jack, pinning him to the ground. He thrust the knife down

  Jack threw his arms up to protect his face, and the blade sank into his left hand as it descended.

  Jack screamed and thrust his body up, throwing Rob off of him and sending him to the ground. He grabbed his wounded hand. Three inches of the blade stuck out of the back of his hand, his remaining two fingers and thumb twitching in pain.

  Rob rolled onto Jack again, his single eye glaring hatefully as he wrapped his fingers around Jack's throat, strangling him.

  Amy staggered to her feet, shrugging off the dizziness.

  "Kenny! Get out of the house it's on fire," she yelled into the open doorway.

  Kenny appeared in the hallway, and took notice of the fight between Jack and Rob.

  "I'll help him. Get Danny to safety," she said.

  Kenny came running through the doorway, Danny in tow. He ran toward the street, away from the fire.

  Jack and Rob rolled around on the ground in their struggle, punching and wrestling for control. Jack held his own, but just barely. The knife wound in his hand bled profusely, his injury leaving him at a disadvantage.

  Jack held Rob's stranglehold at bay with his arms as he brought his knees up to his chest and planted his feet onto Rob's chest. He kicked his legs out, his strong muscles built from a thousand miles of walking and riding sending Rob flying through the air.

  Jack was on his feet in an instant, moving toward Rob. Amy pushed past Jack, shoving him out of the way. She hovered over Rob as he lay on the ground, trying to get back on his feet. Fury and outrage filled her heart. No more of this.

  Rob's undamaged eye widened with fear in the firelight. He held up his hands in front of his face.

  "Wait! Please don't--," he said.

  Amy squeezed the trigger. She squeezed the trigger again, and then again, firing shot after shot into him. The front yard exploded with the sound of the gun each time she pulled the trigger. She kept pulling the trigger until all she heard was the ringing in her ears and the click of the empty gun.

  A calm voice spoke, and a hand slipped over hers, gently sliding the empty gun from her hands.

  Chapter 36

  Jack set the empty pistol on the grass and pulled Amy close into a hug. It was over. This had been so long coming, he just held her tight, refusing to let her go. He ignored the pain in his body. The feeling of rightness and completeness lasted a split second before it was interrupted. Where were his children? The fire.

  "Amy, where are the boys?"

  "Boys! Kenny, Danny, where are you," Amy yelled, looking around the front yard.

  "I'm here mom." Danny peeked out from behind the Prius at the end of the driveway.

  "Where's Kenny?" Jack asked, frantic.

  "He went back inside the house," Danny said.

  His stomach rose up into his throat, a cold sweat broke out on his forehead.

  The house was engulfed in fire, flames roaring loudly as they rose high into the night. Smoke poured out of the open front door, obscuring the inside of the house.

  "Stay here with Danny, I'll get him out," Jack said.

  Jack ignored the hot lick of flames burning his exposed face and arms as he ran into the house. His eyes burned from the acrid smoke, and he crouched down close to the floor so he could still breathe.

  "Kenny! Kenny get out of the house! Where are you?" he yelled.

  The basement door flew opened, and Kenny appeared, hacking and coughing. He staggered up the steps with two large duffle bags strapped across his shoulders. Kenny looked around wildly, clearly confused, affected by the smoke.

  Jack took the heavy bags off Kenny's shoulders and grabbed the back of his shirt, half carrying, half pushing him down the hallway towards the front door.

  Clear of the smoke and flames, Jack dropped the duffle bags onto the grass and spun his son around. Terrified that he'd lost him in the fire, his relief was overwhelming.

  "Don't ever do something that stupid again," he said, hugging Kenny close.

  "Guns...I got the guns. Ammo boxes are by the basement window, I pushed as many as I could out," Kenny doubled over, coughing and spluttering.

  Jack appraised the roaring fire. If the ammo boxes were just outside the window, could he get them? There was only fifteen feet between the neighbor's house and his own, the heat from the fire reflecting off their house would be like an oven.

  "Jack, don't you dare go back--" Amy said.

  He was already mid stride, running towards the side of the house. Flames licked at him as he neared the fire. The heat was intolerable, searing his throat with each breath. The foul smell of singed hair rose up into his nostrils.

  There they were, four ammo boxes sitting next to the broken out basement window, untouched by the fire. Jack strained to pick them up, and limped back into the front yard with the heavy load. He dumped them onto the ground next to the duffle bags and collapsed on the grass next to Kenny, Danny, and his wife.

  Amy glared at him with a look cold enough to cool the flames he just ran through.

  "Don't you ever do something that stupid again, Jack Miller," she said.

  Kenny cleared his throat, and coughed. "It must be hereditary."

  Jack opened his hands wide and gave her an apologetic look.

  Amy held her glare, but Kenny snorted and laughed, releasing the tension.

  Her face softened, looking down at his hand. "What happened to your fingers?" she asked. Amy took his hand in hers, rolling it over and inspecting the damage.

  "Oh. It was like that already, well, the knife wound wasn't there, but the fingers were gone," he said.

  A puzzled look on her face, she turned to look at the blazing inferno that used to be their home.

  "Well, it looks like I'm fresh out of Band-Aids Jack. Can you come back in a few months? We can try to do the happy reunion thing over again if you'd like."

  He laughed hard, tears flowing freely as the worry and fears he kept bottled up for months rose to the surface. Jack gathered Amy and his sons into his arms in a family hug. This was everything to him, all that he needed right here. He squeezed them tight and didn't let go, promising himself he would never leave their sight again.

  "Jack, we should treat your hand, you're bleeding on my shirt and it's my last one," she said.

  "I've got wet wipes and gauze in my backpack," he said.

  Amy unzipped the black backpack and lifted the box of seeds. "What are these for? That is quite a lot of seeds. Planning a little backyard garden Mr. Miller? I'm afraid you have to find another house first."

  Jack raised his eyes to their home, the fire lighting up the neighborhood as it blazed brightly. It didn't bother him at all. It had been a roof over their heads, nothing more. Nothing inside was worth more than what he had right here next to him.

  "I had something a little bigger than a backyard garden in mind. My friend, Wyatt, has invited us to join him on his farm in West Virginia," Jack said.

  Amy raised her eyebrows. "You have a friend from West Virginia... named Wyatt? With a farm? And you want us to move there?"

  "Well, it is more of an old family homestead than a farm really. The house needs repair, and it will take some hard work to get the place up
and running again. The fields need to be turned, old orchards reclaimed, and we'll have to barter for some livestock, but it is a place where we can build a new life and start over."

  Amy stared deep in his eyes, "OK."

  Jack balked, wondering if he was still in shock from the knife wound, or malnutrition. "We can talk about it later if you want to. I understand it is a lot to take in all at once. We need to find shelter for the night tonight, and scavenge some food for the boys. This can come later."

  "Jack, if you think this is the right decision, then there isn't anything else to talk about. I trust you," she said.