The EMP Survivor Series (Book 3): Unknown World

by Chris Pike

  Chapter 2

  “What did you mean when you said you got me, Babe? Is that some sort of secret code?” Amanda asked.

  “No,” Chandler replied. “It’s a lyric from an old song. My mom used to play Sonny and Cher music when I was a little kid.”

  “Cher was a singer? I thought she was only an actress. And who’s Sonny?” Amanda asked.

  “Long story. Cher was a singer first.”

  “Really? Can you sing the rest of the song?”

  “I don’t remember the lyrics.”

  “Hum it then. It’s not exactly like I can plug in my music list and listen to it on my iPhone.”

  “I’m not much of singer.”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “Don’t laugh, okay? This is really out of my comfort zone.”

  “Killing people is out of my comfort zone,” Amanda said ruefully, recalling the stormy night when a man burst into her grandpa’s house with the intent to kill her and everyone else in the house to collect the bounty on Dillon and Holly. She realized now she had been in shock after it happened. She never gave a second thought to the Glock her grandpa had put in the nightstand in her bedroom. But when the moment came and her life depended on action, she hadn’t hesitated to pull the trigger. The man fell dead in front of her and bled out on the bedroom floor. What was it Chandler had said about her? She’s got grit. Coming from him, she took that as one of the highest compliments she had ever received.

  “Try not to think about that,” Chandler said. “You did what you had to do. You saved yourself and others too.” Changing the subject back to lighter matters, he said, “I’ll hum the tune if you don’t laugh at me.”

  “I won’t laugh. I promise,” Amanda said.

  Chandler cleared his throat and hummed the tune as best he could remember. He interjected a few words and hummed when he couldn’t remember the lyrics.

  After the brief entertainment, Chandler and Amanda rode in silence, passing the land brushed by a chilly winter wind. The dormant grass was dry and crunchy. A buzzard floated high in the sky and a mockingbird flitted across the lonely road, then landed on a bare branch of an oak tree. It sang a melodic tune and waited for another one to join in.

  Miles fell behind them.

  Amanda had on a pair of jeans, boots, two pairs of socks, two shirts, a jacket layered over a sweater, and a wool cap pulled down over her ears. Her long hair flowed over her shoulders, keeping the winter chill off her neck. Still, she couldn’t get warm, and intermittently she shivered, both from the thought of the long trip and the cold nights sleeping in the open.

  They rode like that for a while, talking at times, sometimes in silence. The winding road took them past abandoned vehicles of all makes and models. A red barn came into view and cows munched idly in the pasture. One looked up, languidly chewing cud, eyeing them. Undisturbed by the travelers, the cow lowered its head back to the ground to resume munching on the smorgasbord of winter grass.

  The farm-to-market road came to a crossroads. Chandler stopped and checked the map. They took a right turn, which caused them to face the cold north wind.

  They plodded on and the sun became high in the sky.

  It was silent except for the rhythmic clomping of hooves upon blacktop.

  “Do you think we’ll ever come back here again, or see Dillon?” Amanda asked.

  “I really don’t know,” Chandler replied.

  “I was starting to get used to the place. For a while it was like home, and Cassie was becoming like a big sister to me.”

  “It’s not too late to change your mind. We can go back.”

  “You can never go back.” Her tone was wistful and she glanced away. “You can never go back.”

  “You said that as if you know what you’re talking about.”

  Amanda didn’t want to go down that emotional path or revisit memories she thought she had tucked away for good. Instead she said, “I have mixed feelings about going to Austin.”

  “You’re telling me this now?” Chandler asked.

  “I thought I was over all that.”

  “Over what?”

  “Nothing,” Amanda said. “I can’t help the way I feel.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “No.”

  “Are you afraid of something?”

  Amanda didn’t reply.

  “Is it your great aunt you’re afraid of? She must be like a stranger to you.”

  “That’s not it at all.”

  “What then?” Chandler asked.

  “Nothing,” Amanda snapped. “It’s not important. I guess it’s just my nerves.”

  “Okay. If you don’t want to talk about it, I won’t pry. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.” Chandler grinned and Amanda tossed him a forced smile.

  Chandler glanced at the sky and squinted. He gauged it was past noontime by the position of the sun and the fact his stomach was growling. “You hungry?”

  “Not really.”

  “I am, so let’s stop for lunch and stretch our legs. I could use a break.”

  Chandler guided Cowboy to where a large oak tree fanned out over the road and part of the adjacent pasture. He went over to Amanda, took her by the waist and helped the wisp of a girl slide off the saddle. Nipper wiggled in his carrier, which was more like a satchel, wanting to get out. Amanda scooped him up and set him on the ground. He immediately padded to a tree, sniffed it, then lifted his leg.

  “Want me to gather kindling for a fire?” Amanda asked.

  “No. We’ll eat the food Holly packed for us,” Chandler said. “I don’t want to spend time making a fire.”

  “I could use a hot drink.”

  “You’re cold, aren’t you?”

  Amanda briskly rubbed her hands together. “I’m really cold. Aren’t you?”

  “Not so much. Guys have more muscle mass than girls, which is why we don’t get as cold.”

  “Remind me to work out more.”

  “I think you’ll be getting plenty of working out soon.” Chandler paused, thinking about starting a fire. “I guess we have time for a fire. Find me some twigs and leaves, and I’ll get a fire going.”

  He dug in the saddle bags and pushed around the Stanley cook set, which consisted of two metal cylinders that fit together, one with a handle he could use to set over the fire to boil water. He placed those on the ground. He had carefully packed the rest of the contents consisting of a Quik Clot trauma pack, a LifeStraw, a Spyderco clip-it, Nalgene bottles, binoculars, a two ringed hand saw, duct tape, a survival fishing kit, and other sundry items they would need in case they ran into trouble or were delayed.

  They had enough food and water to last them a week, especially if they rationed it, and for once Chandler was glad it was cold. The food would keep longer.

  They couldn’t afford to dawdle. Time was of the essence.

  Chandler and Dillon had mapped out the trip, meticulously measuring the route using the one inch map scale to put tick marks on the map where they should stop. Chandler retrieved the map from his pocket, opened it, and silently swore. They were already behind schedule.

  By car, the approximately two hundred sixty mile trip to Austin would take five hours, depending on stops, but by the horses trotting along at four miles per hour for twelve hours a day, it would take them about five and a half days. But that was by the way the crow flies. It was going to take longer. Chandler didn’t want to stress the horses to the breaking point, so he decided a leisurely pace would be the best strategy. The food would last that long, and if the trip took longer than anticipated, he could always hunt.

  The extra holstered Glock 17 was in the saddle bag, along with three loaded magazines. Chandler liked to be prepared.

  Amanda wore her Glock and an extra magazine on a belt Dillon had given her. Chandler had made additional holes in the belt to accommodate her tiny waist, otherwise it would have slipped right off of her.

  The horses grazed unattended, nibbling on grass in
the fence line.

  Chandler checked the area, looking for a good place to make a fire. The massive oak had dropped a copious amount of acorns and leaves, so the area under the tree was not at the top of his list. Besides, it was too shady. He liked the feel of the sun and wind on his face.

  He selected a spot outside the shade of the canopy where there was a natural depression in the ground. He kicked away any loose brush and leaves that might catch fire. Satisfied the area was clear enough, he worked quickly, molding a circular firebreak, using the sandy soil as if he was making a levy.

  Amanda positioned the sticks and leaves in a teepee shape, and when she finished Chandler worked his magic and got a fire going.

  He constantly rehearsed his training in his mind so as not to forget vital skills, and because constant reinforcement overcame complacency. He reached into his pocket and verified the solid feel of the rectangular magnesium fire starter, recalling his training emphasizing having at least two ways to start a fire. In his other pocket, he had minimized bulk by stacking six waterproof matches together with a separate cardboard striking surface, all tightly wrapped in plastic wrap. As overkill, he carried the Victorinox Swiss Army knife model with the magnifying glass blade which worked well to start a fire on sunny days. The magnifying glass concentrated the sun’s power to ignite dry leaves.

  Lighters could be useful, but he didn’t trust them, learning that lesson the hard way. His Zippo had leaked out after hiking over rough terrain once, and was completely empty when he needed it. Inexpensive butane lighters could work, but they would sometimes pop open when carried in hot climates.

  If he was lucky enough to have his pack when he needed it, he would have extra waterproof matches, along with cotton balls treated with Vaseline. Carried in an airtight container, the cotton balls caught fire quickly and were a way to light available leaves, paper fragments, or freshly made wood shavings.

  A memory of his half-civilized survival instructor came to mind: Preparation saves time, and time saved equals saved lives.

  After the fire had sufficiently caught, Chandler added larger sticks, waited a while, then topped it with a medium sized branch.

  Amanda set out the food on a makeshift table using a piece of plywood she found in the pasture. She had turned it over to make sure no scorpions or other troublesome insects had made it their winter home.

  The lunch bounty included sausage sandwiches made from a feral hog Chandler had killed while he was still at the Double H ranch. The bit of dried mustard Holly had sprinkled on was a welcome surprise. The bread was thick and hearty, meant to satisfy hunger. A can of sliced peaches added the needed bit of sweetness to offset the meaty sandwich.

  Sitting cross legged near the fire, Amanda held her hands up, warming them.

  Nipper’s nose twitched at the aroma filling the air, and he waited with anticipation for a handout. He padded to Amanda and sat on his haunches. She reached out and absentmindedly scratched him behind his ears.

  “I forgot the bottled water,” Chandler said as he stoked the fire. Can you check for the bottles in the saddle bag? And grab a pack of tea or hot chocolate mix.”

  “Which do you want?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Chandler said.

  Amanda went to the saddle bags and dug around. Peeking in, she saw a bottle of Lawry’s. “What did you pack Lawry’s for?”

  “I couldn’t resist. Everything tastes better with Lawry’s. Salty food becomes a luxury during times like these.”

  “Where’d you get it from?”

  “The grocery store in town that had been looted. The shelves were picked clean, but most of the spices were still there.”

  Amanda laughed. “Never figured you for much of a cook.”

  “There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he said as she headed back to the makeshift table.

  She handed both a bottle of water and a package of hot chocolate mix to Chandler. He poured the water into one of the Stanley containers, put the lid on it, opened up the handles, and placed it on the fire.

  “Why did you put a lid on the container?” Amanda asked.

  “Water boils faster that way. Don’t you know that?”

  “Yeah, sorta.” She looked away. “I know it now.”

  For the rest of the meal, they ate in silence with only the sounds of the country keeping them company. A brush of wind came by, blowing around strands of Amanda’s auburn tresses. She tucked them behind her ear and ran her fingers through her hair, untangling it. Nipper sat patiently on his haunches, waiting for a piece of sausage. Amanda finished half her sandwich and picked at the other half, which didn’t go unnoticed by Chandler.

  “Are you going to eat the other half?” he asked.

  “No, this is about all I can eat.”

  “You should eat when you have the chance because you never know how long it will be until the next meal.”

  Amanda took another bite and washed it down with a gulp of water. “I’ll give the rest to Nipper.”

  “Give him the meat. I’ll eat the bread. I had to cinch my belt buckle another notch yesterday.”

  When lunch was over, Chandler kicked dirt over the hot coals. Amanda returned the piece of plywood to where she had found it. They cleaned the area, leaving no trace they had been there.

  Chandler helped Amanda onto her horse, then he mounted his. Nipper was tucked away in his carrier and the travelers headed west along the blacktop road, each lost in their own thoughts and eager to reach their destination.

  Chapter 3

  Another day wore on. Low clouds rolled in, hiding the winter sun and the warmth it brought. The cold gripped the travelers, uncaring about the misery it unleashed.

  Amanda shivered as the cold seeped through her clothes. Her ears hurt, and she tugged down on the wool cap and bunched her hair around her ears. Her fingers were numb and she flexed them to bring back circulation.

  Being cold was getting weary.

  “Ride with me,” Chandler said.

  “Won’t that be too much weight for Cowboy?”

  “He’ll be able to handle it.”

  “What about my horse?”

  “I’ve got extra rope. He’ll follow just fine.”

  Riding double on Cowboy, Amanda held herself tight against Chandler. A break in the clouds brought relief and she turned her face to soak up the remaining warm rays.

  Chandler had become worried about Amanda. Normally chatty, she hadn’t spoken in the last hour.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “I’m cold, that’s all. I’ll be okay.” Her teeth chattered and her speech was slow and deliberate.

  Chandler was alarmed at the thought Amanda might become hypothermic. He had felt her spasmodic shivers for the last hour and what he needed to do was to find shelter for the night. They were on a long stretch of road in a sparsely populated area and he hadn’t seen anywhere he could stop. He kept a lookout for any type of structure, perhaps an abandoned barn or house. Even an old sharecropper’s house would be sufficient. He was wary of asking strangers for help, and while they might seem amiable at first, desperate people would act and say most anything for the chance to abscond with their supplies.

  The next town was a half a day’s ride from where they were, so stopping at an inn, even if it had been deserted would have to wait.

  Another quiet and cold hour later, before dusk darkened the land, Chandler spied an old derelict house set back about a hundred yards from the road. It appeared to be a tangled growth of vines and saplings until Chandler noticed the rectangular pattern. He turned Cowboy and headed in the direction of the house.

  Amanda didn’t even notice when Cowboy stepped off the blacktop and onto a dirt road.

  Cowboy sensed the traveling for the day was coming to an end and he picked up the pace without instruction. Chandler drew back on the reins to keep him from an all-out run.

  The rundown house had definitely seen better days. From a distance, it was obvious the front porch roof was
sagging. A vine, now dormant in the winter, snaked up one of columns and onto the roof. An overgrown ligustrum was more like a tree instead of a bush.

  The rusted, corrugated roof disappeared into the canopy of branches and vines that scraped the roof, and when the wind blew it sounded like fingernails on a chalkboard.

  Behind the house was a shed of sorts, more like an open air barn that had become a dumping ground for farm relics from the late 1800s. A stall for livestock would be a suitable place for the horses to spend the night sheltered from the wind.

  Chandler guided the horses to a large gap in the chain link fence. Stopping at the porch, he slid off Cowboy, careful not to knock Amanda off. She appeared to be sleeping sitting up.

  He let Nipper out of the carrier and the little dog apprehensively took in the new surroundings. He went to the porch steps, sniffed, and left his mark.

  Chandler quietly retrieved a bedroll, looped it over his shoulder, then reached up to Amanda. He slid her off the saddle, scooped her in his arms, and carried her to the house. Nipper followed behind.

  Walking up the rickety porch steps, he peeked into the house through one of the grimy windows. There was no movement or any sign of recent human habitation.

  The front door was ajar so he pushed it open. A musty smell greeted him as he entered the cold and dark house. Nipper went to a pile of animal scat and sniffed it. No doubt a raccoon had made this his home at one time. An old sofa sat against a wall. On the opposite side was a chest of drawers.

  Using one hand, Chandler rolled out the sleeping bag onto the sofa.

  He carefully set Amanda on the sofa, stretched her out, and covered her with the sleeping bag. Nipper, being the protective dog he was, jumped up on the sofa to stay with Amanda.

  Working fast while there was still daylight, Chandler went outside, found a couple of boards, and tied them in place to fill the gap in the fence. He unsaddled the horses and removed the bridles letting the horses graze while he worked. He retrieved the Stanley cook set, food, water bottles, and a handful of dog food. He brushed the horses once and checked each hoof for any sign of lameness.