Chaos Comes: A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller (After the EMP Book 4)

by Harley Tate

  He simply walked away.

  Dani swallowed. How did he do it? If she ever tried something like that, she would end up shot or thrown in jail. Being fifteen and half his size might have something to do with that, but still.

  She might be able to sneak past a ten-dollar-an-hour security guard with a candy bar in her back pocket, but disarm someone with a gun? No freakin’ way.

  Was he military, too? Some sort of secret agent man like Fox Mulder or Alex Krycek? When she lived with Gran, all she got to watch on TV were shows about sewing or painting or nature, except for reruns of The X-Files. Gran loved that show and Dani did, too.

  The first few months after Gran moved to the nursing home, Dani used to sit in the kitchen window of her mom’s apartment, daydreaming that she was Dana Scully, fighting bad guys with her partner all over the country.

  After a while, the fantasies faded. It was hard to think about the future when you were focused on just surviving the next day. They didn’t even have a TV. Her mother sold it to support her drug habit.

  Dani shook her head to clear the fog of the past and climbed up the rear stairs of the corner store. Once she got old enough to walk down the street without catching the eye of the police or well-meaning busybodies convinced she was lost, Dani walked the three miles to the nursing home. Thanks to her weekly treks, she had learned the layout of the nearby streets.

  Four blocks from the nursing home, the little store was one of those places that catered to broke college kids with bread and milk and a whole back wall of beer. It sat one block off the college campus in a building with painted brick walls and a bright-green awning out front.

  Dani had been in it a few times to grab things for Gran with a handful of dollars the old woman scraped together somehow. But she’d never stolen from the place. Dani reserved that for the big places who wouldn’t miss a granola bar or an energy drink.

  Beggars couldn’t be choosers, though. Her mom told her that over and over and over. When all they had was a bottle of ketchup and a can of tuna, that’s what Dani ate. When they didn’t have that…

  She bit down on her tongue hard enough to draw blood. The metallic tang hit her taste buds and Dani inhaled.

  Food and water and getting back to Gran was all that mattered. If only she could be a little bit like that guy from the street. She glanced down at her hands, fingernails grimy with dirt, half the cuticles red and torn.

  Gran deserved someone better looking out for her. Someone like that stranger. But Dani would do the best she could. With a deep breath, she tugged her sweatshirt off and wrapped it around her hand.

  Now or never.

  She punched the window pane and it splintered. She hit it again and it broke, big jagged pieces falling all over the ground. It sounded like crystal gunshots, shattering the silence. Dani glanced up. Did anyone hear?

  After a moment of waiting with nothing but the sound of her own breath as company, she stripped off the sweatshirt and reached inside the broken window and fumbled with the lock. It didn’t budge.

  Cursing, she stuck more of her arm inside, twisting her body to gain enough leverage to turn the lock. The broken glass cut her arm and she let out a cry. Dude. She couldn’t even open a door without screwing it up. Dani began to pull her arm away, but the thought of Gran made her pause.

  Gran needed her. She would just have to try harder.

  Focusing on the pain in her arm and the lock, Dani closed her eyes to concentrate. She gripped the edge of the lock, tugging hard as she braced her body on the door for leverage.

  It moved.

  She exhaled in relief. A few more yanks on the lock and it released. She turned the knob and slipped inside.

  Without power, the threat of an alarm or video feed was gone. That had always been her biggest fear before the lights went out. Were they watching her? Would someone in a back room see her slip a snack into her jeans? Would they come to get her?

  That’s how it happened the first time. The only time. Dani had been so hungry, she’d been sloppy and careless and half out of her mind.

  The cop didn’t care. The detention center didn’t care. She didn’t get something to eat until she passed out in the holding cell and slammed her head on the metal bench.

  She reached up and ran her fingers over the scar. Thirteen stitches, a vending machine sandwich, and ten days in juvie. Dani put on five pounds. It had been the best ten days of ninth grade.

  Running her hand along a hallway wall, Dani felt her way toward the front of the store. The hall ended with two doors. One felt cold and metal, the other wood. She opted for metal. Fire code meant metal doors for stairwells, wood for everything else. She knew that much.

  Turning the handle, she held her breath. The door opened into darkness. Dani couldn’t see a thing. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a lighter she’d pocketed before she left home.

  After flicking it on, she held it out in front of her. Yes! Stairs.

  She took them slow and quiet, easing down each one as the little flame wobbled in front of her.

  Halfway down, the metal of the lighter grew too hot and she released it, plunging the stairwell into darkness. She felt her way down the rest of the way, one foot easing over the stair to the next one, again and again, until she hit the bottom floor.

  Jamming her thumb down hard on the spark wheel, Dani lit the lighter again and gritted her teeth against the heat. She’d reached a tiny vestibule, no bigger than a coat closet with nothing but a metal door and walls.

  She reached for the door with her free hand and turned the knob. It opened and she stuck the lighter out in front of her.

  The store.

  Dani lifted her thumb and the light extinguished. Thanks to the east-facing windows, she could see despite the paper covering the glass. The morning sun peeked through all the cracks and crevices, spilling into the store and lighting up row upon row of food.

  Saliva pooled in Dani’s mouth and she swallowed it down. Chips. Candy. Cookies. All of it would taste so good.

  But Dani learned over time what to steal and what to leave behind. She wasn’t there for a quick fix or a sugar rush. She needed things that would keep her full and keep her going.

  Down the aisles she raced, head low and feet quiet, ever mindful of minimizing noise and movement. She found the energy bars and rushed to open one, shoving the chocolate-coated oats and nuts into her mouth as fast as she could.

  It went down hard and she opened the closest drink—a bright green, no-name soda. Screw the water, she needed calories. Nutrition class had been such a waste in school. A perfect teacher with sensible shoes and a home-packed lunch lecturing her about empty calories.

  Try no calories, Dani wanted to shout half the time. But she didn’t. Instead, she nodded along, took the tests, kept her head down and hoped no one noticed her growling stomach when she stared at pictures of food. At least she ate school lunch. Monday through Friday, one meal a day.

  Better than none.

  She tore into another bar, shoveling it into her mouth much like the first. Only when she’d finished it off and the rest of the soda did she stop to breathe.

  If the allure of food hadn’t driven the fear from her mind and overpowered her senses, maybe she would have heard the lock turning or caught the flash of light.

  But Dani didn’t look up until too late.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  COLT

  Downtown

  Eugene, Oregon

  10:30 a.m.

  The broken glass crunched beneath Colt’s brown leather dress shoe and he reminded himself to find some boots. Good, sturdy ones with waterproofing and a steel toe. Boots he could kick a door down with and still hike for ten miles the same day.

  He eased into the store avoiding the piles of tempered glass surrounding the empty window frame. At some point, he would have to sit down and think through his new situation. The last two weeks had been wasted. Tucked inside a dorm room with Heather, he could forget about society crumbling to p
ieces all around them.

  But standing in the middle of a ransacked store, Colt couldn’t ignore reality. Even a small town like Eugene—where college kids usually dominated the streets and people still smiled at strangers—wasn’t immune. How long before it turned into another Portland? How long before the fires burned long into the night and the good people of the town fought to survive?

  Sixteen days without power and some must be desperate. Were they starving? So thirsty they resorted to stealing? Cole reached for the butt of his pistol and touched it for reassurance.

  He didn’t have the same qualms about right and wrong in emergency situations. At least not when it came to resources. He wouldn’t take more than he needed or waste those items he didn’t use, but Colt would steal. If stealing kept him alive, then he had a chance to pay it forward. Someone out there would need help and he would give it.

  So many TV shows showed people turning vicious and cold the minute the power went out or the apocalypse happened. Colt had been in situations just as bad or worse. It didn’t turn him into the bad guy. If anything, it made him more aware of the need to be human and have compassion.

  But only toward those he could trust or neutralize. Someone threatened him? Forget it.

  He looked around him at all the senseless destruction. Someone busted the front window and stormed in, probably heading straight for the beer cases that now stood empty. Idiots.

  Soon money would be worthless and trading would be essential. He needed things of value that people would pay dearly to acquire. In the military, guys were always trading: gear, supplies, food. The more time he spent in the field, out in some dust bowl of a country, talking to locals and gathering intel, the more trading became a critical part of life.

  Barter always sat better with him than outright theft. Unfortunately, he was miles from home with nothing of value. He’d have to start with theft and work his way up.

  He kicked at a toppled-over circular stand that once held a hundred bags of chips. Bypassing the remaining candy, chips, and pretzels, he went straight for the wall behind the register. He stopped in front of the Plexiglas case and smiled. So many cigarettes.

  They were practically priceless. From the scratches on the plastic, it appeared someone already tried to get in without success. The two-inch padlock and tamper-resistant case kept ordinary thieves out, but not Colt.

  Half of his buddies from the navy knew crazy ways to open locks using everything from strips of soda cans to a pair of wrenches and a lot of upper body strength. Colt preferred the path of least resistance.

  He turned to the counter and felt around the dark space beneath it, fingers running over curled magazines and a tin of dip before settling on the item he needed. Keys.

  Colt plucked them from the shelf before selecting the most likely candidate. Bingo. The lock popped open, he pushed the Plexiglas back, and Colt had access to hundreds of boxes of cigarettes without making a single noise or spending an afternoon frustrated or sweaty. Always try the easy way first.

  After grabbing a plastic shopping bag, he fluffed it until the smiley face on the side showed off a full grin and stuffed the cartons inside, ten in all. He would have loved to take more, but without a means of easy transport, this would have to do.

  The Plexiglas slid back into place with ease and Colt locked it up before pocketing the keys. No sense in giving anyone else unfettered access. Now that he had something to trade, he could turn to more obvious needs like food and water. He grabbed as many bottles of water as he could squeeze into his already-full carry-on duffel from the plane, a handful of power bars, mixed nuts, and jerky. With all of it, he could make do for a few days. A week, if he had to.

  He skirted a knocked-over display case and shook his head. The things people stole never made sense. Warm beer, chips, and candy bars. Sunglasses and key chains and every kind of doodad on the market. All temporary highs that didn’t mean anything in the long run. Those same people had empty cupboards and hungry bellies two days later.

  Colt paused and looked around. The obvious had been taken, but what about the rest? Were there things he could use? He walked to the rear of the store toward the miscellaneous aisle that held everything from antifreeze to baby wipes and everything in between.

  After shaking open another grocery bag, Colt filled it. First a map of the area, then a little flashlight, batteries, a pack of bungee cords and zip ties. He wished he could take the motor oil, but there wasn’t any room.

  As the shelves transitioned to cleaning supplies, Colt grabbed hand sanitizer and wipes and toilet paper. Vaseline and cotton balls and dental floss. There were so many things that could come in handy, but Colt had enough. He never took the last of anything and he only took enough to see him through this initial burst of hardship.

  Whatever happened in the coming weeks and months, he would have to find a place to hunker down and set up camp. Only then would he forage for more supplies or work on necessary trades. For now, he needed his wits and easy transport. He turned and looked out the broken window.

  The college bookstore sat behind the National Guard’s new perimeter, but it would have everything he needed. A solid backpack. A hat and a raincoat to survive the sudden rain that seemed to come out of nowhere up here.

  It meant risking a trip back inside, but what choice did he have? If he didn’t find a local off-campus place that had what he needed, the bookstore would be his next stop. Colt waded through the wreckage toward the front of the store. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the unbroken section of glass and paused.

  Loaded down with plastic shopping bags and an overfull duffel, he looked every bit the thief. He wasn’t any better than the hoodlums who smashed the place. He didn’t break down the front window, but he still availed himself of the opportunity.

  But what choice did he have? Over a hundred miles from home with nothing but the clothes on his back and a carry-on, Colt wasn’t prepared for the end of the world. He could choose to leave everything where it sat and attempt to survive without food or water or any supplies, but that would be a death sentence.

  He could go back to the college and sit around with idle hands, waiting for the other shoe to drop. What if the army confiscated his weapon? What if they put him to work in some sort of labor camp? What if they just walked away when the food ran out and the college wasn’t useful anymore?

  No. Colt was a survivor. He would take what he needed and let go of the guilt. Pass it forward when he could.

  Stepping out of the store, he held his head high. As he turned the corner of the building, he came face-to-face with his first glimpse of the future.

  CHAPTER SIX

  COLT

  Downtown

  Eugene, Oregon

  11:00 a.m.

  “Let me go!” The high-pitched voice echoed off the brick wall beside Colt’s head and he ducked into the shadow of the building.

  “No f’ing way.”

  “I didn’t do anything!”

  “Bullshit. You were in that store stuffing your face full of food that doesn’t belong to you.”

  “I was gonna pay for it!”

  Colt eased back toward the broken window and deposited his things in the darkness beyond the glass. Whoever was out there didn’t need to see his haul of cigarettes and beef jerky. At least not yet. He slipped his Sig out of his holster and checked to confirm it was ready to fire.

  A little voice in his head told him to grab his crap and get out of there, but Colt couldn’t. The person screaming to be let go sounded way too young to be treated like a criminal.

  He eased down the street, eyes sharp for any movement. Urban reconnaissance was the worst. Too many windows and doors. Countless places to hide. It made accurate threat assessments almost impossible.

  Two feet from the corner, he paused. The voices picked back up.

  “Don’t touch me!”

  Shit. Colt eased forward and pulled his sunglasses off the top of his head. He held them out at an angle, just pa
st the brick corner of the building and tilted them until he could see. Mirrored lenses had so many advantages.

  From his distorted view, it appeared a single soldier held a scrap of girl by the backpack, and the little thing was giving him a serious run for his money. The soldier was so caught up keeping the girl at arm’s length, he never looked up. Not once.

  Colt pulled his glasses back and slipped them on before easing close enough to peer around the corner.

  “Please, mister, just let me go!”

  “Not a chance, sweetheart. You’re going straight to lockup. By the look of you, I bet you’ve gone there a million times.”

  What a jerk. The soldier couldn’t have been much older than the one he disarmed half a mile down the road, but this guy had a hard-on for some action. With his rifle slung over his shoulder, he couldn’t even defend himself properly. All he cared about was punishing some kid for finding a way to stay alive.

  Colt frowned. He couldn’t stand guys like this.

  From the looks of the girl, she’d been hungry a while. Sunken cheeks. Stringy hair. The wild, feral look kids get when they’ve gone too long without.

  He’d seen it too many times across the world: kids with old faces and bottomless eyes.

  The girl twisted in the soldier’s grasp, her arms locked down across her chest to keep the straps of her backpack on her shoulders. The army jerk kept trying to unzip her pack, but with one hand holding the top handle, he couldn’t secure enough leverage to get it open.

  “Hold still, damn it!”

  “No! Let me go!”

  The soldier cursed again and pulled his arm back. Colt tensed as the guy’s palm landed smack on the girl’s head.

  “I said, hold still. Don’t make me ask again.”

  Colt hesitated. Although he could make the shot, the soldier didn’t deserve a bullet. Maybe if Colt revealed himself, he could talk the guy down, but it might end up in a fight. Would the kid even be thankful? Did she want to be rescued?

  He wasn’t much for saving helpless things.