After the EMP- The Chaos Trilogy

by Harley Tate

  Clothes littered the bedroom floor, cast-off jeans and shirts discarded like so many others. He sidestepped the largest piles and stopped in front of a dresser.

  A single photo frame sat on top. Cheap metal, plastic instead of glass. A kid smiling with a mouth full of holes instead of teeth, ratty hair yanked back in a ponytail, faded clothes, and bare feet. Big, brown eyes still full of hope. He glanced around.

  Not a single toy or stuffed animal. The kid couldn’t live there. He tugged open the top drawer of the dresser: men’s underwear and mismatched socks. A bachelor pad.

  Colt rooted through the drawers and pulled out a pair of jeans and a few T-shirts. They would fit Will or Harvey without a doubt.

  He slipped a backpack off his shoulders and stuffed the clothes inside before heading to the bathroom. With a quick unzip, Colt added his own piss to the moldy mess inside the toilet bowl. He’d taken to using whatever abandoned space suited him best. One less worry to deal with back at the apartment.

  It had been five days since they escaped the patrolled areas of the city and Jarvis’s control. Five days since the lights of the University lit up and turned everyone’s attention straight to campus.

  Since then, the streets emptied. Even in the fringes where they now lived, almost everyone was gone. Barely any dealers. Only a handful of strung-out addicts hanging on thanks to pills or booze. The glow of the lights attracted everyone else like insects to a nighttime barbecue.

  He hit the kitchen and opened the cabinets one at a time, looking for anything they could use. The doors squeaked in protest and Colt came up empty. Nothing but dishes and dust.

  They didn’t need glassware. They needed food.

  Colt thought about Colonel Jarvis and the men under his command. From everything they had seen and the stories Larkin told, the National Guardsmen who stayed loyal to Jarvis were a full-blown militia. A thousand men, at least, with a psychopath in command. Thanks to their systematic inspections, the militia controlled not just the University of Oregon, but most of Eugene. Only the bad parts of town had been left to rot.

  He closed his eyes and relived the moment when he had Jarvis in his sights. A single shot and the militia would have dissolved into chaos. One bullet and they wouldn’t be rooting through forgotten apartments for supplies. The Harpers and Wilkinses would be safe. Secure.

  But he didn’t take the shot. Colt made the choice to save Dani instead. Now they were barely hanging on while Jarvis lived it up on the University campus with electricity and water and food. Every night he dreamt about sneaking back to campus and finishing the job. But he didn’t stand a chance against a thousand soldiers with orders to kill on sight. Walking away from Jarvis would be the hardest thing Colt had ever done.

  Harder than leaving a mission unfinished. Harder than following orders to stand down when he could take the shot. As a SEAL, he didn’t have a choice. He followed orders, no matter his opinion. Hell, he worked at not having an opinion most of the time.

  But this was different. The choice to walk away was all his and he couldn’t change it now. No Blackhawks would swoop in and bend the grass as troops jumped out. No backup forces would come along behind and clear the college. Colt was on his own. To survive, he would have to let Jarvis own Eugene.

  Colt shook off the spiraling thoughts and crouched in front of the sink cabinet. As he tugged open the doors, a roach scurried past his foot. Colt ignored it and poked around, hoping for something more than disappointment.

  A half-empty jug of bleach was the only reward. Better than nothing. He shoved it in his backpack and stood up. So far, he’d cleared five of the twelve apartments in the building and all he had to show for it was a handful of clothes and a bottle of bleach.

  He eased back to the front door and tugged it open. And froze. Was that the door or something else? He swore the hinges opened without a squeak the first time. Colt eased the door shut. Silence.

  Definitely not the door. He spun in a slow arc, checking for hostiles inside the apartment. No flutter of fabric or creak of floor. No flash of hair or glimpse of skin behind the couch.

  He pulled his gun and held it pointed at the floor. The warped linoleum groaned as he passed the kitchen, and Colt paused at the edge of the living room. A voice in his head whispered to leave. Just forget whoever was hiding in that godforsaken slum and move on. But a threat was a threat.

  Where hadn’t he checked? He crouched to peer beneath the couch. Nothing but roach carcasses and dirt. He glanced in the tight space behind the massive tube TV. Empty.

  Colt eased into the bedroom once again. The mattress sagged on the floor, dingy sheets piled in a mess on top. The dresser hugged the wall. He approached the closet. Gun drawn, ready. The door protested and Colt jerked, hard.

  Brought his gun up, pointed it into the dark. Nothing visible. He flicked on his flashlight. The space went back farther than it seemed. A walk-in. He panned the light.

  Hanging racks that should have held shoes or blankets obscured his view. They hung in tatters, holes on the bottom, frayed edges. A balled-up towel gave substance to one sagging shelf.

  Colt reached for the closest one and caught a glimpse of movement.

  “Out!” He pulled back and brought up his Sig, aiming at the space behind the fabric shelves. “Out or I’ll shoot.”

  A keening wail sounded from the darkness, high-pitched and wild. Was it an animal? A stray dog or cat? Hungry pets could turn deadly. He reached out and gripped the fabric in his fist. Yanked it clean off the rod.

  The creature scrunching into the corner wasn’t a dog or a cat. At one point, it had been a child. Hair hung in matted clumps around her face. A fairy peeked out from behind a layer of dirt and stains on her nightgown. Bruises covered her visible skin.

  She blinked and squirmed under the harsh flashlight beam, holding her hands out in front of her to block the light. Her fingernails were ripped and torn, crusted with blood and dirt.

  Colt eased the circle of light closer to the floor. The child lowered her hands and opened her eyes. Big, brown eyes. The girl from the photo.

  He lowered the gun. “It’s okay. I won’t hurt you.”

  She squeaked out a whimper.

  “Are you here alone?” Colt eased down into a crouch, remembering from somewhere that kids felt less threatened when grown-ups came down to their level.

  The child nodded. Shit. Had she been here for the entire month? That explained the complete lack of food and general filth. But how had she managed to get by? If she lived there with her father, where was he? Colt glanced behind him. From everything he’d seen, no adult still lived there.

  There would be some evidence surely; a cigarette, food wrappers, empty beer bottles or cans. Something.

  He glanced back at the girl. She still crouched in the corner with her knees pinned to her chest, willing her body to disappear. For once in his life, Colt didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t leave her there, filthy and starving. Someone without a conscience could find the girl next. But he couldn’t bring her back to the apartment, either. They already had too many mouths to feed and she didn’t look willing.

  Colt dug into his pocket and pulled out half a piece of beef jerky. The last of his breakfast. He held it out. The child’s eyes went wide. Her tiny nostrils flared.

  She leaned forward and dropped her knees to the side. Her mouth opened, words tumbled out in a whisper. Colt leaned forward. “What was that? I can’t hear you.”

  Again she mumbled, too quiet and indistinct to understand. Colt thrust the hunk of dried meat toward her. She grabbed it with a grubby hand and shoved the whole thing in her mouth.

  “Sorry.”

  The second Colt processed the single, distorted word, he spun away from the closet. It was too late. Wood grain flooded his vision and the crack of a bat against his skull knocked him to the floor.

  Chapter Four

  COLT

  672 Bellwether Street

  Eugene, Oregon

  11:00 a.m.<
br />
  The pain woke him up. A constant thumping walloped his head as if a jackhammer splintered his skull. He reached for his head, but his hands didn’t make it more than an inch. Something tacky and thick pulled at his skin and arm hair.

  “Grrrnn.” The sound rumbling up from his chest was half word, half grunt. His tongue took up his entire mouth and his spit stuck like hardening cement. Maybe the jackhammer was drilling in the wrong place.

  He blinked, but the world refused to cooperate. Splashes of white and blue rushed by like the scenery on a carnival ride. Christ. He closed his eyes and focused on breathing.

  In. Out. In. Out.

  The tilt-a-whirl of his brain slowed. The nausea threatening to heave up his paltry breakfast receded. What the hell happened to me?

  Colt opened his eyes and the room didn’t spin.

  Now he knew why all he could smell was piss. He sat on a toilet, hands duct taped to the seat. A sink clung to the wall opposite his face. He leaned forward and his forehead melted against the cool porcelain. The throbbing eased and he took stock.

  A tub caked in dirt sagged on his left. No shower curtain. Nowhere to hide.

  The window above the tub showed promise. Two by two with frosted glass that looked too old to be double-paned. If he knocked out all the glass, he might fit. He thought it over. Fifty-fifty odds. Might get stuck halfway.

  He swiveled his head to the right, forehead pressed against the sink. The door to the room was wedged tight into the frame a few feet away.

  He gave his hands a tug. They didn’t budge.

  Colt closed his eyes and tried to remember. How did I get here? He thought back through the morning. Leaving for a scavenging mission, hitting apartment building after apartment building and coming up empty. The kid in the closet.

  His eyes popped open. She’d been bait. Plain and simple.

  And I fell for it. Colt cursed himself and yanked on the tape. I’ve gone soft. A few days with normal people who didn’t understand the current state of affairs and look what happened. When he walked out of the University of Oregon, he’d been a free man on his own. No one to hold him back. No one to affect his decisions.

  Then he rescued Dani. Every decision after that point had been with her in mind. He didn’t leave. He didn’t disappear into the wilderness like he’d planned. No. He’d gone and made himself a family.

  Was she a burden? Yes and no. She understood the way the world worked now, maybe more than anyone. And Colt cared for her. She’d become the closest thing to a daughter he’d ever get. If he’d stuck with just her… If they’d left town at the first opportunity…

  Harvey and Gloria and Will would have a home. Melody wouldn’t have suffered at the hands of Jarvis and his men. Hell, Larkin would still be following orders. All because Colt didn’t follow his gut and leave.

  He tugged again on the tape and it rolled against his skin, tightening its grip. Rocking back and forth, he tried to loosen the glue, but it held fast, ripping out the hair around his wrist, but not yielding an inch.

  Colt thought about everything his new companions suffered because of him: the fire that destroyed the Wilkins and Harper homes, Gloria and Melody’s kidnapping, their abuse at the hands of Jarvis and his men. For all that he wanted to take Dani and run, he couldn’t. He owed these people a safe place. He couldn’t leave them until they were secure and capable of fending for themselves.

  They saved his life. Dani’s too. Colt couldn’t turn his back on them. Not now.

  He sat up and braced his feet on the floor. With a deep breath, he rose up, straining against the tape and the toilet. The seat wobbled. He pulled harder, grimacing against the tension in his arms and the heat and pain surrounding his wrists.

  Nothing.

  Sagging back against the toilet, he sucked in a frustrated breath. With a grunt against the discomfort, Colt twisted his upper body and inspected the tape. It wrapped around each of his wrists at least three times, around the toilet seat, and then all the way down to the base of the toilet. Whoever secured him took their time.

  Colt thought about what he knew.

  It had been a single man’s apartment. A bachelor pad, despite the kid in the closet. Was he still in the same place? He thought back to clearing the bathroom and glanced up. The same broken shade covered the single bulb in the ceiling.

  I haven’t been moved.

  He didn’t know if that was good or bad. It could mean there was only one adult and a kid to worry about. But counting on that would be foolish. There could be twenty people waiting on the other side of the bathroom door. Colt shifted on the seat and frowned.

  They took everything. His gun. His backup knife in his right pocket. His wallet. The bags he’d carried. By now they knew who he was and what he was up to. If the militia was involved…

  Damn it.

  He tugged on the tape again, but it was hopeless. Unless he found a way to rip the toilet off the floor, he wasn’t getting out of there without help. He had to hope that whoever hit him upside the head and taped him up wasn’t in with Colonel Jarvis. Best case scenario, he could sweet talk his way out of there. Worst case, this might be the last resting place of Colt Potter.

  Leaning back, he closed his eyes. He couldn’t do anything about his current predicament. Rest was the best option in a hostage situation. The more he could conserve his energy, the better he could take on whatever came next.

  There would be an opportunity and he needed to be ready for it.

  Colt startled awake some time later. Something plinked against his cheek and he jerked back. Found the source. Scowled.

  “Get out.”

  The little girl from the closet stood in the open bathroom door, popping little candies in her mouth one after the other. Her matted hair hung in her face and her grubby little toes dug into the dirt on the floor. She was filthy. Worse than a street urchin or a runaway. But she smirked at him like the richest little princess.

  “I said, get out.”

  She wiggled against the door frame, but didn’t leave. “Daddy says I ain’t supposed to listen to you.” She pointed a neon green candy at him. “You’re a bad man.”

  Colt managed to keep his expression vacant and even. “Tell your dad I want to speak with him.”

  She eyed him with the same brown eyes that pulled on his heart in the closet. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because.” She shook the bag in her little fist and poured out a pile of candy before shoving them all in her mouth. Her cheeks swelled like a chipmunk. As she chewed, rainbow spit leaked from her lips and dribbled down her chin.

  He flexed his hands, gave the tape a tug. It wasn’t going anywhere. He needed a new plan. After staring at the girl’s faded nightgown and the sleeves that barely reached mid-forearm, he glanced up. Smiled. “So what’s your dad like? Is he nice to you?”

  The little girl stopped chewing and wiped her face with her dirty sleeve. “Sometimes.”

  “What happens when he’s not nice?”

  She fidgeted with the bag of candy and glanced in the hall. “I get locked in the closet.”

  “Is that why you were in there when I found you? Because your daddy wasn’t nice?”

  “Maybe.” She glanced at the hallway again.

  “If you come over here and help me with this tape, I can protect you. Your dad can’t hurt you if I’m free.”

  She wavered, her whole body swaying first toward him, then away.

  A little more convincing, and she might be his ticket out of there. Colt grinned even broader. “I’ve got a daughter, she’s not that much older than you. I bet the two of you would really hit it off.”

  The little girl’s face closed up, the wide, curious stare replaced with a tight frown. “No. Daddy wouldn’t like it.”

  “He doesn’t have to know. It could be our secret.”

  She focused on the wrinkled, almost-empty candy bag.

  “I’ve got a lot more candy back at my place. And food and water, too. Y
ou could come stay for a while. Eat all you wanted.”

  The bag rustled in her hand.

  “How about you just loosen this tape a little bit and I do the rest?”

  She rose up onto the balls of her feet, but didn’t take a step.

  Colt bit back the words of frustration on his tongue. The girl was his best chance. He couldn’t wreck it. Colt managed another smile. “My name’s Colt. What’s yours?”

  She opened her mouth as another voice called out. “My girl knows better than to tell a stranger her name. Ain’t that right, sweetheart?”

  Chapter Five

  DANI

  489 Bellwether Street

  Eugene, Oregon

  11:00 a.m.

  “What do you mean he’s not back?” Dani paced the length of the faded living room. “Where did he go?”

  Larkin shrugged. “North. He planned on hitting the last apartments on Bellwether before it turned completely commercial.”

  Dani chewed on her thumbnail until it splintered. “There’s nothing up there. All those places are full of addicts and crazies. Half of them rent by the day.”

  As soon as she walked in the door after clearing her portion of the street, Dani went searching for Colt. First, she checked the balcony where the Wilkins family sat staring out at the south side of town and their old street. Then she eased into the hall and peeked in the bedrooms. Doug slept on a bed shoved against the wall, his boot-clad feet dangling off the edge, but all the others were empty.

  No sign of Colt.

  It wasn’t until she’d interrupted Larkin and Melody’s debate about personal hygiene and the status of the city sewers that anyone noticed Colt’s absence. Now they were blowing it off like he’d decided to take the long way home after work.

  Larkin stretched before leaning back against the couch. “I wouldn’t worry. Colt can take care of himself.”

  She cut him a glance. “He’s never late.”