Our Survival: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller (Grid Down Book 1)

by Nick Williams

  “It was life and death, and there ain’t no greater truth than killing. In a situation like that, you put your money where your mouth is or you perish, and there ain’t no middle ground. And it’s the same right here,” he said, thumping the table with two fingers.

  “No government is coming to save us, no police, no authority. The only authority we have now, the only one we need, is sitting right here’ he said, patting his rifle ‘with the safety on. It is just us in here, and them out there. And I will do anything I need to to protect my family,” he stood up, grabbed his plate, and brought it to the sink. “Especially against a bunch of degenerates.”

  He walked back to the front door, unlatched it, and walked onto the porch. Alex quietly went back to her plate. Josie sat, hands folded and trembling still, and said nothing.

  Chapter 8

  Dom had trusted Ben to bring keep Mikey warm. The fighters went out that morning and Dom was taking the battle rigged truck on a test run, presumably scouting for more food.

  They moved Mikey to the Familia Farmstead. The farmstead was the garage owners house, and maybe the gas station owner too, his shack was leaning on rotting wooden beams between the two establishments and had sprouted a few tin awning with a couple armed convicts standing guard, or at least, bundled up playing cards.

  Mikey had the chills when he was awake but ran a fever the whole time he was asleep, which was almost constantly. Ben had lit a fire right there in the living room of this poor guys house to keep Dom's brother warm.

  Ben figured most of the other inmates with rooms were doing the same, there was a cold wind that cut right into the buildings this day. When Ben was in the room stoking the fire and keeping Mikey company was the only time he could get warm.

  He unloaded a chord of freshly sawed wood and for once Ben was thankful for the work his gang members chose to do. There were plenty of fires being fed around the camp and when a chainsaw was found in the back of the department store there was no shortage of hands willing to start dismantling the dead wood near town.

  Mikey was laid out ridged on the far side of a glowing fire. The sun was setting and the windows were drawn to keep the heat in so the room was very dark, it made Ben feel like he was doing a bad job stoking the fire. He hurried to attend the flames.

  Small sticks first, a few puffs of air and the fire responded with a healthy crackle. It wasn't until Ben felt that the fire could handle some of the full sized logs that he looked up again. One of the gang members had tied a tourniquet to Mikey's leg where Ben first found the boy in the garage and the bleeding seemed to have stopped.

  The blood was dried and something on Mikey's body was starting to smell.

  Ben held a hand to Mikey's forehead, his fever was down but now he seemed to have the chills. A few more logs on the fire and the hungry flames lapped at the fresh fuel.

  Some fresh fuel was just what Ben needed, he had been doing this all day and the work was making his stomach ache with hunger so he stepped outside to see if he couldn't find some squirrel roasting somewhere when the sound of a truck charging into town caught his attention.

  The truck skidded into the garage and two of the men who were riding in the bed bent low to haul something over up and over the gate. They moved as if trying to lift a sack of glass potatoes and they seemed to need help doing so.

  Ben jogged to the side of the truck, it wasn't potatoes they were lugging but one of the men who went on the raiding party. The man was ragged looking and he had puncture wounds all over his body, although they didn't bleed they looked painful. The man screamed at the slightest movement. They must have been painful.

  “You there, help me out here,” called one of the men in the truck bed “Grab his shoulders, I'll lower him to ya. Oh shut up Jerry, quit your bitching, we're back already.”

  Ben was laying Jerry out on a tarp in the garage, kicking aside a crescent wrench and a welding kit when Dom got out of the cab.

  Ben was watching Dom with his hair was in neat order and he purposefully made his way to the Familia Farmstead when someone put a water bottle in his hands a water bottle and suggested he help Jerry drink from it. Just glad I got to the fire first he thought as he unscrewed the flimsy plastic cap and sprinkled heavy drops on the mans face.

  “There's a whole battalion in there,” Jerry writhed in pain, “Got the whole place rigged up like that evil brat in those Christmas movies. Sharpened stick and barbed wire, goddamn swinging door traps. Even got Sarge. Executed. Saw it."

  The men had all filed out of the truck and all of them ignored the wounded man for cigarettes and talk about the truck, “No, we didn't find anything on the road either. I tell ya, these woods are dead as that little Familia squirt. The faster we get to the coast the better I say. I'd take this truck and move but those wetbacks are watching it night and day believe me.”

  It fell on Ben to clean Jerry's wounds so he scrounged up a rag that wasn't terribly stained with oil and grease and began scrubbing his wounds with water. “Jeee--gaah, it stings. Be gentle, you prick!”

  Ben looked around for something else to help, if only they had brought back the medicine that was in the house. There wasn't anything but bits metal and plastic in the garage. Further out, maybe some moss would help or something in the house.

  Looking at the house it looked like a black skull in the fading daylight, the guards had gone inside with Dom and the light of the fire crackled in the jaws of the skull. As he watched Dom materialized in the doorway still as a specter as if he had been there the whole time.

  Jerry's squirming was a forgettable noise, one by one everyone turned to watch Dom stride down the path. The guards came out of the house behind him and by now idle hands from the camps had gathered around, all the camp seemed present and it was Ben who Dominique was walking towards, his eyes fixed in a cold stare.

  When he arrived he stopped with a certain deliberation, looked around at the crowd that gathered and then in a cold voice void of any mirth he once had he spoke as if only in conversation with Ben, “Mike is dead.”

  Ben scrambled up to his feet and realized he displayed the reaction of a man in fear. Dom went on in a measured voice, “My only brother on this planet has died and do you know who is at fault? It is las putas in the fucking house in the woods. Manana we will destroy them and take everything in this world that belongs to them.”

  “Fuck that!” groaned Jerry from the ground, “You haven't seen what these people are capable of. Monsters. Damn monsters. What happened to the coast? We should be hiding in the harbor and getting in a boat to Mexico by now not getting picked off by these forest people--”

  An earsplitting bang and Jerry's face peeled back in a spray of red blood across the tarp he died on. A smoking Glock was in Dom's outstretched hand, his eyes swam once again.

  “First, we kill las putas. Manana. At night. We go back in darkness and reap what we find. Together, all of us, for Mikey -- for family. That is what we are now. What you say?”

  He wheeled on the crowd with his gun raised dangerously high. With their diminished numbers the members of La Familia was now the minority but the crowd was still none the less.

  Ben felt oddly compelled by Dom's passion. It did feel like shit to sit in this town with nothing but dead wood. It did feel like shit to see these men getting killed. Dom was right to put that ungrateful Jerry out of his misery. “What you say?” He asked again.

  “I'll go.” Ben said, “I'm not sure what good I'll be in a fight but I'll join you Dom.”

  Dom closed the gap between them. He grabbed Ben's hand and dropped the Glock in his hand, the weight felt good, the grip felt like it fit not like before when he wanted to hide it in his waistband.

  Dom turns and asks the rest of the crowd for volunteers, his arms were outstretched like some sort of Mexican Jesus. A few stragglers come forward at first, others start to shrink away. Ben thinks of them as cowards but Dom is ready for this and he's not about to let them leave this easy.

  At the
beckon of a knowing glance a few the armed guards level their weapons and those who thought of running hold their arms up. They weren't that spirited about leaving in the first place. They were dogs to be whipped into order.

  Now that the total confidence of the group has been secured Dom wheels in the center of the group. He nudges the legs of the corpse that once belonged to Jerry out of his path so that he can pace continuously in a circle while he poses brainstorming questions to the group.

  “Anyone who leaves is my enemy, I shoot you. But, I am not so unfair, anyone who comes can keep all the loot they can carry. We come at night, we come with guns. There can’t be many more than four or five but they are well defended and their supplies aren’t in places that can be reached by little thieving monkeys. We will have to destroy their defenses and destroy their traps. Any of youse got any ideas?

  One of the gear heads with a scar across his jaw and a lazy eye spoke up first, “We bring the truck. I can hook a winch up to it and we can maybe pull their house apart. That’ll do it.” He sounded pretty sure of himself but the plan seemed too simple to work given that these people had already killed more than a half-dozen capable men.

  Dom strode towards the man and jostled his shoulder, “That's good, but what else?”

  Another of the La Familia in the back hefted a chainsaw over his head and gave it a good rip, he was unrecognizable at first in the dark light but as the crowd cheered and egged him on a smile twisted on his sunken face.

  It was the same cruel smile of Pills but as if he hadn't slept in weeks. Dom was not amused and he quickly made it known by shouting down those who cheered Pills on.

  “You have no sense man, you are crazy and you all are crazy too. We can pull the house apart but only if no one shoots us first, we need weapons.”

  Ben fidgeted next to the corpse with the gun in his hand, the idea of firing it in combat seemed unreasonable. Guns to him felt more like a status symbol. At this point it was still possible he would choke when the moment came to pull the trigger.

  Even if he did, Ben didn't have gang experience like most of these people. Giving up his gun now would be silly but surely it would be of better use in someone else's hands.

  He would have to think about another way. Now everyone was staring at him, waiting for him to say something, people were starting to whisper to each other.

  Some of them had a wolfish look in their eyes. Say something quick, say something that will make them scared. Be scary, like Dom. People respect Dom and what are you, you are not something to be feared – just a pawn, a tool.

  Ben started to grit his teeth and still, nothing came. Then he noticed over the heads of the crowd, the glow from the fire in the house. The fire he had lit for Mikey was still burning high.

  “We could burn it down.” The words came out as a whisper but there was no doubt if they had heard. The crowd got very anxious, it wasn't the response he had expected, Ben frowned.

  One voice from the back called him something rude in Spanish before challenging his plan “You're crazy homes, what about the food in the house, you're just going to burn that down too.” The crowd responded to the challenger like he had hoped they would respond to him. Hoots of laughter, approving nods.

  “Shut up!” It was Dom, coming to his rescue his eyes wide and wild, “It's perfect, just what Mikey would have wanted.”

  Chapter 9

  Later in the morning, Josie sat with Alex at the kitchen table. Alex was writing on a sheet of lined paper, speaking out loud as she wrote. Josie leaned in next to her and held a book open, with several of the words underlined.

  “Sound it out…” Josie said, smiling encouragingly and putting her finger on Alex’s place on the page. Alex nodded, fighting to keep her eyes open. She was getting weaker by the day, her body working hard to compensate for the decreased levels of insulin. She found it harder to concentrate, and her time spent in bed was growing longer and longer. Her eyes drooped, and Josie snapped her fingers underneath Alex’s nose.

  “Hey! …hey… sound it out.” she said, smiling to hide her concern. Alex looked at her mother and scanned her face. She wasn’t fooled.

  “When can I go back to school? And when are they going to turn the power back on?” she asked, the stress and trauma of their situation showing on her face and in her voice. J

  Josie knew what she really was asking: When are things gonna go back to normal? She shook her head and looked down at the floor, and took her daughters hands.

  “I don’t know, baby…it might be a real long time.” she said, fighting back tears as she came to the realization herself.

  She looked back at her daughter and reached out and stroked her hair. “I’m not gonna lie to you, you’re a big girl now… this might be the way it’s going to be for a long time. Maybe ever…”

  Alex leaned over and put both arms around her mom, hugging her close and patting her on the back.

  “It’s okay, Mommy… it’ll be okay. Daddy will protect us, he’ll do a good job. And I’m here, too.” she said.

  Josie closed her eyes. How good of a job is too good? Roy had already crossed so many lines. She leaned back and held her daughter’s face in her hands.

  “Did you remember to take your insulin today?” she asked, trying to change the subject. Alex nodded, sitting back down on the chair.

  Suddenly there was a moan from outside. A faint, desperate cry for help. Josie stood up and guided Alex to the hallway.

  “Go to your room, baby, and stay there,” she said urgently. Roy stomped up from the basement as Alex passed him in the hallway. Josie stood at the kitchen window and looked outside.

  “Roy, there’s a man out there, he looks like he’s hurt pretty bad. He’s crawling towards the front door…” she said, nervously glancing from her husband to the window and back.

  He already had his Beretta out. He paused in the kitchen, looked between her and the door, then started to unlatch the door.

  “Get to Alex’s room…” he said in a low voice. She didn’t move.

  “What are you going to do?” she asked suspiciously, fearfully.

  “Get to Alex’s room, now, I said.” he replied in the same low tone.

  “What are you going to do, Roy?! The man needs help, he clearly needs help. I asked you if we would also help people who came to us and you never answered me; what are you going to do with him?” she repeated, raising her voice and wiping tears from her face.

  The cold frown on her husband’s face gave her goosebumps.

  “Go be with our daughter,” he said simply, before opening the door.

  “Hands on your head! Do not move a muscle!” she heard him say. She stayed by the kitchen window, watching as Roy advanced on the man, both hands on his weapon.

  The man squirmed and looked up at Roy, his face twisted in pain, skin pale and sweaty. Roy walked behind him and lifted him up by the collar of his shirt, which was unbuttoned.

  As he brought the man onto his knees, the open shirt revealed multiple puncture wounds seeping blood, which trailed down his torso and stained his pants.

  He had an awful tattoo of what Josie thought was meant to be an eagle, but looked more like a raven. Roy paced, circling the man with the pistol at his side. He looked very sick, struggled to keep his balance as he knelt, keeping his hands on his head as instructed. His lips moved, speaking words Josie couldn’t hear.

  Roy made another circle around the back of the man, then leveled his pistol at the man’s head. He said something else, the man responded. Roy spoke again, looking around him, and the man responded, and then the top of his face burst open, and he collapsed forward onto the dirt.

  Josie shrieked and clapped her hands over her mouth. Roy glanced up at the kitchen window, then holstered his weapon and began patting down the body.

  He pulled a knife, some candies, and a pair of aviators off the man, then dragged his body by the feet around the side of the house. Josie closed her eyes as he dragged the body, blood and gore creat
ing dark mushy mud trails around the house.

  Roy walked back into the kitchen and Josie kept her eyes closed as she spoke.

  “What in God’s name is wrong with you?” she said, almost in a whisper. The fight was gone from her words, and now she had only the whisper of disbelief and resignation.

  Roy shook his head and crossed his arms.

  “He had a punctured lung, and had already lost a lot of blood. He was dead anyway, nothing we could do. I just aided the departure.”

  Josie just stood there staring at him, hands on her hips, defiant.

  “They’re convicts. The groups that’ve been attacking us? They’re all criminals escaped from the prison in the next county. They don’t know what happened to the world either, but they’re starving and they know we’re well stocked. That’s what he said,” Roy explained, hoping she would see reason.