SURVIVE AND ESCAPE: A Post Apocalyptic EMP Thriller (The Blue Lives Apocalypse Series Book 1)

by Lee West

  It’s time.

  Jane’s hands trembled as she touched the longest wick and clicked the lighter. The wick took immediately in a golden glow of fire. The flame effortlessly moved down the extended wick with such speed that Jane began to doubt their plan. She raced to the next bundle, lighting the flame before she arrived. She needed to get all three lit before bolting out of the house.

  The second wick ignited immediately, racing toward the collection of fireworks. Shit! Jane barreled through the house to the front corner room, locating the fireworks in the center of the coffee table. She clicked the lighter. Once, twice, three times. Nothing. No! No! Click. Click. Damn it! Finally a flame. Jane held the wick to the flame and tried to steady herself. Her hands trembled violently, making it hard to align the flame with the waiting fuse.

  She glanced up, staring through the front window of the Spencers’ house. A New Order man stood on her front stoop across the street, lighting a cigarette. If the man looked up, he would see her in the window. Jane focused her concentration on steadying her hands and lighting the wick.

  The flame licked the edges of the wick, gently touching it but not igniting the short wick. Each time Jane glanced up to the smoking man, she lost the connection to the wick and had to reignite the lighter. Click. Click. She had nearly resigned herself to the fact that the other fireworks would go off while she was in the house.

  Her hand suddenly steadied. Click. Flame. The gunpowder-laced wick sparked, the short length blazing toward the fireworks. Jane looked up again, her face illuminated by the glowing flame, just as the man looked up in her direction. A moment of confusion seemed to cross the man’s face.

  Jane peeled herself from the front window and sprinted through the back door of the house. The ear-piercing sound of explosions and shrieking fireworks followed her out, setting their plan in motion. She quickly reached the back corner of the Spencers’ house. Waiting for the first round of shooting to start, Jane disengaged the safety on her AR-15 and aimed in the direction of the street.

  ~ ~ ~

  Roscoe stood on the front stoop of the house, smoking a cigarette. He intended to enjoy every last smoke he could get his hands on. Supplies were getting thinner by the day. They’d partied so hard the first week, now they had to ration the supplies, including cigarettes. Of course, Tank always ate and smoked his fill. Asshole. Roscoe hated Tank. He had no idea why that loser was in charge. He took a drag on his cigarette, knowing Tank’s time was measured. One bullet and Roscoe was the new chief. He just had to time it right.

  Until then, he’d keep a low profile. Life could be worse. He could be a civilian. A regular Joe that used to own one of these houses. Man, had they taught these assholes a lesson. The New Order owned this town. No cops was the best part. He would never have to go back to another shithole PrisCorp prison. He had no idea what had knocked out the electricity, and he didn’t care. It had been the best thing ever.

  Something drew his gaze to the house across the street. The house was empty, they’d made sure of that, but every once in a while they found a squatter. He probably imagined what he saw. Only an idiot would pick a house right across the street from them to squat in. His eyes caught movement again. Focusing on the front corner window, he saw a woman’s face.

  No shit? Some people are just too dumb to live.

  The room burst into light as loud explosions shattered the silent night. The door behind him flew open. He stood watching, mesmerized by the colorful light show inside.

  “What the fuck is going on out there?” yelled Tank from inside the house.

  “Fireworks in the house across the street! Thought I saw someone over there!”

  “Get over there and check it out! All of you!” screamed Tank.

  Roscoe and four other New Order men stood in the center of the lawn, watching the fireworks show, unsure what to make of it.

  “This ain’t the Fourth of July, you fucking assholes! Lock this shit down!” said Tank, appearing in the doorway.

  Moving cautiously, the men crossed the yard, heading toward the street.

  Chapter Fifty

  Mark lay flat on his stomach in the Archers’ side yard, his rifle trained forward. When the fireworks started, he waited patiently, resisting every urge to crawl forward and start shooting. He had to trust Charlie’s judgment. If too many men ran out at once, Charlie would let them drift far enough across the front yard to enter Mark’s field of fire. That way, they could coordinate a simultaneous crossfire. He stared over the red dot sight, willing the men to appear. With the fireworks burning brightly in the Spencers’ house, the New Order soldiers would be perfectly silhouetted.

  For all he knew, Charlie had started firing already. The firecrackers created an incredible racket. Just as he was about to slither forward, a partially illuminated figure moved into his kill zone. The size of the group grew as they approached the Spencers’ house. Five men. They could do this.

  As previously agreed, Mark centered his red dot sight on the last man’s lower cranial area and fired. The bullet hit the man squarely in the neck, dropping him instantly. The man’s crumpled body lay motionless in the yard, unnoticed by the four men creeping toward the fireworks display.

  Lining up the next man in his sights, Mark fired again, striking the man in the head. Strangely, he didn’t go down like the first man. He stumbled forward, still clutching his rifle. Before Mark could take another shot, the street exploded in gunfire—the crippled man’s rifle emptying its magazine into the pavement.

  All bets were off as pandemonium descended on the kill zone. Charlie hit one of the men in the shoulder, causing him to spin around and fire into the man behind him. Mark assumed the lead man either saw Charlie or saw Charlie’s fire, because he moved with a purpose toward the Cramers’ front door, shooting as he went. The man’s bullets hit the side of the front of the house, splintering wood and shattering windows on both sides of the door.

  Mark compensated for the man’s movement, placing the red dot right in front of the man. He squeezed the trigger repeatedly until the man tumbled to the ground. The gunfire continued for a few more seconds, Charlie’s suppressed rifle snapping bullet after bullet into the remaining men.

  When the shooting stopped, silence blanketed the macabre moonlit spectacle. Glancing around the carnage in the yard, Mark quickly counted—four confirmed kills. The fifth man was still alive, dragging himself across the yard, desperately trying to make it back into the perceived safety of the house. He moaned loudly, calling out for his New Order buddies.

  He started to track the man with his rifle sight, but the target’s profile was too low to the ground to score a lethal hit. Charlie would have to finish this. Mark needed to link up with Sam immediately.

  ~ ~ ~

  Jane sat across the street from her house, hidden behind a brick chimney. She saw Mark take off toward the back of the house, heading to meet Sam. Together, they would find Lea. When the last of the fireworks detonated, the street went quiet except for the awful sound of a man in agony. She leaned a few inches to her right, finding the source of the misery. A man was clawing and scrambling his way to the front door of the Archers’ house, coughing and choking.

  “Sorry,” she whispered, centering the man’s creeping form in the red circle of her rifle sight. “No survivors tonight.”

  The Archers’ front door flew open, Tank’s hulking silhouette appearing deep in the shadowy recesses of the doorframe. Tank fired his rifle from the hip on full automatic, pounding away at the front of the Cramers’ house for a few seconds before shifting his fire to Jane. She dropped to the ground and pressed against the house as bullets tore through the brick, spraying her with stone and powder.

  The gun went silent, daring her to take a peek. When she poked her head around the corner, she saw Tank reloading the rifle. One shot and she could end this. Before she could move, he charged the rifle and fired a long burst in Charlie’s direction. Tank had that killing machine under good control, which was more th
an Jane could say for her own shaky hands. She willed her rifle up into her shoulder, hoping to squeeze off a shot before he turned the rifle on her.

  Instead of sending the remains of his magazine in her direction, he stopped. The dying man crawling up the stoop lifted a shaking hand toward Tank and begged him for help. Tank emptied his rifle into the man at point-blank range, showering the sidewalk in blood.

  “You’re next, motherfuckers!” shouted Tank.

  He slammed the door shut before she could press the trigger.

  ~ ~ ~

  Sam watched as the scene unfolded in the front yard. His position allowed him to safely watch the action, out of the line of fire, but he could not effectively shoot into the men without sending bullets toward the Cramers’ house. A quick body count indicated that three men remained active threats. He didn’t see who killed the last man crawling across the yard, but the fusillade had come from inside the house. Whoever was left in their home was on a murderous rampage. Mark hadn’t arrived, but he needed to initiate the second part of the plan immediately. Lea’s life most certainly depended on it.

  Nestling into the AR-15, Sam flipped the safety to fire, keeping his eyes on the side door to the house. Without Mark to cover the door, he’d have to split his attention. Now he wished he had listened to Jane and taken one of those tactical rifle classes. Sam could fire accurately, but his experience did not extend beyond shooting paper targets at the range. Hopefully, that was all he’d need. He aimed at one of the cars visible from the corner of the garage, pressing the trigger.

  ~ ~ ~

  Tank angrily paced the living room. Five of his men were dead, leaving him with just the two blank-faced idiots without an idea between them. If he intended to get out of here, he needed to act fast. His first instinct was to make a stand and wait for reinforcements, but whoever had taken down his crew had used suppressed weapons. This was the work of professionals. They’d hit the house hard and fast, leaving him dead. He needed to break out of here before they assembled for some kind of SWAT-like break-in.

  Sharp cracking sounds exploded outside the house, causing him to crouch. He raised his rifle, listening intently, immediately recognizing the hiss of tires and the hollow punching of bullets through thin metal. They’re taking out the cars! He started to move toward the side door of the house, but stopped. Why aren’t they shooting into the house? Why didn’t they light him up when he opened the door? They didn’t want to shoot into the house. That’s why!

  “It’s that dumb bitch, Lea!” Tank shouted excitedly.

  “What is? What do you mean?” asked the man named Chill.

  “They want Lea! I bet her cop momma is out there right now, directing the show. Well, if she wants her, she can have her!” shouted Tank, his heavy feet pounding toward the basement stairs.

  Tank rushed into the pitch-black darkness of the basement, wielding a large hunting knife. He shone a flashlight at Lea’s grimy face, wondering why he hadn’t gutted her earlier.

  “I knew there was a reason I didn’t kill you! You’re finally worth something to me, you dumb bitch!” shrieked Tank.

  Yanking her up to her feet by her hair, Tank began to slice through the ropes.

  “You’re cutting me!” screamed Lea in pain.

  “Shut the fuck up!”

  The knife effortlessly sliced through the ropes and her skin, freeing Lea. Tank dragged her upstairs and through the house by her hair, joining his men in the kitchen.

  “The two of you follow me to the pickup. They don’t want to shoot this one,” said Tank, thrusting Lea in front of him.

  Blood dripped freely from her arms, pooling on the hardwood floor in front of the stunned men.

  “No fucking way I’m walking out of here. Didn’t you see what they did to Roscoe and the others? We don’t even know how many there are! I’m staying. It’s only a matter of time before the others get here!” said Chill, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “Whatever works best for you,” said Tank.

  In one swift movement, Tank dropped the hunting knife in his hand and pulled a pistol from the small of his back. He took a single step forward and shot Chill through the sternum. The dumbfounded gang member stumbled backward into the refrigerator, his limp body sliding down to a seated position on the floor. Lea screamed uncontrollably until Tank aimed the gun at her.

  “Shut the fuck up,” he stated. “Or you’re next.”

  She nodded meekly, tears running down her dirty cheeks.

  “How about you?” asked Tank, shifting the gun to the remaining man.

  “I guess I’m driving,” said Salem, grabbing the keys from the dirty table.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Sam fired methodically, disabling each vehicle within view. He leaned beyond the corner a little further and spotted the Trans Am. He’d rather shoot Tank, but this would do for now. Just as the first bullets started pinging off the side of the vehicle, the side door to the house burst open. Lea appeared in the doorway, one of Tank’s muscular, tattooed arms wrapped tightly across her chest. He half lifted, half dragged her onto the driveway.

  Sam aimed his rifle in their direction, with zero intention of attempting a shot.

  “Shoot me or shoot her! Your choice, asshole!” shouted Tank.

  Shit! This wasn’t part of the plan.

  A second man walked closely behind Tank, trying his best to stay hidden. Lea’s bare feet dragged on the ground, making it obvious that she was not walking on her own. Blood dripped from her thin arms.

  That asshole cut her ropes and shredded her arms in the process!

  Anger consumed Sam, emboldening him. He closed one eye and tried to center the rifle sight on Tank’s face, but Lea’s head bobbed unpredictably in and out of the way. There was no way he could do this.

  Movement from the Archers’ backyard caught Sam’s attention. He could barely make out Mark’s dark form as he rounded the corner of the house. A single flash and snapping sound from Mark’s rifle dropped the man closely following Tank and Lea. Tank barely noticed. He just kept pushing Lea toward the truck. Sam felt powerless. Mark obviously didn’t feel comfortable with the shot either. Mark’s rifle, like his own, helplessly followed Tank and Lea as they drew closer to an undamaged pickup truck.

  “No! I will not go with you!” screamed Lea.

  She worked her feet and legs up the side of the truck, pushing herself back into Tank and nearly tipping him over. True to his name, Tank didn’t topple. He quickly regained his balance and pummeled the side of her head with his free hand until her legs dangled uselessly under her. Before Sam knew it, Tank had opened the driver’s side door and shoved her inside—piling in with her.

  The engine roared to life, jarring Sam and Mark into action. At nearly the same moment, Sam and Mark fired single shots at the tires, hoping to end the truck’s journey before it left the driveway. Nothing seemed to work. The truck screeched onto the street and gained speed on its flattened tires.

  Charlie and Jane ran toward the street in a mad effort to stop the pickup truck. Charlie passed Jane, sprinting with a pistol in his hand. He got within a few feet of the driver’s side window, extending the pistol, before the truck burst forward, opening the distance. They all met in the middle of the street, lungs heaving from the failed effort. Just like that, Sam realized their daughter was gone.

  ~ ~ ~

  Lea sat in the front seat of the pickup truck, desperately trying to figure out a way to get away from Tank. Her mom had taught her never to allow herself to be taken to a secondary location by an assailant. A kidnap victim’s chance of survival dropped significantly after being taken from the scene of the abduction. If she was going to survive the night, she needed to do something now, before they left the neighborhood.

  She started to sob while slowly and carefully inching her way across the seat toward the passenger’s side door. Slowly, slowly, just a little more. Moving her hand an inch at a time, Lea finally managed to grasp the handle of the door.

&
nbsp; “Tank?” she said.

  “What?” he grunted.

  “Go fuck yourself,” she said, opening the door and dropping out of the pickup truck in one smooth motion.

  She hit the pavement with an unexpected violence, rolling and skidding along the rough surface until coming to a pained stop. The pickup truck came to a screeching halt thirty yards down the road. Glancing back toward her neighborhood, she prayed he’d keep on driving. No such luck. The white reverse lights illuminated the pavement.

  Scrambling to her feet, Lea hobbled in the direction of her neighborhood, moving faster than she thought possible after hitting the road so hard. The pickup truck backed up, picking up speed. Moments before the truck hit her, she darted left, out of the road. The pickup truck continued past, into a maelstrom of bullets.

  She crawled as fast as she could away from the street as four figures ran down the middle of the road, rapidly firing as they closed the gap to the truck. Bullets thunked into Tank’s pickup, shattering the rear window and blasting the passenger-side mirror into pieces. The onslaught lasted a few more seconds before the truck lurched forward, racing out of the neighborhood.

  “Mom!” shouted Lea. “Dad!”

  In the distance, Lea could hear cars headed in their direction. New Order reinforcements were on the way.

  “We have to move, keep running toward our house!” shouted her mother.

  Two heavily armed men swooped in to provide protective cover as Lea, Jane and Sam barreled toward them.

  “We need to get out of here fast! They’re coming!” shouted one of the men.

  “Can you keep running?” asked her mom.

  “Are you badly injured?” said her dad.

  He quickly bear-hugged her and kissed her forehead before taking up a position in the perimeter formed by the two military-looking men. She thought she recognized one of them from the department, but couldn’t be sure.