Our Survival: A Collection of Post Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thrillers

by Williams, Ron

  They escorted him down the hallway, deeper into the building. Bill looked into the different rooms they passed, and figured he was in the headquarters for the local military force, judging by the rank insignia he was seeing on the men at the desks. It was either a battalion-sized element, or the general staff of a brigade, possibly some sort of weird task-force that didn’t fit into the normal hierarchy like the Army liked to throw together.

  All things considered, Bill knew that he was still in custody of competent soldiers so there wasn’t likely to be an easy escape at the moment. He had to hope that eventually, he’d be processed and shuffled out somewhere else with regular Guard troops, or something like local law enforcement with deputized help, as there’d been in Rexford, and then he’d have his chance.

  It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was a start, even if step one of it was to wait until he got somewhere else and reassess his chances. In the meantime, he committed to still keeping his eyes open for any chance he might get to slip free.

  That patient plan was dashed as he looked into the next door he passed. The person sitting behind the desk was one that he instantly recognized. Major Charles K. Benton. Still a major, all these years after they’d first crossed paths in Afghanistan.

  Chapter 12

  Cole pulled the warm compress away from Jenny’s wound. It had been getting redder and hotter all day, and if he got up close, was starting to smell foul. They checked the wilderness medicine book in the cabin’s library, and were worried that infection was setting in.

  The book recommended several hot compresses a day, and draining the wound if necessary.

  “I don’t know, JJ. I think we need to play it safe and drain it.”

  “Easy for you to say,” Jenny said. “You’re not the one that’s going to get prodded.”

  Cole took another look at his sister’s side. Three of the four deep gashes left when the mountain lion tackled her and ran off weren’t looking bad. One of the middle ones, though, really worried him. “I think it’s only going to be worse on you if we wait until morning. Let’s just get on top of it now, start treating it right.”

  Jenny got up and walked to one of the windows, pulling the curtain to the side to look out into the darkness. It was about an hour before she and Cole were going to switch off which one of them needed to be awake, to stand watch. Considering how close the tree line came to the cabin, that meant mostly keeping their ears open for the sound of anything coming close, and especially for the clatter and rattle of the noisemaker traps they’d put up around the easier approaches through the woods.

  Earlier in the day, they’d heard a diesel truck come up the road. It had slowed down near the drive, but hadn’t stopped or gone up it. On the one hand, they were relieved that there were two switchbacks on the tree-lined drive that kept the cabin hidden from the road. On the other, it kept them from seeing what kind of vehicle had gone by. After a tense hour of waiting, listening intently for any sound and watching the drive for any sign of movement, they put on camouflaged clothes, grabbed the two rifles, and made a very careful walk down the drive. The triplines across the drive hadn’t been disturbed, but in full daylight, they’d be visible to anybody that thought to look for them. A quick check of the road hadn’t given them any further information either. There were no obvious tire tracks or footprints they could see.

  By the time they got back up to the cabin, Jenny was parched, and put down another pint of water in one long drink and poured herself another. She had tried to hide her discomfort from Cole, but he could see her heavily favoring her wounded side. He insisted she take her temperature, and frowned at her running a mild fever.

  At dusk, they heard another diesel engine not far away. It didn’t seem to come down the road towards them, stopping a good way up from the cabin, but neither was happy that it was close enough for them to hear it.

  I think we’re going to have some trouble before long. We should really make sure you’re on top of this infection,” Cole said, and he went for the first aid kit. That was his approach to a lot of things. Suggest something, then just start doing it.

  Jenny stepped back from the window, wincing at the pain as she twisted to look at her brother. “Fine,” she said, and went to the camp stove to start heating water.

  The first aid kit contained a few syringe barrels, and several sterile disposable needles in different sizes. Once Jenny had the water boiling, Cole dropped a clean cloth into it and shut off the heat. He screwed on of the largest size needles onto the barrel, and set it on a table next to the sofa.

  “Whenever you’re ready,” he said.

  “Do you even know what you’re doing?” Jenny asked.

  He showed her the book, open to the page with instructions on draining a wound. Jenny shook her head and said, “Close enough.” She laid down on the couch, and lifted her shirt up enough to show Cole the wound. He put on a pair of latex gloves to make one more inspection, poking at the reddest part of the gash he was worried about. Jenny gasped as he prodded with his fingertip, narrowing down where he thought the root of the infection was.

  “Just one thing,” she said. “I need to punch you.”

  “What?” Cole asked.

  “You’re going to poke a needle in me, trying to find a fluid pocket to suck dry. That’s going to hurt, like a lot, and I’m going to punch you really hard.”

  “No. I’m going to give you a belt to chew on. That’s how they did it in the old days.”

  “We’re not in the old days, and I know how to throw a punch, and I know it’ll make me feel better if I punch you after you’re done.”

  “Fine,” Cole said. Both of the children had martial arts training, so he knew his sister knew how to hit, and he knew how to take one. “You can hit me when I’m done. I guess it’s fair.”

  “It was your stupid idea to go out in the middle of the night, after all.”

  “OK!” He said. “You’ve made your point,” Cole said, and then Jenny hit him, a good, solid blow to his upper arm. “Hey! You said afterwards.”

  “Yeah. But I’m already feeling better after that. Now I know that it’ll help after you’re done.”

  “Of all the sisters in the world…” Cole said, picking up the syringe. “You sure you want to watch this?”

  Jenny kept her eyes on the syringe as it moved towards her. “I always used to watch the doc when I’d get shots,” she said.

  “Alright.” Cole put the point of the syringe at the spot he’d identified. Knowing that being tentative would be a lot worse than just doing it, he pressed the needle into Jenny’s skin. She gasped through gritted teeth, but managed to keep almost completely still.

  “Two punches,” she said, as Cole pushed the needle in a little farther, feeling for the change in resistance the book said would signal that he was in the pus pocket of the wound. He felt terrible for pushing the needle back and forth as his sister slapped at the back of the couch with her free hand, but he finally go to something that felt right. He pulled back on the plunger of the syringe, and drew out a small amount of thick, pale green liquid.

  “OK. I’m going to back the needle out now, real carefully,” he said, lightly pulling the plunger back as he withdrew the needle. He was surprised at how shallow he’d had to go.

  As soon as he set the syringe down on the table beside him, and his hand was clear of it. Jenny walloped him another good one on the arm, followed by a solid blow to the chest. After that, she swore a few times, and then wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand.

  Cole rubbed the places she’d hit him, and stood up to start cleaning up. He touched the bowl the clean cloth was in, and found it was still too hot to put the compress on yet.

  “Let’s hope that’s the only time we need to do that,” Cole said, squatting own beside Jenny, and giving his arm another exaggerated rub where she’d punched him.

  “You want to trade, I’d be happy to,” she said.

  Cole shook his head. “Not at all.” H
e opened the first aid kit to find that it didn’t have a sharps container, and then realized that they’d used all of their empty cans and bottles for the noisemaker traps around the cabin. He was looking for where he could safely put the used needle until he could make a container for it, when they heard one of those very same traps go off.

  Chapter 13

  Sally spent three tense hours working her way uphill from the lake. She was familiar enough with the route to Eureka to know that she was several miles south of the cabin, which was far enough that she didn’t know the lay of the land in the area, or who owned what and how reliable they might be if she needed help.

  Her biggest fear as she worked her way cross country was that the gunfire had attracted attention of any local landowners. It would certainly make them tense and even more leery of trespassers than they would otherwise be under the circumstances. Once she passed a posted no-trespassing sign, but other than that single boundary, she really had no idea whose land she was on where.

  At least she hadn’t picked up any evidence she was being pursued by the soldiers. She hoped that meant she’d managed to get out of the area without leaving an obvious trail.

  Finally, Sally hit the top of a ridge. She let herself drop the two rucks and take a good break, drinking plenty of water and digging some food out of Bill’s pack. Anything to lighten that load would do her some good. She tried to get a good picture of her surrounding with her binoculars, but the forest was thick enough that she couldn’t really make out more than a hundred feet or so.

  After her break, she took out a compass to help get her bearings, and started down to the northwest. Once she had to skirt wide around a homestead, but she eventually got to a road. It wasn’t one she recognized, but she knew that she could either cross it and keep on in the general direction of the cabin, turn right and run parallel to it, which would take her back to the lake, or head left which would take her farther uphill and away from the lake. She took out her compass and determined the road was running generally southwest to northeast, so going uphill would lead her way south of the cabin. That left a careful crossing and more cross-country travel as her best option.

  That choice meant another hour of slow climbing up a steep hill, until she found herself on top of a ridgeline. She found a clearing where she could get a general sense of the land around her, and spent some more time with her compass and a map, finally guessing she was on the east slope of Clingback Mountain. A little farther north and she’d start heading down again, hopefully to hit Dodge Creek. If she were right about where she was, once she hit the water, she’d know her route home.

  When Sally caught her first glimpse of the creek below her, she dropped both packs and stumbled down to it. The exertion of hauling the two bags through the heat and on way too little sleep was really starting to wear on her. She was overheating on the unusually balmy day, thirsty, hungry, and consumed by worry for her family. Drinking some cold creek water through a filter straw seemed to help some, at least by cooling her down. The quiet burble of the water somewhat settled her, but as she sat there, she knew she was both physically and mentally drained to the point where she wasn’t thinking clearly. Dropping the packs was certainly one sign that her judgement was slipping. Feeling for her compass and map in several pockets before she found them was another.

  While she sat there half-dazed, she heard a diesel vehicle uphill from where she was sitting. She’d spent just enough time on military bases with Bill back before he got out that she could tell most modern military trucks by their sound, and whatever it was that had passed her didn’t sound like one of them. That didn’t rule out one of the older vehicles that would still run after an EMP event, though. Whether military or civilian, though, she wanted no part of running into on the road. She just wanted to get to the cabin, make sure Cole and Jenny were alright, and figure out how to get Bill back.

  After her thoughts led her to stare at a leaf for a long time, Sally admitted to herself that she just simply needed to rest. If she was indeed at Dodge Creek, she would likely know whoever owned the land she was on, at least enough to figure out quickly where she stood with them if they came across her. She’d also be able to get back to the cabin if she decided to wait until after dark to travel again. She went back uphill to find the two rucks, and unfolded the camouflage poncho just enough to tuck underneath it. Her mind tried to keep her awake by fretting over one thing after another, but her body was having none of it, and she fell quickly asleep.

  Later, the sun hadn’t set yet, but was well down behind the mountains to the west when Sally woke up. She was surprised at how completely alert she was when her eyes snapped open, and only realized afterwards that it was the sound of something moving near her that had awakened her. Whatever it was moved again, rustling the leaf litter on the forest floor, sounding like it was making a regular stride, not attempting to move quietly. That at least gave Sally an advantage, because if whoever it was approaching was making no attempt at subtlety, they didn’t know she was there. Real quiet, she reached for her pistol, and pulled the poncho away from her face.

  The stranger kept moving, downhill from her, and not on a path to approach her. She silently urged them to just keep on going and not wander uphill. Unfortunately the steps stopped, maybe fifty feet from her. Sally peered down the hill, sure she should have seen whoever it was, but there wasn’t anybody down there.

  Moving her head as little as she could, Sally tried to scan around her, but still nothing. She didn’t realize she’d been counting the beats of her pulse pounding in her ears until she hit fifty. Then sixty. Almost seventy, and she heard the step again, right where she was looking, but there wasn’t a person down there. She wondered what kind of camouflage the person must have been wearing to be able to move so unstealthily without being seen. Another step, and she got eyes on the stranger. She almost laughed out loud when she remembered all the times she had been out camping with Bill and the kids when they realized that sometimes raccoons would bound around such that they sounded like a person shuffling through the leaves.

  “You’re lucky I’m trying to be silent,” she said, “Or I’d shoot you for the scare you just gave me.” With a shake or her head to rid herself of the tension, Sally sat up and went back to her map and compass. Judging by the path of the creek, she was parallel to the road that led to the cabin. She just had to haul those two bug out bags uphill again until she hit it, then climb the hill until she got to her driveway. After another good drink from the creek and some more food, she loaded up and put one foot in front of the other, and a little after dark, found herself at the base of the cabin’s driveway.

  Chapter 14

  Bill cooled his heels for several hours in an ersatz holding cell with three other men. They had all been picked up separately while on the road after movement restrictions had been declared for the area. One of them was Danny Wilkerson, who lived just a half mile down from Bill and Sally’s cabin.

  From what he’d gathered, like him, they had also given some sort of resistance when they were picked up. One of them had obviously resisted physically, judging by the bruising on his face, and the way he favored his left leg.

  His cellmates told Bill those that had agreed to being checked for weapons or other contraband, and then go quietly to collection centers in towns and cities had been taken somewhere else. Bill assumed that those collection centers were legitimate and not euphemisms for anything dark and sinister, but he still wanted no part of his family ending up in one. Not after what he’d seen of DP camps while on deployment. The idea was good, in theory, but in practice, a very nasty underworld would take hold and thrive in those places, and too many of the people that were supposed to be managing them were too easily corrupted.

  Which meant that he still needed to get out of military custody and get to the cabin so he and his family could get themselves well hidden ahead of any sweeps of the area that might occur. He kept an eye on the comings and goings of the soldiers near the cell, noting t
hat all the ones in MP uniforms moved with that same professional demeanor of the two that had taken him to the cell. Fighting his way out wasn’t going to get him anywhere, but beat down or killed, so he had to figure out their patterns. He knew that his best chance to escape would be during a transfer from one place to another.

  After a while, food was brought to them. Four MPs came into the room, two dressed for a riot. One of the other MPs had a small clipboard, and read off each person’s name before the last one handed a paper plate to them. The stuff looked like standard military field kitchen fare, what Bill always thought of as group MREs. No cutlery was offered, and when the other men in the cell objected, the MPs made no response except to turn and leave the room, locking the door again behind them. Bill just sighed, tore an edge of his plate off, and folded it up into a makeshift spoon.

  Hours later, Bill didn’t know how long he’d been out, but he woke disoriented and with a pounding headache in a pitch black, extremely loud room - very definitely not the one he’d fallen asleep in. It was dark, and he was tightly handcuffed to something metal that vibrated along with the roaring din around him. The room was damp, that much he could tell right away, and as he started to regain consciousness, he recognized the sound as rushing water and whirring machinery. If he had to, he’d have guessed he was in one of the turbine rooms of the dam.

  He stood up and pulled at the cuffs. They shackled his arms around a thick, warm pipe. Nothing about the situation boded well, and that lit a fresh fire under him to escape. There was a rough spot on the pipe he was cuffed to. If they’d secured him with zip cuffs, he thought he might be able to use that to file away at the plastic, but all he’d do with metal cuffs was make a lot of noise. There was an old trick he’d picked up during his wilder college days, of always keeping a safety pin attached to the waist band of his pants in back. He and his buddies practiced picking handcuff locks with the pin, and got fairly good at it with cheap cuffs. The problem was, Bill’s hands were cuffed to the front, and with the pipe in the way, he couldn’t get at the back of his pants. He tried scaling up the pipe, but it quickly teed into another, larger pipe, so he wasn’t able to get far.