Our Survival: A Collection of Post Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thrillers

by Williams, Ron

  I pulled them out and worked on showing her how to gauge the distance needed between the trees and secure them. The daylight spread around us as we crawled into our hammocks and drifted in and out of sleep.

  October in Georgia. Thank God it isn’t the sweltering heat of July, I thought as I drifted off. The day passed quickly with each of us waking for our three hour shifts until the sun began to set over a hazy sky.

  We quickly ate one of our MREs. I took stock of our food as my stomach growled, not quite satisfied: 5 MRE’s in each of my packs for a total of 10, and 5 snack-sized pouches of trail mix from Liza and Matthew.

  Each of us could get by eating one MRE and a snack each day, so that left a gap in our supplies, especially when we were hiking in the woods outside the city.

  I’d mapped supply restocks for the less populated areas along the route, but we may not get to them in time if we were held up in the city.

  I’d only packed enough for one person. We would need to restock before getting too far out into the wilderness, which meant going into a populated area sooner than expected.

  I had taken the time to put on my watch and loop my compass through the many eye holes on my pack during the day watch.

  We would need to continue north, and we’d only made it through half a night’s mileage last night. I packed everything away, took a long breath, and looked around.

  The sweet hues of October surrounded us; reds, oranges, and yellows mixed with fading greens.

  The ground blanketed in fallen leaves, and the night air just starting to chill, whispering the beginning of fall.

  A full, perfectly rounded moon shone brightly over the city, no clouds in the air tonight.

  Matthew and Liza sat on the ground beside me. Their eyes were lost in thought.

  If not for the present dilemma, the night would have been perfect. A fun hiking trip with friends in the crisp, fall air with autumn beauty unfolding around us.

  I sighed.

  We all looked at each other briefly, shouldered our physical and psychological burdens, and headed out.

  We stayed with the concrete bank of the creek, passing a bar and some other buildings high up on the path along the way.

  Once the bank became too steep, we shuffled along across neighborhood streets and behind clumps of trees, staying close to the creek until we saw the interstate. I-85 loomed under the moonlight ahead of us as the city rose around us again.

  No longer fortified by the trees from the riverbank, I felt goosebumps spread along my arms and neck. We were more exposed, and that would be a threat to all of us. I turned right and stopped.

  “Stay alert,” I cautioned. “The city may seem quiet now, but I guarantee you there are people who are desperate or worse.”

  I let Matthew and Liza fill in their own meaning of ‘worse’.

  “We will need to find some more food before leaving the city behind,” I went on. “I only had enough in my packs for one person. When we find a place, it’s in and out. Look for lightweight, preserved foods, high in calories and protein. We go north now. If anything happens, stick to I-85 north and, then, 985 north. Stay close, but don’t go onto the highway. Got it?”

  Matthew and Liza both nodded.

  “Let’s go, then,” said Liza. “If I have to eat too many more of those MRE things, I might die in the next couple of days.”

  She twisted her neck and held up her hand in a hangman’s noose imitation.

  Matthew and I both chuckled.

  The night had fully descended, the moon the only light that guided us forward. During our dinner, Matthew and I had poured over the maps.

  I had him remember as much as possible, in case we were separated. Liza had taken one look at the map and said she was terrible with geography. I couldn’t convince her to look at it again.

  For four nights, we stuck to the routine, finding small stretches of trees or abandoned houses to set up cover and watch.

  The mileage was slower than expected. We had to be careful, so the rerouting and going around open spaces put us around 40 miles by the end of the third night.

  The neighborhoods were quiet, most people had left. Occasionally, we would encounter one or two people, or a family. We would avoid them, ducking into side streets or parks or behind buildings.

  We rummaged through pantries and scrounged around for food, breaking into empty houses, stocking up for the long stretches in the woods.

  By the third day, the woods became more compacted around us. Neighborhoods stretching out further and further apart.

  I began to think our trip might be easy and painless. My fear began to ebb, and we all seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief.

  On the fourth night, we had just finished a sweet find before setting out, a stash of chocolate bars and champagne.

  We laughed quietly and celebrated our small stash on the small ranch we had holed up in.

  Matthew only allowed a half glass of wine for each of us. He was cautious, a trait that I’d begun to admire, among all the other reasons I had been in love with him for the past three years.

  I started to wish that I’d taken the risk of telling him before this. The blackout colored everything in a new light. My regrets and indecision and mistakes came back to haunt me. What had I been so afraid of?

  We set out that night in good spirits, excited for over half the trip to be over. I had decided that we would skirt around the small town square to see if we could find lightweight provisions before heading out past Gainesville and towards Cleveland.

  Two hours into our hike, we neared the square. We heard nothing until the silence slowly faded, rising into a small whisper, and then, a murmur, and finally, a roaring din.

  We had just entered the alleyway of a small diner and pizza place. We crept towards the end of the alleyway to peer at the source of chaos and commotion across the street.

  An older model car was on fire and jutting out of the front of a grocery store.

  People were screaming and running in all directions as the fire blazed hotter and hotter. One on top of the other, people stampeded out of the store. They shoved and hit and clawed their way past each other.

  At the front of the building, standing in the back of a 1950’s Chevy pick-up truck, a dark figure rattled off bullets out of a semi-automatic AR-15 strapped across his body.

  The fire blazed behind him, as if he were the devil in his element.

  “Woohoo!” he called out. “Look what we have here! The ants are scurrying out of their little ant hill!”

  He drew out a shiny silver Colt 1911 .45 caliber pistol, took quick but careful aim, and fired at the nearest head.

  The body fell.

  The people scrambled back into the recesses of the store.

  “Okay, everybody, let’s calm down. My name is Joseph, like St. Joseph, the patron saint who protects you. You can call me your personal protector. From now on, you work FOR me to earn protection FROM me.”

  He laughed maniacally, shooting another volley of bullets into the store front. Five men stood in formation around the truck, rifles in hand.

  I saw three more men beside the store, firing into the parking lot towards the members of the crowd who’d escaped.

  “Now, everybody, stop running and line up outside on the street if you don’t want to end up like this man!” He pointed to the man he’d just shot.

  One by one, the people stepped out of the storefront and resignedly lined up along the street. The man stepped down from the truck, and for a brief moment, the firelight shined on his face.

  He was handsome with thick hair cropped short and tidy around a smooth face with a strong jawline. He had large almond shaped eyes and a perfect profile.

  A devil disguised as an angel.

  I wondered if he’d fooled the people into thinking they could trust him before orchestrating this disgusting scene. He turned away, his back towards me.

  “Holly, what the hell?” Matthew whispered. “We need to get out of here now!
”

  I slipped out of my trance and looked behind me to see Liza cowering against the building, her hands covering her ears.

  She was whimpering softly. Matthew was kneeling down next to her, his hand rubbing her shoulder.

  “Okay, let’s go,” I said. “Let me check the street behind us first.”

  I walked slowly to the street behind the pizzeria, checking left and right.

  “All clear,” I said in a hoarse whisper.

  Just as I turned to walk back towards them, I heard a scuffle and a gunshot.

  “Run!” Matthew yelled.

  Just before I bolted off, I saw Matthew and Liza up against the brick wall, guns trained on them by one of St. Joseph’s men.

  “We’ll meet again!”

  I heard the man shout it down the alley as I ran.

  He said it with such surety and calmness. His words ricocheted after us through the alley.

  CHAPTER 6 (Holly)

  I ran.

  I ran just far enough that I hoped no one would chase me. I had only counted ten, including the Saint and the man in the alley.

  If they were smart, they wouldn’t trouble with one stray when they needed all of their manpower against the thirty or so people lined up outside the grocery store.

  I knelt and fished around in the bottom of my pack to pull out my Glock 19, holster, and a couple of spare magazines loaded with jacketed hollow point 9mm self-defense loads.

  I was never a gun person, but Norman had insisted that I learn to shoot and had spent hours with me on the range teaching me how to shoot and use all types: .22s, hunting rifles, semi-automatic rifles, shotguns, revolvers, and semi-automatic pistols.

  On my 18th birthday, he had presented me with this very same Glock.

  “I think that you’ve had enough training at this point,” he had told me when I opened the box and stared at the factory new Glock nestled for me inside. “You need your own before going off to college. Happy Birthday!”

  Norman had smiled and also handed me a sleek black leather holster to go with it.

  “That’s to fend off all the douche-bags that come your way,” he grinned.

  “Thanks, grandpa,” I said with a casual chuckle. “It’s what a girl always dreams of!”

  I batted my eyelashes and laughed. He had taken me to the shooting range that day to make sure it was a good fit. He was right. It was tailor-made for a woman’s hands, and it was the perfect weight for my size.

  I secured the gun, strapping it around my thigh. Then, I reached in the front pocket of my pack and pulled out my knife and sheath.

  After I strapped it to my other thigh, I headed a few more blocks down to check the perimeter.

  Then, I doubled back around and positioned myself several storefronts down and across from the pizzeria.

  The firelight didn’t reach here. I could see what was happening along the street, but I was well hidden. All of the people were kneeling, neatly lined up on their knees facing St. Joseph.

  He walked silently up and down the line, his hands clasped behind his back. Liza and Matthew knelt at the end of the line closest to me. I could see their packs still on.

  Good. It will be easier if we don’t have to resupply.

  Liza was shaking uncontrollably, probably in shock.

  St. Joseph began pointing to different people in the line. Every time he pointed, one of his men shot the person in the back of the head.

  Bodies fell to the pavement, spatters of blood and brain splashed across the sidewalk in the firelight. I swallowed the bile that threatened to force its way out.

  I held my breath, hoping and praying that Matthew and Liza would be spared. All of the men were facing Joseph now, their backs turned to the storefront.

  After several long heartbeats, it seemed like the carnage was over.

  I counted 15 no less than bodies lifeless along the pavement, face down, heads grossly misshapen from the close-range blasts.

  Joseph began talking to the crowd. I walked to the back of the buildings, and crept closer, silently closing the distance between me and the storefront. I wanted to hear what he was saying.

  “Okay!” his voice boomed. “Now that the useless people are out of the way, let’s have some fun. We are going to play a sorting game. Women on my right and men on my left. Hurry! Hurry! You don’t want to make me mad. Come on, quickly!”

  He aggressively patted one of the younger women as she rushed past.

  “Okay, George. I’ll take that one, that one, and . . . eenie-meenie-miney-moe,” he pointed to Liza. “That one, too. Okay, boys, lock up the men and the rest of the woman are yours. I expect to see some good fights for your favorites!”

  Joseph motioned to one of the guys, and they both headed toward an office building on the other side of the pizzeria.

  Liza and the three girls trailed behind them. The two girls with Liza couldn’t be more than 17 years of age.

  They were holding tight to one another’s hands, the older one stroking the younger’s long hair and murmuring into her ear.

  The younger one was crying uncontrollably and murmuring “dad, dad, dad” over and over. Her hands were working through her hair, pulling out chunks of bone and flesh.

  Liza stepped closer to Joseph.

  “I. . . I’ll go first if you’ll have me,” she stammered. “I can make myself very useful.”

  Liza tentatively reached out her hand and trailed it along Joseph’s thigh. Her movements becoming steadier as she glanced back at the girls.

  Tears gathered and spilled down my cheeks. She was taking the first shift to try to spare the girls.

  I was never prouder of her or more appalled that our survival had come to this in less than 48 hours. Joseph smiled before seizing her hand.

  “Oh, you’ll do nicely,” he purred. “I’m sure you’ll learn just how I like it, and I expect you to teach the younger girls because if I’m not happy with the services rendered, you don’t make the cut.”

  He snickered, took a fistful of her hair in his hands, and forced her lips hard on his mouth before dragging her by the hair into the building.

  I had to look away and hope that they would survive Joseph.

  I needed to free Matthew first. I would need him muscle to help me take out Joseph and his man and free Liza and the girls.

  Four of Joseph’s guys starting yelling at the group of men and prodding them with their guns towards a building across the street. It looked like an old factory repurposed as an industrial-themed pub.

  I’d bet they would put one or two men on duty while the others busied themselves with the rest of the women.

  The remaining men stood around the edges surrounding the cowering ladies Joseph had left behind; the men were like wolves licking their lips and looking starved for something more than food.

  There were only ten men and seven women left after the culling. Three women to Joseph, I assumed the men would be fighting for first and best pick. I shuddered at the thought of what would happen to each of them.

  I took count: Joseph and his one, four men with the group in the pub, and three men with the remaining women in front of the store.

  One was missing, the guy that had come up on us in the alleyway presumably. A tracker or lookout, maybe?

  He was eerily absent. My skin prickled and cold shot through me. Were there more out there? One man not present of the ten I had seen, a variable that unsettled me.

  I waited for some of the men to exit the pub after securing watch over the group.

  The door burst open as a slim, lanky man flew backwards into the street with arms flailing about in an attempt to soften his fall. He landed and slid roughly across the pavement.

  A big burly man stepped out after him, straddling him and pinning his arms down under his massive knees. He landed one punch after the other before the slighter man cried out.

  “You win, Patrick!” He turned his head to the side and spat out blood.

  “Thought you’d see it my way.
Guess you’ll be missin’ out tonight, James.”

  Patrick laughed loudly, stood up, and helped the man up off the pavement.

  James limped over and entered the pub, hunching over in defeat.

  After a brief moment, two men exited. Patrick and the other two joined the women, surrounding them in a wide circle, whistling, catcalling and whooping loudly.

  “Come on baby. I’m nice and gentle. You don’t want Patrick. He’ll rip you wide open.”