Inception of Chaos: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Story

by Holden, J. J.

  As she reached the podium, David backed away a step, and his expression turned blank and unreadable, but Christine didn’t much care what he felt. She slammed one palm on the podium’s face. “David, you can’t do this. You said it yourself, that Trooper barely made it through, and his partner didn’t.”

  “Chrissy—”

  “No. You have to stay.” She glared, daring and begging at the same time. “You can’t leave m—us. My kids.”

  She held his gaze, silently willing him to stay and startled at what she’d almost said without thinking. Her stomach flip-flopped, but if he left, what was the point of exploring whatever had driven her to say that? Or rather, almost said. Maybe it would make him change his mind, though…

  Please?

  David looked away, his lips flatlining, and only shook his head.

  Christine’s eyes burned, but screw that guy. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction… She bolted for the door, but by the time she reached it, she could barely see the handle through her burning tears.

  53

  Wiley followed Christine out the door, but she clearly wasn’t waiting for him. Well, she’d just gotten some bad news. They all had, but she had kids to worry about. Maybe she needed to just be alone with her friend—her real friend, not some johnny-come-lately like Wiley.

  When the car didn’t leave immediately, it was pretty clear he’d made the right call. But Christine would need some time alone when she got home, and besides, what if she did want to talk to him about it? That was the last thing he wanted to deal with. So, he decided not to walk back to Fran’s yet. Nor did he want to deal with the aftermath of David’s announcement, inside. So, rather than walking or going inside, he walked slowly around the building, hands in pockets, head down, lost in thought.

  Dark thoughts, too. Christine was a good person, her kids were good people—the whole reason a bastard like him had become interested in those people in the first place—but that interest did not extend to dying for them. His earlier mental debate about leaving rose to the fore, once again. He’d thought of leaving so the cops wouldn’t figure out they had an escaped murderer hiding among them, but they were leaving. Now, he had a different reason for considering it.

  The more he thought about it, the more leaving made sense. He didn’t owe these people anything, after all. They weren’t blood, like his sister had been.

  Hunter, slumped over the sill of a shattered window, blood oozing from half a dozen bullet wounds, as his sister, Darcy, screamed for him to no avail. Strange men coming through the doors front and back—coming for her… Just as they’d come for Wiley’s sister. As she screamed in sudden terror, Darcy’s face twisted, shifting, becoming that of his own sister. His sister, screaming, and screaming, and then—her blood, splattered across the kitchen island.

  Wiley spun and jammed his fist into the wall, and the sudden jolt of pain drove away the shadows and dark thoughts, the visions. The pain was welcome. The pain was his friend. The only one he could count on. It had kept him going during the dark days after…

  He squashed that thought before it finished forming. Instead, he deliberately brought up images of the four men he’d been convicted of killing. That hadn’t even been murder, in his eyes, though the courts disagreed—he had no reason to feel bad about what he’d done. Someone had to do it.

  The after-image of the one dude’s skull collapsing settled his heartbeat, and replaced the rage and hurt with a preternatural calm. If he stayed, he’d get to feel that again, and in plenty. There would be more than enough killing to go around. Did it really matter if he died, too?

  On the other hand, by leaving, he would surely find some more wolves out there, more predators to devour as he had the men who’d—

  He pushed that memory away. But if he left, he’d have no shortage of carnivores in need of devouring, and do so without getting killed, as he might if he stayed. He wasn’t entirely certain he cared about that, though. He shook his head to clear his mind, then headed into the town hall through the back door.

  As the heavy fire-door closed softly behind him, an angry voice rose in the office just ahead. That had to be Cobi’s pitiful office, which separated the hall’s rear quarter with the much larger meeting area up front. He immediately recognized David’s voice, though the words were muffled.

  Curious, he crept toward the next door, which led into the office, and found it open by half an inch. He inched it open a little more, careful to stay out of view through the gap, so he could hear better.

  Cobi shouted, “No, dammit. That’s not what I said, and you know it. What I said was—”

  “It doesn’t matter, Cobi.” David’s voice rose easily over Cobi’s half-hysterical, high-pitched whine. “I will not be threatened by the likes of you, civilian.” He spit the last word from his mouth like venom.

  “But…but what are we going to do without you?” Cobi’s tone carried a hint of tears to Wiley’s ears.

  David replied in a calmer tone, “What would you do with me? I would only be one more rifle. It’s the plan that matters, and you have one. I helped you make it, I helped you put it together, and I helped you keep it running. You can stick to the plan, with or without me.”

  A muffled, familiar voice sounded like it came from beyond the office door that led to the town hall proper. A clatter of movement within the office preceded the other door flying open, and Wiley caught a glimpse of David and Cobi rushing out into the town hall.

  Immediately, Wiley heard more raised voices—different voices, ones Wiley didn’t recognize. The low shouting continued—after a few more seconds, Wiley crept through Cobi’s office to the other door, cracked it open, and peered through.

  His jaw dropped. David stood with his pistol out, aimed at a man armed with a revolver, which he aimed at Orien, who aimed his own pistol at a second man, aiming at Cobi. The two weren’t anyone Wiley knew, but he was certain he’d seen them in town before, residents of Weldona.

  What the hell?

  David’s voice didn’t waver as he spoke in a conversational tone that nonetheless cut through the clatter, the practiced voice of authority—a cop’s voice. “Put the weapon on the floor and step away from it,” he demanded.

  The one aiming a revolver at Orien had long, brown hair that hung shaggy around his shoulders. “Put your gun down, cop, or I’m shooting your punk-ass partner. Now.”

  Cobi’s back was to Wiley, but his high-pitched voice cracked on every other word, begging, “Please, all of you, put those away. You can’t point guns at cops. Are you mad? They’re cops.”

  The pistol-wielding stranger, with neatly trimmed, dirty-blond hair, sneered at David as he said, “I think you’re wrong about that, Cobi. That’s exactly what I’m doing. Ten…nine…”

  “Why are you doing this? Don’t shoot me. Ohmygod please.” Cobi staggered, his knees buckling, and he caught himself on the stage edge.

  “Easy,” said the short-haired man. “They’re gonna stay to help us, or they’re gonna stay for a whole lot longer than they planned. We all get out of here alive, only one way, and that’s if the cops stay.”

  The shaggy-haired man said, “Yeah, that’s right. You got no reason for leaving, unless you’re a coward.”

  The first one said, “Or he’s just a dirty cop. He’s Denver, after all.”

  Orien’s voice was steel as he said, “My partner is no dirty cop. You’d know that if you knew anything about him.”

  Shaggy said, “Oh yeah? Then why’s he hanging around with an escaped killer? Huh?”

  Wiley’s stomach plunged. They could only mean one person. This could not be happening… But it was, and the decision of whether to stay or go was about to be made for him. But as much as his head told him to go, to run, right then and there, he stayed watching with a morbid kind of fascination, like watching someone else’s tragedy unfolding, not his own.

  After a pause, David said, “What do you mean? You’re wrong.”

  The long-haired man snorted. �
�Bullshit. You knew.”

  “Knew what, damn you?” David adjusted his grip, visibly sighting in better on his target’s chest, and Wiley recognized the cop’s tension as his training came fully in control while his thoughts were likely distracted by the conversation.

  Wiley bit his lip, cursing in his head. This was not how his plan had gone in his head. How did two local hicks know anything about him?

  The short-haired one said, “His name isn’t ‘Wiley,’ it’s William Johnson.”

  There was a long silence. David’s pistol never wavered. Then he said, “I’ve heard of him. How do you know that’s the man we know as Wiley?”

  Cobi said, “How could you possibly know that?”

  “You’re either lying, or an idiot.” The short-haired man nodded toward a small table behind him. “The fax machine. Warning went out to everyone on the prison van’s path, just to be safe. It’s got his picture. We came to tell Cobi he has to talk you out of leaving, and found it. Cobi hid it face-down on the table under the machine. Why’d you do that, Cobi? Hm? Is Wiley your buddy or something? Piece of crap, you hid this from us.”

  Cobi whined, “What are you talking about? I never got a fax. I didn’t see it. The paper curls; they’re under the machine all the time. But why would I check? Nothing works anymore.”

  The man said, “Yeah, well, it came through right before the lights died. So, you’re not hiding him, you’re just an idiot. But there’s no way the cop didn’t know Wiley’s face, man. He’s a cop; he had to know.”

  David growled, “Negative. I had no knowledge of this. And I say you’re full of it. The man doesn’t seem like a killer to me.”

  “Look at the fax yourself, pig. I promise not to blow your freaking head off while you look away.”

  “Not happening, dirtbag. Put the weapons down. Then we’ll figure it all out. If you’re right, you have nothing to worry about.”

  Long-hair laughed out loud. “Bull. So you can shoot me unarmed? Not a chance. You go look, and we just promise not to shoot you. We want you here, not dead.”

  Cobi’s knees buckled again, this time almost falling. “Please, stop this! He’s not going to stay with guns pointed at him. Please, just stop. We can all go home, and—”

  “Shut up, Cobi, or I’ma shoot your face off,” the short-haired man said, though Wiley noted his pistol trembled slightly.

  Adrenaline was a bitch. Wiley could feel his own hands shaking even without a gun barrel in his face, and no one knew he was there, much less armed. But it was clear the two yahoos weren’t trying to be malicious. They came to talk, and things just went sideways on them. Wiley knew how that felt—and that it made those two dangerous, unpredictable creatures.

  The short-haired man looked from Cobi over at David. “Officer Kelley, I’m begging you, go look at the fax. This piece of shit knew, and he was hiding it because you came in with Wiley. William. Just go look, man. Then we’re going to fuck Cobi up for this crap, and then we can go get the murdering sonuva—”

  Bang, bang.

  Orien fired, double-tapping Cobi’s gunman directly in his chest. The long-haired guy glanced over as he jumped in surprise; his own firearm went off, but David was already diving for cover, or at least concealment, behind Cobi’s desk, while Cobi himself dropped to the floor in a ball, screaming that he’d been shot, though Wiley hadn’t seen the other man’s gun go off—Orien had dropped him too fast for him to even pull the trigger.

  Orien let his knees buckle, making himself small, and swung his weapon toward Long-hair, who in turn threw himself on the floor beside Coby. Orien didn’t fire, probably not having a clean enough shot with Cobi in the way.

  Long-hair wrapped one arm around Cobi’s neck and with the other hand, put his revolver to the mayor’s head. “You shoot, he dies!”

  David, behind the desk, rose up enough to bring his pistol to bear across the desktop. “Don’t do it, mister. You stay alive if Cobi does. Get it? I said, do you get me?”

  The man wrestled Cobi, waking up, into a sitting position, then to his feet, keeping the mayor between himself and the officers. As he did this, he said, “Yeah, I get it. He lives as long as I do. Do you get me, Occifer Kelley?”

  “Calm down,” David said, while Orien inched to his right, angling toward the man’s side.

  Long-hair pressed his revolver barrel into Cobi’s temple, making him cry out, and said, “Stop moving, sidekick. Stop fuckin’ moving!”

  “Stop,” David said, and Orien froze. David continued, “We can work this out. I’m leaving, and this is between you all.”

  Wiley didn’t believe that for one moment. David might leave, but he was a cop. Once they got their teeth on someone, they never let go. In his head, he started running through escape routes. Could he get to the house fast enough to grab his bag? He’d readied it to bug out at a moment’s notice, of course. If he just walked out now, he could get to the house, get the bag… The cops would be dealing with this, and its aftermath, for at least that long.

  But while every instinct told him to get out, he stayed, immobile, watching as Long-hair backed away from the cops, toward where Wiley hid on the opposite side of the door.

  Cobi, sobbing, whimpered in the man’s arms. “Please put it down. Please don’t do this. I don’t want to die. You can’t shoot at cops. You’re not supposed to do that. For the love of—”

  Long-hair squeezed the arm he had around Cobi’s neck, and Wiley saw his other arm grow tense with the force he used to jam the revolver into Cobi’s face, or head—Wiley couldn’t exactly see it from his angle—and said, “Shut. The. Fuck. Up. One more word, you little bastard, and I’ma blow your brains all over that cop.” His voice was rough, growling.

  Cobi whimpered, snorting snot, but shut up.

  Long-hair continued, “I don’t give a damn about the governor’s orders. I know the Constitution. That isn’t constitutional. You asshole, our freaking lives matter more than the governor’s orders. My kids’ lives matter more than this bitch-ass cop wanting to go home and ditch us. Both you cops, you’re staying. We’re all dead without you anyways, so I got no problem killing him right now.” He backed closer to Wiley’s door as he spoke. “Damn you, Cobi. How could you change sides so fast? First, you cover for that monster, William, and now you take these cops’ side? What the hell, man? You’re a damn traitor, that’s what you are—”

  “Stop moving,” David said, interrupting his long-winded monologue.

  Some people just babbled when they were afraid, Wiley had learned from half the men he’d killed so brutally. They hadn’t been all that tough, in the end, and he was pretty sure Long-hair wouldn’t be, either.

  David shifted his aim again. “You touch that door, I take my chances, but you aren’t getting out of here alive with the mayor, and you better pray you don’t hurt him or all bets are off.”

  Wiley blinked. He’d never heard David talk like that before, certainly. Maybe the cop was taking this somehow personally. Whatever the reason, though, the long-haired man stopped inching toward the door, for the moment at least.

  Long-hair said, “You shouldn’t have changed sides, Cobi. Your scheming is why we came here in the first place, and now we find out you were protecting a murderer.”

  “But I didn’t tell you to come here and do this. Please, don’t kill me. I just wanted them to stay, not this. You have to believe me, David. Help me! Please don’t let him kill me.” Cobi’s voice shook almost as much as his knees were shaking.

  The other man snorted. “Damn, you’re weak. You simp, you should be asking me to shoot you. No one’s gonna vote for you ever again, not after they find out about this. You tried to let those cops leave us, then you told us to do anything to keep them here. You hid a killer among us. I got kids, you bastard, and you put them in danger. Why, damn it?”

  With every word, Wiley could hear Long-hair’s tone grow angrier. Louder. The man had guns drawn on him, a hostage, a dead partner, and nothing to lose.

  Wiley
shook his head; there was no way either Long-hair or Cobi were going home today, or ever. This was going to end bloody, he was certain of it. But he was also certain the mayor had told the truth, and hadn’t known about William Johnson. He was even more certain there was nothing David could do to make this end well.

  Cobi said, “This isn’t what I meant! I just did the best I could. I’m not a real mayor, even. This hick town was just the best I could get. I did the best I could.” He repeated those last words a couple times, before pain cut him off as the gunman pressed hard again with his revolver.

  Wiley frowned. Cobi was an asshole, but he was innocent. And he was going to die. Unless… Wiley shook his head to clear the thoughts, but they kept hammering at him anyway. Would Cobi’s blood be on his hands, too? He was the only one who could save an innocent man’s life. It was one thing to kill people who deserved it. Maybe… Maybe he could do something about it, and then talk his way out. It wasn’t like David could run his fingerprints, and Wiley knew the picture the news had used, the same one on the caution warnings from when he was being transported. He looked nothing like that picture, anymore—changing that had been one of the first things he’d done when he escaped, after all.

  Yeah… He could talk his way out of it. Right? And did it even matter? He hadn’t left Christine behind, with those four bandit guys, but only half because he liked her. The other half… Well, his sister had been innocent, and no one had helped her. She could have been saved, if someone had just done something, but they’d only closed their blinds and pretended she hadn’t been dragged screaming into the murder-house.

  All this shot through his thoughts like a bullet, half words and half just feelings, but Wiley knew—he wasn’t going to let an innocent man die when he could stop it. Who was he trying to fool? That was the reason he hadn’t already left. Wasn’t it? That felt like truth.

  There was his truth—he could do something about this.

  Wiley took a deep breath, heartbeat pounding in his ears, and allowed the door to swing silently open. An inch at a time, pistol drawn, he crept forward, toward Long-hair’s back, careful to stay out of view and to make no sound.