Inception of Chaos: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Story

by Holden, J. J.

  Rub, rub, rub.

  After an eternity, the tape holding the IV needle in began to fray. Another eternity, and the needle ripped out.

  Sonuvabitch, that hurt.

  He grimaced, and watched as blood spurt from the puncture hole. The needle dangled over the railing, the tube taped to it still. Then, the room began to spin crazily, and the light faded. He was passing out.

  His last thought was that he couldn’t have lost enough blood yet to be dying…

  Pain in his arm pierced the darkness. He forced his eyes open, and found it wasn’t dark at all. Still daylight, though he figured it was the next morning. Had he been out that long? He looked at his arm. Though brown, dried blood covered some of the railing and his shirt sleeve, he’d stopped bleeding while passed out.

  Remarkably, though, his thoughts were no longer swimming through mud. Whatever had been in that IV must have worn off, thank goodness. He took a moment to look around, now that his head was clearer.

  Footsteps over his head grabbed his attention; they walked across the floor above, then the sound of wood scraping wood, and creaking. Someone was up there, sitting down perhaps…

  He looked around again. The basement he was in was really just a root cellar. Stairs at one end went up to a door mounted into the floor, and it was the only way out. No way he could fit through that tiny-ass window up there, even if he could have done it without alerting whoever was upstairs. No, he’d have to go through them to get out.

  But first, he had to get uncuffed. He tried to reach up to the dangling IV needle—wow, that bruise on his arm was absolutely horrid—but the cuffs kept him from reaching. He wiggled a bit and managed to get himself seated upright, though, and found he could reach it with his mouth. He bit down on the tube, near where it had been taped, and pulled…

  The medical tape tore, after a moment. Now all he had to do was get that needle where he needed it, without dropping it. It took a moment, slowly pulling more tube over the railing and into his lap, pressing it against the railing with his shoulder each time he had to readjust his bite, but slowly, he got it all piled into his lap.

  From there, it was easy. His cellmate during the trial had shown him how to pick cuffs, which was remarkably easy on the older style ones that didn’t use the circular key.

  Wouldn’t you know it… That cheap bastard bought the less expensive cuffs. Good.

  His were the older style, and not even hinged, but with the length of chain between cuffs. It afforded him the range of movement he needed. He took his time, thinking through what his cellmate had taught him, and even practiced in a make-shift kind of way, since they hadn’t had access to real cuffs in the cell. It took a few tries, but soon, the lock clicked, and the cuff on the railing slid open. One hand now free to move around, he got his other hand free, then removed the cuff still on his right wrist—and he was free. No more cuffs.

  Next, he slid from the gurney as quietly as he could, taking his time. Inch by inch. Noise was his enemy. Once his feet hit the cement floor, though, he could move faster, and in a minute, he had both cuffs in either back pocket, and the IV stand disassembled. He wielded a segment of it in his hand, a makeshift club. It had good heft, but it would only be useful once or twice before it became too bent to use well. He only needed one use, though.

  Grinning, he crept across the floor to the stairs. These were cement, as well, not wood, so creaking stairs wouldn’t give him away. He tested the doorknob…

  Locked. Damn. He went downstairs and grabbed the IV needle, then headed back to the door. He moved carefully, deliberately, trying to be silent. Click… He smiled again as the knob turned freely, over his head. He pushed the door open a couple inches, just enough to peer through.

  What he saw was a living room, and on the far side, a single man sat in a chair at a table, eating something from a bowl. His back was to the door, as the table had been set up against one wall under a window sill.

  He padded across the floor, testing each step. If he felt the floor flexing, he moved his foot a couple inches, and tried again. In this way, he crossed the floor until he stood behind his guard, some rough-looking townie. Asshole.

  Wiley brought his metal club down at an angle as hard as he could. The thump, as it connected with the back of his guard’s head, made his whole arm tingle, and the metal tube bent crazily, but he knocked the man clean out of his chair.

  The man whimpered and, sluggish, tried to roll over to his back. He failed.

  Wiley stood over him, then sat on his back and slid one arm around his neck. “Go to sleep, asshat.”

  In seconds, the chokehold did its job. Wiley waited five more seconds before releasing him. Experience told him that ten seconds would have put the man to sleep forever, and letting go immediately wouldn’t have given himself enough time. The man would live, but he’d wake up in half an hour, at most, with one hell of a headache.

  Wiley frowned. Why had he spared that jerk? Bah. Christine had worn off on him, it seemed. He snarled, curling his lip back, then got to work searching the comatose guard. No keys, but he had a pistol. Well, now Wiley had a pistol. And a clean shirt. He also found an empty backpack upstairs, and a couple granola bars in the kitchen, plus a water bottle.

  He made his way to the door and peered out through the window beside it. Trees… They were somewhere on the town’s outskirts. That made sense, if someone were trying to hide a prisoner. That would put him on…the northeast part of town, more than likely.

  He stepped outside, looking left and right, and found the nearest house was to his left, a hundred yards away. Yep, northeast. He put the early-morning sun over his right shoulder, and started walking, adjusting the backpack over his shoulder. He’d have to loot some houses along the way, to fill it with more of what he needed for the trip, but he was free, and finally done with this deathtrap town.

  The thought of leaving Chrissy and her family made him miss a step. He stopped, and thought about them with a smile. Then, he let out a sigh. There was little point in dwelling on things he couldn’t change. If he could have stayed to help her, he would have—that was a surprising realization. He liked those people, and that was kind of a new experience for him. But, it had been a nice vacation from real life, nothing more. He could help no one if he was dead from a noose around his neck.

  Homeward bound, at last.

  He had come full circle from that moment when he first met her, walking down a road much like this one, and his thoughts again returned to his people back in Denver, just as they had been then.

  He hummed a happy tune as he headed away from Weldona.

  68

  Saturday, July 11th

  As the sun peeked over the horizon, David glanced at the chaos surrounding him and his partner. At least twenty vehicles, mostly pickups, all laden with people’s personal property that hadn’t fit into their rooms there at the school.

  Fortunately, it had enough rooms, with very few to spare, and a cafeteria. The gym, they would use for excess belongings and for storing food, though no one would be allowed without escort once the food stores had been placed. The residents had voted on that one almost immediately, since those stores consisted of each family’s allotment, basically.

  “Hey, David. Hi, Orien.” A familiar voice.

  David smiled as he turned to find Christine, approaching him as she emerged from a hallway. “What are you doing here? Kind of early.”

  She shrugged, and came to a halt as he did. “We’re expecting the attack at any moment, now. But really, I’m considering moving the fam here, until this blows over. I haven’t told the kids, but I wanted to check it out before deciding.”

  David’s lips flatlined. Tough choice, but she had a family to consider. Nodding, he replied, “Well, the rooms are large, and you’d qualify for a whole room to yourself, with two kids. Bryson would have to bunk in the bachelor room, I’m afraid.”

  “The kids won’t want to come, but from what I’ve seen, it’s a go. They’ll get used to i
t. And they’ll be able to go to their nana’s house during the day. So, can I get the tour?”

  He nodded again. “Sort of. I’m far too busy to give you a guided tour, but you’re welcome to join me while I review our preparations. Gotta make sure it’s all copacetic for the farmers, and no one tries to take advantage of the situation.”

  “No townies can, you mean.”

  He shrugged. She wasn’t wrong. He motioned her to follow, and headed to the school office first. Reaching the office, Christine held the door open for him, and he stepped inside and then turned to hold the door for her in turn, with Orien trailing behind. “Here’s what was the office,” David said. “Now, we’re keeping what little paperwork we required, on file, as well as minutes from the residents’ daily tasking briefs and other meetings. And the town’s administrative supplies. The pens and paper have to go somewhere, but to be honest, I was surprised how much the townies donated to the cause.”

  Along one wall, boxes held reams of paper and piles of pens, boxes of paper clips, ink pads, the works.

  “That’s a lot of stationery,” she said, nodding her head toward the stockpile.

  “The townies couldn’t eat those things, and most had been glad of a place to stick useless supplies they hadn’t been able to bring themselves to throw away, I suspect.”

  “Mm-hm.” She nodded.

  Orien said, “I don’t mean to be a pain—”

  “Then, don’t.”

  “—but we shouldn’t be doing this. We need to leave before that army of bandits shows up. We have orders.”

  “You want to talk about this in front of others? Fine. I’m staying, and you can stay, or go, and it won’t affect my review.” He smiled, though wanly. Reviews were sort of meaningless, these days, even if they got back to Denver in one piece.

  Instead of arguing, though, Orien looked over and gave him an odd, knowing smile.

  David grumbled. What did Orien find so bemusing, anyway? David bit his cheek to keep from snapping at his partner. It wasn’t like they had any official confirmation of new orders, nor even the legality of those orders. His duty to return was a gray area, at best. Wasn’t it? And did it even matter?

  Probably not. He shook his head; he’d likely have stayed regardless, though it was a relief not to have to violate a known-good directive to do the right thing. To follow his real duty, as a law enforcement officer… “After that, we can go.”

  Behind him, another familiar voice said, “Go? You can’t leave.”

  David looked over his shoulder, and spotted Hunter standing in the doorway. He glanced at Christine, cocked his head in surprise, then looked back to the boy. “What are you doing here?”

  Hunter shook his head. “You have to stay.”

  David clenched his jaw. That was the plan anyway, but the kid needed to understand some things. “Hunter, I’m a police officer. I have a duty, but—”

  “No buts. You’re not just a cop. You’re my hero. You’re the whole town’s hero. Haven’t you noticed? They all follow you around, doing what you tell them, because they trust you. You can’t just break that trust. That’s not what heroes do.” Hunter put both hands on his hips, blocking the doorway, like that would somehow stop David from leaving.

  He must have missed the part where David said he was staying…

  “Thanks, Hunter. I’m no hero, though. It’s just doing what has to be done. Remember that.” David looked to Orien.

  His partner nodded in agreement. “Cops have a duty, sonny. If people want to call them heroes, well, that’s not for me to say. But it’s not why any of us do the job.”

  Before Hunter could reply, Cobi came out from what had been the principal’s office, and stopped mid-step. “Oh, you’re here. Good. David, I need a minute. Can you spare it?”

  Ha. Not like he could really refuse the mayor’s request, especially not in front of an impressionable teen after the “duty speech.”

  He said, “Of course. Let’s just step into the office.”

  He followed Cobi in and closed the door behind them. “What can I do for you, sir?”

  Cobi took a deep breath. Oddly, he seemed to be considering his words carefully, for once. Or at least, he was silent for a few seconds.

  David waited politely, counting the lost seconds on his rounds.

  After a moment, Cobi took another deep breath, and let it out slowly. “Look… If I had to pick someone to lead this town, you’re the last one I’d choose. Your loyalty is split, you aren’t one of us, and you’re just a cop. You follow, you don’t lead.”

  After a pause, David said, “Um. Thank you for your honesty, sir. Now, if you don’t mind—”

  Cobi held up one hand. “Wait. So, uh, while you aren’t the one I’d pick to lead this town, you’re the one it has, and the one it needs. I realized it at that standoff, with the way even those two maniacs talked to you. I just didn’t want to admit it to myself. But now, seeing all this—the school idea, and how they all just followed you in it when they rejected my idea along the same lines—I find myself forced to do what I always told them I’d do.”

  Another awkward pause. David felt his eye twitch. Time was wasting… “And what’s that, sir? I really do need to get moving. There’s a lot to do, here.”

  Cobi frowned, and looked down. “I’m resigning as the H-O-A president, and as mayor. I’m handing that job to you, effective—”

  “Sir, I can’t take that job. Someone has to organize the allotments, and a million other things I don’t have time for.”

  Cobi raised his hand again. “Oh, hell. My old man always told me, ‘if you want a job done right, give it to a busy man.’ He was right, and you’ll do fine. This isn’t a request. You can always resign when this is over, and go back to whatever passed for a life for you back in Denver, but you stayed here for a reason. You feel it in your bones. These people need you, and you need them. That’s why you stayed, and it’s why you’re the right choice. Besides…”—Cobi smiled, looking up—“I’m not giving you a choice. Executive order, for the duration of the crisis, however you want to define that. Just say okay, and let’s move on, shall we?”

  David froze in place. Mayor? Him? What the hell just happened?

  Then again, as mayor, he could get things set up the way they needed, a lot faster without Cobi being a bottleneck with his ridiculous insistence on paperwork for everything…

  David finally nodded. “For now.”

  “Yes?”

  “Yeah. But this is temporary, Cobi. Now, can I get back to doing that stuff you agreed I should go be doing?”

  Cobi chuckled, then held out his hand, which David shook. “Okay. Just one last thing. I’m sure you’ve heard, I captured Wiley. As mayor, it’s your job now to figure out what to do with him. Between us, I like the guy. He saved my life, probably. But he’s a problem—and now he is your problem.”

  David inhaled sharply. “Yes…I’d heard that. I have one condition—take me to him, right now.”

  Cobi shrugged. “Yes, sir. I’ll take you there right now.”

  David stood inside the antique house on the northeast edge of town. It was largely empty, save for a table and chair, and a shirtless man hunched over the table, wearing a haphazard gauze bandage on his head.

  Cobi said, “What the hell’s going on?”

  The man jerked in surprise, though David couldn’t fathom how he hadn’t heard them come in. “Mayor… Oh. Hey. Um…”

  “Out with it, man,” David grumbled.

  Orien chuckled, behind him.

  The man scratched his head, then jerked in surprise as his face twisted in pain at the touch. “Damn. You see, what happened was…I mean, it’s like this…”

  Cobi let out an exasperated sigh.

  The man said, “The dude’s escaped. He got loose, somehow, and snuck up on me, whacked me with something hard. Knocked me out cold. I was going to tell you, I just…I’m still pretty wobbly.”

  David approached him and peered at the bandage. �
�You did a crap job, mister. And you likely have a significant concussion. You’ll need the cut irrigated and sutured—it’s still oozing out right now. What were you thinking? Get to the clinic, right damn now. I need you steady enough to shoot a rifle, at a moment’s notice.”

  The man looked at Cobi.

  David barked, “Move it! Hup hup hup, move out. Do it now—move!”

  The man jerked and headed for the door at a half-run, wobbling as he went.

  When he was gone, Orien said, “Well, he’s going to be no good to anyone, in that state. Can’t shoot straight with a major concussion. Did you see his eyes? I think one pupil was bigger.”

  David snarled, “He’s going to the clinic. They’ll treat him. It is what it is. Cobi, show me where you had Wiley chained up like a dog.”

  Cobi shrugged. “Best I could do on short notice. But okay.”

  He led them down to the root cellar, and as David looked around, it was pretty clear what had happened. “He used the IV to pick the locks, and grabbed part of the stand for a weapon. Crafty guy.”

  Cobi, though, looked far from pleased. His complexion was pale, even in the dimmer downstairs light. “You don’t think he’ll come after me, do you?”

  David resisted rolling his eyes. Boy, though, he wanted to. Uncharitable thoughts ran through his head, but all he said was, “No, Wiley is long gone. He is crafty, and he sure wouldn’t stick around here. Not now that his cover is blown. He’s too smart to risk his freedom over petty vengeance, although I couldn’t have blamed him. Why did you catch him? You knew he was dangerous. Look at what he did to me, to get away in the first place.”

  Cobi wasn’t as polite as David, though, and rolled his eyes dramatically. “Yeah, he escaped you. I know the official story. We’ll leave it at that. I suppose, though, that this means I could have just let him go, and he’d have left town without me going through all this trouble.”

  Orien snorted. “Oh, were you inconvenienced by chaining up the guy who saved your life?”