EMP STRIKE: EMP APOCALYPSE SURVIVAL THRILLER - Book 1 of 4 in the EMP STRIKE SERIES

by Thunboe, Bo

  “I’ll get ready,” Ed said.

  “I’ll butcher it,” Ed’s mom said. “I grew up butchering stock on our family farm and deer aren’t so different from a cow.”

  Mr. Fleck patted her leg. “Just one of her many talents.” He wheezed, then coughed, bending forward, hands over his face. Mrs. Fleck jumped up and pounded his back until it sounded like he brought up something solid. Mr. Fleck leaned back, face red and sweaty, and wiped his hands on a towel on the arm of the couch.

  While Ed was gone, they talked about Carson’s meeting and his proposed co-op. The Flecks were all-in.

  “Your mom was going to wait for Dan to get back, I think, before deciding.”

  Sean was saved from having to get into that by Ed’s return. He wore green camo head to foot, had a knife in a sheath on his belt, and carried a complicated bow. He handed Sean the bow, then stood still while his mom fussed over him, zipping up his coat and pulling his cap tighter. Ed didn’t protest.

  Sean hefted the bow. It felt lighter than Erin’s even with the rack of arrows attached. He pulled the string back. Once it passed a certain point something in the geometry of the rotating cams made it easy to hold the string in place, just like Ed had said.

  When Mrs. Fleck finished with Ed, they headed out. They cut over the river on top of the dam, but Sean stopped them half-way across. His mom often stood on the downriver side staring at the water shooting out from under the dam. But the other side presented a long view up river where the water spread out and water fowl congregated.

  Sean gestured toward the woods on the east side of the river. “I see deer in there all the time.” His knees felt a little weak and his stomach queasy. He’d never killed anything bigger than a bug.

  Ed looked it over. “We should walk around on the trail and come at them from the north, pushing them ahead of us till they get backed up against the water and the fence along the dam. They’ll come back toward us then, to get around us and away. They’ll be skittish, but not scared. They’ve never been hunted in here.”

  Sean saw nothing wrong with that plan. “You’ve done this before, right?”

  “My dad and I hunted a lot back before….”

  “Is it hard to, you know—kill something like that?”

  Ed pulled his mouth into a hard, tight line, his eyes locked on Sean’s. “You’ll be able to do it. You’re a good shot and you might even be closer to the deer than you were to your target.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “Taking the shot is easier than what comes next.”

  Sean swallowed. They crossed the dam and took the crushed stone trail as it cut north then looped back toward the river. Where the trail straightened Ed put a hand on Sean’s arm. “I’ll go in first. Straight toward the water. When I’m halfway there I’ll cut toward the dam. You walk straight in fifty feet or so, then wait. Set your feet, get ready. If there are deer in there, they’ll be cutting in front of you to avoid me and you can take your shot.”

  “Got it.” Sean took off his gloves and stuffed them in his pocket. He pulled an arrow off the rack and notched it onto the bow, left index finger over the arrow shaft to hold it in place.

  “You need the deer to be broadside to you. Any other angle is a waste of an arrow. Then hit it just behind the front armpit.”

  “Okay.”

  Ed entered the woods, picking his way through the trees and undergrowth. Sean waited a few minutes then started in. The bow kept snagging on the underbrush, so he slowed down. His heart was pounding madly and he was almost gasping for air. He came to a small clearing with a game trail worn right down the center of it. He walked halfway around the rim of the clearing and found a flat place to stand. He set his feet and raised the bow and pulled the arrow back.

  “I can do this.”

  He licked his lips, and gazed beyond the end of the arrow, waiting. Soon his shoulders tired and the tip of the arrow started to waiver and his fingers felt like they were slipping off the bow string. He wouldn’t hit anything if he couldn’t hold on target.

  He lowered the bow. Seconds ticked by and he started to worry about being able to get the bow up in time. He practiced raising the bow and pulling the arrow back until he could do it quickly and without the bow catching on the bottom of his coat.

  Then he lowered the bow and waited.

  Branches cracking down by the river, then a splash.

  That had to be Ed scaring the deer to get them moving. They’d run away from Ed, hit the fence, curl back this way, and Sean would—. A brown shape bobbing up and down, weaving back and forth, coming in and out of sight through the dense forest of tree trunks.

  Sean’s pulse accelerated and his hands shook. He willed himself to calm as he raised the bow.

  39

  The dog charged at Dan, barking madly.

  If that dog gets me, I deserve it. He ran, his exhausted legs protesting the burst of motion, the dog bounding closer. It stopped barking, but kept coming, teeth snapping, eager to get at Dan’s flesh.

  Then a sharp clang of metal, a thud, and a low whimper.

  Dan stopped and looked back. The dog had tried to run past the end of its chain and been stopped short.

  The back door of the house opened. “You catch something, boy?”

  Dan dropped into the tall weeds.

  “I hope you’re not chasing another skunk! Get back here.”

  The dog struggled to its feet then faced Dan, leaning against the chain. So close Dan heard him wheezing. It barked, a hoarse weak sound that made him sound pitiful.

  “What did you do to yourself? Get back here, boy.”

  The dog quieted. It looked at its master, then wagged its tail and loped off, chain dragging behind it. Dan crawled through the weeds to the trail and ducked behind a thicket before he stood up, his legs week and trembly.

  A close call.

  Hopefully his last close call before home.

  40

  Sean raised the bow but the deer was past him before he could pull the string back.

  Shit! A second deer bounded past. They were faster than his reaction time so he needed to anticipate them.

  He faced the point where both had entered the clearing, bow raised, arrow ready to fly.

  Motion.

  A brown blur, weaving through the trees.

  It came fully into view and stopped. Facing Sean. It raised its head, nostrils flaring, eyes bugging out.

  Come on! Show me your side.

  The deer took a step back, a step forward. It lowered its head almost like a bull about to charge. Then its head came up and it snorted. Front hoofs stuttered on the ground and then it turned to retreat and Sean saw the armpit. He aimed and released the bow string.

  A sharp thfft as the arrow left the bow, the string thwacked against his forearm, and a thunk as the broadhead blade hit flesh. The deer flinched, then leapt away, clumsy now, crashing back through the trees and undergrowth. They had him. There was nothing that way but an eight-foot high chain link fence along the length of the dam and the river to the west.

  “I hit one Ed,” Sean yelled. “It’s running back toward the dam.”

  “Keep an eye on it.”

  Sean had already lost sight of it, but heard it thrashing through the brush. He started after it, holding the bow vertically in front of him to ward off branches whipping at his face.

  Branches snapping to his right, then he spotted Ed’s camo-clad form.

  The noise from ahead stopped. Sean slowed. He pushed through a stand of sumac and there it was, bloody froth on its lips, its side coated in a thick red sheen, the arrow’s feathers right up against the fur. The deer’s eyes rolled, then it staggered, going down on a knee.

  Ed burst from the undergrowth.

  The deer flinched upwards, got its feet under it, then took off. Bounding and jumping as if it was uninjured.

  But it was headed straight for the river.

  Sean and Ed followed.

  “We can’t let it get around us
,” Ed yelled.

  They spread out and headed for the water.

  Twenty yards in the ground grew crunchy, then Sean was on ice that kept breaking, plunging his boots through it to land on frozen marsh grasses below. The water level had dropped after the first freeze. He could hear the deer now, breaking its own way across the iced-up marsh, then a splash.

  Lots of splashes.

  Sean hurried forward and found Ed standing ankle deep in water at the edge of the river. Just beyond him the deer lay half submerged. It thrashed once then stilled, holding its head above the water.

  Sean stepped into the water next to Ed. They were both silent, watching the deer. Slowly, its head sank toward the water and the light in its eye dimmed. Water seeped into Sean’s boots, fingers of ice worming between his toes.

  Sean stepped toward the animal but Ed grabbed his arm.

  “Wait.”

  “For wha—”

  The deer thrashed, splashing them, and lunging to its knees, a big blood bubble on its mouth, then it collapsed, flopped in a last effort to stand, and went still.

  They waited a few more minutes, Sean’s boots filling with water.

  “Okay.” Ed led the way. They grabbed the deer by its front legs and hauled it out of the water and onto dry land. It was heavy. A hundred pounds easy. Ed pulled a coarse rope out from under his coat and gestured to a nearby tree. “We need to hang it head down so we can bleed it out. Then we clean out the guts and skin it.”

  They cut the rope into two pieces and tied one end of each above the rear knee. They found two trees about six feet apart with lateral branches at about ten feet and threw the other ends of the rope over these branches and hauled the deer up until its nose swung freely above the frozen leaf clutter, its belly facing them. Ed pulled his knife from its sheath and knelt in front of the deer, then probed its throat with his free hand. He took a deep breath, then stabbed the knife in vertically at the hollow in its throat and yanked it right back out. A dark flow streamed from the wound, splashing on the cold ground, steam rising. The odor was overwhelming and Sean’s legs turned to jelly and he dropped to his knees, his face suddenly hot.

  “You okay?” Ed came over and helped Sean to his feet.

  “The smell surprised me, that’s all.”

  Ed looked at the deer then back to Sean. “It’s going to get a lot worse. How about you go get your mom’s garden wagon for hauling this home. By the time you get back, the worst of it will be done.”

  Sean took a deep breath, his head clearing. The blood had stopped flowing from the hole in the deer’s throat. Ed pulled the deer’s front legs down and a spout of blood gushed as if the legs were a pump handle. Steam rose again and the odor pushed Sean away from the animal.

  “You sure you can—”

  “Getting it hauled up was the only part I needed you for.”

  “Okay. I’ll put the bow on your patio.”

  Ed nodded and kept pumping.

  41

  Mary sat on the toilet seat, her two remaining pills spilled in her hand. The pills were only one part of what kept her mind straight, but the other parts—sleep, food, prayer, and calm—did little without the pills. In a few days, they’d be all she had.

  “Mom?”

  Sean’s voice, excited.

  “I’ll be right down.” She palmed the pills into the bottle, put it on the counter, then went downstairs. Sean stood on the mat by the garage door. He still had his coat on, his cheeks were rosy from the cold, and his pants were wet up to his knees.

  “We got one, Mom! I got it. Ed’s mom sold their guns but they had a hunting bow. I got good shooting Erin’s that one summer so Ed insisted I take the shot.”

  “That’s great, Sean.” Her children’s enthusiasms always excited her. “Is it outside?”

  “I came home to get the garden wagon. It’s too big to carry.”

  “Is Ed with you?”

  “He stayed with it. He’s cleaning the guts out and all that.”

  “Good. Your book didn’t do a great job describing that part of it.”

  “Mrs. Fleck says she’s good at the butchering part. So maybe—"

  “If I need help, I’ll ask her.”

  “I wasn’t sure I could do it—you know, kill something.”

  She put a hand on his shoulder. “We’re all going to have to do things that are new to us, Sean. Some things will be… uncomfortable.”

  Sean nodded.

  “This was your idea and you made it happen. You can be proud of that. I am. I’ll get you some dry socks to put on with some different shoes before you go back with the wagon.”

  “Ed’s wet, too. I can’t get dry while—”

  “We can’t afford to get sick or hurt, Sean. We need to take care of ourselves.”

  His lips pursed. “Okay.” He sat on the bench by the back door while she got him the socks. After he left, she put his wet boots on the hearth to dry. She sat back down and read through the butchering chapter again. It was too short to really explain what she had to do, but a diagram of the deer with the various cuts of meat identified—loin, brisket, etc.—might be all she needed. If all else failed, just hack it apart and make stews. Over half the cuts were recommended as stew meat anyway.

  42

  Dan’s energy was waning but he was almost home. When the Prairie Path crossed Diehl Road, he took the sidewalk west. He was in Weston now, but would still avoid the retail and commercial areas and instead cut through residential neighborhoods—Longwood and Brookdale—to get home. He saw many people gathered together around fires. All heads turned to watch him go by, but no one bothered him.

  As he approached Route 59, two men shouted to him from an open garage door. He ignored them, but one of them ran out into the street and blocked his way. Dan pulled off his right glove, stuffed his hand in his pocket, and gripped the gun.

  The man was fortyish with a big belly and a goatee.

  “Where you coming from?”

  “West.”

  “And you’re headed east. I see that.” The words sounded like a challenge but nothing in the man’s face said aggression. “But really, man. What’s going on out there? Is it really the Russians coming at us?”

  The other man joined his friend, this one tall with a thick red beard and fingerless gloves. He stood behind his friend, making no effort to flank Dan.

  “I think it was an EMP,” Dan said.

  Red Beard slapped Goatee’s back “Told you.”

  “But who did it?”

  “I don’t know,” Dan said.

  “Whoever did it will invade us.” Red Beard’s voice held conviction. “That’s why they did the EMP like that. To leave all the buildings and stuff up.”

  “But they’ll wait until we’re half starved—or full starved—and can’t put up a decent fight.”

  “Have you heard anything from the government,” Dan asked. “On a radio—”

  “Nothing works.”

  Dan frowned. “Good luck.” He stepped around them and continued on, the two men arguing about the Russians behind him. Excited, not scared. Just wait, he thought. Soon enough the ugly things he’d seen out on the road would make their way to Weston. Then the fear would come.

  Dan crossed Route 59, took Brookdale Road across that subdivision, then cut through the Arbors apartment complex. Its front entrance on Raymond Drive was directly opposite the entrance to Forest View Court. It was a neighborhood to itself, pinched between Raymond Drive and the Paget River with tall cedar fences along Raymond that hid it so well most people drove by without even noticing there were houses on that side of the road.

  Dan paused in the shadow of the fake guard house at the entrance to the Arbors and scanned Raymond. There was nothing moving. The entrance to his court was just a gap in the cedar fence crowded with evergreen bushes. He’d be home with Mary and the kids in minutes. He would find them safe and sound because the madness hadn’t made it here.

  Not yet.

  He darted across the
road and down his court, a wave of relief riding up through him.

  He walked in the middle of the street. It was after three and the dropping sun threw a shadow in front of him. He turned south down the long leg of the court and there was his house. Mary’s minivan was in the driveway, crooked. He circled it and found a four-by-four splintered under the front tire. Someone had—

  “Fallon?”

  He spun, still on high alert after his long stressful trip home. It was Ben Carson. He wore a strange green vest.

  “Carson.”

  “We need to talk. Mary said—”

  “Dan!” Mary came around the corner of the house, no coat or hat or gloves—and jumped into his arms. “Oh my God. Oh my God.”

  He held her. She trembled and sobbed. “I was starting to think… never mind.”

  “Let’s go inside.” He set her down and she grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the side of the house. “We use the back door to save heat.”

  He smiled. He knew they wouldn’t waste time.

  “Fallon! We need to talk about the co-op and—”

  “Later, Carson.”

  Dan followed Mary inside. In the laundry room he tried to stop to pull off his boots but she pulled him into the family room and in front of the fireplace. She yanked off his hat and ran her fingers through his short hair, staring into his eyes. Then she kissed him. When she finally pulled away, she said: “How was it out there?”

  “Bad.”

  “But no raping or murdering or pillaging, right? Just people who are worried?”

  “No, Mary. It’s bad.”

  She pushed away from him and plopped onto the couch. He sat down next to her.

  “Where’re the kids?”

  Mary covered her face, then pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them.

  “What is it?”

  “I let Erin stay overnight at the tournament in Elgin. She won her first two matches and was going to be in the—”

  “She’s still in Elgin?” Heat rose up his neck and into his ears.