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

by Thunboe, Bo

  “Fallon!”

  Carson, coming fast across the street. Sean climbed out of the hole while Ed kept digging.

  “Yes, Mr. Carson?”

  “That deer you killed belongs to the court. You shouldn’t have killed it. Lots of ways that’s illegal, we don’t need to go into all that. But now that you’ve done it, I’m confiscating it.”

  Sean trembled, then stiffened. His mom and Dan couldn’t fight every battle. “No.”

  “What do you mean, no? I have the authority to—”

  “The deer belongs to me and Ed. If you want some of it, all you need to do is ask.”

  “I could arrest you for killing that deer.”

  Sean took a long step forward, crowding into Carson’s personal space. “If killing the deer was a crime, then taking it from me makes you an accessory after the fact. And trying to coerce me into giving you the deer by threatening a criminal charge is a felony.” Watching Law and Order reruns sometimes came in handy.

  Carson stepped back, frowning, eyes darting around. Then he looked down at Ed in the hole.

  “What are you doing?”

  Ed ignored Carson.

  “Mr. Fleck died,” Sean said.

  Carson’s face went slack.

  “The Flecks joined your co-op so maybe you should help.” Sean held out the shovel.

  “No,” Ed said. “Not him.”

  “I… There’s a law against what you’re doing.” Carson said. “You can’t just bury someone in your yard. I could—”

  “Shut it.” Ed stopped shoveling. “Go home.”

  “I can report—”

  “You should do what he says,” Sean said.

  Carson didn’t move, just looked from one of them to the other. Ed climbed out of the hole and swung his shovel up over his shoulder. Carson opened his mouth, then closed it and walked away.

  When the hole was three feet deep, they encountered thick clay that stuck to their shovels and was so heavy that throwing a shovel-full up and over the edge of the hole took whole-body effort. They started taking turns at it, one man resting. Ed got a step ladder from his garage to help them get in and out of the hole.

  When it was finally six feet deep Ed pulled the ladder out. “That’s it.” He stared into the hole.

  “My mom suggested we call the neighborhood together. Say a few words, I guess. I’ll go tell our moms it’s ready.” Sean stuck his shovel into the giant pile of dirt next to the hole and started to walk away.

  “Sean?” Ed grabbed his arm. “Thanks for helping me.”

  “You know it, Ed.”

  60

  Dan woke quickly, something scratching his face. He swatted at it as his eyes opened. The branch of an evergreen. He lay beneath it, wedged under the dense boughs, face pressed into the dirt, nose flooded with the its earthy scent and the bite of pine. He remembered now. He’d crammed himself under the bush after being chased for blocks by a pack of men carrying bats and machetes. He didn’t know if they’d planned to kill him or just wanted him to stop yelling Erin’s name. He must have fallen asleep while he waited for them to give up looking for him.

  He squirmed out from under the branches into a murky morning. He stretched, groaning from the multitude of bruises and sore muscles he’d accumulated. The morning felt… late. As it did when he slept in the morning after a big courtroom victory. He checked his watch, but he’d forgotten to wind it. He glanced around, but the dense cloud cover hid the sun and muted shadows so thoroughly he had no idea what time it was.

  He walked out into the street. He was in a residential area of older homes, some decrepit, some well maintained. He oriented himself to face west—like a bird he always knew which way was which—and started walking. Shaking the cold off. He saw a few people standing on their porches or huddled over a fire in their front yard. No one spoke to him and he spoke to no one. As the land slowly descended toward the river an apartment complex rose up in the near distance. He recognized it as the one across the street from the house he and Marla had raided looking for Erin. He turned north on that street and found the house, now a smoldering ruin. He stood in front of it, staring, the odor of charred flesh heavy and distinct in the thick foggy air. A sour tornado built in his gut and he let it come up and spewed it in the gutter. When the heaves ended, he ran his tongue around his mouth and spit out as much of the sourness as he could.

  He went around the corner and found the woman on her porch again, or maybe still. “Have you been sitting there since I saw you last night?”

  She eyed him, then resumed rocking. “You look whiter in the daylight.”

  He showed her the photo.

  “This your girl you was looking for?”

  “Yes.”

  “Her name Erin?”

  He nodded.

  “Since you was screaming her name half the night, I’m guessing she wasn’t in the house with them boys.”

  “No ma’am.”

  “But you burned them out anyway.”

  “They burned down Marla’s building—the woman with me last night—with her pregnant wife inside.”

  She stopped rocking. “Her wife, huh? Ain’t this an interesting world what we live in.” She resumed rocking. He saw the glint of steel on her lap and remembered her giant gun. “I heard the police station got its power on. You’s white so you should talk with them.”

  After what he’d done the night before—and with a Glock in his waistband and a revolver in his pocket—the police station sounded like a bad idea. But he would go there if all else failed.

  He found his bike where he’d left it under the casino walk-over. Maybe Erin escaped whatever had happened to her when she lost her backpack, changed her mind about heading home alone, and went back to the hotel. He went west across the river, then north up State Street. This side of the river was mostly apartment and commercial buildings with a smattering of industrial businesses. He saw several bonfires in front of apartment complexes, with bleary eyed people sprawled on furniture they’d brought outside and put around the fire.

  It was several miles to the Holiday Inn and he made it there without confrontation. He slowed as he rolled into the parking lot. It was about a third full, the cars all dusted with snow. As he pedaled down the lane he looked up at the building, hoping to see Erin standing at a window. Sweeping his gaze across the whole façade he saw nothing but the dark glass of tinted windows. She could be looking down at him right now. If she was, she would recognize the hat and no-doubt rush down to meet him.

  He lowered his gaze to the lobby doors and noticed a car jacked up over a thick stand of evergreen bushes, one rear wheel in the air and two of its doors open. It was old with wood paneled sides. About the same vintage as the Honda he’d ridden across Iowa. He cut across a few half-empty lanes and stopped next to the car. The keys were still in the ignition.

  He swept around the end of that row and into the traffic lane in front of the hotel and saw a body in the lane, misshapen and twisted and obviously dead. He rolled up and stopped next to it. Wind-blown snow covered the bearded face. He looked from the body to the car and tension rose up his back. He walked his bike over to the lobby and leaned it against an exterior wall. He pulled off his gloves, stuffed them in his pocket and pulled out the Glock.

  He went inside.

  It was warmer here out of the wind but not by much. He walked slowly forward, still hoping to see Erin run out to meet him, his body tensed up from that anticipation and from the body in the driveway.

  “Is it like that everywhere?”

  Dan spun, dropping into a crouch, gun coming up.

  A woman stood half hidden behind a pillar. She wore a black quilted coat with the hood up.

  Dan cast his gaze around the lobby, but she appeared alone.

  “I saw you coming on your bike and hoped you were someone official, but you don’t look official.”

  Dan stood up and stepped sideways, his view of the woman and the lobby behind her opening up. He dropped back into a cr
ouch, the gun trembling in his hands. “What’s that behind you?”

  “Someone fought over the food in the breakfast room back there. Killed that guy over it.” She crossed her arms. “Is it crazy like that everywhere out there?” The woman’s voice was calm and even and she hadn’t made any move toward him and he could see both her hands.

  “Are you alone?”

  “My husband’s upstairs.”

  Dan stood back up and let the gun drop to his side. “I don’t know about everywhere, but a lot of people are getting… unhinged.”

  “Where did you come from?”

  “Up the Wolf River bike trail from Weston.”

  “We’re going the other way. Just as soon as I can talk my husband into it. He wants to wait until after, but I think we need to go now.”

  “After what?”

  “A cold front is coming overnight. A polar vortex. Temperatures well below zero. Windchills thirty degrees colder than that.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’m dead sure about the vortex. My husband is a weather nut and only ever gets the details wrong—exact temperature or inches of rain or exactly when it’s to happen. He’s always right about the basics of it. A polar vortex is coming, you can bank on that.”

  Dan could not be on the trail when that hit.

  “Where are the stairs?”

  He followed her direction, the light dimming as he left the lobby and dropping to zero inside the stairwell. He pulled out his flashlight and climbed, waving the harsh cone of light ahead of him, his footsteps echoing softly off the concrete walls. He turned off the flashlight as he opened the door into the fourth-floor hallway. It was deserted and quiet.

  He walked softly down the carpeted hall, light back on and aimed at the ceiling, enough reflecting back to clearly read room numbers. He found the room number Mary had given; the door was propped open on the security bar.

  He pushed it open. “Erin?” He stepped inside, heart hammering.

  It was empty.

  A note on the desk was addressed to him.

  Dan. I’m going down to the double room with Coach and the other girls. 424-426.

  He’d passed those rooms on the way here.

  He pocketed the note, went back into the hall, and retraced his steps. The door to 426 was also propped open on the security bar.

  Inside he found another empty room, beds unmade, clothes tossed around and suitcases left open. He checked the adjoining room and it was the same. He found a note on the desk.

  To Whoever might come looking for us. This is Coach Tom Hudson of the Weston Martial Arts team. We left for home on Sunday morning at dawn. I have with me Cammie, Melinda, Lisa and Sara. We are walking home along the Wolf River Trail to the Prairie Path. Another team member—Erin—left here alone on Saturday night.

  Erin had not returned to the hotel.

  Coach and the other girls were on their way home. They would have walked through Elgin while Dan lay sleeping under the bushes.

  Dan folded the paper and stuck it in the front pocket of his jeans with Erin’s note.

  He needed to find her and get home.

  Before the polar vortex arrived.

  61

  Mary invited everyone left on the court to a graveside service for Mr. Fleck. They all came—Carson, the four Snicks and their teenage holiday guest, the Millers, the Vargas family, and the Simpsons. Judy stood next to Mary, her hand on Mary’s forearm.

  Sean and Ed brought Mr. Fleck outside wrapped in a beautiful quilt. Judy whispered, “I made that quilt. It was Craig’s favorite.”

  They’d wrapped the quilt so tightly around Mr. Fleck that he almost looked like an mummy, Mary thought. Serene. Regal, even.

  Snick helped Ed lower the body to Sean who laid it out in the bottom of the grave. Sean climbed out with Ed’s help and they all stood clustered together, silent, looking down at the body. He’d been lucky, Mary thought. He died with his family intact around him and his mind clear.

  Judy released Mary’s arm and stepped forward. “Thank you all for coming out here in this cold to help Ed and I lay Craig to rest. Craig loved living here on this court with all of you. One of the last things he said to me, when he had no breath to waste on small talk, was that he was glad Ed and I have our neighbors—you great neighbors—to face this new world together.”

  She bowed her head with her hands folded and recited the lord’s prayer, slowly and with tender depth. Mary and Beth Simpson joined in. When she finished, Judy accepted condolences from neighbors, who then drifted off as Ed and Sean filled in the grave. Mary stood with Judy, arms linked, as they watched the boys work together. When they finished, they patted the mound firm and laid the sod back over it.

  How will we all come to see that mound over time, Mary wondered. Will we grow so used to it that we stop noticing it? Her knees trembled and the tingle ran up her spine and crackled into her brain.

  A second mound pops up next to the first, the grass covering it winter-brown and dormant, then a third mound pushing through snow, then a row of mounds under a spring downpour. Some have small wood crosses engraved with lettering, names she can’t decipher. Then the letters swell and the names flash in bold neon colors. The names scroll, friends and neighbors and acquaintances. She sees her own name, but not Erin’s. The images become a blurry kaleidoscope and—

  “Mary?”

  The images blinked out, and her vision resolved into Judy standing in front of her, both hands on Mary’s shoulders.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes.” Mary’s heart thundered against her ribs. “Just a little—”

  “Mom! It’s Coach Hudson!” Sean pointed. Coach Hudson walked down the middle of the street with a line of girls strung behind him.

  “Erin!” Mary rushed toward him. “Erin! Erin! Erin!” The girls came into view, wrapped tight in coats and hats and scarfs, but she could still recognize each of them. Melinda, Cammie, Lisa, and… Sara.

  She stopped, hand over her mouth.

  “Hello, Mary.” Coach Hudson stopped. “I guess… Erin isn’t here with you?”

  “She was with you!”

  “Yes, but… Can we go inside, Mary?”

  Someone grabbed her arm. “I’m here,” Judy said. Sean grabbed her other elbow and they walked her back inside the house.

  The fire had died down. Sean stoked it while Coach Hudson settled the girls on the couch. Three of them wouldn’t look at her, but Cammie offered a sad smile.

  When the girls were settled, Coach led her into the living room. Judy followed along. Behind them, Sean was offering the girls something to eat and drink.

  “Tell me.”

  Coach Hudson guided her to the couch and sat her down, perching on the coffee table, holding her hands.

  “Erin left the hotel last night to walk home along the bike trail and—”

  “Why’d you let her go off on her own?”

  “I didn’t.” He leaned back and took a deep breath. “I told her we were going to wait a few days to see if things didn’t resolve themselves. She didn’t agree and just went.”

  Mary bit her lip. That’s Erin putting family first exactly as I taught her.

  “This morning we—me and the girls—decided to follow Erin’s plan. We never ran into her on the way so....”

  “Did you see Dan?”

  “No. I thought—wasn’t he out of town?”

  Mary sprang up from the couch and paced the living room. “He got home early and went up there for her on his bike. He left last night and was going to take that same trail.”

  “We should have—”

  “Run into each other,” Mary finished for him. Her hands shook so bad she clamped them under her armpits. Something bad had happened to Erin. Or Dan. Or to both of them. She glanced toward the family room where Sean was handing out water bottles. Was it just the two of them now? “Dan must still be looking for her.”

  “I guess so,” Coach said.

  “Was it bad up there?”
<
br />   “We saw people out—and lots of evidence of looting when the trail went through towns—but it must be happening at night.”

  When Erin was out by herself.

  Coach Hudson stood up. “I need to get the girls home.”

  The girls. None of them was half as tough as Erin. But they’d traveled together. And made it home. Together.

  Mary stayed in the living room as they left, her back to them, Judy’s arm around her shoulder. After they were gone, Judy walked her over to the fire. “I’ve got you.” Judy eased her onto the couch, wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, and pressed a hand to her cheek. “We’ll get through this, Mary. Women are tougher than men.”

  Together, they were. “I want you and Ed to move in with us.”

  “We’d like that, Mary. Very much.”

  62

  Dan parked his bike and looked up at the police station. It was set back from the street behind a brick courtyard and had a tall front of glass and stone. The interior lights were on and the deep throbbing hum of a diesel-powered generator echoed off the surrounding buildings from somewhere not far away. Inside looked like a madhouse, people yelling and pushing and waving their arms. Dan ran up the wide front staircase, but stopped at the top. He had shot a man, but there’d been no crime scene tape around the building Marla burned down so what they’d done was, so far, undiscovered. If he was wrong about that, the cops would handcuff him and he’d never get back home.

  Whatever it takes. That’s what he’d promised Mary.

  He stepped into the chaos beyond the doors. Every person in the press of humanity inside was shouting for attention. He stood against a wall and watched, blinking in the harsh brightness of the overhead lights. Is this the last time I’ll stand in artificial light? A uniformed cop waded through the screaming masses, repeating himself over-and-over. “If you’re here to report a property crime, go home. If you’re here to report a crime against a person, talk to the sergeant.”