25 Bombs Fell: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Series, 25BF Season 1

by A. K. Meek

  For the next fifteen minutes, Kurt seemed to recover enough to quiz them on what they had seen since America fell. Once he found out that up until a few days ago they had spent the time in a fallout shelter, he lost interest in the friendly interrogation.

  A person came crashing through the shrubs and Earl intercepted them, just beyond the lamplight.

  “Is that the medicine?” Will said.

  Earl came forth with a small basket, a picnic basket. Just beyond the full reach of light, a female figure could be seen.

  “Better yet,” Kurt said, “I thought maybe we could have a quick bite, as a peace offering, or for pity’s sake.” He smiled at Will.

  Earl sat the basket by Kurt and pulled out items covered in towels. Once he unwrapped them, the beautiful scent of fried eggs carried through the air. The aroma of biscuits and jam joined the eggs. Nate’s stomach flipped and a long groan escaped his mouth before he realized he had made the sound.

  The six sat around the flickering hurricane lantern, eating breakfast. It tasted better than any meal he had eaten in his thirty-eighty years of life.

  Bartel had eggs, bread, safety. They were able to maintain security when this whole world went to something bad. But Haven, the little town that he had diverted to on that sunny morning so long ago, had descended into a world so different. Who knew what had happened in Atlanta, his hometown, with his job, his friends, his family? They were probably gone. Just like Haven.

  Kurt took the opportunity to fill them in on all the news that had passed by Bartel, which wasn’t much. He frequently stopped short of divulging any information about his town or the population beyond what the three had already seen. He told of what passersby mentioned and heard, and even what Bartel residents speculated about the end, but not much more.

  Despite the good food and shallow laughter, the unnerving sensation that many rifle barrels were still trained on them filled Nate’s mind.

  A teenager burst from the trees carrying a lantern, panting. “Here, Kurt, here it is.” He took the box from the boy and pulled out a small vial and held it close to his eyes. He put it back in the box and closed it, then handed it to Will. “The insulin, here,” he said.

  “Thanks,” Will said, “for the medicine and food. We haven’t had good cooking for a while. We need to get back to the others.” They stood and gathered their gear. “If we had met under other circumstances, we could’ve probably hung out and had a beer or two.”

  “Yes, but I prefer tea,” Kurt said, also standing. “If you see others, tell them Bartel is off-limits. We’re closed. Best of luck to you and your group. Oh, yeah, I almost forgot, one more present.” From his rear pocket he pulled a small black Maglite and pitched it to Will. “It’s got a red filter for night and the batteries are good. Sorry I can’t give you any more. Maybe you can find more batteries along your way.”

  The six shook hands and separated. Kurt’s lantern weaved between the trees, drifting away from them until it completely faded from view, just as the flare had an hour before. But Nate had the distinct feeling that many more stayed hidden in the trees, watching them.

  “What do we do now?” Henry said. He hadn’t spoken much since finding out about his uncle.

  “We go take the insulin to Yvonne,” Will said.

  They headed back the way they had come, through the trees overgrown with Devil’s Rope, walking alongside the highway that led from Haven to Bartel.

  The three arrived back at the camp just as clouds to the east lit with the morning sun. Stagnant, humid air covered leaves and grass with dew.

  Jacob, one of the young, strong men in the group, jumped up from the ground where he had been leaning against a tree. He fumbled with his rifle, trying to work his arm free from where it had tangled in the carrying sling.

  “Hey, Jacob,” Will said as they exited the shrubs, arms slightly raised. “It’s us. Don’t shoot.”

  Jacob stopped fighting with the strap. He looked around like he had been scanning the woods, keeping the group safe, all night. “I was taking a break for a few minutes. I’ve been on shift for hours. Nothing much going on.” He smiled weakly, apologetically.

  Will nodded, smiling back like he didn’t believe him, but didn’t really care.

  “So what’re you guys doing up already?” Jacob said. “I didn’t see you leave.”

  “We need to have a meeting,” Will said. “Let’s get everyone up.”

  They all sat in the dried pond fanning themselves, swatting mosquitoes, fussing about the heat that hadn’t let up through the night. Nate imagined they were in one giant, galactic pressure cooker. A couple others had thought something similar and voiced it several times already. The group could always find something to gripe about, and many would never let an opportunity pass to make it known.

  Yvonne had received an injection of insulin and appeared to immediately respond. She rested on a pallet as her children tended to her, but she complained about not being able to help around the camp.

  The meeting had begun with Will getting straight to the point and telling the rest what the men at Bartel had told him.

  “But you said we’d be safe at Bartel,” Feleysa said, throwing her arms in the air. Her bangles clanged against each other. Nate cringed at the metal echo that could probably be heard a mile away, as he remembered what Squeaky—Kurt—had told them about the marauders. “You said that’s where we were going.” Four others chimed in their agreement.

  “Listen,” Will said, brushing his hair back. His, long, unkempt hair and gray-streaked beard made him appear like a biker. “We were stopped. They will not allow us to enter. They’re protecting themselves. I can’t say it any clearer than that.”

  Ed, a middle-aged white man who typically said little, spoke up. “Well, what about us?”

  “This is ridiculous,” Bruce said. “We should go there ourselves, demand they let us in.” He stood away from the crowd and clutched his rifle, ready to leave the group on his own.

  “No, hold on,” Will said. “We cannot go back. They’ll stop you. Worse, they’ll shoot you. But,” he said, after staring at the ground for several seconds, “we did hear about a refuge.”

  Nate stopped fiddling with his backpack and watched Will with a new curiosity, wondering how this would play out.

  Feleysa put her hands on her hips and huffed. “A refuge? Why didn’t you say so before?”

  “I didn’t have a chance to. They told us of safety along the shores, in the Florida Panhandle.”

  “Safety? What can be safe nowadays?” Enoch said. Nate never looked at him directly. His left eye wandered, and Nate tended to follow that rather than focusing on what he was saying. But when Nate had interviewed him, he knew right away that Enoch was smarter than he let on.

  “I’m not sure,” Will said. “Nobody is sure of anything, but at least it’s something we can shoot for. Does anyone else have any better ideas?”

  “Well, I know I’m new here,” Jamie chimed in, chewing on a piece of straw, “but I say we go south. The highway will take us there. It sounds fun.”

  No one offered up any alternatives and Will didn’t take much time to wait for one. “We can go through with a vote or we can just get this ball rolling. I figure we’re about 250 miles from the coast. It will be quite a journey.”

  “I say we go,” Nate said. Charles also agreed.

  Slowly, others nodded in agreement, and within minutes the group had gathered the last of their possessions, preparing to leave for the fleeting promise of safety in a world that had changed overnight.

  02.05

  THE PLINK OF METAL

  The group had packed up and traveled to where Highway 127 would split and lead off in the opposite direction than they had headed the day before, so that they moved away from Bartel, with Will leading the group.

  Three soldiers with rifles marched alongside him. Jamie had taken a spot to Will’s right. Nate fell a little behind, his backpack wobbling.

  “...and then there w
as this one time that two old men...” For the past two hours Jamie rolled from one story to the next, his eyes continually darting about, like he was looking for something.

  He was a nervous person, Nate figured, judging by his endless prattle and his inability to sit still or look anyone in the eye. His head wandered, much like it did now, and his hands were always moving, always searching.

  Jamie obsessively clutched at his tattered khaki pants pocket as he walked and talked. Nate inched close to his right side, just a pace or two behind him. He leaned forward enough to see a piece of brown peek from his pocket. He sped up to get a better look at the object.

  Tala, coming from behind, stumbled and grabbed Nate’s backpack, almost knocking him off his own unsteady feet.

  “Oh, sorry,” she said as she fought to keep herself upright and to keep Nate from tipping backward.

  “It’s okay,” he said.

  “I gotta tell Will to stop.” She pointed back to the rest that followed. “Yvonne’s having a hard time keeping up. Several of them are. They’re tired and falling back.”

  “I think he said we’re going to stop soon, once we make some distance.”

  “Yeah, but...” She stopped, looking forward. She shielded her eyes from the sky with her hand. “Did you see that?”

  “No. What?”

  “I thought I saw something.” She stood on her tiptoes, adding to her six-foot height, and pointed forward, the direction the group was headed on the highway. “Yeah, I did. Hey, guys,” she called out, “there’s someone up there, hiding behind that red truck. The one on its side.”

  Will stopped. The soldiers and Jamie did the same. “Really? You’re sure of that?” Will said.

  Jamie laughed and smiled, taking a step away from Will. “Hiding?” He looked forward and squinted. “I don’t see anything. Maybe you need to take a break, maybe you saw a dog. I just came from Bartel. I didn’t see anyone.”

  Will turned to him, his face questioning. “I thought you said you were going to Bartel, not coming from it.”

  “What? I meant, I said I wanted to go to Bartel.” He took a couple more steps away from Will, clutching his pocket.

  “There’s more over there,” Tala said. “Several people.”

  “Wait, what’s going—” Before Will could say anymore, Jamie took off in a mad dash, headed for the overturned red truck.

  A gunshot cracked the sky.

  An object whizzed by overhead. Deep-down self-preservation kicked in and Nate dropped to the broken asphalt, but the momentum of the heavy backpack flipped him onto his back.

  “Everybody down,” Will yelled as he drew his 9mm. “We’re being shot at.”

  The air erupted in gunfire from the red truck.

  Whizzes and zings filled the air. Bullets plinked into the burned-out jeep between the twenty-five and the red truck. Clods of dirt shot in the air as ricochets bit into soft earth.

  “Martin,” Will yelled, “get the others back to safety. Tell the other soldiers to come up front.”

  Martin was flat on his stomach, rifle pointed forward, next to Will. He rose to his knees and looked around, then jumped up and ran back to the main group. Nate had never seen him move that fast. He clenched his eyelids to drop the random thought as he struggled to roll over.

  His heart raced the same way that it had when they were bombed and when he had made his way to the shelter. He had never been so scared before that. But even then, the bombs were impersonal. Someone somewhere, far away, indiscriminately dropping bombs. But now, people aimed at him and were trying to hit him, to kill him. It was more personal, more frightening.

  His arms shook as he fumbled to unlatch the backpack straps that had cinched tight when he fell to the ground. They squeezed his arm and he felt like a turtle flipped over, stuck on its shell.

  Colton had already taken a position near one end of the jeep. He hunched over, his M-16 resting on the bumper. Every few seconds he rattled off a shot.

  Bruce and Ed were prostrate on the ground, pistol and rifles pointed forward.

  “How many are there?” Will said.

  Colton said, “Can’t tell. Plenty enough to keep us pinned.” He fired two more shots.

  Ed locked and loaded his M-16 and pressed the trigger. Automatic fire rattled from his rifle and his barrel recoiled upward. He fought to control it.

  “Cease fire, Ed,” Colton yelled. “Take it off auto. You’ll blow through the ammo and not hit anything, except maybe us.”

  Ed searched his rifle for the safety selector switch as his breath came out in large chunks. “I can’t do this,” he said as his voice broke. “I can’t.” He hopped to his feet and scrambled away from the firefight.

  “Ed,” Will yelled. “Get back here!”

  Bruce’s eyes followed Ed running away, then he stood, hunched over. “I’ll go get some help,” he said as he dashed off after Ed.

  “No, wait!” Will shook his head as he watched Bruce run away. “Colt, we need to do something,” he yelled as he fired his 9mm. “Do you think you can flank them?”

  Colton glanced left and right. “Maybe. Those thick pines to the left. I bet I could get close enough to rattle them pretty good.”

  Nate tried to stand as well so he could follow Bruce and Ed, back to the rest of the group where it was safe, away from the bullets. He lifted himself from the ground, but the backpack weighed heavily on him and he couldn’t lift more than a few inches. His hands continued searching for the straps. One had wrapped around an exposed, hooked piece of rebar protruding from the asphalt. The strap had twisted in a seemingly impossible way. He yanked on the strap but couldn’t unlatch himself, and continued fighting to free himself from the snare.

  Another bullet zinged as it ricocheted off asphalt too close, startling him so that he froze. He swore he felt the wind off the bullet.

  Colton turned and scurried away from the fight, keeping the jeep between himself and the attackers as he ran toward the rest of the group, yards away.

  Will fired a shot from his 9mm, then gave Nate a tense smile. “Well, it’s just you and me, and you have no weapon.”

  Nate didn’t smile back, but continued to wrestle with the backpack to loosen it, so he could also run away. A bullet deflated a jeep tire, reinforcing his desire to run. He rocked back and forth, fighting. In a flash he thought of the bayonet he had stashed in his cargo pocket. Now if only he could reach it. He twisted his body, feeling for the pocket.

  Henry and Martin came running up from behind, hopping from car to car, sprinting to the jeep. They found defensive positions around the jeep and started returning fire.

  Nate couldn’t find the bayonet. Another puff of dust exploded near his head, and he closed his eyes and covered his ears. Gunpowder trailed in the air.

  The M-16s had a distinctive, almost toy-like sound as they fired. Colton said they also handled—and recoiled—like a toy.

  Another bullet struck metal, reminding him that these were not toys.

  In the distance gunfire exploded from a different direction.

  “Wait,” Will said. “Look, they’re turning. Scattering. I think Colt was able to flank them. We’ve got them in a crossfire. Come on.” Will leapt to his feet and ran toward the red van, Henry and Martin following after him, all firing.

  Now that the gunfight had moved away into the distance, Nate stilled his trembling hands enough to find his bayonet and cut the strap that had him pinned to the bent pole. He jumped to his feet and peeled the jacket from his sweaty back as his stomach convulsed. He fought to not throw up.

  Ten minutes later, Will and the five soldiers returned, all laughing in nervous self-congratulation, victorious in routing the ambush.

  At least an hour had passed until the twenty-five had calmed, the screaming and crying finally subsiding to manageable levels. Nate’s pulse still raced. The warm sensation that had flooded over him, the same fearful sensation he had felt too many times in the past weeks, slowly dwindled.

  Of course
, this whole end-of-the-world thing was still pretty new to him.

  He took another long drink from his canteen held with shaky hands, ignoring the discussion of water rationing that they’d had before leaving the Ark.

  Under a large and wide pecan tree on the shoulder of the highway, Will stood with the twenty-five gathered around him. “I don’t have to tell you the roads are dangerous. This new world is dangerous. I think we need to get off the roads, like we did last night.”

  “Get off the roads,” Feleysa said. “What do you mean? The roads are difficult enough for us to walk on. Now you want us to walk on the dirt, through the grass. These shoes can’t do that.” She lifted one stiletto-heeled shoe. “We’re flat worn out.”

  Will held up his hands. He did that too much when talking to her. “Please, let me finish. If we want to survive, we need to stay hidden. If we don’t, then nothing else matters. We have to think about what’s important.”

  “It’s not shoes,” Colton said, prying pebbles from the dirt and pitching them in a dented paint bucket.

  “Who were those people?” a woman said. It sounded like Amber, but Nate didn’t care to lift his head to see who it was.

  Will also appeared to ignore her. “We need to get off the road. There are plenty of woods that run along the highway. If we use that for cover, then we can stay out of sight. Out of sight, out of mind.”

  A couple people clapped and nodded. Others shook their heads.

  “Who knows what Jamie and his friends were up to?” Will said. “He knows too much about us. They may be back, maybe more of them. We need to get moving, continue moving. We’ll be okay once we get to the Panhandle.”