The Ophidian Horde: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survivor Thriller

by Ryan Schow

  He was the easier of the two targets.

  She steadied her breathing, set the crosshairs on the top portion of the white kid’s crown, then exhaled and squeezed the trigger, exactly as Jagger had taught her in their many years of shooting at the range together.

  The rifle’s report was a brilliant crack in the night. A fine mist of red confirmed the kill.

  She chambered the next round and found the Asian scrub in her scope. He dropped a box of whatever he was carrying, then dove behind a heap of debris from the bombed-out Copley house across the street.

  Lenna chambered the next round and waited; the kid waited.

  Together they burned away the minutes until she saw him poking his head out, looking around. He had no idea where the shot had come from.

  “Is the coast clear?” she whispered aloud, anticipating the shot. “No, you scumbag, it’s not.”

  When she had the shot, she took it and put a round right through his temple. The boy’s head bucked sideways and he went down hard.

  Lenna packed up the rifle before she let herself think about what she’d just done. She stood to go check on the boys when the car bomb exploded, rocking the entire house. Moments later, the second floor collapsed into the first floor and the roof dropped on all of them, burying her and her boys in debris.

  14

  Indigo woke up not sure what time it was. Atlanta was sleeping in the bed next to her. It was her parent’s bed, rather her father’s bed. He left the morning of the attack, called in the evening, but then was cut off as the sounds of war and hell opened up behind him.

  She cried more times than not, prayed more than she’d ever prayed before, even took to reading the Bible because someone once said, “Crisis makes converts of us all.”

  Indigo was no exception. She did, however, find salvation in the word. Everyday now she asked God for safe passage, and every night she asked that He forgive her of her trespasses. The thing about being her was, she saw the darkness that overtook others. In man’s quest for power and sex, she was a gigantic target. She would not be a victim.

  Not again.

  That was a conscious decision she made every day, one that kept her senses sharp, her eyes roving and her weapons at the ready.

  Still, that soft part of her—that tender spot deep inside her heart where her love for her father was greatest—felt raw every single morning he didn’t come home.

  She found a picture of him and put it up. It was only half a picture though. The other half was her mother. She’d folded her mother’s face and body under so Indigo didn’t have to look at her. When she left them for a rich guy with a nice car and promises of a better life, she lost her standing as a mother and quickly became a sad, sad cliché.

  The silver framed picture sat on the nightstand. Where her mother should have been was the cardboard backing.

  “He’s handsome,” a tired voice said behind her.

  “Yeah, he was,” she said. Turning over in bed, seeing this skinny little blonde haired girl in bed beside her, she didn’t feel so alone. “I haven’t seen him since all this began.”

  “Do you think he’s dead?”

  She thought about it for a moment. The very nature of the question cut to the core of her, made everything inside ache. Her eyes misted over, but she refused to cry. There was no room for sorrow in this sick, hellish world.

  “I do.”

  “He might be alive,” Atlanta said, small measures of hope in her voice, sitting on top of a mountain of grief.

  Wiping her eyes, she said, “Even if he is, which I doubt, he was in San Diego at the time, so I’m pretty sure I’ll never see him again.”

  “Do you miss her?” Indigo asked. “Your sister?”

  Atlanta laid her head back down on the pillow, rolled over. She was wearing a loose white t-shirt and her back was a rack of bones. Indigo could count the vertebrae, which caused her to worry that the girl wasn’t eating enough.

  If she was anything like Indigo, she wasn’t eating at all. With what happened to Atlanta’s sister, with what happened to all of them, there was no way any of them were going to be starting the day, or even ending it, with a robust appetite.

  “I need you to do something for me,” Indigo said to Atlanta.

  Right then she could see the slight jump in the girl’s body, how she was quietly crying to herself. Indigo scooted closer, spooned the girl from behind. Atlanta’s hand found her forearm, her fingers curling around it as she wept.

  “I’m so sorry, Atlanta.”

  After awhile, they both managed to fall back to sleep, waking up around noon. Indigo got out of bed, dressed in all black, then went around to the other side of the bed where Atlanta was awake, but in the same position Indigo had left her in.

  Indigo brushed her hair from her eyes, then said, “I need you to protect the house while I’m gone.”

  “Where are you going?” Atlanta asked.

  “Out.”

  “When will you be back?”

  “Not sure. I guess it depends on what I find. Or who I find.”

  In truth, Indigo was a restless mess. She wasn’t sleeping well and it was taking its toll. All the killing, all this terrible fear that infected her, and now this new family living across the way from her…it was all one giant burden.

  And Rex.

  Freaking Rex. She shook her head, let out her breath and frowned. Then again, he was kind of funny, and pretty cute. Maybe he wasn’t so bad. Had she been too hard on him? Perhaps. Not that it mattered. He looked like he could take it.

  “I’m going to get you a water and some crackers,” she said.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “I know, sweetheart, but we have to keep our strength. I’m going to get you a banana, too. Or would you prefer an apple?”

  “Apple.”

  She fetched the girl breakfast, or lunch depending on what time it really was, then she gathered up her guns, her bow and a full quiver of arrows. In the garage, she got in the car and prayed it would start. She stuck the key in the ignition, waited, then turned it. The big motor cranked over, giving her reason to smile.

  “Rock solid, even in the apocalypse,” she mumbled as she got out of the Olds and opened the garage door.

  Pulling out, she saw Rex standing in the back yard, his back to her, his legs spread. He was dressed for his afternoon piss, apparently.

  He turned and saw her, shook a few times then zipped up. She went through all the things she was going to say to him to smooth over this awkward moment, but nothing came to mind. She thought of turning right instead of left so she didn’t have to see him. She turned left anyway.

  She waved as she passed; he dipped his head without a smile.

  “Wow,” she said. For whatever reason, she stopped the car. He looked back at the house, then at her. She raised her eyebrows, made a face.

  Walking over, he opened the car door, knelt beside it and said, “Who’s car is this?”

  “Mine.”

  “Looks like it’s EMP proof,” he said without an ounce of emotion. “What year?”

  “1970 Oldsmobile Cutlass,” she said. “You want to come with me?”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Here and there, everywhere. I just want to survey the neighborhood. See if I can maybe snag some things for you guys. Or at least find someplace that hasn’t been picked over.”

  “Let me get my gun,” he said.

  “A bit of advice?” she said. He was starting to stand up, but he knelt back down and looked her in the eyes.

  “Sure.”

  “Next time you water your lawn, bring a weapon. This neighborhood isn’t any safer than the rest, and as you can see, bad things have happened here.”

  “Noted,” he said, his face flush.

  He went inside, returning a few minutes later with his pistol. He got inside the car, slowly, gingerly, then shut the door and buckled up.

  “Arm hurt?” she said, dropping it in gear.

  “It�
�s alright.”

  “You playing tough right now?” she teased.

  He looked at her and a grin finally broke over his face. “Totally.”

  “Well it’s working,” she said, letting her foot off the brake. “I just might like you already.”

  Not taking his eyes off her, he said, “This is an interesting turn of events.”

  “Let’s not put the cart before the horse,” she replied. “There’s a lot of bad stuff out there, and plenty of bad people to go around. You can’t be puppy-dogging me while we’re out there or you’ll get us both killed.”

  “Told you before, I’m a fighter not a lover.”

  Laughing, she said, “We’ll see.”

  The streets were busy with people. Now that the drones were down and people could no longer nest in their homes with their running water and their refrigerators and their Netflix, everyone seemed to have headed outside.

  Packs of them stood around talking, breaking conversation only to watch the coppery gold muscle car with the flat black top rumble by.

  They navigated through the cemetery of torched and abandoned cars. She’s made note of them mentally—where they were—for when she needed gas next.

  She’s not ready yet.

  “Good God,” Rex said.

  She saw a pack of women and children getting hassled by two men. One of the women was shielding the children, the other was taking a beating. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Indigo snarled as she rolled down her window. The Olds coasted to a stop.

  “What are you doing?” Rex asked.

  She pulled out her pistol right about the time one of the deviants was letting the other know they had company.

  Indigo squeezed the trigger and the guy hassling the woman dropped dead. The other ran. She tracked him with her pistol, fired twice and he went down, too, both bullets lodged into his back.

  She put the gun away, let off the gas and continued on without saying a word. Rex just sat there staring at her, his jaw hanging open in disbelief.

  “You leave that mouth of yours open too long,” she said, “and you’re going to start drawing flies.”

  He shut his mouth, said nothing.

  She turned on the radio. Guns ‘n Roses began to play.

  “If I play Welcome to the Jungle, will you think more or less of me?” she asked.

  Not looking at her, he said, “More, of course.”

  She rewound the cassette to the first track, hit PLAY, then let the music seep into her. She glanced over at him, his looks not lost on her.

  “You’re pretty good looking,” she said.

  “So I’m told,” he grumbled.

  “Did that turn you off?” she asked, casual. “Me just killing those men?”

  “Kind of. I don’t know.”

  “That’s all you have to say on the matter then?”

  “Good shooting?” he mumbled, just barely over the music.

  “I thought so.”

  “What the hell happened to you?” he asked again.

  “Told you, bad things. I mean, for heaven’s sake, did you see my car? Before all this went down, this baby was pristine.”

  “So you’re upset about your car?” he asked, looking outside the Olds as they drove by a pile of burning bodies.

  “Among other things, yes.”

  He turned down the volume on the music, then said, “What else?”

  “I can’t use the internet. Can’t flush the toilet or take a shower or brush my teeth with the faucet left running.”

  “There must be more,” he pushed.

  “Of course there is,” she said. And then she said nothing. But no…that wasn’t true. She finally looked at him and said, “Your little thing, this charm you exude, I’m impervious.”

  “You made that clear,” he said, killing the line of questioning. “Besides, I don’t want you getting the wrong idea about me. I’m into…bigger girls…and you’re a little on the not-big side.”

  “If you’re a chubby chaser, in these times, man you’re screwed. And not literally. In fact, it’s the complete opposite.” .

  She started laughing. He didn’t join her. She turned the music up, he turned it back down the said, “I get it. When everyone’s starving, guys who like healthy girls aren’t going to have much to choose from.”

  “You’re not really into bigger girls, are you?”

  “You’re kind of a smart ass,” he said. “But not in the cute, ironic way.”

  “I get that.”

  Just then, something hit the windshield, causing Indigo to yank the wheel left and tap the brakes.

  “It’s just a shoe,” Rex said.

  She slowed to a stop and both of them looked out Rex’s window where a trio of kids were looking at them and laughing. Two boys and a young girl. Not clean, or cute. Indigo pulled out her gun and pointed it at them and all three squealed then turned and ran like their lives depended on it. On the tape player, It’s so easy finished playing and Nightrain started to play.

  Rex whipped around and saw Indigo’s gun stretched out and said, “Good Lord, kid! Are you completely mental?”

  “I wasn’t going to shoot,” she said, holstering the weapon. She turned the music up.

  He turned it back down.

  “You’d be a complete psycho if you did,” he grumbled.

  “Even though your charm doesn’t work on me, your looks are kind of working. But let’s not talk about that yet because you could be a total scumbag for all I know.”

  “I am,” he said, turning them music back up.

  “Now I’m sure of it,” she joked over the rock music. “By the way, I love this song.”

  “What is it?”

  “Nightrain,” she said, letting off the brake and moving deeper into the city. “Seriously, stop talking.”

  When the song was over, she turned the volume knob off and said, “So what do you think is happening here?”

  “We’re getting to know each other, you’re playing hard to get, I’m acting uninterested…”

  She rolled her eyes and said, “Not with us dork.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I think it’s obvious,” he said. “High altitude EMP. They sacrificed the power grid to take out the drones.”

  “What does that mean for us long term?” she asked. “About the power grid?”

  “It means that inside of a year, ninety percent of the population will be dead. That leaves…just under a hundred thousand people. Maybe less depending on how many are already gone.”

  “That’s still a lot left in this city.”

  “It gets even worse if you consider this is survival of the fittest and in a year, a lot of those left standing will most likely be the meanest most crafty people,” he said. “They’re going to be some women and children, but it’ll also mean a lot of hardened killers.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” she said, “the hardened killers part.”

  “The Ophidian Horde.”

  “Yes,” she replied, her face taking on a more somber expression.

  “You think they’ll try to take San Francisco over?” he asked. “Make the whole city their turf?”

  “I believe so, yes.”

  “And you want to stop that before it starts?”

  “You’re not as dumb as you look.”

  “Hey,” he said with a sly grin, “I look amazing.”

  Smiling, saying nothing, she kept her eyes on the road and thought, perhaps.

  15

  When we get up, it’s not to relax and move in to our new home. We need food, water, supplies. I barely even know where we are. And everything we spent weeks collecting back at our stolen home is gone, left behind. Including Gunner.

  Poor Gunner.

  Thinking of him cripples me. Cuddled under the blankets, wrapped in the sheets of a stranger’s bed, I try not to cry.

  Stanton is next to me, asleep. I don’t want to wake him, but I can’t get up either. Gunner was someone’s
boy. He was quiet, scared and trusting. He trusted us to keep him safe, to get him out of there. He trusted Rex.

  Earlier, when Rex said he was going out for supplies with Indigo, I could see the mixed emotions on his face. He really does like the girl.

  What an enigma that one is…

  Pulling the covers to my chin to ward off the morning chill, my mind returns to Gunner, the young boy who lived above us in Anza Vista. Right now his body is in the back of an abandoned SUV, shot dead along with the passenger in the front seat. Thinking of him has me thinking of Macy. I can’t protect her. I know that now the same as I’ve known it since this nightmare began.

  It’s time for me to let her grow up. It’s time for me to stop fighting this so hard. It’s also time for me to get a grip on this new life and let the old one go. This is the new world and it’s going to be like this for a long time.

  Wiping away my tears, gathering up my resolve, I crawl out of bed, bundle up, then mosey downstairs where I find Macy sitting at the table cleaning one of the guns the way Rex taught her.

  “I wanted to talk to you,” I say.

  “Okay,” Macy says.

  “I need to know that you’re okay. With this. With what happened.”

  “Me shooting that guy?”

  “Yes.”

  She sets the gun and Rex’s oil cloth down and looks at me. The look in her eyes…she already looks older, more distant. More…grown up.

  “I guess I was thinking about the school. These things, these drones, for some reason they turned on us. They killed my friends, Mom. Destroyed our city. And now these guys grab Uncle Rex, and they want to…to…to rape us? And kill us? What would have happened if Indigo hadn’t come along? She did her part, so I had to do mine. That’s why I shot the guy.”

  “Yes, but you didn’t have to do that,” I say.

  “Yes I did. Mom, I wanted to do it. I wanted to kill him for putting us in that position, for making us feel scared.”

  “And vulnerable…”

  At this point I feel my heart shaking in my chest and my emotions welling. You could have laid out a thousand different scenarios of my baby growing up, the problems she might have in school, or life, but never in my wildest imagination would she be sitting across from me at fifteen years old cleaning a gun and telling me she killed someone because she wanted to.