The E.M.P. Chronicles (Book 2): A Life Without Power

by McTatey, Zayden (Oz)

  Once there, BJ had confidence that the Tregors would help him get back to his parents; after all, they shared a Bug Out Location in Kentucky and the odds were high they would be headed there.

  “Scott, start packing,” BJ said. “We’re leaving tonight as soon as the sun sets. Wear dark clothes. It’s a long walk so pack light.”

  “You’re scared, aren’t you?” Scott said, surprising BJ.

  “For the first time, yes I am,” BJ answered. “The power is out everywhere. Cars won’t start unless they were manufactured pre-1984. At least I remembered that much from my dad. People in hospitals are dying or have died because the backup generators have run out of fuel. The town residents ransacked my greenhouse and stole all the fruits and vegetables. Scott, people are hungry and believe it or not, they will kill us for food. And the worst part of it, the worst part of all, is I have no idea how my family is doing. I have no idea if my dad will even make it home from Georgia. You’re my best friend but I’m leaving and need you to come with me.”

  BJ turned to gather his personal belongings as Scott said, “I’m with you brother. I’m with you.”

  “We’ll leave an hour or two after sunset,” BJ said before turning to pack what little he could take.

  “YOU READY, SCOTT?” BJ said coming out of his room in full camouflage dress and carrying a guitar case.

  “Nice wardrobe,” Scott said. Then he paused. “You told me to pack light, but you’re bringing a guitar?”

  “Yeah, about that . . . I told you to pack light but I am, in fact, taking the guitar,” he explained. “My grandpa gave it to me. It’s a family heirloom. It’s literally been to war. Remind me to tell you the story one day,” BJ said.

  BJ reached into his Bug Out Bag and pulled out the Baofeng™ radio and headset. He plugged the headset into the radio port and placed the headset over his ears. He turned the radio on and the screen displayed “McTat1.” Now that BJ knew the radio was fully charged and the headset was functional, he placed it back in his Bug Out Bag. Of all the equipment he needed to work, it was the Baofeng™ radio.

  “Why the radio and who will be on the other end when you talk?” Scott asked.

  “Brian, Elizabeth, and my mom and dad have a verbal communication code they use,” BJ answered. “The radio frequencies are encrypted and when combined with the cryptic language they use, it’s hard to understand anything. Almost as if you’re talking to a drunk person ready to pass out.”

  “Why the code? Why the secrecy?” Scott asked.

  “For several reasons,” BJ began. “First, and probably the most important for you and me, security. When we’re within about one mile of Brian and Elizabeth’s, I’ll begin trying to contact them on the radio. Brian’s radios are on the same frequency. We labeled the common frequency “McTat1.” The Tregors are probably on a 24x7 security detail and if we approach unannounced, well, they’ll take care of business and not in a way we want.

  “Second, having these radios allows us to scan other frequencies. Who knows what we may hear? Another important reason, as my dad tells me, is that we need to be in constant communication with one another when we’re at either our house, the Tregor’s house, or the Bug Out Location in Kentucky. There were always several required pieces of gear that every family member had to wear and have on them. It ranged from wearing a unique Italian camouflage uniform to wearing these radios so everyone always knows what’s going on,” BJ finished.

  “My head is spinning,” Scott stated. “Your dad thought of everything. BJ, I’ve never thought about any of this. Now, I understand why you’re nervous,” Scott exclaimed.

  “Good,” BJ replied. “Being nervous might just keep us alive.

  IT WAS ABOUT an hour after sunset when BJ and Scott began the journey to Decatur. As they looked back one last time at the house they had been renting for two years, BJ knew that he would not be back to Carbondale, and though he had tried to fight it, realized life had dramatically changed.

  “Help, help!” a voice screamed from the house next door.

  Scott and BJ looked at one another not sure of what to do. They had never met the neighbors in the two years they lived there and now someone was inside yelling for help.

  “Stop, please stop!” the voice yelled again.

  BJ could tell it was a woman and it truly sounded as if she was in trouble.

  “Scott, hold my guitar,” BJ said as he walked up to the house. He tried looking in the windows but was unable to see anything. He moved to the back of the house and there he was able to get a glimpse of a woman pinned down on a bed. He was also able to make out a man who appeared to be drinking alcohol from a tequila bottle.

  The man slapped the woman who screamed out loud and again begged him to stop. BJ knew he had to help her. He could hear his dad’s voice telling him “Whatever you do ‘act.’ Imagine if that was your sister or mother. Would you just watch?”

  BJ walked over to the back door and was amazed to find it was unlocked. He slowly opened the door and carefully walked in being as quiet as possible. He heard the woman scream again and quickened his pace. He peered around the corner and into the bedroom. The man had finished drinking the alcohol from the bottle and threw it against the wall. Pieces went everywhere and the woman screamed out in fear.

  The man was much larger than BJ and he guessed he was about 6 feet 5 inches and around 250 pounds. The only advantage BJ had was that the man standing before him was drunk. Completely and totally blitzed.

  BJ cautiously walked into the room hoping not to attract the man’s attention. The drunk man was pre-occupied with trying to get the buttons on his jeans undone when BJ jumped on his back and threw his long arms around his neck in hopes of choking him out. The man took several steps back slamming BJ into the wall and knocking him off.

  “Oh look, another play toy,” the man shouted.

  “Not tonight, dear,” BJ said as his anger raged.

  The man lunged for BJ, but being smaller, BJ was much faster. BJ ducked below his arms and now behind him, he jumped on his back again and this time was able to lock the choke hold in. The drunk man was moving in different directions hoping to force BJ off his back but, instead, he began to turn red as the choke hold was having its desired effect. The man’s breathing was becoming labored as he knelt on one knee. BJ was confident the man would be completely down and unconscious in a few more seconds.

  Catching BJ off guard, the man quickly rolled his head down and stood up at the same time. BJ came flying off his back and landed on the ground. BJ stood up and was face to face with the man.

  Without thinking, BJ curled his fingers, exposing his knuckles and rammed them straight into the man’s throat. The man began gasping and clutched his hands around his neck. BJ then did a forward kick straight to his groin area. The man fell to the ground and began screaming. The scream was one of pure pain and lasted for what seemed like an eternity. BJ looked and saw that the man had fallen on a rather large piece of glass that had shattered from the bottle when he threw it against the wall. The glass impelled itself in his rib cage.

  BJ grabbed the woman and began to take her outside when she said, “I can’t leave. Please stop. I can’t leave.”

  BJ’s adrenaline was still flowing; he did not want to stop. “Please stop!” she yelled one last time.

  “I can’t leave him; he’s my husband,” she said and began to cry.

  “He almost killed you,” BJ exclaimed in anger. “He almost killed me!”

  “Where will I go?” she asked. “Am I going to go with you? Will you take care of me?” She waited for BJ to answer.

  In a passionate and caring voice, she said, “Thank you for what you did. I truly, truly appreciate it. I’m asking you to take the high road and leave me. You’re young and want to save the world but you can’t. You can’t save me. What you can do is find and be with your family.” She paused for a few seconds and then said, “You’re my neighbor from next door, right? I recognize your face.”

 
; “Yeah, that’s right,” BJ responded.

  “Follow me,” she said.

  She walked into the kitchen and BJ followed. She handed BJ a card that had been opened.

  “I’m sorry I opened the card. The mailman put your mail in my mailbox and I accidentally opened it. I was going to give it to you but the world fell apart and it didn’t seem important. Honestly, I forgot,” she said.

  BJ opened the card and it said,

  “BJ,

  A quick card from mom and dad to tell you how proud we are of you and the work you’re doing. You’ve found your life’s dream and we’re excited to watch you achieve it.

  We know what it’s like to be a broke grad student so we’ve enclosed $100 for you to do with as you like.

  We are really proud of you.

  P.S. – Dad says if the Stuff Hits the Fan to immediately head home or to Brian and Elizabeth’s. He doesn’t want you waiting. He wants you to take action!

  Love, Mom and Dad”

  A $100 bill fell from the card and BJ began to laugh at the last statement.

  “‘To immediately head home,’” BJ said as he read that part again. “That’s so my dad,” he thought and then looked at the woman. “I’m going home.” He turned and went out the front door and found Scott anxiously waiting for him.

  4

  THE ROAD LESS TRAVELED

  As BJ exited the front door, Scott could see something bad had happened. BJ’s face was red and he looked exhausted.

  “What happened?” Scott asked BJ. “And why are you carrying a $100 bill?”

  “David vs Goliath and I wasn’t Goliath,” BJ said visibly shaken. “I’ll tell you about it later. I really don’t want to talk about it right now.”

  “Ok,” Scott replied. “I was thinking it would be better if we could find some bikes. We’ll get to Decatur much faster.”

  “I agree,” BJ said. “After what just happened, if you don’t mind, let’s leave in the morning. I need to calm down and, who knows, maybe we’ll find or trade something for a couple of bikes.”

  EARLY THE NEXT morning BJ and Scott awoke, grabbed their gear, and began walking. As they headed toward Highway 51, they kept an eye out for several bikes, but not having any luck, they succumbed to the fact that they were walking.

  “Scott, have you ever read the book ‘The Road Less Traveled’ by M. Scott Peck?” BJ asked.

  “Nope,” Scott quickly replied.

  “It’s ironic, that’s all,” BJ said.

  “What’s ironic?” Scott asked?

  “The book is about attributes that make a human being fulfilled,” he began. “It’s based on the author’s experiences as a psychiatrist and a person.

  It’s ironic in that the attributes that fulfill a human being have dramatically changed. Prior to the EMP, the only thing people wanted were success, money, love, sex, recognition, and control. Today the only thing they want is food and security. They simply hope to live another day.”

  “Truly ironic,” Scott said, not understanding the gravity of BJ’s statement. “Now, what’s the best route to Decatur?”

  “Well,” BJ said as he thought about the question, “we’re going to take the road less traveled which is Highway 51,” he said with a smirk. “It will keep us off the main highway and away from big towns. The true advantage is that it’s a straight shot to Decatur.”

  AFTER WALKING FOR two hours, BJ spotted a group of men. He and Scott weren’t paying attention and the group was now only 100 yards away. At first glance, it looked like four men standing behind two cars that were blocking the highway. Upon closer inspection, he saw two more men camping on the edge of the highway. They appeared to be sleeping. BJ pulled Scott to the side, signaled for him to be quiet, and pointed to the tree line. Not knowing the purpose of the roadblock or the men, BJ quickly decided it was better to avoid both. Before they could make another move, one of the men yelled, “You two, come here.”

  BJ and Scott looked at one another and knew they would not be able to make it into the tree line before being shot, if the group so chose to do so. With several AR-15s pointed at them, they walked slowly up to the makeshift roadblock.

  As they approached the cars a man yelled, “Turn around facing away from us. Throw your backpacks and gear on the ground.”

  BJ slowly placed the guitar on the ground and dropped his Bug Out Bag. Scott did the same. A short, stout man walked behind them, zip-tied their hands together, and told them to sit.

  “What are you boys doing out here this early in the morning?” another man asked.

  The man whose voice they just heard walked up from behind them and turned to face them. BJ could see the sheriff’s badge and uniform.

  “Sir, we’re headed to Decatur and we thought this would be the quickest and safest route,” BJ said.

  “Well, you were wrong,” the sheriff replied. “This may be the quickest route but it’s definitely not the safest.” BJ couldn’t tell if the man was an actual sheriff or pretending to be a sheriff; it didn’t matter.

  “Whose Bug Out Bag?” the sheriff asked.

  “Mine, sir, BJ said. “My dad made it for me.” The sheriff went through the bag and was impressed with its contents.

  “Your dad knows what he’s doing,” he said. “Nice bag and great contents. Unfortunately, we’ll be taking it and the guitar. We’ll also be taking your friend’s backpack.”

  BJ turned pale white and began feeling sick to his stomach.

  “Sir,” BJ pleaded. “The guitar was a gift from grandpa. He had it with him in the Vietnam War. It was one of his most prized possessions. Please, take the Bug Out Bag but not the guitar.”

  The sheriff made a motion with his hand, and the short stout man who placed the zip ties on them reappeared and cut them off.

  “Now,” the sheriff commanded. “Start walking. The guitar is mine. 5, 4, 3, 2. . .”

  Scott grabbed BJ by the shirt and forcefully made him walk away from the roadblock. After about a mile, they both stopped and hid near the tree line.

  “We’re going back, Scott,” BJ insisted.

  “It’s just a guitar,” Scott said not understanding how important it was to BJ.

  “I’m not leaving without it, BJ demanded. “That guitar means the world to me. My grandfather gave it to me. His unit was in a fierce firefight in Vietnam. My grandpa hid in a fox hole until his unit could be evacuated. Their camp was completely destroyed and many Marines were killed. Several days later he returned and the only two things not blasted apart were the guitar and the amplifier. I’m not leaving without it!”

  “Fine,” Scott agreed now understanding. “How do we get it back?”

  “We wait until dark and I’ll find a way to get it,” BJ said.

  “You don’t have a plan, do you?” Scott asked.

  BJ looked at Scott and said, “Not yet.”

  AS NIGHT APPROACHED, BJ had not thought of a solid plan that would keep both he and Scott safe while allowing them to find and recover the guitar; but he had an idea.

  He explained his idea to Scott who said, “You’re crazy, but let’s do it.”

  BJ gave Scott a thumbs-up and said, “Stay safe and remember what I told you.”

  BJ and Scott parted in opposite directions.

  Thirty minutes later, in the dark of the night, BJ heard a loud voice yell, “Gentlemen, you’re surrounded. Put your hands in the air!” It was Scott.

  A light immediately illuminated Scott who was about 100 yards away. He turned and began to run into the tree line.

  “Get him!” the sheriff yelled.

  With that command, the four men left their post and began running after Scott. This left the sheriff and one other man to guard the roadblock. Both men were standing behind the roadblock as BJ belly crawled up to the two tents which were now only fifty feet away. Once at the tents, and with no light, BJ frantically felt the ground surrounding the tents for his guitar. Nothing. He then slowly, and as silently as possible, pulled his pocketknife ou
t and cut the side of the first tent open. Staying out of the line of sight of the two men, he crawled in. He felt around and only found a sleeping bag and what felt like clothes. He crawled out of the tent and cut the side of the second tent open. He found it! He crawled out of the tent with the guitar. BJ opened the guitar case and took the guitar out sitting it on the ground. He reached back into the tent pulling out the sleeping bag and clothes that had been strewn on the tent floor. He placed them in the guitar case, silently closed it, and placed the strap of the guitar over his neck. He reached in the tent one last time and found what he thought was a backpack. As he pulled it out, he was excited to see that it was his Bug Out Bag. Luck had been on his side that night.

  The four men who chased Scott were returning when BJ heard, “He’s way too fast for us. He fell twice and we still couldn’t keep up with him.”

  Under the cover of night, and with the guitar slung around his back and the guitar case and Bug Out Bag in hand, BJ walked a half mile before crossing the highway and walking along the tree line. Twenty minutes later, he found Scott waiting for him.

  “Hell of a plan,” Scott exclaimed with a smile and handshake.

  “Bad plan, but it worked,” BJ said. “We need to keep walking.”

  5

  ONE STEP CLOSER TO HOME

  BJ and Scott walked for almost two days straight; only stopping to rest for several hours to eat and drink. As tired as they were, they had to keep going. They maintained cover and concealment by walking in the tree line which drastically slowed them down. After the previous experience with the sheriff, they desperately wanted to remain out of sight and agreed the additional time it would add was well worth it.

  Oz packed several packages of Datrex™ Emergency bars as well as six Datrex™ Emergency water packets in the Bug Out Bag. Although it was not enough food for two people, they would have to make it work. They ate one bar every four hours which provided them with 200 calories; not much, but just enough to help them along their journey.