Dark New World (Book 2): EMP Exodus (20 page)

Damn it all, he’d have to either take a wide berth around that mess or go through it. And these assholes were probably attacking one unarmed person. Peter imagined the terror of whoever was hiding inside the abandoned car, and grew angry. The attackers were a bunch of unprepared animals, reduced to looting others who had prepared better just to survive. It wasn’t right.

Peter muttered, “Okay, you vermin. I don’t want to go around you, and whoever you’re looting needs some help. I think I have the perfect, win-win solution. Sucks to be you bastards.”

He raised his rifle and sighted in, adjusting for distance and elevation, glad he felt no wind. A burly male with a baseball bat, grinning savagely, was his first target.
Bang.
The man’s neck spouted a geyser of blood, and he flopped over backwards. Peter quickly took aim at another, a woman, and she went down clutching her chest.

The others stared at the two people on the ground and looked confused, which made Peter grin as he dropped his third target, a skinny man wielding a knife. The remaining three ran from the road. Peter shot one in the back, and the last two sprinted out of view. Surprise was such a useful tool when dealing with problems like this.

Peter walked steadily down the hill, rifle at low ready but not directly aimed at the car, and came to within twenty feet before stopping. It was a beautiful car, he mused, an old Camaro that had been perfectly restored and painted bright red. He glanced at his watch—a quarter to four—and then stood still, simply looking at the car and waiting.

Five minutes later, a man stepped out of the car with a limp. He was of average height but muscular, with short hair and a goatee that stuck out past a scraggly, newly-growing beard. He wore a white t-shirt and jeans, with black boots, and he looked more cautious than scared.

Good, so he wasn’t a coward. Peter would have hated to waste bullets saving a coward. “I’m Peter, and you’re welcome.” Peter kept his face carefully neutral. “Got yourself in a pickle, did you?”

“Yes, sir,” said the man, also keeping his face unreadable. “I thank you for the help, mister. As you see, I don’t have much to steal, if that’s what you’re about. My name’s James, but my friends call me Jim.”

“Nope. I just don’t like to see people taking from strangers. Plus, they were in my way. Nice car. But, the lights went out over a week ago. Why on earth would you just sit here that long? You must’ve figured out help wasn’t coming.”

Jim scowled. “I’ve been here since last night. Where are you heading?”

Last night? That didn’t add up. Peter said, “South, around West Chester. Sorry, I thought that was your car. It sure is nice, though.”

“Well, Mister, it is my car. I hid the keys, so don’t think of taking it. I don’t suppose you would, though. You had your chance to kill me already.”

Peter felt a tingle race up his back. A working car… He knew in theory that some cars must still run, but hadn’t hoped to see one. An idea occurred to him. “Well, that’s right. I could have, but I don’t much care for murder unless a man deserves it. You’ve done me no wrong. But I reckon that means you have nowhere to go, or you’d be there.”

Jim nodded slowly. “Yes. I’ve been driving around looking for a place to land, but everywhere is either burning or taken. And without a gun, I’ve had to escape trouble a couple of times in my car. I’ve stayed out of the towns, though. Too dangerous, and the pumps don’t work anyway. I stopped here to siphon gas last night, and just didn’t much feel like driving nowhere in particular today. I guess that was a mistake.”

“When you stay put, people come across you. I had a horse, this morning. Same situation as you, except they ate the horse and left me to run.”

Jim grinned. “Well, Peter, I’ll tell you what. If I give you a ride to wherever you’re going, are you willing to ride shotgun and keep away the rabble? Maybe resupply me when we get there?

It was Peter’s turn to smile. “Jim, that’s a fine idea. But there’s no need to resupply and send you on your way. I have people, a community. Give me a ride, you’ll earn a spot if you want it. They’re good, hardworking people. You aren’t coming with your hand out, either. That car of yours is a meal ticket. And I give you my word, I won’t let anyone take it from you. What do you say?”

Jim stood tall and limped up to Peter with his hand out. Shaking Peter’s hand, he said, “That’s a bargain, mister. I sure am glad you came along when you did. I don’t know if I’ll take you up on the community thing, but I’ll give you that ride home. We’ll see how things go from there. Sound fair?”

Yes, thought Peter, that sounded very fair indeed. Now instead of being two full days of walking through chaos, the trip would be only a few hours. Even if they had to camp out for a night, he’d be home first thing in the morning. Peter smiled.

* * *

1600 HOURS - ZERO DAY +10

Ethan grunted as he set down the battery and inverter. Next to him, Amber gently set down his transmission rig. One of the Marines stood guard as he got down to business. Soon he had the flexible antenna set up, the radio plugged into the inverter, and connected the battery. He brought up his computer, plugged it into a Raspberry Pi module, and opened his translated and recoded file. Locking the “transmit” button into the on position, he clicked another icon and stood back as the coded broadcast went out on a loop.

Amber shook her head. “I have no idea what all that does, Ethan, but I hope these 20s guys make good use of whatever you’re sending out.”

Ethan grinned. “It’s not the 20s who use it, but the various resistance groups running around fighting the invaders, and some prepper compounds who participate some of the time. I have to imagine some of these resistance groups were organized well before the EMPs went off, but that’s not really my problem. I’m just one of a handful of agents who do this work to keep the communications flowing as best we can.”

“You’ve said all that before,” Amber chuckled, and Ethan was glad to see her smile. She hadn’t smiled much since Jed died.

Then the thought of Jed crashed into Ethan, and he cringed from the guilt he felt. He struggled to regain his composure, but Amber had seen the look.

“Yeah, I know. I miss Jed, but none of us think it’s your fault. He went battle-mad, Michael says, and maybe he saved us but his death was his own fault. I never hated him, Ethan. I just hadn’t been in love with him for a long time. He felt the same way.”

Ethan shrugged. “Yeah, I know all that. I just wish I could have saved him. I was right there, and I felt powerless. I watched him die.”

Amber put a hand on his arm. “You were powerless, Ethan, at least to save him. But you drew their fire so he could get close, when you missed with your grenade. We are alive because my husband died, and his kids at least get to know their father was a hero to us all. You are, too. You flanked them under fire, just like Jed. It could have worked out differently, but what happened is done. Life is what it is.”

“So,” Ethan began tentatively, “where does that leave you and me?”

“Nowhere, at the moment. You know I have feelings for you, Ethan. That hasn’t changed. But Jed’s kid deserve time to grieve before they see mommy with another man. Frank and Michael deserve that, too.”

“But what do
you
deserve, Amber? Don’t you deserve a fresh start? I think Jed was about to have The Talk with you about Jaz, from what I’ve heard. Just gossip, but it sounds right. He wanted to be happy. You deserve the same.”

“Ethan, sweetie, listen. I do deserve to be happy, and so does everyone. But this is not the time for us. We can’t be together right now. I don’t know how long it’ll take, but I know I have to wait. We’ll see where things go between us then. For now, it has to be as it is—you and I are friends, good friends, but nothing more. Please, Ethan, I need you to understand. I need you to just wait until our kid is ready, and I’ve talked to Frank and Michael, and the clan is more settled. Will you just be patient?”

Ethan’s heart sank into his throat, and he fought to keep his face from betraying him. He coughed once and then said, “Of course, Amber. I’ve been waiting. I can wait some more. Whatever happens, we’re friends. That’s what’s important.”

Amber smiled and hugged him, and Ethan desperately wanted nothing more than for the completion alarm to ring on his computer so he could go home, and bury himself in the endless tasks of the homestead.

- 24 -

1600 HOURS - ZERO DAY +10

CAPTAIN TAGGART LOOKED around the living room of the apartment. After meeting Mr. Black at the bridge, they’d fled further south, dodging patrols and hiding from drones. Black had eventually led him to this place, along with Eagan and a handful of Militia members and Black’s own men, who were all tattooed Latinos. Before the war, they were scum, thugs and gangsters, but now Taggart found himself fighting alongside them, and his respect for the gangsters had grown after seeing them fight and die for each other. In a way, life for them must have been much like military life for Taggart; the gang was their family as much as the unit was for Taggart. Maybe more so. And if regulations, or laws, got in the way of protecting their gang, those regs got sidestepped. Most of them would have made good soldiers if they could have just knocked the chips off their shoulders.

“So is this all we have left?” asked Taggart. “Me, Eagan, Black and Chongo, four Militia and six gangbangers?”

“Yes and no,” replied Black. “I was able to contact two of my other lieutenants, like Chongo here, and they’re in other backup safe houses nearby. Between them, they got six soldiers, eight of my gang, and five Militia guys. We all got guns, and the safe houses have ammo and food just like this one, yo.”

“So we have you and me, seventeen of your gang, seven soldiers, and nine Militia. Thirty-five people in total. How many did we lose?”

“I don’t know. Most of my crew know the hideouts, and they all got radios in ‘em. If any my boys survived, they’ll straggle in over the next few hours, hopefully with more of you soldiers and them Militia guys.”

Taggart nodded and said, “So, now that we’re not running for our lives, who the hell attacked us? They weren’t invading soldiers.”

Chongo shrugged. “Those were Spyder’s crew. He was small time before the ‘vaders came. The 20s warned us he had bitched out and gone traitor, working with the enemy, and that he took over all the turf around him. And everyone knows he was using slaves to build his rubble wall around his territory. It was a matter of time before he came after Angel’s turf.”

Black shot a withering look at Chongo, who looked down immediately.

Eagan didn’t notice the slip, apparently, and said, “Yeah, but he had rocket launchers and AKs. So, the enemy must have given him all that hardware and set ‘em loose on your ‘hood,’ Black.”

Black—or Angel—nodded. “He’s wanted my hood forever, but was too much of a bitch to take it. The invaders must have known something was going on in my hood with the Resistance, so they just encouraged Spyder to come take it. Spyder don’t give two shits about the invaders or the resistance, though—I figure he just wanted to spread his empire. He’ll get his, though, just as soon as the ‘vaders decide he got too Big Time. No way that fool gonna take too much bowing and scraping to no ragheads. Sooner or later, they gonna waste his ass.”

Taggart filed the name “Angel” away for future reference. Mr. Black was the name he’d heard from his cousin, Dimitri, God rest his soul, before Black, or rather Black’s boss, had killed him. But that was in another world, a world with lights and microwaves, a world in which Taggart and Black weren’t just about the only thing getting in the way of the conquest of the United States. A better world. Fuck it, back to today. Right now, the Mission mattered more than Taggart’s personal bullshit.

“For right now, though,” said Taggart, “he did what the invaders couldn’t, and disrupted the Resistance in this entire neighborhood. That gives the enemy breathing room to get their conquest back on track, and even send some soldiers from here to back up their forces in other neighborhoods. We need to figure out how to put some pressure back on these assholes so they can’t do that.”

Chongo’s radio crackled: “Boss, yo, we got company.”

Taggart caught the panic in the man’s voice, and rushed to the window, along with Black, and pulled the edge of the drapes aside enough to peer out, then his jaw dropped. Down in the street below, five quad-copter drones hovered, each at an intersection with various alleyways that opened onto the safe house’s street.

Behind him, Taggart heard the men and women in the apartment readying their weapons, but he was more interested in the scene outside. His adrenaline began to rise. Five drones was no coincidence. And then another drone, larger than the five, streaked over the roof of a nearby house—more of a shack by Taggart’s way of thinking—and it must have caught sight of Taggart or Black in the window, because it came to a halt and hovered a mere fifty feet from them, directly level with their third-floor apartment.

Then, the strangest thing happened. The other five drones approached and rose up behind the large drone-like the heads of a hydra, and Taggart saw that they had what looked like miniature Gatling guns mounted on their undersides. The guns swiveled toward the drone—and Taggart, on the other side of it—and he saw them spit fire.

Taggart cried, “Get down!” and hit the deck. He heard the staccato noise of tiny machine guns, and then the simultaneous noises of the window shattering and a small explosion. After that, silence. He counted slowly to ten, then risked rising up just enough to peer out from the bottom edge of the window, trying to avoid the shards of glass that had rained down all around him.