After the Fall: Jason's Tale (29 page)

If you liked this story, watch for the sequel (now in
progress) with the working title,
After the Fall: Catherine’s Tale
. The
story of Jason and his family doesn’t end. They come into conflict with the
town and its leadership. The narrative becomes more complicated, having to
detail much of the destruction of civil society and the early attempts at
rebuilding. In the story, Catherine takes an ever larger role as a mature young
woman and warrior. Along with the family and the army personnel, Billy plays a
part in the story and, as you might expect, he is a conflicted character. Below
is a sample from the first chapter. You can follow the progress on my website,
www.davidnees.com
.

Excerpt

The man made his way through the
dark. There we no street lights, only a few windows glowed with the soft
illumination of a kerosene lamp. The crescent moon, aided by the stars gave
little light to the streets. Even so he worked to keep in the deeper shadows as
he hurried along. The town was quiet. An occasional pedestrian could be heard
hurrying along, sometimes on a side street. The man ducked into the deeper
shadows when he heard footsteps. He didn’t want to be seen; no one did. It was
after curfew and, if caught out, he would be arrested with an uncertain fate in
store for him. Others had been so detained and had reported aggressive
interrogation often accompanied by beatings with fists and clubs.

The questions were always the
same,
Where are you coming from? What are you doing out? Who did you meet
with?
The authorities did not know for sure, but suspected, that there was
a subversive element in Hillsboro; a group of people who did not like way those
in charge ran things; who objected to their dictatorial style and were becoming
organized.

Joe Stansky did not understand the electromagnetic pulse
when it occurred, two years earlier. But he was not stupid and he was used to
functioning in chaotic environments. He owned a strip club in town. It made him
good money, and it also helped to launder the money he made on illegal
gambling, drugs and prostitution. In addition Joe had a roving poker game that
had been going on for years. It boasted a loyal clientele that included some of
the town’s business leaders and politicians. Not many, but just enough to make
his game off limits to the local police. The drugs and prostitution provided an
even larger income flow, laundered through his reputable businesses.

Joe was powerfully built but the good life had put extra
pounds on him. Though overweight and out of shape, he was still an imposing figure.
He had eyes that looked out from heavy lids; piercing and penetrating. They
were eyes that looked hard at you, measuring and evaluating. A life of crime
and graft had honed his perceptions well and he could quickly spot phonies and
liars. He had a ruthless desire to succeed reinforced by his willingness to do
whatever it took to achieve his goals. He was a small town crook but the top
dog in Hillsboro and not a man to be trifled with.

After the EMP burst, Joe’s first action was to contact
people he knew and find out what the hell had happened, and then he sat down to
figure out his next moves. He did not have a victim’s mentality. He would work
this event to his advantage, and spend no time lamenting the change. This was a
chance to redefine himself. If society was going to be altered, Joe decided he
would alter his status as well in the new order. He would run the town. Action
was called for.

The man sensed that he was being
followed and quickened his pace. He was taking a circuitous route to his assigned
apartment. He had come from a meeting, which if uncovered, would probably lead
to his death and the death of many others. He knew his wife and child were in
danger from his activities, but he rationalized that he was working to secure a
better future for them. One built on freedom and democracy, not on a
dictatorship. His fellow conspirators were made up of skilled men and women,
engineers and technicians, who felt the town was heading in the wrong
direction. They were instrumental in bringing back to life some of the elements
of the modern world that had been lost after the EMP attack: electricity, clean
water, medicines. But they resented the direction the town was headed. They
were few in number, not all members of this class had problems with the authorities,
but they were growing.

If he couldn’t shake whoever
seemed to be following, in order to protect his family, he would not return
home, but keep moving on the streets, even if he had to walk all night. If
someone was caught and thought to be doing anything subversive, not only did
that person disappear, but their family did also. The fact did not have to be
publicized. It would occur and everyone who knew them would know their fate.
The word always got out. Don’t stand out; don’t oppose the authorities and
their rules.

He turned a corner three blocks
from his home and two armed men stepped out from a doorway. The man turned to
run, but found two more, the one’s following him, standing there. He resolve
sagged; his knees began to buckle but he lurched across the street in a
desperate attempt to escape. It was futile. The men quickly surrounded him and
he sank to the ground. With no words spoken, his pursuers grabbed him and
dragged him, weakly struggling, to a waiting van. They threw him in the back and
drove off down the dark streets.

Two days later Joe was waiting for two men in his new office
suite located in a large bank building located in downtown Hillsboro. His
operating out of the strip club was a thing of the past. He had taken over the
bank building in the first year after the attack, housing his gang there along
with much of the resources he had collected.

Frank Mason arrived first. He was the political leader of
the town, head of the Safety Committee and
de facto
mayor. It was night,
but the entrance was lit by one floodlight. There were imposing armed guards at
the entrance. Everyone coming into the building was carefully frisked; no
weapons were allowed except for the ones Joe’s men carried. After being
checked, he was led up three flights of stairs into a private suite. The room
was dimly lit by oil lamps, starkly out of place in such a modern office. There
was not enough electricity to light the offices of even someone as important as
Joe. The rich aroma of an expensive cigar permeated air. Joe sat behind an
imposing desk and motioned for Frank to take a chair on the other side. He
purposely didn’t invite Frank to sit on the more comfortable side couch.

“What’s up, Joe?” Frank asked as he sat down. He didn’t have
a good feeling about the meeting from the way Joe commanded his appearance.

“Something to drink?” Joe asked ignoring Frank’s question.

“You got any whisky left? I mean some good stuff, not the
crap that’s being made today.”

Joe got up and went to the cabinet on the side wall, took
out a bottle of Kentucky bourbon and poured Frank a couple of fingers. “No ice,
but it’s supposed to be better this way.” He handed the glass to Frank. “Let’s
wait for Charlie.” Charlie, the Chief of Police, was the other public face of
leadership and authority in Hillsboro.

Just then Charlie Cook came through the door. “Sorry I’m
late, the car I’m using…had trouble getting it running. These old cars work but
they’re a pain to keep running sometimes…bad gas, I think.”

“You want a drink?” Joe asked.

“Yeah, thanks,” Charlie replied. The cigar aroma triggered
Charlie’s craving and he took out one of his precious cigarettes. Joe motioned
him to sit next to Frank.

After some silence as the men savored the rare bourbon,
Frank again asked, “So what’s up? Why the meeting?”

Joe leaned back in his chair and looked steadily at the two
men. “We’ve got Hillsboro pretty much under our control. Captain Roper is in
our pocket and he’s keeping that lieutenant out of our hair. We’re getting
stronger. Soon we’ll take over other towns—”

“Are you sure we should get that aggressive?” Charlie asked.

“Don’t interrupt me. My point is that it’s time for me to
come out of the shadows. You’ve done your work well, but it’s time everyone
sees who is really in charge.”

“Why the change?” Frank asked. “Things have been going well
so far. Charlie and I present the face of civic authority to the public, you
operate in the background, we consolidate our power, the people are taken care
of and everyone’s happy.”

Frank had been a politician his whole life it seemed. He was
a natural; adroit at maneuvering with power brokers and finding the winning
side on any issue. He had consolidated his position after the attack, working
with Joe and Charlie and now was the single, public persona of power and
authority in Hillsboro.

“Things are
not
going well so far,” Joe replied.

“What do you mean?” Charlie asked.

Joe gave him a disdainful look. “Two nights ago my men
picked up someone for a curfew violation—”

“I didn’t see anyone brought into the jail,” Charlie said.

“I told you, don’t interrupt me.” Joe locked eyes with
Charlie and stared at him until Charlie finally looked away. “The guy was an
engineer. He told an interesting tale about a group of people, some of them
technical people, who are not happy with things in Hillsboro.” Joe paused and
sipped his whisky.

“A lot of people are not happy with things.” Frank said. “It
changes day to day. There’s still a lawless group in the city. You know that.
They raid the kitchens, ambush some of the militia and steal their weapons and
ammunition. But you’re not suggesting there’s a revolt going on, are you?
Something organized?”

“Something more is going on and I’m not about to let it
become an organized revolt.” Joe responded.

“You said he
was
an engineer, what’s happened to
him?” Charlie asked.

“That’s not a question you want to ask, Charlie,” Joe
responded, again staring the hapless Chief of Police down.