Broken Lives: A Tale of Survival in a Powerless World (Broken Lines Book 4) (7 page)

“They can’t do that.”

“We don’t have a choice right now.”

“No!”

It was the involuntary scream that shocked Mike. His wife was visibly upset. He hadn’t seen her like this in a long time.

“I’ll make sure she’s okay,” Mike said.

“She’s not okay, Mike. She’s different. The things she’s been through, they’ve… changed her. Putting her in this ‘militia’ isn’t going to help.”

“Have you seen what the guards do here? They stand in front of buildings, and patrol the streets. There isn’t any fighting here. Her being in the guard is probably the safest she’ll be.”

“We’ve only been here for a day. We don’t know what they’ll do. We don’t know anything about these people.”

“Isn’t this what we were searching for? A safe place for our family? The cabin was always supposed to be temporary anyway. If these people have the power back on for an entire city, then it won’t be long before it spreads.”

She knelt down, grabbing his hands. He forgot how strong her hands were. When she held them, his hands didn’t ache. He drew vitality from them, the tremors faded.

“I don’t want to lose her,” Anne said.

“We won’t.”

***

Colonel Cadogan hit the elevator button, sending him to the top floor. Files were tucked under his arm. He was alone, as requested.

When the elevator doors opened he stepped out into the penthouse suite that took up the entire fiftieth floor. It was simply furnished, with only the necessities one would need for a single-person apartment, but had the open space only luxury could afford.

On the south end of the apartment the entire wall was made of glass, giving a spectacular view of the city, which Bram was enjoying when Cadogan walked up behind him.

“The files?” Bram asked.

“Yes, sir,” Cadogan replied.

Bram flipped through the pages.

“They arrived in vehicles?” Bram asked.

“Yes, their vehicles predated the use of microprocessors in engines.”

“Smart. Weapons?”

“A few automatic rifles, handguns, and shotguns. No heavy artillery.”

Bram snapped the file shut and handed it back to Cadogan.

“Any troublemakers?” Bram asked.

“Not yet, but we’re keeping a close eye on them, per protocol with new citizens.”

“Where are we at with recruitment?”

“The only recruiter we’re still waiting to check in is Cain, but he shouldn’t be much longer. Our other scouts have been scouring the north and we’ve already received word that units from Indianapolis and Columbus are trained and ready to join us.”

“Good.”

“Anything else, sir?”

“This Mike Grant that came in today. I’d like to meet him. Set up a meeting for us sometime this week.”

“Yes, sir.”

“That will be all. Thank you, Colonel.”

The stacked cans of food and water seemed to be shrinking. It was all Fay could stare at. She knew she was thinking about it too much, but it was something she couldn’t get out of her mind.

There wasn’t another town for miles. She spent all day yesterday gathering as many supplies as she could and storing them in her and Jung’s rooms, but the bikers had picked over pretty much everything when they arrived, and what they hadn’t eaten was already spoiled.

The stress creeping into her mind was intensified by the knowledge that she wasn’t just responsible for herself anymore. Jung was useless. If she was going to keep him and his children alive she was going to have to do it herself.

They still had enough food to last them for some time, but there was no guarantee of it lasting until the power came back on.

She would catch herself looking down the road at night, toward Cincinnati, hoping to see some light in the distance letting her know that help would be coming, but she knew it was ridiculous.

If they ran out of food before the power came back on there was only one place left for her to go, but she refused to go back there. The last time she saw the Murth family they tried to kill her.

Still, she had to face the reality of what could happen, and she needed to start preparing for it now.

Fay picked up her rifle and walked outside. It was already midafternoon, and she knew the kids were probably hungry. She made her way down to Jung’s room and knocked on the door.

She didn’t know why she knocked. There was never an answer from Jung. She was just waiting for the day she walked in and found Jung dead with his kids crying over his body.

Jung was lying on the bed with his back turned to the door when Fay entered. Jung Jr. and Claire were sitting on the floor, playing with some toys that Fay managed to find to keep them entertained while their father was… nonresponsive.

“Hey, guys!” Fay said.

Both of them looked up at her and smiled. They were both young enough not to grasp the gravity of what was happening around them, but old enough to recognize that their mother wasn’t there anymore, and that something was wrong with their dad.

“Hi,” Jung Jr. said.

Fay was always amazed at how much Jung Jr. looked like his dad. Claire still couldn’t speak, at least not in terms of anything that Fay could understand. She put her arms out, wanting Fay to pick her up. Fay reached down and grabbed her, swinging the rifle out of the way and positioning Claire on her hip.

“You guys hungry?” Fay asked.

She tickled Claire and Jung Jr. threw his arms up in the air, waving.

“Let’s get something to eat. Do you guys like Brussels sprouts?” Fay asked.

“EEEWWWWWWW!” Jung Jr. said, sticking his tongue out and scrunching his nose up.

Fay laughed and Jung Jr. grabbed her hand.

“Jung, you want anything?” Fay asked.

She always asked, and there was never a response. He hadn’t said a word since Mike and everyone else left.

“I’ll be downstairs in the kitchen if you change your mind,” Fay said.

Both kids squinted into the sun. Jung kept the blinds drawn to their room all the time, so it always took some time for their eyes to adjust.

When they made it down into the courtyard Jung Jr. wrestled out of Fay’s grip and sprinted around the courtyard, jumping up and down, enjoying being outside.

Fay wanted to pull him back, but there wasn’t anything left in the town that could hurt him, and she hadn’t seen him this happy since they were at the airport. She didn’t want to be the reason the smile from his face faded.

Claire squirmed in her arms, letting her know that she wanted down too. Fay set her on the ground and she chased after her brother, her chubby legs unable to keep up with him, squealing in the delight of trying.

Whatever obstacles she’d have to face in the future seemed less strenuous. The sight of those kids running after each other, and the smiles on their faces, hardened her resolve. She wasn’t going to quit. She wasn’t going to fail.

It was the sudden sound of silence that snapped Fay out of her daze. Both Claire and Jung Jr. were standing frozen by the fountain in the courtyard. Fay turned around, rifle aimed with her finger on the trigger, and the figure she saw through the scope was Billy with his hands in the air.

Fay lowered the weapon slowly. Of all the people she thought she’d see standing behind her, he was the last she’d expect.

“What are you doing here?” Fay asked.

“I could ask you the same thing. I thought your group went to Cincinnati?”

“They did.”

Fay could see the rifle on Billy’s back. Even though her gun was lowered, she kept her finger on the trigger.

“Where’s the rest of your family?” Fay asked.

“At the farm. It’s just me here.”

“Why?”

Billy didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to. Fay knew why. Her finger slid off the trigger. It made sense. Billy killed his own father to save Mike’s daughter’s life. He helped save all of them, including Fay.

“I just couldn’t stand the way they were looking at me anymore,” Billy said. “It was too much.”

Fay considered her options. She could kill him, but then that might cause more repercussions with the rest of his family. As mad as they were with him now, she was pretty sure that his family would still be upset if he died.

“You planning on staying here?” Fay asked.

“I figured there would be plenty of space available. I don’t need any of your supplies. I’ll be fine on my own. I just need a place to stay.”

Fay slung the rifle back over her shoulder.

“C’mon, we were about to have some lunch,” she said.

***

The prayer beads were lying on the sheets next to Jung’s stomach as he was curled up on the bed. He was thankful for Fay. The burden of having to think, to act, to do anything, was lifted from him.

The whiskey was gone, but the numbness still remained. Fay had poured all the bottles she could find in his room down the drain, in hopes of snapping him out of the stupor he was in. It failed.

He would hear his son say his name, call after him over and over, shaking him on the bed. He could hear the desperation in his voice, needing his father to help him with something, but it didn’t matter how much his children cried for him, he wouldn’t move.

He felt better when Fay would come and take the kids from him. He didn’t like to be left alone with them anymore. They reminded him too much of his wife, and they represented his failure as a husband, and a father.

Jung rolled onto his back. It took more effort than he thought it would. The past week of drinking with little to no food had left his body weak. He tried pushing himself up with his elbows, but he collapsed back on the bed.

He could feel the strain of his heart from the exertion of moving, the pounding of his chest trying to pump life throughout his body, struggling to keep him alive. His breath accelerated. He could feel his muscles tightening from the stress. He gulped for air.

Finally, his heart rate slowed and the panic subsided. He lay there for a few more minutes before he tried again. This time he managed to sit upright, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

One of Claire’s dolls was lying on the ground next to his feet. The doll’s eyes were staring back at him, motionless, lifeless. He flipped the doll over with his foot and tried standing.

His steps were wobbly, uneven. A sharp pain shot through him when he moved. Everything was so stiff and rigid.

Jung grabbed a paper cup sitting next to the sink in the bathroom. He reached for the faucet absentmindedly, forgetting there wasn’t any running water, there wasn’t any power, and soon there wouldn’t be any food.

He crushed the cup in his hand and threw it against the wall. The moments of helplessness he’d felt since all of this started began to well up within him.

The riots at the airport, the struggles on the road, the events at the cabin—he was nothing more than a pawn in the rest of the world’s game. Each member of his family was a pawn, and one of them had already been sacrificed by his lack of power.

When the lights went off it didn’t just shut down the country, it shut him down. All of his wealth, all of his influence and contacts meant nothing with the power turned off.

Jung grabbed the shower curtain and ripped it down. The ringlets and shower bar crashed to the bathroom’s tile. He flung the curtain out of the bathroom and onto the carpet.

Soaps and other cups still lined the bathroom sink. Jung swept his arms over the marble tops, knocking everything off.

He ripped the towel rack from the wall and smashed the mirror with the blunt end, splintering the mirror into hundreds of cracks and broken lines. He sent his fists through the walls, putting holes in the drywall.

He flipped the mattress from the bed frame, smashed the lamps, pulled the drawers out of the dresser, and crashed the impotent television to the ground.

When Jung finally collapsed to the ground he felt a stinging in his hands from the cuts and bits of glass stuck in them. He yanked out the pieces he could then lay down on the carpet.

The destruction of the room was something he could control. He knew men couldn’t come back from the types of things he did, the things he saw. There was only one other thing within his control. There was only one way out.