Grid Down: A Strike against America - An EMP Survival Story- Book Two (10 page)

The sun was quickly fading behind the thick clouds, making way for evening. Rob could see a long wall on the horizon, stretching endlessly, it seemed, in both directions.

Arthur continued. “Contrary to what you believe, we’ve been working on that wall to keep people out. Those who would do us harm. You’ve heard the reports, as I have. This thing has spread far and wide. Millions of people are without power, just in time for winter. Now there aren’t even reports anymore. Any military have long gone home to their families. No one is coming to save this town.”

“And you’re content with that?” Rob asked.

“No. I’m a man of my environment. I cleared the vehicles off the roads,” Arthur said, jabbing his own finger in his chest. “I made it happen.
I
restored order in this town. I did it all!” He turned and walked back in the direction of the fire pit as Rob followed.

“Where is your shop located?” Arthur asked.

“Off of Main Street. I’m sure it’s been raided by now.”

“And you have a house in town, I’m sure?”

“Yes. But I don’t hold out much hope for it, either,” Rob said.

“I think you’d be surprised. Much of the town is still intact,” Arthur said.

They came back to the fire pit, where the men were still standing around and warming their hands. It was getting darker by the minute, and the small fire was becoming the only source of remaining light. The smell of burning logs brought Rob back to a place he would rather be—camping at the cabin the winter before. There was nothing to be afraid of then. He had never imagined that things would fall apart so quickly.

Out of the darkness emerged Larry and the big guard with the shaved head and neck tats. Arthur looked at them almost as though he was expecting them. He turned to Rob as the fire gleamed in his eyes.  

“You need time to think about everything, I understand. When you’re ready to talk or even consider what I’ve proposed, I’d be happy to continue our conversation.”

He signaled Larry with a wave of his hand. Larry clutched Rob’s arm and pulled him away. “Let’s go.”

“Wait,” Arthur said. The men stopped and turned to face him.

“Your house, your family, your shop. You can have it all back. All you have to do is be willing to compromise.” He paused and adjusted his beret. “You remember Reverend Phelps?”

Rob nodded. “Sure. Why?”

“I want you to have a word with him. He was an against-the-grain kind of guy dedicated to his own people, like you. He came around, and someday you will too.”

Arthur turned and walked over and joined the men at the fire as Larry led Rob away. Lit embers floated in the air, drifting upward on a cool breeze. Rob tried to get his thoughts together. Perhaps he should have run when he had the chance. He wasn’t sure. But then again, Arthur hadn’t killed him yet, or professed any plans to have him killed. Rob could work with that. He could give Arthur what he wanted and more. But giving in too easily would undoubtedly raise suspicion. He would have to play the game smartly.

“Hold up,” Larry said, stopping him. “Hey, Trevor. Lemme have that blindfold.”

“Come on,” Rob said. “There’s nothing to see!”

“Shut up,” Larry said, taking a blue bandana from the large guard. He wrapped it around Rob’s face.

“How many of those things do you plan to go through in one day?” Rob asked.

“Just following protocol,” Larry answered, pulling it tightly in the back and tying it. They pushed him forward, walking him at gunpoint back into the warehouse, where he could hear the same hammering from earlier still ongoing. A door opened, and he could hear the familiar echo of his footsteps as they walked down the hall. The stopped at his cell, opened the door, and pushed him in.

“Take the damn thing off yourself,” Larry said, slamming the door and bolting it shut. Rob stood quietly for a moment as he listened for them walking away. He pulled the bandana off and was met only by the immense darkness of his cell. They hadn’t tied his wrists that time and barely remembered to blindfold him. Their carelessness gave him hope. He could work the situation to his advantage. That much he knew. No one had to die, but that didn’t change the fact that he was willing to kill them all if it meant getting back to Mila and the children.

It was early afternoon when Mila and Carlos left the camp behind. Josh and Kelly were in Mayra’s care. The rest of the camp was not up for making an excursion into the unknown. Brad and Ashlee were making their plans to leave, along with Peter and Krystal. But they promised that they would be willing to wait at least a couple of days before going, so they didn’t have much time before they had to get Peter’s car back to him. Mila realized that the job of rescuing Rob was largely on her shoulders. Carlos faced the same realization in regard to discovering his son’s fate.

Carlos drove Peter’s 1979 Buick LeSabre—classy, but cosmetics were the least of their concerns. They had two five-gallon jugs of fuel in the trunk and a full tank. Clarkson, the nearest town outside of Nyack, was twenty-five miles north. Mila had their route mapped out, much as she had done with Rob during their travels. The drove up Route 9 West alongside the Hudson River, which was covered in thin sheets of ice. The sky was light gray, and the passing oaks had shed nearly all of their leaves. Their windows were up, and the heater was on—a blessing to have.

A small arsenal rested in the backseat—two AR-15 rifles, two shotguns, and multiple magazines. What they lacked in numbers, they made up in firepower. They also brought what supplies they could—preserved food in tubs, canned foods, and water purification tablets—in hopes of bartering or earning the trust of the people they needed to join them.

They passed a crooked road sign reading: Clarkson ─ 10 Miles. Mila donned a thick green army coat Rob had brought home from the thrift store months prior. A purple wool cap covered her head, and a pair of brown leather gloves rested on her legs under the map. Carlos was decked out in his covert ensemble: black long-sleeved shirt, black jeans, mountain boots, skullcap, ammo vest, hunting knife, and pistol. They were on a mission but, so far, had said very little to each other during the trip. Their minds were elsewhere.

Mila was already five steps ahead of the plan. In her mind, she had already amassed a hundred people to go and take back Nyack and save Rob. Victory was theirs, and everything was back to normal. She snapped out of her daze when Carlos asked her if she was ready.

“Yes, of course,” she said.

“Ten miles out. From what point should we walk?” he asked.

“I don’t know. We don’t want to leave the car unattended for too long.”

They had passed many cars dead on the side or middle of the road, and it didn’t really seem to make a difference where they parked. And not everyone was aware that an old car might be a working car. But time was of vital importance, and they could not risk being stranded.

“What’s that?” Carlos said, pointing ahead.

Something was in the middle of the road. A body. A man’s body just lying there, dressed in a yellow jacket and blue jeans. Carlos slowed the car. They looked closely as he carefully maneuvered around him. One side of his face rested against the road. The exposed side was discolored and hollow, as though the body had decomposed.

“Well, that’s not a good sign,” Carlos said.

“Just keep going,” Mila said, shaking her head. “We have to do this.”

“But we also need to consider the signs when we see them, you know?”

“A dead body is one thing. Ten is something else,” Mila said.

Carlos nodded. “Got it. But let’s just be prepared, okay?”

“Sure,” Mila said.

Carlos seemed apprehensive. Fear of the unknown was impossible to deny. “We could be dealing with more than an EMP here,” he continued. “A biological attack. SARS or something. There’s no telling what’s in store for us.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Carlos,” she said. “We have enough to worry about as it is.”

He waved her off. “I know that. My son could be dead. That doesn’t change the fact that we’re in the shit right now, and that this whole bug-out plan hasn’t really worked out so well.”

She said nothing more as they neared a sign reading: Welcome to Clarkson. More vehicles obstructed their path on both sides of the road. The roads had long since become salvage yards. Carlos slowed to a halt as the town came into view.

Village homes, similar to those around Nyack, aligned the streets on both sides. Brown leaves covered everything from cars to homes, as though they had just poured down from the sky. Everything looked abandoned and vacant. They’d seen this picture before. Mila knew that the apparent emptiness of any town could be deceiving.

“Here we are,” Carlos said. “You ready?”

Mila lifted her revolver and checked the chamber. It was loaded with six hollow-point rounds. She looked ahead. A gray mist shielded the town from complete inspection. “Ready when you are.”

Carlos brought a pair of binos to his eyes and scanned the area. “I don’t see anyone. This is so weird. I’m sick of this ghost-town shit.”

“You and me both,” Mila said.

They waited for a moment as the car idled. Getting out of the car was challenging. It was the only protection they had from the unknown, and if the post-EMP world meant anything, it was that danger lurked around every corner, even in picturesque, upscale towns like Clarkson. Mila turned to look at the weapons in the backseat.

“What should we take?” she asked.

Carlos gripped the steering wheel. “It could go either way. Fill our backpacks with supplies. Take a couple rifles just in case.
We don’t want to look dangerous, but we don’t want to look weak, either.”

Mila nodded. “How about we each take a rifle and backpack?”

“Sounds about right to me,” he said.

They reached around and grabbed both rifles and brought them to the front seat. Mila took a few extra magazines and put them inside her jacket pocket. She hoped, for the life of her, that she wouldn’t need a single round. She held fast to her belief that good people were still around. Without such hope, nothing would make sense. Carlos let the car coast forward and stopped behind a large SUV parked on the side of the road. He killed the ignition, and they stepped out of the car—a half mile into town—ready to embark on the mission ahead.

From opposite sides of the car, they hoisted their backpacks over their shoulders and held their rifles firmly. Carlos put on his Oakleys—even though it was hardly bright out. He tilted his head, signaling Mila.

“Let’s move. Stay low and out of the open.”

The stuck to the side of the road, on the grass and under the shedding trees. The road ahead was paved in brick. They came to a sidewalk and kept a careful eye on the two-story cottage homes ahead.

“Should we call out or something?” Carlos asked. “Let them know that we’re not here to cause any trouble?”

“Like, we come in peace?” Mila answered.

“Joke all you want. I don’t want to get shot.”

They cautiously walked beside each other through the mist, stepping across curious bits of broken glass and all the while scanning the windows and doorways. An ambush could happen at any moment. They were in new territory, outsiders once again. If reasonable people still existed, Mila hoped to find them here. She squinted ahead to see a line of cars, positioned like a barricade and completely blocking the road.  

“Stop,” she said, grabbing Carlos’s arm.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Something’s not right.”

Carlos looked where Mila was pointing and saw the vehicle barricade fifty feet ahead. “You’re telling me it’s not right.”

A gunshot rang out and echoed in the emptiness, sending them diving to the sidewalk, flat on their stomachs. Mila’s rifle fell near her side.

“Shit! You hit?” Carlos said, breathing heavily.

“No,” Mila said quietly.

“State your business!” an unseen man shouted.

Carlos grabbed Mila’s arm, and they crawled beside a nearby blue sedan for cover. He pulled his binos out and scanned left and right. He spotted a man on the other side of the vehicle barricade holding a long hunting rifle and looking through the scope.  

“I’m not gonna ask you again!” he shouted.

More shots rang out, hitting the car and sending up metallic sparks. Mila covered her head and pushed against Carlos as he attempted to crawl underneath. The windshield blasted out. Glass bits rained down, and the gunfire pulsed in their ears. This wasn’t the first time someone had been fired upon, which explained the other bits of glass they’d just seen. Now the relentless shots were firing from all around them—confirming that there was more than one gunman.

“What do you want to do now?” Carlos said in a panicked voice while trying to cover his head.

“Answer his question!” Mila said.

A brief silence followed the drifting echo of gunfire.

Carlos stood up on his knees with his arms up in the air, just enough to peek out from the side of the bullet-ridden car. “Don’t shoot! My name is Carlos Santos! I’m from Nyack!”

“Carlos, who’s your friend there?” the man shouted.

Mila gained her courage and stood up with her hands in the air. Her rifle still lay on the sidewalk. She put aside any further hesitation and walked right past Carlos and out into the open road.

“Mila!” he said urgently. “What are you doing?”

“My name is Mila Parker,” she said, walking forward. With her eyes straight ahead, she pulled at the straps of her backpack and lifted it over her shoulders.

“Watch it there!” the man shouted.

“We come in peace,” she said, holding up the bag.

“What?” the man asked.  

“We don’t want any trouble. We’re looking for good people. If you want us to leave, we’ll go.” She slowly lowered the bag onto the brick road and stood away from it. “But please accept some supplies as a token of good faith.”

“Step away from the bag!” the man shouted. “And keep your hands in the air!”

She backed away, trying to remain calm, though all her instincts told her to run.

“This town doesn’t accept outsiders. We have enough trouble of our own,” the man said. “So take your compadre there and hit the road.”

She looked up and saw dozens of armed people in different windows of the homes ahead, aiming their rifles. The people of Clarkson weren’t messing around.

“We’re not asking to live here. We’re not asking for supplies or anything else.”

“Then what the hell do you want?” the man asked.

“To talk like civilized people, for starters,” Mila answered.

The man turned as though he was talking to someone else. He nodded and turned back to Mila. “How do we know that there aren’t more of you?”

“Our group has a secluded place in the mountains. There’s eighteen of us in all, but only us two here.”

“And they sent you to do what? Scrape and beg? Or maybe you were hoping to catch us off guard!”

“That’s not true!” Mila said. “We were attacked by a gang of criminals who ravaged our town. Led by a man named Arthur.”

The man stopped and turned his head again. Mila saw it as a promising sign and waited with heightened anticipation. Clarkson was close to their last option, and she was determined to make her case despite any danger she might be putting herself into.

The man turned back to her. “You and your friend step forward, but keep your hands in the air!”

Mila turned to see Carlos, still lying on his side by the blue sedan and clutching his rifle. He looked up at her, hesitating.

“We’re both armed,” Mila said. “But only because we didn’t know what to expect. Like I said, Nyack has been taken over.”

“Easy,” the man said. “Put your weapons on the ground next to your pack and come forward.”

Carlos pushed himself up and walked slowly toward Mila with one hand holding his rifle out in front of him, and his other hand held high up. “You sure about this?” he said to Mila out of the corner of his mouth.

“It’s our only chance. We’ve come this far.”

“There
are
other towns, you know.”

“They haven’t shot us yet, so I’d say we’re doing pretty well.”

Carlos cocked an eyebrow at her and placed his rifle next to her backpack. He then pulled off his backpack and set it down. They stood next to each other with their hands up, awaiting the next command.

“Any other weapons you got, you know what to do,” the man said.

Carlos shook his head. “This is ridiculous.” He pulled out his knife and pistol as Mila fished her revolver out from her boot.

“One more question,” the man said. “How did you get here?”

They looked at each other. Carlos hesitated as Mila turned to the man. “We drove,” she said.

“Are you crazy?” Carlos whispered, his face flushed. “Why don’t you just give them the keys to our cabins while you’re at it?”

“We have to build trust!” Mila said.

They waited in silence as the man continued his side conversation. Mila knew that their unexpected presence had at least piqued the curiosity of the community.

“Go ahead and step forward,” the man said. “Try anything funny, and we’ll shoot you on the spot.”

Mila and Carlos did as they were told, as men and women, their faces filled with suspicion, watched from their windows above. Clarkson seemed to have descended into the Wild West in a manner similar to Nyack. Was there no place left untouched by the EMP? It had affected not only the grid, but also people’s humanity. Mila pondered this as they got closer to the man behind the barricade, who never took them out of his rifle’s sights.