Finding Shelter: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller (The EMP Book 8) Page 8

  "There's another group like ours."

  "Another group like ours? What do you mean?"

  "Just what it sounds like. A militia composed of men and women of diverse background, many of them from the armed services, the police force, the government... all sorts of people who are interested in restoring order back to this great country."

  "Another organization like ours? A group to fight the chaos? How is that possible? How haven't we heard of them?"

  "They're based in California. Far away from us. They've grown very large. Larger, even, than our own camp here. And they're powerful, growing quickly, taking up new territories, slowly squashing the anarchism that had developed. That's why my anarchist contact was so interested in them. It was a serious threat to his desires for the world."

  Wilson sounded stunned as he spoke rapidly in excitement. "A new organization... this is great news... it'll make our job so much easier... we'll team up with them... I've got to put together an envoy as soon as possible... this will speed up our plans for restoring order..."

  "It'll never happen," said Grant.

  "Never happen?"

  "They'll swallows us up. They're at least ten times our size, by all estimates."

  "OK..." said Wilson, clearly struggling to see the bigger picture. "So what? I'm sure we'll still get to our goal... we'll still be able to help... And anyway, what does this have to do with this man here?"

  Max sighed internally. It was almost as if he could feel the eyes turning back onto him. He had been about to make his move. Now it was too late. Well, maybe they'd look away again.

  The conversation seemed to be winding down. Grant seemed to be ready to make some point, to defy Wilson's expectations once and for all.

  Max didn't know how this conversation would lead back to him. But he knew that when it did, it wouldn't be good. He had the sense something bad, something terrible, was about to happen to him. And he didn't want to wait around to find out what it was.

  "This man," said Grant, "is a spy from the California militia. The anarchist told me one would come. He told me the day he'd arrive. He said that I needed to destroy him, or else face the consequences."

  "Consequences? What the hell are you talking about? Clearly this anarchist was just feeding you a load of garbage. How would he know all this?"

  Grant didn't answer him.

  "What's your fear, anyway, here? Why are you so fixated on this other group? Our goal is to restore order. Get a government running again. Stop the violence and chaos. If that's their goal too, then everything should be fine, right?"

  "I have no fear," said Grant. "But I will not let my leadership be challenged. As our own organization grows, I'll be the head of it. When we rule the whole country, I will rule..."

  Wilson let out a little laugh. Kind of a half-scoff. It surprised Max. "So that's it, eh?" said Wilson. "You don't want to lose your big ego. You don't want to let your own power be challenged. I'm surprised at you, Grant, I thought better of you..."

  A sudden sound, like a fist colliding with flash. Wilson suddenly let out a noise of pain. Then the sound of a body, likely Wilson's, collapsing heavily to the ground. Another grunt and groan of pain.

  "I'll do what it takes," said Grant. "And I won't have anyone, even you, disrespecting me. When the time comes, we'll destroy this other militia. And I will reign over..."

  Max thought it was now or never. He opened his eyes. A flashlight lay on the ground, pointing out into nothing. In the periphery of its beam, Max saw Wilson on the ground, clutching his stomach. Grant stood over him. A tall, muscular man. Powerfully built. An intense beard. Intense eyes.

  Max scrambled to his feet.

  "You egoistical bastard," spat Wilson.

  Grant's foot lashed out. Fast. The toe of his boot collided with Wilson.

  A grunt of pain.

  Max had to make a split-second decision. Fight or flee.

  It wasn't a matter of pride. Or ego. Neither of those mattered.

  All that mattered was surviving. Whatever got the job done was the best option.

  The choice was easy. Grant was almost certainly armed. And he was big enough and strong enough to make disarming him a serious problem.

  Grant, in the flash impression that Max had, looked like he'd been eating well for a long time. Very well.

  Max had been eating well. But not for that long. And only in comparison to how he'd been eating before they'd become stable, which wasn't very well at all.

  Max was already turned the opposite direction.

  His legs were moving under him. His mind was trying to get them to move fast. Very fast. But they were going slow. Felt like slow motion. Like he was stuck in quicksand.

  Time had slowed down for Max. It was the adrenaline. It was everything, his whole mind and body painfully aware that this was really life or death.

  And it was most likely going to be death.

  At any moment, Max expected to feel pain. Then hear a gunshot. But he couldn't control that. He could just control how fast he ran.

  His feet were pounding into the earth below him.

  There were noises behind him. Heavy footsteps raining down. Heavy, fast breathing. The swish of arms through the air. And, farther back, the painful groans of Wilson.

  The darkness was in front of him.

  Then pain.

  But no gunshot.

  It wasn't a bullet wound.

  Something had smacked into his leg. Something hard. Maybe metal or wood.

  Max went tumbling, his leg giving out from under him. He fell forward, his fast pace propelling him into the darkness.

  He broke his fall with his arms. But he fell hard, and his face smashed into the earth below him. Pain in his nose. The taste of blood. All normal. All almost routine.

  Max knew he didn't have long. He pushed with his arms against the earth, twisting his body, trying to get so that he could at least face his attacker. He knew he didn't have time to get up. Not before Grant got to him.

  Max got his body flipped over, his arms in front of him. He didn't have a weapon. But at least he could do something.

  He would have never thought of doing nothing, of giving up. It wasn't in his character.

  If it had been, he would have died long ago.

  Grant was already there, waiting for Max to get himself flipped over. He looked tall in the shadows, in the darkness. His torso had that classic V-taper. Those classic broad, strong shoulders. It all seemed more pronounced in the harsh outlines of the darkness.

  "You're going to tell me everything," growled Grant. "I'm not letting some halfwit Californian upstage me. Not after all this time. All this work I've put in."

  Max didn't protest. He didn't open his mouth.

  He'd do everything he could to survive.

  But he wasn't going to protest his innocence. He wasn't that kind of man. This wasn't his kind of game.

  Grant's fist was huge. It sped towards Max. Max's hands did nothing to block it.

  Grant was strong. Very strong. His fist collided with Max's face.

  Max's vision went fuzzy and black. Saw the bright lights scattered across the TV-like static.

  Then another blow. And another.

  The back of Max's head bounced off the earth underneath him. There was blood, and, somehow dirt, in his mouth.

  11

  Georgia

  "What's wrong with her?" whispered Cynthia.

  "I don't know. Do you still have that book?"

  "Book? Which book?"

  "The midwife one. The one Max found at that old bookstore. Remember?"

  Georgia was a little annoyed. Why did it sometimes seem like she had to explain everything?

  "Be right back."

  Mandy groaned in pain.

  Cynthia slipped out the door. As she did, Georgia spotted John's worried face peering in.

  "Go do something useful, John," snapped Georgia. "You're going to make us all nervous hanging onto our every word."

  John gave
a sheepish nod and his head disappeared again.

  "I'm scared, Georgia," said Mandy.

  Georgia was a mother, but she'd never been "that" type of mother exactly, the type that was good at showing caring, the type that was always sweet and knew how to show affection. Her own kids had said for years that she'd hardly ever hugged them, but that they'd known she'd cared for them because she'd have killed anyone who wronged her kids.

  "It's going to be OK," said Georgia, patting Mandy in a somewhat artificial manner on her shoulder.

  "You don't know that," said Mandy. "You're just saying that."

  Most people would have denied it. Most people would have continued on, insisting that everything would definitely be OK, no matter what.

  That wasn't Georgia's style.

  "Things are looking bad," she said. "But not as bad as they could be. You're experiencing pain when you shouldn't. You're experiencing weakness when you shouldn't. You should be feeling good and strong, but you're not, and that's all a problem. And it'd all be fine if we had a hospital or a doctor. But we don't. We don't have much, except a book on midwifery."

  "Midwife?" scoffed Mandy. "What good is that going to do me? Don't we have a real medical textbook somewhere?"

  "Yes," said Georgia. "We do, but it's not going to do us a lot of good if all the solutions involve big fancy electric-powered machines that we simply don't have around. Midwifery, however, has existed for thousands of years and doesn't rely on things like that."

  "It also can't cure many things," said Mandy. "If I've got a serious problem, I'll lose the baby. And I don't know if I can go through that. It'll be devastating."

  "I'm not going to feed you a bunch of lines," said Georgia. "As you can see, I'm not good at that kind of stuff. I always say it like it is."

  "That's why I can trust you."

  "OK," said Georgia. "So here it is. If you lose the baby, it'll be devastating, but you'll get through it. But that's not the real danger."

  "It's not?"

  "The real danger is that you're far enough along in your pregnancy that you're not just going to lose the baby, but that we'll lose you as well."

  Mandy's expression changed dramatically.

  "Now," said Georgia. "We're going to do everything we can to stop that."

  "How could you say that?" said Cynthia, appearing once again inside, her face full of fury. Fury directed right at Georgia. "You want to scare her to death or what?"

  Georgia didn't know what to say. She did notice, however, that Cynthia had brought back the book she'd requested. The book on midwifery.

  "Now don't worry, Mandy," said Cynthia. "Everything's going to be OK. Don't listen to Georgia. You're not going to die, and you're not going to lose the baby. We're not going to let that happen to you."

  "Don't tell me things you don't know," said Mandy.

  "I'm just trying to help. Unlike Georgia."

  "At least she gives it to me straight."

  "What's going on in there?" It was Dan's voice from outside the building.

  "Everything's fine, Dan," called out Cynthia.

  Georgia already had the midwife book open to the index. There was a list of pregnancy complications, as well as a short list of symptoms.

  "I may have something," said Georgia, turning quickly to page 81, the short chapter for "back labor," which had some of the symptoms that Mandy had described. "Something called back labor... I don't know... I think I've heard of it before."

  Georgia's own pregnancy was so long ago that she couldn't remember the various terms the doctors had used. She hadn't wanted, at the time, anything to do with midwives. She'd wanted doctors. Good old-fashioned doctors, and modern hospitals. It was funny that she was now looking at midwifery book, which, really, was a tradition far older than modern medical doctors, for better or for worse.

  "Let me see the book," said Cynthia, trying to grab it from Georgia's hands. It was uncharacteristic of Cynthia, but the situation had everyone on edge, so maybe it was understandable.

  "Just a minute," said Georgia, scanning the pages rapidly. "Shit. This is something that only happens during labor."

  "Let me see it then," said Cynthia, sounding desperate. "I'm sure I'll find something."

  "Mom?" It was James's voice from outside the building.

  "Not now, James."

  "This is serious."

  "If your sister wants to work with you two, just let her," said Georgia, getting more annoyed and frustrated by the second.

  "Sadie's gone," said James.

  Georgia's heart felt like it stopped.

  She snapped her head around.

  James's head had appeared in the doorway. It wasn't the sort of thing James would ever joke about, not since the EMP, but after seeing his face, Georgia was 100 percent sure that he was serious. His young face looked weary, completely pale in color, as if the youth had been drained from it.

  "Has anyone seen Sadie?" said Georgia, turning back to Cynthia.

  "I already checked, Mom," said James. "I asked everyone."

  "What about Mandy? She's been in here the whole time. Have you seen Sadie today, Mandy?"

  Mandy's pained face shook back and forth. "No," she said. "Not since yesterday."

  "Anyone else?"

  Everyone was shaking their heads.

  "Shit, shit," Georgia was muttering. "OK, James, when was the last time... we'll have to ask everyone..."

  "Already did," said James. There was intense worry on his face. But also determination etched into it. And for that moment, despite Georgia's panic at losing her only daughter, she felt pride for James, pride in the fact that he already knew what to do. Obviously he cared about his sister, and he was smart and strategic enough to already have done everything he could do. Before even going to his mom, he'd asked everyone if they'd seen her, and thought about her last whereabouts.

  "Where did you see her last?"

  Before she could even get the sentence out, James was starting to answer. "This morning. Dan and I were planning our day's work, and we saw her drinking coffee. Then she was gone. We didn't think anything of it, but then she never showed up. Together we checked everywhere with a mile radius of the camp. She's not here."

  "Shit."

  Mandy let out a groan of pain.

  There were two crisis situations coming at her from both fronts.

  Georgia needed to think quick.

  "OK," she said. "Cynthia, you stay here with Mandy. Do what you can. Use the book as a reference but remember there's not much we're going to be able to do without medical equipment. If the pain gets bad, there's aspirin, and a wooden spoon for her to bite on. If you want to give her something else, make sure to check in the book to see if it is OK for pregnancy."

  "But... she's going to be OK," Cynthia was saying.

  "Good," said Georgia. "But if she's not, you're going to be here for her. John?"

  "Yeah?" John's voice came outside the building.

  "You're coming with me."

  "Right," said John. He didn't need to ask what they were going to do. He already knew.

  "Everyone else," said Georgia. "You're staying here."

  "But, Mom! I've got to come..."

  "They need you here, James. You and Dan are on permanent watch until I get back. John, get your gear together. Quick. Plenty of ammunition. Enough food for a couple days. But not too much. We're going to pack light and move fast."

  Georgia gave Mandy and Cynthia a stiff nod that she hoped conveyed more than she knew how to say, then she was out of the building, moving through the darkness, headed towards her own gear.

  It felt almost as if she had entered into a dream. She'd always done everything she could to protect her kids. And now this? It seemed unreal. It seemed as if it couldn't possibly be happening.

  But it was. It had. Sadie was gone.

  There wasn't any hope in not jumping to conclusions. Better to assume the worst than the best. Better not to be caught off guard.

  If Sadie was sti
ll alive, wherever she was, Georgia would find her. If Sadie wasn't still alive, which was a very real possibility, then whoever had done the act would pay. Pay dearly.

  Georgia's heart was reacting, and her emotions, normally under control, were rearing their ugly head. But she managed to pack a bag. Food, water. Water filtration.

  She already had her knives on her. Flashlights too.

  She grabbed two rifles. Her favorites.

  Plenty of ammunition.

  An extra handgun.

  One of the few working flashlights that still had batteries. Why it worked no one really knew. It was just one of those flukes. Maybe it had been housed in an accidental Faraday cage, protecting it from the EMP.

  "You ready?" came John's voice.

  "Just a second."

  Georgia's eyes scanned the area rapidly, looking for anything she'd missed. No, nothing else to take. She wasn't the kind of woman who believed in having a lot of trinkets. She had no good luck charms or superstitions. If others believed in them, like Cynthia, that was fine. But they weren't for Georgia.

  There wasn't time to say goodbye. There wasn't time to give any more instructions. There wasn't any time at all.

  It was all happening so fast, and her mind was in such an unusual state, that it wasn't until Georgia and John were leaving camp, that Georgia realized they didn't know where to go.

  They didn't have a clue where Sadie was. They didn't have a clue which direction she'd be in.

  "We've got to pick one direction and just stick to it," said John.

  "It's only a one-in-four shot," said Georgia, trying to keep her anger and panic under control. Her face felt red and hot. She tried to focus on her breathing. In and out. In and out.

  "Worse than that," said John. "It's not like she's going to be due east."

  "Shit," exclaimed Georgia suddenly, slamming her foot hard into a tree trunk out of sheer anger and frustration. Pain shot through her foot. It was uncharacteristic of her, doing something pointless that hurt herself. But it just seemed so hopeless. She wanted to just open her mouth wide and scream.

  But she didn't. She kept it under control. She kept it bottled down.

  "There's got to be something we can do," said John. "Somewhere we can look. Somewhere nearby. Where would you take someone if you kidnapped them?"