EMP Survival Series (Book 2): Days of Chaos Page 4
“Well?” Elliot asked. “How do you know him?”
Damon leaned against the Jeep. “He’s the cousin of a friend of mine back in Keene. I only saw him a few times when Magnus brought him out to chat to Cole.” He breathed in deeply and looked off toward the mouth of the driveway. “He was a small-time dealer, operating here. Magnus was trying to persuade Cole to expand his operation to include Lake Placid.”
“Selling drugs.”
He nodded.
Elliot shook his head in disbelief at how he’d gone all this time without saying a word. “Well that explains how you wound up in Rikers.” He ran a hand over his knee and took a hard drag on the cigarette. “Are you sure the vehicle belongs to this… Magnus guy?” Elliot asked.
“I’m not sure but Cole, the friend of mine, owned one. He runs a garage, and he’d purchased one about six years ago. It was sky blue with a white stripe down the side.”
“You think they were responsible for Chief Wayland’s death?”
Damon shrugged. “No idea. But if it is Magnus, he won’t stop until he finds out who killed his cousin. Him and Trent were like brothers.”
Elliot placed his hand on the grip of his holstered weapon and withdrew it. Damon took a cautionary step back.
“Settle down. I’m not gonna shoot you,” Elliot said without looking at him. He pulled out the magazine and began adding a few more bullets to it. Earlier that morning they’d run into a bit of trouble on the east side. Nothing they couldn’t handle but he had to fire off a few warning shots in the air to ward off an antagonist group. They, along with others, had stopped them on their way over to Chief Wayland’s home, presumably to lighten their load. Of course, he’d expected residents to be outside looking for food and taking matters into their own hands now they were two weeks in. It would only get worse from here on out.
“Yeah, that would be a bit extreme,” Damon replied, his mouth curling into a smile. “Look, I need to head back to Keene. My girl is there.”
“You never told me you had one.”
“You never asked.”
There was some truth in that. He hadn’t really taken the time to get into deep discussions with Damon. Jesse, on the other hand had, but there was a reason for that. Elliot had spent a large majority of those twelve days talking with Rayna. She was more forgiving of him than he was of himself. Though he could tell the dynamics between the two of them had changed. She was cautious and had every right to be. After walking out on her and the children, he was surprised that she even let him back in. But that was Rayna. A woman with a heart of gold. She’d always been the one to see the glass half full. The kids, well they were kids, quick to forgive and just glad to have their dad back. He expected them to be clingy, but it was quite the opposite. In the year he’d been away, they had no other choice than to grow up fast.
“Besides, it’s a bit of an off-and-on relationship. Hell, I’m not even sure if she’ll be around.”
Elliot nodded. “I understand.”
Silence stretched between them.
“I’ll find out what’s going on and if they were responsible.”
“So you’re thinking of coming back?”
He looked at Elliot and frowned. “You know when I left New York, I had no intention of staying in Lake Placid but after everything, and the dangers of fallout, I just figured it would make sense to stay put until it was safe to come out. I don’t know if I’ll return, or if I’ll stay in Keene. I just know I have to go and speak to Cole and see my girl. If I can find out what happened in the process, I owe you that.”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
“Maybe you don’t think I do but…”
As he was talking, tires squealed as the truck driven by Jesse pulled into the lot, a plume of white smoke swirled up behind it into the chilly air. It sounded like it was on its last legs. They were lucky to find another vehicle. Gary said they couldn’t keep them because the department needed them. Elliot had mixed feelings about that. It wasn’t that he didn’t want the police to be able to do their job, but he felt they had bitten off more than they could chew. Jesse parked it at an angle behind the Jeep and hopped out. He slammed the door and gave it a kick.
“What a piece of shit!”
“Did the job though,” Elliot said.
When Maggie got out she had this sheepish look on her face.
“What’s up?” Damon asked.
“Besides the vehicle having a mind of its own?” Jesse said staring down at his blackened hands that were covered in grease. “Damn thing gave up the ghost ten minutes from Aubuchon Hardware.” He slapped the top of the hood.
“We ran into a spot of trouble,” Maggie replied walking to the back of the truck and beginning to haul out some items. Elliot went over to give them a hand.
“Two guys,” Jesse said. “Wanted the truck and our rifles.”
“And?” Elliot replied reaching into the back and pulling out an armful of barbed wire rolls. “You handled it?”
“I had no choice.”
“We always have a choice,” Elliot said casting a glance at Damon.
He then noticed blood on Maggie’s face. “You hurt?”
She shook her head. “I’m fine. Just a little shaken up.”
* * *
Damon could feel the tension building between them as he assisted hauling in the goods. He didn’t blame Elliot for his reaction. Had he been in the same position he would have probably said the same thing. He really was planning on telling them but with all the commotion, and Rayna’s wounds being treated, he didn’t think it was worth it. There was also the fact that he hadn’t planned on staying so he assumed what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. But after seeing the charred remains of Elliot’s neighbors and hearing the description of the vehicle, he had to say something, if only to get it off his chest. There was no way of telling for sure if it was them but he knew Magnus and what he was capable of. He thought Cole had a short fuse but Magnus, well, he bordered on psychotic. His thoughts drifted back to one time in Keene when they’d been out drinking at a local bar. A random stranger had bumped into Magnus and spilled his beer. He apologized and even offered to buy him another, but he declined and over the course of the next hour sat there brooding, staring at the guy and his girlfriend until they left the bar. Seconds after, he said he had to make a phone call. When he returned he had blood all over his knuckles and a relieved look on his face as if he’d just exorcised his inner demons. And the insane part? Anyone else would have left the bar, not Magnus. Nope, he waited for the cops to show up and by then he was full of liquid courage and ready to rumble. It took three of them to drag his ass out of that bar. He was deranged that was for sure.
Once the final item was removed from the back of the truck, Damon approached Jesse and asked if he could get a ride.
“You leaving us?” Jesse asked.
Damon looked over to Elliot who was talking with Rayna. Maggie walked over, her face now clean.
“I think I’ve stayed long enough. I don’t want to outstay my welcome.”
“But you were saying only yesterday that you were starting to like it here.”
He chuckled. “I meant here, as in outside of prison walls.”
“Oh,” Jesse said nodding. “You want to go check on Sara?”
Damon nodded.
It was strange; in the short time he’d got to know Jesse, they’d formed a friendship. It wasn’t deep the way it was with Cole but they’d bonded over the small details of life. It was hard not to after their long journey out of New York and time inside the shelter. Even Maggie had started to warm up to him.
“Are you coming back?” Maggie asked.
“Not sure right now,” Damon looked toward Elliot who was now looking over. “I just need a ride. It’ll only take twenty minutes to get there.”
“Well you might want to add an extra twenty on that if the roads are anything like this town. I felt like a pinball working my way around stalled vehicles. Lucky thi
s thing is old,” Jesse said giving one of the tires another kick. Damon shifted his weight feeling slightly uncomfortable at the thought that Elliot had told Rayna. She’d glanced at him and then said something before Elliot made his way over.
“You heading out?”
Jesse thumbed over his shoulder. “Yeah, gonna take him back.”
Elliot nodded, his eyes darting between them. “About what I said, Damon.”
“It’s alright, I understand.”
“No, you had no way of knowing this was going to happen.” He cleared his throat. “Look, if things don’t work out in Keene, you’re welcome here. We certainly could use the extra help.”
“I appreciate that.”
“Right, well you should head out. Make sure you’ve got enough ammo,” Elliot said to Jesse. Damon walked over and extended his hand, Elliot shook it.
“Thanks for everything.”
It was awkward. How do you thank the man whose wife was nearly killed by the cousin of a close friend? Damon cut it short and hopped into the truck as Jesse slipped behind the wheel. He fired up the engine and Maggie came around.
“You coming too?” Damon asked.
“Yeah, someone’s got to look out for him,” she said, grinning at Jesse as she settled in for the trip. She reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a Glock and loaded a fresh magazine into it. Elliot watched them as they reversed out and then disappeared around the corner. After veering on to NY-72 E and leaving Lake Placid behind, Damon updated the two of them on his conversation with Elliot, just in case he decided not to return. There were two sides to every story, and he still wasn’t sure Elliot understood his position. Their response was slightly different to Elliot’s. Of course they had no emotional connection to his family or anyone in the neighborhood. Maggie just told him not to worry about it. What was done was done. Jesse remained quiet then blurted out a comment that didn’t even seem to make sense.
“I killed two people this morning.”
Both Damon and Maggie looked at him. He was gripping the wheel tight, his knuckles turning pale.
“And…?” Damon asked.
He kept his eyes fixed on the road. “We’re living under different circumstances now. Who’s to say Elliot’s neighbors hadn’t done something awful to someone else in town? I mean, it might not have been Magnus, right?”
“Possible,” Damon muttered.
“For all we know that Scout could have belonged to the same person who gutted the chief.”
“What’s your point, Jesse?” Maggie asked.
“I’m just saying that everyone is doing what they can to survive, and if that means killing someone else,” he shrugged. “Then so be it.”
Damon snorted. “That’s cold, even coming from you.”
Even Maggie seemed amused by that.
“What?” Jesse asked. “I’m just saying. I don’t think it’s right what those two men were trying to do with Rayna but flip the coin over and see it from their point of view. Desperation can drive a man to do crazy things.”
Neither he nor Maggie replied to that. They drove in silence for the rest of the journey. Damon mulled over the events of the morning but his thoughts were never far from the conversation he would have with Cole. If he was still alive, Damon expected him to have his fingers on the pulse in Keene — he wasn’t the kind of man who would stand back and wait for the government to fix things, neither would he follow another. And if he was behind the deaths in Lake Placid, he’d want answers and that would only lead to more trouble. Sure, he could lie but if Magnus had spotted him or found out from the two people he’d killed that those he was with had been responsible for his cousin’s death — things were about to get ugly.
Chapter 5
Foster Goodman had his reasons for killing Chief Wayland. The two of them hadn’t seen eye to eye since the death of his son. Two years earlier his nineteen-year-old had died in a motorcycle collision in the north end of town. According to witnesses, not only had the driver of the SUV that hit him made an unsafe turn, but they were also intoxicated and had changed seats with the passenger. Though charges were brought against them, they were never convicted of vehicular manslaughter. In fact, they walked away with nothing more than a slap on the wrist and a license suspension. The driver of that SUV was the chief’s wife.
Foster knew Wayland had covered it up and abused his power as chief because after it came to light that several officers in the department had brought forth allegations against him for violating town policies, procedures and general orders. This led to an investigation by internal affairs and for a brief while there was even talk of firing him due to employee intimidation, untruthfulness and multiple violations.
Except it never happened because the shit hit the fan.
All Foster wanted him to do was to confess that he had covered it up.
If he’d just admitted it, he might have still been alive. Except that wasn’t the chief’s way. He couldn’t admit wrongdoing even though society was collapsing around them and there was very little chance he would ever operate in the same capacity as he had before.
As Foster sat there staring out over Mirror Lake, smoking a cigarette while two of his men sorted through the charred remains of another fire, his thoughts drifted back to that night — eight days after the lights had gone out.
Hunkered down in his house that night, the power outage had given him a lot of time to think. Too much time. After the death of his son and seeing his killer get away with manslaughter, he’d thrown himself into his work to keep his mind occupied. He thought if he could just stay busy, maybe, just maybe he wouldn’t fall apart. The grief and stress of losing his only child had nearly cost him his marriage. His wife had become a shell of a person, never leaving the home and barely able to crawl out of bed in the morning. The only reason he’d been able to cope was because his work forced him to be out of the home, however, that all changed with the EMP. Now he had to face the very thing that he’d been ignoring and numbing with alcohol. Eventually he reached his breaking point.
By day eight the sound of violence echoed through the neighborhood. The constant sound of distant gunfire gave him an idea. Perhaps it was the alcohol lowering his inhibitions, or seeing his wife struggling to hold on to a reason to live, but when he left that night for Wayland’s home with a .45 tucked into his waistband he had no intention of killing him.
When he arrived outside his home, he knocked on the door but got no answer.
He went over to the window and called out to him, hoping he would hear but there was no response. Now he could have walked away. He’d had enough time to think about it on the way over, but he took Wayland’s lack of response as another attempt to avoid admitting guilt. Something broke inside of him outside that home that night. He wasn’t thinking right but then neither were those on the streets, lighting fires, looting stores and beating people for a loaf of bread.
Foster went around the back of the house, found the largest rock in his yard and used it to break the glass on the rear door. He reached in and unlocked it, and as soon as he entered he found himself staring down a Beretta.
“Back out, right now!” Chief Wayland said.
He backed up. “I just want to talk.”
“You know I could arrest you?”
He chuckled. “Maybe you should go tell that to your neighbors who are breaking into the local convenience store across the street.”
“Get out.”
He put his hands up. “I just want to show you something.”
Foster slowly reached into his jacket.
“Don’t do it.”
“It’s just a photograph.” He pulled back the jacket so he could see there was nothing there except the picture. He pulled out the five-by-eight color photograph taken of his son weeks before his death and held it out. “He was just nineteen years old.”
The photo was of him and his son in front of a new Kawasaki Ninja H2 Carbon. He’d wanted a brand-new bike since he was a kid.
Foster shook his head. “No, you don’t.”
Wayland wouldn’t look at it. Instead he stayed focused on Foster.
“You know he was studying to become an engineer. He had these high hopes of doing something big with his life and that all changed that night your wife drove into him.”
“She wasn’t driving.”
“BULLSHIT!” he bellowed, his hands shaking ever so slightly.
“What do you want, Foster?”
“For you to acknowledge that you covered it up.”
He shook his head and narrowed his eyes. “This is not the time or the place to have this discussion. Now I advise you…”
“To what? Huh? You going to shoot me, Wayland, and cover that up as well?”
He jabbed his handgun forward. “You’re the one who broke into my house.”
Foster slipped the photo back inside his pocket and kept his hands out. He continued staring at him even as he told him again to leave. He wasn’t going anywhere, not until he got answers. He just needed him to lower the gun.
That’s when the tears began to roll. Foster didn’t need to fake them as they’d been building for years. He’d bottled up his emotions and pushed aside his hatred because that’s what he was meant to do. That’s what society had taught him to do. He wasn’t supposed to grieve for years. No. Take a few months off. Go see a grief counselor. Find ways to deal with it and then come back and leave all that shit at home. But that hadn’t worked. How could it when his son was lying in a grave and the one responsible wasn’t behind bars? He’d come so close to seeing Wayland terminated from his position. And though it wouldn’t have brought back his kid, it would have at least given him some satisfaction. It would have brought into question every incident that he’d ever been involved in, including the collision.
Slowly but surely Chief Wayland lowered his gun.
“C’mon, don’t do that. Don’t cry,” he said. “Look… I’ll get you a drink. We’ll talk.”