EMP Survival Series (Book 2): Days of Chaos Page 8

  “Like I had a choice.”

  “We always have choices, some work, some don’t,” Cole replied.

  Cole turned and gave a nod for Magnus to release Sara. She ran forward, and he was about to hug her when she slapped him across the face.

  He reached up and touched his cheek, which was now on fire. She’d always had one hell of a hook on her. “Holy shit, what was that for?”

  Cole and the others burst out laughing. “Damn! I told you she’s batshit crazy.”

  “For my parents.” She lashed out again, and he grabbed her wrist.

  “I didn’t kill them.”

  “But you agreed with this asshole who did.”

  Damon held her tight and then slowly she pressed herself against him and sobbed. Cole chuckled as he walked back over to the bar and put the bottle back. “Now how about you invite your friends in? Introduce us. We’ll have supper. Sawyer, go get Pete.”

  “Now?”

  “Yeah. Now!”

  He trudged away and pushed out of the north exit door.

  “I’ve got a good feeling about this, Damon. It’s going to be like old times. Just like when we went into business together.” He turned to Devin to see if he wanted steak. Magnus didn’t take his eyes off Damon for even a second. He could see his Glock on the bar beside Cole as he’d laid it down.

  “You think I can get my gun back?” Damon asked.

  Cole diverted his gaze away from Devin. “Yeah, sure, later.” He smiled. “Go call your friends in. Let’s meet them.”

  “Okay.” Damon nodded and headed toward the door with Sara.

  “Oh and Sara darling, you take a seat over there. He’s coming right back.”

  They were three-quarters of the way to the exit. Damon scanned the room. Magnus was holding his piece down at his side. Devin didn’t have his out and his own gun was within inches of Cole’s grasp. He considered bolting but the odds of being shot were too high. Instead, he used the moment to his advantage. Damon kept hold of Sara’s hand.

  “You don’t trust me, Cole?” Cole studied him, his fingers tapping out a rhythm on the bar. “Cause if you don’t trust me what’s to say that I’m going to do anything you say when I return to Lake Placid?”

  He chuckled. “Alright. Alright. Go on then, you two love birds.”

  Damon squeezed her hand and tugged her toward the door. Once they were outside, and the door began to close, he could see Sawyer heading north on Highway 9 in the blue Scout. Without missing a beat he burst forward dashing for the truck holding Sara’s hand. “Let’s go,” he yelled. Damon had just reached the passenger side and was about to get in when he heard — Pop. Pop.

  The sound was unmistakable. He turned his head to find Sara clutching her chest. Two rounds had punctured her back and gone straight through her. In that moment his world slowed. He heard return gunfire and Maggie yelling for him to get in. His eyes darted to the tavern just in time to see Magnus duck inside. He hauled Sara’s limp body into the vehicle and Jesse smashed his foot against the accelerator and tore out of the lot under heavy fire from Magnus and Devin. The passenger side window shattered sending glass all over Maggie.

  Sara was gasping, sucking air in rapidly.

  “Stay with me,” Damon said trailing fingers gloved in blood around the side of her face. Her eyes were glazing over and her body was heaving. Contrary to what the movies portrayed, people didn’t always die immediately when struck by a bullet. It depended on distance, the type of bullet, the impact and the path it took inside. Still, even if the bullet hadn’t hit an artery, they could still die from hemorrhagic shock.

  * * *

  Elliot shouldered the rifle and pushed forward through the trees, moving with purpose and speed around the other edge. They didn’t want anyone to look out and see footprints in the snow leading up to the side of the house. The wind was picking up, blowing snow in their faces like sharp needles. Kong stayed close, possibly sensing danger? Behind him Gary watched his six while Elliot scanned the windows of the custom-built Adirondack style home. Who owned the place? It was located in one of the most prestigious areas of Lake Placid. Only those with deep pockets could afford homes around there.

  As they got closer, he heard voices and hurried over to the rear of the house and pressed his back against it.

  “You know they’re going to send the cops out looking for him.”

  “They’d have better luck finding a needle in a haystack. Now stop worrying.”

  “Do you trust him?”

  “Of course I do. He’s already delivered twice and without asking us to do anything.”

  With one hand gripping his AR-15 and the other holding a firm grip on Kong, he waited, fully expecting to see them round the corner. A cigarette butt was flicked into the snow and then their voices grew distant. Elliot looked down.

  “Stay here, Kong. Don’t move.”

  Kong dropped, his thick fur protecting him from the cold. He would have taken him in the house but with glass on the ground and armed assailants he wasn’t trained for that.

  Gary tapped his shoulder to let him know it was time to move. He took a deep breath and stepped forward, pushing away the memories of Fallujah. It felt like he was reliving it again, clearing homes looking for insurgents. He climbed the eight steps to the deck taking two at a time and got real low and approached the closest window. He peered inside to where one guy was sitting at the kitchen table rolling a joint. Without saying any words, he motioned to Gary using hand signals to alert him to the presence of one suspect. Elliot crept underneath the window and shifted over to the next. The new view gave him a shot of the hallway, and a partial glimpse of the living room where he could just make out Officer Jackson sitting on a couch. A female crossed over and Elliot quickly pulled back.

  He took another look, and this time saw a different guy with a Mohawk. On the back of his leather jacket were the words: Sex, Drugs and Rock and Roll. Below that was the peace symbol used in the nuclear disarmament campaign. He snorted. The irony wasn’t wasted. He tossed up two fingers and then was just about to head for the rear door when they heard gunfire coming from the front of the house. The staccato of an assault rifle caused both of them to go on high alert.

  “That better be someone else,” Gary said suggesting that returning fire wasn’t the answer. He was an idealist. The instincts he’d gained from being a Marine had been replaced when he signed up as a cop. The police taught communication then various degrees of enforcement and only resorting to use of weapons if they felt their life was in jeopardy. It was extremely effective in the normal world but this was a very different world now. Inside he could see two men alerting the others that they had company. It was now or never. He moved toward the door, and Gary pulled the screen door open. He swung his rifle behind him and withdrew his Glock for close quarter combat. Elliot cut the corner to make sure the coast was clear then moved in. A male suspect darted into the corridor and before he could fire off a round or even open his mouth, Elliot fired one in the chest, and another in the head sending him down. Gary veered off into the nearest room taking the right while he went left.

  The woman let out a scream and darted out with a machete in hand. It narrowly missed his face as she cut the air in a wide arcing motion. With the precision of a laser, Gary fired a round, and it opened her skull. She collapsed just as the walls were peppered with rounds. Both Gary and Elliot hit the floor as the boom of a shotgun tore up the drywall and blew a hole through the adjoining door. Wood went flying, and the room filled with white dust from drywall.

  A door at the front of the house swung open and the final two assailants rushed out unleashing a flurry of bullets at Laura and Richie. Elliot stumbled to his feet and hurried down the corridor, he pointed to Jackson who was lying on the ground with his hands zip tied. He stayed behind the wall near the front entrance as the gunfire continued. Looking toward the road he saw Richie on the ground, bleeding out, while Laura took out the legs of one of the kidnappers as he tried to make a
dash for it.

  The other lay near the front gate coughing and spluttering. In the short time it took for Elliot to make it over to him, he breathed his last. But his buddy, the one screaming in agony and clutching his leg in the middle of the road, was very much alive.

  Chapter 10

  Damon rested his forehead against Sara’s as she took her last breath. He wiped away the blood that trickled from the corner of her mouth. Jesse glanced over. They were doing over 80 mph, trying to put as much distance as they could between the tavern and them. Damon’s heart was pounding in his chest. It all happened so quickly. Too quickly.

  Homes and trees whipped by in his peripheral vision.

  “What now?” Jesse asked.

  He got no response from either of them.

  “Damon. What now?” he asked again hoping to snap him out of it.

  He’d turned his head for just a second when the front windshield cracked and a bullet struck Maggie in the shoulder. The truck swerved, and he had trouble keeping the tires on the ground.

  Damon looked out to see Sawyer standing in the middle of the road. Behind him the blue Scout was positioned across the center line to prevent them from driving past. He had his rifle raised. Before Damon could tell Jesse what to do, there was another pop, then another and Jesse almost lost control of the vehicle. Their vehicle shot past Sawyer, smashing into the rear corner of the Scout. Metal crunched, sparks flew, and he fully expected them to wind up in the ditch. They didn’t. They veered off the road, tore up the snow-covered shoulder and he managed to get back on the road leaving Sawyer taking a few more potshots at the truck. Damon looked back and saw him get on a radio. A plume of grit and dirt kicked up, and by the thumping sound, he knew a round had struck a tire.

  “Maggie,” Jesse yelled.

  Maggie was clutching her left shoulder and screaming in pain. Her head tipped back, her mouth agape. Damon had to let Sara go so he could try and help Maggie. Meanwhile Jesse was becoming distracted, panicked and overwhelmed. They swerved as the one flat tire caused the vehicle to pull to one side.

  “Focus on the road,” Damon shouted.

  “Which way?”

  “What?”

  “Which way do I go?”

  In his panicked state he’d missed the turnoff for Lake Placid and was heading north on Highway 9. At the rate he was going they’d hit Jay Mountain Trailhead.

  “Shit,” Jesse said.

  “What is it?”

  He tapped the gas indicator. Damon glanced in his side mirror and saw that a round had struck the fuel line, now they were losing fuel by the second. This was not good. Not good at all. If that wasn’t bad enough he caught sight of the blue Scout behind them in the distance.

  “Give it more gas,” Damon yelled looking over his shoulder.

  “I’m giving it everything it’s got.”

  As they followed the winding road, which cut through the north part of upstate New York, the Adirondack high peaks loomed on either side, a dense woodland that fed into the Sentinel Wilderness. Damon glanced into the back of the truck at what they’d brought with them, it wasn’t much but he had an idea.

  “Pull off.”

  “What?”

  “Pull off. This truck isn’t going to get us far. We need to take cover in the woodland.” He glanced back in his mirror and saw that Sawyer was getting closer. The fuel in the truck was nearly gone. In a matter of minutes it would be spluttering and stalled at the edge of the road, at least if they got off now they could increase the odds of survival.

  “Do it now!” he bellowed. Jesse swerved on the hard shoulder, gravel and snow crunched beneath the tires. Damon was the first out. He reached into the back of the truck and pulled out a custom Ruger 22 rifle, it already had a magazine in. He chambered a round and brought it up while yelling orders to Jesse.

  “Get Maggie out and into the forest. Now!”

  He glanced at Sara’s slumped-over body and clenched his jaw. He could feel rage welling up inside him. Jesse pushed out his side and ran around to help Maggie out. She was wincing in pain and groaning.

  “Grab the rucksack in the back.”

  Damon had to give Elliot props for being prepared even if everyone else wasn’t. He’d made a point to keep the vehicles fueled up at all times, and made sure that a few basics items were in a backpack, loaded in the truck just case they had to leave in a hurry. As Sawyer got closer, Damon squeezed off three rounds one after the other aiming for the windshield. He moved forward while Jesse and Maggie pitched sideways down a ditch heading for the wilderness. The beauty of a Ruger 22, one of the most popular rifles in the world, was that it was completely customizable. The magazine Elliot had put in this one held up to twenty-five rounds so Damon didn’t hesitate to use every single one to bring down this asshole.

  The blue Scout screeched to a halt and Sawyer slammed into reverse as Damon kept him under steady gunfire and peppered the vehicle. He watched as Sawyer spun it around and took off at a high rate of speed leaving a plume of dust in its wake. Unlike Magnus he wasn’t a psycho, just a blind follower of Cole. They all were. Manipulating people was his greatest strength. He led others around by enticing them with money, so it wasn’t a surprise to think he would try to do the same now that money had no value. Commodities changed, people like him didn’t.

  Damon had fired nine shots before he stopped. He remained on the road for the next minute or two to make sure Sawyer didn’t turn around before heading back to the truck. He glanced at the holes in the rear and the remaining fuel leaking to the ground. The thing was a write-off. Inside the cab he reached across and dragged Sara’s dead body out and put her over one shoulder. She wasn’t heavy at all. No more than a hundred and twenty pounds wet. He kicked the door closed and trudged down the incline and up the other side to join Jesse in the tree line. He could have left her there, but she deserved a proper burial even if it would be a shallow grave.

  The afternoon sky had shifted, squeezing out what little blue remained and replacing it with nothing but a dreary and bleak gray. It did little to ease his mind. He ducked under a branch and pushed his way through the thick underbrush. The Sentinel Wilderness was a huge area that covered 2,300 acres and surrounded the towns of Keene, Jay, North Elba and Wilmington. The most noticeable attraction was the mountains, the snow-brushed Sentinel and Pitchoff, and the Kilburn, which was the highest peak at just below 4,000 feet. It was rugged terrain and easy to get lost in. It certainly wasn’t for amateurs. It was full of ponds and wetlands and often used for hiking, camping, rock and ice climbing in the winter, fishing in the summer and hunting all year round.

  “Where the hell are we going?” Jesse said. “We need to treat her wound.”

  “We will.”

  “When?”

  “Once we’ve put some distance between us and the road. They’ll be back and when they do I want to be ready.”

  “Back?” Jesse spat. “What happened back there?”

  Damon didn’t answer; instead he trudged on heading in a southwesterly direction. Twigs snapped beneath his boots and he stopped to adjust Sara’s body. He planned to camp for the night, bury her and then in the morning loop around to Keene and drop in on an old friend. The sound of the Ausable River got closer as they threaded their way through the vast expanse of pine and fir trees. He knew this place well, so did Cole and the rest of them. They’d spent many a weekend camped out down here, fishing, knocking back beers and partying in their younger years. However, now it no longer held the same attraction as it had before. The river wasn’t deep but fast moving. Although due to the plummeting temperatures, areas of the river had frozen over. As they made it to the banks of the river, he laid Sara down on the snow-covered ground and glanced up at a few spiny trees that no longer held leaves.

  “Is there another way around?” Jesse asked.

  “Not unless you want to head back to the road. We need to cross it.”

  “And how do you suppose we do that? She’s shot, it’s freezing fuckin
g cold and we are miles from Keene.”

  “I told you what road to take,” Damon replied.

  “I’m not from here. They all look the same,” Jesse shot back.

  Before heading across, Damon decided to bury Sara. It wouldn’t be easy as the ground was hard from the cold and he had no tools but he wasn’t going to leave her above ground.

  “Give me a hand,” he said to Jesse as he went over to a large tree and snapped off a branch. He then searched for a spot near the water’s edge where the earth was waterlogged and soft. It took about ten minutes to find an area where the soil was loose enough that he could scrape and scoop it out. Jesse assisted him and over the course of half an hour they scraped away until there was just enough space to roll Sara’s body into. They covered her and he made a makeshift cross out of old sticks and vine.

  When he was done, he stood back and dropped his head to say a short prayer. Damon wasn’t religious, but he did believe there was something behind creation.

  Once he was done, he went over to Maggie. She’d taken a seat on an outcropping of rock and was trying to get a better look at the wound.

  “Let me see,” he said.

  He pulled back her bloodied jacket and examined the front, then the back of her shoulder. The bullet hadn’t gone all the way through which wasn’t good.

  “Get it out of me,” she said.

  “No, we need to minimize the bleeding and get you to a doctor.”

  “And what about shock?” Jesse said.

  “Right now the main threat is bleeding and infection.”

  “Yeah so take the bullet out.”

  “Listen, we could end up doing more damage. Toss over the backpack,” he said to Jesse. He slipped it off and handed it to him. Damon dug around inside hoping that Elliot had given them something, anything they could use for this. There was all manner of shit inside, mostly basic items to start a fire, purification tablets, a hunting knife that had tools inside the handle, a plastic bag that contained some bandages, a tarp, a flint match lighter, a whistle, a local map, a canteen for water, a small can of lighter fluid, a first-aid kit, a flashlight, a small hand-crank radio and some MREs. That was it. It was no 72-hour bug-out bag but it would certainly come in handy to get them through the night. Damon pulled out the bandages, bunched them up and applied pressure to the wound.