Survival EMP (Book 3): Solar Dawn Read online

  “He’s going to be too busy to worry about this feud between you. He’s a son of a bitch, but he ain’t crazy.”

  “No,” said Rick. “He’s not crazy. It’d be easier if he was.”

  “Don’t worry about him. We got bigger issues to be looking at – like where we’re headed.”

  Harvey came out to the Blazer, looking for a fuel pump. “Are you talking about that guy we saw on horseback?” he said.

  “That’s the one,” murmured Rick.

  “Can’t say I noticed anything strange about him, except that you didn’t like him much.”

  “No,” said Rick grimly.

  “Rick and Major Connors go back a long way,” explained Scott, “and, well, they’ve got some kind of long-running feud that I don’t even pretend to understand. Can’t see that it matters now.”

  “You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who holds a grudge,” said Harvey. He took one look at Rick’s brooding face, however, and added: “I take that back. Maybe you are. What did this guy do to get under your skin?”

  “He won’t tell you,” said Scott. “One thing you gotta understand about Rick is that ninety percent of what he thinks is classified.”

  Rick cast an annoyed glance at Scott.

  “Scratch that,” said Scott. “make it ninety nine percent.” He added a smile, just to drive it home.

  “When you guys are done bonding,” called Packy, “I could use a hand here.”

  A shot rang out in the distance.

  Rick cocked his ear just long enough to note it came from due south. “Let’s go. Packy, the keys!”

  He ran to the Blazer and released the parking brake. Packy knocked his head on the underside of the Humvee as he rolled out. Scott and Harvey took up position behind the Blazer, ready to push.

  “Come on,” roared Rick impatiently.

  Packy staggered out of the shed. “Okay, okay,” he said, rubbing his head.

  Fishing out his keys he slid into the driver’s seat. “Awww, my hands are all dirty. Give me a minute.”

  “Turn the ignition on,” snapped Rick.

  Scott and Harvey were already pushing the vehicle.

  “Have you got a cloth?” inquired Packy.

  Rick heaved against the door pillar until the vehicle was rolling.

  “Guys, this is a mint interior,” complained Packy. “Do you really want me to lose market value on this with grease stains?”

  Tires grated on grit as the SUV picked up its pace across the lot. Seeing as no one was even slightly concerned about the hygiene of his car, Packy inserted the key, dropped the clutch and engaged gear.

  “If this doesn’t clean off, you guys owe me,” grumbled Packy.

  The engine was still warm. As soon as he lifted the clutch, the V8 growled into life.

  “Go, go, go,” said Rick as he jumped into the passenger seat. The rear doors opened and shut as Scott and Harvey dived in. Packy floored the gas and spun the wheel. His Mac-10 submachine gun slid along the dash until Rick caught it. With the tires squealing, the Blazer shot out of the reserve center and sped down the road.

  For all that he loved his cars, Packy drove like a maniac, swerving around abandoned cars and drifting into the corners. Hitting seventy on the highway that cut through the Myers Park subdivision, he threw the vehicle into the clubhouse parking lot, yanking on the parking brake to do a one-eighty. The vehicle jerked to a halt, rocking on its suspension. “That’ll be four dollars and fifty cents,” said Packy.

  Rick leaped out of the vehicle and dashed to the clubhouse. Sally and Dee stood by the pool. Running over to them, he looked down and saw Lauren examining a body. Sliding down the terrace, he landed alongside her. Lauren sat back on her haunches, anxiously rubbing her forehead.

  “I don’t believe it,” she said.

  “Was he alone?” said Rick brusquely.

  Lauren shook her head. “It was a group, but the others ran. I thought he was reaching for a weapon.”

  Scott appeared on the terrace and Rick waved him onward to secure the area. He turned the body over, checking for a pulse. He needn’t have bothered. The single shot had gone straight into his chest, stopping the heart.

  “I really thought he had a gun,” said Lauren plaintively. “If he’d have listened to me, he would have been okay.”

  Sticking out of the back pocket of the corpse was a slip of paper. Rick pulled it out. After reading it, he angrily scrunched it up.

  3

  “Who is this Major Connors?” said Harvey.

  “Depends on who you ask,” replied Scott. “Officially, he’s a decorated war hero. Served in every major conflict, and a dozen smaller ones you never heard about. Led an A-Team on horseback against the Taliban. Went to the Philippines to train their Special Forces against the Muslim insurgents, ran operations in Columbia, then ran teams in Iraq hunting Baathists, going on to become General Petraeus’ point man in arming the Sunni militias against the Shiite insurgents. When he returned to Fort Bragg, they gave him the Distinguished Service Medal and put him behind a desk while he waited to make Colonel.”

  “And unofficially?”

  “The most corrupt son of a bitch you ever met. According to the rumors, he sold confiscated cocaine in Columbia, ran whorehouses in the Philippines and smuggled weapons out of Iraq. Allegedly. They say the only reason he was put behind a desk was to keep him out of trouble and there was no way in hell he was ever going to make Colonel.”

  “If the second version is true, how come he was never court-martialed?”

  “Lack of evidence,” said Rick.

  They were gathered for the evening meal in the boardroom, flames flickering in the candle stubs. Packy had completed the necessary work on the Humvee and the three vehicles sat outside the clubhouse, ready for them to leave next morning.

  “Seems like a lot of evidence to hide,” remarked Sally.

  “Not if you know the right people.”

  “Yeah, like a certain high-profile general who can pull strings to arrange certain compromise deals,” added Scott.

  “I don’t get how this connects to you,” said Harvey to Rick.

  Lauren looked at her husband with interest. “Yes, darling. How exactly does this involve you?”

  “Doesn’t matter now,” murmured Rick, unwilling to open up.

  “Except it does,” said Scott. “When he was stationed in Khost, he seemed awful keen to make sure you got the toughest assignments.”

  “I had the most experienced team,” said Rick.

  “And he tried to file charges of insubordination against you after you aborted two of his missions. For a while, it looked like a mutiny.”

  Rick glared an instruction to Scott: Drop it.

  Scott shrugged. “I’m just saying. You two have a history. And here he is, knocking on our door. Seems kinda pertinent, if you ask me.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “Sounds to me,” mused Packy, “like this guy’s got frustrated ambitions. I like him.”

  The others all stared at Packy, and he stared back.

  “What? He’s an entrepreneur, just like me. He sees opportunities.”

  “I don’t like him,” stated Dee suddenly.

  “Me neither,” chimed in April.

  “None of that matters,” snapped Rick. “Come morning, we’ll be gone and we’ll need to find somewhere else. Focus on that!”

  *

  “We need to have a talk,” said Lauren as she lay on the mattress. Both it and the blankets reeked of mildew from the winter. She wasn’t sorry to be leaving that behind, for sure. The grand old building had lost its allure. With its stale rot and echoing corridors, it had come to resemble a tomb.

  “What about?” murmured Rick, curled up next to her, facing away.

  “To start with, your mood. You’ve been as testy as hell for the past few days.”

  “Got a lot on my mind.”

  “That’s nothing new, but this is different. What’s going on, Rick? You haven’t been
the same since Connors showed up, and now he sends people over with the expectation that you’ll take care of them. No, wait, he expected you to be, 'awkward’.”

  Rick rolled toward her. “He’s trying to provoke a response.”

  “Why? Apart from being your old boss, what’s your relationship with him?”

  Rick scowled. “He was never my boss.”

  “Whatever. Were you involved in any of those things Scott was talking about? The drugs and the prostitution?”

  “I never served in the Philippines.”

  “The drugs, then.”

  “No.”

  “So what’s going on?”

  “Nothing. We just never got along.”

  “You have a habit of biting your lip when you’re lying. Like now.”

  “I don’t see why this is important.”

  Lauren opened her mouth in surprise. “Are you kidding me? You tell me the truth now, or I’ll go and get it from Scott.”

  “There’s nothing to tell, okay? Me and Connors never saw eye to eye, and that’s all there is to it. It’s in the past and it doesn’t matter now, so let it drop. I need to focus on tomorrow.”

  Rebuffed, Lauren brooded for a moment. “We’re not moving just because of the radiation, are we?” she said.

  “That’s reason enough. Get to sleep. We’re going to need it. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

  4

  Next morning, they got ready to leave, only to find out Packy had gone.

  “Where is he?” said Rick, standing in the parking lot. The Blazer was missing.

  “He said he’ll meet us at the Nascar Hall of Fame,” stated Scott, who’d taken the last watch.

  “What for?”

  “I don’t know. He’s just weird.”

  “I don’t need this right now,” said Rick. “We have to get moving.”

  The supplies were loaded into the two remaining vehicles, including the surplus guns they’d acquired after the raider attack: a motley variety of various calibers that included a machine gun with no ammunition. The ferocity of the battle meant there was less ammunition overall than Rick would have liked. Food supplies were also slim. There were twelve mouths to feed, not including baby Jacob who, thankfully, was still being breastfed. Scavenging food in the city had been hard enough. Rick wondered what it would be like outside, where they might have to compete with other survivors. He’d have preferred a thorough reconnaissance of likely locations to exfil to, but the need for haste nagged at him. The clubhouse, he felt, was no longer a safe location. Not with Connors out there.

  Lauren’s questions bugged him, and he didn’t like to withhold information from her, but he felt it was better she didn’t know. Anything that took her mind off the matter in hand was an unnecessary distraction.

  Maybe there’d be a time in the future to fully have that conversation. But not now.

  The thought of it only clouded his own judgment. He’d been surprised to see Connors after all this time, and even more surprised to see Leon, Taft and Fick riding with him. Together they were the four horsemen and they rode together, just as they had in Afghanistan. He had unfinished business with those three, and the mere thought of them made him grind his teeth. If he had his way, he’d find a way to conclude that business.

  But it was better to focus on getting his family somewhere safe. In the big scheme of things, some of his impulses were better suppressed. Now wasn’t the time to open old wounds.

  After push-starting the heavy Suburban, the vehicle was backed up to the Humvee and a tow rope attached. Being an automatic, the Humvee couldn’t be push-started. As Rick watched Scott and Harvey trying to tow-start it, he mused that maybe the Humvee wasn’t such an ideal vehicle to have. They needed to find a way to re-wind the burned-out starter motors in the vehicles. On the other hand, seeing as the quality of the remaining fuel supplies would deteriorate with time, it probably wouldn’t be long before they were unable to use vehicles at all. Maybe another year at the most. After that they would be reduced to pedal-power, which was another reason to get settled someplace soon. The two bikes they had were tied to the back of the Suburban, and on the roof were the tents they’d scavenged from a sports store. It made the vehicle look like it was ready for a vacation.

  Some vacation.

  Lizzy came out of the clubhouse carrying an oil lantern and a small backpack. She was clad in walking boots and outdoor clothing. Rick remembered a time when she’d emerge with an armful of cuddly toys, wearing cheap plastic sunglasses and dragging a bag with clothes and even more toys, plus a satchel with her artist pad and pencils. That was way back when they set out to vacation in Corolla, a quiet place with wild horses on the beach, where Rick got the chance to wind down after a long deployment. It was almost too quiet for him because he was still prepped for Iraq. He’d kept glancing behind all the time to see if he was being followed, scanning horizons for hidden snipers and getting spooked at night by random noises. It took a while to settle down and remember he was in a safe place, and after that the vacation was good. He remembered riding the zip-lines at the adventure park with Josh – one of the few happy times they shared together before the deployments wore him down and caused him to withdraw from his family.

  Josh came out behind Lizzy, his .22 rifle slung on his shoulder and carrying the two air rifles that successfully kept them fed over the winter with small game. He was wearing camos, as were all the adults in the group. Scott had joked that they should call themselves the Clubhouse Militia. Josh certainly looked like some of the young Kurdish militia members Rick remembered from Syria. Tall and lean, he was a far cry from the boy he’d been in the adventure park. Now that they were in a real adventure, the fun had given way to seriousness, and Josh had that look of a young man who’d quit childhood early and didn’t think it worth looking back. It was like one of those photos from the Depression-era, where the boys dressed like their fathers and stood in hard-eyed poses, working on the farm or looking to get whatever job they could find to help support their families. The concept of the teenager didn’t exist then, and it certainly didn’t now. Josh had killed a man, and the transformation was likely permanent.

  Lauren came out of the building last. “Okay, everything’s checked,” she said to Rick. “We’re ready to go.”

  “Don’t forget to lock up,” remarked Rick.

  Lauren smiled, catching the sarcasm. She seemed to have forgotten the previous night’s conversation. “I’ll leave a note with the neighbors to collect our mail and feed the goldfish. We could be away for a while. You going to miss the place?”

  “No.”

  Lauren rolled her eyes. “And there was me thinking you were starting to lighten up.”

  “I’ll be as radiant as you want when we get to where we’re going.”

  “And where’s that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  The only compromise he’d reached with Scott was that they should initially head west. Beyond that, he’d let circumstance decide.

  Chuck came around from the other side of the building. He’d tended his wife’s grave and said a few last words. When he saw Rick and Lauren, he wiped away the traces of a tear from his eye.

  “You okay, Chuck?” said Lauren.

  Chuck nodded solemnly, turning to gaze up at the clubhouse facade. “I guess so. It’s too grand a place really for her to rest in. She’d have preferred somewhere more homey.” He turned to Rick. “What are the chances of coming back here one day?”

  Rick wasn’t planning on coming back, but he didn’t let it show on his face. “I don’t know.”

  “No, I guess not. At least Bella’s with her. That’ll do until I can arrange something better.”

  The others waited by the vehicles. The Humvee was now running, and it was decided that Scott would drive it, with Rick riding shotgun, while Harvey drove the Suburban, with Lauren providing the firepower from the right seat. The rest would cram in where they could, the children sitting on laps until they could
transfer to Packy’s vehicle.

  If he turned out to be at the Nascar building, that is. Rick wouldn’t have been surprised if they didn’t see him again – he was that unpredictable. With a last look at the clubhouse, he got into the Humvee and habitually waved to the rear vehicle to follow him, the vehicles pulling out of the lot like a patrol leaving the Green Zone in Iraq, weapons locked and loaded.

  *

  The convoy traveled slow, Rick wanting to keep the revs down. In the post-storm silence, a running engine was an alien sound, and could well be a dinner bell to hungry ears. He didn’t want to attract more attention than was strictly necessary.

  Uptown Charlotte was bleaker now after the winter than it had been before. The cracks in the pavement had been widened by the snow and ice. Leaves and garbage piled up in front of the storm drains, and puddles from the recent rains stretched out to the center lanes, tidemarks of debris forming curved lines. The median and curb strips were overgrown, and weeds flourished on the sidewalks. Fire-blackened towers loomed over the empty streets, and pigeons nested in the shattered windows, leaving white streaks of droppings on the charred frameworks. Crows circled on the updrafts from the sun-warmed concrete, and dogs hung around the alleyways, watching warily as the convoy passed. Bodies left on the sidewalks were just bundles of clothing stretched over bones. Shopping carts abandoned by looters lay forlorn among abandoned vehicles streaked with grime.

  Packy’s Blazer was parked outside the burned Nascar headquarters, next to the modernist Hall of Fame building. Scott pulled up alongside, keeping his engine running, and Rick got out, stepping over broken glass to enter the building.

  Inside, it was dark and cool. Rick waited for his eyes to adjust to the gloom and entered the Glory Road hall. This was a large space where a mock track had been built on a raised platform, circling the hall. Racing cars spanning six decades were displayed on the track, frozen in time in a perpetual race. Packy stood solemnly by a black Chevy Monte Carlo bearing a white number three.

  “Dale Earnhardt’s car,” said Packy when he heard Rick coming in.