End Days Super Boxset (129 page)

Survivalism

“This town used to be called Old Haven,” the Sheriff said.

A kerosene lamp sat on the table between them. The Sheriff turned the key to brighten the flame. His deep blue eyes examined Paul and Jordan, trying to identify them as friend or foe.

“Is that what this is?” Jordan asked. “A town?”

“This is part of the town. Where we sit now, what lies within these gates, is what used to be called Pine Creek, a gated community. We’ve renamed it New Haven, because we’re making a new town. I guess you could say we’re hunkering down ‘til things get better. As a general rule, we don’t turn anyone away, unless of course they wish us harm.”

Paul had been silent long enough. “What have you heard on the news? You must have heard something. How many are dead? I mean, I see you have power around here. Do you have Internet as well? What are they saying on television?”

The Sheriff raised a hand in the air. “Easy there, Paul. I’ll answer all of your questions the best I can in due time. But I’ve got a couple of questions of my own.”

“If you’re a sheriff, where’s the rest of your task force?” Jordan asked.

“Like I said, I’ll address all of your questions momentarily.”

Paul and Jordan quieted and sat still with their hands folded.

There was no sense in rushing; they were on the Sheriff’s time now.

“Where did you come from?” The Sheriff asked.

“Pennsylvania,” they both said in unison.

The Sheriff laughed. “Well, guess I’ll have to believe you there. What do you do, or what did you do?”

Paul looked at Jordan. Jordan nodded for him to speak first.

“I’m a computer technician, or at least I was. I mean, that’s what I am. I got laid off from my job at Dynamic Systems in Philadelphia two years ago. We've lived in Beech Creek since then.”

Paul took a deep breath, almost lost in

his own thoughts.

“Okay, thank you,” the Sheriff said.

He looked at Jordan.

“How about you?”

“I’m retired military, currently a G-2 analyst for the U.S. Army,” Jordan answered.

“You served in the Army?” the Sheriff asked.

“Yes, the Army,” Jordan said.

“What rank did you make it to?”

“I retired as a Sergeant First Class,” Jordan said.

The Sheriff laughed.

“Damn, you’re retired? You don’t look a day over thirty-five.”

“Well, I joined when I was eighteen, did my twenty and got out.

I’m forty-three years old, but thank you.”

The Sheriff leaned back in his chair and studied Paul and Jordan.

“So both you guys are pretty smart, I take it?”

Paul and Jordan looked at each other.

“Well, I owe a lot to Jordan here. He helped me and my daughter get out of Pennsylvania,” Paul said.

“Good thing too,” the Sheriff said.

“Any other questions?” Paul asked.

The Sheriff took a deep breath then leaned forward.

“A lot of things are uncertain right now. How long have you guys been traveling?”

“Little over a week,” Jordan said.

“What have you seen out there?”

“Bunch of other people on the road, just like us. Most of the stores are closed, some of them emptied. There are gas shortages. Power is out everywhere. We drove through Ohio, Indiana, and Iowa. It was all the same. Guess we’re lucky we made it this far,” Jordan continued.

“Have you ever harmed, robbed, or killed anyone?” the Sheriff asked bluntly.

They were taken aback by his questioning.

“No, we haven’t,” Jordan answered. “We were in a very dangerous situation earlier. There were looters. They killed some police. They would have killed us if your people hadn’t come when they did.”

He tilted his head to expose the large bruise on his face.

“This is what they did to me before your people came.”

“I killed a man,” Paul said.

It made him feel good to finally get it out. Jordan’s head whipped toward Paul in astonishment. The room went silent. Paul could feel both their eyes burning holes through him.

“I don’t know who he was or where he came from, but he was intent on trying to get some money my boss owed him. This was the day of the Wall Street Bombing, the day everything began.”

“We call it Day One around here,” the Sheriff said.

“Why didn’t you tell me this?” Jordan asked.

“Because I wanted to forget about it. Pretend it never happened. He took my daughter. He was going to kill her.”

“So you killed him instead?” the Sheriff asked.

“I had to,” Paul answered.

The Sheriff studied Paul more intently than he had done before. “Well, guess you had to do what you had to do. I’m certain we’ll all be faced with such decisions when the time comes. Thank you for being honest about it.”

“After he tracked us in the woods. After we killed him, I mean, after I killed him, we found Jordan at an abandoned Army Reserve center.”

“What brought you to the area?” the Sheriff asked.

“Jordan told us that Philadelphia had been nuked. He said there was fallout in the air.”

“Well, I hate to tell you this, but he’s right,” the Sheriff said.

Paul went silent. The Sheriff continued.

“So you fled Pennsylvania because of the nuclear attacks. How did you end up in Missouri?”

“I was looking for my wife and sons. They live, or lived, right outside Kansas City.”

“What happened to them?”

“They weren’t at the house when we got there. They left the city.”

“Are they still alive?”

“I believe so.”

Paul cut in. “We’re trying to get to Colorado to find my wife. That’s where we were headed, or at least, where I’m headed.”

“It’s gonna be hard to make the trip without a car. I heard they brought you guys here in our 5-ton, said your vehicle was burnt to the ground.”

“That’s true, but I don’t care how I do it, I’m going to get to Colorado.”

The Sheriff took another deep breath then a sip of cold coffee from his cup.

“Let’s just back up a minute here. Let me tell you a little about myself and New Haven. First, I can’t promise that this place is perfect or that nothing bad can happen here. We call it a safe zone, because that’s what it is to us. Like you, we’re trying to figure out what’s going on in the world. Many people have come here for the very same reason you have. They were attacked, assaulted, or they were fleeing their home states.”

“How many are staying here?” Jordan asked.

“Well, let’s see here,” the Sheriff said looking up to the ceiling. “We got about seventy to seventy-five people here.”

He then looked back down. “Of course, not all of them were original residents. Many people already living here have opened up their homes to new arrivals. But for it to work, we have to make sure that each person is on the up and up. I’ve lived here for the past twenty years, even led the neighborhood watch program back in the day.”

“So what have you heard so far?” Paul asked.

“Pardon?” the Sheriff asked, turning an ear toward him. “Sorry, my hearing comes and goes.”

He looked to be in his late fifties, but Paul couldn’t tell for sure.

“You have people listening to radio transmissions. What sort of things have you heard so far?”

“Well. Same as you, we’re totally in the dark here. There is an emergency broadcast message that they play in rotation. Power shortages. Fuel shortages. Food shortages. They’re massive and they’re everywhere.”

“What caused all of this?” Paul asked directly.

“Nuclear bombs. That’s what we hear. Word is that they’ve been detonated throughout dozens of cities. The casualties could very well be in the millions. I’m no expert, we don’t know who or what detonated those bombs, and like you, we haven’t heard a single news report all week. I’m sure you’re all aware of electrical grids. Well, the theory around here is that they’ve all been taken out. That’s one anyway. Phone reception has been disabled as well. There are so many people, like you, who have piled into other states, these fancy-pants officials simply don’t know what to do anymore. One thing’s for certain, we’re at war with someone.”

“We saw a billboard on our way here. It stated that twelve major cities had been hit. It also said for evacuees to find emergency shelters. I assume that these shelters are overseen by the government, FEMA perhaps. What is the government doing about all of this?” Jordan asked.

“Haven’t heard from any of them. Not the president, not the vice president, not the state governor, not so much as the comptroller. That’s why we here took matters into our own hands.”

“I have reason to believe that Washington D.C. was hit. But in such a scenario, officials have access to bomb shelters, secret bunkers, and Air Force One. Have you heard anything about flights and air travel?” Jordan asked.

“Haven’t seen a plane in the sky since, well, damn near a week. One of the residents here, Nathan, tried to go to the airport with his family on Day One. He said he’d never seen anything like it. People were climbing over people, trying to get anywhere they could, and it turned into sheer chaos. As a result, all flights were grounded and all airports closed.”

“But why?” Paul asked.

“Government shut them down, so I heard. They said the airports are high risk targets and too dangerous for the general public.”

“But who is mandating this? If there’s no government left to deal with anything, how do they find the manpower to shut down airports all across the country?” Paul asked.

“Someone did. Maybe all the airlines just decided that they weren’t going to come into work anymore. Don’t know for sure, but I can guarantee that if you went to the nearest airport, you’d stand there looking pretty foolish.”

Jordan jumped into the conversation as if stumbling upon some great revelation. “They shut them down so they could use the planes themselves! Don’t you see it? Our government has abandoned us. That’s the only explanation.”

The Sheriff grimaced. “Well, that’s a pretty cynical take on things, but I’ll give it to you as a viable theory, nonetheless. Now there’ll be plenty of time for us to theorize, but let me tell you a few things about how things work around here first.”

The Sheriff paused and took another sip of coffee. “This place exists for the sole reason of providing three things: safety, survival, and preservation. That’s why we’re armed and the outside gate is fortified for safety. With survival, we’re currently constructing bomb shelters in the event of a nuclear attack. Lastly, I’ve vowed to preserve our way of life and the freedom we cherish by eliminating any sense of mob rule. The people of New Haven voted for a governing body, which includes me and five other council members. My role is that of an executive, but I ultimately answer to the people. The people here, they call me Sheriff out of respect, for you see, I was a deputy with the Johnson County Police Department.”

The Sheriff paused and laughed to himself. “I guess they decided to promote me, and the name just kind of stuck.”

“Sheriff, if I may—” Paul began.

“Just hold on a minute and let me finish. If you abide by our rules and chip in around here, there’s no reason you can’t share in what we offer. As our guests, the choice is all yours.”

“See, that’s the thing, we’re more sort of passing through. I don’t want to speak for Jordan, but I have to find my wife. We appreciate everything that your people have done for us, but we must leave soon. If it’s alright, I’d like to stay here long enough for my daughter to get some rest and then get back on the road.”

“With no car?” the Sheriff asked.

“That’s the other thing I was going to ask. I obviously need some help in the car department.”

The Sheriff scratched his head.

“Now that’s a tall order, but we’ll see what we can do.”

He then looked at Jordan.

“And I’m guessing you feel the same way?”

“The same way about what?” Jordan asked.

“About passing through.”

“I haven’t decided that yet,” Jordan said coldly.

“Why don’t you two sleep on it, and we’ll talk tomorrow morning. Go see Alan. He’s in the other room. He’s got red hair and glasses. He’ll tell you where you can bunk up.”

Paul and Jordan were spent. They could see that the Sheriff didn’t have all the answers they needed. Sensing the Sheriff’s own exhaustion, they rose from their chairs, thanked him, and walked to the door.

“Hold on,” the Sheriff said.

They stopped and turned around.

“I forgot to tell you the fourth thing we’re here to provide.”

He paused and looked them squarely in the eyes.

“Hope,” he answered.

Day Ten

Paul was wrong. He was much more tired than he had originally thought. He slept well into the next day. Jordan and Paul shared a room in a vacant townhouse with Julie’s room right next door. Paul woke to find daylight radiating through the thinly veiled curtains over the window. The window was cracked slightly and he could hear people outside talking over the faint noise of sawing and hammering. There was a construction project in the works, most likely the bunkers the Sheriff had discussed. It sounded like how any normal neighborhood would on a regular Saturday morning. On the other side of the room sat an empty bed, recently made. As his eyes adjusted to his surroundings, Paul had no idea where he was. He hadn’t had a normal night’s rest in over a week. He looked at a nearby nightstand in hopes of finding a glass of water. His throat was dry, and under normal circumstances he would have a glass of water next to the bed. He wondered whose bed he was sleeping in. He lay motionless on his back as things slowly began to come back to him. With it came thoughts of fear and dread. A slight knock came at his door, then it opened a crack. Jordan’s face peered through.

“You’re still sleeping?” he asked.

Paul sat up and stared ahead blankly. Jordan slipped into the room, dressed in different clothes, looking showered and rested. However, the bruise on his face—across his cheek—had blackened to a new level just past his right eye and forehead.

“Just look at your face,” Paul said in wonder. “You’re a mess.”

“Yes, how observant of you,” Jordan said.

“That’s what I’m here for,” Paul quipped back.

Jordan took a seat on his bed.

“Julie is up. She was asking about you.”

Still dressed in his clothes from the night before, Paul shifted to the side of the bed and put his feet on the carpet floor.

“What time is it?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.

“You’re just in time for brunch,” Jordan said, looking at his wristwatch. “It’s 11:15.”

“Brunch? Are you serious?” Paul asked.

“No, Paul,” Jordan said as he stood up and walked to the window.

“The good news is that they have food here. The bad news is that they ration it. Which, I guess, could be good news depending on how you look at it.”

Paul stood up and stretched.

“Any word on a car?”

“We’re going to have to take it slow on that. We’re strangers here, and I’m not completely sure about this whole communal living thing just yet.”

“Well, you and I were strangers just a week ago,” Paul said.

“Are you saying that we’re best friends now?” Jordan asked sarcastically.

“I’m saying that we can trust each other more. We should give these people the same benefit of the doubt.”

“I would have had no problem with that a week ago. Now things are different. I don’t distrust them, but I’m still going to watch my back, and you should do the same, starting with that Sheriff guy.”

“They seem okay so far. We can’t overlook the fact that they saved our lives.”

Jordan flashed the bruised side of his face.

“I don’t, believe me. Just stay alert, that’s all I’m saying.”

“I’m going to take a shower now,” Paul said. “Is there any hot water?”

“Would his majesty like some rose petals thrown into the tub as well?” Jordan asked with a laugh.

“You’re such an asshole,” Paul said.

“They have a three-minute rule here with the showers. You should be good, just make it fast.”

Paul dug through his backpack for a change of clothes then walked out of the room.

“I’ll be done in two,” he said.

The neighborhood during the daytime was a bustle of industrious labor. Paul hadn’t seen the Sheriff yet, but there were plenty of people moving about, carrying supplies, hand washing clothes, boiling water, and working on vehicles. Two families were tending vegetable gardens in their front yards. Pigs and chickens roamed within their makeshift pens in the yard of one home. A suburban area turned old-fashioned commune was a sight to behold. The main work in town was occurring down the street over a vacant lot. Both Paul and Jordan hadn’t any idea of the actual size of New Haven. The community had five neighboring streets all connected to each other, with about twenty medium-sized homes throughout the entire complex.

New Haven was one giant circle, enclosed by barbed wired fencing. Few outsiders had actually come there since the nuclear attacks, despite what the Sheriff claimed, and its secluded location helped. To date, there had been no dangerous incidents involving outsiders or residents. Everything seemed normal despite what was happening in the outside world. By changing the name of a gated community, they were now townspeople in a new age. How long it would last, no one knew.

Paul spotted Julie standing over some chickens in the front yard of the house across from them. Paul called out to her and waved. Julie smiled and waved back as he walked up to her. A boy, about her own age, was standing next to her, talking her ear off as she nodded politely. Paul cut into their conversation.

“How did you sleep?” he asked.

“Good,” Julie answered.

“Did you get something to eat?”

“Yeah, I had biscuits and gravy. Might be some leftovers if you want some.”

“I’m fine for now,” Paul said, looking at the young boy standing next to Julie.

“Who’s your friend?” he asked.

He sensed that his question had embarrassed Julie, but it was nice to see her acting normal.

“Oh, this is Tommy,” Julie said.

She looked over at Tommy, a boy with short blond hair and a wide face. He was covered in dirt from working in the garden.

“Tommy, this is Paul,” she said.

“Hi,” Tommy replied.

Paul gave him a head nod.

“Nice to meet you,” he said back.

Paul looked past Tommy to the rows of cultivated soil behind him where small tomatoes had sprouted up.

“You guys really got this place up and running in no time, didn’t you? I don’t think I’ve ever seen people so self-sufficient before.”

“What does that word mean?” Tommy asked.

“It means you do things on your own,” Julie said.

“Julie’s right,” Paul said, “It also means that you don’t have to rely on other people to live.”

“But we all rely on each other here,” Tommy said.

“I see that,” Paul said.

He looked around at the different faces passing them by. He only knew the names of three people in the town but felt welcomed nonetheless.

“Have you seen Jordan?” Paul asked Julie.

“Yeah,” she said, pointing. “I saw him walk down the street where they’re building the bunkers.”

Paul observed the construction from afar. It was on an empty patch of land at the end of the road. There were no cranes or bulldozers of any kind, rather fifteen to twenty men and women digging and building like a colony of ants. One group constructed wooden frames from underground. Others threw dirt into the air with their shovels. There were four large holes total. The air was cool, and the sun was hidden behind heavy overcast.

“How long are we staying here?” Julie asked.

Distracted, Paul gazed to the bunker construction. “We’ll talk about it later. I’ll be right back,” he said walking away.

Paul walked down the street toward the sounds of industrious labor. A few feet ahead of him, a child sat in the middle of the road, close to tears. His bike was next to him on its side. A tan young woman with long, dark hair knelt next to the boy, applying an alcohol-swabbed cotton ball to his knee. The boy winced and took no notice of Paul. The woman had her back to him.

“Is your patient going to be okay?” Paul asked.

She turned her neck slightly to face Paul. She was pretty with high cheekbones, bluish eyes, and alluring red lips. She gave him a harmless smile. “I think he’ll be okay,” she said, turning back to the boy.

“That’s great to hear. My name is Paul,” he said.

The woman didn’t respond as she put a Band-Aid over the boy’s knee.

“There you go, Steve. Now let’s get your bike out of the road.”

She helped the boy up as Paul awkwardly stood behind them. She then glanced back over to Paul. “Oh, I’m sorry. My name is Margie,” she said, offering a handshake.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Paul said.

The boy picked up his bike and started to limp away. Margie called out to him. “Just take it easy the rest of the day, and be sure to tell your parents what happened.”

The boy waved to her and walked away. Margie looked back to Paul.

“You’d make a great nurse,” Paul said.

“I am a nurse,” Margie replied.

“Oh,” Paul laughed. “I’m sorry. That would certainly explain it.”

“And lucky me, I get to be the town nurse.”

“They’re fortunate to have you,” Paul said.

A brief pause came over their conversation, then Margie continued. “You came in last night, right?” she asked.

“Yeah, we did. Word travels quickly around here.”

“No, it’s just--I treated your friend this morning, Jordan. He mentioned you and your daughter. I’m sorry to hear what happened to you guys out there.”

“What did he say?” Paul asked inquisitively.

“It’s not like that. He was light on the details. He just told me you had a run-in with some really bad people. I mean, I
had
to ask how he got that awful bruise on his face.”

“Quite alright. What happened, happened. And we owe a lot to the people of this community for helping.”

“It’s just.” Margie leaned in closer and lowered her voice. “Is it as bad out there as they’re saying?”

“I can’t say for sure. It’s no picnic.”

Paul noticed Margie’s eyes starting to tear up. It was an unusual emotional shift from her smiling demeanor only moments ago.

“I think it’s horrible what’s happening. If only things would go back to normal.”

She then stopped, as if holding herself back from crying. “I’m sorry,” she said, holding up her hand. “I’ve got to go. It was nice meeting you.” And then she was off.

“Nice meeting you too,” Paul said, watching as she moved swiftly down the street in the opposite direction.

He continued his journey down the road. He was within a block of the construction site. There were pallets of concrete bags nearby. Next to the pallet sat a pile of lumber varying in shapes and sizes.

Despite the limitations of their equipment, the people were working diligently, racing against the clock. Paul didn’t see Jordan anywhere. Among the unrecognizable faces, Paul noticed a man taller than the others overseeing everything while studying a blueprint. It was the Sheriff; only this time he wore a cowboy-style sheriff’s hat, which shaded his face. Paul was happy to see him, for it meant that he had someone to talk to. He wasn’t sure at this point what the New Haven residents thought of their presence.

“Morning, Sheriff,” Paul said. He spoke loudly to talk over the collective racket of hammering and sawing. The Sheriff, wearing dark aviator sunglasses, looked up from the blueprint he was holding.

“Nice to see you up and about, Paul,” he responded.

Paul stood next to him and observed the crews at work. “So these are the bunkers you were talking about?” he asked.

“The very ones. I told ‘em we have to get them built in no less than ten days. We might even have less time than that, but it’s the most practical number we could decide on.”

“Last night you said that you called the day of the nuclear strikes Day One. I’m curious, what day are we up to now?”

“It’s Day Ten,” the Sheriff said, looking down at the bunker below. The framing built within the ground was nearly complete.

“Excuse me,” the Sheriff said, walking past Paul. “Hey, make sure we have adequate placement for the concrete. No point in building this thing if the walls aren’t secure.”

The workers below nodded. Paul wasn’t sure what materials went into the building of an underground bunker, so he had no advice to give. The townspeople were using wood and concrete. Paul had envisioned an impenetrable fortress of steel. His mind raced with questions. Would these bunkers be safe? Did they plan to put the entire town in the bunkers, and if so, for how long? The Sheriff walked back to Paul.

“Sorry about that. Just got to stay on some of these guys from time to time, much as I admire their dedication. How are you guys holding up?”

“Good, thanks for asking. It feels great to get some sleep and a shower.”

“Jordan told you about the three-minute rule, right?”

“Three minutes?” Paul asked jokingly. “He told me twenty-three minutes.”

The Sheriff took a step back and looked ready to explode.

“I’m joking,” Paul said. “I’m only joking. Yes, he told me about the three-minute rule.”

“You’re a real funny man, Paul,” the Sheriff said with a straight face.

“Now I know we still have a lot to discuss and all that, so this is what we’re going to do. New Haven is having a cookout tonight. You, Jordan, and your daughter come on by and meet everyone. The whole town will be there. You’ll receive your official welcoming.”