End Days Super Boxset (49 page)

In two short months following the EMP, Nyack, the quaint inner suburb frequented by tourists because of its proximity to the Hudson River, had a new identity and a new name: “Tartarus,” chosen by its new leader and self-proclaimed mayor, Arthur Jenkins. Most of the homes and businesses had long been raided and vandalized. Food, weapons, and other critical supplies had been rounded up by Arthur’s men.

Their headquarters was located at an abandoned warehouse, where they stored valuable supplies under twenty-four-hour guard. They had food, water, weapons, and booze. Everything was free for the taking, and the convicts loved it. But they couldn’t run the entire town themselves; they needed support. For those who remained in Tartarus, the offer was simple: contribute to the new system or pay the consequences.

Arthur had no problem using force. Residents who objected were taken from their homes, confined, and made to work. There was, however, one major problem. Their supplies were dwindling. Without vehicles, no goods could be shipped into town, and the shelves remained empty. The inexplicable absence of law and order gave the convicts unbridled freedom to pillage as they saw fit. But in order to survive, they’d have to find more supplies.

The people of Tartarus were divided into three groups: freemen, servers, and prisoners. The freemen were made up of Arthur’s loyal gang of convicts. The servers were those who willingly provided labor and supplies for the community. And the prisoners were those taken against their will and placed into forced labor.

As supplies got lower, the “freemen” often conducted drunken raids throughout the town, taking in more prisoners. Those who could, fled their homes in hopes of finding a place not being run by criminals. No one could be sure such a place existed.

Saturday, November 12, 2016

It was no ordinary Saturday morning. Arthur had lofty ambitions, and he knew that Tartarus wasn’t going to last forever. At some point, the power would come back on and with it, the eventual end of his reign. He needed a plan, and that plan was isolation. No one coming into the town, and no one getting out. He would need a wall.

He walked down the front steps of one of the nicest two-story homes on Cedar Creek, an affluent street where many freemen had claimed residence. Without running water or electricity, most homes offered little more than shelter, but they took them nonetheless.

Dressed in an ill-fitting bathrobe, Arthur looked up, gauging the weather, and holding a morning mug of coffee. He rubbed the stubble on his face and then ran a hand through his thick gray hair. The sky was a vibrant orange, and he relished the temporary peace before the day kicked into gear.

He walked out into the yard, where the grass reached past his slippers to his calves. His right-hand man, fellow convict, and neighbor, Larry, told him of finding several manual push-mowers. That was one job that would keep the prisoners busy for a while. Nothing, however, was as important to Arthur as building the wall.

The front door opened behind him. He turned and saw his wife, Teresa, standing on the front porch in a pink bathrobe with her short red hair in curlers. She was petite—about half his size, but tough as nails, a strength he admired deeply. She walked down the steps and joined him in the yard.

“You’re up early,” he said.

“Well, you know I don’t sleep like I used to,” she replied. He put his arm around her, and they hugged. “You hungry? I could put some Spam on.”

Arthur laughed. “I never did care for the stuff, but we can’t be very picky today.”

Teresa noticed his slight distraction. “What’s on your mind?”

Arthur dropped his head, ending his sky-gazing. “Oh, nothing. Just thinking about how this is all going to play out.”

“What? The wall construction?” Teresa asked.

Arthur nodded.

“I knew it,” she said proudly.

“It’s not going to be easy, and I don’t know if we’re going to have it up in time. Rumors are going around about the power coming back. Once that happens, we lose everything.”

Teresa stroked the felt of his robe. Her wedding ring glistened in the advancing sunlight. “Now’s not the time to doubt our vision.”

“I’m only looking at reality, Teresa.”

Teresa moved away from him, frustrated. “The reality is whatever we make it. You want the wall up faster, make it happen. Put this town to work.”

“It’s not just the labor. The supplies alone …” Arthur began.

“You’ll get more supplies!” Teresa’s eyes shone with conviction. He said no more.

Teresa had waited six years for him, never leaving his side. She had sacrificed enough, Arthur believed. He rarely looked to pick a fight with her.

“Well, I better get ready,” he said, stretching.

“I’ll go heat some Spam up on the grill,” Teresa said, walking away.

His eyes followed her up the stairs of the porch as she walked inside. Just as he was about to follow, a voice shouted to him from down the road.

“Mayor Jenkins!”

It was Eddie, a long-haired twenty-something who was one of the youngest freemen in the group. He ran toward him, clutching a rifle, his hair bouncing with each of his hurried strides.

Curious, Arthur met him in the street, wondering what it could be this time. Stolen rations? Outsiders? A prisoner uprising? He had no clue.

Eddie stopped to catch his breath as Arthur placed a hand on his shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” Arthur asked. “Slow down and tell me.”

Eddie gasped and blurted out, “A fight …”

“A fight?”

“Yeah, between two prisoners at the wall. It’s got everyone riled up.”

Arthur leaned in closer. “OK. Tell me exactly what happened.”

Eddie slung the rifle over his shoulder. “This morning. We started the wall construction like you asked. Real early so it wouldn’t get too hot and all. Everything was going fine until these two jokers started fighting over food rations. When me and Wade tried to break it up, one of ’em tackled me, then jumped on his buddy and just started punching him. Then Wade fired his gun and got their attention, and we broke ’em up.”

Arthur scratched his chin, a look of concern in his eyes. “That’s quite a mouthful.”

The last thing he needed was infighting between prisoners. He would correct the problem immediately.

He patted Eddie on the shoulder. “You did the right thing by coming to me. Where are these men now?”

“Still at the wall. Larry hit one of them in the face with his buttstock. He left and told me to get you. There’s ten of them in all, waiting.”

“I’ll be over there in a minute. Go get Larry and Dwayne. Tell them to meet me at the wall.”

Eddie nodded, eager to present an idea. “There’s something else.”

“What is it?”

“Me and Wade were talking, and I seen it more and more, especially with the talk of this wall. These prisoners are gettin’ smart. They don’t want to build this wall, and they’re going to do anything to stall it.”

Arthur listened patiently and then flashed a look of agreement. “Don’t worry, we’ll take care of it.”

He thanked Eddie and sent the boy on his way. He followed the aroma of Spam up the front porch and past his bicycle, where it rested against a guardrail near the door.

The bike got him around, and it beat walking. He didn’t miss the mobility of cars one bit. Six years in prison made him enjoy the simpler things in life. He was a new man. But few knew exactly what kinds of things he was capable of.

Their camp in Bear Mountain had a variety of vegetable gardens and livestock pens. The ground was fertile and the area relatively safe. The five cabins were spread out under looming pines and spruce trees, and near a trail that led down to the Hudson River. Living in the wilderness provided a sense of security, but they still took extra precautions.

Simple prepper tactics were put into place to alert them of intruders. They had trip wire rigged with explosive blank .22 shells. Their lookout post rested on one of the highest trees they could find, providing an effective vantage point in looking for intruders. Other than that, they remained low-key and out of sight.

They never fired their weapons unless they had to. For hunting, they used crossbows, not wanting to alert people with their gunfire. They never made fires or cooked outside, and they avoided attracting any type of attention. For them, smart living meant living. And for a community built hastily over the past year, long before the EMP strike, they had managed so far.

The adults kept themselves and their children occupied. A weekly structure was maintained. There were eight children at the camp, homeschooled throughout the week. Everyone at camp lived with a communal spirit. They hunted, fished, and rotated security watch—everything Rob had studied extensively about temporary bug-out communities. It had to work. It was their only chance.

At 9:00 a.m., Josh and Kelly began their chores in the family garden, where sweet potatoes, turnips, and zucchini gradually blossomed.

Their comfortable lives in the Nyack suburbs had been drastically uprooted. Everything was different. Though every day offered the possibility that things would soon go back to normal.

Kelly plucked parasitic caterpillars from plants and handed them to Josh to kill with his pocket knife. Next, they had to clean the chicken coop and feed the chickens. Then they were to help Mila with the laundry. It was more work than they had ever done on a Saturday before the EMP, and they weren’t alone.

Gabrielle and Antonio, two siblings from the Santos cabin across the way, were also out and busy. Antonio, a fifteen-year-old with jet-black hair just past his ears, looked over at them and waved.

Josh and Kelly waved back.

Gabrielle, a skinny girl with long, dark hair past her shoulders, was Josh’s age too. She looked much like her mother, Mayra, and nothing like her boisterous father, Carlos. Their parents were originally from the Dominican Republic and had experience living off the land. But the outdoors life was as foreign to their kids as it was to Josh and Kelly.

The Atkins’s, a Long Island family of six, weren’t up yet. Their cabin was right next door. The parents, Brad and Ashlee, had four children in their early teens. For Josh and Kelly, it was nice to have other kids around, but they got along more with the Santos kids overall.

Josh stabbed another caterpillar and dropped it on the ground. “So I told Dad that it’s time we at least check things out, you know?” he told Kelly. “How much longer can we live like this?”

They swatted as gnats flew around faces. Kelly was in suspenders and had her blond hair tucked under her hat. Josh wore a baggy T-shirt and cargo shorts and fully expected to get dirty and sweaty within the next hour.

“It’s not that bad out here,” Kelly answered.

“Oh, come on,” Josh snapped. “You can’t stand it, and neither can I.” He kicked a patch of soil into the air.

“I
miss my friends,” Kelly said, kneeling on the dirt and pinching another caterpillar off a tomato plant.

“Me too,” Josh said. “I can still see them sitting there in the cafeteria when we left. I can’t stop thinking about them and what happened to them. And what was happening in the city.”

Suddenly, they heard the Santoses’ goat make a “Maah” sound as it was led past the garden by Antonio.

“Ah, look. Hailey is out,” Kelly said with a smile, pointing.

“I don’t care about that stupid goat. I want to go home.”

Kelly stood up and frowned at her brother with a raised brow. “You need to chill out. Everyone is doing their best out here. It’s all we can do.”

She walked past him toward the chicken coop. “Now come on. We still have a lot of work to do.”

Josh looked up past the trees and into the sky—a blue, cloudless abyss. “If only I could build a damn rocket.” He then followed Kelly to the box-like coop on the side of their cabin, where chicken wire enclosed the area. They could hear their three chickens clucking and went inside.

***

Later that afternoon, Rob assembled a meeting with the camp residents at their makeshift town hall: four wooden benches, a podium of stacked boxes, and an overhead canopy. It was where they came together to discuss important matters and plan for the weeks ahead. Everyone arrived at the agreed-upon hour and took their seats, many of them tired from a day of labor. A gentle, cool breeze blew past as Rob took the stage, a foot-tall wooden platform, and began flipping through his notebook.

Carlos and Mayra Santos had arrived, along with Peter and Krystal Dunne—a moderately wealthy middle-aged couple, known to Rob in Nyack as frequent Pro-Survival store customers, among his best. They didn’t have any children and continually lent out two of the five rooms in their cabin as classrooms.

Brad and Ashlee Atkins, a thirty-something couple, took their seats, fresh from a swim in the river. Elliot arrived absent his wife, Reba. They were an elderly retired couple who had already been vacationing at their cabin weeks prior to the blackout. Reba was under the weather, Elliot explained, and she wouldn’t be attending the meeting.

“Is she OK?” Mila asked him. “How bad is it?”

“Just some cramping. A headache,” Elliot said.

Mila stood up from the bench near him. “Elliot, why didn’t you tell me? I should see her.”

Elliot scratched his abundant white hair, seeming befuddled. “I-I don’t know. We’re sure it’s just a passing thing.”

“Let me examine her,” Mila said. “Before anything gets worse.”

“Well. OK. If that’s what you want to do. I think she’s sleeping now.”

As a nurse, Mila regularly did checkups and house calls, with no major illnesses to report thus far. But there was one problem: medical supplies were getting low, and their stock of IV bags, medical kits, and pain relievers all had expiration dates. They were managing, for the time being, but would need to stock up soon.

“I’ll go see her now,” Mila said, walking off toward Elliot’s cabin, not giving it a second thought, just as Rob took the stage.

“Hello everyone,” he said, noticing her sudden exit. He looked at Elliot. “Is Reba OK?”

Elliot nodded. “Yes, yes. That’s what I told her, but…”

“We’ll get started anyway,” Rob said.

“What’s on the agenda, anyway?” Carlos, a stocky bulldog of a man, asked. He rubbed his clean-shaven head in near frustration.

“I won’t take too much of your time, Carlos,” Rob said. “I know you had guard duty last night.” He cleared his throat and began, looking down at his papers. “I took some notes from the latest emergency broadcasts and can share them if you haven’t heard any of this already.”

The group was silent so Rob continued.

“The entire country, it seems, is going through the same thing we are. No power, no fuel, and no way to communicate. We assumed this to be the case, but it gets worse. We’re going to have to make some tough decisions here about how to approach the next few months.”

Brad raised his hand and spoke. “How much longer? Did they say?”

“I’ll get to that,” Rob answered. “But first, there’s two main things to consider.” He raised a finger. “Number one, winter is near. The temperature has already started dropping. Ideally we’d all love to be in Florida right now, hunkering down on the beach, but that’s not within our ability. We do, however, need to consider a plan for the winter, whether it’s feasible to stay here, and if so, how we can survive.”

“Well, heck, Rob,” Elliot said, speaking up. “Reba and I never expected to be here
that
long.”

“I don’t think any of us did, but it’s clear from the latest reports that that the power grid won’t be fixed anytime soon, and we’re completely on our own up here. The government is not coming to our rescue.”

“What about the city? This, uh, Operation Urban Breach mission,” Peter said. “Clearly they’ve gotten things under control by now.”

“We don’t know that,” Brad said.

“But we could freeze to death up here,” Peter said.

Rob extended both hands in a calming gesture. “Please, everyone. Let me finish. Aside from the weather, we also have to consider additional security measures. Crime and anarchy are rampant. Complete cities have been taken over by gangs. The same could go for Nyack.”

Rob’s sobering words had a chilling effect on the group. Judging by their expressions, it was not what they wanted to hear.

“This isn’t to say there’s no hope,” Rob added. “I believe things will get better. It’s just going to take some time. That is why I propose we begin planning for up to six more months of hunkering down.”

Grumbling carried on as the group turned to each other, astonished.

“Six months?” Carlos said. “We’ll need more supplies, or we’re screwed.”

“Exactly,” Rob said, setting his notes aside. “That is why we need to organize a team for a supply run. Who are my volunteers?”

Everyone looked around. While each family had a working vehicle, no one was sure if they wanted to take the risk of leaving their cabin. They were rife with inner conflict. But a decision needed to be reached.

***

Mila creaked open the front door leading into Elliot and Reba’s cabin. All their blinds were drawn, and the room was dark.

“Reba? Hi, it’s Mila,” she said, but received no response.

She walked in and closed the door behind her. There was a room to her left with the door half shut. As she approached it, she could already hear Reba’s heavy breathing. One peek inside, and she saw Reba lying on top of the sheets in a nightgown. She grimaced as she slept, and her stomach rose and fell with rapid movements. Her face was sweating, and her curly white hair looked damp. Surprised, Mila cupped her mouth, hesitant to get any closer. Reba looked a lot worse than her husband had described.

Mila pulled some gloves from her pocket, donned a surgical mask, and grabbed a nearby chair. As the chair squeaked against the wood floor, Reba awoke.

“Who’s there?” she asked, as her eyes slowly opened.

“It’s me. Mila.” A closer inspection and she could see that Reba’s face was unusually pale and drenched in sweat. An empty bucket rested near the bed on the floor. Reba’s stomach was making all sorts of sounds. Mila took a glass of water from the nightstand. “Have a sip,” she said.

“Not thirsty.”

Reba drew away and recoiled into a fetal position, clutching her chest. “How much pain are you in?” Mila asked, but Reba’s only response was a groan.

Mila placed a gloved hand on Reba’s back, over her nightgown, causing Reba to shudder.

“I want to help you,” Mila said. “But I need to know what’s wrong. How long have you been sick?”

Reba tilted her sickly head back and spoke in a whisper. “Two days … I think.”

“Listen, Reba. I need to get my medical bag and check your pulse and temperature. Do you think it might have been something you ate or drank?” As she said the words, she stared at the cup of water in her other hand.

“I don’t know,” Reba said, her voice trailing.

“Has there been any vomiting? Any diarrhea?”

“Both …” Reba answered. “Stomach is in knots. Extremely painful.”

Mila set the glass down and touched Reba’s back again. “I’ll be right back. I promise.”

Reba nodded as Mila stood up, causing the chair to slide back and scrape against the floor again. She didn’t want to leave the poor woman clutching herself in pain, but if she was going to act, it needed to be fast.

***

“I have a concern,” Ashlee, Brad’s petite wife, said, standing up to address the group. “Apparently, Grady has been spotted in the area, bothering our children again, mumbling obscenities.”

“Someone needs to do something about that old kook,” Brad added.

Carlos waved them off. “He’s harmless. Lost in space.”

Ashlee was persistent. “We don’t need someone like him trolling around. He could lead others here.”

Grady was a hermit of sorts who lived nearby. At first, they took him to be a vagrant, given his tattered clothes, bushy beard, and generally unkempt appearance. But he had a shack nearby and had been living off the land long before the others had come to the area.

“We’ll deal with him soon enough,” Rob said. “Let’s get back on track here. I need at least three volunteers to accompany me in town to get supplies.”

“I’ll go!” Mila’s voice said from the back.

Everyone turned around. Rob looked up, surprised to see her standing there. “That’s nice of you, but we could be gone for days.”

“I need to talk to you and Elliot. It’s important,” Mila said.

Rob nodded and looked at the group. “Do we have anyone else?”

“Hell, I’ll go,” Carlos said.