End Days Super Boxset (54 page)

Randy nodded. “Came in here like a bat out of hell and then took off.”

Arthur thought to himself, feeling both panic and rage. “What were they doing at the hospital? Did they take anything?” he asked.

“That was the first thing we checked. They broke into the supply room on the third floor. Took damn near about everything. Saw blood on the pavement outside. I think we got one of them. Injured him anyway.”

Arthur clutched Randy’s shoulder. “Where’s Parker?”

Randy looked around. “We-uh. We got him in a hospital bed. Came back to tell you and get Doc.”

Just as Dr. Layish glanced over at their huddle, Arthur signaled him over. The guards watched from their positions in the pavilion, waiting to be clued in. Dr. Layish came over, but stood apart. Before Arthur could say anything, Larry emerged from out of nowhere, oblivious to what was going on.

“I wanted to make amends, Mr. Mayor.” His tone was apologetic. “I thought about what you said, and—”

Arthur cut him off. “Not now, Larry.” He turned to Dr. Layish. “Doc, we need you to go to the hospital with us. We have a man there who’s been shot.”

“Shot?” Larry said. He had already put Arthur’s rebuff aside. “What happened?”

“Outsiders,” Randy answered. “Raided our hospital supplies and shot Johnson and Parker.”

Larry’s face flushed. His handlebar mustache twitched. “You shittin’ me?” He began pacing. “I told you we needed guards posted at the hospital twenty-four, seven. Where are these sons of bitches?”

Arthur swung his hands out. “Enough. Keep this on the down-low. Let’s go to the hospital with Doc and find out from Parker exactly what the hell happened.”

He grabbed Larry, Randy, and Dr. Layish and stormed out past the restless crowd, toward the hospital a few blocks up the road. The guards watched with keen interest, but reluctantly stayed behind to do as they were told. The sooner the drugs were distributed, the sooner they could all rest.

“Brantley!” Nathan shouted, calling for the next person in line.

***

Parker lay in a dingy hospital room on the first floor of the recovery ward. The door slammed open as Arthur stormed in, full of rage. Dr. Layish followed, with Larry and Randy trailing behind. Parker jolted upright in his bed. He was shirtless, with his shoulder wrapped in red-soaked bandages. His face was pale and sweaty—his expression disoriented, even delirious.

“What happened?” Arthur asked, his voice hard and unsympathetic.

Dr. Layish stepped in. “Mayor Jenkins, please. This man is seriously injured. I need to clean and dress this wound before it gets infected.”

Arthur pushed Layish to the side. “In time, Doc. Those outsiders could be anywhere right now.” He leaned down closer into Parker’s face. “Tell me everything.”

Parker struggled to speak as Layish handed him a bottle of water. He gulped the water and nearly choked.

“Easy, now,” Layish said.

After a gasp and a painful wince, Parker looked up at Arthur, ready to speak. His choppy hair clung to his forehead. “Johnson and I,” he said, “were pulling security… checking out the hospital, when we seen these two guys stealing gasoline from the cars in the parking lot. We followed them to their truck where …”

He winced again. The room was silent in anticipation. “They met up with their friends.”

“What kind of truck did they have?” Arthur asked.

“Old Ford pickup. They had bags of supplies from the hospital. We fired a warning shot at ’em, but they was armed. Shot at us and tore through the parking lot.”

“They hit Johnson?” Larry asked, stepping forward.

“No, they shot me. They ran over Johnson.”

The room was stunned. “Animals,” Arthur said, and shook his head in disgust. He looked down at Parker. “Where did you see them go?”

“I don’t know. I lost consciousness.”

“I told you,” Randall interjected. “They were last seen driving north on Route 9 West.”

Arthur thought to himself, barely paying attention as Dr. Layish examined Parker. The doctor then turned to the group. “I’m going to need some supplies to treat him. Anything you can provide.”

Parker’s head fell back as he groaned in pain. Arthur stepped back and looked at Randy. “Get Doc what he needs.” He then pointed at Larry. “Come with me. I’ve got an idea.” They left the small, dimly lit room in haste as Layish attended to the injured man before them.

Arthur and Larry walked out of the hospital parking lot to a baseball field across the street. The dying grass crunched under their shoes as they walked. In less than a month, the ground, roads, and vehicles would all be covered under thick blankets of snow.

Arthur’s mind was focused on one thing: finding the intruders. He led Larry up some bleachers where they overlooked the flat, desolate town, surrounded by distant mountains. Arthur pulled out a pair of binoculars from his jacket and searched past the highway to the rolling hills north.

He had a hunch about their intruders. They were outsiders in every sense. They had come into town because they needed supplies, and they needed supplies because they were living somewhere isolated.

Arthur handed the binoculars to Larry. “Look past the interstate.”

Larry put the binoculars to his eyes and scanned ahead.

“You see that mountain? That one to the right. Has to be a good five, six miles from here. That’s Bear Mountain. I’ve heard some stories. Even before all of this happened, I heard about people living out there. The mountain people, we called them.”

Larry lowered the binos and looked at Arthur. “You really believe that?”

“No, but we can use that story to our benefit. This makes having the wall even more important. It protects us from the mountain people in case they try to rob us again.”

“How do we know that they’re not living in some other town close by?” Larry asked.

Arthur thought to himself. “I don’t. But we need to get a search party together, go into the mountains, and make sure. It’s the only way.”

***

The trek on foot to Bear Mountain took the entire afternoon. Arthur and his five-man scout team split into two groups and traveled down both sides of the road looking for clues. Their weapons were at the ready, and they were as prepared as any foot soldiers. The plan was to find the intruders, but no decision had been made on exactly what to do with them.

Their opponents had weapons, which made ambushing their mountain enclave problematic. Larry held a map in this hands, leading the way as the group crossed a long bridge over the Hudson and came to the mountain in question—rising above unabated wilderness. Bear Mountain reached altitudes of eight thousand feet, and its width stretched over hundreds of rugged acres. They could be searching for days, and they were already exhausted.

At the end of the bridge, they found a hiking trail. Arthur called the men to gather around to discuss their strategy. In the group were Larry, Parker, Eddie, Dwayne and Jerome—among the most loyal and skilled of the escaped convicts in his gang of freemen.

“Gentlemen, before we go any farther, I want to thank you all for making this trip so far. From our time of wrongful incarceration to the miraculous events that led us to take control of an entire town, I couldn’t have done any of it without you.”

Larry stood impatiently to the side. He had heard the speech many times. It was a pep talk. Something to get them fired up. The convicts respected Arthur and followed him primarily because he seemed to have the answers. And in the world of chaos that surrounded them, answers were everything.

Arthur continued. “Our town, our very way of life is under attack by feral outsiders living in the mountains.” He held his hands out, palms up. “Now, I don’t know how many outsiders we’re dealing with here. That’s why we have to be extra careful.”

The men were dressed in green camouflage apparel, with black skullcaps on their heads. Arthur pulled off his cap and brushed back his thick gray hair. “If you see anything, just point it out. Don’t shoot anything unless I tell you to. And for God’s sakes, don’t blow our cover.”

“What if they shoot at us?” Jerome asked. “I ain’t going out like that. Not by a bunch of mountain hillbillies.”

“Our first priority is surveillance. We need to study them. Find out what their defenses and weaknesses are. Then we strike.”

Arthur looked around, sizing everyone up, ensuring that the group was on the same page. “And who knows. We could even come up cold.”

The men groaned, but before they could protest, Arthur started moving ahead. They dutifully followed, one by one. The hiking trail grew steeper and steeper as they progressed. Their boots crunched on sticks, pebbles, and rocky chunks of dirt, and the air began to grow noticeably colder the higher they went. They were trying not to climb, but to circle around to the far side of the base.

They entered the thick brush on the west side of the mountain and saw nothing but trees and large stones heaved from the ground. Larry kept track of their pace count. Parker navigated, and the others followed. Arthur pulled out his binoculars and looked for movement, smoke, fire, tents, shanties, or cabins—anything that indicated the presence of others.

Three hours of uphill walking and many miles later they stopped. Arthur locked in on something ahead through his binoculars. He then signaled his wary and exhausted men to take cover.

“Forty meters. Looks like houses, no, cabins!”

Better yet, he saw movement. There were people there. He could see a truck too. Perhaps the very same truck used in the heist. For the time being, the group did nothing but wait and watch. It seemed as though they had all the time in the world.

The deadly firefight sent a rush of adrenaline surging through Rob as he gunned the pickup in a frantic escape from the hospital. Startled and disoriented, much like the others, he could barely remember the way out of town. The Ford pickup roared down the road and hit a pothole, again throwing Carlos and Brad onto the truck bed with brute force.

Wind blasted inside the truck from the gaping hole in the windshield. Mila pleaded with Rob to slow down. She could barely keep her grip on the passenger-side armrest, and debris was blowing in their faces. Peter lay on the floor, under the dashboard, cradling his injured hand. Mila reached for her medical tote bag, only to have it fly out of her hands when Rob hit another bump.

“You need to slow down!” she shouted.

“I can’t!” Rob said. “We’re sitting ducks!”

He didn’t know what turn to make or where to go. All the streets looked the same. Peter’s blood was everywhere. Their left headlight dangled from the front bumper, fresh from running a man down. Rob had never killed anyone. He’d never even been in a fight past high school. And as far as he remembered, a hit-and-run was still a crime.

His first instinct was to go to the police, but of course there wasn’t a single officer in sight, and no station to go to, either. He took a sharp right down a residential back road, losing all sense of direction. His heart raced as his hands clenched the wheel. Up ahead, he could see that the road had been blocked off with more vehicles, like another barricade.

Avoiding the trap, Rob took his first left, realizing that no matter where he turned, there were barricades in the way. They turned down a street where a six-foot-high concrete wall ran across the entire two-lane street. Rob slammed the brakes. Mila flew forward and caught herself against the dashboard. Peter nailed his head against the lower ashtray. The truck screeched to a halt as smoke rose from the tires.

Five men stood at the end of the wall, stacking cinder blocks.

Mila squinted. “What is this?”

Rob took a moment to catch his breath and looked out as well. “A wall. They’re blocking every exit.” He whipped his head around. “We need to find a way out.”

Carlos shouted from the truck bed in pain. “What’s going on up there?”

“We’re trying to find a way out,” Mila shouted back.

Suddenly, two armed men came rushing toward them across a nearby yard, covering ground in haste.

“Get out of the truck!” one of them shouted.

Rob put the truck in reverse and slammed the gas pedal. The truck jolted backward as Mila screamed. Rob kept his eyes on the rearview mirror for anything in their path as Carlos and Brad stayed flat in the back. The two men—large and covered in tattoos and piercings—maintained their breakneck pursuit.

Rob spun the truck sharply left, screeching the tires and taking out a mailbox in the process. The tattooed men sprinted toward them, trying to take advantage of their unexpected stop. Rob quickly recovered and sped past, leaving them in the dust.

“Weatherford!” Mila shouted. “Take Weatherford! That’ll get us back on the highway.”

Rob took an immediate turn, tossing his passengers in the air once again. Things began to come back to him, and his sense of direction returned. They drove past the rear of the hospital, realizing they had just made one big circle in their frenzied haste. “Damn!” said Rob.

“We’re OK now, we’re close,” Mila said. “See!” The Route 9 West sign was ahead. “What the hell has happened to our town, Rob?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Rob said. “We’re going to have to get winter supplies someplace else. Maybe the next town over.”

“What about the gas?”

“We’ll get more. We don’t have a choice,” Rob said. “That was too close. We can’t be taking these kinds of chances.”

Peter moaned from the floor as Mila leaned forward and grabbed her medical bag. She pulled it up and fished through the supplies for Peter. The disappointment of not being able to check on their home and Rob’s business began to take hold. They were alive, but Nyack had drastically changed.

Mila looked at Rob with gratitude. “You did great.” They merged onto the highway, leaving as quickly as they had arrived without looking back.

***

It was nightfall by the time they made it back to camp, in a totally battered Ford pickup with a single flickering headlight. Rob slowed the truck to a halt near Elliot and Reba’s cabin. There was no one around. The cabin windows were covered, as was their protocol at night. Rob wasn’t sure what time it was, but he knew it was late. Their search for winter supplies along the way had been a bust.

As they pulled up, no one spoke. The near brush with death left them subdued and quiet. Mila had done what she could with Peter’s hand and wrapped it in gauze to control the bleeding. He had passed out some time before reaching Bear Mountain. They had made it back with a half tank remaining and a truck that looked as though it had gone through hell.

Carlos and Brad stumbled out of the back. They stretched, not saying a word, as Rob switched off the ignition. Mila looked at their own cabin—its windows covered—and held back tears. She felt afraid of everything—too overwhelmed to even get out of the truck. She wasn’t prepared to tell the kids anything, but she
was
grateful to be back.

Rob turned to her, his face as worn and tired looking as hers. “We’re going to be OK.” His eyes stayed on hers. She only nodded in response.

Rob put his arm around her shoulder. “We had no idea things had gotten so bad. Now we know, and we can be better prepared.”

“That wasn’t our town,” she said in a shaky voice. “I don’t know what the hell that was, but it wasn’t Nyack.”

“The EMP …” Rob began.

“Screw the EMP,” she said. “This is the apocalypse. How could things possibly get so bad? Why isn’t anyone helping us? Where is everyone?”

“We have to help ourselves. That’s what I’ve been saying since day one. Back there … that was anarchy. Without phones or electricity or working vehicles, we’re nothing but rats in a maze right now. And people
will
take advantage of the situation.”

“What are we going to tell Josh and Kelly?” she asked as a tear streamed down her cheek. “They need to go back to school. Back to their lives.” She buried her face in her hands and sobbed. “We’ve failed them.”

“That is not true,” Rob said. “As a family, we’re doing all right, which wouldn’t be the case had we stayed in Nyack.”

Carlos came to Rob’s side and knocked on the window. “You gonna sit in there all night? Come on.”

Peter lay slumped in the middle, propped against the seat. Shattered glass from the front and back windows covered the floor of the truck. Mila pushed open the passenger door with her foot and stepped out. Rob opened his door and saw Carlos and Brad leaning against the hood, holding their sides in pain.

“How are you guys holding up?” he asked.

Carlos shook his head. “A little banged up, but just glad you got us out of there.”

Brad winced in pain. “I think I bruised a rib. Might even be broken.”

Carlos scoffed. “If it was broken, amigo, you’d know it. Trust me.”

Mila was guiding Peter out of the truck as Rob, Carlos and Brad took a few minutes to talk. Nyack wasn’t safe, they agreed. The town had fallen.

At the camp, people had been waiting for them, keeping watch, and anxious for news. They began coming out of their cabins one by one.

Krystal, Peter’s wife, walked out first. Mayra called out for Carlos and rushed toward him with the children, Antonio and Gabrielle, following. Brad’s wife, Ashlee, came out next, squinting into the darkness. Josh and Kelly walked past her holding ChemLights, eagerly looking for their parents.

“Carlos!” Mayra said. She dashed over and threw her arms around him. “I’m so relieved. It seemed like days. We were worried.”

“We’re fine. Everything is fine,” Carlos said, stroking her head.

Brad and Ashlee hugged each other, rocking back and forth in each other’s arms, not saying a word.

“Where are the kids? Are they OK?” Brad asked, trying to hide his pain.

“They’re in bed. Don’t worry.” Ashlee took a step back, examining him. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

“No, no,” Brad said, waving her off. “Just got a little thrown around back there.”

“Well, you come inside this instant,” Ashlee said and pulled him off toward their cabin.

Krystal approached the group in her nightgown, dazed. One look at Peter hanging onto Mila with his hand bandaged sent her into hysterics.

“Peter! What happened to him? Oh my God!”

His head rose as consciousness began coming back. Mila dragged herself toward Krystal with Peter leaning on her shoulder, both of them exhausted.

“He cut his hand, but he’s going to be OK.”

Rob walked around the truck to meet up with Mila just as Josh and Kelly found them. They looked as concerned as everyone else, and ran to Rob and hugged him. Kelly choked back tears.

“I’m OK. I’m OK…” Rob said, rubbing their backs.

“Did you see our house?” Kelly asked.

“Is the power back on yet?” Josh added.

“In time. Let us get situated first,” Rob said. His voice was hoarse and shaky.

They ran from him to Mila, who had just guided Peter into Krystal’s arms as she scolded him.

“What did you do out there, trying to give me a heart attack?” she asked, leading him to the cabin.

“I need to treat his hand tonight,” Mila called as their cabin door shut.

Josh and Kelly threw their arms around her and squeezed tightly, nearly knocking her over. She pulled them close, sobbing and assuring them that everything was fine.

Elliot then stepped out, having just woken up. He walked toward them in boxers, a white T-shirt, and slippers, scratching his head. One look at the dangling headlight and shattered windshield nearly sent him over the edge.

“What in God’s name happened to my truck?” he cried, running.

Rob grabbed his arm, stopping him. “Not now, OK? I’ll explain everything in a minute. But we have a job to do. We got the medical supplies, and my wife is going to treat Reba. The run nearly cost us our lives.”

Elliot looked on, confounded. “That bad? H-how? No police? No military?”

“Nothing,” Rob said. “Just us now.”

Later that night, Rob and Mila lay in bed, still shaken from the experience. Their bodies ached, but the soft mattress was a welcome change from being thrown around in the truck. Mila rested her head on his chest, sighing. It had been a long night for her.

She had done her best picking bits of glass from Peter’s hand and cleaning his wound. Then she turned her attention to Elliot’s wife, Reba, administering medication to her and checking her vital signs. She believed that Reba would make it. Only time would tell.

“I know that it’s for real now,” Mila said, breathing into Rob’s chest. “We never got the winter supplies, but I don’t know if I can go back out there.”

His hand massaged her back as his eyelids grew heavier. “We’ll figure something out. Don’t worry,” he said.

She lifted her head and kissed him. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he said, drifting off.

“Rob?”

He awoke. “Yes?”

“Do you think we can survive this?”

“I do,” Rob said. “Things are bad now, but we’ll find our way soon.”

“Thank you,” she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Good night.”

***

Sunday, November 20, 2016

It was morning and business as usual at the camp. The kids were doing their chores, Elliot was pulling guard, and Mila was tending to Reba—trying to nurse her back to health. No one had gotten very much sleep. Rob had called for a quick meeting to fill everyone in about what they had seen and done in Nyack.

Brad and Ashlee sat among the Santos family and the Dunnes. Peter cradled his bandaged hand, recently dressed and cleaned by Mila. He was doing better but traumatized by the thought of ever going into town again. Carlos looked a little banged up, with a bruise or two on his forehead. The stoic, concerned faces let Rob know that the group had reached a threshold, and that their next moves would determine their fate in the camp.

Before addressing them, he tried to put on his best face. He wanted to assure them that there was still hope, despite their once-idyllic town having gone to hell. The chilly morning breeze was a stark reminder of the coming winter, which only added to the question of how long they could continue to hunker down.

“I called this meeting because I think it’s important to assess where we’re at. I’m sure you’ve all explained to your families the dismal condition of our town, and it’s true, what we saw yesterday was very concerning.”

“Who are these people?” Krystal cried out. She took Peter’s bandaged hand in hers. “The men who shot at my husband. I want to know.”

“I’m not sure, but I do have some idea,” Rob answered.

“Enlighten us, please,” Carlos said. Murmurs of agreement traveled through the group.

Rob continued. “The ability of law enforcement to do their jobs has been greatly diminished following the EMP. The same thing with the military. According to the last emergency broadcast, this situation is not exclusive to Nyack. Many areas have been besieged by criminal elements—gangs, hoodlums, you name it. It’s my guess that these groups have taken over Nyack and implemented their own mob rule. And I’m also willing to assume that the people we saw stacking bricks and doing yard labor like prisoners are the residents. Those who stayed behind.”