Super Pulse (Book 2): To The Barrens Page 5

  “Who are you?” she asked as she stared Sarah down through wire-framed glasses. The woman, who appeared to Sarah to be nearing seventy years old, looked like she’d just walked out of a beauty salon, as if the EMP had never happened. Her short silver hair was whipped into a perfectly-shaped dome.

  Some horrible memories came back hard for Sarah. She remembered the day when a desperate family barged into Nick’s house, knocked her down hard enough to injure her arm, and proceeded to steal most of their food and water. She would never forget the hunger in the eyes of the children, nor the shame in the face of the mother, who’d apologized on her way out the door as she struggled with the stolen booty. Now it had all come full circle. This time it was she, Sarah McElligott-Cohen, who was the thief, driven by hunger and thirst to do what she never would have imagined she had in her. It hurt to face this truth.

  Regardless, there was no point in trying to hide the reason she was there. She put aside her emotions. “I’m not going to hurt you,” she assured the woman. “I just need some food and water.” It always sounded the same, even from the other side. That family surely used these exact words that day back in Nick’s house. She was already on the move before finishing the sentence. The shame was going to make her sick to her stomach if she didn’t get out of there. “You’ve got plenty.”

  The old woman grabbed at her own ear as she mumbled something. It was obvious that she’d heard little or nothing of what Sarah had said. Hearing aid batteries were hard to come by these days. Sarah gestured at the stacks of meat, and then pantomimed the act of picking them up as she watched her face for understanding.

  “You can’t have it!” the woman protested. Her mind flitting all over the place, Sarah decided randomly that at least one of the hunters she’d seen leaving was her son. She glanced around the room, looking for a bag or a box to put the stolen food in. Wasn’t that exactly what the invaders had done to her that day? When she looked back, the woman was gone.

  A new, booming voice, this one male, broke the silence just after Sarah started rifling though cabinets. “Hands up!” Sarah turned and faced a huge man holding a long knife. Wearing a bloody apron that ran from neck to knee, he was as hairy as the men they’d seen out front. He was standing in a doorway, probably one that led to the basement.

  The old woman reappeared. “I’ll handle this, Mom,” he told her firmly.

  “No, Otto!” the woman cackled. “That ain’t right!” That scared Sarah. The old woman knew something.

  “I got this!” he said loudly, waving her away. After she was gone he crossed the room toward Sarah. His heavy boots left dark, bloody footprints, which startled Sarah until she remembered the venison. “You. Down in the basement.” With a flourish of the knife, he directed her toward the door. When she didn’t move, he grabbed her arm. “Now!” he commanded.

  Trapping herself in the basement with him felt dangerous, but so did his violent grip and the ten-inch blade in his other hand. She allowed herself to be pulled across the room and shoved through the doorway as she considered her options. Dewey had the gun, but he’d have no idea that anything had gone wrong. And when he finally does shoot the gun, if that happens, that means there are two more men to deal with. At least two. No, she wouldn’t wait for Dewey, she decided. The odds were better now than they’d ever be.

  Her suspicions about what she’d walked into were confirmed when she saw the main room of the basement. It was indeed a slaughterhouse. A partially-butchered deer rested on a large table in the center of the room. Despite the hunger, her stomach turned as she eyeballed the room, full of meat and gristle that was sorted into heaps. The smell of wet blood was overwhelming. Another deer carcass, this one untouched except for a small dark wound in the ribs, was on a steel cart in the corner.

  There had to be a door to the outside down here. No way they were bringing these animals into the basement down that narrow staircase. Besides the logistics, the upstairs was too clean. That fit what she remembered from when she cased the house. There were doors at ground level. This “basement” wasn’t really a basement. That could end up being important.

  While she was assessing the situation, Otto removed his bloody coverall. He dragged Sarah through the gore and into a smaller room, where he shoved her up against a cabinet. “How did you know about us?” he asked, raising the knife.

  “We didn’t,” Sarah answered, trying not to sound as scared as she was. “We were just passing by and—“

  “We? How many are you with?” he asked.

  “Six,” she answered immediately.

  “How many men?”

  “Five,” she told him.

  “Bull,” he said. “Five men and they sent you inside? I ain’t buyin’ it.” He grabbed her button-down shirt at the collar and yanked, tearing it open all the way down to her waist. She stumbled forward, falling to her knees. As she instinctively pulled away, he belted her hard in the face. Stunned, she fell the rest of the way to the floor. Slumped on her side, aware of the blood trickling from her lower lip, she fought to regain her senses.

  “You shouldn’t have come here,” Otto said. He put the knife on a table and stood over her prone body. She knew he was about to straddle her. If that happened, all was lost. He’d have two free hands, and she’d be unable to move under his weight. She rolled onto her back and slammed her heel into his groin with all her strength.

  “Aah!” he roared as he fell backwards and doubled over. She measured the distance toward the knife as he grunted and groaned. Before she could move he dropped to the floor, his legs pinning her ankles down. When he looked up, the rage on his face was withering.

  She nearly crumbled, until she remembered everything Eli had told her about acknowledging fear while pushing it aside at the same time. “Get off me!” she told him as forcefully as she could. “Or you’re gonna’ lose some parts that won’t grow back!” She wished she’d followed up on her promises to Eli about learning Krav Maga, the self defense system he’d mastered and eventually taught while in the Israeli Defense Forces. But she knew she’d surprised him with her gall. That would help.

  He crawled up her body while keeping her legs tied up with his own weight. When she could reach his face she lashed out at his eyes with both hands. He howled in pain. His hands flew from her body to his eyes as he toppled sideways onto the floor. Sarah scrambled away and climbed to her feet. While he was still down on all fours, clutching at his face, she kicked him in the ribs as hard as she could. Then she did it again.

  Even with his hands over his eyes he somehow saw the second kick coming, because he clamped down over her foot with his arm. She was able to twist free and back away. Now she thought about the knife again. She wasn’t sure if she could do much damage with it, but she knew if he had it, with his advantages in strength and reach, he could again enforce his will. He obviously realized the same. She was maneuvering toward the table and he was crawling toward it when they heard gunfire from outside.

  He looked at her, his face scratched and bleeding with one hand still pressed against his left eye, as if he suddenly understood that she hadn’t been lying when she said she wasn’t alone. The shots distracted him long enough to give her a head start at the table where the knife was, but it wasn’t enough. Just before her hand closed around the hilt, he was behind her. Grabbing her by the hair and knocking her hand out of the way, he took the knife and slashed at her all in one motion. The pain was intense as the blade tore into her side just above her hip. She fell again, but rolled away from him, landing on her back with her feet in the air.

  The message was clear; come any closer, and risk another kick like the one a few minutes earlier. On top of that, she was gambling that he was more interested in the gunshots than in finishing her off. Sure enough, he limped out of the room with the knife ready to thrust at whatever he encountered. After a few moments she followed. Back in the main room, a door leading to the outside was open.

  She circled to the front of the house and saw the two h
unters probing the edge of the forest across the street. Otto, still nursing his eye, limped across the street to join them. They plunged into the trees and out of sight, but Sarah could hear their voices clearly and knew they hadn’t gone far. She counted to ten, scooped up the cloth sack the hunters had left in the weeds in front of the house, and crossed the road. Once she reached the woods, she struggled back in the direction she and Dewey had come from. When she couldn’t hear them anymore, she stopped walking and crawled inside a clump of bushes to wait for the situation to settle down.

  Now that the action had passed, she put the bag aside and assessed the damage. The worst pain was coming from her side, where she’d been stabbed. Otto hadn’t been able to put much force into the blow, but the blade had been sunk deeply enough to cut her up. She could feel blood seeping from the wound and past her waistband into her pants. Aside from that she was aware of her throbbing cheekbone and bleeding lip. She wiped the blood gently with a sleeve and fastened the front of her shirt back together with the remaining buttons. Looking at the knife wound was something she would put off, partly because she needed to find Dewey but mostly because she was afraid what she’d find.

  ~~~

  She stayed where she was for several hours, long after she believed the men stopped looking for them. With any luck, Dewey had managed to elude them. She expected that he had; unlike everybody else, she didn’t underestimate Dewey, especially after seeing him fighting harder than Nick had that first day on the bridge. Besides, the men hadn’t looked very interested in finding who had shot at them. She was sure they’d be happy just chasing the intruders away.

  By staying still, she allowed the gash in her side to clot up. It wouldn’t hold once she was on the move again, but even so it was a relief not to feel blood running down her hip. She could take a look at it later and decide what to do about it.

  While she waited, she opened the bag she’d taken and was thrilled at what she found. In addition to a hunting knife in a leather sheath, there were several pounds of dried meat, probably deer, and two jugs of water. She attacked the water first, setting one jug aside for Dewey and downing at least half of the other. Then she helped herself to some of the meat, the taste of which reminded her of a Slim Jim.

  ~~~

  It was late in the afternoon when she thought it was finally safe to leave her hiding place. She was busy packing food and water back into the bag when she heard footfalls and rustling leaves. It was the sound of a human moving through the forest. She froze, afraid of making the slightest sound that could give her location away. Her taut nerves gave way again when she saw the trespasser. It was Dewey.

  ~~~

  After he’d drained the jug of water she gave him and gobbled twice as much deer meat as she had, he told her what had happened. The men had returned and were poised to enter the house when he fired shots at them. They took cover at first as the rounds tore into the front of the house. After firing, he retreated deep into the woods, not stopping until he could see a clearing in the other direction. There was a school, or a hospital there. He wasn’t sure which. Then, like her, he found a hiding place and waited. When it felt safe, he’d ventured back to the road where he’d last seen Sarah. Figuring that she wouldn’t have moved on without him, at least not this soon, he’d backtracked through the woods until they’d found each other.

  “Shawnee,” Sarah mumbled after he was finished telling his story.

  “What?” Dewey asked.

  “That was Shawnee High School you saw on the other side of the woods,” she explained. “Jenny was a year away from starting there. But that’s all gone now, isn’t it? Nothing’s ever going to be the same.”

  Six

  By the time Nick shook himself out of his daze, now flat on his back on the filthy concrete around the dumpsters, he could see that plenty of time had passed. He was getting better at guessing the time based on how much sunlight there was. This time he surmised that it was no earlier than two o'clock. His head was clearer than it usually was when he came out of these funks. The benefits of Prohibition, he mused silently.

  He remembered speaking with Grover and Roethke. Besides that, he recalled that subcommittee meetings were scheduled for afternoon. Three o'clock, he thought as he pulled himself to his feet. He knew he better not miss that.

  Although he didn't know for sure what his assignment was, Roethke had said something about Construction. No surprise there. He'd go with that. But he had no idea where that subcommittee would meet. He brushed off his tattered clothes and walked back toward the building.

  The earlier conversation had reminded him that the Committee was not very forgiving. First he needed to know what time it was. Then he had to find out where his meeting would be held. Figuring he had nothing to lose, he asked the first person he came across after reentering the building. "I don't know exactly, but it's getting close to three o'clock," the woman told him. She didn't want to stop to talk, probably because she was worried about being late herself. Not good.

  Nick caught up to her again. "Do you know where the Construction subcommittee meeting is?"

  "No, sorry. I'm on Food Services. That's the only one I know."

  Nick had an idea. Joe Garrison, a self-described outdoor cooking foodie, was likely on that subcommittee, and he seemed connected. Maybe he could help. "I think I'll walk with you," he said. She scowled at him as she hurried along, but didn’t protest.

  Sure enough, after they arrived at the classroom, Nick looked in to see Joe. "Nick! You're not on this subcommittee, are you?” Joe asked. “I didn't see your name."

  Nick grabbed Joe's wrist and twisted it gently until he could read his watch. "Joe, I need your help. I have three minutes to get to my meeting, and I don't know where it is. Do you have the master list or something?"

  "Relax, will you?" Joe said. "The school's only so big. We’ll get you there." He pulled out a sheaf of pages, on which columns of data had been scrawled by hand. "What subcommittee?"

  "Try Construction."

  Joe spread his palms and gaped at Nick. "You seriously don't even know which one?"

  "Two minute warning, Joe. Look it up, will ya'?" Nick said.

  "I can't look up your assignment," Joe said, without looking up from the pages in his hand. "I don't have that on me. But Construction is in two-eighteen. This is two-fourteen. So it should be just a few doors down, one direction or the other."

  Nick was off like a shot toward the door. "Thanks, Joe!" he called over his shoulder before darting back into the hallway. He guessed left, but quickly saw by the room numbers that he was wrong, so he doubled back. Seconds later he found room 218 and slipped inside. He still couldn't be sure he was even in the right place, but at least he was on time. That had to count for something, even to Grover and Roethke.

  The room was occupied by about ten people. Most of them looked like the kind of blue collar guys he spent most of his days with on the job. In the front were two women. That was different. One he recognized as Linda Brown, from the bus.

  Even before Nick had found an empty desk and taken a seat, a lanky, dark-haired man stood up. His beard was so thick that Nick knew it pre-dated the EMP. “Everybody here for Construction?” the man asked. Nick knew he was halfway home now. He was with the right subcommittee. Now he just had to hope he’d been assigned to it. The odds were good.

  There were several faces he recognized from Crestview. That surprised him. With a smile he thought about how Brian Martinsen would feel, knowing that so many residents in his own neighborhood worked in the lowly field of construction.

  “My name’s Mark Roman,” the lanky man said. Nick thought he was six foot five, at least. He jerked his thumb at the man next to him. “This is my little brother, Ricky.” Ricky had the same hair and beard as his brother, but somehow hadn’t inherited any height. “I know they said earlier that we’d be electing a leader, but I guess our subcommittee’s special. We already have an appointed leader. You’re lookin’ at him.”

  “
Don’t look too long,” Ricky said, snickering. “He’s not so easy on the eyes.”

  “My brother the wisecracker,” Mark said. “Anyway, by way of introduction, me and my brother were framing townhouses in Bordentown the day this thing hit. We walked all the way back to Crestview. It took four days. I know a lot of you are from Crestview, too. Nick, I’m not sure we’ve met, but we’ve been on the same job site a few times. Same for Delbert the plumber over there.”

  “Call me Del, if you know what’s good for ya’,” a man behind Nick growled.

  “I thought you were gonna’ tell everybody to stand up and introduce themselves,” said Ricky. “You’re talkin’ too much.”

  “Yes I am,” Mark said. “We’ll do that in a minute. First I want to warn you all. In a few minutes we’re taking a ride down to Camp Tabernacle. We’ll walk around the place, and you can see for yourself what we’ll be doing. It’s pretty basic, really. We’ll be building simple structures for our members to live in. They’ll be identical winterized units. The residential ones, at least. So we’ll set up a streamlined process. Mass production, sort of. At the same time, we’ll be working on the community buildings. By the time the cold weather comes, you all are going to be some tired boys. And girls,” he added.

  A dark-skinned man with a bushy afro hairstyle raised his hand from the back. “I’m an electrician, man,” he said. “I’m obsolete now. What am I supposed to be doing?”

  Mark checked his notes and looked back up. “Dwayne Griffin, Overlea Lane in Crestview,” he said. “You know the trades, don’t you? I’m sure you’re better with tools than ninety-nine percent of our people. You’ll be hammering and sawing right along side of us. That goes for everybody. Your skills might not be an exact match, but it’ll do just fine.”