Zero Hour: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Fiction Series (The Blackout Series Book 2) (21 page)

“Doubt it.” Colton laughed. “They’re all dead. That blood is on your hands.”

Viper Rex was kicking at the lantern with his good leg, attempting to turn off the light. He couldn’t reach it.

Colton continued. “Let me guess. You prefer to live in the shadows—do your dirty work under the cover of darkness. You’re a big man when you’re surrounded by guns and mean-looking thugs.”

“Shut your mouth, or I’ll shut it for you!” He fired several rounds wildly into the air, one of which struck the scoreboard over Colton’s head, raining shards of glass onto the bleachers behind him.

Colton wasn’t done. “Every despot has a false cause to rally his criminal buddies around. You let your racist beliefs cause the deaths of every one of those men out there. You call yourself King of the Vipers. You’re nothing more than a criminal, low-life piece of crap.”

“Shut up!”

“You spew all this hatred, demanding atonement and justice, when you’re surrounded by people willing to die for you. Let’s see what you’re made of. Crawl out from behind your phony name,
Viper Rex
, you disgraceful coward, and accept your justice!”

BOOM!

The gunshot reverberated off the walls. The bullet found its mark. Justice was served to Viper Rex—by his own hand.

Chapter 36

DAY THIRTEEN

Noon, September 21

HPA Meeting House

Trimble Rd. & Lynnwood Blvd.

Belle Meade, Tennessee

Colton was evolving into something he’d never imagined—a killer without compunction. How could he reconcile taking another man’s life with his faith? It has been said that there are no atheists in foxholes. Facing mortal danger had brought many men to prayer. In the aftermath of battle, even those with the strongest faith could become spiritually broken.

A memorial cemetery was created on the vacant lot across from the HPA meeting house. Some of the residents uprooted a white picket fence and transplanted it around the gravesites. Makeshift headstones were created out of scrap plywood and paint. They weren’t granite, but were made with love and appreciation nonetheless.

Colton fought back a wave of emotion as he performed the eulogy for the seven brave men who’d lost their lives the day before on Sunnybrook Drive. He tried to provide comfort for the loved ones these brave men left behind. In the process, he grasped for answers to his own questions.

“Nothing in the ordinariness of life can prepare us for the death of our family and friends. Most of us lived in the safety of our homes and careers before the collapse. We’d become desensitized to tragedies suffered by others because they were never dropped at our doorstep. Now, we’ve all experienced the horror of war.

“All of us realize, when we wake up in the morning, we never know what’s going to happen that day. Prepare to be tested again. Don’t take for granted the ones you love. Use the graces and the strengths provided by your faith, because you never know when they’ll be challenged next.”

Colton wiped away the tears. Before he arrived this morning, he’d returned to Mrs. Abercrombie’s home and retrieved a picture of her deceased husband off the wall. Within the matted frame was a poem. Although it was often used for the funerals of soldiers who gave their lives in defense of our freedoms, Colton considered it appropriate for these brave men who died defending the safety of every one of their neighbors.

“I would like to conclude with a few words inspired by another of our neighbors who fought for our freedoms.”

Colton closed his eyes. Racing through Colton’s mind were the bodies he’d buried in the last two weeks. Then he thought about the deaths of his grandfather and his parents and how much he missed them. He needed fortitude to continue, so he asked God for strength.

When he opened his eyes, he looked directly at the tearful faces of Madison and Alex. The only things that mattered stood right in front of him. He’d ask for forgiveness, and he’d reconcile the killings as a necessary evil to protect the ones he loved. But he would never stop loving and protecting them.

Colton took a deep breath and read the poem by Mary Elizabeth Frye.

Do not stand at my grave and weep.

I am not there, I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow.

I am the diamond glints on snow

I am the sunlight on ripened grain.

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the mornings hush,

I am the swift uplifting rush

of quiet birds in circled flight,

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry,

I am not there, I did not die.

“Rest in peace my friends, and may God be with you. Amen.”

Chapter 37

DAY THIRTEEN

3:00 p.m., September 21

Ryman Residence

Belle Meade, Tennessee

After two weeks, the neighbors began to embrace their mortality and the inevitable future. Most of them had reached a turning point in which they’d adopted a survival mind-set or they’d accepted their fate. Emotions were taken out of the decision-making process. In a calm, retrospective way, they were choosing life or death. The path his neighbors followed was personal to them and their situation.

Rusty and Karen Kaplan stopped by the Rymans’ home to say their goodbyes. Like the Youngs before them and so many other neighbors after yesterday’s confrontation, they’d determined the neighborhood was no longer safe.

“Rusty, I’m not gonna try to talk you out of this because I understand where you’re coming from,” started Colton. “But the feedback I’m receiving from folks is not good. The FEMA facilities are a mirage. They’re nothing more than a massive warehousing effort by the government to get us off the streets while they try to restore order to the city.”

Rusty symbolically handed Colton the keys to their home, effectively ending the debate. Karen looked at Colton with a look of defeat and resignation. It was the same look he’d received this afternoon during the burial and the brief meeting of the HPA afterward.

“I’ve heard the rumors too, Colton,” said Rusty. “During the … well, yesterday, one of the neighbors returned from 100 Oaks severely beaten. He got into a brawl over food rations. It’s been said the personnel running these camps are hoarding food for their cronies. Those who don’t play ball, like the fella yesterday, get transferred to a more secure FEMA Camp on Old Briley Parkway that has supposedly been in place for years.”

Colton pleaded his case. If they left, his block of Harding Place would be abandoned except for his family. “I know. I’ve heard those rumors too. I wish you guys would please reconsider. We’ve established perimeter security. More people are armed now. Despite our losses, I think I’ve developed some comradery among the neighbors that we didn’t have before. We can bind together and get—”

“It’s better for us to go there and have a chance than stay here and get killed,” interrupted Karen. “Tell Madison and Alex goodbye. I’m sure we’ll all be back together soon enough. Let’s go, Rusty.”

She started to pull Rusty’s arm to leave, but he smiled and stopped to shake Colton’s hand. “It’ll get better soon. Hold down the fort until we get back.”

Colton bit his tongue—until it bled!
Hold down the fort?
He was furious with Rusty. Yesterday, he’d risked his life and seven men had died attempting to protect all of the neighbors, including those who didn’t participate—like Rusty Kaplan. Now he was asking Colton to continue to risk his life for the Kaplan Fort.
If everybody is leaving, what was the point of yesterday?

Colton handed the keys back to Rusty. “Be careful. I have my only family and fort to look after and protect. Here, you keep the keys to your
fort
.” Colton turned and walked back towards his house, utterly disgusted.

Chapter 38

DAY THIRTEEN

5:00 p.m., September 21

Ryman Residence

Belle Meade, Tennessee

Alex ran down the hill to catch up with her mom and dad. She’d retrieved four grocery totes from the pantry to haul any seeds or gardening supplies they might find in the O’Malleys’ home or greenhouse. The O’Malleys were avid gardeners, and it puzzled the Rymans after their first scavenging attempt in the abandoned home that seeds weren’t stored somewhere.

Alex was impressed with her mom, who two weeks ago was planning a Friday night party for her dad’s friends. Today, she was wearing a black tank top, sunglasses, and was holding an AR-15. Alex immediately thought of Sarah Connor, the character in
The Terminator
movies.

“I’m ready, Daddy,” said Alex as she handed him two of the fabric totes.

Out of habit, they both instinctively looked both ways before crossing the street. They decided to start in the back because they both felt they had been fairly thorough inside the house the first time. Alex stood watch on the sidewalk.

For the next half hour, they rummaged through the O’Malleys’ greenhouse and garage. They found a few more hand tools, including a hand rake, a whisk broom, and a pair of Fiskars pruning shears. Colton grabbed another funnel out of the garage and a bottle of Roundup. Alex picked up a well-worn copy of
Square Foot Gardening
. Even if they found the seeds, it didn’t mean they’d know how to grow anything.

Alex started thumbing through the book while she waited for her dad to search the garage attic. She found some information on the types of seeds to use and where to store them. The author wrote that the refrigerator was best, but any cool, dry location like a root cellar would be sufficient.

They’d checked the refrigerator previously, so she started to think of a cool, dry place. She walked around the backyard, looking for a root cellar. Nothing. Her dad emerged from the garage with some more fishing gear and a telescope.

“Cool!” exclaimed Alex as she ran to check it out. She dusted it off and revealed the brand. “Wow! It’s a Celestron. Good find, Daddy!”

“You’re welcome. I’m sure the O’Malleys would be proud for you to give it a good home. Did you find anything?”

“Not really, except for this book,” replied Alex. She handed it to him without taking her attention away from the telescope.

“I guess we’ll head back,” announced Colton.

“Wait. Daddy, the book said you should store seeds in a cool, dry place like a root cellar. I looked around the yard but couldn’t find one.”

They both looked around the yard, searching for a clue. Suddenly, Alex handed her dad the telescope and headed around the side of the house. The O’Malleys had installed a series of stepping-stones leading from the elevated deck around the corner. She remembered seeing a small entry door to the home’s crawl space.

Alex found the three-foot-square door and slid the bolt latch. As she opened the door, a burst of cool air hit her face. The setting sun illuminated the interior, which contained rows of handmade shelves containing Ziploc bags marked by years. Each bag contained an envelope that was clearly marked with a different vegetable name and variety.

“Winner!” exclaimed Alex as she crawled under the house on all fours.

“What did you find?” asked Colton. Alex responded by handing out an old wooden soft drink crate marked Royal Crown Cola. It was full of seeds. “This is fantastic, Alex!”

“You have no idea,” came the reply from deeper inside the crawl space. Alex began to shove more crates toward the entrance, which were quickly retrieved by Colton.

After eight crates containing two dozen packets each were extricated from the cramped space, Alex collapsed in the grass and began to thumb through the labeled Ziplocs.

“They all read heirloom seeds,” said Colton.

“What’s that mean?” asked Alex.

“I don’t know,” replied Colton. “Maybe they’ve been passed down through the generations?”

Alex shrugged and pulled some of the packets out of the bags.

“Corn, cucumber, pumpkin, tomato, and watermelon,” she read aloud. “Daddy, watermelon!”

“Dang straight!” replied Colton. She was beaming, not only because of the find, but because she made her dad smile. He hadn’t smiled much lately.

“C’mon,” started Alex, looking around nervously. “Let’s get these home before somebody sees us.”

The two loaded up their vegetable garden supplies and hurried to a waiting Madison, who helped carry the crates to the house. At the top of the driveway, Alex realized she forgot her telescope.

“Here, Daddy. Take these. I forgot my telescope. I’ll be right back.”

“Alex, wait,” Colton shouted after her. “Don’t go alone.”

But it was too late, and she was already crossing the street.

Alex ran to the backyard and retrieved the telescope. She was walking toward the front yard when she heard squeaking sounds. Alex immediately looked down the street and saw people headed her way, forcing her to freeze, unable to move, much less run.

It wasn’t out of fear, but rather shock. Coming towards her was a group of four people. An elderly woman in a pink bathrobe rode in a wheelchair with a paisley suitcase on her lap. Another woman in her late thirties was pushing the wheelchair while pulling a suitcase on wheels. An older boy was urging a wheelbarrow along the street with a nearly flat tire, which contained the elderly woman’s walker, more luggage and some photo albums.