EMP Post-Apocalyptic Survival | Book 3 | Days of Survival Read online

  Days of Survival

  James Hunt

  Copyright 2020 All rights reserved worldwide. No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, by any means without prior written permission, except for brief excerpts in reviews or analysis

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  1

  The tracks were old, but Mark was still able to find them outside of camp. He crouched to get a closer look, reading the imprints in the soil the way others might examine a map. The ground told a story and offered clues into the events that led to the chaos of the prisoner escape.

  Mark glanced back over his shoulder and watched the frantic attempts at regaining order within the ranks and securing the perimeter. The incident yesterday had put their efforts behind schedule, and Mark knew his superiors would find that unacceptable.

  Mark stood, stretching to a large six-foot frame, decked out in his combat gear complete with body armor, two pistols, hunting knife, an AR-15, grenades, and enough ammunition to kill two hundred people. But what was most striking was a simple patch that covered his right shoulder.

  At first glance someone might have thought it was the American flag, recognizing the red and white stripes, but staring at it more closely revealed a swastika in place of the fifty stars.

  The symbol of hate and oppression was chosen for those specific attributes. And after their organization had detonated the EMP that crippled the nation, they moved with swift precision throughout the country, attacking cities, towns, and neighborhoods, terrorizing and killing as many as they could.

  Their mission was considered a success, but it was far from over, and there were already crops of resistance sprouting up. It was why Mark had been called here. To find the person responsible for the attack on their camp.

  Dozens of tracks led away from the camp. The prisoners that had escaped fled in random directions, hoping to return to their pathetic lives. But most had been recaptured, and those that did escape, well, they would find their homes burned to the ground upon their return.

  But Mark wasn’t concerned with the prisoners who fled, he had been sent here to find the person who freed them. He had already interrogated the guards on duty and was confident there was no collusion or treachery within their own ranks. This threat had come from the outside. Someone had snuck into the camp, released the prisoners, and then disappeared into the forest.

  Of the many sets of tracks, Mark singled out one set of prints that led him to the top of the ridge on the south side of the camp.

  When Mark reached the top of the ridge that overlooked the camp, he followed the tracks to an area which had a bird’s eye view of the camp. It was here the grass and leaves had been tamped down, and also where he found a cache of empty shell casings.

  Because of the location of the dig site they had been instructed to excavate, the camp was forced to put itself in a vulnerable position and was difficult to defend from the high ground that surrounded it.

  Mark crouched low, moving into the same position the shooter had taken when they rained down gunfire from above. He saw the sleeping quarters for the men on the left side of the camp, the muddy pit where the chain-link fence had been constructed for the prisoners, and beyond that the pit of the dig site, which had been the camp’s sole objective.

  One skilled marksman could wreak havoc on the camp below, like it did yesterday. From this position, the dozens of fighting men stationed at this camp were nothing more than sitting ducks.

  Mark stood and pocketed an empty shell casing. He continued to study the tracks until he found another set of prints leading away from the sniper’s nest. Two pairs, and judging from the reports he had heard and the size of the prints, a man and a woman.

  The tracks marched west, disappearing into the forest. They already had a day’s head start on him, but he was confident he could catch them. He would make them pay for what they had done, make an example out of them.

  Mark descended the ridge and returned to the camp. The main fairways were muddy, churned up by the dozens of boots that traversed the encampment.

  A few fighters nodded to Mark as he passed, each of them as dedicated to the cause as him. They had chose their people carefully, and they had been meticulous in their planning. But most of the fighters here were foot soldiers, extensions of the mind of their Supreme Leader who had guided them here and filled their hearts with hate and rage. And the Supreme Leader focused that rage into a single goal: control.

  The EMP they had detonated three days ago was a culmination of ten years of planning. They had planned, they had trained, they had sacrificed, and now they had drawn first blood. The EMP was the most effective way to cripple law enforcement, create chaos and confusion for the citizens, and render domestic military inactive.

  But their victory would be short-lived if they couldn’t move onto their next phase of control, and it was for that reason Mark had been sent here by the Supreme Leader himself. He was loyal. He was above reproach.

  He was their most trusted killer.

  Mark never broke stride as he entered the camp leader’s tent. Silas Gaines looked up from the large table at the tent’s center, flanked on either side by his lieutenants.

  “Mark,” Gaines said, straightening up as he cleared his throat. “I was informed you had arrived.” He stepped around the table and shook Mark’s hand. “You should have come to see me first. I could have given you a rundown of what happened.”

  “I wanted to see it for myself first,” Mark said, and then he picked up one of the letters of correspondence from their group in Atlanta. He studied it for a moment and then set it back down on the table. “I see you’ve put together the spider’s web.”

  The spider’s web was the term they had coined amongst themselves for the network they had strung together across the country.

  “Yes,” Gaines said, and then he walked to a map hanging from the wall with string. “First reports of total civilian casualties have been a few million just within forty-eight hours. But projections show that number will increase over the coming weeks as people struggle to find food and water. And when the people are looking for a savior, that’s when we’ll step in.”

  Mark studied the map and glanced to the pair of lieutenants by the table. “Leave.”

  Both men looked to Gaines for confirmation, and once he nodded, the men obeyed the order. When it was just the two of them, Gaines bowed his head.

  “He must have been very upset to have sent you,” Gaines said

  “He wanted to make sure the job was done correctly,” Mark replied.

  Gaines cleared his throat, growing nervous. “We’ve been working to correct the mistake—”

  “The mistake never should have happened,” Mark said.

  “No.” Gaines tilted his chin up and tensed, mustering up the courage of a child who had broken the rules. “I take full responsibility for the delay.”

  “Yes,” Mark said. “You will.”

  Gaine
s shuddered, but he nodded. “What did you find?”

  “There were two,” Mark answered, reaching into his pocket to grab the shell casing.

  “All the prisoners say it was one man,” Gaines said.

  Mark tossed Gaines the shell casing. “I found a lot more of those on the ridge with a perfect view of the camp. There might have only been one man that entered the camp, but there were two people involved during the attack.”

  Gaines rolled the shell casing between his fingers. “And Command really wants you to track down whoever did this? Seems like a waste of resources considering everything else that needs to be done.”

  “The efforts here are integral to our overall mission,” Mark said. “If the people responsible for the prison break saw something—”

  “Even if they saw anything, they wouldn’t understand,” Gaines said, tossing the shell casing to the ground. “We’re nearly done here.”

  “I need to speak with the prisoners,” Mark said.

  “My people have already questioned them,” Gaines replied. “I’d be happy—”

  “The results of your interrogations did not meet my standards,” Mark said. “I’ll need to question them personally.”

  Gaines simply nodded and escorted Mark out of the tent.

  The prisoners were marched out of their pens at gunpoint and presented to Mark in a straight line. These men and women, these ordinary citizens. Just looking at them caused Mark’s blood to boil. What did these people know of sacrifice? What did they know of pain? How many of them wasted their lives in the mundane? This was their chance for absolution.

  Mark walked the line of prisoners. It was a sorry lot, most of them looked like a stiff breeze would have knocked them down. They had been run ragged for the cause, and Mark smiled from their suffering. But when he neared the middle of the line, he stopped.

  “What’s your name?” Mark asked.

  The man still had strength in him and held Mark’s gaze with a hard stare. But he didn’t answer.

  Mark stepped closer and placed his hand on his sidearm. “I won’t ask again.”

  The man stared down at the pistol in Mark’s holster. Dark crescents were pressed beneath his eyes, his cheeks gaunt. A wiry scruff covered his face and neck. He trembled, fearing for his life, but still remained silent.

  “Fine.” Mark unholstered the pistol and held firm in his promise as he shot the man in the head.

  The line of prisoners erupted in protest, but the rest of the guards jumped to subdue them before they could retaliate. Once everyone was quiet, Mark stepped over the corpse of the man he had just shot, gun still in hand, and walked the line of prisoners.

  “During the prison break, three of our men were killed!” Mark said. “We have enough ammunition to shoot each one of you ten times over, but that still wouldn’t make up for our loss! All of you have suckled at the teat of those who built this nation from the ground up, and your free ride is over! Now is the time for you to absolve yourself! I want information about the man who set you free!”

  The line remained silent, and Mark’s patience evaporated. He aimed his pistol at the closest prisoner, a middle-aged woman with scraggly hair, and she immediately started crying.

  “On the count of three, I will pull this trigger!” Mark shouted. “One! Two! Three—"

  “We don’t know who he was!” The response came from a man at the end of the line.

  Mark lowered his pistol and then motioned for one of the guards to bring the man forward. The prisoner was plucked from the line and shoved in front of Mark.

  The man was covered in dirt and smelled worse than a full dumpster on a hot July afternoon. He looked like he hadn’t eaten in days, but behind the fatigue and hunger was an intelligent gaze.

  “No one else in the prisoner camp knew him?” Mark asked.

  “None of us,” the man answered. “He came for a girl.”

  “And who was the girl?” Mark asked.

  “I think his daughter?” the man asked. “The first time he came, he only took her, then he returned for the rest of us.”

  Mark raised an eyebrow. “He came back a second time.”

  “Yeah,” the prisoner said.

  The fact that this man had acted as a liberator was cause for concern. Mark understood now why the Supreme Leader had sent him. It was important for them to remain in control until the rest of the pieces were in play, but if the people were allowed to gain momentum…

  “Please.”

  Mark turned around, looking to the scraggly woman he had aimed his pistol at earlier. She clasped her hands together, still crying.

  “We didn’t do anything,” she said, sobbing. “Just let us go. Please, let us go home.”

  The woman buried her face in her hands and cried uncontrollably. Mark holstered his pistol and walked over to the woman, embracing her in his arms.

  “I know how frightened you are,” Mark said, his tone sickeningly sweet, his embrace of the woman far too intimate. “But you have to understand that weakness must be rooted out.” He lowered the woman’s hands from her face and then held her head in his large, powerful hands. “Take solace in the knowledge that your death will lay the foundation of a stronger, better future.”

  The woman’s eyes were large and rheumy, her cheeks slick with tears and dirt, and Mark smiled at her while he twisted his hands and snapped her neck.

  “You monster!” The prisoner who had spoken up lunged for Mark, but Mark shoved the man to the muck with ease and pressed his foot into the back of the man’s skull, pushing the prisoner deeper into the mud.

  The rest of the prisoners watched in horror as the man flailed wildly at first, but after a minute of suffocation, the kicking stopped, and he lay still with his face buried in the mud.

  Mark removed his boot and then wiped his hands as he raised his voice. “There are always consequences! And in this new world, those consequences are life and death! Remember that the next time you want to be brave!”

  Mark stepped over the dead man and motioned for one of the guards.

  “Kill one more before you take them back,” Mark said. “I don’t want them to misunderstand who’s in charge.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Back turned to the prisoners, Mark joined Gaines as another gunshot rang out.

  “Show me the pit,” Mark said.

  Gaines said nothing and led Mark to the edge of the camp. Mark walked to the edge of the pit and stared down into the cavernous hole. It was so deep he couldn’t see the bottom.

  “The escape yesterday caused some damage to our equipment, but we nearly have it back up and running,” Gaines said, a slight tremor to his voice. “We should be back to work in a few hours.”

  “True power is within our grasp,” Mark said, his voice filled with wonder.

  “Mark,” Gaines said, dropping the formalities. “I understand the mistakes made here, but if you could tell our Supreme Leader everything is back on track, I would appreciate it.”

  Mark turned to Gaines. He had always hated the inner workings of politics within groups, even their own. He found it disgusting.

  “That won’t be necessary,” Mark said.

  Gaines frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re to be relieved of your command,” Mark answered.

  The color drained from Gaines’s cheeks, and his mouth suddenly went dry. “What?”

  “This kind of ineptitude cannot stand,” Mark answered.

  Gaines cleared his throat. “Well, if it weren’t for the prison break, we would be finished by now. It was a minor setback—”

  “He doesn’t see it that way,” Mark said.

  “If we could borrow more men—”

  “You had men, Silas,” Mark said. “And you lost them.”

  “Mark, you know me,” Gaines said. “What happened was an act of God.”

  “No,” Mark said, growing more irritated. “You should have posted better watchmen around the camp. You allowed one man, one, to infiltrate
a camp armed with over twenty of our own. It happened under your watch. And you know we’re only as good as our weakest link.”

  Gaines panted like an animal caught in a trap. “Then where do I go?”

  Mark slowly lowered his gaze to the sidearm on Gaines’s right hip. When Gaines realized what Mark was looking at, he deflated.

  “You have served your Supreme Leader well,” Mark said. “But he cannot allow your failure to go unpunished.”

  Gaines had been with them for at least five years. He had proved himself worthy of their cause, but no one was above the failure of their new regime.

  Mark placed a hand on Gaines’s shoulder. “Weakness must be plucked from the garden, lest the infection spread.” He removed his hand and stepped backward. “If you can’t do it yourself—”

  “No,” Gaines said, his mouth dry. “I will do it.”

  Gaines unholstered the pistol and pressed the pistol against his temple. “The night is long.”

  “But the dawn is bright,” Mark replied.

  Gaines shut his eyes, trembling, and then squeezed the trigger, the gunshot ringing through the camp as his body crumpled to the ground.

  The guards stationed nearby rushed to investigate, but when they saw Gaines’s body, they knew what had been done.

  “Who is your second-in-command?” Mark asked.

  Neither guard answered, both of them still staring at the blood pouring from the hole in Gaines’s head, so Mark aggressively stepped forward.

  “Who is second-in-command?” Mark repeated.

  “Lieutenant Connelly, sir!” the guard answered.

  “Inform Lieutenant Connelly he now has command,” Mark replied. “Our Supreme Leader expects no further delays.”

  Mark stepped between the two guards and headed for the camp exit. He saw the dead prisoners being tossed into a mass grave. He glanced down to the swastika patch on his arm, which had blood splattered on it from the two men he killed.