He saw the concern growing on her face.
“We’re still in a good spot, honey,” he told her. “No need to worry. We’ve got plenty of food, a safe place to sleep and a house that’s nicely fortified. Compared to the rest of these free-spirited partygoers, we’re well ahead of the curve. Besides, if the crap really does hit the fan, we’ve always got plan B.”
Diane hugged John tighter.
“I spoke with Brandon’s father just now,” he said.
She looked up at him. “And?”
“Seemed nice enough. Told me about a disaster he lived through up in Montreal years ago and what a great time he had.”
She laughed. “Oh, boy.”
“He has a ’73 Mustang that might still work.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I sense a but in there somewhere.”
John’s wife knew him too well. “Tim’s a musician.”
“So?”
“Before yesterday it wouldn’t have mattered. But as things progress, anyone without a useful skillset will be in real danger.”
Chapter 14
The next morning, John unsealed the hatch and emerged from the pod to a loud booming noise. It sounded like it was coming from upstairs. He climbed back down the ladder into the pod and got his S&W, checking to make sure the magazine was full.
“What is it, John?” Diane sounded concerned.
“Not sure,” he told her. The kids were awake too now. “Wait down here till I give the okay. Seal the hatch behind me after I leave.”
“Need some backup?” Gregory asked.
“Thanks, bud, but not this time.”
“Be careful,” Diane said as he climbed out again.
No sooner was he topside than he heard the pounding again. John slid back the false wall and headed upstairs. Early-morning light trickled in from outside. Whoever was making that racket was sure persistent. Once upstairs, he saw that it was coming from the front door. He slipped into the living room and peeked out through the window. Al was there, hammering his fist a final time before walking away. John hurried and pulled open the front door.
“Al,” he said, sliding the S&W into his drop-leg holster. “If I didn’t know any better I might have shot you.”
His neighbor looked out of breath and John knew right away it was serious. “Come quick.”
They ran down to the end of the street. A crowd had gathered, many of them in their pajamas. Some of the older women were wearing robes pulled tightly around them.
“What’s going on?” John asked, breathing deeply.
One of his neighbors named Peter Warden, a gym teacher over at the junior high, was coming toward them with an armful of blankets. “We heard shots this morning and saw figures with guns running through the neighborhood.”
Some of the neighbors milling around were armed with deer rifles and pistols.
“They hit two houses at the end of the street,” Al said.
“Who’s they?” John asked, confused.
Peter shrugged. “No one knows. Men with guns. And they ransacked Paul Hector’s place.”
“Who else?” John asked.
“Tim Appleby.”
John’s heart dropped. Emma would be a wreck once she found out. “Is everyone okay?” He was following Peter now as he approached the Hector family home. All five family members were sitting on the front stoop. Peter handed them each a blanket and then turned back to John. “Everyone here is accounted for, but there’s still no word from Tim or his family.”
“How many of them are there?”
“Four,” Peter answered. “Tim, his wife Kay, son Brandon and daughter Natalie.”
John motioned for Al to follow him and the two hurried down to the corner of Willow Creek and Pine Grove where the Appleby home was located. A handful of neighbors were coming in and out of the house. The garage door was open. John entered from there and noticed at once Tim’s car was gone.
“That’s what I was afraid of,” John said.
Al stopped to catch his breath. “But how could anyone steal a car that didn’t work?”
“He had a ’73 Mustang. When the EMP hit, it knocked out anything with a microchip. Older cars, like his and Betsy, were largely immune.”
They entered the house. John figured whoever had done this was long gone, but drew his pistol anyway. You never knew if a bad guy had been wounded during the assault and was waiting in a closet somewhere. He checked behind him and saw Al with the Ruger SR22. “Keep your finger off that trigger until it’s time to shoot,” he told his neighbor. He stopped before a handful of others assembled in the house. “Has anyone conducted a thorough search of the house yet?” he asked.
A teenaged boy raised his hand. “I looked upstairs and didn’t see anyone.”
“Okay, each of you, go in the kitchen and grab a weapon of some kind. Go in groups of two and start a fresh search from the basement up. Keep an eye out for places in closets and behind doors where someone could be hiding. Al and I will start upstairs and meet you back here on the main floor.”
They spent the next ten minutes tearing the house apart without finding a soul. The place looked like it’d been ransacked. A jewelry box lay on the floor, its contents spilled out like the guts of a slaughtered calf. A sinking feeling was building in John’s gut. Whoever had done this might have taken Tim and his family hostage.
They reached the main floor and continued searching, but it was already clear they weren’t going to find anyone. The other group emerged from the basement. “Anything?” John asked.
They shook their heads.
“Maybe they managed to escape on their own,” Al suggested. “Got in the car and drove as far away as they could.”
John nodded. “I hope you’re right.”
Chapter 15
John sent a group to check the remaining houses on Willow Creek and call whoever was still inside. It was nearly ten o’clock by the time all the families had assembled. There were thirty-two houses on their street and at least two to four people from each house. Only one of them stood empty. The Wilsons had moved out in the early spring before selling—Andrew Wilson was a doctor and could afford to keep the second home. Right now Andrew’s medical knowledge would have been handy to their little group.
A ladder from Paul Hector’s garage would be John’s podium. It was important that everyone could see him clearly, even though the thought of taking charge of these people still didn’t sit well with him. John was a man who normally kept to himself, minding his own business. Al was one of the few neighbors he spoke to and even Al knew very little about John’s prepping lifestyle. Without being too cloak-and-dagger about it, secrecy was an important part of successful preps that many overlooked or flat-out ignored. And John understood why. You spent loads of time and money to weather a SHTF event and couldn’t let anyone but your family know any of the details.
Al cleared his throat.
Dozens of eyes looked back at John. He swallowed. “As many of you already know,” he began, “two houses in our neighborhood were attacked last night. The Hectors aren’t real hurt, but we’re still not sure what happened to the Applebys.”
Emma cried out and covered her face with her hands. Diane pulled her close. He wished he’d had more time to tell her beforehand, but things were moving fast now and time was of the essence.
“We’ve searched the house and there are no signs of the family or the ones who did this. We know they were armed and were looking for food and other valuables. Our hearts and prayers go out to Tim and his family. Let’s hope they’re safe and sound.”
Some members of the crowd bowed their heads and whispered silent prayers. Others stood stunned as though this were all some movie they were watching on TV.