Fight Like a Man: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller (The SHTF Series Book 1) Page 3

Emma stayed down, hands over her head as the gritty sand, dirty feet, heavy coolers, and brightly-striped towels flashed past them. Gabby was on her knees, her head spinning side to side, trying to look around knees and ankles for the shooter.

  Now people were running back to the beach—some of them. Others were still running away—causing the crowd to crash and buckle. People fell down. Tangles of limbs. Screams rang out through the air. The terrified cries of children rose above the pandemonium.

  Gabby struggled to her feet and shielded her eyes with her hand, squinting to look down the beach. Was it something that came from down there? What was happening? She didn’t see anyone pointing a gun…maybe it was just fireworks?

  She turned to ask Emma and Olivia if they saw anything.

  But Olivia wasn’t thinking.

  She wasn’t doing anything; sprawled in the sand on her back with a trickle of blood running down the side of her head, she looked like she was finally getting some peaceful sleep.

  Gabby screamed.

  4

  Jake

  “Yeah, I’m a damn apocaloptomist alright.”

  Jake ran his hands over his face, and kept on the whispered rant against himself, “I know the shit has probably hit the fan but I’m playin’ like it’s all gonna be alright. Way to be a good neighbor, Jake,” he said out loud to himself. He slammed his fist against the wall. He felt like crap for lying. He cringed as he thought about the conversation.

  The idiot neighbor—the one that had been driving him crazy for years with his unkempt grass, stupid mulch-straw mounds with nothing growing in them, and once, even putting a beekeepers box in his back yard that had been bothering Gabby the entire summer until they’d discovered it—had knocked on his door an hour ago. When he’d answered it, Kenny had asked him what he should do with all the food in his freezer that was defrosting. Jake had just shrugged and said, “Eat it or throw it out, I guess.”

  He’d played stupid.

  Kenny had asked him if he thought the power was coming back on and Jake had shrugged again and said, “Sure. I guess it will, eventually.”

  He’d lied through his teeth. His brothers-in-law, both Grayson and Dusty—who coincidentally were actual brothers—had been telling him for a long time that this could happen. And if it did, the power wasn’t coming back on for quite a while. Kenny, and a lot of the people in this neighborhood, were clueless.

  Most of them lived in their McMansions, drove high-priced cars and kept less than a week’s worth of food on hand. Heck, some of them probably less than that. They probably didn’t have the first idea of what they should be doing. That food needed to be cooked, canned or dehydrated. They needed to conserve food, and especially water.

  They were just lucky the power had gone out at night, while most of them were in their beds sleeping, and that they weren’t having to trudge home on foot from their high-falootin’ jobs.

  He sighed. Although he was well-liked by everyone here, he’d never felt at home. When Gabby had found the house and fell in love with it, he’d agreed to move here for her. She was making good money in her job, and he was doing okay as a mechanic, so they could afford the place, but they were surrounded by doctors, lawyers and company-owners—people who made a lot more money than they did, and lived a different lifestyle.

  They’d made a few close friends, like Tucker and Katie. But mostly they kept to themselves. Even so, as a mechanic, he seemed to be the guy that everyone came to for all questions regarding small engines, broken irrigation, and appliances. Probably because he didn’t hesitate to lend a hand whenever someone needed it and had a knack for figuring most anything out. He wasn’t surprised Kenny had come to him. There’d probably be more knocks on the door.

  He glanced out the window just in time to see the neighbor across the street dump a bucket of what he assumed to be dirty water onto a blue hydrangea. Just wasted it… unreal. Jake rubbed his hands over his face again and looked away. He couldn’t watch anymore.

  Of all times for Gabby to take off on a vacation with her sisters. It’d been two days. Two days of no communication with her, or anyone. Two long days of him sitting alone, hoping the power was coming back on, yet knowing it probably wasn’t. He knew he should be getting busy. There was so much to do, and he should be helping Grayson out at the homestead.

  He just couldn’t get his head together. Couldn’t stop worrying about Gabby and the girls. Couldn’t stop hoping the power was coming back on. But mostly it was about Gabby. He’d been laid out on the couch, avoiding the neighbors most of the past two days, frozen with anxiety over his wife.

  Admit it, Jake, there’s more than that keeping you glued to the couch.

  Jake shook that thought away. He wouldn’t admit it. To admit it would give it power over his life. No, he refused to think of that right now.

  He pushed his secret back down, before it got away from him.

  He rubbed his knuckles and was surprised to see blood over his oil-stained creases. Crap. Not cool in a grid-down situation to purposely hurt yourself. He stomped into the bathroom and grabbed the big brown bottle of peroxide. He poured it over his hand, let it bubble a moment, and then shook it off. It was time to get the heck out of there. If Grayson had been right these past few years, the shit was about to hit the fan. The news had been predicting it, if you listened hard enough.

  He’d heard the talk from the neighborhood, too, on the first day. One woman worked across the border, for American Airlines in Charlotte, North Carolina. She said all planes were grounded. Not only were the flight plans usually electronic, but all their ground systems were too. No power or communications meant no air transportation. It was utter chaos at Charlotte Douglas Airport, according to her. She’d wasted her gas getting to work only to be turned around and sent home, barely squeaking into her driveway on empty, too afraid to attempt getting any more gas while she was alone.

  She’d said the lines at the gas stations she’d passed were filled with angry people. There were only a few that had generators running to pump the gas, and fights had broken out over the limited supply. Only cash was accepted and they were fleecing people for a five-gallon limit.

  Another neighbor worked for the power company. Rumor was the system was hacked. A cyber-attack. Not only did they not have control of it yet to bring it back up, but dozens of transformers around town had blown. With the number needed, it would take a long time to get those in, as most big parts were made in China, and that was if they could repair the hack and take back control of the system.

  The fire departments were using every drop of gas they had stored up to locate and fight fires, from blown transformers. Soon, they wouldn’t be able to go anywhere either. It was rumored that by late evening yesterday, there was no gas in town, according to the neighborhood chatter.

  Great day.

  No phones. No cars. No power. No running water.

  No shit?

  He shook his head. It was time to stop procrastinating and hoping it wasn’t real.

  It. Was. Real.

  He had a plan. He wasn’t a tree, he could move if he wanted to. If he tried hard enough. He just had to get motivated to get moving. Grayson was probably chomping at the bit by now wondering where he was. He’d have to come up with a good excuse for sitting around doing nothing up until now. He couldn’t tell him the real reason. No one could know that. No one would know that; especially his wife, Gabby.

  He passed their bed and glanced at the bed-side table. There was his motivation. He stepped over and picked up their wedding picture. She had been eighteen years old. A child-bride. Her long-brown hair and sapphire eyes had mesmerized him from the moment he’d met her. Now she—and her twin—were in their early thirties, and they were more beautiful than they’d been at eighteen. Same long hair, same blue eyes. And their little sister, Emma, looked just like them.

  Jake shook his head and swallowed hard. What the hell is wrong with me? Women like this out on the road during this chaos? His pulse quickened
as a thousand bad scenarios flashed through his brain. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. It wouldn’t do to get all worked up. They were probably doing the same thing everyone else was, sitting around waiting for the lights to come back on. It would be sometime in the next few days that they would realize they’d have to hoof it.

  His eyes slid to the ball cap also resting on the table. It was Gabby’s favorite. The emblem on the front and the three letters: TSS, stood for The Shooting Sisterhood. It was an online group of women who loved guns and shooting. Gabby had joined it over a year ago. She kept in regular contact through Facebook with her ‘sisters in shooting,’ who all encouraged and supported each other. Gabby had mentioned a few were gathering here, at their local gun range to shoot together this week in a tournament and she’d been disappointed about having to miss it—but shooting couldn’t compete with the beach with her real blood sisters. He felt guilty that he’d encouraged her to go. He’d wanted time alone to try to deal with his own demons. To try to crush them before he was crushed.

  He hadn’t made any headway after all.

  Now, he wished she’d stayed home for the tournament.

  He grabbed the hat and loosened it to fit his own head. He pulled it down tight and breathed in the scent of his wife’s hair. A good reminder for him to stay motivated and moving. He needed to haul his ass over to Grayson’s. He knew without a doubt Grayson would say the plan has always been in an event or a crisis, for everyone to head to the homestead.

  But he didn’t know if he could wait for Gabby any longer. Maybe he and Grayson should try to get to the girls—before someone else did.

  5

  Graysie

  Graysie swung her long, curly red hair over her shoulder—the way only a nineteen-year-old co-ed could—and straightened the sign on the bathroom door between the dorm-suites. It read: ‘If it’s yellow, let it mellow. If it’s brown, flush it down.’

  She rolled her eyes. Her dad, Grayson, had used the same phrase when the power had gone out at home for one long icy weekend. She scrunched her nose up to enter. The lid was down. She hopped in place as she looked for something to lift it with. With this smell, she didn’t want to touch it.

  Perfect, we’re out of toilet paper.

  She’d known two rolls wouldn’t last long with three suite-mates in her dorm, and sure enough the cardboard roll sat naked and dejected on the holder.

  So nice of them to save me some.

  She used the edge of her flip-flop to lift the toilet lid and nearly gagged. So much for the sign. No wonder it smelled so bad in here. Someone hadn’t flushed down their ‘brown.’ She grimaced as she looked around for their bucket of water. The college administrators had offered water to anyone that could provide something to put it in. Thank goodness one of her roommates had a clean fetish and kept a bucket in their room to wash her car. Without the water, they couldn’t flush at all. As she looked at the mess, she wondered why that fetish didn’t apply here.

  She spied the bucket in the corner, filled with damp towels. Are you freaking kidding me? Someone had used the last of the water to bathe? She gathered her hair in her hand and brought it over her shoulder. She shook her head in disgust as she turned around and sat down. She couldn’t hold it any longer.

  She breathed out a sigh of relief as she let her bladder go and cringed as she took in a new breath; the smell was awful. Only forty-eight hours and already it was unbearable. Between the stale, hot temperature of their room, the lack of a clean, working toilet, and the slapdash demeanor of the other students, she was ready to do something. Anything. She had to get out of there. If she could just make it past the security guard, she’d find a way home. It was only a little over an hour drive to her dad’s farm. How long would that take to walk? Maybe she could ride a bike?

  But again—the security guard. She couldn’t believe the administration was trying to keep them here. They’d said, ‘for your own good.’ Good God, she was nineteen years old. That was old enough to join the freaking army, yet not old enough to be released during an emergency without parent’s permission? Who made that stupid rule? Graysie didn’t believe they could really hold them there. One old fart with a gun against a whole dorm? Yeah, right. It probably wasn’t even a real gun anyway.

  She could probably put on her heels, make up her face, and saunter right in and make him believe she was just crossing to another dorm. Then she could high-tail it out of there. But she couldn’t leave empty-handed. And she couldn’t leave in heels. There was no way to get Sally—her Mustang—out of the secured lot, so she might be walking all the way home.

  She sighed as she pulled her shorts up and looked for the hand-sanitizer. She couldn’t wash her hands, but at least it was something. She placed her hand under it and pumped.

  Empty.

  Dammit. They’d used all of that too. Thanks, ladies.

  She stomped into their room with her hands on her hips. Becky had come back while she was in the bathroom and now she was on the bottom bunk—Graysie’s bed—brushing out her fake-blonde hair and reading a book. Her hair was damp. Graysie wanted to rip a hunk of the long strands right out of her head.

  “Get off my bed, Becky. And thanks a lot for using all the water. Now we can’t flush the toilet. That’s disgusting.”

  Becky rolled her eyes. “My hair was disgusting. I haven’t washed it in two days. What did you expect me to do?” She slowly climbed off of Graysie’s bunk, leaving strands of hair behind her with no regard. She was so clueless.

  Graysie swept her hand across the bedspread, wiping the hair onto the floor. She laid down. “I expect you to go find more water to replace it. We’re going to need some to drink too. We’re almost out. You drank all yours too fast. I’ve got three bottles, and I swear if you take them, I’m going to kill you.”

  Becky shrugged her shoulders. “I did go. The security guard said there’s no more water for the toilets, or bottled water. But I’ve still got a case of Monster Drink, so I don’t need your yucky water. They’ll have the power back on soon, anyway. And if they don’t, my parents will come and get me. I’ve got plenty of food, too.”

  Graysie shook her head. Becky’s food consisted of junk: Oatmeal cream pies, Ramen Noodles that required water, and potato chips. Nothing healthy. Nothing fresh. “No, they won’t. Not unless they’ve stocked up on a lot of gas, and somehow, I can’t see your folks stocking up on anything.”

  That was an understatement. Becky’s family lived a charmed life in a white-bread world where everything was always available to them at the touch of a button or wave of their hand. They were filthy rich; her father was a surgeon in high demand.

  “And what if the power doesn’t come back on, Becky? My dad warned me about this. If the power went out everywhere all at once, there could be blown transformers. It might take more than just flipping a switch to get it back on. And most of our infrastructure is made up of parts from China. And what if it was China that hacked us? They’re not gonna give us those parts. It could be long while before power is back on. Which means it could be awhile before roads are cleared—and I did talk to Susan’s dad when he came to get her and he said it’s a nightmare out there. It took him two hours to drive ten miles. Once the refineries get power, the trucks have to be fueled up, and then loaded with the fuel to be pumped into the gas stations for the public. If your parents didn’t get here yet, it’s because they can’t. They’re out of gas. May as well face it.”

  “We don’t know if the power is out everywhere. No one does.”

  She had a point. Without communications, they had no idea if it was only the state capital affected, or the whole state. Or the whole country.

  Becky fanned her hair out behind her and closed her eyes. “I don’t know how, but they’ll find a way,” she mumbled in a bored voice.

  Another nap. Go figure.

  Graysie hadn’t expected a logical answer from her anyway. Becky was a spoiled, rotten airhead. She was the princess of her world. She ate Graysie
’s food, used her things, left a mess everywhere, never cleaned up after herself and relied on her parents for everything. She didn’t even have to work a part-time job. Her parents gave her $150/week allowance. She had it made.

  So sure, in Becky’s little mind, they’d magically appear to take her home to their nice, air-conditioned McCastle overflowing with fresh food and drink. They’d run her right home and keep her in a fancy bubble until this all blew over and their little princess was safe and secure once more. Well, would if they could. Good luck with that, Becky.

  She rolled her eyes and buried her face into her pillow. She had to get away before she strangled her roommate. She thought about her dad and Olivia at the farm. They had plenty of everything, and her dad was probably going nuts thinking this was the big event and wondering if she had figured that out yet. She felt bad about the years of eye-rolling and long sighs she’d given him every time he’d lectured her on what to do if something like this ever happened.

  But is this really it?

  If it was, it was much more serious than she was prepared for.

  She gasped and sat up. Her bug-out bag! She’d been thoroughly annoyed when her dad had put it in the trunk of her car, and made her double-dog-pinky-swear she would never, ever take it out. Several times she’d wanted to throw it out to make room for something else, but then she’d think about the trusting look her dad had given her when they’d crossed pinkies. She couldn’t break his heart—again. Thank God!

  She grabbed her keys and rushed out, ignoring Becky’s question of where was she going. She had no idea what was in that backpack, but her dad had promised that it was full of things that would help her get home if she was ever stuck somewhere. And boy, was she stuck.

  Graysie practiced her sad, pitiful look on her way down the stairs to the front door where the security guard sat. She had an idea to get past him. The dude was middle aged—like her dad. If he was anything like Dad, then she had a story for him.