William Stone - How We Survive - EMP Survival in a Powerless World

“That poor woman!” one the female homesteaders said.

The captain stared at her long and hard. “It does me no pleasure to see a woman harmed like this, but Grace chose her fate just like the two fellas. Now like it or not, this is the way we are going to handle the situation.”

Hatfield stepped forward. “With respect, sir, I don’t agree.”

Without words, Cecil aimed his eyes at him like a pair of ice picks.

But he went on anyway. “Right now, we are in no position to fight them. We’ve suffered some awful casualties, and just now, we’ve had two more wounded that won’t be ready for battle for at least another couple of days.”

Heads nodded in agreement, which only pushed the captain into a darker mood.

Now addressing the room like a candidate in the middle of a stump speech, Hatfield went on. “Now, if we do what these people say, that will buy us some time, and we’ll be able to fight them at full strength.”

Cecil shot back, “But how can we fight them at full strength if they’ve got those three turncoats right there informing them of our every step! They know our playbook, Trevor!”

“No, they don’t. They know our old playbook. They know the moves we used to make, our old formations, the times we’d change the guards, the ways we’d train. But we can change, Cecil! We don’t have to walk right into the traps. We don’t have to make mistakes like the one we just made when you told us to—” He had gone too far with that one.

The flare of the captain’s nostrils could be seen from several feet away.

After a brief standoff, a homesteader said, “I’m sorry, Captain, but I’m with Trevor on this one.”

More nodded heads and affirmative grunts.

Another homesteader added, “Agreed, we need time to lick those wounds and figure out the next step. Taking these guys head-on right now would be a bad move.”

“Nobody said anything about taking them on head-on!” Cecil spat. “The offer is that if we meet their demands, they won’t harm the three VVs. That’s it. Nothing is saying they won’t attack us immediately afterward!”

“Okay,” Hatfield said, “So we stipulate that if we meet their food demands, they leave us alone. We dole the food out daily—but only if they come to us one at a time, hands high, no weaponry.”

By now, the room was rumbling with agreement.

Cecil surrendered, taking a seat on the couch with a sigh. Rolling his eyes, he said, “Okay. We’ll try it Mr. Hatfield’s way.”

More upbeat rumbling as handshakes were excitedly exchanged. Something in the room’s temperature had changed. The younger man had emerged, and the older man wasn’t happy about it.

The whimper of Nathan’s stomach was hard to hide. As the gang lay in the tall grass, watching and waiting, there was no question which way the leader was hoping the compound’s decision would go.

Gary crept up behind him, saying, “So… if they should reject this offer, I would say the best way to attack would be—”

“Shut up!” Nathan shot. “When I want your opinion, I’ll torture it out of you. And for now, the three of you should be busy anyway, getting on your knees and praying they accept this offer. Because if they don’t, we have every intention of carrying out our threat.”

He didn’t look back to see how his words were received, but the silence spoke volumes. He wasn’t messing around. Those three refugees from the homestead had to know that.

Zan approached from his other side, pointing down the horizon. “See that, boss?”

Nathan squinted and spotted a hand in the distance waving him forward. “Okay, guys! That’s our cue. It’s time to take care of business. Remember, guns out and ready to blast away until I tell you otherwise. We won’t know if we can trust them until the deal is complete. Let’s go!”

The gang charged forward, their famished bodies less energetic than usual but loping along just the same. Their guns were out as they reached the fence.

The homesteaders stood there in a formation Nathan didn’t recognize. He sent a scowl to the refuge homesteaders who hadn’t told them about this new look. Then he brought his scowl to the guys behind the fence. “Okay, what’s it gonna be? Do we kill your friends, and eventually you, or do we kill nobody because we’re too busy savoring the delightful food you’ve prepared for us?”

The fat guy with the gray beard stepped front and center. He looked exhausted and annoyed, and when he spoke, it sounded like a beleaguered dad surrendering to his pain-in-the-ass kid’s demand. “We got your food, fellas. But we’ve got some stipulations along with it.”

“Nobody said anything about stipulations.”

“Well, I just did. No agreement, no food.”

Nathan turned to the captured homesteads, grabbed the woman by the hair as she unloaded a shrill scream, and placed a gun to her head. He gestured for the others to do the same. “I’m not sure if your friends would agree with your insistence.”

But the fat guy’s face remained unmoved. A standoff took place.

Scanning the others' faces, he found a little more panic in their eyes, but not enough. Maybe they were bluffing, maybe not. But either way, calling their bluff would mean no food until they could somehow find a way into the compound. And if they did, good luck running it without the homesteader hostages.

Faces hardened. Eyes grew sharper, angrier.

But in the end, Nathan waved the white flag first. “Okay, what’s the stipulation?”

The fat guy shook his head. “No, no. Not stipulation. Stipulation s —plural. We’ve got a few.”

“What are they?”

There was a pause as the fat guy waved a younger man toward him, who whispered into his ear. “Number one—”

“No, we’re not doing that. I talk to one guy at a time. If he’s the brain of the operation, he’s the one I deal with.”

“As you wish,” the fat guy said, stepping back. He kept his poker face on as he said, “Mr. Hatfield, you’re up.”

The other guy said, “Number one, you come and pick up your meals one at a time, one day at a time.”

A grumble from his stomach floated over the silence that followed. Everyone pretended not to hear it, but there was no way it could have slipped under their radar. It signaled their desperation. Nathan figured they needed to wrap things up before their desperation would become all the more apparent. “We can do that.”

“Two, when you come, you put your weapons down.”

“Sure.”

“And three, you agree to no more attacks. More attacks—of any kind—mean no more food.”

“Fine. Is that it?”

“That’s it.”

“Okay, what’s on the menu today?”

From behind, a voice called, “Chili and cornbread.”

Another rumble shot from Nathan’s belly, this one almost violently loud. “Let’s eat up, guys. Me first.”

Zan elbowed through the crowd and found his boss’s ear. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” he said.

“Why the hell not?”

“Well, they may choose to poison the food. It might be better to let our captives eat first. If they survive, we all eat.”

Hoping to keep his tough negotiator’s face intact, he swallowed a grin. So he nodded and turned back to the guys behind the fence. Grabbing the woman by the hair once again, he yanked her forward. “Here’s the first dinner guest. If you’ve decided to get cute and she winds up not surviving the meal, that means the deal’s off. And that means we come after you all guns blazing.”

Nathan backed away slowly, scanning the faces of the homesteaders. Nothing in their blank stares gave anything away.

Someone from the middle of the crowd stepped forward with a steaming hot plate, the chili and cornbread looking tasty. “Like we said, guys,” he called. “You come one at a time, no guns.”