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

They all nodded.

He went on. “You connected with these people because you are strong. You are survivors. And you’re not the type to give in and fold when faced with adversity. Here’s what I need from the three of you. I need you to create a distraction later today when my family and I slip out of here.”

Grace unloaded a horrified gasp. “Slip out of here? You can’t leave this place. We need you!”

“No, no,” Hatfield said. “I’ll be back. Later.”

A series of hurried footsteps charged to the door. The four inside the bathroom froze in panic. The door swung open, and in rushed a homesteader, doubled over in agony and covering his mouth. Once inside, he aimed his vomit at the toilet and shook as it poured out of him.

The sight of it made Hatfield both disgusted and frightened. It resembled the bile that tumbled from Cecil’s mouth. He gave the kneeling homesteader a gentle pat on the shoulder. “You take care of yourself, dude. Hold yourself together as well as you can, and we’ll try to make sure we can do something about that illness.”

The guy turned, climbing to his shaky feet. He nodded. “Yes, sir. Although, to be honest, I’m not sure what can be done.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll do the best we can.”

The homesteader nodded again, then moved out of the bathroom.

Hatfield put his ear to the door a second time. When he was satisfied they could continue, he pulled away.

Andy asked him, “What exactly are you going to do for that illness?”

“Well, I can’t make any promises, but there’s some medicine at the bunker my wife and kids will be staying at. There’s some excess ammo as well.”

“That’s great!” Gary said.

“Maybe,” Hatfield replied. “We’ll have to wait and see what good it will do. Also, it can’t do us any good at all if we’re all sick.”

Grace asked, “Are you sure that medicine can help us with what these people are suffering?”

“Truth be told, no. I’m not sure. But you let me worry about that. I just need the three of you to create some kind of distraction, loud enough to be heard throughout the compound. When we hear it, we’ll know it’ll be time to take off. You got that?”

They nodded, but there was a tension to their nods. Hatfield could sense these three knew how high the stakes were. They knew that failure wouldn’t just be a disappointment. It would be a catastrophe.

AFTER THE FOUR of them left the bathroom and returned outside, Hatfield stepped down the hallway, paying close attention to everything he spotted. The homesteaders doubled over in pain. The gangbangers guzzling the mystery alcohol in a test tube. The three VVs slipping back into place in the kitchen. Every time he spotted a homesteader with a long face or crippled by pain or uncertainty or fear, he provided a pat on the back or an encouraging wink. If they were going to win this, they’d need strong, deeply encouraged troops. And it was now his job to get them there.

At dinnertime, the Hatfields shared furtive glances at the table while nibbling at the scarce food available. A faint smile crossed his lips when he looked at the faces his family made. For a split second, he was transported back to the ordinary world, a world that hadn’t yet exploded into violence and disorder.

He remembered how funny it was that he could always tell what Jess was thinking simply by a wordless glance. Over the years, he’d learned the difference between the look that said, “don’t touch me” and the one that said, “touch me now, handsome.” That glance told him that she’d performed the task she was assigned to do. She had to slip some of the sedatives into the alcohol of the guard outside. All they needed now to pull things off was good timing on the part of Andy, Gary, and Grace. With luck, their distraction would take place roughly the same time the guard would be zonked out. Bad luck would be bad news for everybody.

Gary and Andy slowly rose from the table; an unnerved twitch in their eyes told Hatfield things were about to go down. He took a deep breath and scanned the dinner table for his family’s reaction.

Jess was tense but unhesitant. She nodded to her husband.

Justin sat on his hands, probably in an effort to hide his shaky hands.

Tami swallowed hard, reaching under the table—probably ready with a backpack of food—with her eyes wide and constantly shifting.

Out of nowhere, Grace released a scream that hit everyone’s ears with violent force. Gary lunged at Andy, and the two of them rolled around on the floor, engaged in a “fight” that looked authentic enough to draw the eyes of the homesteaders around the table.

Three gangbangers charged inside, guns drawn. When they spotted the “fight,” their reaction, far from horror, was amusement. They shouted things like, “I like the redhead’s odds against the other one!” to each other.

Within four or five minutes, nearly all of the gangbangers had gathered around Gary and Andy, tumbling on the floor. So they didn’t notice when the Hatfields slipped away from the table and through the door on their way to the fence.

As they crouched in the weeds, checking for the guard, they could still hear the noise inside the compound. If anything, the volume had risen. There was more shouting, laughing, and placing of bets on the outcome of the “fight.”

At the fence, the guard outside turned toward the commotion indoors, his face folded in confusion. What the hell is going on in there? He seemed to be asking himself.

Jess leaned toward her husband, whispering, “It may not have been enough time since I slipped it into his drink. Maybe if we give it a few more minutes…”

But it soon became clear that time was running out. The guard narrowed his eyes to slits as he bowed toward the Hatfields. He saw something. It just wasn’t clear what. His cautious steps forward suggested he wasn’t sure himself what he was seeing in the tall grass and weeds. His eyes stayed trained on the family, prompted gaps from Jess and Justin. Hatfield unholstered his gun, fearing that his accuracy with his left hand would soon be tested.

It wasn’t easy to pull it out silently. He had to move slowly, but in time he got there.

The second challenge he faced was the grass. Aiming above it would make his gun visible. This would be a problem. A missed shot would not be good news, and with his rifle now shouldered and aimed, the danger was increasing.

Another possible problem slipped into Hatfield’s head. A dead guard would give them something to explain—especially if anyone noticed they were missing from the dinner table. A tense minute passed as the guard crept closer, finger on the trigger.

Hatfield followed suit, lifted his gun as high as he could without risking it getting spotted. But he noticed something odd. The guard’s face grew bleary and slack. After a pause, he dropped into the tall grass.

The Hatfields raced forward, standing above the man’s prone, lifeless body. “It took a while, but that medication did the trick,” Jess said.

“Of course it did,” Hatfield said. “I’ve been married long enough to know better than to doubt my wife’s word.”

The two of them shared a brief smile while hugging their kids. Justin and Tami ran toward the fence, but their father stopped them before they started to climb. “No, no!” he whispered, then gestured to the part of the fence he’d climbed over before. That was the part next to the tree they could climb down, making less noise.

Getting over the fence was easy for the kids, a little harder for their dad and a challenge for their mom, although it might have been hilarious under less dangerous circumstances. Once at the top, she reached for the tree but couldn’t quite get there.