William Weber - Surviving America's Collapse

Other lawns would later be prepped for crops such as corn whenever they managed to find the seeds. John had a stockpile of seeds stored up at the cabin, but he wasn’t willing to risk the dangerous trek all the way there to retrieve them.

Food was Arnold’s area and John was careful not to overstep his bounds. By now everyone knew very well about the massacre. Tears were spilt, but no one who had voted against taking in the refugees ever admitted they’d sent those people to their deaths.

After his conversation with Arnold, John went back to helping Emma and the others who were prepping the soil for planting. She’d been quiet and withdrawn since Brandon disappeared. So much had changed for all of them in such a short amount of time that there was bound to be an adjustment period. Course, it was one thing to get yourself accustomed to living in a world that had no electricity, hot showers, microwaves, cell phones or iPods. It was another thing entirely getting used to being without someone you cared deeply for.

Emma turned to John. “How long will we have to do this?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he replied, using the tip of his spade to separate grass from soil. “I’m hoping the army or National Guard will roll in and let us know what happened, that they’re slowly restoring order.”

“Do you think the ones who killed those people are gonna come after us next?” she asked, still churning the ground at her feet. She didn’t want to look at him, maybe so he wouldn’t see the fear in her face.

“Not if I can help it, honey.” He’d come to perform a menial task to get his mind off of death and roving gangs and now he was right back where he started.

“Maybe we should just leave and head for the cabin,” she said.

John moved in close to her and whispered: “The cabin is a secret, honey. That isn’t something we talk about. We’ve already been over this many times. There isn’t any point making preps if everyone in the neighborhood knows about them.”

The guilty look that crept over her face made him wonder if she was about to burst into tears. John pulled her into a hug. “I’m sorry, Emma. I’m not trying to make you feel bad. I don’t think anyone heard. Besides, they don’t know where the cabin is. I just don’t wanna do anything that might further jeopardize our safety.”

She nodded and wiped her tears away.

A single blast from the fog horn startled them. John’s eyes went immediately to the eastern barricade. Both deputies there had their rifles pointed at a man standing with his arms in the air in the middle of Pine Grove. Flapping from one of his raised hands was a white handkerchief.

John turned. Frank was in the tree stand, lining up the Barrett’s crosshairs on the man beyond the barricade. John reached the Pine Grove defenses within thirty seconds. The sound of the horn had brought the entire street to a standstill. After the refugees who’d been slaughtered, the fear spreading through the neighborhood was almost electric.

Peter was at the barricade when John arrived, slightly winded, his heart pounding in his chest.

Is this another refugee? he wondered. Or someone far worse ?

“Has he said anything?” John asked.

Peter shook his head. “Not yet. He’s just been standing in the middle of Pine Grove waving that hanky.”

“He’s waiting till we tell him it’s safe to approach.” John climbed up on the chair and took a good look at the man. He wore baggy jeans and a loose-fitting shirt. Every visible inch of his arms was covered in intricate tattoos. But these didn’t look like the type that cost hundreds of dollars. These ones looked smudged and poorly drawn. The sort of tattoos men got in prison. A quick look at his face confirmed John’s hunch. Long red hair tied into a pony tail. A similar-looking goatee also tied off with an elastic. But what sent shivers up John’s arms was the skull tattoo on half the man’s face. The other half was clean, but the impression it created was a disturbing one. This guy was unstable. Had a temper. Could snap at any time and commit unspeakable acts.

Maybe the slaughter you saw down the street?

The man’s head was tilted slightly to one side as he waved the white handkerchief. He looked like he was possessed, although maybe that was what he wanted John to think.

“What do we do?” Peter asked.

“We see what he wants,” John told him, waving the man forward and removing the S&W from his drop-leg holster. The pistol he kept out of view, but at the ready in the event trouble started. When a man with a skull tattooed on his face wanted to talk, it was best to have a gun handy.

The man sauntered forward with an arrogance that worried John. Only two types of people showed that sort of demeanor in a grid-down scenario: the insane and the bad guys.

The man came within ten feet of the barricade when John told him to stop. He tucked the hanky into his back pocket. His fingernails were long, and it made John think of acoustic guitar players.

“Pleasure meeting you fine folks,” he said and then glanced up at the sky. A swath of dark clouds were rolling in from the south. “Looks like rain’s coming.”

“What’s your business here?” John asked.

The man’s eyes settled on John. “Protection, friend. That’s my business. The name’s Cain. And you?”

“John.”

“Are you the leader here, John?”

“One of them.”

“Good, because I have an offer for you. One I’m sure you won’t wanna pass up.”

“Go on,” John said. “I’m listening.”

“The world’s become such a dangerous place since the pulse bomb hit.”

“Excuse me? What pulse bomb?”

Cain grinned as if the idea of everything going bust turned him on. “I call it a pulse bomb, but you’re right. There is another name for it. EMP, I believe. Those North Koreans finally did us a favor and fired a nuke into the atmosphere above Kansas City. Knocked out the whole damn grid, man. Melted every computer chip on the continent. Practically sent us back to the Stone Age.”

Whether Cain should be believed or not, this was precisely what John had suspected. During the Cold War, both sides had relied on the concept of mutually assured destruction (M.A.D.) to prevent nuclear war. In destroying us, you’d be guaranteeing your own demise. When the Cold War passed, the concept of M.A.D. took a slightly different form. Countries like China and the USA were now linked by strong economic chains. If the economy of one country plummeted, it would bring the others down with it. Mess with us and you risked sinking your own ship in the process.

But now something rather ironic had occurred. The very chains that discouraged our largest enemies from attacking us only emboldened our smallest enemies. Detonating an EMP over America would at once sink the biggest economic power in the world and drag down everyone else with her. A perfect strategy that only a country like Iran or in this case North Korea could fully benefit from.

John swallowed hard. “How do you know this?”

“Some of the men in our… group… are former military. They tell me things may be down for months. Maybe longer. Which is why we’re here, to offer you and your people protection. In exchange for a small price, we can guarantee no one touches you. All we ask is a monthly donation of food and water. Say thirty percent of whatever you collect.”

“We don’t need protection,” John shot back.

“Everyone needs protection, friend.” Cain was grinning again, but only on half of his face.

“Besides,” John went on, “we don’t have enough food or water to spare. That’s why we were forced to turn away those refugees.”