The Blackout Series (Book 2): Zero Hour Read online

  Chapter 16

  DAY FOUR

  Dusk, September 12

  Ryman Residence

  Belle Meade, Tennessee

  The noon meeting of the HPA had been canceled due to the second solar storm announced by the National Guardsmen the day before. Colton was able to get some extra sleep for the big night ahead. His goal was to make two stops. One would be the O’Malleys’ home. The second on the list was a little further down the street next to the home under construction. He’d studied the surroundings of both homes during his prior outings.

  “Alex, all I know is what I’ve seen on television and by applying common sense,” explained Colton. He pulled the grocery totes out of the pantry and set them on the counter next to their backpacks. “These are going to fill up very quickly and get heavy even faster. If all goes well, we’ll be able to make several trips without detection. After the second solar storm the northern lights will be bright again tonight, so we’ll have to stay concealed. Fortunately, we don’t have far to go.”

  “Okay, Daddy,” said Alex. “Tell me what to focus on before we leave. Also, what if something happens and we split up? Do I wait on you or head back to the house?”

  “Great question, Alex. If we’re discovered and threatened, then drop everything. Run through the yards but not directly home. We don’t need to draw them to our front door. Your mom will be patrolling the front yard, watching for signs of trouble. She’ll help if possible.”

  Madison lifted the shotgun off the kitchen counter. The family had spent the day practicing. They emptied the shotgun and the pistol of ammunition. They practiced loading and reloading. Then they moved on to dry-fire drills.

  Throughout the day, each of them took turns. With the paddle holster firmly in place, they repeatedly drew their pistols until the practice created muscle memory and conditioned their reflexes. If they had to challenge someone or draw to shoot, they could ready their weapon as if it was second nature. As Alex pointed out, it was no different than practicing her golf swing—grip, stance, tempo, and concentration.

  They learned trigger control and aim. Using a small picture hanging on the wall as a target, they drew the weapon and pointed it at the target. As the shooter pulled the trigger, if the gun made a click with the sights still sitting on their point of aim, then that was considered a hit. If the sights moved off their target before the click, that would be a miss.

  Using the toy versions of the Taurus, they practiced working through the house, looking for a hidden attacker. They emulated television shows they’d watched. Alex would hide while Madison and Colton hunted for her. They had to clear a room before they could move on to the next one. This exercise taught them how to work in pairs and watch each other’s backs. It also enabled them to look at their home from a different perspective—as their fortress.

  “I’ll take the pistol,” said Colton. “I want you to take this hunting knife your mom bought. We both have flashlights, but I want us to adjust our vision to the dark. The light will draw unnecessary attention to us.”

  “I’m ready,” announced Alex. They both gave Madison a kiss and a hug.

  As they made their way down the front yard, Madison took up a position under the cover of several oak trees adjacent to the Youngs’ property. From there, she would have a clear view up and down both sides of the street. Colton chose the farthest location first. If their loads became too heavy, it would be better to travel the longer distance on fresh legs. He also wanted to glance at Mrs. Abercrombie’s house to look for a burning candle or some sign of life. He was still troubled by her absence.

  They reached the two-story tudor-style home owned by the Petersons. They were both in sales and frequently traveled. Most likely, they were stuck when the flights were grounded. Colton and Alex cautiously approached a hedgerow beside the house. Colton crouched down, and Alex knelt next to him.

  “I want you to stay here for a moment,” said Colton. “I’m going to walk around the house to make sure there hasn’t been any forced entry. I don’t want us going inside and meeting an unexpected occupant face-to-face.”

  Alex nodded and Colton was off. He worked his way around the unfamiliar home, being careful not to twist an ankle or cause unnecessary noise. Finding everything secure, he chose the rear French doors as the logical breach point.

  He retrieved Alex and they approached the doors. Colton didn’t want to draw attention by loudly breaking the glass, which was the easiest way to enter the house. He reached into his backpack for a roll of duct tape. He quickly taped one of the panes in the French door near the locks. He looked around for a large rock. The Petersons’ yard was landscaped with medium-sized river rock, providing the perfect burglary tool. He gently cracked the pane and was pleased to see the majority of the glass remained stuck to the duct tape. After pulling the glass out of the way, Colton turned the bolt lock, unlocked the door handle, and they quickly stepped into the breakfast room undetected.

  They were greeted with a rush of hot, stale air. That was a good sign to Colton. If the Petersons were home, windows allowing ventilation would’ve been opened. Nonetheless, he stuck to the plan and the initial item on the mental list.

  “First, we clear the house just like we practiced,” said Colton. They removed their backpacks and quietly walked through the downstairs and then made their way to the upper bedrooms. The house was empty and undisturbed. Colton breathed a sigh of relief and looked out the front and back windows. All appeared quiet.

  “Should we start up here?” asked Alex.

  Colton knew their priority was food, but another major item on the wish list was guns. If he could secure additional weapons, Alex could avoid another attempt to trick Jimmy Holder out of them.

  “Okay, quickly,” he replied. “The top priorities in the bedrooms are weapons, ammo, and medical supplies.”

  The two spent thirty minutes looking through closets and drawers, searching for any guns. There weren’t any. They did find a couple of flashlights, and they emptied the master bath of a variety of medical supplies and toiletries. With Alex’s backpack full, the two moved downstairs.

  “What about this jewelry box, Dad?” asked Alex.

  Colton thought about his discussion with Madison this morning, which had centered on the concept of scavenging versus looting. He considered taking the jewelry for its potential barter exchange value. He envisioned gold and silver becoming a new form of currency at some point. But how would Madison react? She would consider this stealing, pure and simple.

  Alex provided the answer. “We could keep it safe for them until they come home.”

  “Safekeeping, good idea,” said Colton. He took the jewelry box and headed down the stairs.

  For the next hour, they gathered everything of post-apocalyptic value and organized it on the Petersons’ breakfast table. From the utility room, they focused on bleach, cleaning supplies, and toilet paper.

  The kitchen pantry was like so many American homes—relatively empty. The average household spent one hundred fifty dollars a week at the grocery store. Many Americans made one or two trips a week. Colton studied the paltry supply in the cupboards. Other than spices and some snacks, there was barely a week’s worth of nonperishable food here.

  “Load up my backpack and put the rest in the grocery totes,” said Colton. “I wanna check the garage.”

  Colton found his way down the hallway into the pitch-black garage. The single window in the front of the house was covered with closed blinds. He turned on his small LED flashlight and pointed it low to the floor, which enabled him to find his way around. The Petersons had quite a few things of value, including a bag of cordless DeWalt power tools and battery chargers. There was also a half-full can of gasoline. Colton grabbed these two items and took a mental note of the remainder.

  “Daddy, I’m ready,” said Alex from the darkness of the kitchen. “There are dogs barking outside somewhere. I think we should go.”

  Colton picked up the pace and immediately chasti
sed himself for lollygagging. He donned his backpack and slowly opened the back door. The dogs were barking loudly now. They appeared to be in the backyard of the home under construction.

  WHAM! SHATTER!

  The sound of breaking glass came from the home to their west, causing the dogs to be whipped into a hollerin’ frenzy. Then he heard the voices.

  “C’mon, man. Now listen to them dawgs.”

  “Sorry, bro! I didn’t see the two-by-fours. Let’s go. Ain’t nothin’ here no way.”

  “I’m gonna shut them dawgs up, man!”

  The dogs were coming closer and becoming more agitated. Colton had to make a decision. Should they hide out here in the house until the looters left—which might risk a confrontation? Or should they leave everything behind and run for home?

  The next thing that caught his eye helped him make a decision. The illumination of a flashlight was swinging wildly from the home behind the house next door.

  “Who’s out there? Go away!” shouted an elderly man.

  “Shhhhh.”

  Colton heard the sound coming from between the houses. A shadow moved across the Petersons’ back lawn. He felt for his weapon and almost drew it. Think! Options? The sounds of the dogs barking were much closer.

  “Alex,” instructed Colton, “they’ll be distracted for a moment. Let’s go out the front door. Run and take cover behind the cable repair truck. From there, we’ll cross over into Mrs. Abercrombie’s yard and make our way home under the tree canopy.”

  “Got it,” said Alex, over the close sound of a snarling dog from the backyard.

  “Get away from me, dawg!”

  “Hey, let’s go in this house,” said one of the looters, heading right for Colton. Colton turned and dashed towards the front door and quietly closed it as he heard the voice again. “Hey, man, somebody beat us to it.”

  Chapter 17

  DAY FIVE

  11:00 a.m., September 13

  Ryman Residence

  Belle Meade, Tennessee

  Colton opened the doors to the pool house and allowed the fumes from the generator to escape. This was the best of a lot of bad options to maintain some type of sound discipline. The world was very quiet now. There were no planes flying overhead. The thousands of cars traveling Harding Place each day were sidelined. The roar of air-conditioning units had ceased. Occasionally, a dog would bark in the distance or a voice would carry through the woods. But these ambient noises were insufficient to drown out the hum of his generator. By closing it up within the pool house, Colton trapped the noise, but the gas fumes reached deadly levels.

  After a couple of minutes, he covered his face and immediately shut the generator off. He ran it for two hours a day to maintain the temperatures in the refrigerator and freezer and to allow Madison the opportunity to cook the day’s meals. He also charged the flashlight batteries and the newly acquired DeWalt lithium ion batteries. He wasn’t sure when he’d need the circular saw, drill, or reciprocating saw, but he was sure the portable shop light would come in handy.

  “Daddy! There are people coming! Come quick!” shouted Alex from the French door.

  Colton looked around frantically and closed the pool house door. He ran through the back door, feeling for his gun, but it wasn’t there. He must’ve left it on the kitchen counter.

  “Who is it?” asked Colton as he wiped his sweaty palms and sunscreen covered arms on his tee shirt. Madison came down the stairs and held her finger up to her lips. She mouthed the name Shane Wren.

  Colton initially felt relieved. At least it wasn’t the National Guarde or a band of marauders—as Alex called the thugs and looters who roamed the streets. Then, on the other hand, a contingent of do-gooders operating under the pretense of being anointed the neighborhood watch was just as frightening. Colton recalled the quote from President Ronald Reagan: “The most terrifying words in the English language are I’m from the government and I’m here to help.”

  He decided nothing good was going to come out of this visit and immediately put his guard up. He walked toward the kitchen door. He would surprise them from the side of the house and throw them off their game from the beginning.

  “Do you want the gun?” whispered Madison.

  “No, I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” replied Colton. “I’m gonna keep this to a friendly, neighborly chat.”

  “There are seven people out there,” said Madison. “At least one man has a rifle over his shoulder, and another man has a gun tucked in the front of his jeans. They’re here for a purpose.”

  “I’m sure they are. Maddie, go upstairs and monitor things from the window but try not to be seen. Alex, wait by the front door and be prepared to open it. Everybody good?”

  Colton held the door handle as the girls ran to get in their positions. He took a deep breath and drew upon the confidence that had elevated him to the top of his field. He grabbed a screwdriver for a prop and exited into the sun. His exposed skin was drenched in sunscreen after the radiation warnings the other day.

  Wren was approaching the front door as Colton walked around the corner of the house. Colton counted four men and three women. Wren was joined by Andrews, who was armed with a pistol, and Holder, who carried what Colton recognized as an AR-15. Even one of the women was armed. This was the new normal, he surmised.

  “I guess you folks are here to fix our air-conditioning unit,” said Colton, attempting to break the ice. “You’re a little late, but I’m glad you’re here.”

  The group of seven turned and glared at him. No ice was broken.

  “Ryman,” started Wren, who stepped off the front porch and approached Colton, “this is not a social call. May we come in? We need to have a conversation.”

  Colton wasn’t going to let peer pressure compromise their safety. “Nah,” he drawled. “I think we can talk right here.”

  “Where’s Madison?” asked one woman.

  “And Alex?” chimed in one of the other women.

  “They’re inside,” replied Colton. He turned his attention back to Wren. He was having difficulty being polite to people who were obviously loaded for bear. “How can I help you?”

  “We think we need to get a few things straight,” started Wren before the first woman spoke up again.

  “We need to see Madison. We understand there was some trouble the other day and she might be injured.”

  Now Colton was pissed, but he didn’t want to lose his composure. Madison had relayed the details of the unannounced visit by the Wrens the other night, so Colton understood where they were going with this conversation. He was going to shut this witch hunt down before it got out of hand.

  “Madison told me that the Wrens stopped by the other night after she had been assaulted at the ATM. Let me repeat this for you all. Madison was assaulted on Thursday by a thug who tried to steal her money at the ATM. Alex had to save her. Nothing more, nothing less. Besides, none of this is any of your business, so you can take your phony concern and leave.”

  “Well, we just thought we should see if she needed anything,” said the second woman, somewhat sheepishly compared to before.

  Colton wasn’t going to let them off the hook. “If you had genuine concern for my wife, you would’ve come by here on Friday morning. This is Tuesday and now you’re concerned? I don’t think so.”

  Colton paused and stared at Wren. He caught movement in the upper window above the front door. He was sure Madison was boiling mad. He hoped she didn’t open fire on the group.

  “Anything else?” he asked, staring at Wren.

  “Well, Ryman, you just don’t get it. We’re trying to look after our neighbors and band together as a community. Everyone else seems to be on board with that, but not you.”

  “What’s your point?” asked Colton.

  “The point is our President has encouraged us to help one another through this crisis until FEMA and the National Guard can provide for everyone. Virtually the entire neighborhood seems to be with the program but you.
”

  Colton didn’t hesitate and shot back a response. “We don’t have anything to contribute. I have to provide for the safety and welfare of my family first.”

  “Well, now, we think you do have lots to contribute, Ryman,” said Holder brusquely. Colton immediately feared they knew about the Wagoneer, but it turned out their intentions were set on his next most valuable tool—the generator. “We could use that generator of yours for the benefit of the community.”

  “And the propane,” added Andrews.

  Colton hesitated for a moment. They could take it by force. Deny.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I think we’re done here.” Colton put his hands on his hips and studied their faces. They know.

  Wren was incredulous, probably because he was used to getting his way, thought Colton. “I saw it, Ryman. Don’t lie to us. I saw it in your Suburban the night Christie and I came over. The propane tanks too.”

  Well, crap. Last option—feigned outrage.

  “Are you kidding me?” he shouted. “You show up at my home unannounced. You accuse me of beating my wife. And now I learn you’ve been snooping around my property and peering inside my vehicle? Hey, anything else I can do for you people?”

  Wren tried to interrupt by raising both hands. “Listen, Ryman, the President has urged us to—”

  “I don’t give a crap! I’m urging you to get off my property. I’m done! You hear me? Go!”

  Clack! Clack!

  As if it was scripted, the distinctive sound of a shotgun racking a round came from the upper window. Everyone’s attention was drawn upward, and Madison simply said, “You heard the man. We’re done here.”

  Holder struggled to pull his AR-15 off his shoulder. Madison quickly pointed her shotgun directly at him.

  “Easy now!” she shouted from the window, causing Holder to freeze immediately and spread his arms away from his body.