Breaking Chaos: EMP Disaster, #3

By Grace Hamilton

Abandon all hope…

 

The factory was supposed to be the last safe haven left on Earth after an EMP catastrophe shut down power worldwide. But Melanie's group isn't the only one who wants it. A militia who are determined to capture Nate take over her base of operations, forcing Melanie, her family, and her friends to flee into the unforgiving wasteland.

 

Beyond the walls, the outside world continues to spiral into darkness. With enemies on their trail, Melanie's only hope for survival is to keep moving… or sacrifice Nate for the good of the group. After all, they can't run forever, and she can't deny that caring for Nate is slowing them down…

 

Hunted and on the run, the threat of sickness and injury hangs over their heads. Their journey will take them through savage territory, populated by desperate people who will do anything to survive. If her ragtag group can't find a new shelter, tragedy will claim them all.

 

But when a team member goes missing, Melanie is forced to make a choice: keep moving forward, or risk it all to make a stand…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Relay Publishing
• Release date: Aug 31, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223150657

Book preview

1

Melanie marveled at the long line of vehicles, all in three-color camouflage green. They cut their way down the middle of the interstate, led by a massive M1 Abrams tank that rolled right over stalled vehicles in its way. She used the scope of her rifle to watch them as they drew nearer. Mark watched from beside her. Her husband was still recovering from the infected gunshot wound in his shoulder. He needed rest, but she couldn’t begrudge him a good long look at the caravan.

I wonder if Knoxville is in worse shape than we realize. That was Rita Mires, the metalworker who was also the newest resident of the factory. She was standing behind Melanie’s left shoulder. Maybe it’s been completely overrun by criminals, and the U.S. military has finally arrived to liberate the city.

It was already practically overrun the last time we tried to drive through town, Mark said, his eye to the scope of the rifle. Let’s not forget the hospital.

No one who was there will ever forget the creepy bloodsucking hospital, Lizzy said.

Well, my point is, maybe the military is finally on their way to deal with people like that, Mark said. Maybe this is the moment when things start to return to normal. Maybe we’re seeing order get restored.

Your capacity for optimism never ceases to amaze me, Mr. Turner said. Melanie’s adoptive father was standing close to the clear plastic sheet that served as window glass for the factory’s upstairs conference room.

Well, can you think of any reason to be afraid of these people? Mark asked.

I’ll give you one good reason, Mr. Turner said. I know those are Army vehicles, but it doesn’t look like a real U.S. Army convoy. Some of the vehicles are driving way too close to each other. As I recall, close column formations require twenty-five to fifty meters between vehicles and a speed under twenty-five miles per hour. These guys are a lot closer and moving a lot faster. Above twenty-five, they should be about a hundred meters apart from each other.

That’s some esoteric knowledge, Rita Mires said. You’ve done your research.

Well, I was a tank engineer many years ago, Mr. Turner said. I know what a convoy is supposed to look like, and this isn’t right. No commanding officer would put up with this.

Dad, what are you suggesting? Melanie’s best friend Lizzy was sitting on the edge of the conference table behind her father. So there’s something irregular about the convoy. What does that mean?

I don’t know what it means, he replied. We’ve got a convoy of U.S. Army vehicles headed down the interstate toward Knoxville, and for some reason, they’re not in proper formation. That’s all I’m saying.

Rogue military personnel? Rita said. Stolen military vehicles? Or just lax on-the-job performance due to a stressful workplace culture? What are the options here?

Let’s not jump to any conclusions just yet, Melanie said. We’re just keeping an eye on them for the time being.

I wasn’t jumping to conclusions, boss, Rita replied. I was presenting the options.

Melanie felt a little jolt when she realized the lead tank was slowing down. It was close now, maybe a hundred yards from the nearest exit. Surely, they didn’t mean to leave the highway this far from the actual city. Knoxville was still a good thirty-five miles down the road. Nevertheless, it became clear now that they were slowing, and then the tank veered to the right, aiming for the exit.

They’re exiting, she said. Why would they take the access road?

It’ll bring them right past the factory, Rita noted. Heck, we could wave to the tank driver from the window here.

They can’t be coming to the factory, can they? Mark said. Surely the U.S. military didn’t send a convoy to take a snack cake factory.

Surely not, Lizzy echoed. There have to be much bigger targets in Knoxville. Beaton’s isn’t all that big, not really, and it looks like a mess from the outside these days.

Even if they know we’re here, why would we be a target for the military? Mark said.

We don’t know that they’re coming to the factory, Melanie said. Everyone remain calm.

An M1 Abrams tank, two Humvees, and three Jeeps ultimately left the highway, heading toward the access road that passed right in front of the factory. They were close enough now that Melanie could see some kind of insignia or logo on the armored skirt of the tank beneath the turret. She couldn’t tell what it was—just a blob of red and black.

Shona, you have better eyesight than me, she said, gesturing at her daughter. Take a look through the rifle scope at the tank. Tell me what that insignia on the side is. I can’t make out the details.

Could be a division unit insignia, Mr. Turner said. If we can see it clearly, we might be able to figure out where these people are from and what they’re doing.

Shona took the rifle from her hands and put the scope to her eye, peering at the approaching vehicles. She gazed into the distance for a few seconds.

If I had to guess, I’d say they’re coming here to provide support for the area, Lizzy said. Melanie could tell she was nervously swinging her feet, occasionally banging the heel of her sneakers into the leg of the conference table. They can see that the factory is still intact. It’s not a burned-out husk like that shopping center next door, so they’re going to stop and say hello, see what we need.

Lovely thought, Liz, but something’s not right, I’m telling you, Mr. Turner replied. This isn’t an Army convoy. I don’t know who it is.

Dad, stop trying to scare everyone, Lizzy said. You heard Melanie. She said let’s not jump to any conclusions.

I didn’t jump to anything, Mr. Turner said. I merely stated the obvious.

Melanie shushed them both. Shona, what do you see? Describe it to me.

It’s like a painted logo or something, Shona replied, lowering the rifle. A mascot maybe. It looks like an animal. Maybe a weasel, I’m not sure. Red and black.

At this, Shona’s friend Nathan suddenly lurched backward and pressed a hand to his chest, as if he’d been stricken. Red and black insignia of an animal? You said a weasel. Could it be a wolverine?

I don’t really know for sure what a wolverine looks like. Shona said, handing him the rifle. Look for yourself. Some kind of animal with big, pointy teeth. It’s not really well-done. Whoever painted it probably wasn’t a professional artist.

Nathan raised the rifle, looked for maybe two seconds, then almost dropped it from hands that suddenly began to shake. "It is a wolverine."

Melanie swooped down and grabbed the rifle before he could drop it. She looked at the tank again. The vehicles were moving down the access road now, passing a warehouse a short distance away. The tank was close enough that she could make out the stylized animal design, but she could not have identified it as a wolverine.

Nathan, what is the significance of the insignia? she asked. Does a wolverine symbol on the side of a tank mean something to you?

He didn’t answer right away, but he had a horrified look on his face. His tongue was flicking his lower lip back and forth. The kid was rather gawky and awkward anyway, with a big mop of messy hair and a thin face. He looked about a hundred times more awkward at the moment.

Nathan? she asked, a bit more sharply. Does that insignia mean something to you?

Shona nudged him with her elbow, and he blinked rapidly a few times. Then he seemed to swallow a big knot in his throat and slowly turned to face the others. "It’s a militia. The Wolverines. They’re armed to the teeth, and I’m telling you guys right now, they are definitely headed to this factory. Definitely. They’re not here to provide support for the area. They’re not here to help survivors or fight bandits or anything else. And then Nathan locked eyes with Melanie and added, in a breathless voice, The Wolverine Militia is coming for us."

A few horrible seconds passed. The certainty in Nathan’s eyes hit her hard, and she felt a quaking terror slowly fill her belly.

Finally, Mr. Turner cleared his throat and said, They’ve brought an M1 Abrams tank, for God’s sake.

2

There was no mistaking it now. The lead tank was slowing down as it approached the factory, though it still made no attempt to avoid the stalled vehicles on the road. It rolled over just about anything that got in its way, flattening everything with impunity. A stray dog hiding inside a Honda Accord leapt out of the open driver’s door at the last second and fled desperately before the left treads of the tank crushed its makeshift home.

Nathan, how can you be so sure that this Wolverine Militia is headed to our factory? Melanie asked.

Because I know them, he replied. I know these people.

You’ve read about them? Lizzy asked. Or you know them personally?

Well…neither, actually, he replied. You guys already know how my dad was big into the survivalist stuff, even making his own weird little cult, but it’s actually a longer history than that. It’s…uh… He gnawed on his fingernail for a second, then pressed on. My family has been tied up with these weirdos, this Wolverine Militia, for a long time. Josh would’ve told you all about them if he was still here, because he knew them too. And that means Cooper has some association with them as well. I don’t know if he was still friendly with the militia, but if I had to guess, I’d say Cooper probably fled to them after we retook this place.

Like a bully who loses a fight on the playground and runs to his bigger cousins to help him get revenge, Mr. Turner said.

Yeah, something like that, Nathan said.

Melanie was peering through the scope of the Weatherby. She considered lowering the rifle in case militia members spotted her and took it as a hostile act. But, then again, if Nathan was right, this was already a hostile act.

What do we do? Mark said, grabbing Melanie’s shoulder and squeezing it. Clearly, he wanted some kind of reassurance. If Nathan is right and they’re here to get revenge for Cooper, how do we defend ourselves?

I guess we need to get our guns and take up positions again, Mr. Turner said. We’re not helpless here. We’ve driven off enemies before. At least we have a somewhat defensible position.

"Dad, you already said it—they’ve got a tank, Lizzy replied. There’s nothing in our supply closets that can handle a tank. Not tear gas, not bullets, not the L-RAD. Nothing!"

Well, they’re not going to shell the factory, Mr. Turner said. Not if they want the stuff inside. Even if they’re here for revenge, all of the weapons and ammunition will be too tempting to risk destroying the building. If anything, they’ll try to break down a door and come inside. That gives us at least some chance to hold them off. He said this last in an almost plaintive voice. Just like the last battle, we know this place better than they do. We know the secret places, so that gives us a strategic advantage. Doesn’t it?

Melanie supposed the question was directed at her. She was usually the one to come up with a plan when things seemed bleak, but this time, she was at a loss. She watched the tank as it came to a stop beside the factory’s short entrance road. The Humvees and Jeeps pulled up behind it and also came to a stop. Melanie’s stomach-churning fear was edging toward despair. The people around her were waiting for her to make some kind of decision, and it was clear to her what that decision would be. Still, after all they’d been through, she couldn’t bring herself to say it out loud.

Finally, she stepped closer to the plastic sheet, and something defiant tried to rise up within her. She felt it. A furious and hateful feeling.

Fight them, the voice said. Throw absolutely everything you have at them. Fire every bullet. Throw every tear gas canister. Burn them. Blast them. Drive them away. This is your home now, and you earned it with blood and grief.

She thought of poor Josh dying on the hallway floor, the light leaving his eyes. Had the man died for nothing? Melanie was trying to come up with some viable defense strategy in her mind when Lizzy cleared her throat loudly and dragged her out of her own thoughts. She glanced back over her shoulder and saw her best and oldest friend sitting on the conference room table. Her long blondish hair needed brushing and conditioning, but it wasn’t as if they had access to a lot of fancy hair care products these days. Lizzy was scared, swinging her feet back and forth with renewed intensity.

Melanie, what’s the plan? she asked. You’re awfully quiet over there. Tell me the wheels are turning in that brain of yours.

And Melanie’s daughter, standing right beside her, added, Mom, we have to do something. We can’t stand here and wait for them to attack.

In that moment, Melanie almost said exactly what was on her mind. The furious desire to defend her family and property was a fraction of a second from tumbling out, all sorts of crazy plans for fighting an armed force with military-grade vehicles and weapons to match. However, the small shape of her daughter at her side managed to break through the angry fog.

She reached up and gripped her own forehead, squeezing so hard it hurt. The factory is in such bad shape, she muttered. We’ve tried hard to fix the walkway, the walls, the support posts, and everything else. A stiff wind might blow it over at this point, and now we’ve got a tank parked outside.

She was speaking far too quietly, so she gathered up her courage and turned to face the others. Her gaze went from Mark to Lizzy to Mr. Turner to Rita to the floor at her feet. Dusty, their little mutt of a dog, was positioned near the conference room door. She usually stuck close to Shona and Nathan, but right now she seemed to realize there was a threat. Indeed, it looked like she was anxious to leave.

I’m sorry. I don’t have a plan for defending the factory. I just don’t. Not against a militia. It’s not worth the risk, so I’m sorry to say, I think it’s time to start gathering up our most vital supplies and packing them in some way that we can drag them out of here.

"Whoa, wait. We’re abandoning the factory? Mr. Turner said. He took a step back, as if the idea had struck him hard. Just like that? We’re not even going to try to defend ourselves before fleeing?"

We don’t have time to set up booby traps. We don’t have heavy weapons. There’s nothing we can do right now. Anyway, it won’t be the first time we’ve had to flee, Melanie said. So, for now, just gather supplies, okay? I’ll think about the next step while you do that. Bring everything to the closet with the drainpipe. When they didn’t move right away, she snapped her fingers. Go, go, come on. Move fast. Hurry. We may only have a few minutes to act here, and we’ve stood around long enough talking about it. If you want to live, get moving.

That did the trick. Rita groaned and turned, heading back across the conference room. Lizzy hopped off the table and went with her. Mr. Turner sighed and left next.

Melanie passed the rifle to Shona, who took it but gave her mother a questioning look.

Shona, I want you to you stay here and keep an eye on the militia, she said. If it looks like they’re going to attack, raise the alarm. Keep your eye absolutely glued on those vehicles. Don’t look away, not even for a second. Got it?

Okay, Mom. What if they see me standing up here?

Stand to one side in the shadows. There may be a glare on the plastic sheet, especially this time of the morning.

Shona raised the rifle. It looked like Nathan was going to stay with her, but she nudged him with an elbow. He got the message. Hanging his head, he turned and walked away. Both Mark and Dusty followed him. Melanie gave the militia vehicles a last lingering look, wanting to see something that would somehow change the situation, some miraculous revelation that would turn despair into hope. But, no, the situation was clear.

It never ends, she muttered. The enemies beyond the walls never stop coming. She patted Shona on the back. Any sign they’re attacking, raise the alarm. I mean, anything at all. Then she left the room.

She headed down the stairs to the supply closet. It was already wide open, and flashlights were moving above deep within. She heard the clank of the gun cabinet door, the clatter of guns being taken off the racks. Melanie went inside and strode down the center aisle to find Rita and Mr. Turner collecting rifles and ammunition. The guns went onto a handcart, the boxes of bullets into a large duffel bag.

No, stop that, Melanie said. She tried not to snap at them, but her every thought felt like it was on fire. Max and Rita swung around to look at her. Two guns for every person: a rifle and a handgun. That’s it. No more than that. Enough bullets to go around, maybe some tear gas and smoke bombs. Otherwise, focus on medicine and basic survival supplies like rope, knives, food, and water. Got it?

Mel, we can’t just leave all of these guns for some evil militia to snatch up, Max Turner said. There are a heck of a lot of bullets in here.

Pop, we won’t be able to take much, Melanie said. We’re carrying everything we’re walking out of here with, okay? So with our limited capacity, we’re going to prioritize our own well-being out there in the world. This isn’t the time for a debate. Just do what I ask, please.

He grunted, clearly unhappy. He and Rita had already stacked well more than two guns per person onto the handcart, and they seemed reluctant to remove any of them. However, Melanie held her ground, standing there with her hands on her hips.

Medicine and basic supplies, Rita said, picking a .22 rifle off the handcart and placing it back into the gun cabinet. You got it, boss.

Weapons are important, but they’re a lower priority, Melanie explained. We’re fleeing, not fighting. Don’t forget that.

Mr. Turner almost said something then. He even got as far as opening his mouth. It was a strange dynamic, telling her own adoptive father what to do. Bossing him around like he was some enlisted man and she was a three-star general. Still, that was how things worked best around here. After a moment, he grabbed a couple of Glocks off the handcart and shoved them back into the cabinet.

Well, if that’s the way it has to be, then all right, he said finally. A rifle and a handgun for every person, and that’s it. We’ll get it done.

Okay, good. When you’re done, head to the closet with the drainpipe. I’ll be there soon.

Rita saluted her and went back to work.

Melanie left the closet and went to look for the others. She found Mark in Derrick’s old office upstairs, shoving fistfuls of medical supplies into an old backpack. He grabbed bandages, antiseptic, pill bottles, and patches, with little regard to maintaining any kind of order. Nearby, the meticulous inventory they had completed of everything on the shelves and desk sat neglected. The irony didn’t escape Melanie. All of their careful work tracking and cataloguing every item, and now they were just stuffing it into bags by the fistful.

Prioritize wound care supplies and medicine, Melanie said. And…hurry, Mark. Hurry.

I’m moving as fast as my gimp shoulder will let me move, he said.

Okay, don’t reinjure yourself, she said. When that backpack is full, head to the drainpipe. Don’t linger. Just grab and go.

Grab and go, he echoed. You got it, dear.

He tried to give her a reassuring smile as he shoved a bunch of pill bottles into the backpack. It didn’t quite work, but Melanie reached out and briefly touched his upper arm. Did you see where Nathan went?

Mark shook his head, so Melanie rushed out to find the kid. It took a while. He wasn’t in the supply closets. She didn’t hear him down in the offices or the break room, and when she went into the factory floor, she didn’t find him there initially. Then a single clank drew her to a closet beneath the damaged walkway. Here, she found the boy loading a small generator onto a pallet jack alongside the last of their gasoline in a plastic jerry can. Dusty was at his side, panting.

The dog alerted Nathan to her presence, and he gestured at the generator with a sweep of his arm and said, We might need it if we end up in some other building out there somewhere. I know it’s kind of heavy, but what if we have to power lights or something?

Some other building out there. That stung. Melanie felt something terribly close to grief, and it took a moment to stave off tears. No sense crying about a factory that they were sure to lose anyway, right? As long as they got away with their lives. Even if that meant they wound up roaming the city looking for an abandoned house or business where they could safely hunker down.

We’ll try to take it with us, Melanie said, but I don’t know how the escape will go. I hope it won’t break your heart if we end up dumping it somewhere along the way.

Whatever you think, ma’am, Nathan replied, pushing the generator into place. I guess it doesn’t matter as long as that tank doesn’t blow everyone to bits.

It was just a little too blunt. Let’s not talk like that, okay? Bring that generator to the drain closet and wait there for us. We’ll be out of here in another minute or two.

He grabbed the handles of the pallet jack and kicked off the brake. Ma’am, these people are the worst. The sooner we get out of here, the better. They were too intense even for my father. It’s why he stopped actively attending meetings a few years ago. The downfall of the entire country is like their sweetest dream coming true. They’ve been waiting for an opportunity like this.

You grew up with these people? Melanie asked.

Off and on, Nathan replied. I tried my best not to get too caught up in the militia nonsense, but they were always lurking in the background of my childhood. I remember being dragged to a few meetings when I was really little. Mostly, I just tried to hide in the corner and go unnoticed.

I hate to say it, but your father was like a link in a chain that just keeps leading us to worse and more dangerous people, Melanie said. From Derrick to Cooper and now from Cooper to this militia. I’m afraid of what we’ll find at the end of that chain.

3

Alarge dark spot on the factory floor ramp marked the location where Brian had died some weeks earlier, executed at Melanie’s own hands for his betrayal. She usually tried not to notice these marks of past violence, but it seemed fitting that the warning whistle should sound just as she was stepping over the bloodstain. Shona was sounding the alarm. What had she seen? Terrible visions of the tank rolling over the gate, smashing it flat, of dozens of armed militiamen streaming through the opening, danced through Melanie’s head. They’d waited too long to flee.

We should’ve grabbed a few guns, some medical supplies, and left right away, she thought.

She ran through the double