Fighting Darkness: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Thriller (Fighting to Survive Book 2) Read online

  Fighting Darkness

  A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Thriller

  Alex Knightly

  Copyright © 2019 by Alex Knightly

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events and organisations are entirely fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Contents

  1. Dan

  2. Dan

  3. Annie

  4. Max

  5. Clive

  6. Dan

  7. Si

  8. Clive

  9. Annie

  10. Pete

  11. Si

  12. Pete

  13. Pete

  14. Clive

  15. Si

  16. Annie

  17. Terry

  18. Pete

  19. Clive

  20. Annie

  21. Si

  22. Clive

  23. Clive

  24. Pete

  25. Si

  26. Terry

  27. Max

  28. Si

  29. Clive

  30. Pete

  31. Si

  32. Annie

  33. Clive

  34. Si

  35. Clive

  36. Annie

  37. Dan

  38. Annie

  39. Pete

  40. Dan

  41. Josh

  42. Pete

  43. Pete

  44. Clive

  45. Josh

  46. Dan

  Dan

  Wednesday

  Dan wasn’t stupid. His phone had gone dead at the exact moment the lights went out. He’d known right from the start that this was something far more serious than a power cut.

  He hadn’t acted. Part of him had insisted that there was a simple explanation for it all. Instead of jumping on his bike that night and cycling to London to find his wife, he’d gone to bed trying to think of a simple explanation for it all.

  He’d have been there and back by now.

  By the time he’d realised that the only explanation was that this was one of those devastating attacks that had fried every circuit in the country—possibly most of Western Europe—it was already too late. Annie worked in disaster recovery and business continuity. She was the one who’d told him about the possible existence of weapons like that, rolling her eyes because it was easier for her superiors to cry conspiracy theory than it was for them to even begin to come up with a contingency plan for such wide-ranging destruction. It was the worst of worst case scenarios.

  And it was happening all around him right now.

  He should have gone to her. It was too late now. She knew what it was and she wouldn’t stick around. Not in London, where he couldn’t even begin to imagine the fear and chaos that must have consumed the whole city by now. If he left now, there was a big chance he’d take a different route to the one she was taking and pass her without even knowing it.

  It was now around forty hours since the attack. He was trying not to obsess, but he couldn’t help it. It was hard to do nothing, no matter that it was the wisest thing he could do. He might not know exactly what route she’d take, but he knew she was on her way. She was resourceful. She had that in her favour. And she was fit.

  When he started to work out how long it might take her at a brisk walking pace—Annie wouldn’t run, she’d prefer to conserve her energy—he knew it was time to get out of the house.

  If he allowed himself to think too deeply about what she must be going through, he’d lose the will to go on. The best he could do now was bury himself in work on the farm and make the place as comfortable as possible for when she arrived.

  Two hundred miles at six miles an hour, screamed the near-constant, obsessive roar in his head.

  “Toby!” Where was that dog? “Come on, boy. Let’s go for a walk and see what needs to be done.”

  Their sheepdog came bounding down the hall and into the kitchen. He’d always thought the dog was more intelligent than most, but put that down to bias. Now, though, it seemed he might have been onto something. Toby had been moping around the last couple of days, almost like he knew something was seriously wrong. “She’ll come back,” Dan whispered, leaning over to scratch the collie’s head.

  He moved to the door. There was plenty to do around the farm. He’d thrown himself into it since Annie took up that contract down in London, but it seemed like the more he did the more there was to do. They were damn lucky they’d decided to move here from Manchester. The mains water had stopped, but he’d managed to rig up a bucket and pulley system to the old well out the back. That was the second thing he’d done the previous morning and his stomach hadn’t given him any trouble after drinking the water, so he took that as a good sign.

  The first thing he’d done was scour the house for as much cash as he could find. He’d jumped on his bike and cycled to the nearest big supermarket. There was a little place in the village three miles down the road, but he’d wanted one of the big chains. They had plenty of canned food in the house, but not enough to last several months. He’d filled a big backpack with a variety of canned foods. He’d also stocked up on teabags, flour, sugar, powdered milk—staples that would make a big difference after a hard day’s work. He spent most of his time in the little garden section, skimming the backs of packets of seeds and trying to choose varieties that were both easy to grow and hardy. The last thing they needed was to starve while waiting for some tropical variety to thrive in crap English weather and the poor soil of their farm. He didn’t bother with fertiliser—he’d rig up some sort of system where he could collect the sheep and cattle dung to use in the garden.

  That was optimistic thinking. The truth was, he didn’t know much about livestock farming. They’d only bought the ewes that year and hired a ram from one of the farmers nearby. He’d not got the vet in yet to check the ewes and confirm how many were carrying. The thought of trying to handle the lambing process on his own was daunting, but that was some way off yet—he had more pressing things to worry about.

  Dan looked around the yard out the back. There was a pile of wood that needed chopping and drying. He walked over and picked up the axe. This was what he needed. It was hard physical work that would exhaust him and stop the noise in his head for a little while.

  He soon found that it wasn’t working. No matter how much force he put into it, his mind wouldn’t stop thinking about what his wife was doing. It was only natural, he supposed, but it was still unbearable. After a while, he had a sizeable pile of chopped logs for the wood burner, but he was so haunted with guilt he couldn’t stand it.

  He considered going inside and downing half a bottle of whisky. That would shut off his thoughts for a while. He got so far as putting the axe down and going back to the house.

  He stopped.

  What good would it do? He’d feel even more wretched. At least this way he was doing something constructive.

  He looked around. What else was there? Beyond the yard, there was nothing but green trees and fields. It was bad, hilly land but he loved it here. He closed his eyes. He’d tried to work out how deep the well went, but he didn’t know how to do that.

  That’s what he’d do. He’d pace out the distance to the river and see about setting up a pump sy
stem to draw water up from there. That way, they wouldn’t risk running the well dry on things like washing and bathing.

  He smiled. Yes. That would do it. The river was slightly downhill from the house, so he’d have to figure out a way to suck the water up. His brain would have no room left in it for beating himself up.

  “Come on, boy,” he called to the dog. “Let’s go and see if we can get some sort of pump running, shall we? We can even drag up that old iron bath in the low field and set up some sort of fire pit underneath.”

  He smiled. Annie would love that. There’d been a similar setup at a glamping place he’d taken her to for her last birthday.

  It had been such a surprise when they saw the river that first day they came to look at the farm. There was no indication on the for sale sign. The existing owner had just shrugged when they asked him about the river, like it was no big deal. Dan still loved walking down there as much as he had in the first few months, when fishing for trout had been a welcome break from the renovations. He fished for trout whenever he had time. There was something so therapeutic about catching your own tea.

  The river would take on a new importance in their lives now, he realised. It was the key to their survival. Fish was going to be their main source of protein for the short-term. They couldn’t afford to touch the sheep yet, not until he’d figured out how big of a herd they’d need to sustain them long-term. He didn’t even know what he was going to do with the cattle. He had three heifers. He’d need to find a neighbour with a bull and come to some sort of barter agreement.

  Barter. What was he even going to barter? He wished now that he’d grabbed a couple more bottles of whisky in the shop the day before. It was hard to work out what was going to act as currency in this weird new world.

  Dan frowned as he moved through the last stand of trees and realised he wasn’t alone. He couldn’t remember ever seeing another soul down there apart from Annie.

  He lunged forward and grabbed Toby by the collar, not taking his eyes off the little group of men in waxed jackets and wellies. He didn’t begrudge anyone the right to fish. That it was still in the close season didn’t seem to matter so much now, so long as people were careful not to take too much.

  But these people weren’t fishing. It took him a while to see what they were doing, because it didn’t make sense to begin with. Two of them had rusting old tin cans and they seemed to be focused on the reeds at the edge of the water rather than the river itself.

  The smell of petrol reached him on the wind and Dan knew then.

  “Oi,” he shouted. “What the hell are you lot playing at?” He marched forward. Toby had picked up on his anger and began to bark at the men.

  Some of them looked up. The ones with the cans ignored him and continued to pour fuel on the reeds.

  “We’re burning off the reeds. What does it look like?” The man pursed his lips in contempt as if Dan was the one doing something wrong by calling them out.

  “You can’t bloody well do that.” Dan lunged at the closest petrol can and tried to tear it from the man’s hands. The guy let it go, sending Dan flying onto his back. There was a murmur of laughter from the group, which only served to heighten Dan’s anger. “Who the hell do you lot think you are? This is my land. But that’s beside the point. You can’t go burning off the reeds. They’re there for a reason.”

  “I think you’ll find,” said the man with the paunch and the pursed lips. “That this is my land. The boundary is over there, where Simon is standing.”

  Dan glanced around and immediately regretted doing so. He knew they were wrong. They had no right to be there and they certainly had no right to burn off the reeds.

  Even as he thought that, though, his anger had started to turn to frustration. What was he going to do, exactly? There were six of them and only one of him. He couldn’t call the police or the environmental crowd.

  “The farm next door ends over there,” he snapped, pointing at a rock about fifty yards away that marked the boundary. “I should know. I paced this place out with a land boundaries map before we bought it. Again, that’s not the issue here. What exactly are you doing here?”

  “That’s my farm.” So far the same man had done all the talking. He was in his fifties and had the grey, greasy complexion of someone who was more used to excess than toiling on a farm. He pointed back towards the farmhouse that was Dan’s closest neighbour.

  Dan shook his head. Why was this guy lying? They’d knocked on all their neighbours’ doors back when they first moved in. That place belonged to a shrunken old man who looked nothing like this arrogant twat.

  The man smiled. There was more spite in the expression than there was warmth. This was a man who was used to getting his own way. “I inherited it from my uncle.”

  “Oh.” Dan nodded. He hadn’t seen much of the old man lately now that he thought about it. “Well, look. I don’t know where you come from, but you can’t just douse petrol all over the reeds. It’ll leech into the water and pollute it.”

  “It won’t once we set it alight.”

  Dan’s pulse screamed in his temples. The nerve of this guy! His fists clenched uncontrollably at his sides. He wanted nothing more than to punch that smug grin off the man’s face, but the tiny, sensible part of him that just about maintained control told him not to. One of him, six of them. He was so agitated that he mightn’t have let that stop him if it wasn’t for the fact that one of the others had a shotgun casually strung over his arm.

  “Who the hell do you think you are, coming onto my land and destroying the ecosystem?”

  “We’re burning them all off. It’ll benefit you as well. Better access to the water.”

  Dan shook his head. He couldn’t believe the nerve of them. He still had the petrol can in his hands. He looked at it dumbly. It was empty. He hurried to the water and out onto the rock he usually fished from.

  “I wouldn’t if I were you,” the man said with a sly smile.

  Dan ignored him and dipped the can in the water. Hating himself for what he was about to do. Was it better to just let them burn it off than washing the petrol into the river? Maybe it was. Even now, there was an iridescent shimmer around the opening of the can where petrol had seeped out into the water.

  “You bloody idiots,” he snapped, flinging the can full of water towards them and storming back onto the riverbank. “The damage is done now.”

  He stormed off, not stopping to look back even when he heard the whoosh of flames. What kind of idiots were they? This was the epitome of shitting in their own backyard. It wasn’t just burning the reeds that bothered him. These reckless, arrogant arseholes had moved into the house that was just four hundred yards away from his and Annie’s dream home and there was nothing he could do to stop them from doing whatever the hell they wanted.

  Dan

  Friday

  Dan was exhausted—understandable, since he’d barely slept. Later on Wednesday afternoon, he’d gone up the hill with his binoculars and watched the farm next door. He’d hoped to see something that might redeem them.

  It turned out to be worse than he’d realised.

  There wasn’t just six of them. There were at least ten that he could see. They were all dressed in ridiculous clothing too, like they were heading off on a casual work function not working on a farm in the middle of nowhere.

  The shooting started that night. On and on it went. Even if Dan had been relaxed enough to sleep, the boom of shotgun fire would have kept him awake. Yes, it was probably rabbits. That didn’t matter. Toby was petrified of the noise. So was Dan, just for other reasons.

  He had a shotgun but this was proof—not that it had been needed—that their firepower was far superior to his own. Ten of them, one of him. If each of those men had a shotgun like his, he’d be screwed if he had to go up against them. Two cartridges in the chamber versus twenty. He was younger and fitter, but that only gave him so much of an advantage.

  Toby had whined with each distant boom. Dan’s
heart had broken for him. They’d rescued him from the pound, and it was obvious he’d had a traumatic early life. Even so, they’d showered him with affection and attention and made sure he was always well-exercised and well-fed. It had been years since his beloved dog had been this worn down and frightened.

  And there wasn’t a damn thing Dan could do about it.

  “It’s okay, boy,” he’d muttered. He’d already brought the dog into the bed with him, so there wasn’t much more he could do to try and calm him.

  Dan closed his eyes. It had been the same last night, after one hell of a day. There was still no sign of Annie. He’d gone to the river to fish in the hopes that it would clear his head, but the sight of the pitiful charred mess had only frustrated him even more.

  Then he’d come back up and noticed the sheep weren’t in their field. He’d raced in there, thinking they’d all collected in one corner for some reason known only to them. But they hadn’t. The gate was wide open and they were all milling about on the road. It had taken him more than an hour to get them all back into the field and he’d have been lost without Toby, who must have had some sort of innate sheepdog skills hardwired into his brain, because Dan hadn’t had a clue what he was doing.

  He was sure he’d closed the gate. He was careful and deliberate about these things.