Surviving the EMP (Book 5): Powerless Winter Read online

  Powerless Winter

  Surviving the EMP, Book Five

  Ryan Casey

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

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  Chapter One

  Bill waded through the snow and wasn’t sure how much further he could go on like this.

  It was the thick of winter. The sky was a deep grey, making it hard to tell what time of day it was. It’d been this way ever since winter started a couple of months ago. In the early days, it was easier to keep track of what time it was. You just had that instinctive understanding deep inside; that inherent knowledge of where you were at in the day, of when to wake and when to find shelter to sleep.

  But that grey sky suffocated the sun.

  And the snow didn’t help, either.

  Bill looked around at the town. There were mounds of snow either side of him, cars buried underneath. Sometimes, he’d be climbing what he thought was a hill to realise he was actually on top of a bus or something like that.

  The snow was so thick. The wind was so intense. He could barely keep on going.

  He listened to the wind howling against his frozen body. His ears, even though they were tucked under a woolly hat, were so cold they hurt. His lips were like ice cubes. His legs ached like mad. Every step was an ordeal. He could feel it wearing on his calves and his shins.

  But he had to keep on going because sitting down at this stage was giving up. It was accepting defeat. It was accepting death itself.

  He couldn’t accept death. He needed to find a new home. He needed to keep on going. Keep on surviving.

  Because that’s what he’d promised Gerri.

  He thought of Gerri and his heart sank. She loved the snow. She used to be disappointed when it didn’t snow at Christmas, because she always looked forward to this special Christmas walk she took with her family, right over the Arnside Knott, right to the summit to admire the beautiful white, snow-covered landscape.

  He’d been a snow sceptic originally. He’d always seen the snow as more of an inconvenience than anything. Probably something to do with the fact he needed to catch a train on his commute to work in central Manchester every day. Anyone in Britain knows damn well that any little sprinkling of snow causes a mass panic, the kind which brings everyone to question just how people get by in other countries like Iceland and Russia, where snow is just a part of everyday life. And they don’t seem to complain about it there, either. Made a mockery of the whiny Brits.

  But now, as he waded through this thick snow, barely able to keep his footing, he knew damn well his instincts about this shitty weather condition were right all along.

  As much as he loved Gerri. As much as he missed her.

  And as much as he’d never forget their winter walks.

  Ever.

  He felt something warm against his cheek. Savoured it for a moment.

  Then he realised what it was as it cooled instantly.

  A tear.

  He wiped that tear away. His cheek hurt just to brush against it. His skin was sensitive and dry, worn down by the constant barrage of wintry storms. As he clambered further through the snow, he questioned why he kept on doing this. Why he kept on going. It was just him now, after all. Nobody but him.

  Why did he keep on going when there wasn’t anyone there with him?

  Why did he still bother?

  As he clambered further through this mass of thick snow filling the streets, the wind howling past him, hunger gnawing at his stomach to the point he felt nauseous, he remembered his last conversation with Gerri. He remembered sitting there by her side as the fever took over her, as sweat pooled down her face, as her eyelids and her lips swelled up to twice their normal size.

  He remembered her holding his hand with her shaky fingers and saying those final words to him.

  “You’ve got to keep on going. You’ve got to keep on fighting. You’ve got to keep on hoping. For me.”

  He felt more tears stream down his face at the memory. Because he wanted to give up. He wanted to be with her. Life had lost all purpose, all meaning. He just wanted to opt out.

  But it was those words that always stopped him, even when he got close to giving up. And he had got close. He’d got close so many times.

  But it was Gerri who always came to his rescue.

  It was Gerri who always saved his miserable life.

  He went to take another step when he felt his body slipping, and he fell into the snow.

  He lay there for a few seconds. His body felt bruised. Every inch of him felt weak. He didn’t want to climb back to his feet. He just wanted to lie here. It wouldn’t take long for the elements to take him.

  Just take off your coat, man. Take it all off, and let the cold take you.

  Then he saw Gerri again in his mind’s eye.

  “You’ve got to keep on going. You’ve got to keep on fighting. You’ve got to keep on hoping. For me.”

  He tightened his fist and punched the snow. He wished she’d never said those words. He wished she’d never given him that reason to live.

  But she had. And he had to honour it. Whether he liked it or not.

  Or did he?

  He looked up at the snow pounding down from above. Felt it hitting his face and body, every punch like an icy bullet against his skin.

  He closed his eyes and let that coldness take over. Let it swallow him up.

  “You’ve got to keep on going. You’ve got to keep on fighting. You’ve got to keep on hoping. For me.”

  And then he opened his eyes and dug his fingertips into his palms. “No,” he said.

  He pulled himself up. Stood back on his unsteady legs. He looked into the distance, towards the clouds. Gerri was right. He couldn’t give up. He had to keep going. He had to keep fighting. And nothing could stop him.

  He went to take a step when he saw something.

  He thought he was hallucinating at first. Couldn’t make out whether it was a figment of his imagination, a trick of the hunger and exhaustion or what.

  But the closer he got, the more he moved through the street, the more the clouds started to clear.

  And the more it
came into view.

  He felt more tears roll down his face.

  He felt a smile pull at the sides of his mouth.

  He saw what was in front of him, and he felt energy surge through his body.

  He looked at this place in the distance, and he felt Gerri right there with him, in his heart.

  “We did it,” he said. “We did it, my love. We made it.”

  And then he walked towards it.

  Towards the bright lights…

  Somewhere behind him, movement.

  Chapter Two

  Jack raced through the woods as quickly as he could and hoped to God Emma hadn’t gone far.

  It started when he’d gone to her caravan and found it empty. She was supposed to be helping him go out into the surrounding woods and catching whatever they might’ve caught in their traps. It was a bit of a fool’s errand these days, truth be told. Little chance of finding anything with the weather like it was, as cold as it was. The animal populations were way down. Many of them that didn’t even instinctively hibernate seemed like they were cooped up and out of the cold.

  But he’d got to her caravan, and she wasn’t there. She was gone.

  Which, knowing Emma, could only mean one thing.

  He ran as quickly as he could through the woods, Villain racing along by his side. It was mid-afternoon. The sky was a dark shade of grey. The trees all around him were laced with snow. The ground was slippery underfoot, where layers of ice had frozen over one another.

  But he was used to it now. All of them were used to it. This was winter. This was how it had been for the last two months. If you didn’t adapt, you died. It really was as simple as that.

  The wind howled against him as he ran further through the woods, past the trees. He could feel the iciness of the snow right through his solid boots. He might be wrapped up in a thick parka, but it didn’t stop the bitter cold getting to his skin.

  He looked around at the trees. Looked at the heavy snow falling from above. He knew how easy it was to get lost out here. He’d seen people get lost. People disappeared, didn’t turn up again.

  And then there were the old people. The ones who struggled in the cold as it was. They were struggling even more now—at least those who had survived, those who had made it this far.

  But not many had made it this far.

  Not in a winter like this.

  Jack didn’t have a thermometer, but he wouldn’t like to guess how cold it actually was. If he had to say, he’d probably guess around minus thirty. It was the kind of temperature where water froze in an instant. Even the sea around Heathwaite’s looked frozen solid. Reminded him of footage he’d seen from Chicago a couple of years back, where boiling water froze within seconds of pouring.

  Get lost out here in the woods and you were finished.

  Get caught by another group… it was nigh on impossible to get you back.

  He thought about Emma as he raced through the woods, heart racing, panting, the air clouding right before his eyes.

  “Bloody hell, Emma. Why do you have to do this? Why do you bloody well persist?”

  He knew he sounded like a grumpy old man, but he couldn’t help himself. Emma was disobedient. She had this thing for sneaking away, for trying to do things herself, for proving how strong she was.

  He knew it had to be partly down to what’d happened to her in the conflict with Matthew. Losing a hand. Feeling like she was inadequate; like she wasn’t normal. Feeling that urge to prove herself.

  He felt that. It was tough.

  But she couldn’t keep breaking the rules like this.

  The rules were in place for a reason. A very good reason.

  The more she kept breaking them, the more she put herself in jeopardy.

  The more she put everyone in jeopardy.

  He kept on searching the woods. Kept on expecting to run into somebody; to slam into them, fall to the ground. Or to run into another group on his travels. A group who wanted to eliminate his people. A group who threatened Heathwaite’s.

  He knew there were people like that out there. He’d seen them. He’d dealt with them.

  And he’d keep on dealing with them, as long as he had to.

  He went to turn around when he heard something in the distance.

  Footsteps.

  Footsteps up ahead.

  His body turned to stone. Villain growled, edged forward. Jack lifted his knife, crept further through the snow. He didn’t want to take any chances. If this was an enemy, he had to deal with them. He had to take them out, no questions asked.

  And if they weren’t an enemy… they were still an outsider. Someone he couldn’t trust.

  Someone he’d have to deal with, one way or another.

  Because outsiders couldn’t be trusted.

  Any outsider could be a threat to his people.

  He was a leader of his people. Whether he liked it or not, that’s who he was.

  And as leader; he dealt with threats accordingly.

  He got closer to that movement. He could see it now. Shuffling. Struggling. He pictured all kinds of things. His heart raced. He thought about finding Emma lying there in the thick snow. He thought of the deep red blood contrasting the bright white snow.

  He thought of all kinds of grim possibilities, and he edged closer towards it.

  He held that knife with his shaking hand. He had to be ready to use it. Ready to bury it into the neck of whoever it was.

  Because if they were out here, they were a threat to his people.

  He didn’t want another Matthew on his hands.

  Especially not while they were dealing with the problem of winter already.

  He stepped further towards that movement, knife raised, heart racing, holding his breath.

  And then he yanked the branches before him aside and went to swing his knife.

  He stopped.

  Emma was sitting there.

  She was holding on to a squirrel, which was alive.

  She glanced around at him.

  “Jack?”

  Then it all unfolded so fast.

  The squirrel sensed an opportunity and buried its teeth right into her finger.

  Emma yelped, yanking her hand back instinctively.

  The squirrel ran free, off into the snow.

  “Emma,” Jack said, anger filling his body. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

  And right away she looked at him with that disappointment. She looked at him with that hatred.

  She looked at him like he’d spoiled what she was doing.

  And not for the first time, either.

  “I had it,” she said. “I had it, and you ruined it. Just like you ruin everything.”

  Jack wanted to argue. He wanted to stand his ground.

  But there was a time and a place for that.

  “Come on,” he said. “You shouldn’t be out here. It’s not safe.”

  He turned around and headed back towards Heathwaite’s.

  But he knew he was in the shit.

  Chapter Three

  Jack buried his shovel into the snow in the road—and not for the first time, either.

  It was late afternoon. The snow hadn’t let up, and the sky was still thick with grey clouds. The roads were covered with snow. It had got to the point where Jack and the rest of the people at Heathwaite’s were having to clear it at least every couple of days, just to make moving around the place bearable. Any slowdown couldn’t be tolerated. It was paramount that people could move as quickly as possible through this place for so many reasons.

  But it had only been a day since he’d last cleared this stretch of road, right by the fields of crops. Well, they were crops, once upon a time. Not so much anymore. The winter had made sure of that. Frozen them solid. Jack would be surprised if anything ever grew there again. In a way, he’d be surprised if this cold ever let up. It felt that constant. That permanent. The stifling summer seemed a long, long time ago.

  The roaring wind battered him as he
dug his shovel further into the snow, cracking through layers of ice in the process. The bitter breeze was so cold against his skin. It was like stepping into a cold shower every few seconds, time after time. The shock didn’t let up. It took your breath away every time it hit.

  But it was all for good reason.

  He looked up at Heathwaite’s Caravan Site. He looked at the caravans with snow on their roofs, some people shovelling it away. He looked at the sea in the distance, barely moving, frozen solid. He looked over across the bay at Morecambe. He often wondered if there were other people out there and how they were getting on. There had to be survivors. It wasn’t just Jack and his people in this world.

  They used to trade with other groups in the early days. But that was out of the question, now. Since he’d become leader, negotiation was off the table.

  Because people were a threat. And he wasn’t willing to put his people in any more danger than they’d already been in.

  Aside from the occasional group who passed through here, Jack was pretty keen at keeping interaction with the outside world to a minimum.

  He went to dig his shovel deeper into the snow when he saw someone up ahead.

  He felt that instinctive uncertainty. That moment where he tried to place this person, where his defences rose.

  But then he saw who it was. Susan.

  She walked over towards him. She was holding a shovel, too.

  “Thought you could use some help,” she said.