Blood Dimmed Tide: A Cop’s EMP Apocalypse Story
In the follow up to "Hard Favored Rage," a new group of law enforcement officers struggle to survive.
Can a group of unprepared cops help a small county just outside of Los Angeles survive the total collapse of society devastated by an Electromagnetic Pulse (EMP)? For millions, their death sentence begins the moment the power goes out and the California Aqueduct runs dry, leaving the crops to wither in the fields and the cities to burn. Mere anarchy has been loosed upon the United States.
Ventura County Sheriff’s sergeant Nate Stackhouse wakes up to find himself in a nightmare where the heat and lack of water are the least of his worries. Left without electricity, cars, and most communications in the midst of a brutal heatwave, the sheriff’s office must face the realities of the collapse of the modern world. He must organize an undermanned and overwhelmed station to survive the onslaught that is to come, while facing enemies the deputies have never seen before.
LAPD officer Cory Welch sees firsthand the fall of Los Angeles in to chaos. Utterly unprepared to survive the disaster in-place, he decides to bug out with his firefighter friend. Together, the band of evacuees travel across the hostile desert trying to reach a remote cabin in Utah. Cory and his friends face hundreds of miles of surprises and challenges all to reach their refuge with no expectation of safety.
Despite being unprepared, they learn that survival is a mindset and not what you have in your garage or basement. With everything falling apart, can these unprepared groups rise to the occasion to overcome impossible odds and survive the disaster?
Can a group of unprepared cops help a small county just outside of Los Angeles survive the total collapse of society devastated by an Electromagnetic Pulse (EMP)? For millions, their death sentence begins the moment the power goes out and the California Aqueduct runs dry, leaving the crops to wither in the fields and the cities to burn. Mere anarchy has been loosed upon the United States.
Ventura County Sheriff’s sergeant Nate Stackhouse wakes up to find himself in a nightmare where the heat and lack of water are the least of his worries. Left without electricity, cars, and most communications in the midst of a brutal heatwave, the sheriff’s office must face the realities of the collapse of the modern world. He must organize an undermanned and overwhelmed station to survive the onslaught that is to come, while facing enemies the deputies have never seen before.
LAPD officer Cory Welch sees firsthand the fall of Los Angeles in to chaos. Utterly unprepared to survive the disaster in-place, he decides to bug out with his firefighter friend. Together, the band of evacuees travel across the hostile desert trying to reach a remote cabin in Utah. Cory and his friends face hundreds of miles of surprises and challenges all to reach their refuge with no expectation of safety.
Despite being unprepared, they learn that survival is a mindset and not what you have in your garage or basement. With everything falling apart, can these unprepared groups rise to the occasion to overcome impossible odds and survive the disaster?
Excerpt: Mere Anarchy
Cory sat bolt upright, jarred to consciousness by the Earth-shaking, ear-shattering drone of a fire engine’s airhorn. There was no doubt it was a fire engine, unless the angel Gabriel’s trumpet was manufactured by a siren company. Cory twisted around and pushed open the blackout curtains to see a yellow brush engine, the stubby kind that firefighters called a Type 3, parked in front of his neighbor Jeremy’s house.
Jeremy ran out of his house with his gear bag in one hand and boots in the other. As his neighbor climbed into the engine, Cory flashed his middle finger out the window hoping someone saw it. As an LAPD officer, Cory had a good-natured rivalry with his hose-dragger best friend and neighbor but didn’t appreciate being woken up like that. He collapsed back onto his bed and let the hammering in his chest subside. As the adrenaline faded, he extended his arms and legs like a starfish.
It felt especially good to have the king-size bed to himself. His soon-to-be ex-wife hadn’t slept here in months. Over the years, he slept alone plenty of times, especially when he worked night shifts. I don’t have to work today, he sung to himself in a little ditty. After a few moments, he drifted off to sleep again.
Cory Welch was in his late 30s, tall, his good looks softened with the approach of middle age, and very, very tired. He barely missed the “twenty and out” retirement plan, which meant he had another thirteen years to go before he could sit back and relax. He already decided he would buy a house in Havasu and rent it out until it came time to quit policing the streets of Los Angeles.
Some time later, but not long enough to fall deep asleep, someone began knocking on the door. It was a quiet, polite knock, so he ignored it. His Toyota was in the garage and the boat was sold, so it wasn’t a parking ticket or code enforcement. He already had found Jesus and didn’t need the house number re-painted on the curb. Cory ignored the knocking and let it fade into the background of half-sleep.
Two minutes later, pounding echoed up from the foyer into his bedroom. That’s a cop knock, he thought. Reluctantly, he got out of bed and looked out the window. Jeremy’s wife Kara was furiously banging on the door with the side of her fist. A younger woman stood beside her. It was Jeremy’s sister who recently moved in after being abandoned by her husband. Cory tapped on the window and Kara looked up. He motioned that he would be down in a minute.
For the first time, he perceived that the bedroom was noticeably warm. The all-night news station he had been listening to on his drive home last night was calling for record temperatures well above 100 degrees, so Cory turned on the air conditioner before zonking out. His home in suburban Oxnard, an hour west of Los Angeles, was about a mile from the ocean, so usually a sea breeze did the trick, but for someone who worked nights and evening swing shifts, A/C was a necessity a few weeks out of the year. This August had been a hot, humid one. He actually looked forward to the Santa Ana east winds to bring in dry air, as hot as it might be.
Cory plodded downstairs in a pair of shorts and a T-shirt he pulled from the hamper. The house was warming up. He opened the front door and was met by a blast of hot air.
“What can I do for you ladies?” he said with no charm whatsoever.
“The power went out, Jeremy had to go into work, and,” Kara paused “can we use your pool?”
“You beat down my door to ask if you can use the pool?”
“It’s really hot out here,” she replied sheepishly.
Indeed it was. The front door faced south and the sun was reflecting off the house, creating killer radiant heat. Jeremy’s sister stayed quiet, panting in the heat and fanning herself with a magazine. She can’t be but 25, he thought. She was not as attractive as Kara, but was a cute, girl-next-door type.
Cory shrugged and looked apologetic. “Of course you can use the pool. If you want to change, I’ll leave the door unlocked and you can just come in.”
“Sounds good.” Kara flashed an enigmatic smile and the two turned away.
Cory shut the front door and watched the women walk across the street. His mind fumbled for the sister’s name, finally recalling it was Melanie. There could be no mistaking the two for blood relatives. From overheard conversations he already knew that Melanie talked far more than Kara did.
Depending on whether one included the use of make-up or not in the rating, Kara was a solid ten; “stacked” as her husband said. She had to maintain her honey blonde hair that would otherwise darken up on its own. Jeremy’s wife was also as tall as Cory was and her curves certainly were not natural, as he knew beyond a doubt. His own soon-to-be-ex-wife had plenty of plastic too.
Well, Mrs. Cory Welch, Danielle, was gone and had been for months. Not a thing of hers remained in the house and that had been pretty much everything. There was a recliner in the living room in front of their “small” TV, the 44 inch that had been in the bedroom, that once sat on two sawhorses. Boxes of eighteen years of marriage were scattered around the house. Cory went back upstairs.
The warm air suddenly annoyed him and he aggressively pushed the thermostat buttons. Nothing happened. Right, the power is out. He used the toilet and turned on the shower. The flow came out in a weak, dribbling stream. Confused, he tried filling the tub, but got the same result. It was unusual that the backup generators at the pumping stations should have failed too. If he lived in any other city he would have gravity flow to help him out. Anemic as the water pressure seemed to be, at least the toilet was refilling.
Cory splashed water on his face to help clear his head of sleep. He picked up a midwatch overtime shift yesterday evening and stayed up until dawn eating Del Taco, drinking beer, and watching a Dodgers game he recorded. Over the past few months he had adjusted fairly well to being a single man—something he never had the opportunity to be. Month by month, the furnishings around the house disappeared little by little and Danielle with them. Now she had vanished almost entirely from his life, existing as little more than a name on the occasional piece of junk mail.
Downstairs, the front door opened and two sets of flip-flops smacked their way across the tile. Melanie was talking about something. Cory took some Tums tablets from the medicine cabinet, chewed them, and shut the door. He studied his reflection in the mirror, frowning at the various wrinkles around his eyes. A month ago, Kara had touched them up with makeup for Cory’s online dating profiles.
Jeremy ran out of his house with his gear bag in one hand and boots in the other. As his neighbor climbed into the engine, Cory flashed his middle finger out the window hoping someone saw it. As an LAPD officer, Cory had a good-natured rivalry with his hose-dragger best friend and neighbor but didn’t appreciate being woken up like that. He collapsed back onto his bed and let the hammering in his chest subside. As the adrenaline faded, he extended his arms and legs like a starfish.
It felt especially good to have the king-size bed to himself. His soon-to-be ex-wife hadn’t slept here in months. Over the years, he slept alone plenty of times, especially when he worked night shifts. I don’t have to work today, he sung to himself in a little ditty. After a few moments, he drifted off to sleep again.
Cory Welch was in his late 30s, tall, his good looks softened with the approach of middle age, and very, very tired. He barely missed the “twenty and out” retirement plan, which meant he had another thirteen years to go before he could sit back and relax. He already decided he would buy a house in Havasu and rent it out until it came time to quit policing the streets of Los Angeles.
Some time later, but not long enough to fall deep asleep, someone began knocking on the door. It was a quiet, polite knock, so he ignored it. His Toyota was in the garage and the boat was sold, so it wasn’t a parking ticket or code enforcement. He already had found Jesus and didn’t need the house number re-painted on the curb. Cory ignored the knocking and let it fade into the background of half-sleep.
Two minutes later, pounding echoed up from the foyer into his bedroom. That’s a cop knock, he thought. Reluctantly, he got out of bed and looked out the window. Jeremy’s wife Kara was furiously banging on the door with the side of her fist. A younger woman stood beside her. It was Jeremy’s sister who recently moved in after being abandoned by her husband. Cory tapped on the window and Kara looked up. He motioned that he would be down in a minute.
For the first time, he perceived that the bedroom was noticeably warm. The all-night news station he had been listening to on his drive home last night was calling for record temperatures well above 100 degrees, so Cory turned on the air conditioner before zonking out. His home in suburban Oxnard, an hour west of Los Angeles, was about a mile from the ocean, so usually a sea breeze did the trick, but for someone who worked nights and evening swing shifts, A/C was a necessity a few weeks out of the year. This August had been a hot, humid one. He actually looked forward to the Santa Ana east winds to bring in dry air, as hot as it might be.
Cory plodded downstairs in a pair of shorts and a T-shirt he pulled from the hamper. The house was warming up. He opened the front door and was met by a blast of hot air.
“What can I do for you ladies?” he said with no charm whatsoever.
“The power went out, Jeremy had to go into work, and,” Kara paused “can we use your pool?”
“You beat down my door to ask if you can use the pool?”
“It’s really hot out here,” she replied sheepishly.
Indeed it was. The front door faced south and the sun was reflecting off the house, creating killer radiant heat. Jeremy’s sister stayed quiet, panting in the heat and fanning herself with a magazine. She can’t be but 25, he thought. She was not as attractive as Kara, but was a cute, girl-next-door type.
Cory shrugged and looked apologetic. “Of course you can use the pool. If you want to change, I’ll leave the door unlocked and you can just come in.”
“Sounds good.” Kara flashed an enigmatic smile and the two turned away.
Cory shut the front door and watched the women walk across the street. His mind fumbled for the sister’s name, finally recalling it was Melanie. There could be no mistaking the two for blood relatives. From overheard conversations he already knew that Melanie talked far more than Kara did.
Depending on whether one included the use of make-up or not in the rating, Kara was a solid ten; “stacked” as her husband said. She had to maintain her honey blonde hair that would otherwise darken up on its own. Jeremy’s wife was also as tall as Cory was and her curves certainly were not natural, as he knew beyond a doubt. His own soon-to-be-ex-wife had plenty of plastic too.
Well, Mrs. Cory Welch, Danielle, was gone and had been for months. Not a thing of hers remained in the house and that had been pretty much everything. There was a recliner in the living room in front of their “small” TV, the 44 inch that had been in the bedroom, that once sat on two sawhorses. Boxes of eighteen years of marriage were scattered around the house. Cory went back upstairs.
The warm air suddenly annoyed him and he aggressively pushed the thermostat buttons. Nothing happened. Right, the power is out. He used the toilet and turned on the shower. The flow came out in a weak, dribbling stream. Confused, he tried filling the tub, but got the same result. It was unusual that the backup generators at the pumping stations should have failed too. If he lived in any other city he would have gravity flow to help him out. Anemic as the water pressure seemed to be, at least the toilet was refilling.
Cory splashed water on his face to help clear his head of sleep. He picked up a midwatch overtime shift yesterday evening and stayed up until dawn eating Del Taco, drinking beer, and watching a Dodgers game he recorded. Over the past few months he had adjusted fairly well to being a single man—something he never had the opportunity to be. Month by month, the furnishings around the house disappeared little by little and Danielle with them. Now she had vanished almost entirely from his life, existing as little more than a name on the occasional piece of junk mail.
Downstairs, the front door opened and two sets of flip-flops smacked their way across the tile. Melanie was talking about something. Cory took some Tums tablets from the medicine cabinet, chewed them, and shut the door. He studied his reflection in the mirror, frowning at the various wrinkles around his eyes. A month ago, Kara had touched them up with makeup for Cory’s online dating profiles.