EMP Attack

"Don, that's not making love. That's just using me to get your rocks off. You don't try to make me orgasm anymore, you just want me to suck it or stick it in my ass. You haven't put your tongue near my pussy in weeks. You don't even kiss me anymore. You just get down to business."

He rolled onto his back and staring at the ceiling, replied wistfully:

"You've got 'him' for that." I was stunned and embarrassed but before I could reply he continued:

"I can hear you, you know. I can hear the bed creaking. I can hear the grunts and moans. I can see the look of contentment on your face the next morning. I can even smell the sex on you before you shower."

I didn't know what to say. He was right of course, this old house with no carpeting or drapes is like an echo chamber. The only lame thing I could think of to say was:

"I know this is tough for you Honey but it's not even twice a week. I'm yours for all the rest of the time and I want to be yours. I try not to respond but I'm human and I am subject to the same animal instincts that all humans are. We don't share whispered terms of endearment or cuddle when we sleep. It's just sex, pure and simple. We went into this arrangement with eyes wide open, not because either of us wanted to but because there were no other options."

I had just lied to my husband hoping to spare his feelings. However, the truth is that Bo and I do cuddle and there may be no terms of endearment spoken aloud but there seems to be an unspoken emotional bond growing. I can feel it in the core of my being and I can see it in his eyes. I love Don but I knew I wanted Bo in my life too. That was selfish I knew but our bedtime conversations had moved our relationship from wordless sex to something more, maybe not love, but certainly something more.

I had recently asked Bo about the picture of the woman and child on his dresser. He stared at it silently for a moment before answering.

"Laura and Kyle, my wife and son. He was only a year and a half old when they were killed. I was serving as an Army ranger in the Mid -East when a truck blew a stop sign and broad sided their car."

Shaking his head in frustration, he added:

"I only had ten days left in my enlistment, ten lousy days."

"I'm so sorry" was all I could think to say.

He just nodded, sadly.

In subsequent talks I learned that he grew up in Ohio and had worked for his father in his small construction business which supplemented their income from the family's farm. He learned some electrical, plumbing and carpentry skills but his real love was the farm. His intention had been to follow in his dad's footsteps and find a place just like this one to move his family to and build a business on the side.

Sometime after his discharge he went to an agricultural college and took courses in agriculture and animal husbandry. He found this place by accident while visiting an old Army buddy. He had saved most of his pay while overseas and was able to buy the place for cash. It needed quite a bit of work but he figured that with his solitary lifestyle and the skills that he had learned working for his dad, it would serve him well in that regard. Several years ago, a local farmer who owned the acreage adjacent to him on the south sold it to him 'on the cheap'. The farmer, who had intended to eventually cultivate it was getting up in years and gave up on the idea. When I asked him about his 'redneck' persona he just chuckled and said:

"When in Rome, as they say. For the most part folks around here are decent, hardworking people but they have a distrust of strangers. Coming from a rural Ohio area with it's own kind of rural accent, it wasn't hard to adapt." Plus a lot of my Army buddies were 'rednecks' so I already had the lingo down pretty good."

I was going to ask him more about his red headed girlfriend but decided to let sleeping dogs lie.

The refugee traffic on the road had diminished substantially which was evidenced by the fewer number of times per day that we would hear Patsy and Elvis barking along the property line.

The wind mill, as I called it, was about eighty percent complete. It was slow going because scaffolding had to be built around it as it was erected. Once the large metal blades were affixed a type of generator would have to be attached and an electric cable run the length of the structure to large storage batteries and a transformer which would store excess energy and prevent overload to the main circuit box. At least that was how it was described to me in layman' terms

What I did know is that it would make our lives a lot more comfortable, allowing increased use of the appliances and the central air conditioning. After that Bo had a plan to run PVC pipe, which he had stored on the barn rafters, up from the lake. He had pumps to use for irrigation of our little farm and would even divert a line to the house to supply non- potable water which could be used for washing or sterilized if necessary.

It was now six weeks since we had moved into our new home, which is how I now thought of it.

Don seems to have become, albeit reluctantly, more tolerant of the inevitability of our continued sleeping arrangements. However, out marriage was suffering. We communicated less and when we did it lacked our previous intimacy. We had sex less frequently and when we did it was rarely satisfying, at least to me.

Frankly I didn't know what to do about the fact that as my fondness for Bo increased, my love for Don was ebbing. Naturally, I blamed it on him and his aloofness in the bedroom as well as in our daily interaction. As a result, I looked forward to my time with Bo and the loving way that he treated our time together. Even in the privacy of his room he never used the words: Honey or Sweetheart or Baby. I was always, Keri. I guess we both thought that the use of endearing terms might morph into a situation that could endanger the status quo. However, I knew that Bo was falling in love with me and I was having a very difficult time quelling the same emotion.

It was a Tuesday and both men were finishing the structural work on the 'wind mill', as I was preparing to do laundry. I had just come downstairs and heard the dogs barking furiously. After placing the hamper by the slop sink in the mud room I went to look our of the front window since the barking had not abated. At first I didn't notice anything since there was no one walking along the road but the dogs continued to bark at something on the road and were not moving along the property line. As one of the dogs moved to the side I saw a body lying there and after further scrutiny, it appeared to be a woman.

As I slowly emerged from the house I was apprehensive to approach her alone since Bo had warned us about possible elaborate subterfuges that might be used to breach our security. However, the dogs were there to protect me so I cautiously crept my way forward.

I hushed the dogs who backed away mildly grumbling their protest. The young woman who had been on the ground was struggling to get to her feet and when I helped her up I could see that she was very pregnant. The crotch of her dirty maternity pants was soaking wet, she looked exhausted and there was a look of defeat in her eyes. Before I could ask her what the matter was she clutched her stomach, moaning in pain as she fell to her knees. I assumed she was in labor which she confirmed when the contraction subsided.

I had watched many a poor soul trudge down the road in desperate need but this was different and I was not going to abandon her. When I asked if she could make it to the house, she nodded. The dogs start barking again but when I chided them Elvis backed away quietly. Patsy, who was little more than tolerant of me, stayed close by growling her disapproval.

Inside, I laid her on the sofa and put a pillow under her head. What's your name I asked:

"Muriel, Muriel Gantry: she replied weakly. "Thanks for helping me" she added, forcing a small smile.

"Don't thank me yet, I thought. Bo is not going to be happy about this intrusion," but instead I said:

"Rest! My husband is out back, I'll get him."

Both men were on the top level of scaffolding when I yelled to them:

"Don, Bo!" Don heard me and looking down, yelled, "what"

"I need help. I need you both."

By then Bo had heard the brief exchange and when Don yelled back to give them a few minutes to tie down the blades, I screamed:

NOW! I NEED YOU BOTH RIGHT NOW!"

Bo's first thought must have been intruders because after scurrying down the ladders he drew his holstered pistol, which he wore constantly when outside. Don followed directly behind him.

"You won't need that" I said, nodding to the gun in his hand. There's a girl inside and she is in labor."

Bo looked annoyed but said nothing as he followed me to the front room. The loud grunt of pain preceded us and as we entered Muriel was half sitting up clutching her belly. Bo stood there looking askance at the scene before him, in obvious confusion. Don, on the other hand, quickly knelt by her side and, in a stern but not angry voice, asked:

"How long between contractions?"

Sweat was beading on her forehead as she grunted:

"About five minutes ----, I think".

Despite her large belly she looked very thin and drawn. Her complexion was pasty white and she had dark circles around her eyes. Her hair was matted with sweat and there was blood smears on her arms, a result of scratching the numerous mosquito bites.

"It's going to happen soon", Don said to no one in particular. We need to get her into a bed".

Don looked up at Bo questioningly and with a jerk of his head Bo indicated to put her in his bedroom. With that another contraction seized her.

"Keri, there's a blue tarp in the mud room. Get it and as many clean towels as you can. Spread the tarp on the bed and cover it with the towels. The grill is on so put a pot of water on. We'll need hot water but not boiling hot. Alcohol too if we have it. Oh yeah!,he said as an afterthought, then get your razor and some soap."

As I hurried away I heard Bo say:

"I'll go and help her."

I had retrieved the tarp and was heading to the closet for the towels as Bo pulled out a pot to fill with water. As he was going out of the back door to the grill he looked over his shoulder and said loudly:

"Does he know what the hell he's doing?"

"I hope so," was all I said in reply as I hurried along.

I knew that Don had volunteered with a fire/rescue company and was studying for his EMT certification before we met. When he took the job in Jacksonville the city had its own paid professional ambulance company so he had stopped his training.

After Bo and I had prepared the bed he and Don helped Muriel into bed. As Bo went to check on the water Don said:

"Help me get these dirty clothes off her."

Muriel was semiconscious except for when her contractions hit which seemed to be about two minutes apart. Bo had brought the water into the room but just as quickly disappeared. Don instructed me to wash her upper torso as best as possible as he took my razor and prepared to shave her vagina. She had three more contractions during that time and when we finished he took a clean sheet and put it over her chest and stomach, leaving her legs and vagina exposed.

"Hold her hand, talk to her, encourage her to push when she contracts. Her pulse is very low. She is suffering from malnourishment and this shock to her system may be more than she can handle." I was scared to death knowing this woman's life and the life of her unborn child were hanging by such a precarious thread. However, Don seemed to have the confidence of an obstetrician and that kept me from losing my nerve.

Muriel seemed to rally a little and as I encouraged her to push Don kept her knees spread and was looking intently between her legs. Eventually he said that he could see the head and looking up briefly he urged:

"Come on sweetheart, that's it, push, push as hard as you can but breathe. That's it take a breath and push again. Breathe, now push again. Harder, he demanded. That's it take a deep breath, then push. Push! Push! Almost there Honey. Deep breath and push. Push! Push! he repeated.

I was holding the mothers hand and wiping the sweat from her forehead so I couldn't see what was going on at Don's end. But after a final scream of pain Muriel collapsed unconscious. I looked at Don in terror fearing the worst but he was smiling as he gently cradled the baby in his arms and declared:

"It's a boy"

I had never been so proud of my husband than at that moment. I later learned that the only training he had was a lecture and a film on emergency child birth He expertly dealt with the umbilical cord and afterbirth and placed the baby on his unconscious mother's breast to suckle. Muriel was very weak for the next two days and she slipped in and out of consciousness a lot. Don was concerned that without nourishment she might not survive or produce the milk necessary for the baby to feed. He continued to help Bo in putting the finishing touches on the wind turbine but spent most of his free time with Muriel and the baby

During that time I was their primary care giver during the day and I prepared light meals of broth, rice goat milk and eggs in small but frequent doses. The men had fashioned a passable bassinet complete with rockers out of spare wood from the barn.

As Muriel slowly regained her strength I would help her to the toilet but she was still too weak to shower or bathe so I would wash her body with a wash cloth, brush her hair and since she had been unable to tend to her own grooming needs I even shaved her legs. I had seen naked girls in gym showers but had never touched a woman's body in such an intimate way.

She had long curly brown, almost black, hair, dark brown eyes and a pretty face. A couple of inches taller than me, with smaller breasts she must have had a nice figure despite her pregnancy. There was a sadness in her eyes but that changed to loving contentment when she held her baby. She thanked me over and over for having rescued them even though I told her that all the credit belonged to Don.

That first night Don slept in a chair near her bed and for the next two nights on the sofa just outside her open door. It had been a long exhausting day so I wasn't completely surprised when Bo moved some of his things into his, once, master bedroom that night and did not join me even though that night should have been our time together.

Most of the next day I spent taking care of Muriel and her new son. After I gave her lunch I asked her how she came to be in front of our house where I discovered her. Before she answered she wanted to know if I knew anything about the disastrous state of affairs that we were in. I explained that it was likely an EMP attack; what an EMP attack was; how it affected our lives and about Bo's ham radio network. Without mentioning the specifics of our 'arrangement' I explained how my husband and I had become Bo Johnson's guests including the incident when I was almost raped and killed

When I finished my tale she was crying and after wiping her tears and calming her down, she fell asleep. In bits and pieces throughout the rest of the days, between bouts of crying whenever she mentioned her husband, she related what happened and how she came to be where she was when I found her.

She said that she and her husband Owen lived in an old house that they rented on the outskirts of Jacksonville. Owen had left a day before the power outage to attend a one week training course in Charlotte. In order to save money, he had taken the family sedan rather than fly at the company's expense. Driving, he would be reimbursed for mileage and fuel and thereby earn some extra money. Muriel's sister also lived in Jacksonville so she would be available if Muriel needed to be driven anywhere.

She was annoyed rather than concerned the day the lights went out. But several hours later her concern grew when she attempted to call her sister. She was surprised to find that her fully charged cell phone did not work. Getting more anxious as dusk approached she went next door to Mrs Tentarro's house, an older widow who had lived there alone since her husband died, ten years earlier. Since Muriel and her husband were fairly new in the area the old woman was the only person she really knew. They had sort of taken the widow under their wing since she seemed to live a very moderate existence. Owen had taken over her yard maintenance which had long been neglected and Muriel would often prepare extra food to bring to her at mealtime.

Even though she was a feisty, quick witted woman, Angie Tentarro was riddled with arthritis and moved about with the aid of a cane. After discussing the situation with her neighbor, it was mutually agreed that Angie would stay at Muriel's house for the night, assuming that the power would be restored by morning. By the beginning of the third day without power both women were more than concerned about the length of the outage and it increased their growing anxiety.

Additionally, they had noticed the lack of vehicular traffic and the unusual number of people walking or riding bikes along the street. Muriel had approached several of the travelers but they either had no idea of what was happening or offered theories that ranged from the Apocalypse to alien invasion. The only useful information they garnered was that phones didn't work; most cars wouldn't start and that conditions in the city were becoming critical due to lack of water, sewage and food. The hospitals were closed due to lack of power and there were no police to quell the looting and rioting that had begun.

Muriel was becoming terrified. Her baby was due in less than three weeks and she had no one to help but Angie. Not knowing the extent of the catastrophe, she prayed for her husband's return. Adding to their misery the food in their refrigerators had spoiled; they had a limited supply of water remaining and were trying to deal with their own human waste issues.

Oddly enough, none of the fleeing citizens had approached their house but on the afternoon of the tenth day they were startled to hear a pounding on the front door. Neither woman dared to answer but just kept quiet and out of sight. Just when they thought the intruders may have gone off, the front door came crashing in. Muriel screamed as three scruffy looking people barged in, two men and a woman, all appearing to be in their thirties.

Angie was screaming at them to get out and leave them alone when the woman, a skinny but hard looking bitch slapped her across the face. With a menacing voice, she hissed:

"Shut the fuck up you old cunt. We'll leave when we're good and ready."

Angie had fallen onto her side and was holding her chest gasping for air. One of the men, a short, toothless, balding guy with tear drop tattoos under one eye had grabbed a fist full of Muriel's hair and was pulling her head back, holding her in place.

The other man, a tall rangy looking guy with a greasy pony tail and dark mean eyes, Yelled to the woman:

"Lizzy, check the medicine cabinet, I'll hit the kitchen. Deke, you stay here with these two."

Angie was still collapsed on the couch and her parlor was ashen. The guy holding Muriel dug his fingers into her shoulder and while still clutching her hair pushed her out of the living room towards the hallway. When they reached an open bedroom door he marched her inside. Muriel was crying and muttering pleas as he pushed her on to the bed. She sat there afraid for her life and the life of her baby. Eyes glazed with lust the man approached her as he was opening his pants. He was stroking his penis to life and then with a cruel laugh, said:

"You're too fat to fuck." Sticking his now erect cock in her face, he growled: "so if you ever want to see that kid in your belly pop out you'd better do a good job of sucking it". She knew her pleas would do no good, so she did what she had to do.