EMP Post-Apocalyptic Survival | Book 4 | A Day To Fight [EMP Survival In A Powerless World]

a bag over his head, escorted by two of their fighters. The prisoner was dropped to his knees next to the supreme leader.
Mark and the rest of the men in the room winced from the man’s stench. It was a mixture of sour and rot, like the dead animals Mark had seen left on the side of the road when he had lived in the mountains. He recalled a deer that had been hit by a car. Smaller critters had eaten away at the animal’s belly, leaving nothing but legs and ribs. Ants crawled around the eyes and the tongue, slowly devouring the tender flesh. And as gruesome as the site was, it was the smell that stuck with Mark—the same kind of smell that was here now.
The smell of death.
“Our work is not easy,” the supreme leader said, still addressing the room while everybody else stared at the shivering man with the bag over his head. “The path ahead is riddled with pitfalls and traps, sirens luring us to the rocky shoals.”
The supreme leader reached over and placed his hand on the top of the man’s head.
“This was one of our men,” the supreme leader said. “I speak in the past tense because he is no longer one of us. He had forsaken the vows he took to see our cause through to the end.” The supreme leader turned toward the traitor. “There are consequences for every action we take. And there are consequences for the secrets he has told our enemy.”
The room became unsettled. Because of their relatively small size, The New Order relied heavily on deception as their fighting tactic. And so far, it had been extremely successful.
“This traitor gave up the location of our command center in Johnson City,” the supreme leader said. “And he has given up code we’ve been using as communication across the country.”
Another wave of anxious murmurs rippled through the room. They had used Arabic as their code language to confuse the military that the EMP attack had been made by foreign terrorists. And if the military knew their command center, it wouldn’t be long before they mobilized for an attack.
“Calm yourselves, men,” the supreme leader said. “This was something I had foreseen. What this traitor hadn’t realized was that I had known of his breach in our trust for weeks and had been giving him false intelligence. And through my conviction, I have managed to create an opportunity for us.” He brandished a knife and then held it to the man’s throat. “I take no pleasure in killing a brother. But there must be consequences if we lose our way. It is imperative we retain our conviction, till our last man standing.” He looked at the prisoner, who was still trembling. “You will not be the last man.” He looked back to the men in the room. “But one of you will be. And if that day comes, then I want you to remember this day.”
The supreme leader sliced the man’s throat, and blood cascaded down the front of his shirt, soaking him in crimson. The supreme leader kept hold of the man’s head until the last bits of life had drained from him and then let him collapse onto the floor.
Even after the man had died, the bag over his head was never removed. And all Mark could think about when he stared at the dead man was picturing himself underneath it.
“Remember this day, gentlemen,” the supreme leader said. “We will all die. But we can make sure our deaths are more honorable than a traitor’s death.” He paused for a moment, letting his words marinate, and then set down the knife and proceeded with their business as if nothing had happened.
“I want our regional updates,” the supreme leader said.
Tom Watts, an image of Aerian perfection, which looked harrowing in the flickering shadows of the candlelight, produced a map that showed where they had gathered their forces and other resources.
“The Northeast, Midwest, and Southeast have all reported successful missions,” Tom said. “Food, water, and medical resources have been gathered and stored with our men. And local infrastructure integral to the metropolitan areas has been destroyed. However, we’re still having trouble along the West Coast, but we anticipated a high level of resistance due to the number of military installations in California.”
The New Order had units in every state across the country, and regional commanders were responsible for securing as many resources and destroying as much infrastructure as possible in order to cripple the local populations and render any rebuilding efforts difficult or impossible. Whoever said not to kick a dog when it was down wasn’t in the business of winning wars.
The supreme leader studied the map on the small table for a few minutes and then tapped his finger on the famous Camp Lejeune.
“The military has mobilized their marines,” the supreme leader said. “They’re set to march west and start re-establishing order in the major cities in the state, and they are set to meet forces coming from bases stationed in Arkansas and northern Alabama. And they are to meet here, in Asheville.”
Mark shifted uneasily as he stared at the map, not because of the enemy forces gathering around them but because of a small town outside of Asheville. It was where he had grown up and where he had visited recently on a mission for the supreme leader.
“It’s a pincer move,” Vincent Delgado said, who was their lead military strategist, and then he looked up from the map and to the supreme leader with his catlike eyes. His entire demeanor was catlike, sanguine at first, but ready to strike at a moment’s notice. “You fed the traitor information because you wanted the military to mobilize these troops?”
“The forces from the west are already on the move and are set to arrive in Asheville by today,” the supreme leader said. “But they’re simply setting up a command post, and the rest of the forces from Camp Lejeune are meeting them