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

shaking or crying. He just looked tired.
“I was told you now wanted to negotiate,” Mark said.
The man lifted his head, and he sported a gash along his forehead that caused blood to drip down his face. Because his hands were tied behind his back, he couldn’t wipe the blood from his eyes, so he kept them shut.
“Take what supplies you want,” the bloodied man said. “Just don’t kill anybody else. We’ve already lost too many.”
Mark stared down at the man for a long moment, and he wondered just how many loved ones and friends had been killed since all this started. How many children were now orphaned? How many spouses without their significant others? How many friends dead?
“I gave you and your people a chance,” Mark said. “This is the fate that you chose for yourselves.”
The man struggled to open his eyes. “You came at us with an ultimatum of servitude or death. What kind of choices are those? You speak like a liberator but act as a dictator.”
“I don’t need a lecture from you,” Mark said, growing agitated. “Life doesn’t take kindly to the weak. You’re the one who couldn’t push us back.”
The bloodied man bowed his head. His shoulder started to tremble, and at first, Mark believed that the man was crying. When he lifted his head again, Mark retreated a step when he saw the man was smiling.
“You hear the sound of your crusade?” The bloodied man turned his head to the side and leaned forward slightly. “Listen.”
It grew quiet again, and Mark heard the sobs of the townspeople. Parents comforted children, friends whispered encouragement, and loved ones spoke of how much they cared for one another. Amidst so much fear and pain, there was still hope. Hope that they might somehow survive and see one more sunrise. It was the condition of the human spirit to always keep fighting. To find something to cling to and hold on to for dear life so that you might survive the darkness that comes for everyone.
“That’s the sound of your liberation,” the bloodied man said. “People fear what you will do to them. They fear what you will do to their family. You have won nothing here.”
“We won the fight,” Mark said, disturbed at how much this man’s words bothered him.
The bloodied man shook his head. “You spoke of rebuilding the world and allowing people to join you. But people cannot build anything that stands on foundations of fear and anger.”
“The history of empires have always been founded on bodies,” Mark answered. “I never said ours would be any different.”
The bloodied man nodded. “I see. So you’re building an empire? Then who do you serve?”
Mark frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“If you’re building an empire, then you’re building it for an emperor,” he answered. “Empires typically don’t bode well for the common man. There is no room for democracy in an empire. Because in an empire, the masses serve only one.”
It wasn’t just the man’s words that frightened Mark, but how they deeply penetrated his thoughts and challenged his beliefs. It was like hearing somebody talk of science and reason after decades of being lost in the dark ages. Mark imagined that the Renaissance was something like what he was feeling right now. A bit of light was shining through a crack in the door that had been closed longer than he could remember. And now, his curiosity was pulling him toward that light to see what else he could find.
“Sir,” the scout said. “We need to finish this.”
Mark turned and looked back down at the man who still couldn’t open his eyes. He knelt in front of the man and then wiped the blood from his eyes. The man blinked repeatedly, and once he could finally see, Mark waited until the man was focused on him.
“You’re not what I thought you’d look like,” the man said.
“I never am,” Mark replied. “You think you might understand what we are, but I can assure you that you don’t. This country has been plagued with sickness, and we are the cure.”
“I wouldn’t call this a cure,” the bloodied man said. “Maybe genocide or murder.”
Mark’s anger boiled over as he reached for his sidearm. He stood and aimed the pistol down at the man. “You speak like a man who was born on his knees, and now you will die on your knees.”
“No,” he said. “I was born a free man, in a free country, and that’s exactly how I’ll go.” He struggled, wiggling from side to side, and then finally stood on a pair of shaking legs. “I’ll die on my feet, in my hometown, in my country. Because you haven’t won this war yet. And if this is the way that you’re treating the folks you come across, I can promise you that you will never win this fight.”
Ben’s voice was now screaming in Mark’s head. And as Mark raised the pistol and aimed it at the man’s head, he felt a cold sense of dread overtake his senses. Because deep down, he knew this man was right. No matter how much death and destruction they brought upon the country, they could not eradicate everything by force. If they couldn’t win the hearts of the people they wished to build a new country for, then there was no hope for their movement to gain momentum. And if they couldn’t have people in their country, then what the hell were they fighting for?
“You still have a choice,” the bloodied man said.
“So do you,” Mark said.
The man nodded and then tilted his chin upward and straightened his posture. He wasn’t going to change his mind, but Mark suddenly had a feeling that he might be changing his own.
“Do it,” the scout said, growing angry behind Mark. “What are you waiting for? Just smoke the damn bastard.”
Mark placed his finger on the trigger, but he felt his arm beginning to shake. He knew what would happen if he didn’t pull the trigger. The