Stand Your Ground: A Post Apocalyptic/Dystopian Survival Fiction Series (American Song Series)

by Chris Pike

  May reached for me and yanked me into the railcar where I tumbled onto the floor, coming to rest on my back. For a moment I lay still to get my wits about me and let my eyes acclimate to the darkened railcar. Reaching up, I pushed errant strands of hair out of my face.

  “Are you okay?” May asked.

  “I think so.”

  “You’re bleeding.”

  “I am?”

  “Yes. Your face,” she said. “You have streaks of blood on your forehead.”

  I touched my face then looked at my hands, stained with my blood. A wave of panic gripped me.

  I can’t be hurt. I have to be okay.

  “Let me help you,” she said, gently touching my face. “I don’t see any cuts. Where are you hurt? Could it be your scalp? Let me look.”

  May pushed around my hair, searching for a gash, her delicate hands palpating my scalp. “There’s nothing there.”

  I glanced at my hands. My fingernails had created impressions on the fleshy sides of my thumbs, and an inch gash where a trickle of blood oozed out with every heartbeat. “I didn’t even feel this. Oh, wait. The ladder. There must have been a ragged edge or something. I guess I was holding onto the ladder so hard I dug my nails into my skin.”

  May unzipped her backpack, took out a bottle of water, and splashed some on my hands. “You don’t want to get an infection. Try to keep your hands clean if you can.”

  “I don’t have any bandages,” I said.

  A strange feeling overcame me and a shiver went up my spine. It was the same feeling I had several days ago. I scanned the interior of the railcar and it was then I discovered May and I weren’t alone.

  Sitting in the shadows of the car were three people, men more than likely from the outline of their bodies and short cropped hair. The patterned sunlight flashed across one of them, and I got a glimpse of a beard. I took a peek at May. She was as still as a baby fawn faced with danger.

  Rising, I stepped in front of her to protect her.

  “I don’t have a bandage either,” one of the men said with a slow southern drawl.

  I couldn’t see his face, or the man’s next to him.

  “But I do have a clean white T-shirt. I can make a bandage for you,” he said.

  He took a step from the shadows. He was tall, a few years older than me, and I didn’t get any bad vibes from him. Still, it paid to be cautious.

  “You don’t have to,” I said, eyeing him over the best I could, which wasn’t very good at all, considering the shadows, the moving train, and the deafening noise. Then I realized he and his friend had been watching us the entire time, not even lifting a finger. I shot a death stare at them, my eyes boring into his friend sitting in the shadows.

  “Ella?”

  I recognized the voice. “Tommy? Is that you?”

  “Yeah, it’s me.” He emerged from the shadows and dusted off his pants.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I was going to ask you the same question.”

  “May and I are leaving the city.”

  “So am I.”

  “How did you think about the train?” I asked.

  “The train report I did. Remember? We learned all about the schedule, what it carries, and—”

  “I remember now. The one I helped you with.”

  “I got an A.”

  “You’ve been there the entire time and didn’t help us?” My gaze bounced from Tommy to, to… The same height, facial structure, hair color, body build. “That’s your older brother, right?”

  “Yeah, Kyle.”

  “Why didn’t you help us?” My voice was tight with anger.

  “We weren’t sure who you were, and we weren’t about to put our lives in danger for strangers. Besides, you looked quite capable,” he said.

  “We could have been hurt or killed.”

  Kyle cut in. “You weren’t, so let me make you a bandage. Your friend—”

  “She’s my sister.”

  “Okay, your sister is right about your hand. You don’t want it to get infected.”

  My eyes bounced around, my thoughts a jumble of questions and possible solutions.

  Kyle took a step towards me and squeezed my arm. I looked up at him, realizing he was a few inches taller than me. I had never been this close to a guy who I had to look up to.

  “You’re the girl who’s been helping Tommy with homework, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I, uh, tutor him at school.” I glanced away, afraid to make eye contact, afraid our arrangement was no longer a secret.

  “More like doing it for him. You haven’t been doing him any favors by doing his homework.”

  “So? What does it matter to you?” I glanced up, defying him with a cold look.

  Kyle whispered, “He was using you, like he does with everybody.”

  “Thanks a lot, big brother,” Tommy cut in. “You’ve always had it easy when it comes to school.”

  “It’s called studying. You should try it sometime.”

  “Whatever. I’m outta here. I’m going to check what else is on this train.”

  Once Tommy was out of earshot, I said, “That wasn’t very productive.”

  “He always runs away from the truth or when he’s challenged,” Kyle said. He unzipped his backpack and I got a good look at what he had. Compress and clotting gauze, a tourniquet, scissors, ace wrapping, an IV kit, saline solution.”

  “What’s all that for? Do you plan to help people?”

  He gave me a cold look. “It’s for me. In case I’m bleeding out, I’ll need an IV.”

  His demeanor and matter-of-fact response startled me. On the other hand, he was being truthful. No pretenses or false promises. I appreciated his candor.

  Kyle removed a white T-shirt. Using his teeth, he ripped the bottom seam out and tore a piece of white fabric into one strip, long enough to wrap several times around my hand. “Let me see your hand. I’m a medic. You don’t want your hand to get infected, and you also need a couple of stitches. If you want me to, I can stitch it for you.”

  “You can?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Can you deaden the pain?” I asked tentatively.

  Kyle shook his head. “No can do. You’ll have to grit your teeth. It’s gonna hurt.”

  I reluctantly held out my hand.

  “Have you had a tetanus shot lately?” Kyle asked as he donned a pair of gloves. He inspected my hand then poured disinfectant on it.

  “I think so.”

  “Within the last ten years?”

  “Probably.”

  “Good,” he said. “Now hold still.”

  Kyle let my hand air dry, and holding a needle, he said, “This will sting.”

  He pushed the needle through my skin. “Oh my God!” I gritted my teeth and looked away. “Sting is an understatement.”

  “Breathe,” he said. “Concentrate on your breathing.”

  “How much longer?”

  “Hold on. I’m almost done.”

  I was so tense my shoulders were up to my ears. As soon as he said, “I’m finished,” I relaxed a bit.

  Kyle squeezed antibacterial ointment from a tube, and using his pinkie, smoothed it over the cut. He wrapped my hand, taking care not to make the bandage too tight. When he got to the end, he had already torn the fabric down the middle so he could tie it off. I watched what he did in case I ever needed to do the same for anyone.

  Chapter 8

  Central Texas

  Fifty Years in the Future

  I was sitting in the library with my hands in my lap, and I realized I’d been running my fingers over the old scars on the fleshy pad of my thumb on my left hand. I glanced at the rough scars, thin, crescent-shaped impressions made when I had dug my nails into my skin. In an odd way, it reminded me of my first meeting with Kyle, and how he helped me.

  My hands were wrinkled and lined, and looked every bit of their nearly seventy years. They had witnessed the fall of civilization, the enduring hunger, and the p
ain of living. They had experienced the suffocating pain of losing a loved one, and the despair when I’d put a gun to my head to end it all. They had seen the rebuilding of a society, not the way it was, but into something new. They had also witnessed the victorious moments of my life.

  It was confusing to me: the past segueing into the present so easily, as if it never existed, like sea foam made from waves crashing to shore and evaporating. Only my memories are left of that time, and frankly some of them were so appalling I had to file them far away, deep in the recesses of my mind, safe under lock and key so I wouldn’t go crazy.

  Opening the lock at Theodore’s insistence has forced me to revisit places I don’t want to ever again.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “For what?”

  “For calling you Theodore. It’s so formal. I much prefer Teddy. You remind me of a young Teddy Roosevelt.”

  “I do?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you didn’t call me Theodore. In fact, you haven’t said anything for a while,” he said, scratching his head. “I’ve been sitting here looking at you, letting you remember. You’ve been miles away, reliving your past. It must be extremely difficult.”

  I sat back, studying him, the way his glasses sat on the crook of his nose, the angle of his jaw when clenched, the furrowed brow. He’s so young, yet I was younger when I had to leave home.

  “Please don’t pity me,” I said.

  He shook his head. “I don’t pity you one bit. Your story is captivating. Mesmerizing, in fact. I’ve never spoken with anyone who witnessed it firsthand. You’re making history right now, Ella. Your story will be read by generations to come, and you’ll live forever.”

  “I don’t want to live forever.”

  “But your story will,” Teddy said softly. “The things you must have seen are beyond my comprehension. Your will to survive and to persevere against hardships is difficult for me to wrap my mind around.”

  For a moment, it was unclear where I was, and who exactly Teddy was. He looked familiar, the way his jawline clenched at my previous scolding. His eyes too. They were educated eyes, ones which pored over books, digesting every word. He had studied the world. Perhaps not experienced it, but studied it. I guess he had been hiding in the comforts of musty old books, sitting on the floor in the darkened stacks where it was quiet and the shadows were short. It was never safe where there were shadows.

  “You haven’t experienced life, have you, Teddy?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’ve hidden yourself away from the world, haven’t you?”

  “I have no idea what you are talking about.” Teddy glanced away, straightened his tie, and pushed it tight against his Adam’s apple. He ran his hand over his forehead, brushing his hair away from his forehead, shifting his weight in the chair.

  “You’re avoiding my question.”

  “No I’m not,” he said indignantly.

  “You’ve used books to hide from the world. It’s okay if you have. I would have done the same given the chance. I had studied sciences in high school, devoured the classics, and had planned to go to college to study art. I wound up having to fight to survive instead.”

  “It’s the kind of education you can’t learn from reading a book.”

  My gaze traveled past him, through the walls of the library, out onto the road and beyond.

  My breath came in spurts and my heart was beating fast. I swallowed, my thoughts taking me back to the train and to Kyle and May.

  It was loud. It was warm. My hair was blowing around from the wind rushing into the car.

  I was sitting with my back against the wall; May had rested her head in my lap. I smoothed down her hair, stroking her face. My little sister who had the will and strength to hop a moving train was fast asleep, and now I was doing what our mother would do to comfort us.

  My eyelids were heavy, and I blinked them closed, my body keeping rhythm to the train’s movements.

  The steady thumping of the wheels on the tracks, the railcars thumping and pitching, grinding, the sound of metal on metal had dulled my senses to the point of being so fatigued I couldn’t keep my eyes open. Soon I drifted to sleep.

  Chapter 9

  West of Houston, Texas

  Current Day

  Groggy, I yawned and jerked my head up. I had been sleeping awkwardly, like an airplane traveler sitting in a cramped seat. I blinked my eyes open and became aware of the sound of the train. It was still moving and bouncing along the tracks past swaying trees, pastures fenced by barbed wire, livestock, abandoned cars and buses. A lone man walked along the road and paused when the train rumbled by. It was unclear exactly how long I had been sleeping, or how far the train had traveled. I caught a glimpse of a highway sign indicating Waco was still miles away. I hadn’t realized how tired I was.

  Kyle was sleeping, and I wasn’t sure where Tommy had disappeared to.

  My body was sore from sitting propped up with my back against a wall, and I felt the presence of someone close. I sat up bolt straight and in the process knocked May off my legs. She rolled onto her back. A man, the one who had said nothing when Kyle bandaged my hand, was trying to rip my backpack apart.

  “Hey! What are you doing?” I said. When I tried to stand, he pushed me back down.

  “Get away from us!” May shouted. “You have no right to—”

  “I have every right to,” he growled.

  May shrank back away from him. She was no match for the man who looked like he hadn’t bathed in weeks. His clothes were baggy, and it crossed my mind he could be hiding weapons under those clothes. Our eyes met, and I saw a vacant and dull soul, the kind of desperation a man has when he has nothing to lose.

  I put my arm out to keep May behind me, then slid my hand under my shirt to reach for my .357.

  It was gone.

  “Is this what you’re looking for?” the man asked, pulling the pistol from his waistband. “You’re too trusting. Next time you and your pretty little sister should take turns staying awake.”

  He licked his lips, eyeing May in a way that made me cringe.

  Anger boiled up in me, the same anger I had when an older and bigger bully picked on me as a kid.

  With lightning fast speed, I kicked him with all my strength in the soft flesh of his groin. He grunted and doubled over, shaking off what should have disabled him. He must be jacked up on drugs.

  His eyes blazed in anger, and he hissed, “I’ll teach you.”

  In a split second, I gauged my chances of jumping uninjured out of the train. One glance told me it would be a suicide jump onto rocks and other debris lining the tracks, and I couldn’t leave May to be brutalized by this man.

  Kyle appeared out of the shadows, lowered his head, and charged the man, shoving his shoulder to the man’s back. The .357 flew out of the man’s hand and clattered against the wall.

  Kyle bear hugged the man and they fell to the floor, rolling and kicking, a blur of two thrashing bodies. Kyle landed a punch to the man’s jaw, his head snapped to the side, and I flinched at the sickening crack, like a tree branch snapping.

  Kyle scooted away from the man.

  For a few seconds, the man flailed around on the floor, his leg twitching, then he expelled a big breath and his body went limp. Satisfied he was probably not a threat any longer, I let out a breath I had been holding. I wasn’t trembling, yet I had never been involved in a violent fight where lives were at stake. It was frightening to think this would be the new way of the world.

  Kyle stumbled to a wall and propped himself against it. He stood panting, his face flushed, and sweat beaded his forehead.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  He blinked and nodded. “I’m good. Give me a moment.” He leaned over and put his hands on his knees, sucking in air.

  “Where’s Tommy?”

  Kyle shrugged.

  I glanced at May, who was sitting in the corner, her hands wrapped around her knees, her eyes blank like
she was in shock. She rocked, mumbling incoherently. Tommy was nowhere in sight.

  Without making a sound, the man shot up, unfettered by the pain of what I thought was a fractured jaw dulled by a drug-induced high. He reached around his back and pulled a knife, the kind from an upscale steak restaurant.

  In a blink of an eye, he crouched and lunged for Kyle, holding the knife low in front of him.

  My adrenaline went from zero to sixty in a millisecond.

  I didn’t think or postulate, I acted to try to protect Kyle, who had his head bowed and was unaware of the impending attack.

  I took one big step and shoved the man as hard as I could, but the force of his charge was far beyond my ability to stop him. By using every ounce of my strength, I distracted the man long enough for Kyle to realize what was happening.

  The man was strong, and my reward for stepping in was being slammed against the railcar’s wall so hard I crumpled to the floor like a discarded rag doll.

  The man lunged again at Kyle, who shifted his body to the side and the man blindly swiped at air. Kyle levered his arm in front of him to take the brunt of the cut. The knife sliced open Kyle’s left forearm, and blood stained his shirt. Keeping his injured left arm between him and his attacker, using his arm as a shield, Kyle continued blocking thrusts.

  The .357 was feet away from me, so in one leap I stretched my body and retrieved the revolver.

  I brought it up and sighted the man.

  He was so quick, and with Kyle in the middle of the fray, I wasn’t confident enough I could hit the mark.

  This was completely different than taking my time at the shooting range, where the target stayed still and wasn’t armed, or a carefully choreographed movie scene. This was real life with real time action, and Kyle’s and the man’s movements undulated, switching sides. As if the man knew I had the gun, he kept Kyle between him and me.

  The man stepped back and mock charged Kyle, sputtered a laugh, then twirled the knife in his hand for intimidation.