After the Fall (Book 1): Jason's Tale

by David E. Nees

  They’ve taken her, she’s alive! Then his face clouded as he thought about how they might treat her. The pantry was emptied. The basement where Judy kept the canned food had been discovered and stripped. The liquor cabinet, Sam’s pride, was empty. Jason could not find any other sign of Judy in the house. He took a sheet from the bedroom and covered Sam.

  I’ll find her, Sam. I’ll get her back and make them pay for…this. He couldn’t find a word to describe it.

  He had to try to catch up to them. How far had they gone? His mind was filled with grim thoughts of what was coming. He went to the well in the yard and pumped cold water over his head, took a long drink and shouldered his rifle. Then he set off at a trot on the road going south.

  Jason ran for about an hour when he saw smoke ahead. He veered off the road and worked his way through the fields and hedge rows, moving more carefully as he got closer. Finally he stopped and lay down at the edge of an overgrown field. He was about 60 yards from the encampment, located in the yard of a partially burned farmhouse. Tents were spread around the yard. Some pickups and jeeps were parked in the grass, interspersed with a few motorcycles; all were older models that the gang had gotten running. The farm house still stood. The roof was intact. People—mostly men—were moving in and out of the house. Fires were being set in the yard and food being cooked. On the porch were some of the spoils from Sam and Judy’s house. From the looks of it, the group was getting ready to party and feast, enjoying what they had stolen from Sam and Judy.

  Evening approached and Jason lay in his hide. Got to wait till dark. He had not located Judy. He hoped she was not in the house because he couldn’t see how he could get her out with either of them surviving.

  The drinking started. The sounds grew louder as more alcohol was consumed. Soon the scene became raucous and violent. Drunken scuffles broke out amongst the men. Jason heard the females scream as the men manhandled them. The screams and squeals became a background to the overall din of the encampment. Through his glasses, Jason finally located a tent at the edge of the yard with men steadily going in and out. The din continued well into the evening until around midnight when it started to gradually quiet down.

  Over the next two hours, Jason slowly crawled through the high grass in the field. The dark hid his matted trail. He went carefully, not wanting to make his move until the group drank itself to sleep. He aimed for the tent where he had seen men going in and out, hoping Judy might be there and hoping at the same time that she wasn’t. The reality, he guessed, was probably much worse. Even at 50, Judy was not an unattractive woman, and who knew what code of conduct ruled this group? The violence he had seen in the Miller’s house was the equal of what he had read about in medieval times; even the equal of the barbarians who brought down the Roman Empire. They thought cruelty and violence towards the enemy was a virtue.

  Jason reached the tent and listened for some time. The only sound he heard was a low moaning and whimpering. Very slowly he cut a small opening in the back of the tent. He put his eye to the small slit and tried to see inside. In the tent’s darkness he could make out one small figure on one side, Judy? There was another, larger figure lying on the other side. Slowly Jason started to slice the tent open. His heart was racing and his breathing became ragged. He stopped to calm his breathing lest it became too loud.

  Be calm. Breathe steady.

  He repeated this mantra over and over in his mind. When the figures in the tent did not move, he steadied himself and finished cutting the tent open. Then he slowly worked his way through the opening. As he was pulling himself through, the sleeping figure groggily mumbled something, hearing the brush of clothing and struggling to wake up. Without hesitation, Jason thrust his body over the man covering his mouth with one hand and with the other, shoved his knife into the man’s neck. He jerked and flopped instinctively trying to get away from the attack. Jason worked the knife back and forth, slashing and cutting the life out of him. After a short struggle there was a gurgling sound and he went limp. Jason held on for a few seconds more and then pulled back; the man was dead. He turned quickly to other figure,

  “Judy, is that you?” he whispered.

  “Please, no,” came her weak reply.

  “It’s me, Jason,” he said as he went over to her, listening for sounds outside of the tent. All was quiet. Judy had a blanket thrown over her; under it she was naked and bound.

  “Jason” she whispered, “it’s you?”

  “Don’t talk. I’m getting you out of here.” He whispered.

  “They raped me. I hurt…I’m hurt…inside.”

  “Shhh. I’ll get you out.”

  He cut her bonds. He could feel the cuts and bruising on her wrists and ankles from the ropes. He found a shirt and put it over her. Taking the blanket, he helped Judy crawl through the opening in the tent. Outside, Jason had Judy lie on the blanket which he dragged behind him as he crawled back along his path. This time he went faster and with less caution, taking a chance that everyone was asleep.

  On reaching the tree line, Jason wrapped Judy in the blanket and picked her up in his arms.

  “Hold on, it will be a bumpy trip. I’ve got to get us away from here as fast as possible.”

  “Don’t let them catch us. They hurt me,” Judy said again. “Over and over, they wouldn’t stop.”

  Then she started moaning. Jason gritted his teeth against her sounds of pain and set out. It was hard going, in spite of Judy’s not being very big. Jason drove himself on and on, stopping only to adjust how he carried her; in his arms, piggy back style and over his shoulders. But always he kept moving, whether a walk, a shuffle or a slow jog, he would not stop.

  Two hours later they arrived at the farm house. He gently laid Judy down in the yard and went into the barn to retrieve a two wheeled cart he had seen. Next he ran into the house and collected pillows and blankets. He made a padded bed in the cart and set Judy in it. Jason knew she had been bleeding during the past two hours while he carried her. He laid her in the cart and put a pillow between her legs. He told her to push it up tight to stem the bleeding. Judy was so weak that Jason had to help. Apologizing for the bumpiness, he told her he was going to take her to his camp where the gang would not be able to find them.

  “I’ll keep you safe, Judy. They won’t hurt you again.”

  “Sam?” she asked. “They shot him over and over. They laughed and shot him, again and again.” Then she collapsed in the cart and Jason set out, now running, towing the cart behind him. He left muddy footprints on the road, but he didn’t care.

  I hope they come after me, he thought, grimly. His mind was growing darker as he ran on, hearing Judy’s moaning in the cart, getting weaker and weaker.

  He turned up the bark road, running, shuffling, stumbling, not stopping. As the grade got steeper, his legs got heavier, but he kept going. It was like the worst army training run he had ever experienced. His lungs were on fire, his breath came in ragged gasps and still he went on, even at a shuffle. He couldn’t stop until he got to his camp and tended to Judy. Her soft cries drove him on and on. At last he arrived. His camp was on top of the steep bank that had been created when a flat area or ‘bench’ was cut into the hillside to make the narrow shelf for the road bed.

  Jason laid Judy gently down on the blankets from the cart. As he lifted her, he felt how wet the pillow was from her blood. He wrapped Judy in the extra blankets she had given him the day before. Their worlds had disintegrated since that bittersweet goodbye. He roused Judy enough to get her to drink some water.

  “Don’t let me go,” she said. “Hold me.” He took her in his arms, wrapped tight in the blankets. “They hurt me deep inside,” she mumbled. “I’m hurt bad.”

  “You’ll be all right. I’ll take care of you”.

  “I’m cold,” she said softly. She was shivering. Jason pulled his extra parka out of his pack with one hand and draped it over her while he kept her tight in his arms. Gently he rocked back and forth. The shivering decreased a
nd she seemed to relax more.

  “Don’t leave me up here in the hills…for the animals.” He could barely hear her voice.

  “I won’t leave you, you’ll be okay, you’re going to be okay,” he said, he hoped, with conviction. “I’ll take care of you.”

  “Sam…Sam,” she said. “Why did they have to keep shooting Sam?” Jason just kept rocking her gently. Judy slipped into unconsciousness. He kept holding her and rocking her for the next two hours as her life slowly slipped away.

  Chapter 10

  The dark of the night gave way to a dim blue pre-dawn sky. The sun seemed reluctant to light this sad day. With tears in his eyes, in the half light, Jason gently carried Judy to a rock outcropping and nestled her body there. He sat down and cried, for Judy, for Sam, for Maggie, for himself and for all the people he knew who had lost their lives from the EMP attack. He cried for the loss of civil society in Hillsboro and for shooting people in ambush. And when he had cried all the tears he could cry, his mind went cold and hard. He gathered his gear and stashed it in the rocks near where he had laid Judy. He drank some water and ate some food. Next he checked his rifle, the extra magazines, and his 9mm. Then he set up his firing positions; one forward, with two retreat positions along the top of the bank cut into the hillside. They covered the road and anyone climbing up the slope. His last position would be in the rocks with Judy.

  He expected the gang to come after him, or least a part of them. He had killed one member and taken their captive; they could not let his actions pass without a response. This would be a fight to the death. Jason was not going anywhere, and he was going to take out as many as he could. His anger dissolved any reservations about killing. If he was fortunate, he would survive, but he didn’t care if the outcome was his death. He was not going to be stupid—no suicide charges—he was going to be methodical. Take the sniper’s approach. As he readied himself, the brightening day did not disperse the darkness in Jason’s heart and mind. Fatigue left him as anger energized his body.

  Come on, you can track me, you can find me. Come on and taste my vengeance.

  Within an hour of it getting light, Jason heard motors in the distance. They’ll go to the farmhouse first then they’ll find my tracks. Don’t miss the trail. I’m waiting for you.

  Jason was about fifty yards from the switchback where he had first spied the attack on Sam and Judy. As he waited, Jason thought about his fascination with stalking, even as a kid. He would spend hours with friends or by himself in the woods playing Indians. He learned to walk quietly on the leaf bed of the forest. With a pretend rifle, he would try to sneak up on prey. When he got old enough to hunt by himself, he practiced the same technique.

  He joined the army after high school. His marksmanship skills soon came to the attention of his officers, who encouraged him to try out for sniper school. There his childhood skills were developed until Jason became a deadly sniper. He was going to use all his skills today to wreak havoc on those who had violated Sam and Judy.

  The gang found the road and headed up into the mountains towards Jason. His plan was simple. Stop the trucks by shooting the lead driver, keep shooting as many as possible, do not let them get organized and pinpoint his location. If he was pinned down he would crawl back to his next shooting position and start over until they pinned him down again. He could repeat the pattern one more time. He had some hollow point ammunition for his rifle which he loaded into his magazines. He loaded four 20 round magazines, one in the rifle and three in his jacket. At the relatively short distance from which he was shooting, Jason needed only to hit a target and the person would go down.

  The morning air was cool and still, but Jason began sweating as adrenalin surged through him. The rumble of the engines grew closer.

  Sounds like two trucks. Probably ten to twelve men.

  He waited until both trucks had negotiated the switchback then opened fire on the lead truck. The first shot went through the windshield and hit the driver. Jason quickly shot the second truck’s driver as well. Men began jumping out of the back. Jason shot as fast as he could acquire a target. The lead truck rolled back against the other and they jammed in the trail. The gang members hid behind the trucks searching for the source of the shooting.

  The firing from the trucks was wild and not well aimed. Jason would see a rifle, often an AK47 or an AR15 variant, just held up over the fender and fired in his general direction. Still some of the bullets began to whistle close by. When he saw a rifle above the bed of one of the pickups, Jason shot, rapid fire, at the wall of the bed, hoping to penetrate the sheet metal and hit the shooter. Occasionally he heard a scream indicating he was successful. After a few minutes, Jason slowed his rate of fire to ensure he didn’t overheat the barrel of his rifle. One of the men made a run for the slope on Jason’s side of the road. His shot caught him in the hip, twisting him to the ground. His rifle flung out of his hands as he landed screaming in pain. He tried to crawl back to cover. Jason ignored him. Two more made it to the base of the slope where they were protected from Jason’s fire.

  Can’t let any more get up against the cliff.

  He paused to replace his magazine. One of the men crawled up over the cliff, stood up and started firing in his direction. Jason, lying in a prone position, quickly sighted him and shot him in the chest. The force of the shot knocked him backwards to the ground with his rifle flying away from him. The next man peered cautiously over the lip while Jason was still aiming in that direction. Jason’s shot hit him in the face. The back of his head exploded and he toppled back down the cliff.

  Some of the gang moved out from the pickups to the woods to their right, down-slope and across the road from Jason. They were now firing from tree cover and had zeroed in on his location. Jason backed away from the lip of the cliff and quickly crawled back to his second firing position. From this new position, he could see up against the cliff on his side and confirm that no one was attempting to climb it. There were still some men back at the pickups, the rest were in the woods on the other side. Jason waited, motionless with his rifle at ready. He could hear some discussion coming from the woods but could not make out what was being said.

  Patience, he who moves first gets killed.

  He waited. Sure enough a figure darted from one tree to another nearby, heading in his direction. The move was too quick for Jason to get off a shot. He waited. He did not want to expose his new position. The next tree was farther away. Patience.

  Then gunfire erupted from the other trees—cover fire! Jason kept his sights on the gap between the trees. The figure leapt out, crouching and running; Jason squeezed off three rapid shots, the last caught the man in the leg just as he reached the tree. He was knocked down from the shot but managed to get behind the tree. The gunfire now turned his way, but the shooters still did not have a good fix on him. Jason saw movement in the brush as one of the shooters attempted to get into a better position. He fired a burst of rounds into the brush and heard screams. A third gunman in the woods melted back further into the trees and headed for trucks.

  While Jason was concentrating on the gunmen in the woods, two men back at the pickups crawled into the cab of the rearmost truck and got it started. They backed it up in a flurry of dirt. Jason fired off some rounds at the retreating vehicle, but then stopped. He did not want to waste ammunition. The man in the woods screamed for the truck, running through the trees to intercept it as it headed down the mountain.

  Jason rolled over on his back; it was over. He was drenched in sweat. He had fired forty-five to fifty rounds; his rifle was very hot. He could hear the sounds of the wounded at the truck and in the road. He breathed deeply, waiting for his heart to stop racing. The acrid smell of gunpowder floated in the air.

  Gathering himself together, he crawled back from the edge of the cliff. Got to find that guy in the woods. He’s shot in the leg but still dangerous.

  Jason crawled away from the battle, parallel to the road, until it wound around the shoulder of the slope
, giving him cover. He dropped down onto the road and, after listening for some time, took a deep breath and sprinted across it, diving into the ditch on the other side. Protecting his rifle from the ground meant Jason had to land on his forearms when diving for cover.

  He grunted loudly as he hit the hard dirt. “Damn, that hurts.”

  Better skinned up than shot.

  Now that the main battle was over and Jason’s rage spent, he realized he wanted to live and was determined to not to get killed by being careless. He put all his woodsman skills to work as he crept and crawled towards the shooter. After gaining the downhill side of the road, he moved further downhill, deeper into the woods, heading back towards the wounded man. It was not the most advantageous position—down slope from your enemy—but he guessed the shooter would expect him to approach closer to the road. He had certainly heard Jason cross the road, whether or not he had seen him. Jason was banking on the injured man not being able to keep silent.

  As he got closer to where he thought the man was hiding, he moved ever more slowly. What he learned as a young boy playing in the woods was that patience won out. Do not move unless you know it will be completely silent and you cannot be seen from a forward position. That lesson paid off as he heard a stifled groan and a rustle. The injured man adjusted his position and the pain caused him to make a sound. Now Jason had an approximate fix on the enemy. He was forward and to his right, close to the road.

  He adjusted his position to look uphill towards the road. He waited and watched; there would be more sounds, he was sure. Time was not on the other man’s side. After five minutes of waiting, as expected, he heard, and this time saw movement, as the man adjusted his position again. He was aiming past Jason, looking closer to the road. Slowly, slowly Jason brought his rifle to bear on the target. It took him some careful minutes to adjust his position and make sure he had a clear shot through the underbrush. He was not worried about small leaves and twigs, but he did not want any saplings to make his shot go astray. He zeroed in on his target, adjusted by inches at a time, until he felt confident of his shot. Then he fired three quick rounds, the second and third bracketing his first. As best he could see, through the brush, the figure slumped to the ground.