No Sanctuary - The Thrilling Post-Apocalyptic Survival Series: No Sanctuary Series - Book 1

by Mike Kraus

  As the pair descended the stairs, one of the boards suddenly let off a loud groan and they both froze. There was a sudden, frenzied clatter from one of the rooms on the ground floor and they heard the sound of the front door being thrown open, the rush of rain, then the sound of the door being slammed closed.

  Linda moved quickly down the stairs, no longer bothering with stealth, glancing inside each room they passed as she made her way forward. Behind her Frank hurried to keep up the pace, and he nearly ran into her as she stopped at the front door and crouched to peek out through one of the windows next to it.

  “Who was it?” Frank whispered to Linda.

  “I have no idea. Whoever it was, I think they’re gone now.” She stood up from looking out the window and turned back to talk to Frank when a bright light pierced through the windows of the house in multiple directions. The loud click of floodlights turning on accompanied the brightness, and the duo shielded their eyes from the sudden assault.

  “What the hell?” Frank held his arm up as he stepped away from the front door and windows.

  From outside the house, a static-laden squawk cut through the rain like a knife, followed by the amplified voice of someone speaking into a bullhorn.

  “You two in the house! Come out with your hands up!”

  Frank glanced at Linda. “The cops? Really?”

  Linda shook her head. “No way. They wouldn’t bother with sitting outside or not announcing themselves as such. Has to be something else.”

  After a few seconds of silence, the voice spoke again. “I said come out with your—oh, what the hell, Josh? Can you not hold an umbrella straight for two minutes? Fucking hell, get out of here!” The voice wavered and the bullhorn crackled followed by the sound of a loud thunk and someone crying in pain. “You! Yeah, you. Get over here and hold this thing up over me. Damned rain making everything complicated tonight.”

  Linda moved into one of the side rooms where the lights coming in were dimmer and looked out the window through a crack in between the boards. A man dressed in a black leather trench coat sat in a cheap plastic lawn chair that was set up in the back of Frank and Linda’s red and white truck. His face was impossible to make out, but he held a bullhorn in one hand while the other had a large black umbrella that he was holding out to a second man who was trying to climb up into the back of the vehicle. After a few slips and false starts the second man finally got into the back of the truck, took the umbrella from the man in the trench coat and held it over their heads.

  “No, you idiot; over my head! What’s the point of having someone holding an umbrella for you if they’re going to try and share it?” The man in the trench coat jabbed the one standing behind him, who moved the umbrella forward.

  “There. That’s better.” The trench-coated man adjusted himself in his seat, then held the bullhorn back up to his mouth and shouted again. “As I was saying, you two in the house come out right now! We want to have a word with you!”

  As the man spoke, Frank dashed into the room next to Linda and spoke to her breathlessly. “We’ve got a big problem.”

  “No kidding. He’s sitting in the back of our truck.”

  “No, bigger than that.”

  “What?”

  Frank nodded and gulped. “I was just checking the other windows. There are a lot of lights out there moving around. Like…at least ten, maybe more. They’re all around the house, on every side.”

  Linda closed her eyes and swore. “Shit!”

  “Who are they, anyway?” Frank looked out the window at the man in the trench coat who was slapping at the man holding the umbrella behind him. “And what’s with this idiot?”

  “I have no idea.” Linda looked back out the window as the man started talking through the bullhorn again.

  “Okay, so you two don’t want to come out. Fair enough. Listen—here’s what I want. We already looked in your truck, found a few things that don’t look all that special. What I want is that nice big bag of ammunition you’ve got stashed in the house there.”

  “Ammunition?” Linda narrowed her eyes and glanced at Frank. “The gas station. These must be the people from the gas station.”

  As if on cue, a young woman holding a small piece of plastic over her head as a makeshift umbrella came running up to the truck. Frank shook his head as he watched her talking to the man with the trench coat. “That’s the attendant; the one who filled the gas cans.”

  “Son of a…” Linda sighed. “How did they track us down to here?”

  “Anyway!” The man in the trench coat started talking again. “I may have started off a little rude there what with all the demands. My name is Thomas Peters! I don’t know your names but I know you’re in the house. Now, we have the house surrounded and the only way you’re getting out alive is by tossing out your ammo and all of your guns. After that we’ll leave you alone and you can continue on your way!”

  “Oh. Lovely.” Frank snorted. “Is that all he wants? And what’s with his teeth anyway?”

  “His teeth?” Linda raised an eyebrow.

  “Yeah, they’re all black and stuff. You can see if you watch while he’s talking.”

  A lightbulb went off in Linda’s head as she recalled the look of the attendant and a few of the “guards” that had been positioned around the gas station. “DAMMIT!” Linda shouted in fury and annoyance with herself for not paying more attention when she had the chance.

  “What? What is it?”

  “They’re meth heads, Frank. The teeth, the gaunt faces and everything? Meth heads. Dammit. I knew the signs. I know the signs but I missed them. Two plus two was staring at me in the face and I just smiled and said ‘five.’”

  “So… we’re surrounded by a gang of druggies who want our guns and ammo. Oh yes, this should end well.” Frank started chuckling to himself and, after a few seconds, it turned into a full-blown belly laugh. As he wiped the tears from his eyes, Linda stared at him like he had grown a second head.

  “You okay there, Frank?”

  “Yeah, sorry. It’s just… how much more absurd can you get than trapped in an abandoned house in a thunderstorm with a gang of meth addicts outside? I mean… really?”

  Linda was already looking back out the window as Frank spoke and she tapped him on the shoulder and pointed at the truck. “I think we’re about to find out.”

  Outside, in the back of the truck, Thomas Peters was holding a bottle full of clear liquid with a rag sticking out of the top. In his other hand was a lighter which he was flicking, trying to get a flame going in the driving wind while the person behind him crouched down to cover the lighter and bottle with the umbrella. After several attempts the lighter finally caught and the alcohol-soaked rag erupted in flames. The man holding the umbrella nearly fell out of the truck as he jumped up in surprise, but steadied himself at the last second.

  Peters held the Molotov cocktail up in the air, then pulled it back under the umbrella as the rain hissed against the flames. He then picked up the bullhorn and began shouting again. “This is your last chance! Either you toss out everything you’ve got in there or we’ll just set the place on fire!”

  Frank noticed Linda’s body stiffening at the sight of the flaming bottle. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded curtly. “Yep. Just don’t like those things at all.”

  “I don’t know who would, but yeah. Shit. Any ideas?”

  “You said there were lights all around the house?”

  “I didn’t look out of every window but I think they were everywhere, yeah.”

  “We need to go check. Right now. If there’s a potential way to get out, we need to take it. We might be able to escape through the rain without them even noticing.”

  “You check, I’ll go grab our bags from upstairs.”

  Linda nodded and she and Frank split up, each of them going about their tasks. While Frank bounded up the stairs to grab his backpack, Linda’s backpack and her spare bag, she ran from window to window, peeking through the s
lots in between the boards at the figures that were standing out in the darkness. By the time she had finished running from room to room on the first floor she counted a total of eight figures holding flashlights, plus three or four more that she wasn’t sure of but that might have been out there.

  By the time Frank got back downstairs, Linda was at the front door watching the apparent leader of the gang as he talked to a couple of his cohorts. Keeping her pistol hidden behind her back, she cracked the front door and shouted out at the man, startling him enough that he nearly dropped the flaming bottle into the back of the truck.

  “Hey! We’re not giving you shit! So why don’t you and your lackeys run back to your gas station and keep pretending to do honest work!”

  Thomas laughed at Linda’s words, and picked up his bullhorn again. “You hear that, fellas? Kitty has some claws! Too bad those won’t help you when you’re dead!” He raised his arm and threw the bottle, failing to account for the umbrella still over his head. The edge of the bottle caught on the umbrella and instead of hitting a window on the second floor of the building as he had intended, it burst harmlessly all over the wet front porch. The flames futilely licked at the wet wood, finding no purchase and quickly went out as another gust of wind blew a torrent of rain up against the house.

  “Get it out of my way!” Thomas backhanded the man holding the umbrella behind him and the man tumbled out of the truck. Thomas hopped down after him and snarled at him before picking up the bullhorn and shouting again. “Last chance, missy! Just throw everything out and we’ll leave!”

  Linda looked back at Frank. “You ready to run?”

  He nodded nervously and held out her backpack. “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Good.” Linda quickly put on her backpack and cracked the front door open again. “Hey asshole!” Linda stuck out her arm and extended her middle finger. “Here you go!”

  An enraged, unintelligible shout was all Linda and Frank heard before Thomas gathered his senses enough to shout at the others spread around the house. “Get in there and kill them! Burn the place down if you have to!”

  Linda closed the door and Frank looked at her with a scared expression. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

  “Nope. No idea. I’m winging it as I go.” Linda grinned at Frank as she ran for the back of the house. “Come on, let’s get up the stairs. I want the high ground on these idiots.”

  “What if they set the place on fire?”

  “While they’re inside of it? I doubt they’re that stupid, but if so then we’ll figure something out. I’d rather deal with that than get shot by a meth-head in the rain!”

  Linda and Frank ran up the stairs to the second story. Frank stood guard at the top of the stairs, listening for movement below while Linda ran to a nearby room and looked through the window at the ground below. The second and third story windows weren’t boarded up and she could see figures still standing in the darkness, holding flashlights. She ran to the closest window overlooking the yard in front of the house and looked down to see Thomas and three other people all clustered together in a group. After a minute of frantic pointing, nodding and shaking of their heads, the group disbanded and Thomas shouted into the bullhorn one last time. “All right, little lady! You had your chance!”

  Linda watched as Thomas and two others with him opened the door to the red and white truck and threw another Molotov cocktail inside. They followed it by opening one of the cans of gasoline in the back of the truck and tossing it in as well. The resulting conflagration engulfed the truck almost instantly, the heat and flames being too intense for the driving rain to extinguish. Linda felt her gut twist as her and Frank’s sole source of transport—along with her spare bags containing clothing and a variety of personal effects—went up in flames.

  “What’s going on out there?” Frank shouted from down the hall and Linda turned to look at him.

  “Bastards just destroyed the truck!”

  “What?” Frank shook his head and gritted his teeth. “Son of a whore!”

  “Get ready because I’m pretty sure they’re coming in here next.”

  “What do they expect to get from us? A stockpile of ammunition from a military bunker?”

  “I don’t have a clue; just be ready!”

  Frank adjusted his grip on his rifle and looked back down the stairs. Out front in the yard the commotion had died down and Linda couldn’t see any sign of Thomas or the others. She moved to one of the side rooms and saw no sign of any of the people that had been standing around outside.

  “Frank! They’re in the house!”

  “I haven’t heard anything!” Frank continued to watch and listen down the stairs, but everything continued to be quiet for the next few minutes. Linda, meanwhile, continued moving from room to room as she watched out the windows for any signs of movement. After seeing nothing, she went back to Frank near the stairs and paused by his side, listening along with him for movement downstairs.

  “Where are they?” Frank whispered to Linda and she shook her head.

  “No idea.” She mouthed.

  Frank felt his heart racing again as a feeling of lightheadedness passed over him. His vision began to blur and he stumbled backwards, only able to remain standing because Linda caught his arm.

  “Are you okay?” Linda asked him. Frank tried to speak, but found it hard to focus and concentrate. As Linda watched him flounder, she realized that she was starting to feel dizzy as well. She lurched for one of the side rooms, pulling Frank along with her, then she grabbed the rifle and swung the stock at the window. The glass shattered outward and a gust a wind burst through, bringing with it a breath of air so fresh she could scarcely believe it. Linda and Frank both stood near the window sucking as much air in as they could before Frank turned and gasped out a question.

  “Carbon monoxide?”

  Linda nodded. “They must have set a fire or something downstairs in the basement. Or they started a car and are piping it in. Either way we need to get out of here before they decide to do something even more drastic.”

  “Can’t we just make a run for the back door?”

  “I have no idea where they’re at, Frank. They could all be huddled on the porch or spread out in every room downstairs or in the basement or who the hell knows where!”

  “Oh little missy!” The voice that floated up the stairs was stilted and hollow, but Linda instantly recognized it despite it being muffled by some type of mask. “Where are you?”

  Chapter 23

  Two men sit in a darkened apartment on Manhattan island. The windows are covered with solar panels that block the light from entering. The panels are connected to a series of batteries stashed under a table covered with old takeout boxes and dirty dishes that have yet to be washed. One of the two bedrooms is filled from floor to ceiling with boxes of non-perishable food while the other has a pair of narrow mattresses and stacks of five-gallon jugs of water. More water is piled out in the small living room and several large bottles of propane sit next to a small oven. The exhaust for the oven runs through a small metal pipe and out through a hole in one of the windows.

  The only light in the apartment comes from a single lamp sitting on the floor of the living room and the screens of two laptop computers. Each of the men works on his own computer, pausing only to take a sip from a glass of water or ask one another a question. The men speak in a foreign tongue and they make sure to only whisper. Their apartment building is mostly empty but they dare not speak loudly for fear of attracting attention.

  Outside their building the world is consumed in chaos. Inside there is peace, silence and tranquility. One of the men pulls up pictures on his computer and swings the machine around so that the other man can see the screen. A large shipping vessel is on fire in the photograph on the screen and there is a cloud of black smoke rising into the air.

  The two men grin at the sight and return to their typing. Their communications are encrypted and passed along through shortwave communicat
ions, bouncing off relays set up across the country. More reports on the damage done to the country flow in and out, forming a more complete view of what has taken place.

  After two days of carefully sifting through the data coming in, one of the men opens a folder on his computer. The contents of the folder are displayed in a foreign language but the name of the folder itself is in English:

  “Phase 2”

  Author’s Notes

  May 15, 2017

  As an indie author I just want to say how much I appreciate you taking a chance on this book. I’ve spent many many hours working on No Sanctuary and the fact that you’ve read it all the way through to the end means a lot to me. Thank you so much!

  My first experience writing post-apocalyptic fiction was in an episodic format, and while I decided to write another episodic format series (Surviving the Fall) I also wanted to write a series where the books were novel-length. Taking on writing two separate post-apocalyptic series has been INSANELY crazy but I love it. Both of the series are different enough from each other that I don’t get them mixed up (I did have that problem at first, though) and I really enjoy the freedoms I get from each format.

  Okay, so… No Sanctuary. There’s a lot going on here. We’ve got Frank who’s a semi-prepper who took a few pieces of advice from his parents but is still out of his element when it comes to survival. His only family are his folks in Texas and with the world collapsing around him he wants to get back to them. Life for our former accountant is pretty rough right now, but I have a feeling that over the next few books he’s going to toughen up quite a bit.

  So what about Linda? When I first started outlining No Sanctuary I was originally planning for Frank to be the primary of the two main characters and for Linda to be the secondary. That’s kind of changed, though. A lot. Not only does Linda kick ass and take names thanks to her semi-mysterious military past, but she’s got a lot of problems when it comes to trust. Frank’s already experienced this once but someone with as many issues as Linda doesn’t just do that kind of thing a single time.