Agony Of The World: A Post-Apocalyptic Story (The World Burns Book 9)
Page 7
“You know you are, hun,” he said and let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “It’s just now official. I think the reason you and I didn’t get black sacks over our heads and a firing squad was because of how well known we got to be.”
“There’s probably more to it than that,” Sandra said, “but yeah. Your idea for a radio show to help people survive has helped others out… and it’s probably saved our butts too.”
“Listen, in a few months after the baby is here, you can really worry about things. Until then, do what you’re doing now. Nothing has really changed.”
“But I’m in charge of a modern-day Red Dawn scenario. I am not a Wolverine,” she said with a sniff.
“Yeah, I know, but you’ve been training and organizing things for a lot of people. It’s second nature to you. Just do what you’ve been doing. It’s working. It may not work all at once, but it’s working.”
“How can you say that?” Sandra asked, pushing back and turning to face Blake. “They’ve moved halfway through the country already.”
“Do we have a large army that can mobilize at a moment's notice, with mortars and artillery backup?” Blake asked her.
“No, not really, other than Silverman and Smith’s— “
“So, what do you need, girl?” Blake said, making a bad imitation of the silky, smooth voice.
Sandra half sobbed, half laughed, then hiccupped and punched Blake in the shoulder before leaning back into his arms. He easily held her until she calmed again.
“Who was the general?” Blake asked.
“He’s the guy who made sure I wasn’t court martialed and got me sheep dipped. New documents. He was a member of Dad’s church before he got into politics.”
Blake snorted, “Politics kept him from the church?”
“Politics and the church? Like a vampire bathing in holy water. Too many sacrifices. That’s why I stayed a ground pounder.”
“You’re my wife, and you’ve always been much more than you think,” Blake said and kissed the side of her head.
“You’re just trying to butter me up.”
“Maybe,” Blake said and kissed her for real, “But it’s still true.”
“Blake, there’s something else.”
“What’s that?” He asked, feeling his wife’s mood shift as her body tensed up.
“John’s group ran into a pack of the ‘Others’.”
“I thought that was just a Midwest thing?” Blake asked, horrified.
His own dealings with a cannibal had nearly cost him his life, and had literally cost Weston’s life, a man he would have been proud to have been a brother to.
“Some of his group were scouting and were snagged. John and a small team were able to save one of them, but he had been crucified, and they had ritualistically murdered his wife and had started to feed in front of him.”
Blake said nothing, feeling his skin break out into goose flesh. After a long pause, he held her tighter.
“Are the rumors true then? Has this group been here all along? Before the nukes?”
“I think so,” Sandra said softly, rubbing her swollen stomach.
Blake let her go, and she sensed he wanted to move, so she scooted off his lap. He headed out of the bedroom and came back a few minutes later with a couple of well-worn paperbacks. He had read them, but he hadn’t mentioned them until now. The similarities between fiction and real life were too much to ignore.
“What’s that?” Sandra asked, wiping her eyes.
“Of the fiction I keep handy, I’ve got the entire ‘Ashes’ series by William Johnstone. He had cannibal groups in his post-apocalyptic series. I’m not saying it’s the same, but maybe you should read some of this stuff and see how much of it matches your reports?”
“What, the running around mostly naked, using old school buses to travel through the countryside wiping out people, and eating them? Or maybe it’s the filed teeth and how they all need a serious bath?”
“From what I can remember of Johnstone’s stories, they wore cloaks and stayed in cities. The rest of it seems to fit. At least what you’ve allowed me to hear.” Blake sat back down next to her.
“I haven’t kept anything from you,” Sandra said. “I just know you still have bad dreams about the night you were hurt and Weston died… I just tried not to…” her words trailed off as she worked on finding the right way to say it.
“Make a big deal out of it?” Blake asked, and his wife nodded, turned and then crawled back onto his lap where he promptly put his arms around her.
“We have to come up a plan for dealing with them too,” Sandra whispered.
“We will.”
12
Michael & King, DHS Storage Bunker, Nebraska
“Eyes on target,” King reminded Michael.
“I’ve almost got their timing down,” Michael told King.
King grunted, and they kept looking. They’d made ghillie suits out of local materials and had been sitting in the same hide for almost twelve hours. Both were uncomfortable, hungry, and had to use the bathroom, but the only movements they allowed were the infrequent words, and jotting notes on a small notepad.
“We bug out in one hour to go to supply drop,” King said quietly.
“Should we start working ourselves back now?” Michael asked, his voice almost too quiet to hear.
“After this truck goes through the guard post.”
Michael craned his head as far as he could without making the suit rustle and move noticeably. A lone Land Rover truck, an old 70s model, was kicking up dust on the long dirt drive towards a gate that was manned by two men in a guard shack. The truck slowed and stopped as the guards pointed rifles and the driver and passenger both opened their doors. Through the binoculars, it was too far to pick out what they were saying if they could have lip read, but it was the man in the middle who exited out of the passenger door who garnered their attention the most.
“Recognize him?” King asked.
“Same head covering as the jerk who fired on us. Could it be the same guy?”
“Willing to bet that the DHS enforces wardrobe adherence. They have a Muslim with them, one who looks an awful lot like the cat daddy we saw earlier this week. If he had a scar on his left cheek…”
“He does, a big one, from his ear down to the edge of his mouth.”
“That’s him. Let’s bug out.”
“This is Michael. We observed one of the Lieutenants of the New Caliphate entering the DHS bunker. Over.”
“Michael, Sandra here. Get to supply drop. I’ll have high tech goodies for you and team Norton. We’ve been green lighted up the food chain. Get us proof I can send to POTUS. Drop area will have air support for twenty minutes to load up and bug out. Do you copy? Over.”
“I copy. Over.” Michael said, feeling woozy from such support.
They had been operating in the shadows for so long, it felt like they had been on a seesaw and been stuck on the high side. Now their end was coming down, and it made him uneasy.
“Failure in this mission is not an option. Over.” Sandra said.
“You got this,” Michael’s mother’s voice broke in from St. Louis. “I have faith in you, son.”
“Thanks, Sandra, thanks Mom. Love ya. Over.”
“Love you too, over,” Sandra said with a chuckle.
“I meant my mom… I love my—”
“You better not be looking to steal my woman, over,” Blake’s voice broke in.
“I wasn’t, sir, I mean, I was telling my momma…”
“They messin' with ya son,” King said putting a big hand on his shoulder. “Deep breath.”
“We will not fail. Mom, I love you, I’ll see you soon. Blake, you have no worries from me. I think as long as I have tall, dark and ugly with me, I’ll die single. Over.”
“Tall, dark, and ugly? Boy, you want some more PT?” King thundered from his own handset.
The channel erupted with laughter with everybody holding down
the PTT. Michael laughed along with them and saw King smiling as well.
“One more thing,” Michael said, “I heard a DHS intercept. They’re looking for John. The president has put the word out. I don’t know who you were talking to Sandra, but at least part of the government is hunting for him still. Over.”
“I’ll let him know. He isn’t in danger from us, or who I’m working with. Sandra, over and out.”
Michael sighed and put his handset back on the charging station and turned to King.
“Tall, dark, and ugly?” King asked, smiling again,.“When’s the last time we practiced some hand to hand?”
“I thought we had to get to the drop zone,” Michael asked with a gulp.
“We do, just playing. Besides, when this is all done, I think you and me are going to hang up our gun belts and head back to Kentucky.”
“Why’s that?” Michael asked, confused.
King just waggled his eyebrows at Michael a bit until Michael laughed. “What’s her name?” he asked, in between trying to catch his breath and trying to imagine who King had fallen for.
“It isn’t one in particular. I just like me a strong woman. Good thing Blake’s a good man, he’s surrounded by some purty ladies.”
Michael nodded. One thing that he had noticed at the Homestead and the training grounds was that the men were largely absent. The world, the free one in the USA, was now dominated by women and children. The men in a large majority had been killed off. There weren’t enough numbers wise. The militias consisted mostly of men, though it was open to anyone who wanted to join.
“So you’re going to go to Kentucky, and settle down with some yet to be chosen lady.”
“Leaving my options open son,” King said, firing up the twin diesels of the APC. “You got the gun.”
“You got it,” Michael said, getting ready for the wild ride that would take them to resupply.
“It’ll be good to see John again,” Michael shouted over the noise.
“Yeah,” King shouted back. “Maybe he can talk me out of this crazy idea I’ve got cooking up here,” King said, pointing one big finger at his head.
“What idea is that?” Michael asked double checking that the main gun was ready to fire if needed.
“We send somebody in. Dressed as DHS. To get the lay of the land. To open the gates of Mordor for us.”
Michael grinned at the reference and nodded. He understood, and a guy of King’s size was not meant for subtle sneaking in under people’s noses. But Michael had done it before, at least on a much smaller scale. He had an idea of his own he was kicking around, and wasn’t sure how viable it was. By the sound of what King had said, they were thinking along the same lines. Sort of.
“You up for it, kid?” King asked.
“Am I ready?” Michael asked, not sure himself.
“You’re as ready as Sandra was on her first op.”
“How’d she do?” Michael asked, walking to stand next to the big man.
“She’s alive. Got the job done.”
“So will I.”
King nodded. They both remembered Sandra’s words: failure wasn’t an option. Michael knew somehow he wouldn’t. Only time and the help of John’s group would tell.
=-The End-=
To be notified of new releases, please sign up for my mailing list at: http://eepurl.com/bghQb1
About the Author
Boyd Craven III was born and raised in Michigan, an avid outdoorsman who’s always loved to read and write from a young age. When he isn’t working outside on the farm, or chasing a household of kids, he’s sitting in his Lazy Boy, typing away.
You can find the rest of Boyd’s books on Amazon here.
@boydc3
boydcraven3
boydcraven.com
boyd3@live.com