Dead Reckoning (911 Book 3)

by Grace Hamilton

  “I’m going in seven seconds, whether you shoot me or not!” the pilot shouted.

  Everyone was on board by six.

  “Get us out of here!” Ava screamed.

  The Huey lifted as the tornado started to bite into the far wing of the State House.

  Sara’s face disappeared, but not before Parker recognized her. Their eyes met, and a blossom of love opened in his heart, confirming once and for all that his daughter was alive.

  Parker had managed to catch one hand on the guttering as he rolled off the roof. Spencer, Rayleigh, and the marshal were broken bodies on the concrete forty feet below in a pool of blood, their necks broken and their faces caved in. Parker had almost joined them, the realization that he would be unable to get himself back on the roof on his own steam making him contemplate defeat, let go and take his chances with the fall.

  But just as he was about to drop, Sara’s stunned face had appeared over the lip of the roof and his heart had soared.

  And then she was gone. Pulled away from the edge by an unseen hand.

  Parker had screamed out to her, but the boom of the storm and the rotor blades drowned him out.

  With Sara’s face fixed in his mind, Parker heaved with his arms as an updraft of deadly wind caught the weight of his body and swung one leg onto the roof. With his fingers bleeding, cut deep from the metal gutter, he rolled onto the copper roof as the Huey lifted high and followed the Apache away from the tornado.

  Debris was flying in stinging vortices, as the tornado itself, now black with torn-up city, was eating along one side of the State House. It blew out windows, tore up guttering, and ripped off roof panels, flinging them around like shrapnel.

  Parker stood up in the teeth of the wind.

  The hatch back into the State House, where he might have sought refuge, was being torn away by the wind. There was no way down, and the tornado was almost upon him.

  Then, out of nowhere, Grayland stepped from behind the stonework supporting the dome and shot Parker twice in the stomach.

  The bullets sliced through his guts with hot pain, and Parker’s eyes fizzed with red and black dots. His belly had been opened up like a tin of tomatoes.

  Grayland raised his gun to finish the job, speaking what, he had to guess, would be his final words as the funnel of the spinning tornado crashed against the portico. “If I’m going down, Parker, so are you!”

  Parker waited for the shot, his eye closed and his hands clutching his stomach.

  But the gun was empty.

  Parker roared into the tornado: “Fuck you, Grayland! Let’s go down together!”

  And with that, Parker rushed at Farmer Grayland, the Council boss. The man who had tortured him, physically and psychologically, and who had made him think that he was watching his daughter die—the leader of a corrupt organization that was destroying everything about America that Parker had ever believed in. His hatred felt beautiful, his anger justified, and his motivation clear as a running spring.

  With his belly unravelling, and the taste of grim death in his mouth, Parker wrapped his arms around Grayland in a terminal bear hug. He stumbled to the edge of the State House roof and leapt into the eye of the storm.

  Epilogue

  Six months later.

  Sara and Ava had arrived in New Albany.

  They’d left David, Sammi, and the Networkers to care for Kleet’s burned legs and boiled feet, feeling that they just had to get away. Of course, not before they’d searched devastated downtown Indianapolis for Parker—alive or dead. They’d found nothing.

  The tornado’s final irony had been that, before it had even reached the State House, it had severed all communications to the reinstated TV and radio systems. The broadcast had been seen only by the people who were there. It had had no impact at all.

  As they’d moved through the state, though, they’d personally seen that the influence of the Council, though not fully removed, was highly diminished by the loss of their leader, and the death of their so-called president. A blow to their competence and legitimacy that they would take a long time to live down and might never overcome. On the ground, there were less patrols of FEMA troops, the infrastructure of the country was getting back to some semblance of order, and the American Resistance Movement had risen again, now integrated with David’s Networkers. Together, they were having a series of successes against Council forces—and the battles won were seen as significant victories.

  The ARM forces had wanted Sara to take command of her own unit with Ava, especially now that the truth of Parker’s situation—of his torture into confessing things he hadn’t done—was being disseminated by the Network. But Sara had refused. It hadn’t been a blanket-forever no, Ava felt sure, but, for now, she wanted to clear her head and get some structure back into her life. She needed to heal inside, in the same way that Ava needed to heal her broken bones. They’d both been through the wringer, coming out sadder and more reflective—not exactly morose, but not feeling the weight of the victory they’d achieved. They’d both lost so much to gain it. And they’d been so close to getting Parker back, that his loss seemed to sting that much more for both of them.

  Ava had seen the change in Sara now that she was certain that Parker hadn’t survived. For a while, there had been hope; Sara had retained at least a sliver of optimism. But the search through the debris and storm damage in the city center had drained that positive feeling and left a hole for both of them to deal with.

  Ava wasn’t sure if Sara had really seen Parker hanging from the guttering of the State House; perhaps it had been a fevered hallucination from the concussion she’d suffered when Grayland’s bullets had ricocheted off her life-saving ACH. But, no matter what, they’d learned enough from Kleet to know that they’d come close to having him back in their company, alive.

  No matter what, however, Ava didn’t dare discuss the possibility that her last sighting of him had been a figment of Sara’s imagination—even if she felt a little vindicated that they’d found no body.

  Perhaps they would never know. For her, at least, that seemed to offer hope more than dismay.

  But for now, without the answer that Sara had craved and without Parker to start leading them again, they needed to be away from the fight. At least for a while. And New Albany was one of the liberated cities now.

  The ARM forces stationed there had put down all FEMA resistance. Cities were being liberated all over the land as Council forces got pushed back to their strongholds in Illinois, Washington, New York, and California. The New United States of America, which was a name that was gaining traction among the resistance, was gathering an army of fighters here across the land, all buoyed by their successes. There would be a final reckoning to come against the Council, of that Ava was sure.

  She knew she’d be part of it, too, but she wasn’t so sure about Sara.

  What Ava was sure of was how she felt about Jim Parker’s daughter. It was so ironic that she’d spent all that time pushing Finn away, thinking that she was straight, and would remain straight forever, and then fallen so completely in love with Sara.

  That was a conversation for later.

  One day, the time would be right. One day.

  New Albany was chilly and wrapped in mists when they rolled into town in David’s happily donated Blazer. They drove to Parker’s house, but waited in the car before getting out, looking at it. The engine ticking in the cold air, the metal of the hood contracting. Leaves blowing lazily on the ground. Trees becoming bare, their black branches moving against the bright blue cloudless sky.

  A sign they had been seeing all across the country was also painted on the front door of Parker’s house. It was in red paint here, but it had been seen in every conceivable color as they’d traveled across the country. Before they’d left the towns to the west of Terre Haute, where David and Sammi had been welcomed back like heroes, and where Ralph and his family knew well enough to keep their mouths shut—the sign had already started to spring up across the
land. They’d seen it nearly everywhere, and it seemed fitting that it had also been painted here, on Parker’s front door.

  “I know nothing of his life here,” Sara said eventually, her hands still tight on the wheel. “This is a part of his life I never knew while I was living with the Church of Humanity. And now I get here, knowing everything that he became.”

  Ava smiled, gazing at Parker’s door. “I know he’d be proud of what you’ve become, kemosabe.”

  Sara smiled and squeezed Ava’s hand.

  Ava tried not to show how thrilled she was by that, even as she squeezed back.

  Sara climbed out of the Blazer and Ava followed her up onto the porch. The paint was dry on the sign, but it still felt fresh.

  The same two words they’d seen everywhere. The expression of respect, and a symbol of hope.

  When they’d first started seeing it cropping up, Sara had wanted to reject it. As if the words were too painful to contemplate. But as the months had rolled on, and the prevalence of the sign had increased, Sara had spoken quietly to Ava about how it was helping her to heal, about how it was bringing her back. It was like having access to her father in some weird symbolic way.

  And yet it was becoming more than that.

  They had both hoped this pilgrimage to Parker’s house would be the final piece of healing Sara needed to begin the next stage of her journey.

  Sara traced the letters with her fingers, and Ava read them out.

  “Parker Lives.”

  There was a moment of quiet, punctuated by the movement of leaves in the breeze as it cleared away the last of the mist from the land.

  “Yes,” Sara said. “Yes, he does.”

  End of Dead Reckoning

  911 Book Three

  We really hope you enjoyed this series. Keep reading to find a sneak peek from Grace Hamilton’s EMP Lodge Series.

  Thank you

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  Grace Hamilton is the prepper pen-name for a bad-ass, survivalist momma-bear of four kids, and wife to a wonderful husband. After being stuck in a mountain cabin for six days following a flash flood, she decided she never wanted to feel so powerless or have to send her kids to bed hungry again. Now she lives the prepper lifestyle and knows that if SHTF or TEOTWAWKI happens, she’ll be ready to help protect and provide for her family.

  Combine this survivalist mentality with a vivid imagination (as well as a slightly unhealthy day dreaming habit) and you get a prepper fiction author. Grace spends her days thinking about the worst possible survival situations that a person could be thrown into, then throwing her characters into these nightmares while trying to figure out "What SHOULD you do in this situation?"

  It’s her wish that through her characters, you will get to experience what life will be like and essentially learn from their mistakes and experiences, so that you too can survive!

  You can also follow Grace on fb.me/AuthorGraceHamilton and GraceHamiltonBooks.com

  Jack Colrain never intended to be a writer. But retiring after 30 years living, fighting and surviving in some of the grimmest regions in the world, he found himself with some stories to tell and lessons to impart.

  What he’s picked up over the years can’t be found in any survivalist classes or the latest prepper books—they’re hard earned from surviving in the harshest conditions and can be found only in his books. He doesn’t live in a cabin in the woods (yet) but in the wilds of another kind: downtown LA, with his wife and two kids. They don’t always understand his prepping, but when SHTF Jack knows he’ll be able to keep them safe. They’ll thank him later.

  Jack now spends his free time writing books about characters who get into certifiably FUBAR situations, whether they're survivalist scenarios or more criminal/government related, and then he tries to get them out of it using the skills he’s learned. He hopes that by reading his books readers will absorb some survival skills and a few more people will make it out okay when it’s TEOTWAWKI.

  BLURB

  Three months after life as she knows it was decimated, Megan Wolford has only one goal: protect her daughter, Caitlin, at any cost. When a mysterious illness strikes Caitlin down, Megan is forced to forage for medical supplies at a remote lodge. The last thing she wants is help from her fellow survivors when so many in her life have let her down—but soon she'll find herself with no other option.

  Ex-Navy SEAL Wyatt Morris is doing everything he can to hold his family together after the tragic death of his prepper Dad, so when Megan enters their lands, he is mistrustful at first despite feeling drawn to her. He won't turn away an ill child though--no matter how deadly the world has become. But the arrival of another stranger named Kyle soon gives them all a new reason to be suspicious. Wyatt knows he’ll have to forge alliances in order to keep his family safe, but trusting the wrong person could be a deadly mistake.

  When Megan and Wyatt discover her daughter’s illness may be linked to Kyle’s arrival, it sets off a race to discover the truth before it’s too late to save Caitlin—and the rest of the Morris clan. Can they work together for survival . . . and something more?

  Get your copy of Dark Retreat at

  www.GraceHamiltonBooks.com

  EXCERPT

  Megan Wolford stumbled over a rock and nearly dropped her daughter before she quickly regained her footing. The sight of a log cabin through the trees had given her a boost of adrenaline and she found she was practically running through the damp forest despite her heavy burden.

  She had fallen several times, bruising her knees and twisting her ankle. Her arms had deep cuts from tree branches that showed no mercy. There wasn’t exactly a trail to follow, which meant she was cutting through the heart of the forest and its unforgiving terrain. She was making her own way, as usual, which always seemed to be far harder than it had to be.

  “Caitlin, hold on, baby. Hold on,” she whispered to the lifeless seven-year-old in her arms.

  Megan was doing her best not to panic, but Caitlin had collapsed a couple miles back and she had been carrying the sleeping child ever since. Carrying her where she didn’t know, but now that she saw what appeared to be a hunting lodge of some sort in front of her, she had a destination in mind. She had a goal.

  It gave her something to focus on other than the agony that was tearing through her entire body. Another tree branch slapped her in the face, making her wince in pain. Her physical discomfort was nothing compared to the emotional anguish she felt at the thought of losing her daughter. Caitlin was the only thing she had left in this world. She couldn’t lose her.

  Her arms were burning and her lungs felt like they would collapse, but nothing would stop her from getting her daughter to what she hoped would be medicine. Without it, Megan knew her only child would die.

  She didn’t have a clue what had made her so sick, but Caitlin was gravely ill. In the past twenty-four hours, her daughter went from bubbly and energetic to lethargic and weak. Megan had left their most recent camp in the hopes of finding something to help her. They’d walked through one small town yesterday and found nothing. Every single place she checked had been emptied already forcing them to travel for miles.

  She was afraid to walk through the city streets overrun with looters. Megan knew it wasn’t safe for her and definitely not for Caitlin. It wasn’t as if she could leave her daughter alone while she went on a scavenging mission. She had to do it with Caitlin or not all. Common sense told her she didn’t have the strength to fight off the hundreds and thousands of other people vying for the same basic supplies. Instead, she had decided to head out of town in the hopes of finding clinics, stores, and homes in more rural areas that weren’t as likely to be quite so dangerous.

  Megan took long strides, slightly shifting her daughter, as she kept moving forward. Her sweaty hands were making it difficult for her to hold on to Cai
tlin. Gripping her hands together under her daughter’s backside, Megan pressed on.

  She tried to protect her daughter’s head as best she could from the branches and sharp twigs that seemed to be jumping out and stabbing the intruders in the forest. Another branch hooked her sleeve, scratching painfully at the skin beneath and she could feel blood trickling down her arm, towards her fingers. She wanted to scream at the trees and order them to stop their assault.

  Her back was killing her with the awkward posture of leaning back to keep her daughter secured against her chest. The weight of her pack helped pull her backwards, but also put more strain on her hips. She was grateful to have had an old hiking pack in the closet. The internal frame made it easier for Megan to carry it and allowed her to carry a lot more without much additional strain. She didn’t know if she would have been able to carry her daughter and her supplies without it. Right now, she was grateful the pushy salesman had persuaded her to spend the extra money on the pack.

  Regardless, everything hurt. She could feel dried blood on her bare arms pulling the fine hairs whenever Caitlin’s body rubbed against the cuts, further adding to the misery. Each twist tore open the dried wounds, causing them to start bleeding again.

  She had fallen several times, catching herself with one arm and holding her daughter with the other. She could tell her left knee was swollen. It was stiff and difficult to bend. It didn’t matter. Her daughter’s life was all that mattered.

  “Just a few more steps,” Megan chanted more for her own benefit than her unconscious daughter.

  She was thankful the weather had been mild. It was mid-spring in the northwest, but there were still little piles of snow in the shady areas. Climbing steadily uphill, her overused muscles screamed at her to take a break but she knew if she did, she wouldn’t be able to get back up again. The cabin ahead was growing steadily larger as her strides ate up the distance. Because of the harsh winter storms, mountain residents were prepared to outlast storms for weeks at a time, which meant they would have supplies, including medicine.