Fight Like a Man: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller (The SHTF Series Book 1)

by L. L. Akers

  Nick shook his head. “No, you didn’t. I did. Now get the hell outta here.”

  Jake looked around in confusion. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure. You didn’t even shoot. If you don’t believe me, I’ll poke you in the ass with the spitting end of this rifle and you’ll see how hot it is. That was my bullet.” He nodded toward the man on the ground. The thug wasn’t moving at all.

  Blood puddled under him and ran into a crack on the pavement, making a dark river that ran toward where Jake lay. He scooted back in a hurry.

  Surely, it didn’t kill him?

  As though Nick could read his thoughts, he said, “It’s self-defense, Jake. Ain’t no one coming up in my house beating people up and stealing shit. Now go before the rest of those guys make it over. I’ll handle ‘em.”

  Jake turned to look. Some of the other people had stopped in the middle of the parking lot, but two rough-looking men were heading their way. They’d be here in a minute at the most.

  “The police might—”

  “—dammit, Jake, there is no police. They weren’t here when I was under attack and having to defend my gas, and they ain’t coming now. You said you got cops at Grayson’s place. Tell them your story if you need to. But not here. Not now. Go!” he yelled.

  The ATV had rolled to a stop against the curb with the motor still running. Jake struggled to his feet and picked up the gun, turning it over in his hand.

  Suddenly he remembered.

  It wasn’t loaded—and he had not a bullet one.

  He jumped on the ATV and hauled ass home.

  19

  Graysie

  Graysie threw herself back onto her bed in frustration. She was on her own, and it was getting late. She was exhausted and home-sick. She needed to get home.

  She’d gone looking for her boy scout, and came back empty-handed and disgusted. Out of the only three guys she would trust to take a road trip with—and that she could trust her dad not to kill upon first glance—two were drunk and the other was high. Their dorm was a tsunami of beer-pong with red Solo cups, empty food packages and weed bongs, all underneath an overwhelming smell of raw sewage.

  In the shape she’d found them in, they couldn’t find their way out of a wet paper bag. They’d be useless on the road, riding or walking, and even more useless with a compass. She couldn’t believe no one was taking this seriously and making a plan.

  Probably like Becky, they were expecting their mommy or daddy or the gooberment to swoop in and fix this mess. Or they were assuming the power would be back on soon, even though communications were down too. She doubted any of them had ever watched the news, but especially in the last year, or the last week.

  They had no idea Trump was pissing off world leaders left and right and that this very well could be an attack on the United States. In Trump’s mission to make America great again, he was burning bridges faster than he was building them. But he was keeping his promises and making progress, even without those bridges.

  Graysie disagreed with some of his policies, and she thought he was a disgusting male chauvinist pig and most likely a bit racist, but even she had to admit, he was getting it done.

  And that confused her. She wasn’t sure anymore who she was behind, or which side of the line her loyalties lay. She selfishly wanted America fixed for her future, but was Trump really fixing it, or setting them up for war either amongst their own population or even their enemies abroad?

  Was this war?

  She and many of her friends and coeds had been behind Bernie; most of them not even sure just why they were behind Bernie, except that Bernie was cool in a nutty professor, or Back To The Future sort of way. They’d needed someone to get behind, and he’d fit the bill.

  Especially after the bird.

  During a Bernie rally it seemed as though he had called the bird forth, right out of the sky. It sat on his podium, watched by thousands of people both in-person and online. Bernie said it was symbolism for a dove, asking for world peace. It was a lucky bit of political magic is what Graysie had thought of it at the time. He’d won many followers after that when the best the other candidates could do was unknowing spit a glob of food from their mouth, giving them the perfect target for a zillion memes and GIF’s, or perform a little sarcastic and spooky shoulder-shimmy, or just throw childish insults about the size of hands and other body parts.

  The election was all about entertainment for them…who could wow them or make them laugh the most…and Bernie’s bird had really grabbed their attention.

  It was sad.

  When Bernie dropped out, half of her friends threw their support behind Hillary, and the other half stepped behind Trump.

  It didn’t matter to her who was in office. It was just a face and a name. Her father’s daughter, she was more worried about straightening out the economy and strengthening America, rather than personal opinions on race, color, gender, or sexual orientation.

  After the election, her friends split again. Trump haters versus Trump supporters. Some just wanted a reason to protest. Some wanted to riot. They wanted a cause that would allow them to rally and scream and threaten and act like badly-behaved children. The other side pranced around in Trump sweatshirts, flashing MAGA signs and trying to be cool when in reality they hadn’t even voted. Both sides waited in anticipation for every Trump tweet to broadcast so they could fight it out in the comments in an online twitter-war, one hundred and forty characters at a time.

  It was ridiculous.

  She watched it all from a distance, feeling older than her years. While they fussed between them every chance they got over what wasn’t happening, she sat back and watched what was happening. She was shocked to see that in six months with Trump in office, there were a million new jobs in the Unites States, the unemployment rate was at a ten-year low, and illegal immigration was down by huge numbers, which freed up even more jobs and benefits for Americans.

  This stuff mattered.

  Who was responsible for it didn’t.

  When and if they ever graduated college, they’d need a job.

  Her friends had actually paid attention and cheered the imposed sanctions on Russia and North Korea. They agreed with Trump for attempting to put America back into the big-brother position America rightly deserved by not letting bullies take advantage of us, or making us look bad, but what they didn’t realize was that also put us more at risk for pissing them off. The Norks were playing chicken with their weapons—leaving parts of the world to wonder if they were one button away from a skin-melting death. China was talking out both sides of their mouth, refusing to commit to one side or the other. Russia was playing dumb about interfering with the election and their capabilities to hack our systems. If they’d done it once, they could do it again, this time with more dire consequences.

  But had they? Had someone else? Is that what this was?

  She’d be glad to get back home where she could discuss and debate her father and uncles on politics and what might really be happening. Her stepmom, Olivia, wouldn’t discuss the president or anything political. She lived in a world of unicorns and rainbows. But her Aunt Gabby was always good for bouncing things off of, or having a calm and intelligent debate with.

  Her breath was wasted on Becky and the guys down the hall. They were blithering idiots.

  She was better on her own.

  But without someone who knew how to read a compass, she realized she needed to take the quickest route, one that she knew well frontward and backward.

  The interstate.

  Home was a little more than an hour away by car, at normal speed.

  Graysie grabbed her gun and tucked it into the back of her pants, stowed the ammo in her backpack, waved goodbye to a still-sleeping Becky, and ran down the two flights of stairs to the security guard’s desk.

  “I’m leaving.”

  The guard looked up, blinking rapidly at Graysie.

  She’d interrupted his nap.

  He cleared hi
s throat and stood. “The administration said—”

  “—I don’t give a rat’s ass what the administration said. I’m nineteen years old. If I don’t need their permission to have a baby, buy a pack of smokes, join the army, or be shipped over to be shot by our enemies overseas, I sure as hell don’t need their permission to go home. To my home, where I’m safe with my father.”

  Graysie flipped her long red hair behind her shoulder and stood tall and defiant—or as tall as her five feet five allowed—her lips pursed and her green eyes glaring at the nervous man.

  “See here, young lady. It’ll be dark soon. You need to—”

  Graysie held up one finger. “No. You need to worry about what’s going on right here under your nose. Upstairs, there’s shit overflowing. There’s parties going on in nearly all the suites. Underage drinking. Illegal drugs. Pills. You need to get the administration to look into that. And what about water? They’ve got three days to find water for all these kids before they reach a stage of dehydration that will need medical attention. If they’re forcing us to stay here and you all aren’t taking care of us, what’s going to happen when our parents do arrive and their kids are sick…or worse? That’s what you and the administration need to be worrying about.”

  She hiked her pack onto her shoulders and jangled her keys in the air. “I have transportation. I have a full tank of gas. And, I have protection.” She turned and lifted up her shirt.

  The guard gasped and backed up. He was stunned silent.

  “I’m walking out of here and you can either radio someone to open the gate on the car park, or I’ll drive right through it. Your choice, Sir.”

  She gave him a firm nod and walked out.

  20

  The Ladies

  Gabby was already making her way toward her sisters when she heard Olivia scream. They’d been gone too long. She broke into a run and slid to a stop at the edge of the clearing with her pistol ready.

  She froze, barely believing her eyes.

  On the outside of the small clearing stood three Harley Davidson motorcycles; one holding a pig. On the inside, her sisters were fighting—with bikers, no less.

  Olivia was a flurry of knees, feet and elbows, trying to dislodge a mammoth of a man who held her from behind against his chest with heavily tattooed arms. He laughed at her pitiful struggling against his strength. She screamed, “Let me go!”

  Five feet away Emma was a blur, turning in a half-circle, whipping a metal branding iron through the air back and forth between two very scary looking guys, one on each side of her. The two-foot long tool whistled as it arced, barely missing taking their nose off each time. As they ducked and dodged and laughed at her, grabbing at her clothes, she spit at them in fury.

  A small Asian woman, mid-twenties, squatted in the middle of the mayhem on her knees, frantically trying to button her shirt with only one hand while holding her shirt shut with her other arm that ended at her wrist. She snatched up a small tattered purse from the ground, and held it close to her chest, shaking in fear.

  And the pig wore a fancy skirt.

  Was this even real?

  She shook off her confusion and shot into the air.

  It was deafening. Everyone froze.

  Except the pig. The pig squealed and snorted, frantically twisting to try to free itself free from the strap that held it to the bike.

  Everyone scattered.

  Two of the men froze with their hands up and mouths open. Olivia and Emma broke free and rushed to stand behind Gabby. The man who’d held Olivia reached out for the Asian woman and shoved her behind him.

  “What the hell is going on here?” Gabby screamed, once she had their attention.

  Trunk, as his vest announced, wore a look of amused astonishment. “Damn. I thought you girls were joshing me. You really did have someone out there with a gun.” He stared at Gabby, then back at Olivia. Then back to Gabby again.

  He gave a long, slow smile.

  “Hey boys, look what we have here…” He turned to them and winked. “Twins.”

  His crew hooted and hollered and pumped their fists into the air. “Worth more than a one-handed Asian on the list, Boss,” one of them said. “We could win the hunt.”

  “Damn straight. As long as they’re pretty, and there’s no denying that,” he said with a slow drawl, smiling ear to ear. He straightened up to stand taller and ran his hands down his vest as though to impress them, and took one step forward.

  Gabby’s hands trembled as she pointed the pistol directly at him. “Stop.”

  Trunk’s smile slowly melted away.

  Emma grabbed onto Olivia, gripping her shaking arm, and Olivia leaned in to Gabby. “Gabby, I wasn’t serious…you can’t just shoot him,” she hissed in a loud whisper.

  Trunk’s charming smile was back. “Yeah, don’t shoot me. Shit ain’t that bad yet. There’d be lots of trouble for you over that.” He spread his hands out, palms up. “Look, how ‘bout we negotiate? You ladies ride with us, and she can go, if she wants.” He jerked his thumb behind him, toward the young woman. “When we get back to the club, we’ll tally up our points for the hunt. We’ll feed you, pack you up with water, and then you can leave. I think we’re going the opposite way you were heading—assuming you’re going south if you’re on this side of the interstate—but it’s only an hour away. I’ll even get these two to drive you home on their bikes.” He jerked his head toward his crew who smiled suggestively at the girls.

  Obviously, the dipshit couldn’t do math; there were three of them. How would two get them home? Gabby spread her elbows, pushing her sisters back and took a firm stance, raising the gun higher. “I don’t give a shit about your hunt. We’re not going anywhere with you. Neither is she. Get her, Olivia.”

  Olivia hurried around Trunk to the young woman, who hung her head in shame. She and Olivia stepped back, farther away from Trunk, and circled back to stand behind Gabby and Emma.

  Without warning, Gabby aimed and shot straight through the men. The women all flinched and covered their ears. The men hit the ground, screaming. Gabby shot twice more and her shots rang true. All that practice at the range was worth every hour.

  All three bikes spewed air from their tires.

  She pushed Emma and Olivia, shoving them back the way she’d come in. “Split up! You two go that way and get to the car. Drive south. We’ll meet you a few miles down on the highway,” she frantically whispered to her sisters. Grabbing the one available hand of the young woman, she took off the other way.

  Gabby’s legs were jittery, her heart pumped wildly, and her backpack jiggled angrily against her spine, but they couldn't stop. If they did, they’d be found and there was no telling what kind of punishment would be doled out for not only stranding the bikers at the rest area, but robbing them of two—three? —of their winning prizes for their stupid scavenger hunt.

  At least she’d left them the pig.

  The young woman, who said her name was Mei, had tightly held her purse and run straight onto a deer trail that threaded through the woods on the backside of the rest area. Gabby had followed, but soon took the lead. They’d ran on the trail as far as it took them until it had ended with an army of tall trees, each looking dark and sinister, their trunks blocking out the sun.

  They fought with every step, as gnarled and twisted branches caught at their clothes. Gabby felt like if they could cut through the dense woods, they’d be able to easily circle back to the interstate, where hopefully Larry and her sisters would find them.

  If they were going the right way.

  She wasn’t sure, but she thought she heard at least one of the bikers somewhere behind them. This had turned into a very long game of hide-and-seek, and she was tired of playing.

  What to do with Mei when we find Larry?

  That question had been flipping and flopping around in her mind, along with false starts to a dozen different plans. They could probably squeeze Mei into the car, but did she really want to take her home? The g
irl looked like a prostitute, and had tell-tale marks of drug use.

  Gabby couldn’t stand drugs. When it came to drug users, she gave no quarter. Everyone had choices and she gave no sympathy to people who made that particular choice.

  Mei was probably high now. That would explain why she paid the seeping burn on her arm no attention. Gabby’s stomach rolled every time she looked at it. Grayson wouldn’t be too happy at them dragging this one in; one more mouth to feed and probably nothing but trouble.

  But she couldn’t just leave her with the bikers. The girl was barely older than Grayson and Olivia’s daughter, Graysie. Hardly more than a child. She needed their help in more ways than one. What if the drugs came after the abuse she was enduring? What if it was the bikers who’d given her the drugs? Maybe she wasn’t a regular user. Women in abusive situations did crazy things.

  Gabby and her sisters had all been through hell at one time. Before meeting their forever husbands, each of them had dealt with some sort of abuse in their lives. They were stronger now, and one thing they’d all learned was to never believe someone wanted to be in the bad position that they were in. Sometimes a person just didn’t know how to take the first step to change their own journey. They needed support and a hand up. Most of the time if you gave them that hand, they’d grab it.

  Gabby laughed out loud.

  Mei needed more than one hand.

  Stop it, she chided herself.

  She was sliding into a terror-fueled hysteria. She was tired, afraid, and possibly lost. Her legs were nearly give out, twitchy and rubbery.

  “Let’s slow down, Mei.” Gabby slowed to a fast walk and continued to plod along, her feet feeling heavier and heavier.

  Mei gave her a grateful look. She’d been dragging, too, barely keeping up with Gabby.

  Gabby was panting. I'd kill for a cold bottle of water, she thought and then shivered, realizing that wasn’t even funny in these circumstances, even if she hadn’t said it out loud.