by Nobody, Joe
Holding Their Own XV
Bloodlust
By
Joe Nobody
Copyright © 2018
Kemah Bay Marketing, LLC
All rights reserved.
Edited by: E.T. Ivester
Researched by: D.W. Hall
www.joenobodybooks.com
This is a work of fiction. Characters and events are products of the author’s imagination, and no relationship to any living person is implied. The locations, facilities, and geographical references are set in a fictional environment.
Other Books by Joe Nobody:
Tainted Robes
Apocalypse Trails: Episode 1
Apocalypse Trails: Episode 2
Apocalypse Trails: Episode 3
Apocalypse Trails: Episode 4
Apocalypse Trails: Episode 5
Apocalypse Trails: Episode 6
Secession: The Storm
Secession II: The Flood
Secession III: The Surge
The Archangel Drones
Holding Your Ground: Preparing for Defense if it All Falls Apart
The TEOTWAWKI Tuxedo: Formal Survival Attire
Without Rule of Law: Advanced Skills to Help You Survive
Holding Their Own: A Story of Survival
Holding Their Own II: The Independents
Holding Their Own III: Pedestals of Ash
Holding Their Own IV: The Ascent
Holding Their Own V: The Alpha Chronicles
Holding Their Own VI: Bishop’s Song
Holding Their Own VII: Phoenix Star
Holding Their Own VII: The Directives
Holding Their Own IX: The Salt War
Holding Their Own X: The Toymaker
Holding Their Own XI: Hearts and Minds
Holding Their Own XII: Copperheads
Holding Their Own XIII: Renegade
Holding Their Own XIV: Forest Mist
The Home Schooled Shootist: Training to Fight with a Carbine
Apocalypse Drift
The Little River Otter
The Olympus Device: Book One
The Olympus Device: Book Two
The Olympus Device: Book Three
The Ebola Wall
Chapter 1
The crunch of gravel underneath a boot put Terri on high alert, her face whirling away from the shop window and quickly turning in the direction of the sound. One hand tightened on her purchase, the other instinctively palming her 9-millimeter. She scanned both north and south to see who had joined her on the downtown street, but not a pedestrian was in sight, all the shoppers having gone home for supper.
It was well past that time of day when the sun kissed the horizon, cool breezes whistling through the vacant alleys and eerie shadows of moonlight dancing on the storefronts. Peering at the deserted, almost creepy avenue before her, she shook her head, observing, “Silly girl, this how all those teenage, slasher movies start out.” A nervous chuckle followed, Terri imagining herself as the female lead opposite some Jack the Ripper type.
Patting the pistol in her belt, she inhaled deeply, trying to diffuse the adrenaline surge and calm her nerves. “If I know Bishop and Nick, they got caught up swapping tall tales from their misspent youths,” she mumbled as she stepped away from the sanctuary of the window. She glanced at her watch and smiled, thinking of the two buddies. “Truth be told, if those guys are trading war stories, I might need to just walk the ten blocks home right now.”
Terri meandered further down the street, checking out all the display windows as she killed a little time, on the lookout for anything she might need for the new house, still keenly aware of her surroundings. She had just stepped over a section of crumbling sidewalk, when a scraping noise commanded her attention. Immediately moving to a nearby tree, she tightened her grip on her weapon as she assessed the area around her. No stalker was in view. Probably just some shopkeeper closing up for the day, she chided herself. No one is following you.
The street was part of Alpha’s resurgent business district, dozens of small mom-and-pop enterprises offering everything from baked goods to recycled clothing. Next door to the bakery was a butcher. “All we need is a candlestick maker,” she chirped, trying to lighten her mood and still the butterflies in her stomach.
Finally, she approached a storefront that did have something particularly interesting on display. The shop belonged to Mr. Young, who made a living by scavenging small kitchen appliances, repairing any damage and reselling them to his customers. Terri had been bugging Bishop for a new blender since before they had traveled to Forest Mist. Today, the model she wanted was in the window, surrounded by its accompanying accessories.
“You were late, Bishop,” she said, managing a grin as she carried on the imaginary, matter of fact conversation with her mate. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t have anything else to do, so I spent an outrageous amount of money on a new blender. Want a smoothie?”
Unfortunately, like every other shop on the street, Mr. Young’s business had closed nearly an hour ago. She would have to exact her revenge for her husband’s tardiness another day.
Turning to continue her tour, Terri froze. Up ahead, a couple of blocks away, something had moved. Absolutely no doubt about it.
While Alpha had electricity twenty-four hours a day, not all of the streetlights functioned. A few had been shot out, others suffering from a lack of replacement bulbs. Between one pool of illumination, and the puny glow of a store’s sign, Terri was certain she had observed movement in the shadows.
“Don’t panic,” she whispered. “Ketchum Jones is not a monster under the bed. Hell, he’s probably still living it up in New Orleans right now. Besides, what you saw was probably Bishop. Maybe his truck broke down, and that is why is he late.”
Pretending she hadn’t seen anything, she tightened her grip on her pistol as she continued to casually stroll and browse. She ambled slowly through the well-lit areas, hustling through the darker gaps in the light. Still, her senses were piqued, every fiber of her being focused on the sidewalk ahead, hopeful of any sign of her soulmate, also aware that her sworn enemy might be stalking her. If Blackjack is stupid enough to come to my town, I will just end this little game of cat and mouse right now , she promised herself.
At the next intersection, she crossed the street without even pausing for a warning glance. Reaching the far sidewalk, she stopped suddenly, studying the row of stores she’d just avoided. There! Two blocks down! A human shape. It was maneuvering toward her, clinging to the shadows.
Icy fear streaked up Terri’s spine, beads of perspiration forming on her forehead. One thing is for sure, she thought, that certainly is not Bishop. The form shared neither size, nor shape with her husband. Pivoting without thought, she turned away from the follower.
Adrenaline rushed through her veins; her pounding heart beat like a jackhammer in her ears. She wanted to run but didn’t. Her lungs were already struggling to pull in enough air. She couldn’t even be sure it was a man behind her. Wouldn’t she feel silly if she was trying to escape from some homeless, white-haired lady?
Her next thought was to return to the secondhand shop where she had picked up some things for Hunter. Maybe the clerk was still there. She could bang on the door, or maybe see him as he left for his car. Glancing across the street, she realized the store now was completely dark. He was probably already on his way home to his wife.
At the next intersection, she paused, searching with her ears, trying to extend her senses. There! Some distance back! A footfall! Followed by… another!
“Okay, that was not my imagination,” she whispered, her now-quaking legs threatening to buckle under her weight. “Bag lady, my ass!” Ter
ri chided herself for ignoring the signs of the predator in pursuit of her. She had allowed that thug, Blackjack Jones to get in her head, to make her question her own judgment and senses… and now she was in real trouble.
She pulled her pistol with the fluidity of a well-practiced motion and hustled down the side street. Within a few steps, she realized she had made a mistake. There were no streetlights here, only a row of empty storefronts and small, seldom-used offices.
It was too late to turn back, so she increased her pace until it was almost a jog. Plowing through the darkness, her mind was flooded with visions of Ketchum Jones. He was furious with Bishop for the thrashing at Forest Mist, blaming her husband for the death of his father and friends. He would stop at nothing for revenge… knew that the best way to get even was by kidnapping his nemesis’ wife and torturing her until the end.
She could still smell the stench of Blackjack’s swarthy skin despite bathing multiple times per day. She awoke at night, feeling his dark, demon eyes devouring her naked, helpless body with the lust of pure evil.
Shaking her head to clear the images, she gritted her teeth and willed her brain to survive. “Focus!” she hissed. “You’re not going to make it out of this if you don’t get your shit together, girl.”
Her mind was churning information at lightning speed, reprocessing everything Bishop had taught her about surviving a fight. She was already zigging and zagging away from the hunter behind her. What else should she do to evade capture? She conjured up each helpful tidbit he had ever drilled into her, finally settling on one of Bishop’s truisms, “Sometimes, the best defense is a strong offense.”
With his words echoing in her head, Terri cut down the next alley, plunging herself into an even murkier tunnel of fear and loathing.
A voice sounded in the distance, Terri stopping to listen. Another male throat responded. “Oh, my gosh! I should have realized he wouldn’t come alone. There’s more than one of them. Ketchum brought his henchmen,” she whispered. Terri considered the number of bullets in her weapon, deciding then and there that she would empty the chamber… save one.
Her grip on the pistol was now a steel vise, her eyes wide and unblinking. Halfway down the backstreet, she spied a formation of trashcans, surrounded by several large, plastic bags of refuge.
The smell was putrid, an overwhelming odor of rotting food. As she stepped close, a swarm of insects levitated from the decaying garbage heap. She didn’t care. The discarded trash offered her a place to hide.
Stepping into the mound, she dropped to a knee and pulled two of the nearby bags close to her body. “He will not take me alive,” she croaked in a low voice as she flipped the safety off the 9-millimeter.
A few seconds later, she could hear the steps of one man trekking down the alley. Realizing the stalker was alone, Terri prepared to fight for her very life. “I will die before I let you touch my body again, you stinking sack of filth,” she growled, now determined to make a last stand. “You’re getting the first bullet.”
She stopped breathing when the shadow appeared. She could make out the silhouette of a man. He was huge, the ambient light just bright enough to reveal the tracker’s towering height and broad shoulders. Not many men were that large…. Could it be Ketchum Jones himself?
He paused beside the pile of trash, his head scanning right and left, searching for his prey. In that moment, Terri caught a brief glimpse of the man’s face. Now she was convinced. Her muscles tensed in preparation for battle as her finger tightened on the trigger. Get ready to meet your maker, Blackjack , Terri sneered.
Her muscles were coiled to spring from her hide and open fire when the pursuer took a step forward. He walked past her position, strolling at a painstakingly slow pace, his eyes scanning every inch of the alley. Terri watched for the perfect opening. She was going to end this, right here, right now.
Waiting in ambush, not daring to take a breath, she allowed him nine steps. He was far enough away for her to avoid close quarters combat and close enough to allow her a clear shot.
Careful not to make any sound, she gingerly stepped over the trash bag, the front post of her pistol never leaving Ketchum’s back. Another sidestep, and she had maneuvered directly behind him. He hadn’t heard her. She would destroy the bastard before he took another breath.
Taking aim directly at the base of the brawny man’s neck, Terri squeezed the trigger, like Bishop had instructed her to do. Just as the hammer broke, a hand flashed out of the darkness, knocking her barrel high as a ball of red flame signaled her shot.
I forgot about the other man I heard talking, she realized. Now, Ketchum’s henchman has gotten the drop on me. In a panic, Terri began working the trigger as she struggled to regain the target, praying that one, just one of her bullets would find flesh and bone.
A rapid series of shots echoed up and down the alley, adding to the confusion and bedlam. The accomplice’s hand struggled with her to control her weapon, his grip like iron. A mere moment later, she realized she couldn’t hold onto the gun much longer. In desperation, she kicked her adversary, the sole of her shoe landing a harsh blow on his shin.
She was a feral beast, unbroken and undomesticated… purposing everything she had to survive… resisting her opponent with every muscle and fiber in her body. Throughout it all, her mind raced with a single, commanding thought, “I won’t be taken alive. No way! Not this time!”
Her free hand became a lioness’ paw, clawing the air where she thought there was a face. She managed another wild shot, the bullet spitting a cloud of mortar chips into the air as it sizzled off a wall.
“Terri! Stop!” a voice from the edge of her consciousness sounded, some familiarity in the tone managing to pierce the haze of combat.
“Terri! Please! Stop!”
Thank God, it was Bishop! He was beside her. He had saved her.
Suddenly, her body needed oxygen as it relaxed and then slumped with relief. He was holding her pistol. His face was bleeding, but he would know what to do, especially since confusion clouded Terri’s mind, and exhaustion gripped her body.
Then, pivoting and pointing her finger toward her original target, she snapped, “It’s Ketchum! Kill him!”
As she watched Bishop race toward the now-prone figure lying in the street, an immediate calmness washed over her, cleansing her anxiety, abating her fears. He produced a small pocket flashlight as he stood over the man at his feet. “Kill him!” Terri demanded.
The beam steadied on the downed man’s face. Terri inhaled with horror as Nick flinched from the sudden brightness. “Is that fucking pistol of hers empty yet?” the big man quipped in a high pitch.
A million emotions flooded Terri’s heart and soul, her throat stuttering to form an apology while at the same time trying to explain her actions. “Oh, my God,” she managed to mumble. “Nick… oh, Lord… Nick, are you okay?” she gushed, hurrying to his side.
“I thought… I thought…. You know, he’s big like you…. I just knew it was…,” she continued, floundering for the words to explain what had happened.
Bishop’s flashlight then followed Nick’s hand as it reached for his ear. When Terri saw her friend pull away a palm dripping with blood, she crumpled on the pavement, her eyes round and wide with shock.
“She shot off my earlobe!” Nick grunted. “Damn woman, that was close. Remind me not to piss you off, okay?”
Reaching to turn his buddy’s head into the light, Bishop whistled as the raw, bleeding end of Nick’s ear was illuminated. “Well, if it isn’t Vince von Gogh,” he quipped without thinking.
Bishop helped Nick up with an extended hand, then reached for his suddenly unstable wife. Just as she was standing on her own, the red and blue lights of a police car flashed through the backstreet.
“What… what happened?” Terri finally managed to ask, leaning against Bishop’s chest, her wobbly legs struggling to keep her upright.
“Diana was playing with Hunter. Nick and I were on a call with Washingto
n, and I just lost track of time. When I realized I was so late, Diana told me to come fetch you while she cleaned Hunter up. Nick came along.”
Pressing a handkerchief to his wound, Nick continued, “When we found the store closed and dark, Bishop was worried something bad had happened, so we separated and began searching for you. I thought I saw you up ahead of me and followed.”
“Nick,” she managed, “I’m so very, very sorry. I don’t know what else to say,” Terri stammered, hot tears streaming down her cheeks.
“It’s fine, kiddo, don’t worry about it. Now, I’ve got a wicked scar to show my grandkids. Everything’s cool,” he said, pulling her close in an embrace.
It took twenty minutes for the responding deputy to fill out his report. While having Nick there greased the law enforcement skids, the officer still had a job to do.
All the while, Bishop kept a close eye on his mate. She refused to see a doctor, apologizing over and over again, her embarrassment genuine and deep.
While Terri finished giving her statement to the deputy, Nick stepped close to Bishop and said, “You’re right, my friend. She’s not acting right. There’s a problem there. Let me know if there’s anything I can do – as long as it doesn’t get me shot again.”
After retrieving Hunter from his play time with Diana, the little family drove the short distance home in silence. Bishop had a million questions for his wife, but some inner voice warned him that now wasn’t the time. Still, he was deeply troubled by the events that had just occurred.
Finally, home and unloaded, Bishop helped Terri bathe their son and then tuck him in for the night. Exiting the child’s bedroom, he was surprised to find his wife reloading her pistol at the kitchen table.
Reading his concerned expression as he stood at her shoulder, Terri’s tone was short. “Don’t look at me like that. You’re the one who is always reminding me to keep a weapon handy.”
“I am just surprised that you are being so fastidious,” he shrugged. Then, with a wave of his hand, he said, “Tell me what happened tonight. Really. The truth.”
She didn’t look up from the task at hand, her small thumbs struggling to push the last few rounds into the magazine. “I waited at the store as long as possible. The clerk’s wife is ill, and he had to leave, so I couldn’t stay any longer. While I was walking out on the street, I noticed someone following me. I guess I kind of panicked a bit and hid in the alley. Nick looks a lot like Ketchum in the dark. My mind went to the worst place.”