Forsaken World (Book 4): Dark Crossing

by Watson, Thomas A.

  FORSAKEN WORLD

  Dark Crossing

  Book Four

  ….

  THOMAS A WATSON

  Copyright © June 15, 2018

  THOMAS A WATSON/A-POC PRESS

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Credits

  Sabrina Jean/FastTrack Editing

  Cover Art by Nicholas A. Watson & Christian Bentulan

  This book is a work of fiction. People places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.

  This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the written consent of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Thank you for acknowledging the hard work of this author. If you didn’t purchase this book or it wasn’t purchased for you, please go purchase your own copy now.

  A Special Thank You

  Leslie Bryant

  Yalonda Butler

  Steven Smith

  Jeff Ashby Jr.

  Amy Jennings

  Cora Burke

  Robert Launt

  Joan Macleod

  Shelly Deuso

  Anna Shirley

  Fleur Wilkinson

  Britta Victoria

  Kathy O’Rourke

  Deb Serres

  Google Maps

  CAST

  Carver-

  Johnathan (dad) Sandy (mom) Lance (13)

  Wilkerson-

  Bill (dad) Mary (mom), Ian (13), Allie (8) Jason a.k.a. Ooops (18, dead)

  Thompson-

  Jennifer (15, calls Ian boo), Carrie (8)

  Lilly Ricci- (24, veterinarian)

  Doug Leary- uncle Doug (dead)

  Dogs: Dino-mastiff George & Judy shepherds

  Dan & Ann (with parents)

  Bear Trap Team

  Heath (owner of house, 36, worked construction) Robin (wife, 35)

  Lori (daughter, 14) Denny (son, 12)

  Rhonda (Heath’s sister, 26, redhead)

  Dwain (Heath’s brother, 28, worked for phone company) Kathy (wife)

  Jodi (daughter, 7)

  Grady (37) Brenda (wife, Heath’s cousin)

  Nazis

  Soldiers of the New Dawn

  Devil Lords- Motorcycle gang (Little dicks)

  Location of Cabin in Kentucky

  Parents’ route home.

  Chapter 1

  Southwest of Arkansas City, Kansas

  Moving inside the house as pain radiated from the bite on his leg, Bill stopped and looked around. Standing between the living room and kitchen, he could tell the house had been empty for some time but hadn’t been ransacked. Seeing a gun cabinet, Bill started to grin before he saw the door was open and the inside was empty. Looking at the bottom storage area, he saw it was open and empty as well.

  Spinning on his good leg, he hobbled into the kitchen and saw a six-pack of soda on the counter. Grabbing one, Bill took the top off and drank the warm liquid down. When he was done, he let out a belch that almost rattled the windows. Glancing out the window, he saw the sun touching the horizon.

  Moving further into the house, he entered the first few rooms to see all the dressers open. Continuing down the hall, he stepped into the master bedroom. Hobbling over to the bathroom, he opened the medicine cabinet. Grabbing a bottle of aspirin, he tossed a handful in his mouth, not worried about the effects on his liver, since he wasn’t planning on being around that long.

  After chewing the aspirin up, he walked back into the bedroom. Seeing the closet open, Bill noticed a metal case on the top shelf. Hobbling over, he grabbed it and pulled it down with a grin at seeing it was a rifle case. Setting the case on the bed, he opened it up and let out a soft whistle. “You don’t use a .375 H&H hunting rifle around here,” Bill chuckled.

  Taking the rifle out, he saw a box of shells tucked into the corner with a small notepad. Limping over to the window, he lifted the rifle up. “My word,” he gasped, peering through the scope. “You can count the hairs on a gnat’s ass a hundred yards away.”

  Lowering the rifle, he looked at the scope. “You don’t put an 8x40 on a .375!” he cried out.

  Moving back to the bed, he took out the box of shells and the notepad fell open. Lifting it up, he saw it was a range notebook. “You sighted in a .375 at three hundred yards. Why didn’t you just get a 7mm?” he chuckled.

  Racking the bolt open, he fed in four shells and then closed the bolt, chambering a round. Slinging the rifle over his left shoulder, he dumped the rest of the bullets into his left thigh pocket. “Now we can get some shit done,” he grinned, hobbling out.

  Walking back outside, he looked over at the barn, moaned at how far away it was, and started his trek. When he finally reached the barn, he was panting hard. But, it was well worth it when he spotted a quad cab Ram 4500 dually with the biggest and most intimidating front cattle guard he had ever seen. “Fuck the gun, use your truck to take some game,” Bill spoke out loud.

  Hearing the ‘door open’ chime and seeing keys in the ignition when he opened the door, he grinned from ear to ear. Reaching in and turning the key, Bill saw the dash light up and the glow plugs turn on. Before he turned the engine on, Bill heard a soft hum to the south.

  “Oh goodie, friends,” he said, turning the key off. Tossing his shotgun on the front seat, he closed the truck door gently and moved along the truck bed. Stopping at the corner of the barn, he pulled the rifle off his shoulder. Way off in the distance, he saw a speck moving across the field.

  Using his left hand to hold the corner of the doorway, Bill brought the rifle up to look through the scope, the speck zooming to his eye. He could see it was a man driving a four-wheeler slowly across the field toward the farm. Using the rangefinder in the scope, he put the four-wheeler at five hundred yards.

  Watching the man, Bill saw him looking down at the ground and then up at the farm. “Following our tracks,” Bill grinned, and saw a smaller form lean out from behind the driver. The passenger was looking at the farm through binoculars while the man slowed down.

  Bill watched the passenger look off toward the east and lift one hand, pointing. The driver grabbed the binoculars and looked to the east. “Yeah, they left. But I have a surprise for you,” Bill said, watching the man hand the binoculars back.

  Grabbing the handlebars, the man steered the four-wheeler toward the barn, since the field was surrounded by barbed wire. Taking a deep breath Bill let half out, centering the crosshairs on the driver’s chest. When the four-wheeler was two hundred yards away, he slowly squeezed the trigger.

  A thunderous ‘Boom’ sounded and Bill flew back, feeling pain radiate through his collar bone. Crashing down on the ground and flat on his back, Bill shook his head. “Forgot how much these damn things kick,” he groaned, moving his right arm and feeling the pain in his shoulder.

  A few miles away, Johnathan turned in his saddle to look back when a very loud gunshot sounded. Seeing Mary and Sandy looking back, “Bill is buying us time, let’s make sure it’s not in vain,” Johnathan told them, kicking his horse back into a trot. Both wives turned around doing the same.

  Back at the barn, Bill was getting to his feet and shaking his head, trying to get the ringing in his ears to stop. “Yeah, I would’ve left the damn thing at home too,” he grumbled at the rifle.

  Racking the bolt to eject the spent round, Bill shoved the bolt home before he lifted the stock to his sore shoulder and looked back out into the field. He could see the larger driver laying still in the dirt. Off to the sid
e, the smaller passenger was rolling on the ground with the four-wheeler fifty yards away and still creeping off at an idle.

  “Glad I don’t have to shoot this damn cannon again,” Bill confessed, lowering the rifle. Moving back to the truck and opening the door, Bill tossed the rifle on the passenger seat next to the shotgun and climbed in. Turning the key, he waited for the glow plugs to go off and then started the engine.

  Listening to the diesel rumble, Bill grinned. “Man, do I miss cars,” he said, backing out of the barn. Driving around the house and out into the field, he reached the downed men just as the sun slipped below the horizon.

  Turning the engine and the interior lights off, Bill got out while pulling his pistol from his waistband. Walking past the first body, Bill saw it was a large man lying on his side. Stepping around, Bill shook his head to see the massive exit wound. “That’s why you use a .375 on dangerous game,” he told the corpse, continuing over to the other form.

  It was a kid, around sixteen. Sprawled out on his back, the boy was holding a tourniquet on his right arm. Standing over the kid, Bill saw the bullet had almost taken the boy’s right arm off at the bicep. “Where are the rest of your guys?” Bill asked, looking down at the boy holding the tourniquet tight.

  “Hanging back ‘till we call where you was heading,” the boy grunted. Bending down, Bill patted him down for weapons but only found a knife. Glancing around, he saw two rifles in the dirt as the boy asked, “How’s my paw?”

  “Why did you risk following so close today?” Bill asked, looking down at the kid and ignoring the question.

  “You already knew we was here,” the boy moaned. “It didn’t matter no more.”

  “Just how in the hell did you keep an eye on us?” Bill asked, glancing around. Off in the distance, he could see shadows on the road.

  “Easy. Just watched you through spotting scopes,” the boy said.

  “Okay,” Bill said, punching his leg and sucking in a breath. “What were you going to do? Let the stinkers wipe us out?”

  The boy looked at Bill’s leg and saw it soaked in blood. “You bit?” the boy asked.

  Cocking the hammer of the pistol, Bill aimed at the boy’s crotch. “Hold on!” the boy cried out. “We find people and lead stinkers in to surround them. We wait a few days, then drive up in a big tractor. We tell them they can come with us, but have to join.”

  “Forced conscription,” Bill nodded, letting the hammer down. “Where are your friends holding up?”

  “They ain’t my friends,” the boy spat. “A bunch of prisoners busted out of the penitentiary to the north and took over Kaw City. It’s just a small town sitting on a peninsula in the lake. They took my family the month after this started.”

  “Interesting,” Bill shrugged, looking down at the kid. “How many there now?”

  “I don’t know,” the kid snapped. Bill cocked the hammer, aiming at his crotch again. “Hey, I don’t know! It’s a lot, though! We been rounding up people since this started.”

  “Describe the layout,” Bill insisted, lowering his pistol.

  “In my back pocket,” the boy said, rolling slightly to his side. Reaching in, Bill pulled out a folded sheet of paper.

  Unfolding the paper, Bill looked at the hand-drawn map. “Just why in the hell would you keep a map like this? You have areas drawn on here listing what’s stored there,” Bill asked, squinting his eyes to make out the lines and words in the moonlight.

  “Because if you bring in supplies and put them in the wrong area, you get beat down hard,” the boy popped off with a grimace, turning to look at his destroyed arm.

  Tapping the boy on the forehead with the pistol, “We are talking, so don’t look away, boy,” Bill growled.

  “It hurts,” the boy whimpered.

  “You have fuel marked here,” Bill grunted, motioning to the map.

  “Yes, sir. They got four tanker trailers parked beside the school,” the boy panted through gritted teeth. “How’s my paw?”

  “Oh, he’s dead,” Bill answered nonchalantly. “But you have more important things to worry about because if you don’t keep talking, I’m going to show you real pain.”

  The boy turned, looking at Bill in horror. “We didn’t have a choice. They got my mom and sisters,” the boy whimpered.

  Hearing a radio call out, “Dean, do you still have them?” Bill stood up, looking behind him. “What’s your paw’s name?” Bill asked, moving over to the body.

  “Dean,” the boy sobbed.

  Rolling the body back, Bill removed a radio from the dead man’s belt. “What’s the town just northeast of here?” Bill asked.

  “Arkansas City,” the boy called out as Bill came back over.

  Nodding, Bill leaned over and hit his leg with the butt of the pistol. As pain shot up his leg Bill blinked, remembering the area. Cocking the hammer, he aimed at the boy’s crotch. “Don’t make a sound,” Bill warned, standing over the boy.

  Bringing the radio to his mouth, “This is Dean,” he croaked in a dry, soft voice.

  “Dean, what’s wrong?” a voice called back.

  Waiting a few seconds, Bill pressed the transmit key. “Bikers in Arkansas City,” Bill said weakly. “They shot us, and I think they got the horse riders.”

  The radio was silent until another voice came on. “How many?”

  “Too many to count,” Bill moaned. “My boy’s dead and I’m going to take as many as I can,” Bill said, lowering the radio beside the pistol before pulling the trigger. A ‘boom’ sounded and Bill released the transmit key, thankfully before the boy had cried out in alarm.

  “Everyone, pull back now!” the new voice screamed over the radio.

  With a grin, Bill looked down at the boy and saw the bullet had impacted a few inches from his head. “Oh, my bad,” Bill grinned, then heard radio chatter of people crying out to pull back. Off in the distance, he could hear the soft hum of engines fading to the south.

  “How do you get to the peninsula?” Bill asked, still listening to the radio.

  Swallowing with a gulp, the boy looked up at Bill with fear. “We take boats from where we park the ATVs around the lake. For big loads, we use the bridge on the south side of town after pulling the stinkers away,” the boy answered, moving his eyes to the barrel of the pistol.

  Realizing what the boy had said, “Stinkers? You called them that because I did?” Bill asked.

  Barely shaking his head and not taking his eyes off the gun, “No, sir. Heard it over the radio,” the boy answered.

  Giving a grunt, “My son’s best friend named them that,” Bill stated, grinning with pride.

  “Sir, we didn’t have a choice,” the boy sobbed, staring at the pistol pointed at his face. “Can you please make sure my paw don’t get up and eat me?”

  “Maybe. Depends on how much you talk,” Bill replied, kneeling down beside the boy. After talking for half an hour, Bill stood when he heard movement behind him.

  Turning around, he saw the boy’s paw twitching. “Well, I don’t want to get in the way of your paw,” Bill said, lifting the pistol and shooting the boy in the left knee. The boy cried out as the .357 slug punched through his knee.

  Walking away while the boy screamed, Bill moved over as Dean sat up. Pushing Dean over, Bill took a map from his back pocket. “You cocksucker!” the boy howled, rolling on the ground.

  “Hey, you started it!” Bill snapped, unfolding the map and stepping back. Looking at the map, Bill saw Dean slowly stand up. When Dean turned to him, Bill lowered the map to stare at Dean’s pale face. “Bitch, your best bet is to talk to your boy,” Bill spat.

  Dean looked at Bill through his cloudy eyes and he sniffed the air. Hearing his son cry out, Dean turned away from Bill and stumbled over to the boy. “That’s what I thought,” Bill chuckled, looking back at the map.

  “No, Paw, it’s me!” the boy shouted as Dean dove down, latching on his son’s left shoulder.

  As the boy screamed, Bill leaned down to hit h
is wound hard again. “Hey, keep it down,” he panted, stumbling back and blinking the bright lights from his eyes. “Can’t read the map with all your screaming.”

  The boy struggled, pushing his paw back as Bill turned for the truck. Dean grabbed his son’s hand, biting three of his fingers off. Climbing in the truck while the boy screamed again, Bill started it up and headed back to the farm.

  Pulling in front of the barn, Bill shut the engine off and climbed out. In the field, he could hear the boy’s screams getting weaker. “Should’ve left us the fuck alone,” Bill mumbled, walking into the barn.

  In the dim light, he grabbed a roll of plastic and carried it to the truck. Stepping outside, Bill stopped when a female stinker grabbed his arm. “If you want to keep that hand, I suggest you let go,” he warned, looking at the hand. The grip felt like a vise but it suddenly released as the woman let go, detecting the change in Bill. She groaned, turned toward the field and stumbled away.

  “Oh, there won’t be anything there by the time you show up, whore,” Bill chuckled, tossing the roll of plastic in the bed of the truck. Unrolling the plastic, he pulled the sides out to form a liner and then pulled out his knife, cutting the excess off.

  Stumbling back, Bill looked down at his left leg, not feeling it anymore. “Not yet,” he growled. Opening the driver’s door, he put his left knee in and slammed the door on it.

  Falling back and holding his leg, Bill felt the pain reawakening his numb leg. Letting his leg go, he reached in his left thigh pocket, pulling out a small bundle of paracord. Grabbing the hand grenade he’d been saving, Bill tied the cord around the neck of the grenade and then made a necklace out of it.

  Struggling to his feet, he put the necklace on and he put weight on his left leg. Pain shot through his body, awakening his mind. Moving back into the barn, Bill rolled some tires out and tossed them in the back of the truck. Climbing back in the cab, Bill backed the truck into the barn and tossed in several bales of hay.