STRYKER - OMNIBUS: BOOKS 3-5: A Post Apocalyptic Tale

by Bobby Andrews

  STRYKER – OMNIBUS

  BOOKS 3-5

  BY BOBBY ANDREWS

  TEXT COPYRIGHT 2017

  BOBBY ANDREWS

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events or places is coincidental.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  BOOK 3 - EXODUS

  BOOK 4 – REDEMPTION

  BOOK 5 – REQUIEM

  STRYKER: BOOK THREE

  EXODUS

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  PRELUDE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHATER TWENTY- FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  PRELUDE

  SYNOPSIS OF STRYKER, BOOKS ONE AND TWO

  ISIS unleashed a weaponized version of the deadly Ebola virus, killing 97 percent of the world’s population. Only the immune and those who hunkered down in remote locations remain.

  Through the chaos that remains strides a giant of a man known only as Stryker. He is a former Force Recon Marine who has lost as much as anyone, but fights to preserve his honor and creed in the face of slave traders and rogue military elements who prey on the innocent. Together with his former drill instructor, Sarge, they struggle to eliminate the remaining evil elements in society, even as the nation’s infrastructure crumbles and life becomes considerably more difficult. Together, they care for three young women who survived the plague and attempt to give them lives that are as normal as possible under the circumstances.

  Two of the three women, Haley and Erin, are Sarge’s granddaughters. Elle, the third woman, was Erin’s roommate at LSU, where the women survived the plague by hunkering down in a dorm room. After they were abducted by slave traders, Stryker and Sarge went on a rescue mission, saved the women, and returned to Stryker’s ranch in rural Texas.

  After things began to settle down, Stryker and his group started looking for a better place to live and during the search they witness ISIS fighters unloading from freighters in the Corpus Christi, Texas, harbor. Stryker sends the rest of the group back to pick up explosives and he remains behind to observe the ISIS group and to try to formulate a plan to eliminate them before they can move inland.

  Set in rural Texas, our band of heroes face several encounters with danger, including the epic battle with the band of ISIS terrorists who have invaded the homeland with the intent of occupying what is left of the United States.

  But, Stryker has another idea for the terrorists: elimination.

  Sarge and Stryker are joined by another former marine, Blaine Edwards, who helps them in the battle, and later forms a relationship with the third women in the group, Elle.

  After concluding their battle with ISIS, with the help of an air strike from a still-functioning U.S. Navy aircraft carrier, the group strikes off to make a new life in San Diego, where the captain of the carrier has decided to berth the ship and use the nuclear reactor to power the San Diego Naval Station and to begin efforts at rebuilding the country.

  Follow along as the former Recon Marine and others overcome obstacles and danger in an effort to keep what is left of the American population safe from every threat.

  CHAPTER ONE

  “I am really tired of people pissing on my Cheerios.” Caleb Stryker sighed with a note of exasperation.

  He’d spotted the road block when he glassed the area from a small hill around two miles away. He quickly got back in the pickup and left the freeway. Erin, Haley, and he made their way to a small rise in the landscape to the north of the road block. After exiting the vehicle they made their way to the top of the knoll and looked over the apex of the hill from prone positions.

  He peered down through the scope of his M-4 at two men who were approximately six hundred meters away. One carried a tactical shotgun that dangled from a two point sling. The other was a bit more worrisome as he had a fully automatic M-16. The latter fired a standard M885, 5.56 millimeter round that was around a quarter inch wide, and made of lead and steel. It was coated with copper, and left the muzzle of the weapon at around 2,000 miles an hour. While the slug was fairly light, it was designed to inflict maximum damage

  Contrary to what most people thought, the bullets did not tumble as they flew downrange. Rather, they had a light nose and a heavy tail, causing them to flip over upon impact, essentially entering the body tail-first. Both the fifty-five and sixty-two grain versions have a thin jacket and a cannelure that cuts almost through the casing. Upon impact, the groove fractures and the slug fragments into multiple projectiles, greatly increasing the lethality of the weapon. The fragments travel through unpredictable pathways in the human body and surviving a wound from the round is largely a matter of luck.

  While the weapon was highly effective at short range, it was also prone to jams and was a maintenance hog. It was easily the most despised weapon the military ever issued, and was rarely used by elite fighting forces that needed more reliability. However, Stryker had a great deal of respect for it, despite its legendary shortcomings in the military community, and was not happy to see one in the hands of potential adversaries.

  “What do you want to do?” Worry etched Haley’s face.

  “Let’s go around them,” Erin sighed.

  “Get a look at the map,” Stryker said with a tone of resignation.

  “On it,” Erin said.

  “I was really having a nice day too,” he muttered to himself.

  He again looked down at the men. They were seated in lawn chairs, half hidden behind two pickups that blocked the westbound lanes. The eastbound lanes were also blocked by vehicles.

  The men wore matching BDUs and both were short and stocky, with dark hair. The one on the right wore a wild beard that seemed to sprout in all directions and his hair was matted and glistened with grease. His BDUs were filthy and were covered in stains. The one on the left seemed to hold personal hygiene in more regard and was clean-shaven with neatly pressed clothing.

  It was obvious to Stryker that the two men were amateurs. They both seemed distracted and were not paying attention to the road they blocked. They took turns wandering around as though bored with the situation. More to the point, they had failed to detect Stryker’s group as they moved toward the blockade, and allowed them to get to high ground undetected.

  Stryker concluded they were probably brothers. Almost all of the plague survivors they met during the last few years were immune to the pathogen, and whenever they ran into more than one, they were almost always related somehow. Immunity seemed to run in families, and Stryker guessed these two were no exception.

  “How far is it?” he asked.

  “About seventy miles,” Erin replied. “We end up having to cut north, and then take a different highway back south that meets the freeway about five miles down the road.”

  “So, we have to travel sev
enty miles to get back on the freeway five miles from here?”

  “That’s it.”

  “That’s not an option.” Stryker said it flatly, leaving no room for argument.

  “It’s always an option,” Haley replied hopefully.

  “Not today. I knew things were going too well,” Stryker said. “Mr. Murphy, as always, makes his presence known the minute you think you’re going to have a normal day. The bastard just lets you think everything is okay and then he brings the hammer down. I should’ve known.”

  The day had been uneventful. They left the ranch in Eden, Texas on Highway 87 West, dodging the occasional disabled vehicle but otherwise without difficulties. After skirting south of San Angelo, and again navigating through stalled vehicles, they continued on Highway 277 South until they entered Interstate 10 and continued west.

  For the first few hours everything went smoothly and Stryker felt the tension of the last few weeks subside. He even placed an elbow out the window and slouched down in his seat, driving with one hand at the six o’clock position. He felt an unusual sense of well-being, and for the first time, in a long time, he truly was relaxed.

  The sun was shining and the temperatures were bearable in the mornings. The Texas landscape, as always, was almost unchanging, with the occasional ranch house dotting the countryside. The mesquite and scrub cedar stood in lonely patches of lower ground where the water from infrequent rains gathered and pooled until the sun baked the basins dry.

  They passed several abandoned oil derricks and a small pipeline, and finally drove by several small towns that had peeling billboard signs announcing fast food restaurants and car dealerships that lay many miles in the distance.

  It was all very normal.

  Until it wasn’t.

  “What in the hell are those two men doing blocking the highway?” Haley asked. “Why would they want to stop anyone?”

  “I don’t get it either,” Erin responded. “You can just take anything you want from stores. So, what are they looking to do?”

  “Doesn’t really matter,” Stryker shrugged. “We just need to get through and get on with it.”

  “You want to go down there and try to reason with them?” Erin voice was sardonic.

  “Don’t see why not.”

  “Well, the last time you tried to do that you got shot?”

  “There is that. But, I’m tired of this crap and want to get on with the trip. Besides, those two don’t look like they could find their asses with both hands if you gave them a map of their bodies.”

  “Let’s just do the detour.” Erin sighed. When she saw the stubborn frown on his face she sighed again and assumed a look of resignation. Stryker’s massive frame slowly rose from a prone position and seemed to straighten in phases until he stood upright to his full 6’5”.

  “When I wave, come forward.” Stryker gestured at the men below him until they noticed him and waved back. He then started down the rise and let the M-4 dangle downward from his shoulder on its two point sling. He covered the distance quickly with long strides and soon was one hundred meters from the men, outside the effective range of their weapons, unless they were match-grade shooters.

  “What are you boys doing blocking the road?” he yelled through cupped hands.

  “Just passing the day. It’s been pretty lonely around here and we just thought we might get some company,” the neater man yelled back. Both men kept their weapons down, so Stryker approached warily. Their story was bullshit, but there was only one way to get to the bottom of it, and get on with their day.

  “Well, my friends and I would like to pass.” Stryker approached, his tone carefully neutral. “So, why don’t you just move the trucks and we’ll be on our way.” He stopped about three meters from the men and examined them carefully. “Name’s Tom,” the dapper one said.

  “Stryker.”

  “This is my brother Fred.” Neither offered their hands and they continued to watch Stryker warily.

  “Good to meet you.” He took a long stride toward the men and now stood two meters away. “You want to tell me why you’re really manning a roadblock on the interstate?”

  “Tell you the truth, we’re looking for women,” bearded man admitted. His brother shot him an evil glance and then the false smile returned to his face, but the eyes gave him away. Stryker took another stride toward them and now stood in striking range.

  “You have any luck so far?”

  “Just one,” the bearded man replied.

  “Where is she?”

  “Up yonder in our house.” He jerked his head toward a ranch style home that lay to the side of the highway around 500 meters from the interstate. He smiled a broad toothless grin. The man had the look of someone who was a few tacos short of a combo plate. His face was vacuous and he seemed disconnected from what was happening.

  “Shut up,” Tom hissed at him. He inched a thumb toward the safety of the M-16.

  “If that thumb moves again, I will be obliged to kill you both. I would rather keep this friendly.” His voice sounded like the low rumble of a diesel engine and it seemed to get Tom’s attention.

  The thumb stopped moving and he stared at Stryker with a careful expression. It was a frank gaze of assessment and the man was obviously doing calculations.

  “So, did you get that woman here at the roadblock?” Stryker asked.

  “Yep,” Fred answered.

  “Did she go willingly?”

  “Well, not at first, but they get real willing when they get hungry and thirsty, so we’re all good now.” Fred grabbed his crotch and grinned like they were sharing a locker room joke.

  “I might have a problem with that,” Stryker said softly, but his eyes blazed with fury.

  “There are two of us,” Tom said.

  Stryker’s face cracked into a wry grin, but his eyes glinted, and Tom knew this giant of a man would be trouble if things continued to head south.

  “Well, I can see you’re the brains of the operation.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “You can count to two. Your brother there looks like he has a lifelong pass on the short bus, so you must be the smart one.”

  Tom dropped the façade and inched his thumb toward the safety again. Fred stood still and watched with a vacant expression.

  “I don’t like repeating myself,” Stryker said with a mild tone. The thumb stopped again.

  “Just take it easy, friend,” Tom replied with a wary look.

  “Agreed. Let’s tone it down and reach some agreement.”

  “You have any women with you?”

  “Two,” Stryker replied.

  “Give us one and we’ll let you pass.”

  “I don’t think so,” Stryker replied with a false note of regret. “Nope, they’re mine and I’m partial to them so I’m going to keep them.”

  A long silence followed with Tom clearly winding through the gears trying to find an angle. “Well, then you can’t pass.”

  “Bad choice,” Stryker whispered. “By the way, what happened to your brother’s teeth?”

  “I knocked them out with this here rifle butt. He was messing with my stuff and I don’t put up with that from anyone.”

  “Probably not the smartest thing to do,” Stryker murmured.

  “Why’s that?”

  “Well, now you have to baby-bird him.”

  “Baby-bird?”

  “Yeah, you know. Chew up his food and spit it into his mouth.” Stryker smiled broadly. “And I’ll bet you he’s so grateful, he gives you a nice blowjob afterward. That’s probably why you knocked his teeth out. Hell, you don’t need women, you got Fred there.”

  Tom appeared to think it over, and Stryker saw the anger come to his face slowly. He was getting tired of the whole thing and decided to stop screwing with them and get on with things.

  “Well, I’ve really enjoyed the chat, but we better get going.” He grabbed the barrel of the M-16 as Tom cleared the safety, simultaneously drawing and firing hi
s XD when he saw Fred’s weapon come up. Fred pirouetted before he hit the ground and Stryker turned and fired one into Tom’s forehead as he continued to hold the muzzle away. He joined his brother eating dirt.

  Stryker picked up both weapons and motioned the women to join him. He glanced at the two bodies, knowing they were both dead before they hit the ground, then sat on the hood of the pickup and waited for Erin and Haley to arrive.

  “Darwinism at work,” Stryker murmured. “Why do idiots always think they are smarter than everyone around them?”

  Haley and Erin pulled up and parked as Stryker shifted the transmission of the pickup blocking the right lane. They loaded the newly acquired weapons into the trailer bed, and then watched as Stryker pushed the vehicle into the ditch.

  “There’s a woman they kidnapped up in that house.” He pointed to the structure. “I guess we’d better go get her.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Stryker approached the house with his M-4 at the low ready. He mentally kicked himself on the way. He had let himself become complacent and things could have turned out very differently if the men he faced at the roadblock had been blessed with a most trivial competence. They had missed their approach, not paid attention when Stryker advanced, and treated the entire incident with a lack of caution that bordered on the absurd.

  Stryker had spent his entire life assessing and evaluating situations carefully. It had kept him alive through tours in Iraq, through the plague, and through its aftermath. He had trained himself to sort through opportunities and consequences at every turn and to do it even when confronted with situations that would lock the thought processes of most men with terror-induced paralysis. That he let his guard down and allowed himself the luxury of relaxation vexed him to no end, and he vowed to get back on track.

  He owed the women with him better than he gave that day.