Lone Wolf: A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller (America Falls - Occupied Territory Book 1)

by Scott Medbury

  “Good! Now turn around and I’ll try to stand up, so you can reach my pocket with your hand.”

  Katie spun around as Jack leaned forward and strained to straighten his legs enough to stand up. The first attempt failed miserably, and he fell backwards, the chair legs scraping loudly on the tiled floor. They both froze.

  “I’ll try again. I don’t know how long I’ll be able to hold so grab it as quick as you can.”

  Jack stood again, swinging his backside and the chair toward his sister. Veins stood out in his neck as he held himself in the air, leaning back as far as he dared. Katie’s outstretched fingers reached between the wide slats of the chair back. She barely brushed his pocket before Jack collapsed backwards again, the slats rapping the back of Katie’s hand on the way down.

  She bit back a cry of pain.

  “Try again,” she said. “I nearly reached.”

  With a supreme effort Jack raised himself again and Katie managed to hook her finger onto his pocket.

  “Nearly there! Try to hold there…”

  BANG!

  The unmistakable sound of a shotgun blast startled both of them into stillness. It came from the side of the house where Jack had climbed the trestle.

  “Shit… hurry Katie!”

  18

  Danny rubbed his hands together and huddled in on himself. The clouds overhead had cleared and while the moonlight was welcome, the night had gotten colder as they had dissipated. He was beginning to fret about Jack. It had been over five minutes and it shouldn’t have taken that long for him to come back and let Danny know the next steps of their plan.

  He decided to head to the front of the house and see if he could see anything through the windows of the second story. From the relative safety of a Sycamore tree in the front yard, Danny looked for any sign of Jack or anyone else for that matter. There was nothing. He gave it another two minutes before he began to seriously freak out.

  What if Jack had come back to the side window while he was gone?

  Danny sprinted from the cover of the tree and down the narrow space between the house and the neighbor’s fence. He didn’t see the dark figure, the unmistakable shape of a shotgun in its arms, until he was within two feet. His brain, honed by years of playing first person shooter games, instantaneously made two judgements as the shotgun was brought to bear on him.

  One – there was no chance of stopping in time or trying to dodge the blast.

  Two – his only chance was to go in low and hard.

  He did just that. With a strange cry, part fear and part defiance, he launched himself low and hard. The gun went off as he hit his target in a perfectly executed hawk tackle, his shoulder striking his assailant in the midriff and driving him backwards, the back of his head cracking against the concrete path.

  Danny groaned in pain as he took stock of the situation. The ample body of Larry Dawson cushioned his fall, but the back of his foot was on fire – the blast had caught the heel of his Asics while he was mid-flight. The good news was the bastard wasn’t moving.

  Danny scrambled off him but had to bite down a scream at the fresh protest from his injured foot. He rested on his hands and knees for a few seconds then reached for the shotgun. It was resting loosely in Dawson’s slack hands.

  His hands closed over the warm barrel and held his breath as he pulled it delicately from the meaty hands. When it was free, he allowed himself to exhale and then used it as a crutch to climb to his feet.

  In severe pain but feeling empowered at having overcome the boogeyman, he hopped on his good leg and pumped the shotgun. The used cartridge fell to the ground and he aimed the weapon at Dawson.

  “Get up!”

  Dawson didn’t move, and Danny prodded the shoulder of the unconscious man with the barrel of the gun. This time his prisoner groaned.

  “Get up fucker!”

  “Whaaaart?”

  Danny could see Dawson’s eyes glint in the moonlight. He shuffled back awkwardly.

  “I said get up and don’t try anything or I’ll blow your fucking brains out.”

  “Calm down kid,” said Dawson, holding his hands palm out.

  “I’m calm enough considering you nearly blew my foot off, asshole.”

  “Sorry about that, you startled me…”

  “Yeah right. Did Katie startle you too? Or that kid in the trash?”

  “What? What Kid? And who’s Katie?”

  “Just get up!” yelled Danny. “And keep your hands where I can see them.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  Dawson did as he was told, keeping his hands in plain view as he got to his feet. Danny kept his distance and also kept the shotgun trained on the chest of Dawson.

  “What now kid? You’re bleeding all over the place.”

  Without lowering the shotgun, Danny glanced down at his foot. Dawson wasn’t exaggerating, blood was pouring from his shredded heel, which, strangely, hadn’t hurt so much until the bastard pointed it out. Suddenly feeling woozy, he waggled the barrel at Dawson.

  “I’m fine, put your hands on your head and put your face against that wall.”

  Dawson looked like he was going to protest but seemed to change his mind just as quickly. He simply nodded and obeyed the order, looking dazed and a little confused.

  Danny moved in behind him with the vague idea of patting him down like he’d seen cops do in the movies. He took his hand off the forestock and reached out. That was when Dawson struck, swinging around with a speed that belied his size and slapping the barrel of the gun away. It went off, striking the latticed trestle that Jack had climbed so recently. Timber and leaves exploded as Danny found himself swung around and slammed head first into the wall.

  The gun fell from his hands as he tried to protect his face. The blow stunned him, but Dawson wasn’t finished yet. A strong hand found his collar and gripped him, pulling him back before propelling him forward into the wall for a second time.

  Danny’s vision exploded in swathes of color. He felt like a ragdoll in the hands of a psychopathic child as he was pulled back and rammed into the wall a third time. He didn’t have the means to fight, he couldn’t even brace himself, as he tried to reach the hands of his attacker.

  After the fourth blow, it didn’t seem to matter. He was exhausted, and a strange liquid warmth flowed through his body as the lure of unconsciousness called him. He succumbed completely after Dawson bashed his head into the wall a fifth time.

  Dawson smashed the kid’s head into the wall three more times, not satisfied until it looked like a cantaloupe that had been dropped from a roof. He let him drop and then gave him several kicks for good measure, angry at the kid and himself that he’d been bested and placed in such a vulnerable position.

  As he stood over the body, his head throbbing painfully where it had hit the pavement, Larry was glad he’d decided to keep Jack alive. He would make him pay for nearly ruining his ‘date’ with the long-adored Katie. For that short period of pain, doubt and fear, while his little boyfriend had a shotgun pointed at his heart, he would exact the ultimate revenge on Jack.

  He would rape his sister while he watched… and then kill him.

  19

  “Hi kids,” said Larry Dawson happily as he came back into the kitchen, his shotgun resting in the crook of his arm. “Oh, you’re awake Jack! Good. You get a front row seat to watch all the fun Katie and I are going to have before I kill you.”

  “Fuck you!”

  “Now, now – you’ve only got yourself to blame. You really should have kept going, you know?”

  Dawson’s tone was regretful, but his eyes ran over them in a coldly efficient manner as he placed the weapon on the breakfast bar. Katie held her breath and Jack stared back at him defiantly. She had rolled the chair back to its original location just seconds before their captor had returned. He apparently didn’t notice anything and after a moment, turned and headed to the cooktop.

  Jack saw leaves and splinters caught in Dawson’s sweater. They had heard
the second shotgun blast and the thudding that followed. It was clear a struggle had taken place and it didn’t bode well that Dawson was now standing in the kitchen.

  “Where’s Danny?” asked Jack, feeling hollow.

  “Who’s that now?”

  “You know, asshole!”

  Dawson stopped stirring.

  “Danny is taking a rest. A long rest where he can’t disturb anyone ever again.”

  “Oh no…” Katie gasped and began crying. “You killed him?”

  A curtain of red descended over Jack’s vision, the only thing that kept him from attempting to leap out of his chair to attack Dawson was the fact that he would end up on his face and at the mercy of the shotgun if he did.

  “Oh, lighten up. I probably did him a favor.”

  Katie’s chin fell to her chest and she wept quietly as Dawson began dishing up the meal he’d prepared.

  Jack took a deep breath as he forced his rage back in its box. While Dawson was still facing away from them, he tried to catch Katie’s eye. Her tied hands curled over the end of each of the chair arms. They were clenched into fists. He knew the icepick had to be in her left hand, but she was doing a good job of hiding it. Unfortunately, there was no way they could try to use it to free themselves unless they were left alone, and Jack had a fair idea that the chances of that were zero.

  When he was done serving, Dawson brought two plates to the table and sat the first on his own setting and the other in front of Katie.

  “Sorry Jack, none for you,” he said as he leaned over Katie and began working on the ribbon securing her right hand.

  “Go to hell, you sad pervert,” Jack grated, wanting to distract Dawson as he untied Katie.

  Dawson paused, a flash of anger crossing his face. He straightened and produced a flick knife from his jeans pocket. He flicked it open and held it up for Jack to see. Katie’s eyes widened.

  “If you don’t shut your trap, I’ll cut your tongue out and make you eat it – how do you think sis would like that?”

  “It’s okay! He’s sorry. Jack be quiet!”

  Dawson smiled.

  “You’ve been told Jack. But that really was your last warning.”

  He put the knife on the table and Katie visibly relaxed. That’s when Dawson pounced. He grabbed her roughly by the hair on the back of her head and pulled down sharply, looking into her eyes as she grimaced in agony.

  Tears of rage spilled from Jack’s eyes as he watched the abuse.

  “Leave her alone, you bastard.”

  Dawson smiled, his mouth just inches from Katie’s.

  “Wow! I gotta say, I expect those lips will make my famous Bolognese taste like sawdust by comparison. Should I have a taste now? I’m trying to pace myself, but it’s real hard…”

  Katie was breathing hard, and her face was noticeably paler. When she spoke, her words shocked Dawson almost as much as they shocked Jack.

  “There’ll be plenty of kisses for you,” she breathed. “But I’m really hungry and your meat sauce smells delicious… maybe kisses for dessert?”

  Dawson’s eyes widened.

  “Well, aren’t you full of surprises,” he said, regaining his composure and straightening.

  “I sure am,” Katie said seductively. “I know you’ve been watching me. I’ve been watching you too.”

  Dawson apparently didn’t quite believe this turnaround and decided he would test her. He reached a hand towards her breast.

  “Go on,” she said, encouragingly.

  “Katie! Stop it!” screamed a red-faced Jack, causing the pervert’s hand to stop. “What are you doing!?”

  “It’s alright Jack, we just have to accept that this is the way it is…”

  Dawson laughed.

  “Holy shit. You know what, keep being a good girl and I might even let Jackie boy see the night out.”

  Katie smiled.

  “I sure hope that’s what you’ll do, sir.”

  “Okay let’s eat, you’re going to need all your energy,” he said, and reached down to finish untying the ribbon on her right hand.

  “Thank you, sir,” said Katie meekly as he moved to the other hand.

  Katie looked past him at Jack, her gaze more intense than her brother had ever seen it. Unsuspecting, their captor had only just straightened when Katie reared up like a cobra and jammed the icepick into the side of his neck.

  Larry Dawson screamed and clutched his neck. In his hurry to pull away, he tripped on the chair leg and fell backwards, cracking his head on the corner of the table as he fell.

  “Quick Katie! Untie me!”

  Katie tore her horrified stare from the groaning Dawson and ran to Jack, beginning work immediately on the rope securing his hands behind his back.

  “Hurry!”

  “It’s not coming loose, Jack! Stop wiggling!”

  “The knife! Get his knife!” screamed Jack, nodding at the still open knife on the table.

  Katie ignored him, her fingers finally making some progress. There was another groan from Dawson as he kicked out trying to get to his hands and knees. Katie yelped as the chair she’d been sitting on spun away.

  “The knife!”

  Katie stopped what she was doing and rushed to the table, leaning across it, almost at full stretch to avoid going anywhere near Dawson. The heeled shoe she was wearing slipped and she lost purchase just as she was about to grab the handle. Again, she lunged and smiled as her hand closed around the handle.

  Her smile slipped away when Dawson’s meaty hand reached from under the table and gripped her wrist.

  20

  Katie shrieked as Dawson, his face bleached of color, lurched to his feet, the icepick still protruding from his neck, a ribbon of blood wending its way down the collar of his sweater.

  The girl struggled, but even injured, Dawson’s strength was too great to overcome. He held her in place as he reached up with his other hand and slowly pulled out the ice pick. The spike came free and blood immediately pooled in the puncture and began to flow more freely from the wound.

  Dawson raised it and looked in disbelief at the blood-coated point of the icepick. Then his eyes fell on Katie, forgetting for the moment that Jack was even in the same room.

  “You. Fucking. Bitch. I’ll kill you for that.”

  Dawson shook her hand until the knife spun away across the table top and clattered onto the floor. Katie began to sob.

  “Please, I’m sorry...”

  “Too late for that, Missy,” he said, raising the icepick as he flattened her hand on the table.

  “Nooo!” Jack called, his shoulders moving frantically as he tried to get his hands free of the loosened rope.

  Dawson’s lips peeled back from his teeth in an ugly smile as he drove the spike of the icepick through the top of Katie’s hand and into the hardwood table top, pinning her to it. Katie shrieked, but enraged beyond care, Dawson stood up and grabbed her ankles, pulling her bodily from the table, then shoving her back over it, slamming her face down next to her pinned hand. Next, he used his knee to push her thighs open and began to unzip his jeans.

  Jack finally got his hands free of the ropes that had been loosened by his sister, and as Dawson pulled Katie’s dress up over her backside, he hurled himself, ankles still secured to the chair, in a crazy, jumping launch at the psycho, his full weight striking the big man hard in the side and carrying them both to the floor.

  Jack immediately began punching the face and head of their tormentor. Jack was a powerful kid, he played linebacker in his high school football team and he also knew how to punch courtesy of the sparring his coach made them do for fitness. The punches he landed on Dawson hurt, but the big man was doing a good job of covering up and when Jack missed two hits, he spun, like an alligator doing a death roll, and trapped Jack under him.

  Jack flailed wildly, trying to keep his arms and wrists away from Dawson’s hands, and also land punches. He knew if the big man got a grip on him, it was game over. An open-handed slap acr
oss the face was the last thing Jack expected and it stunned him enough for Dawson to grab his left wrist and begin to reach for his right. That’s when Katie reached over and gripped the bastard’s hair, pulling on it sharply.

  Dawson swore and tried to extract her fingers from his hair with his free hand. Jack used the distraction to land a right hook to the chin. The blow incensed Dawson and he released Jack’s wrist and seized his throat, choking him one-handed. Jack knew he was in trouble right away; the strength of the man’s grip was astounding and with his vision swimming, he reached up and began trying to pry the thick fingers away.

  It was an impossible task and Jack’s eyes bulged as his face turned from red to purple. Through rapidly darkening vision, he saw Dawson finally rip the hand of his sister from his hair and bat her away. His grip on Jack’s throat loosened somewhat while he was busy, and Jack took a meager gulp of air before his windpipe closed again.

  With time running out, he gave up trying to get free of the impossibly strong hand and reached out behind his head, the fingers of his hands scrabbling like blind crabs as he searched for the knife that had fallen to the floor.

  The persistent Katie, still pinned to the table by her hand, appeared above Dawson again, this time screaming and scratching at his face with her free hand. Dawson’s hand squeezed tighter, clearly eager to end Jack, so he could deal with his sister.

  Jack’s heartbeat became loud in his ear. His vision faded to black and… his fingers found the knife. With a last-ditch effort, he grabbed it and slashed blindly in a sweeping upwards arc.

  21

  It wasn’t simply the sobbing, the dead weight on top of him, or the smell of smoke that brought Jack around, it was a combination of all three tugging him out of the black depths of unconsciousness.

  His eyes creaked open. The ceiling and walls basked in an orange glow, muted and washed by gray tendrils of smoke.