Powerless World: A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller (Survive the Fall Book 1)

by Derek Shupert

  The sun dipped behind the wooden mountain ranges. Its orange, fiery glow diminished with each second that went by.

  Cathy lit candles she had positioned around the log house. The glow from the flames brought life to the darkening space. What natural light remained was soon consumed by the murk.

  Russell turned in his seat, then rested his forearm on top of the wooden chair’s back. “You sure I can’t help you with anything?”

  Cathy stooped in front of the reddish-brown brick fireplace. She piled stacks of chopped wood on the sheets of newspaper that blanketed the steel hearth. “I’ve got most everything ready. We just need to load the Jeep up in the morning. I figure we’ll cut out of here around first light.”

  Max glanced toward Cathy and lowered his ears. His tongue rolled out of his snout as if he were smiling at her.

  Russell took another sip from the coffee as Cathy ignited a long match. The head sparked and fire lifted from the rounded end. She placed the dancing flame around the ends of the paper.

  The fire consumed the paper in a matter of seconds. It spread to the logs underneath as Cathy retrieved the steel poker. She shifted the logs around, which made the fire blossom.

  Everything Cathy did seemed as though it was second nature. There was no hesitation or uncertainty with any task that faced her. Not only was she tough, but from what Russell could tell, she had a good head on her shoulders.

  “How long have you been doing this prepper thing?” Russell asked.

  Cathy continued to shift and maneuver the logs until the fire burned to her liking. She stood and secured the poker in the stand to the side of the fireplace.

  “I’ve been a prepper for some time. Can’t remember how long, though. It’s more of a lifestyle than anything. I’ve always liked living off the land and being around nature. The concrete jungle never appealed to me. The stench of exhaust and the noise of cars got on my nerves. Once Amber turned eighteen, my late husband, Bill, and I built this house, and sold the one we had in the city.” Cathy took a seat in one of the chairs near the fireplace.

  Max stood up, gave his thick coat a good shake, then trotted away from the screen door. He moved across the living room and plopped down by Cathy’s feet near the fireplace.

  The slight breeze blowing into the cabin sent a shiver through Russell. He took another hearty sip of coffee and made his way to the couch.

  The warmth of the fire spread throughout the cabin, erasing the bite of the cool night air. The orange glow of the flames danced in his eyes as he took a seat on the firm couch.

  “I can’t say that I’ve ever been around anyone who lived this far away from civilization and liked it. Most of the people I know have a different idea to “roughing” it. Not sure how they’d fair with no electricity and being reliant on their own survival skills as a way of life.”

  Cathy nodded in agreement. “I have friends that are that way. They couldn’t believe we were going to live in such a remote place. Neither could Amber. She’s a city girl. Always has been. She’s smart and has good instincts, so generally I don’t worry about her. With all of this happening, though, and not being able to contact her, it just has me on edge. I know how folks can get during times of crisis. Even good people can do bad things when they’re scared and unsure of what’s going on.”

  The riots and natural disasters that happened from years past were a prime example of that. Once the SHTF, people would lose their minds and chaos would ensue.

  Max groaned, then yawned. He stretched out his legs and rolled onto his side. His tongue licked around his snout as he breathed a heavy sigh through his nose.

  Russell pointed at Max. “You did a good job training him. He listens and obeys well.”

  Cathy leaned forward and glanced down to the resting German shepherd. “He used to be a military dog. I got him after Bill passed away. It was more for the company, but it didn’t hurt that he had already been trained as he was. He fits me pretty well.”

  Russell agreed. German shepherds were great dogs. Loyal and protective to the end. “Well, it seems like a good fit. He’s a good pup.”

  Max groaned some more as Cathy bent over. She ran her nails along the side of his coat. His tail wagged as he sat there and relished in the attention he was receiving. “Do you and your wife have any kids or pets?”

  Kids? That was a loaded question. One that Russell figured was coming considering the nature of their conversation. He took another sip from the mug he had clutched between both of his hands as the flames from the fireplace danced in his eyes.

  “Pets, no. At least, not for many years, now. We had a daughter. Jess. She passed away about a year ago, though.”

  Sadness washed over Cathy’s face as she dipped her chin. She sat back in her chair and looked at Russell who stared off into space. “Oh my. I’m so sorry to hear that. I can’t imagine how hard that must’ve been for the both of you. When I lost Bill to cancer, it devastated me and took me some time to finally accept what had happened and be able to move on.”

  Russell downed the remainder of coffee that sloshed about in the bottom of his mug. He offered Cathy a tilt of his head and a warm smile. After all, he didn’t want to be rude seeing what all she had done for him.

  “Thanks. I appreciate it. It’s been difficult for me to move on, even after a year, but I’m managing the best I can. My wife, Sarah, has done a better job of processing everything. She just wishes that I’d open up and let her in. I can get pretty guarded and defensive about it.”

  Russell didn’t hide the pain that he battled too well, which he knew. His body shifted his weight as he’d become antsy. He’d tap his foot and divert his gaze as to not make eye contact. It was getting better, and something that he would address once he got back to Boston.

  “That is understandable. We all process grief in different ways. There is no set path that we take, and certainly, no time limit to healing. But having your wife by your side will be more helpful than going at it alone.”

  It was true and something that Russell already knew, but the guilt that clung to his soul fought to keep him down. He had an uphill battle ahead of him and was ready to tackle it head on.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  SARAH

  The man in the black hoody had made a huge mistake. He just didn’t know it yet.

  Sarah trailed the gutless low-life as best she could through the maze of alleys that snaked through the aged buildings. They both ran at a good clip, neither yielding to the other.

  The Glock remained fixed within Sarah’s grasp. She narrowed her gaze at the clumsy hoodlum who struggled to keep his legs under him. He wasn’t going to get away.

  It was hard to tell if he was uncoordinated or on drugs. From his gaunt frame and the brief glimpse she got at his sallow face, it made her think he might be a meth head. That could be why he stole their belongings. He needed a fix in the worst way and was low on cash. After all, most people seemed to think women were easy targets.

  Rays of sunshine dwindled to a darkening haze that hovered overhead. Smoke tainted the air wherever they went. Sarah could taste the bitterness of it.

  Sarah was growing tired of running, but letting him get away with murder and her property wasn’t an option. All she could see was Jess lying in their living room, bleeding out from the gash the intruder dealt across her mid-section. Nothing made Sarah feel more helpless than watching her only child pass in her arms.

  Hoody darted out of the alleyway while glancing over his shoulder. He wasn’t paying attention. Beams of light traced along the Clarendon Street Garage walls. The sound of water splashed as a four-door sedan came into view.

  The vehicle slammed its brake. Hoody jumped onto the hood of the car with a dense thud. The purse of the woman he’d killed slid across the car and vanished on the other side.

  The driver of the sedan threw open his door. A plump, bald-headed man stepped out. He stood behind the door, yelling and pumping his fist at the air. “What the hell. Are you ok, pal? I cou
ld’ve run you over.”

  Hoody limped around the front of the sedan toward the parking garage without looking in the irate man’s direction. The man continued yelling from the driver’s side before catching wind of footfalls hammering his way. He looked back toward the alleyway in search of what was charging his way.

  Sarah skirted the front of the sedan at a steady clip.

  Hoody hobbled inside the parking garage as Sarah closed in. She raced up the steep incline of the entrance to the first floor of the structure.

  The thug’s footfalls echoed throughout the covered parking lot, then faded to nothing. She had lost sight of him within the dimness. Any sunlight that was left struggled to touch the interior of the space.

  Sarah paused, then listened. Her heart thumped inside her head as she gasped for air. Both legs ached. Her muscles burned. Skipping the gym for the past year had caught up to her.

  She skimmed over the cars that were parked in the structure. If she couldn’t locate him quickly, she’d have to cut her losses and leave if she was going to get to Mandy’s place. That notion made her mad, and caused her to grind her teeth.

  Where are you, you bastard?

  Sarah turned on her heels, sweeping the dark interior from side to side. A choice had to be made on which way to go.

  A subtle noise from her left caught Sarah’s ear. She turned, and looked for the hoody, but found nothing.

  The squealing of tires from the upper levels sounded off. Slow and steady, and with the Glock up and at the ready, Sarah advanced.

  Her moist palms repositioned over the grip. Beads of sweat raced down from her hairline. The inside of her mouth was dry, and felt as though it was stuffed with cotton. She needed water, but it would have to wait.

  Sarah skimmed over the parked cars on both sides of her, sweeping the spaces between them. Any fear that tried to take hold was held at bay by sheer will.

  A slight tremor in her hands caused the Glock to shake. Adrenaline spiked through her veins. Contempt for the scum’s violent act of killing that woman propelled her on. She took in another deep breath, trying to focus her nerves.

  A car engine revved, followed by squealing tires from behind her. Sarah turned just as the headlights from a truck barreled around the corner at the other end of the garage. The driver pushed the vehicle with reckless abandon and sped toward the entrance of the parking structure. It dipped down the ramp and vanished to the street below.

  The silhouette of a figure rushed out from behind one of the vehicles near Sarah. The footfalls of the approaching threat flanking her sent a bolt of adrenaline through her body.

  Heavy, labored breaths escaped the man’s lips as he closed the gap. Sarah turned to the side as hoody grabbed her from behind, restricting her movement.

  His meager arms wrapped around her chest, pulling her body closer to him. A foul stench blew from his mouth with every grunt.

  He reached for the Glock. Sarah stomped his foot with the heel of her shoe. A squelch of pain left his lips as his hold loosened.

  Sarah wiggled her body free and stepped forward. She elbowed her attacker in the gut, then spun around. A swift strike to his genitals sent the hoodlum crumbling to the pavement.

  “Damn, lady. My nuts.” His voice cracked and raised an octave. He curled into the fetal position and whined.

  “Serves you right, you piece of crap.” Sarah kicked him in the gut twice, feeling justified for her actions. “Where the hell is my purse?” Sarah knelt next to the man, searching for her belongings. She grabbed his arm and pulled him over to his back. Her purse sat on the ground. She reached across and snatched the loops. It felt like everything was there, but she wasn’t sure and would have to wait before sifting through the contents.

  Her finger caressed the trigger of the Glock. The barrel trained at the man’s head. His face was cloaked within the hood, but the whimpers that loomed from within conveyed he was afraid of dying.

  “Please, don’t kill me,” he beseeched.

  “Did that woman you stab ask that of you?” she barked with a hoarse growl. “YOU attacked us. YOU killed that women when all she wanted was HER property back. It’s vile scum like you that makes me sick to my stomach.”

  The Glock trembled in Sarah’s hand. A sheen of wetness coated her eyes. She wasn’t a cold-blooded killer. Far from it, but she had done what was needed to protect herself from the scourge of society. From the Creeper to the homely man on the subway, and now to the hooded degenerate who had robbed a woman of her life and Sarah’s own security, she had been pushed to her breaking point.

  Hoody remained flat on his back with his hands in the air. A scared, sad excuse for a human being who now knew what it felt like to be powerless, and at the mercy of another.

  Despite that feeling of rage and loss, Sarah couldn’t pull the trigger. She regretted having shot the homely man. It shouldn’t have happened, much like this scenario and Jess’s death. All of it was senseless, which made it that much worse.

  Sarah lowered the Glock, then took a hearty step back. The firearm hung by her side as her finger rested against the trigger. Contempt, fear, and sadness all washed over her in that moment. Although she had decided she couldn’t kill an unarmed man who was no longer a threat, Sarah was ready to do what was needed if he tried anything.

  Hoody didn’t move. He stayed prone on his back. The whimpers faded away as he sat up from the ground. The palms of both his hands pressed the pavement as he glanced up to her.

  “Thank you for not shooting me,” he sputtered.

  “Shut up,” Sarah snapped. Her voice was cold and callous. She kicked him in the stomach once more to vent the pent-up stress that swelled deep in her gut. It felt good having reclaimed her power back from the cowering man. “Don’t thank me just yet. You’re going to pay for what you did.”

  “What are you going to do—to me?” His voice cracked. It was shaken and unsteady.

  Sarah reached around to her back pant pocket and snagged her phone. She thumbed the power button, then turned the flashlight on. “Remove your hood, now.”

  The light from the phone washed over his faded, dingy hoody and soiled jeans.

  Hoody sat there, still and motionless.

  Sarah trained the Glock at his skull. He flinched. She shifted the Glock an inch or two to the side and pointed it at the pavement.

  Five pounds of pressure. That’s all it took. Sarah remembered hearing that in her firearms class. That’s all that was required to end a person’s life, or save it. It was a simple phrase that repeated every time she thought of pulling the trigger.

  A single round popped off and struck the pavement near his hand. Hoody screeched. His hands flew up in front of him as the white flash from the muzzle framed the angular man’s trembling body.

  The sharp report echoed through the parking garage, then faded away.

  “I’m not going to ask again. Remove the damn hood,” Sarah growled.

  The vandal snapped to, grabbed a handful of the dense fabric, and yanked the hood back. His wild black hair went every which way. Both eyes were sunken into his skull. The wiry strands of coarse hair poked out from his unkept beard in a disorganized manner.

  Sarah lined up the criminal in her sights and switched on the camera. The light vanished. She took three pictures, one right after the other. The camera flashed, then clicked, recording the snapshots. He didn’t budge.

  The images displayed on her screen which was growing dim. Battery life was diminishing, but Sarah felt it was worth it. All three photos looked good. She’d share it with the authorities once she had the chance.

  Sarah moved past him and headed in the direction of the exit that led to the street below. She watched his every move as she pocketed the phone in her trousers. The barrel of the Glock lined up with his skull, discouraging any sort of haphazard thought that might gel in his head.

  He stayed planted on his backside, watching with a resigned gaze. She could no longer see his face, only the odd shape of his head a
nd the thick, matted strands of hair that stuck out.

  Sarah drifted farther away, then raced down the ramp to the empty street below. She hooked the corner of the concrete wall that ran in front of the parking garage in a dead sprint.

  She was relieved to have gotten her property back and a picture of the hoodlum who belonged in jail. Sarah was glad she didn’t kill him, even though he had murdered someone in cold blood. She was no longer going to be an easy target.

  For those who would look to prey on her, they would soon find out as much.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  RUSSELL

  Weathering the storm was easier said than done. It took willpower and grit, something Russell wasn’t sure he had much of.

  The gum had lost its flavor. His jaw hurt from chewing. It helped at first, but the sticks of soggy gum couldn’t replace the need for a stiff, cold drink. Especially right now.

  The cabin had grown silent. Cathy and Max had retreated to her bedroom about an hour or so ago. Early to bed, early to rise and all that jazz. Cathy didn’t say it, but she didn’t need to. She had plans for getting the day started at first light which Russell was all for.

  Hell, they could’ve left sooner, and he would’ve been happy with that. Not knowing how his wife was doing, or if she was safe, kept him on edge.

  Russell paced about the cabin with his arms folded across his chest. Certain planks in the floor creaked and gave under his weight which was annoying. It didn’t bother Cathy or Max, but still, the sharp sound grated on his nerves.

  The fire in the hearth dwindled down to a small, pitiful flame, which reduced the amount of light in the cabin. The logs Cathy used from before was all that had been added. They were nothing more now than charred pieces of wood. Russell didn’t bother adding more. There was no need. The front door had been shut, cutting off the bite of the wind that blew through the screen door. The house was warm and comfortable.

  Russell rubbed his hands over his haggard face as he walked to the kitchen. There had to be a bottle of feel good somewhere in the cabinets. He had no plans of getting wasted. A taste was all he needed to set his mind, and body, at ease.