The Off The Grid Survivor
The Off The Grid Survivor Book 1
Connor McCoy
Copyright © 2017 by Connor McCoy
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter One
In the next few seconds, Conrad Drake either was going to escape certain death, or be splayed on the ground bleeding from a gunshot wound. Several factors would tell the tale. They would include whether his sixty years on this Earth finally would catch up with him, whether this hill would be too steep to climb over, and whether the men downhill would get serious enough to chase him up here and put an end to his life with a properly aimed bullet.
But the difference maker was likely the choice Conrad Drake had made just a few seconds ago—the decision not to take another human being’s life.
Perhaps it was doubt. Maybe he wasn’t sure his shot would put an end to his attacker. No, that was bullshit. He had spent lots of time on the range. He had hit bull’s-eyes multiple times. His aim was almost perfect when firing at a stationary target, and he also had trained himself well enough to handle moving targets, even anticipating where they would go and shooting in that direction. His age was also no excuse, as the decades had not done anything to dull his eyesight.
Perhaps it was the pain in his hand, a symptom of “working man’s hand.” No, that never had stopped him from firing his .45 before.
Was it morality? A simple belief in pacifism and the futility of using weapons? That was absurd. Conrad understood that force was at times a necessity to preserve life and home. Especially in his youth, he abhorred the idea of lying down and taking it. To this day, Conrad held no personal qualms about using a weapon.
Was it simple cowardice? No, Conrad willingly had left his home, a place he had prepared as a shelter from the madness he was sure would come, to come out here and face the danger. Conrad wasn’t the bravest soul who walked this planet by any means, but he wasn’t someone who impulsively shrank from danger. The dead coyote who threatened his sheep could tell you that. Ditto the snake that got too close to Conrad’s porch.
Was it the simple fact that he couldn’t spill another human being’s blood?
If he lived long enough to explore that question, he might find it to be yes.
Two days ago, his life was simpler, quieter. He was a man alone, but a man who seemingly found contentment in a life of hard work and skilled preparation. The modern conveniences of the world had ceased to amuse him. In fact, he blamed them in part for his life being shattered almost twenty-five years ago. That old-fashioned ideal of having a family had been ripped away from him.
So, Conrad would build his own life, one that depended on nothing but his own efforts. And for a time, it seemed to have worked.
But perhaps fate had other plans for him. The world had been shattered in the blink of an eye. The conveniences of modern life had been stripped away from humanity. More than that, the very machines that so many depended on for life and stability were shut down. Conrad’s homestead was located so far off the arteries of mainstream travel, with the closest town a small dot on a map with a few thousand people around, Conrad did not expect to see the faces of other people much.
Then the day came when someone came to his door. Conrad soon learned the truth of that old saying, if you want to make God laugh, show him your plan.
Everything that happened afterward set his life on a dizzying ride that had brought him to this place. Perhaps, when he was awakened to that knocking, he shouldn’t have answered his front door. If he hadn’t, if he had stayed in bed, he wouldn’t have departed his homestead for a personal cause. Then again, this cause was for family. God knows, nothing else would motivate a man like him to go into danger. Before that visit, he was prepared to say farewell to the world and live out his days in peace.
Still, so far, Conrad Drake’s journey had gone as well as he had expected, with just one incident involving animals on the road. Up until now, he figured he still might survive this quest intact and make it home. Then, as he and his traveling companions wound their way through the desolate suburban town up to this point, to a place off the main road atop a rocky hill, he had discovered four young men sitting down below. As Conrad was soon to discover, these weren’t docile individuals. No, there was something inhuman about them, about the way they looked up at Conrad’s party. They had no regard for human life.
As soon as the group at the bottom of the hill saw him, the tallest of them rose and pulled out a gun, although he was a terrible shot. His first shot rocketed off into the sky. The second was aimed at one of Conrad’s companions, though it failed to strike human flesh. Conrad made sure his traveling party fled as he aimed his .45 below.
He should have opened fire. He ought to have put an end to those brutes.
But when he aimed, he got woozy, nauseous. Perhaps in his gut he realized you don’t take bullets back. There is no refund on life. If he broke someone, he’d buy them, that, and all the regret that went with it. The strange part was that Conrad knew full well how dangerous this world was. He should have known that such hesitation couldn’t have any place in this new era.
As for the four men, they seemed not to care much about anything. They were dressed messily, with little concern for their appearance. Even when times got tough, human beings ought to worry about their dignity. They laughed, hurled insults, and then decided to chase after Conrad as if he was prey. Even their pursuit, however, was treated as a lark. No, this bunch didn’t care about anything, except having a good time.
If they did, if they had been truly serious about spilling his blood, he’d be dead by now. God help him if they did decide to get serious.
Another hill was nearby, behind Conrad. He knew his traveling companions had already fled in that direction. As Conrad’s legs labored to carry him up that hill, after the rest of his party, gunshots struck the area around him. One struck a rock and bounced off in the opposite direction. Another popped a tree branch, making it sway. The shots were punctuated by laughing. This was fun for them.
Fun? You can’t turn on the power in your own damn home anymore, can’t get food from the grocery store, can’t even turn on your damn phone, and all you little bastards can do is think about fun?
As Conrad made it higher up the hill, he could feel his outrage toward his situation swell. Nothing made sense. When he decided to buck his own plans, and depart for a city three days away from his home, he expected to run into starving masses, into people who were desperate for resources and were prepared to kill for them.
He was not prepared to run into young cretins who cared for nothing but their own amusement.
Conrad raised his head higher to see the top of the small hill he was climbing. A shadow crossed on top. Was that another attacker?
Another shot hit close to him—way too close. He heard rocks tumbling downhill. He turned around. He could
n’t see down the slope of the hill behind him, but that sounded as though people were starting to climb up it.
Damn. He could be boxed in from below and above. And now on the slope of this hill, he couldn’t move very fast left or right. He likely would trip and fall over if he tried to make a run for it either way.
Just then, the shadow from above crossed over him. Conrad looked up, not sure if he would be staring into the eyes of his savior—or his killer.
How in God’s name had he come to this point?
Chapter Two
Conrad Drake sat at the table in the office. He ran a hand through his thick, blond hair and over his clean-shaven face. Then he scratched his leg through the neat gray dress pants he was wearing. This suit was new, so he still had not gotten used to it. Conrad hadn’t bothered to shop very hard for a new suit. He had too much on his mind and, frankly, he had to watch his pennies. A more comfortable suit would have cost too much.
Right now, it seemed his finances were being sucked out the door. His lawyers’ approach starkly reminded him of the troubles he was experiencing.
Perhaps now this hell would at least be over with.
He listened as his lawyers laid out what would be the final terms of the divorce. There was some good news. Conrad wasn’t on the hook for child support or alimony. His ex would get a lot, but at least he wouldn’t be doling out continuous payments for the rest of his life. An agreement was hashed out on how to divide the Drakes’ assets. Conrad knew what he would get and what he would lose. Of course, the most painful loss already was spoken for.
He sat back in his chair. Liam, he thought. He’s got to be close to junior high school by now. To his horror, he was beginning to forget how old his boy was. He’d actually have to check his papers to remember how old his own son was.
He looked at the date on his watch. “Hell of a way to celebrate your thirty-fifth birthday,” he muttered.
The pickup truck shook slightly as Conrad drove it down the street. The truck definitely was cheaper than his old car, but frankly his car would not have served him well for what he was planning. His surroundings were empty of houses, consisting of just the occasional cornfield and set of trees.
Then he turned off onto a dirt road. A short drive later, he arrived at a farmer’s homestead. Like the suit and the truck, it came to him cheap. Of course, it helped that these Midwestern lands were emptying out of farmers and ranchers. It seemed with each generation, these ranching counties shrank in population as the kids of the farmers cast off the lifestyle of their parents and headed to the city.
Conrad was probably one of the very few to move to the city and then move back from it.
Still, for a place he got cheap, the homestead was quite a sight. It was well maintained by its previous owner, and the fields out back were contained by a fence that almost looked like new. In all, he was the proud owner of a barn, a ranch, and more than twenty acres of land.
He’d have felt prouder if he had anyone to share this with. Damn, if I could have had visitation rights, I could show this to Liam!
Conrad undid his tie. No, the world wasn’t a fair place, but damn if it could be cruel. How was it that, absent any solid proof, a judge could find some merit to Sarah’s charges that Conrad was an abuser, and that he even had raped her once? Sure, Conrad made some fumbles in the initial stages of the divorce case, but he since had hired some top-flight attorneys who should have put it all back on track. Instead, he trudged through three long years before he finally got the divorce settled.
He pulled his tie clean off. He had stopped asking why Sarah did it. Asking was pointless.
Conrad paced back to his truck. He tossed the tie through the open driver’s side window, then turned the key, hopped in, and turned on the radio to a low-powered AM station. He didn’t go anywhere. He just listened to the talk show host talking about the state of the world.
Some of his friends in the city called that station a magnet for cranks. To Conrad, their words made more sense than anything he had heard from lawyers, judges, and people wearing suits.
He grabbed the suit jacket. Then, lifting his head, he gazed in the rear-view mirror. He looked all wrong in this suit.
Quickly, he pushed the door open and jumped out. Then he pulled off the jacket and his white buttoned-up shirt, and tossed the garments in the passenger seat. He even discarded his brown leather shoes. Following that, he opened the truck’s rear door, yanked out the work boots, and put them on. After a quick search of the truck bed, he pulled out an axe.
Conrad then marched to the gate in his fence. He rubbed his face. Stubble was sprouting. Perhaps he’d let a full beard grow out.
After getting through a gate in the fence, Conrad looked at his land. There were a few small trees growing near the home. He planned to have this land available for livestock grazing.
He raised his axe and began chopping down the trees.
Twenty-five years later, the land remained as free as ever for the flock of sheep that grazed on it. Conrad walked by, performing his early morning rounds. His boots crunched the morning dew of the grass. By now the sun had risen over the horizon and taken the day out of its dawn.
“Morning, ladies,” Conrad said as he walked by. He often joked that animals were the best people to talk to, as the conversation was usually short, and animals didn’t know how to bullshit you.
Conrad’s ranch neatly divided up his livestock from the line of crops that he grew and harvested. Additionally, Conrad had cultivated an orchard made up of twenty trees. In all, Conrad had a small flock of sheep, eight goats, twenty chickens, and a fish pond.
As he finished his early rounds and headed back to the house, he looked at the nearby white fence that closed off his row of crops, noticing a fresh crack in a wooden panel. This fence hadn’t been tended to in the past three years. Perhaps it was time to repaint it.
His right hand ached. Even the thought of a major project was making his hand hurt a little.
He turned the side door knob and pushed it open, revealing a well-stocked workshop. This was Conrad’s special factory. Hand tools lined the walls. Saws, vises, and other devices sat on a number of tables. A bookshelf hanging on the wall was near overflowing with instruction manuals and spiral notebooks filled with years and years of Conrad’s notes on everything from farming to raising animals to mechanics to survival.
Conrad walked through the shop out to the hallway, where a door on the opposite side was open to reveal a freeze-dry refrigerator. This was his special room to stock food for long periods of storage. Thanks to all his careful planning, he’d be set for the rest of his days.
He slowed as he passed by a hall mirror. Of course, it helped that he now was sixty years old, making sure he didn’t have many more days to worry about. His once dusty blond hair had gone white with slivers of gray, and now was long and unkempt. The beard covering much of his face was colored salt and pepper. There was no trace of the neatly dressed man that once lived in the city.
That’s not to say that Conrad was a complete hermit. In fact, today he was about to head out for some important business.
Conrad tapped the doorframe on the open door with his knuckle. The storeroom of Almeida’s was a mess of boxes and crates. Conrad looked for some familiar faces, but all he found was Carlos Almeida, the store’s owner, and someone he hadn’t seen in a few months, Frank Thompson. The two men couldn’t have looked more different, with the forty-something Almeida sporting a worn white T-shirt and jeans while Thompson, a clean-cut man in his late fifties, was garbed in a dark blue business suit. At the moment, both men were fixated at the TV monitor hanging off the wall.
Once Conrad knocked, Almeida turned his attention to the open doorway at the end of the storeroom. “Hey, Conrad! Sorry man, you’re too late, I blew all my money here on Frank!” He laughed. “Just kidding, come in, come in.”
Conrad kneeled and picked up the box waiting for him at the doorstep. “Now you are in for hell of a treat. These eggs
come courtesy of my ladies, Janey, Lacey, Diana and George.” He set the box down on the table under the television.
“George is not a female’s name!” Almeida said with laughter.
Conrad winked at him. “Ever heard of ‘Georgetta?’”
Almeida grinned. “Georgetta, huh? Ah, you’ve gotten the best of me again.” He fingered the tape that held the box shut. “So, carrots, lettuce, beets, apples, peaches, hell, pretty much the same as last time except for the eggs.”
Conrad nodded as he turned to look at the television. Frank Thompson still was staring at it. The TV was tuned to a cable news channel, with a news host reporting on the current crisis of the day. As Conrad had a great interest in tracking world events, he was already familiar with current developments, so he was more intrigued to see how Thompson was reacting.
The news host was saying, “…and it’s not clear at this time if the six nations will come back to the table. North Korea continues to deny responsibility for the presence of the nuclear warheads in Somalia, but a set of leaked cables confirms that both British and American intelligence suspect the Kim government was responsible for transporting the material to Al-Nori’s government. The crisis seems certain to continue—”
“God.” Thompson turned towards Conrad. “I guess you listen to that bullshit every day.”
“Helps to keep an eye on the world, Frank.” Conrad stepped forward to offer his hand.
Thompson gave Conrad a gentle pat on the shoulder. Not unexpected. Once upon a time, Frank and Conrad used to hug. As time passed, however, they just shook hands, and now it had come down to a simple smile and a shoulder pat. It was hard to call them friends much anymore.
The Off Grid Survivor: An EMP Survival Story Page 1