by Chris Pike
Stand Your Ground
American Strong Series
Book 1
By Chris Pike
Stand Your Ground
Book 1
American Strong Series
by Chris Pike
Copyright © 2018. All Rights Reserved
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronically, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the proper written permission of the copyright owner, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination, except in the case of authenticity. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.
Other works by Chris Pike:
The EMP Survivor Series:
Unexpected World – Book 1
Uncertain World – Book 2
Unknown World – Book 3
Unwanted World – Book 4
Undefeated World – Book 5
The series is available on Amazon here:
The EMP Survivor Series by Chris Pike
Dedication
To my readers: Thank you. This story would not have been possible without you and your encouragement. Y’all are the best! And to my family who has put up with all my crazy ideas and work-shopping sessions, y’all are the best too.
—Chris
Quotes
“You were given this life because you are strong enough to live it.”
—Unknown
“When you have exhausted all possibilities, remember this: You haven’t.”
—Thomas Edison
Table of 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 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
* * *
I’ve tried so hard to forget. I buried those memories long ago, deep in my mind, covered by the weight of despair. I tossed them in the ocean and watched them sink slowly in the murky water, covered by the pressure of ten thousand fathoms. Now I must resurrect them.
Why?
So the next generation will know.
So they will survive.
- - Ella Strong, survivor
Chapter 1
Houston, Texas
Current Day
It was exactly 7:10 in the morning on a late April day. I remembered it clearly because it was the last normal day of my life.
A spectacular sunrise greeted me as I drove along the freeway to my high school, weaving in and out of lanes trying to get to class on time. I didn’t attend the local school; rather the one for the performing arts located several miles down the freeway from my house.
I paid no attention to the chattering of the DJs on the radio. Instead, my gaze gravitated to low-hanging clouds on the horizon where the orange glow of the morning sun illuminated the odd shapes.
If I hadn’t known any better, I would have sworn the clouds were newly forming mountaintops or hills, bubbling up like hot magma, peeking over the massive Houston freeway exchange of the 610 Loop and Interstate 10. The clouds were growing increasingly dark and heavy by the second, and I hoped I could beat them before I arrived at school.
If only they had been rain clouds, life would have been so easy. But they weren’t, and I didn’t beat them, nor did anybody else.
* * *
The day had started out the same as all the rest. Get up, shower, eat a quick breakfast. Beat the clock.
With a towel wrapped around my damp hair, I walked into the kitchen to check breakfast options. Classes were winding down and I couldn’t wait until I graduated so I could begin the next chapter of my life.
A fresh pot of coffee had been brewed, the aroma teasing my taste buds. I poured a cup and splashed some sugar and cream in it. I tasted it, deciding it needed a bit more cream. I had gotten hooked on coffee during the fall semester when I had to study for tests late at night after basketball practice. Now I couldn’t function without it.
The morning news drummed in the background on our high definition big screen TV while my dad ate breakfast at the table.
“Morning, Dad,” I said, still half asleep, taking a sip of coffee. I removed the towel and ran my fingers through my hair to untangle it, patting it dry with the towel.
“Morning, Ellie Bellie.”
“Please don’t call me that. It makes me feel bad.” My shoulders shrank down and my good mood vanished. As a child, people referred to me as a ‘big girl’ and the label adversely affected me. I thought something was wrong with me, and it bothered me for a long time. Several years ago I had a late growth spurt, and during that summer my baby fat turned into womanly curves, and all the boys started to notice, all except for the one I thought mattered.
I didn’t consider myself fat or big, but I suppose at 5’10” I could be intimidating to some people.
“Ella, I’m sorry,” my dad mumbled as he scarfed down another spoonful of cereal. “I forgot how cruel the kids had been to you.”
“Elementary school was bad when I was the new kid on the block, then being taller than all the boys until recently was really bad. But, hey, I’ve got a basketball scholarship for the next four years, so I got the last laugh.”
“I’ll say. And remember, you’re my strong girl.” He winked.
I laughed and rolled my eyes. “Dad, you’re so funny. Of course I’m a strong girl. Our last name is Strong after all.”
“Well, you’re still a strong girl. You have a natural athletic ability which will get you through whatever life throws at you. And you’re competitive. I’ve seen you on the court, running faster and jumping higher than your competition. You put a lot of points on the board, Ella. Regardless of how the game is played, winning does matter. Don’t forget, you nearly singlehandedly propelled your high school girls’ basketball team to the playoffs.”
“I’ve done a lot of practicing.”
“Ella, don’t downplay what you’ve done. I’ve tried to prepare you to be a leader in whatever you do. You’re showing signs it’s paying off, and being a captain of your basketball team was the first test of your leadership qualities.”
“Dad, you’re embarrassing me.”
“Sorry,” my dad said. “Listen, I was thinking we should celebrate before you leave for basketball camp. When does that start?”
“Mid-June, so I only have a couple of months until I’m gone.”
“Then let’s not waste any more time. I have a question for you, Ella. Doesn’t your college have a competitive rifle team?”
“It does.”
“Let’s go to the shooting range to get you some more practice. You’re a natural with a gun, and joining the team would be a go
od way to meet some boys.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“Ella, I know you’ve had a special relationship with Tommy for many years, but he doesn’t treat you like a girlfriend.”
“Dad, let’s not talk about that. Not now. Tell you what. Let’s go to the shooting range this weekend.”
“Deal.”
“Dad, I’ll miss being here.”
“Don’t be sad,” he said. “You’ll make new friends.”
Our morning banter was interrupted by the loud jingle of a breaking news story on the big screen TV. My attention was square on the action. Reporters and cameramen were jostling for position on the tarmac at one of the airports.
“Is that at Intercontinental Airport?” I asked.
“I don’t think so. It’s probably Ellington Field, the one in southwest Houston. It’s the airfield presidents normally fly in and out of when they make a trip here.”
I gave my dad a puzzled look. “Why?”
“For security reasons.”
“Oh, right.”
A camera zoomed to a horde of men wearing serious expressions, dark sunglasses, dark suits, and guns drawn. They’d taken a shooter’s stance, crouched with their legs hip wide apart, both hands on their guns. Another group of the same kind of men held back the reporters, clamoring for a better position.
“What’s going on?” I sat down on the sofa near the TV to get a better look. “Are those Secret Service?”
“I believe so.”
“Did you see that, Dad? One of them is putting on a gas mask. Are they being gassed?”
“I doubt it. Probably only a precaution.”
“He’s running away. I thought they were supposed to protect the president with their lives?”
“They should protect the president at all costs. Perhaps he’s been called away. Air Force One is in the background,” my dad said, pointing at the TV. “The American flag is on the tail, and United States of America is written on the side. The president was in town to give a fundraising speech at one of the colleges, but the news indicated it was cancelled.”
“Why?”
“Must be something important going on in the Middle East, especially since we bombed Syria.” My dad shook his head. “Who would gas their own people? Did you see the pictures of those poor people, including women and children? I can’t imagine the suffering. Now there’s been all sorts of chatter about Russia showing the world who’s boss.”
“What’dya mean?”
“It’s the hypersonic weapon the Russians have been testing. I read about it in the news.”
“The what?”
“A hypersonic weapon. In a nutshell, it’s attached to an intercontinental ballistic missile, and has the capability to sit on top of the atmosphere by using aerodynamic forces. Good for them, bad for us, because the United States doesn’t have any weapons to defend against it for various reasons.”
“Such as?”
“For one, it can travel five times the speed of sound. Plus, it can turn on a dime, making it difficult to track. We have gaps in our missile defense system. I’ve read the weapon can defeat any of the most advanced missile defense systems, including ours.”
“Why hasn’t our country developed its own hypersonic weapon? It couldn’t have been a secret if it was in the news.”
“Budget cuts probably. National debt, politics. The reasons go on and on.”
“Do you think the Russians are about to attack us with that weapon? If so, I guess I shouldn’t go to school.”
My dad laughed. “Ella, go on to school. I seriously doubt the Russians would hit Houston first. They’d go after Washington, D.C.”
“Maybe not,” I countered. “I may only be eighteen, but I understand the significance of the president’s speech being cancelled, and all the activity around Air Force One at Ellington field.” My dad responded with silence. “Where exactly is the president?”
“I guess he’s en route to Ellington Field from the college where he was supposed to speak. I’m sure he’s being whisked back to D.C. for some important cabinet meeting, or whatever nonsensical meetings happen in D.C.”
“Do you think Russia will bomb us?”
“Ella,” my dad said, using his best comforting voice, the kind he used when I scraped my knee as a kid then went running to him crying for a band-aid. “Don’t worry about Houston. Washington, D.C. or New York City would get it before anybody else, like on nine-eleven.” He put down his spoon. “What you do need to worry about are your grades. You still need to keep your grades up, even though you graduate in a month.”
“It’s all good. I got an A on my last science test.”
“Great! Your mom and I are both proud of you.”
“Thanks, Dad. Enough talk about the end of the world. I’ll get ready for school.”
“Good choice.”
I opened the freezer door to peruse the selection of frozen waffles. My choices were blueberry, chocolate, and something masquerading as strawberry. They all tasted like cardboard, but with enough real butter and syrup, anything was palatable.
“Where’s Mom?” I asked.
“Still in bed. She’s not feeling well at all.”
I wanted to burst out crying or scream at the world at how unfair her illness was, being beyond my mother’s control, or the doctor’s, or my dad’s.
“What did the last lab report indicate?” I asked. I placed two frozen waffles in the toaster, pushed the button down to toast them, then poured myself a glass of milk.
He lowered his reading glasses and peered at me over the top of the rims. He shook his head. “Not good.”
I swallowed a lump in my throat. “I can stay home with her if you need me to.”
“Ella, you need to go to school. Besides, your mom doesn’t want you to see her suffer, or for you to miss any classes. She has her cell phone right next to her, so if she needs me, she can call me.” He took his cereal bowl to the sink and ran water in it. “By the way, you’ll need to take your sister to school.”
“I don’t have time,” I protested. “You take her. If we went to the same high school, it would be no big deal, but it’s the opposite direction I need to go.”
“Please, Ella. Don’t start. Why do you and your sister fight so much? When I was your age, Uncle Grant and I—”
“Were the best of friends.” I rolled my eyes. “I’ve heard it a thousand times. You and Uncle Grant were the worst of enemies when you were kids, then when you were teens, you became the best of friends. May and I are only the former.”
“Grant and I are, and continue to be best friends, Ella. When you get older, when things are tough, when your mom and I are dead and buried, when your friends have their own lives, maybe your husband has left you for another—”
“Dad! I’m not even married and now you’re telling me my husband will run away with another woman?”
“When any or all of that happens, you’ll understand your sister will be the only person you can count on.”
I huffed. “I doubt it.”
“Perhaps, but your mother and I have helped out Grant quite a bit these last few years. I’m sure you would do the same for May, and vice versa.”
“Dad, where is Uncle Grant? Is he still at the ranch, taking care of things?”
“He is.” My dad wiped the kitchen counter with a sponge. “It’s better for all of us if the old ranch house stays occupied. When a house stays vacant too long, it falls into disrepair. Besides, when Grant fell on hard times from his business failing, then his wife leaving him, I couldn’t abandon him. I’m not sure he recovered from his wife leaving him and taking their son with her. Family needs to help one another out if they can. When your mother and I are gone, when you’ve grown apart from your high school friends, you’ll have your sister. We raised you to be friends.”
“Right,” I said sarcastically. “Look how that turned out.” I walked over to the pantry, hoping we still had syrup. I picked up the plastic bottle and glanced
in dismay at the pathetic amount of syrup. Someone had put it back in with only a half teaspoon of syrup left. I tossed it in the garbage can where it landed with a thunk.
My dad squeezed the sponge and set it down. “I hope that changes. So, Ella, will you do me a favor and take May to school? I’ve got an important meeting at eight this morning at the lab and I can’t be late.”
“Okay.” I let out an audible sigh of defeat. “She won’t like it. She doesn’t even like being in the same room with me.”
My dad snorted. “Don’t I know it!”
“I gotta hurry up now before I’m late to school.” The toaster dinged and popped up the waffles. I spread a thin layer of peanut butter on them and topped it with a swirl of honey. I ate them as fast as I could and gulped down the last of the coffee.
“Thanks, Ella. I appreciate it.”
Chapter 2
I was the older of two daughters in a normal family. My mother fawned over my sister, younger by two years, who got lucky in the gene pool. I admit she was a beauty, with sparkling sea-green eyes, blonde hair, and a perfect petite figure. She was a cheerleader too, and she could do the most amazing flips. She was an anomaly among her tall, big-boned family members.
I always thought my sister’s beauty and athletic prowess made her the lucky one. Actually, I was the lucky one in the gene pool, or unlucky, depending on one’s perspective.
Why did I waste those formative years being jealous over my sister? I was mean to her in subtle ways–a disapproving look or a catty comment. I pushed her out of my life because of what? Sibling rivalry? Jealousy? The arguments we had were so trivial.
“Come on, May, we have to go now!” I screamed at her as I slammed the front door shut. In a fit of pique I stormed out to the car and backed it out of the driveway, impatiently tapping my fingers on the steering wheel. She darted out of the house and hopped into the car.
“What’s the matter, forgot your lip gloss?” I said snidely.
