Stand Your Ground: A Post Apocalyptic/Dystopian Survival Fiction Series (American Song Series)

by Chris Pike

  “Hello. Anybody there?” a man’s voice called out.

  Then he poked his head around the corner and eyed the three of us. I estimated he was about fifty. He had on a pair of jeans, a checkered shirt, and a cap with the logo of the train. He appeared none too pleased to find us here.

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  “You’re on my train, so I ask the questions.” He heaved himself into the car. “Besides, you’re stowaways.”

  “We’re only here for the ride,” Kyle said.

  “Who are you?” the man asked.

  “Kyle Collins.” Rising, he extended a hand to shake. “And that’s my brother Tommy.”

  “Travis Richards. I’m the conductor for this train and you are trespassing.”

  I exchanged worried looks with Kyle and May.

  Tommy yawned and stood. He kept quiet, not bothering to introduce himself.

  “We’re trying to get out of the city,” Kyle said. “When the train came by, it looked empty, so we got on. We don’t mean anybody any harm, and we certainly aren’t about to steal anything. I’m escorting these ladies to their destination.”

  “Where’s that?” Travis asked.

  “As close to Clifton as we can get,” I answered.

  “That’s west of Waco. I can get you there, but I’ve got an injured man who needs medical attention. Is anyone here a doctor or nurse? You two ladies look kinda young. What about you, Kyle?”

  “I was a medic in the Navy. Got discharged, and now I’m an EMT. Can I help?”

  “You can. Come with me.”

  “I can help too,” I said. “I took a first aid class at school.”

  “That’s more than I’ve got,” Travis said. “Whatd’ya say your name was?”

  “Ella Strong.”

  “You can come with us also.” He glanced at May. “You two sisters?”

  I nodded.

  “And her name is?”

  “May.”

  “As in April, May, or June?”

  “No!” May butted in, her eyes alight with fire. “It’s short for Maybelline. And I’m in no mood for any makeup jokes, okay? And I’m not a calendar girl either. I’ve dealt with those lame jokes all my life, and I’ve had enough. Got it?”

  Travis took a good, long look at her, their eyes meeting in spirited disagreement, and I thought he might cuss her a good one. “You’ve got spunk,” he said instead. “It’s pint sized spunk, but spunk nevertheless. I like spunk. Besides, I don’t mess with young ladies who have their hands on their hips like you do now. That means business. So, Maybelline, I’d be honored for you to accompany us to the front of the train.”

  “I’m sorry,” May mumbled. “I didn’t mean to lash out at you. With all that has been going on…our mom didn’t make it. Our dad probably didn’t either.”

  “No need to apologize. Ladies first,” Travis said, sweeping his arm in the universal gesture asking us to go first.

  * * *

  May and I took the lead. Kyle, Tommy, and Travis followed behind. After we had passed a few cars, Travis decided it would be safer for him to lead, so he stepped in front of us.

  Travis walked purposefully, each step placed as if he had walked alongside a train all his life, which I suppose he had for most of his adult life. He wasn’t a big guy, but he was muscular, like he might have been a running back, built for short bursts of speed, barreling over his opponents. Being a train conductor suited him. He took a moment to check the connection between cars, grunted a few words, then strode on.

  My curious nature got the best of me. “Why did the train stop?”

  “There was debris on the tracks,” Travis said.

  “I don’t quite understand. Considering your line of sight might be a mile or less, how did you stop the train in time?”

  “We had a new navigational system installed last month to alert us to any obstacles on the tracks. It allowed me enough time to stop the train.”

  “Right. Satellite technology and such. We’ve been learning about it in school.”

  “Something like that,” Travis said.

  On each side of the tracks were brambles of thorny dewberry vines, dotted with berries the color of a midnight sky. A butterfly flitted over the tops of the few remaining white blossoms, landed on one, then effortlessly glided away when we got too close.

  “May,” I said, “do you remember when Mom and Dad used to take us to pick dewberries, and how we were afraid one of our friends would see us on the side of the road?”

  “Yes,” she said, laughing. “I also remember all the bugs and fire ants, and that time I nearly stepped on a water moccasin.”

  I snickered. “You were lucky you didn’t.”

  “Dad said the snake was probably after the mice attracted to the berries. Remember how Mom would make a dewberry pie for us, topped with Blue Bell vanilla ice cream? I sure could use some ice cream about now.”

  Looking at all those plump dewberries by the tracks gave me an idea. “Hey, guys. Do you mind if we pick some of these berries? It might be a while before we get fresh fruit again.”

  “There’s no time,” Travis barked, without looking back at me. “A man in the engine room needs help.”

  His demeanor brought me back to the reality of our dilemma. This wasn’t a social occasion with our family where we could be happy and pick dewberries, then go home and take a nice hot shower to wash away the dirt and sweat on our bodies.

  This was a life or death situation. The apocalypse…a scenario I didn’t want to come to terms with. I wanted to remember my family and the laughter we once had. The four of us, happy, content. A hot shower and fresh water whenever we needed it, a full refrigerator, ice, ice cream, TV, radio, texting, music, friends, football games, the drama class. Friends.

  My friends.

  Time spent texting them about all the high school drama, who was dating who, who made bad grades, who cheated on a test…. My eyes flicked to Tommy. I had singlehandedly helped him get through high school by doing his homework, helping him on tests, and for what? A promise he’d take me to the movies or to a dance. What difference did it make now? My opinion of him had changed since the last time I had seen him. I was a silly school girl who had been blinded by infatuation. He had done one nice thing for me when I was too shy to take up for myself, resulting in me being indebted to him forever.

  I still couldn’t believe he had left me standing in the parking lot of school when people were dying around us, and what did he do to help me? Nothing. To make matters worse, he hadn’t lifted a finger to help May or I when we hopped on the train, but his brother had.

  A total stranger had helped me, and didn’t want anything in return.

  My reminiscing was cut short when we approached the engine. Pushed to the side of the tracks was the strangest…well, I wasn’t sure what it was. A smooth, aerodynamic structure in the shape of a truncated cone, possibly even some type of new weapon. It was windowless except for two slits, with a parachute attached to it. The parachute lay tangled in the bushes, and it reminded me of the kind fighter jets probably used when landing on naval carriers. The hatch was open so I looked inside. There were two seats with harnesses, a survival suit lay crumpled on the floor, food wrappers had been tossed about, and the front had a panel that could rival the cockpit of a 747 or at least those in the movies. Instruction manuals lay askew on the floor.

  “What is it?” I asked. “Travis, was that the debris you mentioned?”

  He nodded. “I wasn’t quite sure what it was. I needed to move it, and since it was teetering on the tracks, I gave it a heave and pushed it off. A man yelled from inside, so I opened the hatch to find an injured man. He was talking nonsense, saying his head hurt, and he was thirsty. He’s the one who needs help.”

  I took one glance back at the pod, then hoisted myself up into the engine room.

  A man dressed in a torn suit, his gray hair disheveled, purple bruising on his cheeks, black oxfords covered in dust, his tie loosened, was si
tting on a cot. At first he looked like a homeless man, yet he appeared to be physically fit, about six feet tall, broad shoulders, and his shirt and suit surely hadn’t come off the rack. His suit fit like it had been tailor made for him, and his tie was quality also. He stood, and wobbled, yet he had an unmistakable air indicating he was an important man, one who was used to giving orders.

  The longer I looked at him, the more I thought there was something familiar about him, like I should know him. I was positive I had seen him on TV.

  Then I remembered him.

  My face went ashen.

  Chapter 11

  “President Charles Sayer?” I gasped. “Is he the president?” He was on a cot, and had a gray blanket pushed to the side. I glanced at Travis for confirmation.

  “He sure is. He was out of it when I found him, and I’m not sure what happened to him. He said something about being on Air Force One taking off, and how people started dropping like flies. Then someone forced him into some kind of escape pod or something. He rambled on and on, and made no sense at all, saying his food and water were gone, and he couldn’t get out of that pod.

  “When I opened the hatch, he said he was President Charles Sayer, and he needed help. I laughed and said I was the pope. He gave me a weird look, saying he had met the pope when he visited the White House, and I wasn’t him. I didn’t expect that, so I took a good look at him then realized he was the president.”

  “Wait,” Kyle said. “What’s he doing here? Last I heard on TV was he was flying back to Washington. He had been in town for a fundraiser when the shit hit the fan.”

  “The plane didn’t make it,” I said.

  Kyle gave me a curious look. “What do you mean?”

  “I saw it go down.”

  “Where?”

  “I was standing in the parking lot at school where your brother left me high and dry.”

  “Wait a minute, Ella,” Tommy protested. He took a step closer to me, invading my space, wanting me to back down. I didn’t budge an inch. Not anymore. Tommy’s eyes pierced through me, trying to subdue me with silent communication. I intended to stand my ground.

  “I told you we needed to get outta there,” he said in a loud voice, “but you decided to stay, let me remind you.”

  “I asked you not to leave me. You ran like a coward!”

  “And guess what? I’m alive because of it, and I won’t make any excuses for saving myself.”

  “You’re despicable!” I shouted. We were nearly eye to eye, him being only a couple of inches taller than me. My heart was pumping hard, and my adrenaline was coursing through my veins.

  Tommy came at me fast, unexpectedly, and using his weight he gripped my shoulders and pushed me hard. Surprised at his aggression, I stumbled backwards and fell on my butt. I wasn’t sure which made me madder: The fact he pushed me down, or the fact I was caught off guard. I rocketed up and rushed him, but before I could retaliate, I was yanked back.

  “What the hell is wrong with both of you!” Kyle held me by my backpack, forcing me back. “The president of the United States needs help, and you two are arguing over what happened at school? Good God Almighty! Get a grip,” he said through clenched teeth.

  My breaths were shallow and fast, and it took me a moment to regain my composure. “You’re right,” I mumbled, flicking my eyes to the president. “Sorry.”

  “Yeah, me too,” Tommy said. “Sorry, Ella.”

  “Don’t ever do that to me again.”

  “I said I was sorry. My temper got the best of me.”

  “You need to learn to keep it under control. And let me explain something. If you push, I will push back with everything I have. Everyone here is experiencing extreme stress, and lashing out at those who have helped you is not how to deal with this. We all have a temper. We all have anger, and anger channeled correctly can do great things. What you did was like a two-year old throwing a temper tantrum.” I smoothed my shirt down and took a big breath. “Forget it.”

  I shrugged off Tommy’s aggression towards me as a result of everything that had happened. We were all on edge, and wanted to get out of here, and to top it off we had the president, who was injured.

  “Now that everyone has calmed down, and you’re past your playground fighting, Kyle, can you help President Sayer?” Travis asked.

  “Sure.” Kyle set down his bag next to the president and eased onto the cot. “President Sayer? Can you sit up?”

  “I think so.”

  President Sayer pushed himself up by propping an arm on the cot, and when he tried to rise, he couldn’t.

  “Take my hand,” I said. I wrapped my hand around his forearm and he did the same with me, then I pulled him to a sitting position. “Are you okay?”

  “A little dizzy.” He held his hand to his forehead. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Ella Strong.”

  “Are you my nurse? I don’t remember you being on Air Force One.”

  “I’m not, but I’ve been trained in first aid. Kyle was a medic in the Navy.”

  President Sayer saluted Kyle. “Thank you for your service to our country.”

  “It’s been my pleasure, Sir. Now if you don’t mind, can I take your vitals?”

  Kyle took the president’s blood pressure and pulse using a blood pressure cuff Travis gave him. I looked around the engine room trying to find anything useful. To my left was a cabinet, so I opened it. There were various instruction manuals, and a checklist for the train. I rifled through them until I found a book on first aid. Opening it, I perused the table of contents to find a section on concussions, thinking if I had been in that pod, jettisoned to the ground, I probably would have been knocked out. I flipped to the section on concussions, reading it as fast as I could about symptoms and treatment.

  “President Sayer, do you mind if I ask you some questions?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Did you lose consciousness when your pod crashed?” I asked.

  “I think so.” He rubbed his temple with his thumb. “I vaguely recall waking up and being disoriented.”

  “Okay. Do you have a headache?”

  “Only a nagging one. It’s mostly gone.”

  “What about nausea or vomiting?”

  “I’ve been sick to my stomach, but attributed that to the food I’ve been eating.”

  “Any blurred vision?”

  “It’s not too bad now. I’m feeling much better. I think the fresh air has revived me. The air was getting stale in the pod.”

  “Can you tell me the last thing you remembered before you woke up?”

  The president took his time answering, and I could practically see his mind whirling, thinking about what had happened to him, or considering what he was allowed to tell us. I glanced at Kyle, who had finished taking his vitals. He placed the blood pressure cuff on the wall, and disinfected the thermometer. Next, Kyle tested the president’s reflexes and examined his neck and head, even looking in his ears.

  “Everything looks good,” Kyle said. “Blood pressure, temperature, and pulse are all within the normal ranges. There’s no bleeding in the ears either.”

  “That’s good news.” President Sayer stood, wobbled on unsteady legs, then sat down. “I didn’t realize I was so lightheaded. I’m not feeling quite up to par yet.” He looked at us for an explanation. “What’s wrong with me?”

  “I’m not a doctor, but it appears you’ve had a concussion. A mild one, though. I found a bump on your head, and from the way you answered Ella’s questions, a concussion is the only logical diagnosis.”

  “What’s the treatment?”

  “Lots of rest, both physically and mentally. You need to let your brain recover, so try to keep the visual stimulation down, such as no TV or video games, not that you play video games, or that the TV is working.” Kyle shrugged. “Those are only examples of what not to do. And you have to limit your physical activity.”

  “That’ll be hard to do.”

  “Why?”

 
; “I’ve got a country to run, and I need to get back to D.C. I’m still somewhat confused about why it was you and the others who rescued me. Are you my rescue team?”

  “I suppose you could call us that,” Travis said.

  “You don’t exactly look like what I was expecting.”

  “Navy SEALS…guns drawn and everything?”

  “You could say that. May I borrow your cell phone?” The president patted down his suit pockets, searching for a cell phone. “I’ve lost mine. I’m sure the nation is wondering what happened to me.”

  “Mr. President,” Travis moved closer, knelt, and put a hand on the president’s knee, “I don’t know how to tell you this...”

  “Tell me what?”

  “There isn’t much of a nation left.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “About seven days ago the country sustained some sort of biological warfare attack. The Eastern Seaboard and the Gulf States, as well as northern Mexico and parts of Canada were affected. Many people died. Infrastructure is failing, including cell service. I haven’t been able to get a signal in days. We’ve had ham radio reports of overwhelming death tolls all over the country. It’s estimated millions have died.”

  “It was germ warfare.” President Sayer said. “I’m remembering now. I find it unlikely that so many have died. It’s impossible.”

  “No, it isn’t, Sir,” I said. “An Emergency Alert was issued over the TV this morning.”

  “Who was it?”

  “He didn’t identify himself. The man said you were missing, and most of congress was dead. My sister and I witnessed it firsthand, and—”

  A scream, primal and guttural and horrifying, sliced through the air and sent shivers up my spine. I immediately recognized who it was.

  It was May, and it was obvious something terrible was happening to her.

  Chapter 12

  Central Texas

  Fifty Years in the Future

  “Ella, are you alright?”

  I emerged from a trance. My heart pounded and it took me a long few seconds to get my breathing under control. I was reliving the nightmare of those first few days, and all the memories I had suppressed came at me like a tornado, destroying what was left of my attempts to forget them. Over the years, to keep my sanity, I had surrounded myself with a neon sign blinking loud and clear which indicated don’t get too close to me. It had worked wonders to keep nosy people at bay, but Teddy had unplugged it, and I was having trouble keeping it together.