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

by Chris Pike

  “Let me get this straight,” I said. “Someone jumped through a window to get in, then jumped out another one to leave?”

  “It appears that way.”

  “There must be another explanation. I’ll check the house to see if Uncle Grant is sleeping. May, you stay here with Kyle and Tommy.”

  “I’m coming with you.” Kyle stepped closer to me.

  “It’s not necessary.”

  He lowered his voice and looked at me pointedly. “That wasn’t a request. I’m coming with you.”

  “Alright.” I was glad Kyle had stepped up to the plate. Something bad had happened here, and I needed backup. After finding my mom dead, I wasn’t sure if I could handle finding another relative dead.

  “Tommy, stay here with May. Ella and I will check the house.”

  “Now I’m a babysitter?” Tommy huffed and plopped down on a chair. May had already taken a seat on the sofa.

  “Deal with it,” Kyle shot back without missing a beat.

  Once we were out of earshot, I asked Kyle, “Is he always like that?”

  “I’m afraid so. He’s felt entitled all his life.” Kyle opened a closet door and pushed clothes and boxes around. Satisfied it was clear, we headed down the hallway. “I think it was because he was the youngest, and my parents let him do anything he wanted to.”

  “I’ve never seen that side of him until now. Oh, wait a minute. I have.” I stopped and put my arm on Kyle. “Last week at school when everybody started dropping like flies, Tommy and I were in the same class. I told him we needed to stay and get help for these people. He told me I could stay, but he was leaving. I begged him to stay, but he left me. He sure did play me.”

  “Get used to it. He knows he can’t do that to me, which is why we clash all the time. I don’t take his crap anymore. When he was little I had to, otherwise my parents would punish me. But once he got as tall as me, my gloves came off. Hey,” Kyle said, “let’s talk about this later. We need to check the house for your uncle.”

  “You’re right. Family dynamics can wait.”

  “Stay behind me please, Ella. I need to check this bedroom.”

  Kyle had his 1911 in front of him, both hands on the pistol. He bobbed his head around the door, took a quick peek, then dashed in and crouched. He looked under the bed, checked the closet, and behind the curtains.

  “It’s all clear,” he said. “How many bedrooms did you say you have?”

  “Three more upstairs.”

  Kyle and I crept up the stairs, trying to make as little noise as possible. The stairs creaked with each step. In the quiet of the house, each step was magnified, and I was sure if anyone else was here, they’d hear us approaching. Once we were on the landing, I motioned to the bedrooms. Kyle checked each one, and finding nothing, he went to the next. I was on the lookout in case he had overlooked anything.

  Kyle came out of the last bedroom. “He’s not in the house, but he has been. His stuff is in the bedroom. Any ideas where he might be? Does he have any friends around here? A secret hiding place?”

  I thought a second before answering. “The cellar. We didn’t check the cellar.”

  “Where is it?” Kyle asked.

  “We passed right by it. The door is to the right of the stairs.”

  We filed down the stairs so fast our steps sounded like the clatter of hooves on pavement. As Kyle reached for the doorknob, a blast shattered through the door, splintering wood at us.

  I jumped.

  Another zing of a bullet whizzed by us.

  Stunned, I could only think to drop to the floor and cover my head. Kyle crouched and took cover.

  Tommy and May rushed into the hallway.

  “What’s going on?” Tommy asked.

  “Get down!” Kyle shouted. “Someone is shooting at us!”

  Tommy forced May to the floor.

  “Who’s there?” Kyle shouted.

  We waited for a response.

  “Get the hell outta my house! I don’t know who you are, but if you don’t leave by the count of three, I’m comin’ out and blasting your sorry hide into the next county. I’m not bluffin’! One, two—”

  “Uncle Grant? Is that you?” I shouted. There was no answer. “It’s me, Ella, and May is here too. I’ve got two of my friends with me. Don’t shoot, okay?”

  We waited for a response. A few agonizingly long seconds ticked by. I shot a glance at May. I mouthed, “That was Uncle Grant, right?”

  She nodded. “And as cranky as ever.”

  Then the door to the cellar opened, and my uncle stepped out. Kyle had his gun aimed, ready to shoot. Tommy and May had managed to slide out of the hallway and into the den. I took one look at my uncle and I knew something was terribly wrong.

  Chapter 24

  Uncle Grant emerged from the cellar, his hair disheveled, a few days of beard growth on his face, and his eyes were big and red, the whites of his eyes flashing like those of a mad man. I wasn’t even sure if he recognized me.

  “Uncle Grant, it’s me, Ella, your niece, and that’s May,” I said, pointing to her. “What’s wrong?”

  His gaze bounced all around the room as if he was searching for something.

  “Lower your gun, please,” I said. “No one wants to hurt you.” I took a tentative step towards him, and gently guided him away from the cellar door, thinking if he wasn’t careful, he’d fall down the stairs.

  When Kyle placed his hands on Uncle Grant’s rifle, Uncle Grant said, “Over my dead body, you will.”

  Kyle backed off. “Whatever you say.”

  “Let’s go sit in the den,” I suggested.

  “Okay,” Uncle Grant replied.

  “May, find him something to drink,” I said. “Water, juice, a soda.”

  “Skip it. Get me the bottle of bourbon from the pantry.” Uncle Grant’s voice was raspy. “And don’t bother with a glass.”

  “On it,” May said.

  We took Uncle Grant to the den, and had him sit on the sofa. I sat next to him. “What happened in here?”

  He didn’t answer immediately, instead he went to one of the windows, peering outside. “What day is it?”

  “Friday.”

  May handed him the bottle. He unscrewed the cap and took a long pull, swallowed, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I needed that.”

  I exchanged worried glances with May. Our uncle had never been like this. “Uncle Grant, how long were you in the cellar?”

  “A day or two. I lost track of time. Could have been three.”

  “What happened in here?”

  Ignoring my question, he took another swig of the whiskey. “Damn, that’s good stuff. Any of you boys want some?”

  “Don’t mind if I do,” Kyle replied. Rising off a chair, he approached Uncle Grant and offered him a handshake. “I’m Kyle Collins. That’s my brother Tommy.”

  “You got a good, strong, handshake. I like that. Are you two friends of my nieces?”

  “Uncle Grant,” I butted in, “Tommy and I went to high school together. Kyle and Tommy are brothers. So yes, we are friends.”

  “Good enough for me.”

  “Grant, can I call you Grant?” Kyle eyed him.

  “Sure.” Uncle Grant handed Kyle the bottle then went back over to the window.

  Kyle took a swallow of the whiskey, eyed the bottle, reading the label. “Kentucky bourbon. The best.”

  “Next time I’ll be sure I’ve stashed a bottle in the cellar. That’s one thing your daddy forgot to do, Ella.”

  “Grant,” Kyle asked, “are you searching for something out there?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Did it have to do with what happened in here?”

  Uncle Grant was searching the land, looking beyond the pasture and to the trees lining the creek. “My mind is playing tricks on me.”

  “How, Uncle Grant?” I asked. “Tell us what happened. This wasn’t a burglary, was it?”

  “I wish it had been.” He sat down
, obviously troubled by what he had experienced. “Ella, I, uh…I can’t explain what I saw.” I joined him and put my hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay. We’re here now.”

  Ruger came up to Uncle Grant and nosed his knee. “Is that your dog?”

  “He is. His name is Ruger. We found him trapped in a car in town. He was thirsty and hungry, but okay.”

  “Keep him near you. Animals have a sixth sense. He can protect you.”

  “Where’s your dog?”

  Uncle Grant hung his head. “Taken.”

  “Taken? Taken by who?”

  “Who isn’t the question, Ella. It’s what took him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I can’t talk about it now.” Kyle gave Uncle Grant the whiskey bottle. He took another swig. “God, I need this. Calms the nerves.”

  “You do whatever you need to do.” I shot a worried glance at Kyle. “If you don’t want to talk about it, you don’t have to.”

  “I’d rather not. I’m not even sure if what I saw was real or not.”

  We made small talk after that disclosure, discussing the weather, the crops, Kyle’s military service, my basketball scholarship, May’s cheerleading. We took turns relating our trip here, the train incident, the president, the pod, and most importantly what was for dinner. Uncle Grant said he had a few venison steaks that had probably thawed by now in the freezer, but were still good. He told us the electricity had shut off the day before he locked himself in the cellar. I told him about what my dad and I saw on TV the day we were attacked. I hated to tell him my parents were dead, especially his brother.

  “Ella, if anyone could have survived, it would have been your dad,” Uncle Grant said. “Why did I live and he didn’t?”

  “I can’t answer that, but I’m so glad you made it.”

  “We’re family, all of us, including you boys,” he said. “Family watches each other’s backs.”

  “That sounds like something Dad would say.”

  “It’s something your grandpa told us when we were little.”

  “Well, Uncle Grant,” I said, standing. “I’m going to unpack what we have, get settled, and take a bath.”

  “We have well water, but please only use what you need. The dry season will start soon, and we need to conserve as much as possible. The water will be cold, but better than nothing.”

  “Thanks for the heads up on that.”

  * * *

  The afternoon went by quicker than I had expected, each of us doing chores by setting up the house for five people, inventorying supplies, and I had been so busy I forgot to take a bath. May was sleeping, and Uncle Grant, Kyle, and Tommy were having some much-needed male bonding time by the outdoors grill. My dad had splurged a couple of years ago by having a covered outside eating area built. It was constructed from rock, and had most of the bells and whistles of a modern kitchen, including five chairs and a table.

  Many memories had been made sitting around that table.

  I let them enjoy the moment, laughing, telling stories, having a beer. Slipping out of the house unnoticed, I snatched a bar of soap, a towel on my way out, secured my revolver, and left through the side door.

  I needed to hurry. It would be dark soon, and I didn’t want to be out here by myself after the sun dipped below the horizon.

  I navigated the sloping hill dotted with trees, patches of cactus, and tall weeds until I came to the spring. A willow tree offered graceful shade, its branches heavy with green foliage, hung like Christmas tree lights.

  I took my shoes off and dipped my toe into the chilly water to test it. Although it was colder than I recalled, I quickly acclimated to the temperature. I removed my clothes and placed them on a low hanging tree branch, keeping the towel within reaching distance. Since I had not told anyone where I was going, my concern about being found with only my birthday suit on didn’t worry me.

  Soft grass tickled my toes, and dappled sunlight streaming through tree branches danced on my shoulders, warming them.

  It was quiet except for the cooing of a mourning dove.

  I stepped into the clear spring-fed pool, took a breath, and submerged, my toes stretching to the bottom lined with pebbles and moss. Opening my eyes, I watched a school of minnows darting to the shallows, weaving around larger rocks, searching for a place to hide in the soundless universe.

  For a few precious seconds I blocked out the world above, which helped me rejuvenate. I surfaced, took a breath, and pushed my hair out of my face. After a quick look around, satisfied I was still alone, I submerged again. I splashed in the water, and when my lungs needed oxygen, I sucked a quick breath then submerged, letting the water wash away the worries of the world, clearing my mind of its troubles. I reached to the bottom and pushed around pebbles, searching for the diamond necklace May and I used to look for.

  Somewhere hidden among the shiny pebbles of chert the necklace must be there. I spotted lavender colored chert, lime green, mocha, sea foam green, baby blue with white dots looked like a robin’s egg. Others were translucent clear pebbles, so many washed smooth by eons of tumbling. I dug my hands into them, letting them filter through my fingers like sand.

  As I let the last handful of pebbles slip away, a shiny string, glinting in the last rays of the sun, looped around my fingers. I stared at it a moment, wondering what it was.

  Then it hit me.

  The necklace!

  The necklace with a solitary diamond the distraught lover had tossed into the pool, the one May and I had searched for, was in my hands.

  I shot to the surface, clutching it.

  I needed to tell somebody. I could hardly contain my excitement.

  Emerging from the pool, I looped the necklace around my neck and secured the clasp. I couldn’t wait to show May.

  Looking around, I hadn’t realized how quickly dusk would be upon the land once the sun dipped below the horizon. A few minutes earlier it was still light, and now it would be dark soon. Something rustled the leaves in the bushes along the creek, and the melodic birdsong of the woodlands stopped suddenly, turning into sharp notes screeching like a needle raked across a record.

  The woods where I had played, where I took comfort in, instantly transformed from a place of solace to a scary place. Trees grew darker, the shadows longer. I had been afraid of the dark since I was a kid, imagining all sorts of crazy stuff that wasn’t real, like monsters hiding under my bed. Right now my imagination was running like an out of control locomotive.

  The entire time I had been at the pool, I had been listening to the chirping of a bright red male cardinal, twittering musical notes of coupling, trying to lure a female. Then the melody was disrupted in mid-tune, cut off into a long shriek.

  A red fox ran blindly through the underbrush right towards me, unfazed by a human, its eyes wide with panic.

  Another fox bolted behind it, completely disregarding me.

  I quickly stepped out of the pool and without towel drying, threw on my clothes, checked my revolver, and—

  A force so powerful, so unexpected, crashed into me, knocking me back into the water. My revolver flew out of my hand and I hit the water with a huge splash, sinking a foot below the surface.

  Instinctively I closed my mouth and eyes.

  My first thought was that Tommy had played a trick on me by sneaking up unnoticed. It made me angry and I couldn’t wait to tell him off.

  I opened my eyes underwater to a swirling trail of crimson caught in the flow of the slow current. I rationalized the sun was shining off an object, and projecting its color into the water.

  Rocketing up to the surface, I was ready to unleash the full fury of my wrath on Tommy. It would be the last time he ever scared me. I pushed my hair away from my face.

  “Tommy, you—”

  Chapter 25

  I was too shocked to finish my sentence, and the hair on my neck stood on end.

  What was it? I’d never seen an animal like that. It resembled a wolf, but what wolf has fangs as
long as a knife? Its fur was gray along its back, the sides black. It was larger than the stuffed wolves displayed at sporting goods stores where children gawked at their magnificence. Comparing it to a Clydesdale horse would do justice to its size, but horses weren’t built to kill.

  The beast circled me and lifted its snout, sniffing. Its paws were the size of a dinner plate, with retracting claws like a cat’s.

  My heart was thumping fast, and I was becoming lightheaded.

  The beast paced along the shore, keeping its eyes on me. The breath it snorted was hot and rank with the stink of death.

  My breathing was labored, my leg heavy and clumsy. Stars appeared in my vision, twinkling, and the sky darkened. I fought to stay conscious, because if I lost consciousness in the pool, I’d drown.

  I started to black out and was unable to hold myself upright. The trees around me swayed, and the sunlight dancing on the leaves drifted away, withdrawing its light. I was dizzy and teetering in the water. I sank down, letting the water cover me to my shoulders, then to my mouth. I was so tired my head felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. Strangely, being in the water comforted me, like I was hidden and protected, a watery sheath that couldn’t be breached.

  Someone was calling my name in the distance, garbled, like the person had a mouth filled with marbles.

  “Ella? Ella? Are you here?”

  Water sloshed around me, and I was chilled to the bone. I couldn’t distinguish who was calling me or from what direction. It was like being underwater where the sounds are a garbled mishmash of the universe, languages of foreign words with no meaning.

  I opened my eyes to blurry images matching the distant garbled words. “Ella. Ella! Where are you?”

  My hands floated in front of me and I flexed them, staring at them like they were the most fascinating things in the world. The fingertips were shriveled like a prune, ridged and lined, so clear, yet so blurry.

  A bubble left my mouth and I followed its track upwards.

  I was underwater.