Survival Rules Series (Book 2): Rules of Conflict

by Hunt, Jack

  “It’s them, isn’t it?”

  “No. We killed them all.”

  “Except that one that got away,” his father said. “You said one of them got away.”

  “Am I supposed to believe this is the work of one person who ran because he was scared? No. I can’t believe that.”

  “Then there must have been others.”

  He shook his head, he didn’t want to believe there were more but the truth was they didn’t know how many inmates were on that flight, or how many had survived. What if… His mind went into overdrive thinking of the worse-case scenario. If they had made it to Whitefish, they could be walking among them without anyone knowing. How would they recognize them? For all he knew they could have passed him on the way to the hospital. After killing the inmates in the forest by Lake McDonald they hadn’t swung around to the other side to speak with the officers they’d left behind, as he didn’t want to give up the utility truck. Was is possible they had split up? Were the other officers alive?

  His brother placed a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to console him. “You wouldn’t have known,” Tyler said.

  “I got them into this. I asked them to help.”

  “They made their own choice,” his father said in a callous fashion.

  Corey wanted to react but like his brother said, it wouldn’t change anything. He walked back into the room to take a last look at his friend. Under his breath he apologized and swore he would find out who had done this. Then he noticed his ID was lying on the floor. Tyler picked it up and saw the address. He twisted around and glanced at the message on the wall, then looked back inside at the torn photo. He exited the room and started backing up slowly.

  Tyler yelled, “Corey, where you going?”

  “I need to get to Terry’s family.”

  “Here,” Tyler said throwing an AR-15 towards him. Corey caught it and looped it over his shoulder.

  “Take my horse,” his father said as if not wishing to be outdone by Tyler’s gesture.

  Corey nodded, turned and sprinted.

  5

  The horse galloped north along U.S. 93 towards the heart of town. Terry’s home was in the eastern corridor just off Mill Avenue. Corey gripped the reins tight as he drove the mare on with a gentle nudge of the foot. Keeping low to the horse’s neck, he made sure to avoid the areas that were ablaze to prevent the horse from getting scared.

  “Come on, move it,” he said to the horse as he snapped the reins and recalled all the times he’d spent with the Murdoch family. Terry had been a childhood friend, the only one who truly understood what he went through with his father. Jennifer, Terry’s wife, he’d known since high school. Losing them both would be devastating. The deaths of Noah and Vern had been hard enough, but now this?

  Throughout the city, he could see the look of despair on residents’ faces. Whitefish was now in the grip of fear, that would soon turn to panic and desperation when food supplies ran out, and sanitation became an issue. The emergency supplies at the high school would only last so long, as would the patience of townsfolk. He’d already seen information on one of the flyers about a curfew being in effect. No one was allowed out on the streets between 11 p.m. and 6 a.m. How they intended to police that was the big question. Sixteen officers handling just over 7,000 people was challenging enough when there was light, order, communication and transportation, but they were now in uncharted territory. Criminals operated long before the lights went out, how much more would they now? It must have seemed like Christmas had come early. Darkened homes and streets, no means of contacting police, it wouldn’t take long before people would take advantage of it. The writing was on the wall. He could see it on the faces of those gathered at the city hall meeting. They knew their city could only do so much for them. It had taken the city almost five days before they got permission to go store to store and gather essential items like generators, candles, batteries, flashlights, outdoor gear, cans of food, bottled water and dry goods, and it came at a cost. Not every store owner was onboard with the idea of donating. They wanted payment and to avoid conflict, the city had dug deep and paid out. Not that it would do them much good but it gave store owners a false sense of security. Had they been smart they would have hung on to their supplies, denied the city access and emptied their stores as his father had on day one. But the fact was most assumed the lights would come on and power would be restored. Who wouldn’t? It wasn’t like a power outage hadn’t been experienced before. The power had been knocked out multiple times over the years through bad winter weather, failing electrical parts and human error. However, no one had witnessed a complete shutdown of vehicles, or communication. He had so many questions of how the town would survive as he got closer to Terry’s home.

  The two-story clapboard abode had brown shutters with brown shingles and a wraparound porch. It was nestled into a heavily wooded area that provided both privacy and quiet from nearby roads. For them it was a blessing but for him a curse. Would they see him approach? It was the perfect spot for an ambush, and with the town in flames, and distracted, it provided an opportunity. He knew that when he set off. He could have waited for Tyler and his father, but this was on him. Corey didn’t want his family getting tangled up in it or the inmates knowing who they were.

  Corey tugged on the reins urging the horse to slow. He scanned the perimeter and the horse broke into a trot. He bobbed up and down. Keeping his distance and sitting up in the saddle, he looked for threats as he circled the home going down Second Street, up Fir, then down to Mill Avenue and around again. There were no old vehicles in the vicinity that would lead him to believe someone had parked nearby. Only Terry’s minivan was in the driveway.

  He brought the horse into the woodland and dismounted, taking the reins and tying them off. He made sure the mare was out of view as he didn’t want to return to find her stolen. His father would never let him live that one down. He squinted at the home. Visibility was low due to the thick smoke that had blanketed the town. An eerie glow of lights came from the house — candles? Flashlights? Were they waiting for him? He strained his eyes as he unslung his AR-15, and checked the magazine before running at a crouch towards the side of the home. He figured he would use the low windows to his advantage and see if anyone was inside before entering. There was music playing inside, it was low, almost inaudible but got louder the closer he got to the house. He peered in through a low window that showed the basement. Nothing was out of place to indicate a struggle. He climbed up onto a garbage can and cut the corner on another pane of glass. This one provided access to a bathroom. The door was open and he noticed blood smeared on the floor as if someone’s hand had slid along, in an attempt to prevent being yanked out. His heart started pumping harder, and adrenaline kicked in. Hopping down off the garbage can he came around the back of the home and looked through and could now see where the light was originating from — candles, they were lit throughout the home, positioned on countertops, tables, and even the stairs. It seemed like Jennifer had gone overboard. Corey looked over his shoulder, second-guessing whether he should enter or not. A few seconds of hesitation and he approached the rear door and pulled on the handle. The storm door groaned as it opened, and he twisted the knob on the main door, pushing it open with the rifle’s muzzle. He fully expected to see someone waiting for him but there was nothing, no movement, no sound, just the candle flames flickering and shadows dancing on the walls.

  “Jennifer!” he hollered.

  No reply.

  Another glance over his shoulder. He swallowed hard and entered moving slowly across the hardwood floor in the hallway. A flash of memories came back to him — laughter, handing a bottle of wine to Jennifer, entering with Ella, and sitting around the table having lasagna. Corey turned into the kitchen that wasn’t visible from the outside. Cutlery was scattered all over the floor, plates smashed, and the table overturned. His eyes noticed a bloodied hand. No, no, no, he said rushing over to find Derek, Terry’s oldest boy, lying face down wit
h his throat slit. Oh, my God, he glanced into the living room and saw another body. It was Luke. His body had crushed the glass coffee table in the center of the room. While his throat hadn’t been slit there were multiple stab wounds to his stomach and blood had pooled, drenching his clothes and the floor around him. The kid was only fourteen years of age. What threat could he have been to anyone? Then he heard a noise upstairs. Raising his rifle to eye level, he moved with precision and purpose, clearing each of the lower rooms including the washroom he’d seen from outside before approaching the white-painted wooden staircase. He pressed his back to the wall as he slid up taking one step at a time and avoiding the candles. Were they still here? Was this a trap? With his two boys dead, that left Jennifer and their youngest child, Selina. When he reached the top of the stairs the upper floor divided. To his right at the end of the hall was the main bathroom, the door was closed, and to his left were three bedrooms. Over the years he’d seen them all so he was familiar with which belonged to whom. Backing up towards the bathroom he kept the muzzle trained on another room, as he glanced over his shoulder. When he reached the bathroom, he eased the door open with the back of his foot then turned and glanced in. It was empty.

  Pressing on towards the bedrooms he anticipated someone jumping out at him, his mind was focused but also recalling Fallujah, Iraq. A few soldiers from the platoon had entered a room and triggered a bomb. He could still remember the taste of dust after being blown backwards. Every day he thanked God that he was still alive.

  He nudged the boys’ door open and shifted his rifle as he moved in. Nothing looked out of place: bunk beds, a small electronic drum set, laptops, study table and clothes laid out. Next he ventured into Selina’s room, and diverted his eyes away. She was there in bed, a pillow over the top of her head and blood covering it. They’d shot her while she slept. Savages. Bastards. He cursed under his breath. As he walked into the main bedroom, he found Jennifer lying on the bed, her wrists tied with a pantyhose, her jeans pulled down just slightly as if someone had attempted to assault her and had been interrupted. Around her throat was a scarf. At first, he thought she was dead as she didn’t move. He pressed his back to the wall and the full weight of his action bore down on him. What had he done? He remembered what Terry had said about having a family and not wanting to get involved but he had persisted, urged them to help him, and in doing so put all their lives at risk. It was a domino effect, killing those inmates had set a chain of events into action.

  Corey was about to leave when he heard what sounded like a cough. He turned his head, hope surged as he hurried over and checked her pulse. It was shallow but she was alive.

  “Jennifer. Jen,” he said trying to get her to respond to him. Her eyes flickered but she didn’t respond. Robbed of air, nearly strangled to death, she had survived. They must have attempted to kill her and when she passed out thought they had or left before checking her pulse. He laid his rifle down and tried to get her to wake by slapping the side of her face. He brought her down to the ground and began performing CPR. He knew the odds of surviving strangulation were low but if he could keep her alive, long enough to get her to the hospital, maybe, just maybe he could…

  The sound of glass smashing, and then a whoosh caught his attention. Leaving her there, Corey scooped up the rifle and ran towards the top of the stairs. At the bottom, fire had engulfed the lower floor. Another crash to the west of the home, and he hurried into the bathroom just in time to see a figure throw what looked like a Molotov cocktail through the window. Rage overwhelmed him and he stabbed the window in front of him with the muzzle of his gun, breaking it instantly and firing off two rounds. A bullet struck the man, dropping but not killing him. Two others hurried out of the darkness and dragged him away. Corey turned, slung the rifle over his shoulder and looked back down the steps. Wood was popping and the fire had now consumed most of the flooring. Thick smoke drifted up and he put a hand over his mouth as he coughed.

  Moving fast he hurried into the bedroom and checked Jennifer’s pulse again. Even if she died from brain damage, he couldn’t leave her here. He scooped her up and crossed the room to the double doorways that led out to a balcony that overlooked the rear of the house and the pool. He kicked them open and a gust of wind rushed in taking his breath away.

  Before he’d taken a step outside, a flurry of rounds chewed up the surrounding door frame and walls, driving him back into the bedroom. They wanted to burn him alive. He placed her down and got close to the doorway and raised his rifle above his head as if he was wading through a deep river and trying to keep it dry. He squeezed off round after round, raking the muzzle in the hope of pushing them back, making them rethink sticking around.

  The room was now full of smoke, thick and heavy. Corey clawed his way along the floor over to Jennifer who wasn’t moving. The steady sound of gunfire erupted outside and he knew they weren’t going to be satisfied until he was nothing more than ash. He could feel the heat of the flames through the floorboards. If they didn’t get out soon, they would die of smoke inhalation or the entire floor would collapse in. Pushed into a corner he knew the odds of survival were low. Thoughts of Ella and his unborn child flashed through his mind. Regrets. His family, his time in the military, all of it came to a point. He wasn’t afraid to die, only to leave behind his family. In many ways he’d beaten the odds. He figured he should have been dead by now with all the close calls in Iraq. He’d seen his buddies die to the left and right of him and wondered why he’d scraped through? Survivor guilt was a very real thing and he knew it fully. “If I’m dying, I’m not burning to death. I’m going out my way,” he said slinging his rifle behind him and scooping up Jen in his arms. He took a few steps back, gritted his teeth, set his face like a flint and ran towards the balcony. As soon as he was out, he flung her towards the pool and watched as she dropped like a stone.

  Gunfire erupted as he climbed up onto the railing and launched himself off. There was no time to think about not getting hit, only getting out. In the air he curled his body into a ball. Before landing with a splash, and disappearing below the depths of chlorine-rich water, he felt a familiar sting — a bullet had struck him.

  As soon as he hit the water, he knew he’d been shot.

  A fiery pain surged up his arm and over his shoulder.

  His eyes snapped open and he swam towards Jen who was floating up to the surface. Although in pain, Corey wrapped his arms around her and breached the surface, gasping for air. He turned in the water, fear gripping him, fully expecting a second bullet to tear through his skull but nothing came. However, he could still hear gunfire erupting though no longer as close as before. Dragging Jen over to the edge, he looked up to see someone standing over him with a pistol. Corey’s mouth widened, expecting death, but a hand was extended.

  “Let me get you out,” the stranger said clasping his hand.

  Another man, similar in appearance, came running into view, scooping a rifle around his back and helping to drag Jen out. That was when he recognized them — it was Jude’s men.

  6

  Nate and Erika had stepped outside the hospital to give Tyler some space after a conversation between him and his father had got heated. “You okay?” Nate asked Erika as he sat on a wall, puffing on a cigarette and waiting for Tyler to come out. He’d noticed she’d been quiet, only speaking when spoken to.

  “I’m fine.”

  He glanced at Bailey who was lapping up water from a bowl given to her by one of the nurses. Erika was crouched beside her running a hand through her hair. “You know if this doesn’t work out, or you want to leave just let me know. I’ll go with you.”

  She glanced at him and her lip curled.

  He continued, “Yeah, I’ve been thinking of spreading my wings for a long time. You know, maybe using this time to travel. Get out there and see some of the world.”

  Erika frowned. “And how do you expect to do that with no planes in operation?”

  “Hit the road.”

 
“Bad timing, don’t you think?”

  “No. What other time in history can you get to stay in the most expensive hotels and resorts for free? I was thinking of heading to Chicago, or maybe New York. Always wanted to see the Big Apple. What about you?”

  “Already done it.”

  “Ah, mother dearest took you on a tour of America, did she, in her private jet?”

  She flipped him the bird, then smiled.

  Nate looked back into the hospital. Tyler and his father were still going at it.

  “Erika, what was your relationship like with your dad? You’ve spoken about your mother but not him. What’s the deal?”

  She shrugged. “It was nonexistent. He was always too busy.” She looked off towards the mountains that cut into the night sky. “I absolutely adored him as a kid. He could do no wrong. But I always felt like I was a nuisance when all I wanted was a little of his time. What about you?”

  “Strangely enough, my old man was a hell of a guy.” He thumbed over his shoulder. “That’s what I don’t get about this. Who the hell talks to their kid like that?”

  “But you said you lived with your mother.”

  “Yeah, they split up when I was young but there was no animosity between them. In fact, she invited him along to a number of vacations even after he ended up with another woman.”

  “Did he cheat on her?”

  “No. They just married too young. Grew apart. He worked as a mechanic, and she was an air stewardess until she got sick. When things were good, it was good.”

  Erika looked at him. “Then what happened to you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Moving to Vegas, stealing.”

  “It’s a tough world, Erika, when you haven’t got parents to hand you a hotel and career. No offense but you had it made.”