To Steal a March: Book 11 of the Thrilling Post-Apocalyptic Survival Series: (Surviving the Fall Series - Book 11)

by Mike Kraus

  He shrugged and threw up his hands for a second as he pulled the truck off the main road and into the parking area in front of the community center. The sandbag barricade had yet to be extended all the way around, leaving him more than enough room to slowly maneuver the trailer into an optimal position.

  The man who had shouted at him threw up his arms in return and took a few steps back, shaking his head while the other five looked on. In spite of the noise of the truck and the covering over his face, Jason kept his voice low and tried not to move his lips as he spoke.

  “Six out front, like you said. No sign of your mom or any of the others. They must be inside right now. You ready?”

  In the back of the truck, Mark gulped hard, squiggling around as though the motion could somehow cause the seat to absorb his prone form and render him entirely invisible to the hostiles outside. In his left hand he tightened his grip on the pair of bolt-cutters, the metal warm from being held against his body. In his right hand he felt the rough surface of plastic and metal bonded together into a small, sleek and deadly shape.

  “Ready.” He whispered back, not feeling ready at all.

  “As soon as you hear the booms, you move. Don’t hesitate for a second, you hear me? All of our lives count on it.”

  Mark nodded for his own sake, grunted in affirmation and swallowed hard again. The plan was foolhardy, dangerous and had a high chance of going sideways. If even one part of their hastily constructed plan happened to be altered or encounter some unexpected obstacle then the whole thing could easily collapse around them. With the lives of their friends and family at stake, though, there wasn’t another choice.

  “Careful opening the back!” Jason rolled down the driver’s side window and bellowed out as the six men neared the end of the trailer. “Pretty sure some things shifted!”

  “Where’s the rest of the boys?” One of the six shouted back.

  “In the trailer, keepin’ the valuables from getting broken!”

  “Why the… whatever, just park it already.”

  Jason rolled his window back up and unlatched his seatbelt as he brought the slow-moving truck to a halt and put it in park. He stared out the side window as the six gathered around the back of the trailer, hoping that they wouldn’t tell him to get out and help.

  “Hey!” Jason swung his head around to see a figure stalking out of the front of the community center. It was the same one he had seen at the gas station, then again at the house. The man in the red shirt. “What’s going on out here? Where’s everyone else?”

  Jason felt his chest tighten as he rolled down the side window. “In the trailer!”

  Nealson cocked his head, a confused expression on his face. “Why’d they get in there?”

  “Solar panels and whatnot. We broke one just getting ‘em in and didn’t want to break more.”

  “You broke one?!” He turned and began yelling at the six men milling around at the back of the trailer. “Get it open! Now! I want to see what damage these idiots did!”

  Time seemed to slow for Jason as he watched the man in the red shirt walk around to the back of the trailer. He saw one of the six men step up to the rear of the trailer, holding his arm out to open the back doors, and smiled as he rolled up the side window.

  Chapter 17

  Ellisville, VA

  Forty-eight. That was the number of metal tubes, mechanisms and shotgun shells that Jason and Mark were able to rig during the three hours they spent at the house. The tubes were mounted with zip ties to a metal shelf that they had managed to force into the back of the trailer and were arranged in an even pattern to ensure for maximum lethality and dispersal. The tubes in the very center of the shelf were angled straight while those near the edges were angled to the sides by a few degrees. Jason had hoped that the setup would lead to at least a couple of injuries or deaths if a few of the shells fired without a hitch, but never imagined what might happen if all of the tubes successfully fired on a large group.

  The back of the trailer amplified the sound of the four dozen shotgun shells, making them sound more like a cannon. The timer that was tripped when the back doors were opened was too short resulting in several of the shots hitting one of the trailer doors, but that did nothing to curb the lethality of the contraption. In an instant the scene at the back of the trailer went from quiet annoyance to complete carnage.

  Three of the group fell to the ground, dead before they hit the dirt thanks to slugs tearing through their hearts and heads. The other three screamed in pain, one losing a leg to a nasty grouping of slugs as the metal tubes bucked loose from the shelf and another losing both eyes to a spray of buckshot.

  As soon as the shots went off, Mark and Jason both dove out of the truck, though they went in opposite directions. Mark headed straight for the community center, cutting through a couple of other vehicles parked out front. Jason ran around the back of the truck, rifle in hand as he raced for the back of the trailer. It took him less than a second to see that the six men behind the trailer had been incapacitated or killed and he looked up from their bodies to see the man in the red shirt standing unscathed.

  Jason raised his rifle and fired, but Nealson was faster. He dove for a space in between a nearby two-door sedan and another small box trailer, Jason’s shots just barely missing him. He crawled through the dirt for a few feet before picking himself up and dashing around to the back of the sedan where he drew his revolver as he tried to catch his breath and figure out what had just happened.

  As Nealson was crawling through the dirt, the door to the community center was thrown open by Mark, who was still carrying a pair of bolt-cutters in one hand and a pistol in the other. “Get in, take down the hostile and then free everyone” had been the instructions given to him by Jason. At the time, when they were coming up with the outlandish plan, it had sounded so simple. Get in, kill anyone who was trying to hurt his family, then free his family.

  Mark glanced around the room, struggling to make sense of the place. Stacks of crates and boxes were scattered around, illumination came from both generator-powered sources and from what looked like propane lanterns, making the whole place a mishmash of dark shadows and painfully bright lights. Two voices cried out one after the other as Mark walked through the door.

  “Mark! Behind you!” The first voice was familiar, squeezing Mark’s heart with warmth and love even though the voice itself was full of panic.

  “What the…” The second was low and rough, like gravel across a washboard. Mark swiveled from his instinctive turn to his mom’s voice, pivoting on his heels to face the man’s voice on his left. He raised the pistol as he turned, aimed it at the center of the blurry mass in front of him and pulled the trigger. Sound and light bit at his ears and eyes, though it was nothing compared to the fury echoing outside. Mark squeezed again, three more times, until the mass that had been moving in his direction stopped and fell to the floor with a groan and a garbled cry for help. He stared at the body, the pistol wavering slightly in his grip as he kept it trained on the man’s still-warm corpse.

  “Mark!” The first voice came again, breaking him out of his trance. He turned and saw his mother, sister and brother staring at him. Tina was the first to speak, though, hissing at him as she gestured wildly.

  “Get over here, boy! Give me those bolt cutters!”

  Mark obliged, putting the man behind him out of his mind. He raced for his family, dropping the cutters in front of Tina before wrapping his arms around Dianne. Tears flowed freely as he held her tight and he began to sob. Jacob and Josie embraced him and Dianne as well, crying not because they were frightened but because he was crying.

  “Are you okay?!” Dianne whispered in his ear, feeling him top to bottom as she continued holding him tight to her chest.

  “I’m fine,” he wheezed, taking a step back and wiping his nose on his sleeve. “Mr. Statler’s outside, though. We need to help him.”

  The sharp snap of metal attracted Dianne’s attention, and she looke
d down to see Sarah pulling the shackles off of her and her children’s legs. “Then let’s get going, shall we?”

  After a brief argument over who should wield Mark’s pistol, Tina threw her hands in the air and hurried over to the man who was still lying motionless on the ground by the front door to the community center. She rolled him over with a grunt, taking a step back to avoid the rapidly enlarging puddle of blood, then plucked his rifle off the ground and dug two spare blood-covered magazines from his vest pockets. “Now,” she intoned as she popped out the mag, checked it, then slammed it back home, “I’m leading the way out. Got it?” Another burst of gunfire from out front prevented any further arguments and she slipped up to the front door, putting her head against the wood to try and figure out what was going on.

  ***

  Outside, in the two and a half minutes it took for Mark to get in, reunite with his family and for everyone to be freed by Tina and Sarah, Jason kept still behind the trailer. Occasionally he peeked out and caught a glimpse of movement behind the sedan which he fired upon, but each time his fire was met with the sound of metal and glass being torn apart instead of flesh and bone.

  “Just give up!” He called out, not realizing how out of breath he was until he had to speak. “Your men are dead!

  From behind the sedan, Nealson curled his lip in anger. He didn’t bother responding, not wanting to give away the fact that he was slowly making his way to the back of the vehicle where, if he was lucky, he’d be able to move around to the side and get a view on whoever it was that had so thoroughly managed to kill six of his accomplices.

  With the gunfire from Jason making so much noise, Nealson hadn’t noticed the pistol going off inside the community center so the sound of the front door creaking open made his heart jump with excitement. He had forgotten about Reggie, whom he had left inside to guard the remaining prisoners. He rotated around, getting ready to both instruct and chastise Reggie about not coming out sooner when he saw a small, thin form instead of the large and imposing one he had expected.

  It took Nealson a few seconds to register that the person was standing in the doorway was the old woman whose husband his men had killed and who had escaped from the gas station. As soon as he realized who she was, though, he knew that things inside must have gone poorly for Reggie. If the old woman was free, that meant the others were likely free as well. Which meant that—until the other scavenging group returned—he was alone and sorely outnumbered. He needed a distraction, something that would enable him to escape before one of the prisoners or the new arrival managed to get the upper hand.

  The flash of metal in the woman’s hand sealed Nealson’s decision and her fate. He raised his revolver, taking careful aim at her chest, and fired a single shot. The barrel belched fire, sending the hollow-point .357 round across the short distance in the blink of an eye. Expanding and tumbling as it encountered resistance, the round tore through skin, muscle, flesh and organs as it veered off course, rolling to the side and finally stopping as it lodged into bone.

  Tina shrieked as she collapsed to the ground. While the others rushed to her aid, Mark scooped up her rifle and joined Jason in firing upon Nealson, but the distraction offered to him lasted just long enough for him to jump into the sedan, start it up and peel out of the parking area in front of the community center. The vehicle lurched as it thumped over the bags of sand and dirt on the perimeter, gunfire trailing after it as Tina continued to cry out in pain.

  Chapter 18

  Mount Yamantau

  “Doctor Yermakov here to see you, sir.”

  “Send him in.”

  The voice matches the darkened lighting of the room, carrying a distinct tone of malice even in the simplest of expressions. A young man enters, a wool cap wrung between his hands, and he immediately begins speaking.

  “Mr. President, I don’t know what this is about but I can assure you that I did—”

  “Dr. Yermakov.” The voice cuts through the man’s rambling. “Please. Have a seat.”

  “Yes, sir.” It takes the man a moment to make his way through the room before hesitantly lowering himself into the cushioned chair across from a man he never imagined he would meet.

  “You have received information about this mission, yes?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. What I am about to tell you is supplemental to what you have already learned. It is to remain between you and I, and no one else. Not your co-workers, your friends, your family or even God himself is to know this information.”

  “Yes… sir.”

  There’s a brief silence accompanied by the steadily brightening glow of the end of a cigar, the appearance of a cloud of smoke and the dimming of the same glow.

  “Your protection on this mission have been instructed to carry out a secondary, covert operation. However, given the nature of the mission and the isolation involved, I have reason to believe that some things may not go as planned. If, at any point in time, you should sense that your protection has decided to abandon their loyalty to their country, I am ordering you to treat them as hostile entities. You will dispatch them and carry on the mission on your own.”

  “Sir? What… I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

  A few papers are shuffled and the President passes over an envelope with Cyrillic lettering stamped on the front. Dr. Yermakov opens the envelope and reads the contents, his eyes growing wider with each paragraph. When he reaches the end he looks back over at the man across from him, unsure of what to say.

  “Do you understand now?”

  “Yes… yes, sir. I believe so. But… I’m not a special operative. Not like them. If they were to betray us, how would I overcome that?”

  A thin smile passes over the other man’s lips. “I believe strongly in… motivation. Anything can be accomplished with the proper motivation.”

  “Sir?”

  Another long pause, another draw on the cigar and another cloud of smoke fills the air.

  “You have a beautiful wife and son, Dr. Yermakov. They are here, in the base, yes?”

  Dr. Yermakov nods slowly, not understanding what the President is saying. “Yes, sir… they are.”

  “They are doing well? Well fed, well taken care of?”

  “Of course, sir. We all are. I’m exceptionally grateful that you allowed our families to join us he—”

  “I’m very, very glad that they are doing well. With so many people in a place like this, it’s astounding how things sometimes go wrong.” Another long draw on the cigar. “But I’m very glad that your family is doing well.”

  Dr. Yermakov feels his heart twist, his stomach clench and all of the moisture in his mouth evaporate as he realizes what he is being told. “I…” he squeaks, clears his throat as his whole body trembles, nods and tries again. “I am glad too, sir. And yes. I… I’ll watch for anything.”

  “Good.” Another smile passes over the President’s lips. “I’m glad to hear that. I’m certain things will go well, but just in case they don’t, make sure you retrieve the codes and get them back here, no matter the cost.”

  “Of course, sir. I will.”

  “Good. Now, I want you to report down to the armory. You and Dr. Belov will be going through a crash-course in survival and weapons training before the mission, just in case you do happen to end up in a situation where your protection become… indisposed.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll do that right now.”

  The President nods as Dr. Yermakov rises from his chair and hurries toward the door, trying to escape from the oppressive weight of the room as fast as his legs can carry him. He is stopped just before he reaches the door, though, as the man still seated in his chair speaks again.

  “Oh, and Jacob?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Do not fail me. Remember what’s at stake.”

  “Yes, sir. I won’t.”

  Now Available:

  Surviving the Fall #12:

  A New Dawn

  Author’s N
otes

  May 31, 2018

  With this, the penultimate episode of Surviving the Fall, there is but one last book to write before the adventures in this series are over.

  When I wrote book 11, I started with Dianne’s perspective and wrote that entire portion first before moving on to Rick’s side. I used to flip back and forth between writing one perspective and then another, but over the last few books I’ve started needing to focus on one at a time in order to make sure I’m getting everything in that needs to be taken care of. And, as I’m sure you noticed, there is a lot going on. Death(s) and betrayal(s) seem to be spreading, and it’s going to get worse before it gets better.

  So what’s up with Jacob? When I first wrote the outline for this book, I didn’t intend to have Jacob betray everyone, but as I got about midway through writing the scenes for Rick’s group, I realized that I needed a counter for Ostap and Carl. Their betrayal was obvious from the start, first to the reader thanks to the flashbacks and then to Jane and Rick as they watched the behavior of the Russians.

  Having that progress without some sort of wild card to come in at the end and muck things up wasn’t working so well. Hence the revelation that Jacob, someone who would normally be completely on Rick’s side, was coerced into acting as an insurance policy on the mission, to try and ensure that even if the normally loyal Spetsnaz were to turn their back on their country, Jacob’s devotion to his family would ensure that they were brought in line.

  Book 12 will be the last book in this series, and all of the loose ends will be tied up. It’s safe to assume that some type of victory will be had. After all, what kind of a book ends on an unhappy note? Whether the victory will be pyrrhic or not, though… well. That’ll have to wait until the final book.

  If you enjoyed this episode of Surviving the Fall or if you didn’t like something—I’d love to hear about it. You can drop me an email or send me a message or leave a comment on Facebook. You can also sign up for my newsletter where I announce new book releases and other cool stuff a few times a month.