SHATTER: Epoch’s End Book 2: (A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller Series) (Epoch's End)

by Mike Kraus

  Everything remained quiet, agitated dust motes swirling in the candlelight’s glow as rain pattered outside on the patio. The smell of gun smoke and blood filled her nostrils, stinging her sinuses with a coppery, acidic reek. A glance down showed splatters of red on the kitchen tile, a trail of crimson curving through the living room, staining the carpet. Barbara pressed against the left-hand wall, exposing herself to the kitchen. Based on the blood trail, the man had retreated in the other direction, and Darren was on his way, so she just had to hold on a little longer.

  Something hit the front door, and she heard the unmistakable sound of a door ripping open. Feet pounded up the stairs, causing her heart rate to spike, and she rose and peeked into the living room, spotting a man’s forehead and eyes above the back of the couch, a gun resting on the cushion. The muzzle flashed as she jerked backwards, a round ripping into the stairwell wall in a puff of drywall dust.

  Jostling and shouts came from upstairs, and a gun fired from Jack’s room. Throwing caution to the wind, Barbara ducked and leaned forward with her rifle barrel pointed upward at the couch. The intruder could shoot at her through it, but her Colt M4 carbine could shoot through cushions and flimsy wood, too.

  She fired six rounds into the back of the couch just below where the man’s pistol rested, foam and dust exploding in puffs. The gun and the arm holding it flew backward out of sight, accompanied by a harrowing, anguished howl of pain. Barbara grunted and rose to her feet, swinging the rifle toward the living room as she came into the open. Realizing she was aiming too high, she dropped the barrel just as the man came into view, then paused as she say him lying splayed on floor before the mantle, blood draining into the carpet, eyes open, all life gone out of them.

  A shot from the hall brought Barbara back to reality, and a bullet stung the back of her left arm, but she was already spinning and returning fire with a desperate cry of rage and fury. She sent three wildly aimed rounds at the front door, the bullets punching through the sidelights in a shatter of glass, catching sight of a shadow as her target dashed into the dining room.

  Barbara swept her gun left and fired a handful of times through the dining room entrance, hoping to hit him as he flanked her. She almost got lucky as he appeared beneath the archway just as her bullets shaved off pieces of the decorative trim to send wood chips flying off, but the man jerked back and disappeared before she could get another shot off.

  “Hold up, everyone!” Someone shouted from the foot of the stairs. “Hold up! Let’s settle down!”

  Barbara retreated to the busted sliding glass door, glancing outside into the rain make sure no one was lying in wait for her. The man in the backyard still lay where she’d shot him, but no one else crept across their property, at least that she could tell.

  Wind whipped inside the kitchen, whistling across the jagged shards of glass remaining in the door frame.

  Crouching, she returned her attention to the front of the house, rifle barrel jerking back and forth between the dining room and hallway, uncertain where her target would pop his head out next.

  “You hear me, lady? Stop shooting!”

  “Get out of my house,” Barbara growled between panting breaths. “Or I’ll take the rest of you out just like I did your friends.”

  “That was good shooting,” the man called back. “But you’ll need to stop! Especially if you want your son back alive!”

  Barbara’s blood ran cold, hands frozen to her rifle grip. She glanced to the basement door to see Smooch padding up the stairs and gave a sharp shake of her head, whispering harshly.

  “Nein. Bleib!” The dog whined and sat on the top step, waiting.

  “You hear me, lady? I said I’ve got your son, and I’m pointing a pistol at his head. Say something, little boy.”

  “Um, Mom? It’s me… Jack.” His voice quavered with fear.

  “Hey, baby.” Barbara spoke through a growing well of tears, eyes blurring, voice shaking. “Everything is going to be okay. Just... don’t move. Do what the man says until Mommy can get you free.”

  “Okay, Mom,” came her son’s withering reply.

  Wiping her eyes quickly, she put every ounce of anger and wrath into her tone. “Let him go.”

  “That’s not going to happen. What will happen is this. You’re going to put down your rifle and play nice.”

  Barbra grimaced and set her jaw. “What do you want?”

  “We want your guns and supplies.”

  “I don’t have much,” Barbara said in a halting tone. “Just enough for me and my kids for a few months. It wouldn’t do you any good.”

  The man scoffed. “Nice try. But we know you harvested a bunch of vegetables. And we saw you come back from the store at least twice with truckloads of groceries.”

  “Right. But that’s all I’ve got. It might last us a month or--”

  “And I know you have a pistol, a shotgun, and what seems like a pretty decent rifle. You have solar panels on your roof. Who knows what else you’ve got stored in your basement?”

  Barbara bit her lip and inhaled sharply, a fresh wave of panic welling up in her chest, summoning all her will to quash it, as she couldn’t go on the offensive for fear of getting Jack hurt. If, on the other hand, she put her rifle down, they’d all be at the intruder’s mercy. Given she’d killed three of his friends, she doubted they'd let her go without extracting some kind of revenge.

  “I’ll give you some supplies,” she said in a desperate gambit. “Let my son go and I’ll give you as much as you can carry. You can even take my truck. I’ll give you some guns and ammo, too. But you have to let my boy go and leave.”

  “Sorry, lady. We’re not going anywhere for a while.” His tone took on a grim, sinister note. “Now, I’m not going to say it again. Drop the rifle and put your hands in the air.”

  Chapter 14

  Tom, Virginia Beach, Virginia

  The trio made their way down the sidewalk, Sam and Jerry walking on Tom’s right, bunched together for protection. From their new angle, he saw the opposite corner held a gas station and a mini mart and in front the largest fight they’d witnessed had broken out, with packages of food scattered on the concrete and plastic soft drink bottles rolling between people’s feet.

  Cars and trucks had come out of the woodwork, and while some slid past the milling crowds, others stopped to avoid hitting bystanders or for other, more nefarious purposes. Those that got caught in a sea of agitated onlookers were attacked with flailing weapons, windows busted out as people were dragged from their vehicles, no distinction made between the innocent and guilty. Tom turned away with a sick feeling as sirens wailed in the distance, the sound no comfort amid the growing disarray.

  “This place is a magnet for crazy,” he said as they approached the cell phone store they’d originally crashed into. “I’m not sure if it’s because the hospital’s so close or what.”

  Jerry nodded as he watched the fights. “It’s the only medical facility for a few miles, unless you count some urgent care centers around.”

  Tom glanced up at the hospital where he could no longer see the front doors or any of the people crowding the area. “I hope the staff got things under control.”

  “What if they didn’t?”

  “If the rioters get inside, they’ll probably tear it up.” A disappointed crease formed in his forehead. “And the people who really need help won’t get it.”

  Sam had been hugging herself as she walked, but she started shivering, teeth chattering under the intense cold that Tom hadn’t noticed previously.

  “Is it getting colder?” she asked.

  “I think so,” he replied, finally noting the sobering chill against his cheeks. It was the late afternoon, early enough in the year to still be warm enough for a t-shirt and shorts, yet it felt like a day smack-dab in the middle of fall. “The temperature is definitely dropping.”

  “Is it because of what you were talking about earlier?” Jerry asked.

  “I hope not. Maybe it�
��s just an unusually cool day.” Tom’s response sounded about as convincing to himself as he figured it did to Jerry and Sam, neither of whom responded.

  They reached the cell phone store, and Tom peeked in through the smashed storefront to see the place empty. The Toyota still sat inside, its front end pressed against the counter, dust and ceiling tiles scattered on the roof. Almost every window was busted in from the beating it had taken except for one of the small rear ones. Glancing around at the brawling groups across the street, he gestured for the others to go ahead of him and, with a lingering look at the rising anarchy, he entered the store behind them and stepped over broken glass and debris to circle to the driver’s door.

  “Think it’ll start?” Jerry asked, moving to the passenger’s side and slipping into the seat.

  “I’m going to find out.” Tom got in, mildly surprised to find the keys still in the ignition and the gear shift in the drive position. Sam remained outside the truck, standing by the storeroom door, looking in as her father put the vehicle in park and turned the key. The engine coughed and sputtered but didn’t turn over and he touched the gas pedal and tried again to the same effect.

  “Third time’s the charm.” He flipped the key again and gave a little more gas until the smell of fuel permeated the air.

  “Oops, I think you flooded it,” Jerry said.

  “Yep,” Tom agreed, but he still wasn’t ready to give up.

  He popped the hood release, got out of the car, and circled to the front. Shoving aside the collapsed service counter, he stood by the bumper and reached beneath the hood to slide the release latch with his fingers. Then he raised the hood and lifted the prop rod in place.

  One look at the engine block told him what the problem was.

  “This pretty much explains it,” he said as Sam and Jerry stepped closer for a better view. “There’s a piece of metal stuck in the front.” Tom leaned back and pointed as the shard. “It passed right through the grill and radiator, cutting several hoses and at least one belt, too.” He addressed his daughter. “Looks like we’re walking.”

  Samantha’s expression turned dejected, but Jerry only blinked at the engine, eyes hollow, and Tom shifted his focus to the young man, sensing they needed to decide something soon. “I’m really sorry I couldn’t get you to a hospital like we promised. I really wanted a doctor to look at your arm.” He glanced at his daughter. “But Sam and I need to get moving if we’re going to make it home this century.”

  “That’s okay about the arm,” Jerry shrugged. “Honestly, it’s doing okay, considering you used me as a battering ram.”

  Tom drew a pained look. “Again, sorry for that, too. But you were a really great ram...”

  “We all have to be good at something,” Jerry scoffed dryly, a slight smile flashing across his face. “But if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to keep going with you guys.”

  “It’s a long way from here, son.” Tom’s pained look changed into one of concern. “I mean, you’re more than welcome to come, but I can’t promise the journey will be smooth, and I can’t guarantee you won’t be hurt.”

  “No, I know,” Jerry agreed with a vigorous nod. “But I don’t care. My parents are dead, and I have no family or friends here. I might as well start my life completely over somewhere new.” He glanced toward the front of the store. “And, let’s face it, I doubt I’ll fare too good in this town on my own. Especially after today.”

  Sam kicked at the glass on the floor, watching Jerry with a mixture of sympathy and hope, the young man’s voice growing firmer, eyes clearing from their daze. “I’d be happy just to be around people not out to get me. After we reach your place, I’ll decide where I want to go.”

  “We can’t just kick him out, Dad. Not even after we get home.”

  Tom started to respond when Jerry cut him off. “I completely understand you might not want to keep me around, Mr. McKnight. I mean, it’s my fault we’re in this current mess. You two would probably be halfway home by now if we’d not run into those jerks. And me not telling you about them almost got you killed. I’m sorry, again, and I promise not to be a burden, even with my arm.”

  Tom gave Jerry a pat on his good shoulder, smiling. “Thanks for taking responsibility for yourself, and for the apology. But you haven’t been a burden. In fact, we wouldn’t be this far if not for your Mom’s car.” Tom gestured toward the street. “You see what it’s like out there now. Sam and I could have fallen victim to your buddies at any point, regardless if you were with us or not.” Tom shook his head sympathetically as he glanced at his daughter, then he caught Jerry’s eyes again. “We’d be happy to have someone with a solid head on their shoulders to keep us company on the way back. And we won’t kick you out once we get home. We’ll figure something out.”

  Sam flashed her father a smile that was worth all the gold in the world, and Jerry’s expression perked up with the news. “Thanks a lot.” His voice was halted, and he choked on the words, holding back the emotions flooding through him. “That’s… that’s great. I really appreciate it.”

  “All right. Let’s check out the situation.” Tom stepped from the front of the car and cautiously stood by the driver’s door while the other two went the opposite direction to stand on the passenger side. Outside, the chaos was feeding on itself, gaining momentum as the rowdy crowd swelled to over two hundred. Tom moved to the rear of the Toyota and leaned forward, peering out the store entrance. The car the couple had been arguing in sat around the block at the far end of the strip mall, the front hugging a telephone pole, engine hissing radiator fluid, doors thrown wide open. The driver and passenger were both gone, and bodies lay sprawled on the street behind the vehicle, unmoving, their limbs and necks twisted at unnatural angles.

  “Note to self,” he murmured. “Don’t drive through rabid crowds of people wielding baseball bats.”

  Sirens wailed and squelched in the distance and the crowd’s din grew louder, punctuated by raucous shouts and screams.

  “Let’s grab our packs and get moving,” Tom said, returning to the driver side door. They pulled out their spare jackets and backpacks, slinging them on their shoulders as Tom gestured to the front of the store, leading the way with the younger pair trailing close behind.

  “Shouldn’t we take the alley again?” Jerry asked.

  “I want to go back to the coffee shop for a minute. I saw a case of bottled water and some other snacks we might need. Plus, we locked the alley door, remember? We won’t be able to get back inside it from there.”

  “Oh. Yeah. Right,” Jerry replied.

  Exiting through the front of the store, Tom sent the pair ahead of him and stayed in the rear as a guard. They stuck close to the wall, hurrying along, glancing back repeatedly to keep tabs on the unruly mobs while moving in a way to attract the least attention possible. The numbers were growing, though some of the chaos had spread north toward stores he couldn’t see and more fights continued to break out around the strip mall, though many dissipated as quickly as they started with victors looting their spoils only to become the victims of other, larger groups themselves.

  Furtive glances were throw in their direction as they reached the coffee shop and slipped inside the lingering stench of burnt hair and leather, and Tom hovered around the front door, not meeting anyone’s eyes directly. Satisfied they wouldn’t be followed, he backed into the store.

  “I hope it doesn’t get much colder than it already is.” Sam adjusted her backpack with a shiver. “Otherwise, it’s going to be a long, miserable walk home.”

  “I hope not, too,” Tom agreed, then he nodded to the coolers resting beneath the counters. “You two grab the bottled waters and pick up any snacks you see. Load Sam up with stuff.”

  “Where are you going?” The girl slid her pack off and set it on the floor near the cooler.

  “I’m heading to the back.” Tom flashed a grin, pushing through the swinging doors to the storeroom. The smell of singed hair and flesh in the air couldn
’t keep him from salivating over the table full of pastry boxes that were still untouched. He opened a box of glazed donuts sitting on top, grabbed one out, and stuffed it in his mouth, swallowing the entire thing in two bites before taking the box out front and tossing it on the counter near Sam and Jerry with a grin.

  “Help yourself,” he said. “Not exactly good for us, but it’s calories, and we need those more than anything right now.”

  “Oh, man! Nice find!” Jerry looked at the box with wide, hungry eyes, shoving it closer to Sam as she came up. “Ladies first.”

  “Thanks,” she smiled, picking a donut and chomping into it.

  “I’m going to load up on some,” Tom said. “Might come in handy for a little pick-me-up later.”

  “Sounds good.” Jerry spoke around a mouthful of pastry with a smile.

  Back in the storeroom, Tom put his pack on the floor and found an empty hard plastic bin on a shelf. He loaded it with more donuts and pastries, then sealed the lid, putting the treasure box at the top of his pack and drawing the strings tight around it. It barely fit, but already he was in a much better spirits after the sugar surge, jamming a vanilla cream donut in his mouth for good measure as the pair came in. Sam’s pack hung heavier on her shoulders, and even Jerry carried a bag full of bottled water.

  “Have a couple more,” Tom indicated the endless supply of boxes. “Just don’t get so sick you can’t walk.”

  Sam reached for an icing-covered pastry, taking a bite out of it and chewing happily. “Too bad we can’t brew up some coffee.”

  “If we had power, I would,” Tom assured her with a chuckle.