Blackout Series Books 1-2 (A Post-Apocalyptic Dystopian Thriller)

by Adam Drake

  He raced down the side of the building, manoeuvring around vehicles which had stalled in the middle of the lane.

  Wyatt felt invigorated. The last time he was chased had been years ago. The memory of a forest canopy winking with sunlight above played through his head.

  His pursuers, then, were just as dogged as the large security guard. Only, death was their end game. Gunshots occasionally punctuated the air, breaking the monotony of his footfalls through the thick brush.

  “Hunter One, do you copy, over?” Someone said in his ear.

  The voice sounded like Ethan's, but distorted. Taking a hand off his rifle, Wyatt tapped his ear mic. “I'm moving away from point, north by north-east,” he said.

  Static was the only answer. Wyatt raced down a rocky rise. In the distance, he heard a stream. Was that the one on the map? He couldn't be sure. The topography was as varied as it was beautiful.

  He angled toward the sound of the running water. It might give him a proper location to find his pickup.

  As he ducked under a low hanging branch, its bark shattered with a bullet's impact.

  “Shit,” he said and tried to pick up the pace. They were close. Too close. Capture was not a good idea with these people. Death would be long in its arrival and would be most welcome when it did.

  “Cancel pick up,” the static voice said. “No go. New pick up to be determined.”

  Fear washed over Wyatt. No pick up? Then what was he running to?

  Suddenly a figure appeared deep within the trees to his right. It turned to aim a weapon at him.

  With no time to think, Wyatt quickly raised his rifle and let out a short burst.

  The figure fell back, his gun pinwheeling away.

  Behind him, shouts, this time much closer than before. They got a lock on his position.

  For a moment he considered stopping and returning fire from cover. But the risk of being wounded and captured was too great.

  “They peel the skin off you,” Ethan said through the static in his ear. “You know that. You've seen it.”

  “Shut up,” Wyatt said, huffing along. A pain stung his arms. He risked glancing down to find both his wrists were bleeding. What the hell? Did he get hit?

  It was only the briefest of glances, but it took his eyes off the forest in front of him long enough for it to suddenly disappear.

  Wyatt slid to a stop, the weight of his equipment and gear shifting up his body.

  A wide river presented itself in all its raging glory. A steep embankment led to its edge.

  That ain't no stream, he thought as a branch close to his head suddenly exploded. Bark and chips of wood raked against the side of his face.

  With no where else to go, Wyatt scrambled down the embankment grabbing at anything to keep him from losing his balance and rolling.

  Another shout, but he didn't look back. If he could get to the river he'd be safe. Or at least he would live a little longer.

  As he stumbled to the river's edge a burst of bullets created a spray of water from the river.

  Wyatt jumped.

  Cool water enveloped him and numbed his skin. Mountain streams were always the worst for that.

  Wyatt kicked through the water, letting the current pull him along. His head bobbed to the surface, and he gasped for air.

  A shout echoed through the trees, louder than the roaring water itself. Wyatt turned to look back as the forest sped past him.

  The security guard stood on the concrete walkway along the river. His sweaty skin actually twinkled from the light of the stars above. The dark building of the strip mall fading behind him.

  As the current carried Wyatt out of view he heard Ethan in his ear. He reached up to tap the ear mic, but found nothing.

  “You always were one for a dramatic exit,” Ethan said.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Nate

  As the men approached Nate counted seven of them.

  Lucky number seven, he thought. Too many for him to handle at such close range, and especially with them so well armed. He saw no possible way out of this considering he stood outside the bar where the bodies of Unger and his henchmen were sprawled in the back.

  This was bad. Really bad.

  Nate wanted to tell Martin to play it cool and let him do the talking. But there was no time and it would look suspicious to the other group. He only hoped his new underling had enough sense to keep his mouth shut and start firing when he did.

  As they got within speaking distance Nate casually placed the lantern on the ground and nodded to Orson. “Hello,” Nate said as cool as can be.

  The men stopped, forming a spread out line.

  Orson, large, burly and bearded was the spitting image of his older brother. His expression was of suspicion. “Who the fuck are you?” he said by way of greeting.

  “Nate,” Nate said. “This is Marty. We just got here and found the place empty. Know where Unger is?”

  Orson eyed both of them up and down. “What the hell are you talking about, empty?”

  “No one is around so we were going to wait for Unger to get back,” Nate said.

  Each man held a torch up and out to the side so the burning material at its end didn't fall on them. In their other hands was a weapon. No one was pointing anything at Nate, yet. But that would change soon enough.

  Orson glared at the two of them. Nate hoped that just by being present here at the bar showed that he and Martin were Unger's men. If not, things would go south sooner than he liked.

  “I don't know you, and I don't know you,” Orson said pointing at them in turn with a machine gun. “Where's Wilson and Earl? They should be on front door duty.”

  Martin started to sputter something out, but Nate cut him off. “I don't know. Like I said, we just arrived and found the place like this.”

  One of the men spoke up. “I know him,” he said nodding toward Martin.

  “Oh, hey Scott,” Martin muttered with a smile more like a rictus.

  This took a little of the suspicion out of Orson's face, but he still scowled at them. Then he brushed past Nate and went into the bar. Three of the men followed him in.

  Nate's heart pounded rapidly in his chest. He gave it twenty seconds before Orson found his dead brother, then five more before the shooting started.

  “Bit of a messed up day, huh?” Martin said to Scott.

  “Fuckin understatement,” Scott said.

  Everyone ignored the burning apartment building at the far end of the lot. Not their concern. Their concern was their boss.

  Good, keep him distracted, lower his guard. Nate shifted a little so he could see Orson and his men move through the bar. They still clutched their torches which Nate thought odd. But he didn't care. Once they went into the office things would escalate quickly.

  He had these three outside to contend with first. How things panned out with the remainder was up for debate. At least the group had split up.

  Meanwhile, Martin kept talking. Whether it was a genuine attempt at distraction or just nervousness, Nate didn't care. It was working.

  “Yeah, I had to walk all day to get here,” Martin said and gestured at the wheel-barrel full of prawns. “A real pain in the ass.”

  Scott snickered. “Yeah, Unger sure likes those things.”

  The other two men were eyeing Nate, but kept their guns down. We may be all one big happy criminal organization, but that didn't mean they had to completely lower their guard, he thought.

  “Tell me about it,” Martin said. Then launched into a spiel about his travels to get here.

  As he spoke, Nate gave one final glance into the bar. Orson was in the office along with another man. The other two loitered outside the office door, torches held to their sides.

  He saw Orson look in the direction of the hall and Nate could see the curious expression on his face. He moved out of sight.

  Five seconds, Nate thought. He turned and suddenly made a show of looking into the distance behind the three men.

 
“Oh, shit, someone is coming,” Nate said with the best impression of a worried guard he could muster.

  All three men turned to look and at that exact moment Orson shouted from behind the back of the building. This caused Scott to rubberneck from turning to look behind him to the front door.

  Nate was already shooting.

  His first target was the man closest to him. The shotgun ripped off the man's shoulder and sent him spinning backward.

  Scott was already facing in the bar's direction, but reacted too slowly to raise his rifle. As Nate shot at him, Scott fired, but the bullet hit the concrete between Martin and Nate.

  Nate had aimed for the other man's middle body mass, but ended up taking out his knees, instead. Scott screamed as he fell to the ground.

  Amazingly, even as all this was happening in a few seconds, Martin had the presence of mind to pull out his pistol from his waistband without shooting himself. He pointed it at the final man who let out a burst from his sub-machine gun.

  Mercifully, the man's aim was bad or ruined by the quickly unfolding of events. The burst hit the wall to the side of the front door.

  But Martin's aim was impeccable. A single shot hit the last man almost between the eyes and he dropped to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut.

  “Holy, shit!” Martin shouted as Nate grabbed him and pulled him out of view of the open doors. The men inside started firing, one dropping his torch to do so.

  Nate propelled them down the length of the building away from the door. Martin let himself be pulled along, his face ashen with shock.

  “I killed him,” Martin said.

  “We have to get to cover,” Nate said keeping an eye on the front door as they ran. When they reached the corner of building, he moved them around it, out of view.

  Martin squatted down and sat against the wall. Nate looked around the corner with one eye, watching for signs of pursuit.

  “That was amazing,” Martin said, shaking. The pistol was gripped tightly in his hand.

  “Watch the trigger on that, will ya?” Nate said. “But you're right. That was pretty God-damned amazing what just happened. I thought we were as good as dead.”

  “Really?”

  “Nah,” Nate said with a grin. “I knew you could do it. Nice job distracting that one guy.” Down by the front door he could see their abandoned lantern lighting the area. Three torches lay by their dead owners corpses. One torch was close enough to catch Scott's shirt sleeve and set it on fire.

  Beyond it all was the magnificent inferno that was the apartment building.

  What a crazy scene, Nate thought, his heart hammering in his chest. And the first of many more to come.

  “Yeah, I knew him from before,” Martin said, his voice trembling with excitement. “Thought if I just-.”

  A face appeared through the bar's front door and Nate fired at it. The face ducked back inside. Nate didn't think he hit him, the shotgun was crap for accuracy at such a distance, but it kept the other man suppressed.

  Martin quickly moved into a crouch, pistol held up like one of those models you see on the covers of spy novels. “What is it? They coming?”

  Nate shook his head, his eyes locked on the front door. “Not from this way.” He glanced down the wall to the other corner of the building. The back lot was dimly lit by the distant apartment fire, but he could still see.

  Martin suddenly pitched over, clutching his stomach.

  “What? Did you get hit?” Nate asked.

  Martin wretched, spewing a thick stream of vomit onto the ground.

  Nate shook his head and kept watch. “The first time is always the hardest. You'll get used to it. Trust me.”

  Panting, Martin stood straight and wiped at his mouth. “Really? You got sick, too? It feels like I got a flock of angry birds fluttering around my stomach.”

  “Take a few deep breaths. They'll be coming at us soon,” Nate said. The truth was, he didn't get sick when he made his first kill. In fact, he had been overjoyed. His father deserved what he got so why should Nate have felt sick about it?

  “They will?”

  “I would,” Nate said casting another glance down to the other side corner. They were exposed from there. If Orson decided to flank them that's the direction he'd come.

  “How many bullets do I have left?” Martin said looking at his gun with mild confusion.

  “Enough,” Nate said. He reached over and pulled Martin by an arm. “Come here. Stand there and keep watch on the door. Shoot at anyone who sticks their head out, okay?”

  Martin moved into position as he peeked around the corner half of his face was illuminated by the orange blaze of the apartment fire. He swallowed, blinking away tears from his eyes.

  “Stay solid,” Nate said. He didn't need this guy to suddenly implode on him. He can do that later. “I'm going to check the other side.”

  “O-okay,” Martin said nervously. But he kept his eye on the front doors.

  Nate stalked down the side of the building toward the other back corner. As he got closer, he stepped away and inched to where he could peek around.

  The moment he did, he saw a man skulking along the wall toward him, machine gun raised.

  Nate fired his shotgun and ducked back. The other man fired and a burst of bullets peppered a line on the asphalt by Nate's feet.

  “Whoa,” he said as he backed away and pressed up against the wall. Without looking he stuck his shotgun around the corner and fired.

  A scream was his reward and Nate laughed. It was a cowardly thing to do, but screw it. There were no combat rules when your life was on the line.

  Another burst of fire, this going wide and hitting the wooden fence down at the other end of the lot. Nate looked the fence over. It was high with a stack of pallets nudged up against it. Beyond was a thin line of trees. Past that, he couldn't see in the darkness. A possible escape route.

  He looked back at Martin. The man had not moved a muscle throughout the entire exchange, keeping his one eye locked on the front door. Nate felt a sudden burst of pride. This guy may not be a career killer, but he was managing to keep his shit together fine enough.

  A voice from around the corner called out. “You son of a bitch!”

  It wasn't the man he'd just shot, too far.

  “You killed my brother!” the voice shouted.

  It was Orson. He sounded far away, somewhere around the back door. Was there any cover down there? Nate couldn't remember. Maybe he could hide behind Unger's corpse. It was big enough.

  “Why?” Orson wailed. “Why did you murder him?!”

  Grinning, Nate shouted back, “He had shitty taste in beer!”

  Suddenly, Martin fired the pistol, a single shot.

  “We cool?” Nate called over to him.

  Martin kept his pistol raised and his eyes widened. “I got him! I got another one!”

  “Damn, soldier. Nice shooting,” Nate said. If his math was right, that left two men, including cry-baby Orson. Nate's grin grew wider. This was shaping up better than he could have anticipated.

  Not wanting Martin to have all the glory, Nate risked a quick peek around the corner, again.

  Orson was ten feet away, running toward him, eyes filled with rage.

  “Oh, shit!” Nate said as he fired, but Orson shot first.

  Bullets hit the corner's edge spraying pieces of brick into Nate's face.

  With a shout of pain Nate fell back, stumbled and landed on his back. He tried to open his eyes, but he couldn't see.

  By the time he could blink away the crap in his face it was too late. Orson stood above him, machine gun pointed at Nate.

  “You bastard!” Orson screamed. “You killed my brother! You're dead!” He raised his gun up a little and looked down the barrel at Nate.

  Panic seized Nate and he couldn't raise his shotgun. He was going to die.

  Two shots rang out.

  Orson grunted in pain, dropping his gun and clutching his stomach. Blood gushed throu
gh his fingers. He looked up and past Nate.

  Stunned, Nate looked, too.

  Martin stood with the pistol in both hands, legs spread apart like he was in a shooting range.