Copyright © 2015 John W. Vance
No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
For information contact:
[email protected]
www.jwvance.com
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 10: 1507734166
ISBN-13: 978-1507734162
Table of Contents
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Epilogue
About the Author
The
Defiant
GRID DOWN
John W. Vance
DEDICATION
TO ALL THOSE WHO NEVER GIVE UP
Acknowledgments
I love the use of quotes when appropriate. The series THE DEFIANT will be about those souls who refuse to give in and are those who struggle. So that being said, this quote from President Theodore Roosevelt seems fitting and will set a tone for the book you’re about to read.
– John W. Vance
“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”
Prologue
Outside Oklahoma City, Texas Federation
Not Too Distant Future
The smell of fresh tilled earth was one of Abigail’s favorite smells. The richness of the soil in her garden had produced one good crop after another and had been the lifeblood for her family. Taking pride in a hard day’s work, she finally noticed her daughter, Alexis, wasn’t outside anymore. Needing a break and curious as to where her thirteen-year-old had gone to, she set the hoe down and walked towards the small ranch house she and Alexis called home.
On her way inside she grabbed a pail and filled it from the well. Each time she pumped the handle a steady stream of cool, clean water flowed. Unable to resist, she grabbed the ladle that hung from the pump and scooped herself some water.
The spring sun was descending behind the horizon, and soon she’d need to be preparing dinner for her and Alexis. Tired and still curious as to Alexis’ whereabouts, she went inside.
For the two of them the house was a bit large, but it was theirs and she felt fortunate to have a safe place, especially one with land. On her way to the kitchen she passed the den and stopped. The light streamed in through a large window and was hitting the leather desk chair just right. Her mind raced back to a happier time when the chair held the man she loved. In her mind’s eye she could see Samuel sitting and working on a piece of legislation or drafting a speech. She didn’t miss the days of being a politician’s wife, especially the wife of a president, but she’d gladly give anything to live the worst of those days just to be in his arms again.
The weight of the full pail began to pull on her arm, so she headed into the kitchen. A large ceramic bowl sat on top of the brown granite counter next to the large basin sink. She filled the bowl with the cool water; with a washcloth she cleaned the day’s work from her hands and arms. The availability of instant hot water was a luxury she missed from the days she spent in Austin with Samuel. As she began to wipe the grime from her face, a loud crash stopped her.
“Alexis, is everything all right?” she called out.
No reply.
The scampering of feet now echoed down the hall from her bedroom.
Concerned that something might be wrong, she reached into a drawer and pulled out a small revolver. Firmly gripping the pistol, she made her way down the long hallway towards the closed door of her bedroom.
A shadow raced back and forth underneath the door.
“Alexis, is everything all right?” she again called out.
Still no reply.
At the door she paused and took hold of the rubbed bronze handle and turned. The handle clicked and opened.
More scampering came from the room.
Abigail’s heart was pounding. She hadn’t encountered trouble on her property in years, and even though where they lived was relatively safe, they lived on the outskirts of the city. Too far for help to come if she called, hers was a life of self-reliance, and this was a moment she wanted nothing more than a small army of people to be available.
Abigail flung the door open.
Alexis was in front of the opened closet, hastily putting papers and small keepsakes back in a large box.
“Alexis, what are you doing?”
The weight of guilt overcame her. With her shoulders slumped forward and head bowed, she only said, “I’m sorry.”
“What are you doing in here?” Abigail asked, stepping into the room. Not wanting Alexis to see the revolver, she quickly stuffed it in her back pocket.
“I wanted to—”
“You made a mess,” Abigail snapped as she went to her knees and began to examine the objects on the floor.
“I’m sorry.”
“You should be. If you want to see something, ask me.”
Alexis didn’t move, her thick brown hair concealed her face and the embarrassment of being caught going through her mother’s belongings.
Abigail’s irritation quickly dissipated. She reached out and lifted Alexis’ face.
Tears slowly streamed down Alexis’ cheeks with a few clinging to her chin.
“Oh, honey, you don’t need to cry,” Abigail said.
“I just need to know,” Alexis whimpered.
Abigail looked into the deep blue eyes of her daughter. Alexis was a beauty, tall, slender, with an angelic face. Her large blue eyes twinkled when she was happy, but when she was overcome with sorrow, like now, they showed it. Abigail always knew how Alexis was feeling because her eyes were truly windows into her soul.
Abigail brushed Alexis’ hair behind her ears and pulled her close for an embrace, but she stopped her just short and asked, “Mom, who’s my real father?”
“What?”
“Who’s my real father?”
“Your dad is your father. Why would you ask such a question?”
“Cousin Timmy told me that. He said Daddy wasn’t my real dad. He said that my real dad died in the revolution.”
Abigail recoiled from the question.
Seeing her response, Alexis pressed further. “Is it true?”
It was true, and Abigail knew the day would come when the truth would have to be revealed. She just wanted to coordinate the timing, but life had a way of showing that control was a myth. Abigail wanted to lie, but maybe this was the time. Alexis was thirteen, and in this world she was more mature and capable than when she was her age.
Alexis took her hand and asked sweetly, “Mom, please understand I’ll always look at Daddy as my dad, but ever since Timmy mentioned it, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. I need to know.”
Shaking her head in frustration at the situation she was in, Abigail said, “When I see Cousin Timmy, I’ll give him a piece of my mind.”
“Is it true?”
“It is true. I’m sorry I d
idn’t tell you before, but it’s very complicated,” Abigail answered, resting her back against the large wooden footboard of the bed.
“Who was my father?”
“The answer is easy, I can just give you a name, but you deserve more than that. You deserve to know the entire truth.”
Alexis turned her body and faced her mother. Her eyes were wide with anticipation of the great reveal.
Abigail exhaled deeply. Her mind raced with just where to start the story of who her father was and how it came to be that Samuel Becker took over and, more importantly, why it was kept secret.
“In order to give everything context, I need to start with your granddad.”
“Granddad? What does he have to do with this?” she asked, curious and confused.
“He has a lot to do with it. It was because of him that your father and I met. I was sixteen when I met your biological father.”
Alexis touched Abigail’s hand and caressed it. “What was his name?”
Abigail rested her entire weight against the footboard and gave in to her memories. A slight grin graced her face as she thought back to the day she met him.
“Mom, what was his name?”
“Luke, his name was Luke Summers.”
“Luke Summers, hmm, I like it.”
“He was so handsome and charming,” Abigail said softly.
“Do you have a picture?” Alexis asked.
Abigail stood up and walked into the closet, stepping over the spilled contents of the box. She rummaged and came out with a small cedar box.
Alexis could barely contain herself.
Abigail sat back down and cradled the box. She looked at her sweet daughter and said, “You look just like him. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think about him. I used to joke that you were his twin. Your dark hair, fine features and those eyes, those are his eyes.”
“Do you still love him?” Alexis asked.
“I never stopped loving him. He was taken from me, from us far too soon,” Abigail answered as she nervously tapped the top of the box with her thumbs.
“Can I see him?”
The cedar box opened with a creak. Abigail fished through the contents and took out an old smart phone. She pressed the power button, but it didn’t turn on. “It’s dead; I need to charge it.”
Alexis looked at the device and chuckled.
“These things use to be our lifeblood before the lights went out,” Abigail said, holding the phone. She stood and left the room. A moment later she returned and sat back down.
“No other photos?”
“No one really developed their pictures back then. We never thought we’d need real photographs, so many people thought the world wouldn’t change, but it did. You know the history, but you don’t really know our family history and how we came to be in Oklahoma. Now that the cat is out of the bag, you need to know all of it, the good and the bad.”
Alexis scooted closer with the anticipation of hearing it all.
“It all began when I was sixteen, and if it hadn’t been for your granddad, you and I wouldn’t be here. You see, your granddad did whatever it took to keep me safe, and when you were born, he ensured you’d be raised in safety,” Abigail said, then stopped. It had been years since she had thought about those days.
“Mom, you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. I just haven’t thought about it in such detail. I mean, I think about those days and they’ve made me the person I am today, but to recount it brings back a lot of emotion.”
“You don’t have to.”
“No, I do. You found out about your biological father in the wrong way. You’re a young woman now and you deserve to know the truth.”
Alexis gripped Abigail’s hand tightly.
“Like I said, you need to know all of it to understand why we did what we did,” Abigail said as she took her other hand and caressed Alexis’ face.
The years had been fair to Abigail. She didn’t have too many wrinkles for a woman in her late thirties, but the gray hairs weren’t as kind. She liked to refer to them as silver versus gray and they streaked her straight black hair.
Alexis had asked many times where she had gotten her blue eyes, as Abigail and Samuel had dark brown. Before, Abigail just told her eye color skipped generations and that her great grandfather had light eyes. This of course was a lie, but a useful one until now.
Alexis sat eagerly waiting for the story of her life to begin, the grip on her mother’s hand steady in its firmness.
“I know you’ve heard me say it before, but our lives are touched by many people. All along the way, we’ve had the pleasure of meeting some great people and unfortunate occasions we encountered some unsavory ones. But without a doubt, if you were to follow a path back in time to how this all came to be, you’d end up with your granddad, my daddy. Unfortunately, you never got to meet him, but he was a strong and determined man. Mom use to joke and say he was a prophet. He knew that one day we’d have a day of reckoning, and it came; he just knew that one day our world would end and many people wouldn’t know how to handle the fall. Granddad was prepared, though, and he did some unorthodox things. Some might consider his actions harsh, but he did so to keep me and your grandmother alive. We owe our lives to him.” Abigail paused, took a deep breath and continued. “The beginning of the world you know started with an end to the last one. Let me take you back to the day the lights went out.”
Chapter One
“To be prepared is half the victory.” – Miguel de Cervantes
Carlsbad, CA, United States
Present Day
Sweat streamed down Nicholas McNeil’s chiseled face as a broad smile grew. Standing like a statue atop the mountain, he overlooked his community and the ocean beyond in the far distance. His morning trail runs gave him a boost and started his days off strong.
The strong aroma of sage and dirt hit his nostrils. He breathed in deeply through his nose, taking it all in. The richness of his surroundings helped alleviate the stresses that riddled his life beyond what just a run would.
The mountaintop was the halfway point for his runs and was the highlight of each run. The vistas were magnificent, but more importantly, it gave him a perspective of his world.
A successful entrepreneur and wealth manager, Nicholas strived to never forget where he came from. His humble beginnings and lack of a formal education would have spelt doom for many, but Nicholas never allowed conventional constructs or negative thoughts to stop him from achieving what he wanted.
His arms bore the scars of his first adventure as a man, the Marines. Upon his completion of high school, he followed in his older brother’s footsteps and joined the service. While his brother had been an Army Ranger, he joined the Marines, a sign that he had some independence. Some would have considered going into battle something to dread, but he was excited when his unit was deployed to Saudi Arabia to defend it from Iraq. For him what followed was months of boredom, but when the ground combat began he only saw two days before being wounded by mortar fire outside of Kuwait International Airport. His wounds were significant enough that eleven months later he was medically discharged. He missed the Marines, but Nicholas was never one to focus on the negative and besides he still carried pieces of shrapnel in him. He considered them a reminder and a strange momento from a different life. Twenty years had gone between the day he exited the hospital with his entire life stuffed into a sea bag and now, a father of a teenager and employer of fifteen people.
He pulled the sweat-stained ball cap off and wiped his forehead. The cool morning air felt good against his warm wet skin. Losing track of time, he unzipped his jacket pocket and pulled out his mobile phone. After pressing the home button, he expected to see the screen illuminate, but it remained dark.
“Hmm, I swore I charged it,” he said out loud as he pressed the on/off button at the top of the phone.
The phone remained dark.
He looked up towards where the sun might be in the east
, but the thick clouds produced from the marine layer hid it.
He turned to head back home when a loud crash echoed through the mountains and valleys. The sound of crunching metal came from the main road that fed into his neighborhood.
“Ouch, not a good way to start the morning,” he said to himself as he began his descent.
The trailhead was conveniently located a hundred feet from the intersection where the gates to his community were. Not thinking too much of the cars sitting at the light, he reached out and hit the crosswalk button.
His thoughts gravitated back to the tasks before him later that day. First was a conference call with a client back east, and second was a meeting with a representative from Goldman Sachs. If he could score their business, he’d add a large amount of assets to his already large portfolio of managed funds. He ran through that meeting from the first handshake until the eventual agreement that his firm was perfect. Nicholas liked to visualize all of his meetings this way; he thought it prepared him and aligned his subconscious mind to what he wanted to happen.
The car door of an SUV at the stoplight opened and a woman stepped out, cursing.
This caught his attention and pulled him from his thoughts. He thought it peculiar she was standing outside of her car.
Then a man got out of the car next to hers. He was holding his mobile phone high in the air and then shook it.
A deep vertical line formed when Nicholas pressed his brows together. He watched these people, unsure of why they were outside their cars. A question hit him: what were the odds that both their cars weren’t working?
He looked at the crosswalk sign and saw it was dark. He pressed the button repeatedly and nothing happened. His curiosity took over as he stepped out onto the road and looked in either direction. What he saw confused him. What was usually a busy dual-lane road was at a standstill. Cars riddled the lanes in both directions, all frozen in place, some with their hoods up.
The Defiant: Grid Down Page 1
