Escaping Darkness- The Complete Saga

by E S Richards

  Pulling a Re-Breather over his face—Riley having created several more since being back at home—and securing it with a scarf, Chase wrapped up as tightly as he could before walking to the door. It was only his hands that felt the sting from the cold too badly as he stepped out into the snow, the thin gloves he wore not stopping his fingers from turning blue underneath them.

  Stomping over to the well as quickly as he could, Chase grabbed hold of the pump arm and pushed down on it, startled to find that it wouldn’t budge at all. He gritted his teeth and pushed down harder, putting all of his body weight on the pump and jerking it slightly in an attempt to create movement. It shuddered slightly, not moving as it should, no water able to be pulled up from below ground.

  “Damn,” Chase sighed to himself. He had been hoping this would be a quick and easy job, the idea of spending long periods of time outside now so unpleasant he would rather take his chances in the pit than spend a full day outside. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that, though. The pump was moving slightly, it was just a bit stiff. With some dedicated effort and force, Chase knew he could get it working again.

  “Chase! Chase, that’s enough! Come back inside now!”

  “Just a minute,” Chase called back without turning away from the pump. “I’ve nearly got this barrel filled.”

  His words were met by the sound of footsteps coming toward him, Chase refusing to turn around and get distracted from his rhythm. After he had finally gotten the pump working again, he figured it was foolish not to at least fill one of the barrels he’d brought outside with him. His hands were practically frozen to the pump they were so cold, and his feet had dug perfect crevices in the snow from where he stood, but he refused to stop until the barrel was filled, determined to help provide for his family.

  “That’s enough, man,” Blake’s voice sounded in his ear. “Any fuller and we won’t be able to drag that back inside.”

  “Yeah, you can stop now, my friend,” Vic added. “Get yourself inside. We’ll bring this in.”

  Chase finally allowed his muscles to stop tensing, his biceps groaning from the pressure he had been demanding of them. He had no idea how long had passed since he stepped outside; his teeth chattered together like milk bottles and his breath was coming out in ragged pants as his whole body shivered from the cold.

  “Jeez, Chase,” Blake put an arm around him and started walking him back toward the farmhouse. “Come on, kid, let’s get you inside and in front of the fire.”

  Allowing himself to be shepherded into the warmth, Chase was immediately accosted by his grandmother, who wrapped a blanket around him and shuffled him into the front room, the fire blazing bigger than he had ever seen it and giving off an almighty heat.

  “Wha-wha-wha…” Chase struggled to talk, his body so cold it couldn’t formulate sentences.

  “Quiet, you,” Linda scolded him. “I can’t believe you’ve been out there all this time. I thought you’d gone back upstairs when you last came in. I told you not to take the barrels straight outside.”

  Chase merely shivered in response, his body very slowly thawing out so he could just about feel his fingers and toes again. The sound of Blake and Vic stumbling into the kitchen behind him with the barrel rang out, Leo and Riley helping to pull the massive thing in and close the door behind them all. Finally, they were all safely inside, everyone quickly traipsing into the front room to try and keep warm after the episode.

  Turning his head slowly to his left, Chase saw his grandfather lying on the couch beside him. The old man’s eyes were closed while his chest lifted slowly up and down, proof that he was still breathing at least. Running his gaze over Jerry’s face and his blanketed body, Chase noticed again how frail and weak he looked. He needed to do more to protect his family, but try as he might, Chase just couldn’t seem to get it right. Winter had fallen over the farmhouse and Chase knew it would be a long time before day broke again.

  Chapter 8

  “You cannot be serious! Did we really let that happen?” Jackson was furious. The office facility was under complete bombardment and he was only just learning that Vic had been able to walk off of the premises without giving anyone else the keys to his store and therefore access to the wealth of weaponry that lay within it.

  “The man didn’t even mention it,” Larson shook his head and tried to backpedal, feeling Jackson’s wrath unleashing on his shoulders along with everything else. “I didn’t know we needed to get the keys from him. I wasn’t even on the gate that day. I think it was Sam. I can go and get him if—”

  Jackson held a hand up to silence the ramblings of Larson, well aware that the man was about to launch into any number of excuses just to get himself off the hook. It didn’t really matter who’d slipped up. The fact was they didn’t have the key to Vic’s store, and they didn’t have the supply of fresh ammunition that Jackson had been relying on. He had to figure out what to do without it and fast, because the office facility and the people within it wouldn’t be able to hold out as they were much longer.

  The Authority had taken the group completely by surprise. Jackson didn’t know whether his scouts had been taken hostage or just straight-up murdered, but none of the ones who had been on the night watch had returned that morning. Instead, the ground-floor windows of the building were smashed in with gas bombs and the lower level was taken almost immediately. Jackson had no idea how many people had lost their lives or been captured—he only knew that what was left of his group had been forced to retreat upstairs, using everything they had left to defend the building.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Jackson dismissed Larson, aware that he was wasting energy on the conversation now. “Do a sweep of the upper levels. Find out how much we’ve got left up here and how many men we’ve still got who can fight. I need everyone who is able armed in some way and helping to defend this building. Got it?”

  Larson nodded, not daring to open his mouth and question Jackson any further. Leaving the leader to try and come up with an idea, he jogged away, making a beeline for the first flight of stairs he came across. Jackson watched Larson go and sighed, regretting sending so many of his top men into the pit with Mike. He had thought that was the main target for the Authority, that they would focus their efforts on rebuilding there before they launched any attacks of their own. How wrong he had been. Jackson didn’t want to admit it, but he feared he had made a grave misjudgment.

  “Sir.” A loyal foot solider appeared out of nowhere in front of Jackson, his chest heaving up and down and a pistol gripped in his hand. Jackson couldn’t remember his name, although he knew the young man in front of him was someone they had rescued from the pit. One of the older boys who didn’t have any family left, who had willingly taken up the rebel faction’s cause and chosen to bear arms as a way of demonstrating their gratitude for what Jackson had done. There were about eight or nine of them remaining in the office building now, some of the best new recruits that Jackson could’ve hoped for.

  “I think we can take back the west stairwell,” the young man explained hastily, knowing that time was of the essence. “The ground floor is still completely overrun. If we get down there, they’ll likely overpower us. How do you suggest we proceed?”

  Jackson nodded along as the young man explained himself, pleased to hear that they were fighting back well enough to be making progress, even without additional supplies. The question was important, though—there was little point trying to advance downstairs again if the Authority would just overpower them. What they needed to do was find a way to block off the stairwells and buy themselves some time to regroup and come up with a proper plan.

  “Great work,” Jackson paused for a second, waiting for the man in front of him to give up his name.

  “Donovan, sir.”

  “Donovan, yes,” Jackson didn’t falter or make out like he was apologetic for forgetting Donovan’s name, slotting it into his sentence and continuing like it was the most natural thing in the world. “We need to block off the
stairwell in some way, build a barricade they can’t break through without risking fatalities. Is there anything over there you think you could use?”

  Donovan thought for a second, his hand itching on the pistol he held while his heart thumped so loudly in his chest it almost overpowered the shouts and occasional gunshots that echoed through the building. “Yeah,” he replied after a brief second of silence. “Yeah, we can do that.”

  “Then go,” Jackson encouraged, confident in Donovan’s abilities to get the job done. The young man didn’t need to be told twice, jogging off much like Larson had, with his mind focused on completing his task. Jackson may have sent his best warriors into the pit with his eldest son, but it turned out he still had many loyal people left within the building. When everyone is united against one common enemy, people tend to find strengths they didn’t even know they had.

  Spinning on his heel and heading in the opposite direction of Donovan, Jackson headed over to the east stairwell, where he immediately saw some familiar faces.

  “Dad!” Rylan shouted out to his father as soon as he noticed the man approaching, making a move to walk towards the old man and ducking back down in a flash as a bullet came whizzing past his head.

  “Rylan! Get down!” Jackson yanked his pistol from the holster at his waist as soon as he saw how close his youngest son had just come to receiving a bullet—noticing it sticking out of a wall behind his son, Jackson then realized the Authority was firing tranquilizers up the stairwell, rather than live rounds. That was something at least, but he still didn’t want his son getting hit.

  “Don’t move!” Jackson shouted out again, his body and mind sinking even further into their military training and his movements quickly becoming routine and second nature. He zigzagged his way closer to the stairwell with ease, knowing exactly when to move and where not to stand from the angle of tranquilizer darts that were fired up the stairs. His team thankfully had the better angle and positioning for a firing line, but that didn’t mean they weren’t still in danger from the men and women aiming from below.

  “Heads down!” Jackson’s final order was given before he sprang into action, soaring through the air in such a graceful manner it was hard to believe he was a deadly assassin. That was, until he opened fire, peppering bullets into the Authority foolishly waiting at the bottom of the stairs. It only took seconds for a handful of bodies to fall to the ground, the others quickly retreating around corners and ducking for cover.

  “We need to close this stairwell off!” Jackson commanded, looking over at his son and Joel—one of Mike’s friends who had also been rescued from the pit. “You two go and drag some of the tables over here. Get anything we can use to fix together a barricade.”

  Joel and Rylan moved like lightning, both more than happy to get out of the direct fire and do something that put their lives at slightly less risk. Rylan openly admitted that he wasn’t a fighter—just like his older brother—and Joel didn’t have much of a knack for it either. Both were determined to help play their part for the rebel faction though, and even more so, both wanted to get rid of the Authority from the city once and for all.

  Hazel and Marie—Joel’s younger sister and mother—were hidden away several floors up with the other women and children who were unable to help defend the building. Several of the mothers had volunteered to protect the children while countless others had been more than happy to help out. Joel’s mother had actually been in the latter group, but he had refused to let her be a part of it. After everything he had gone through with Hazel in the pit, Joel was dead set on protecting her. It was bad enough that he had to put himself in danger; he outright refused to let his mother be in that danger too if he could help it. Hazel needed their mom, and Joel couldn’t let any more damage come to his family.

  “You ready?” he called out at Rylan, Mike’s younger brother at the other end of a large desk that they could prop up vertically to block the stairs. Rylan slung the rifle he’d been shooting with over his shoulder and nodded, gripping the desk and tensing his muscles. “Three, two, one!”

  At the end of the countdown, both teenagers strained against the weight of the desk, using everything they had left in them to hoist it up from the carpeted floor and start to shuffle over to where Jackson waited. The leader of their group commanded those who remained by the stairwell with ease, instructing people on when to duck and when to pop up and fire. He was made for a scenario like this, his natural talent shining through like a bright beacon on a cloudy day. Not only did he exude power and authority, he made everyone around him feel calmer and more relaxed as well. He seemed to know where help was needed, dispatching two more men to help Joel and Rylan with the desk, their added muscles benefitting the two teenagers greatly.

  “Hold it steady,” Jackson commanded as Rylan and the others reached him again, glancing at them quickly with one eye to make sure they were out of the firing line. “We need to push them back farther first. Putting that up is going to put us all at risk.”

  No one responded to the leader, each person simply awaiting the next instruction and putting their trust entirely in the hands of Jackson. He seemed to sense where the next attack was coming from, dropping to his knees and half-rolling over to his right, his pistol already firing down the stairs before his body had reached a complete stop. It was mesmerizing. He moved more like a ballerina than a fighter, dancing through the stream of tranquilizer darts and always, always coming out on top.

  “Now!” he bellowed suddenly, snapping Joel, Rylan, and the others out of their trance and urging them forward with the desk. A surge of adrenaline ripped through Rylan’s body as he heard his father give the order, his muscles flexing under his shirt and summoning strength he didn’t know he had. Together, they managed to catapult the desk forward, the top end of it slamming into the woodwork of the stairwell and resting there, plaster and dust dropping to the ground from the impact.

  “Another!” Jackson shouted, the desk providing some cover from the Authority below, even if several weak spots could still easily be found. He knew that if they wanted to be granted the luxury of time to defend this floor and plan their next move, they needed to make sure the stairwells couldn’t be taken as easily as the ground floor had been. That still posed a large problem for the rebels, but Jackson wouldn’t even entertain thoughts about what to do next until he was completely satisfied his group was safe. He had brought them all to the office building and it was his job to make sure each of them made it out alive. Too many had likely already been lost. No more would fall under his watch that day.

  Raining bullets down on the enemy, Jackson managed to keep the Authority from firing much more while his group piled more office furniture against the stairwell, making it impassable from below. A dart sailed dangerously close to Joel’s face as he peered around at one point, opening himself up as a target and forcing Jackson to have to pull him back with such force that he stumbled to the ground.

  “Stay down,” Jackson chastised, moving his gaze from Joel to Rylan, then slowly around everyone else who huddled by the stairwell. The sound of gunfire had ceased completely now, a sign that all three routes up from the ground floor had been defended. Jackson assumed his men had all done their job and the barricades were in place, but he knew their challenge was far from over.

  Allowing himself a second to breathe and truly look around at who remained, he realized with a heavy heart how many faces were missing and how many friends he had lost. The Authority was back with a vengeance and they had almost taken it. From now on, Jackson refused to be such an easy target. From now on, things were about to get personal.

  Chapter 9

  Stewing in what could only be described as a prison cell, Jorge thought about everything he had done to get himself there. Granted, it was a very comfortable prison cell—one of the former hotel rooms with a bed, built-in table and chair, and en suite bathroom—but it was still a room that he was unable to leave of his own accord. The self-proclaimed leader of Phoenix ha
d locked him in there, sentenced to dwell on his own decisions until he was eventually released again.

  There was no chance of escape on his own. While the window technically opened, Jorge’s frame was too large to wriggle out of the small gap, and even if he somehow managed it, the drop to the ground was several stories high. If he wanted to jump, he would be throwing his life away, something that the Spaniard wasn’t yet comfortable doing. Even though it might seem that, in a way, he already had.

  Thinking back to his time spent traveling across the country with Mia, Jorge regretted leaving her side immensely. He pictured her face when he closed his eyes, seeing her steely expression and the determination etched in her gaze. He had been wrong to ever doubt what Mia was willing to do to get back to her family, and he had been wrong to stand in the way of that too. While he still believed he had made the right decision in the grand scheme of things, Jorge had finally accepted that he had gone about it in the wrong way.

  Staring at his reflection in the dusty mirror, Jorge shook his head at himself and looked away. He refused to stop fighting for his cause, yet he wished he had done things differently. Now what he wanted was going to be even harder to achieve. Now he was trapped in a city where he knew no one and where some crazed man had managed to somehow take control of the survivors. Mason—the leader—appeared to be doing an impressive job of getting Phoenix back on its feet. However, after the one conversation that Jorge had shared with the man, he had concluded that there was something more to Mason than met the eye.

  “Dios mio,” he muttered to himself. “What am I supposed to do now?”

  As Jorge saw it, he had a few options, though the first stage within each of them—escaping—was out of his reach for now. In his head, Jorge still wanted to deliver the message of the fracking site and the truth about how everything had happened to the world. He still wanted the man responsible to be held accountable for all of it and most of all, he wanted people to know the lengths that he had gone to in order to find and deliver the information. He wanted to be the whistleblower, but he was slowly coming around to the notion that the world just wasn’t ready for it yet. Barely a month had passed since Yellowstone erupted; maybe it was too soon for him to expect people to bite back against the guilty party.