Turning Point: A Post Apocalyptic EMP Survival Fiction Series (The Blackout Series Book 3)

by Bobby Akart

  Between the music and the steady rumble of the old truck on the highway, Alex began to drift off to sleep. She’d stayed up all night, watching over the house, before they’d pulled out early that morning. In just five hours, they’d been through more drama than the average family saw in a year. It was time for a break from the excitement, and a nap.

  *****

  “Colton!” yelled Madison.

  “I saw them,” he replied as he pressed the gas pedal down to pick up speed, at the same time glancing back and forth between his rearview mirrors. “They came out of that gravel road like a bat out of—”

  “They’re gaining on us!” interrupted Madison. “They’re gonna catch up!”

  Colton mashed the gas now, pushing the upper limits of the Wagoneer to seventy miles an hour and the point where the wheels started to shake. This change of speed and the rattling of the truck’s chassis caused Alex to wake up.

  “What’s goin’ on?” asked a sleepy Alex. She stretched her arms and worked the kinks out of her neck.

  “We’re being followed,” said Colton.

  “More like being chased,” added Madison.

  Colton wound his way through the narrow stretch of woods and a series of S-curves, which caused them to sway back and forth. There were no exits and no places to hide. He pressed forward as he gripped the wheel, intent on outrunning the chase vehicle, which appeared to be an old white pickup truck.

  Their pursuers were not giving up, but they weren’t gaining either.

  “Madison, how far is it to the next side road, exit—anything?”

  Madison fumbled with the map and found their location. “Colton, you know, there aren’t many ways to get on here. There’s a gravel driveway here and there, like the one those guys shot out of. But nothing else for miles. The eight-forty loop is up ahead, but there doesn’t appear to be an entrance or exit ramp.”

  Colton sped past two teen boys walking down the road, who waved their arms and ran after them for several yards before giving up. He continued to check his mirrors, quietly hoping the chasers would relent. No such luck.

  “Did you see how many passengers?” asked Colton.

  “Two men in the front seat,” replied Madison. “I think there might be a dog in the bed of the truck.”

  Colton raced around the curve, throwing Alex against the left-side passenger door.

  “Whoa!”

  “Sorry, honey,” replied Colton. “Alex, dig out the AR-15. Can you shoot at them if you hang out the window?”

  “I-I think so,” she replied, suddenly waking up in a hurry. She pulled the rifle out from under some pillows behind her seat. “I can’t promise that I’ll hit anything.”

  “Colton, let me do that,” protested Madison. “Why would you want Alex to shoot at those men?”

  Colton began to slow the truck and tapped on the front window, pointing ahead towards the Interstate 840 overpass.

  “Because you’re gonna have to shoot at them. We’re trapped!”

  Chapter 7

  DAY FIFTEEN

  11:05 a.m., September 23

  Natchez Trace Parkway at I-840

  Near Boston, Tennessee

  “Daddy,” shrieked Alex, “they’re coming!”

  Colton brought the truck to a stop and leaned across Madison to get a better look. The white pickup slowed to a crawl and then stopped a quarter mile away, apparently surprised by their prey’s sudden change in behavior. Colton grabbed the AR-15 and exited the truck. He pulled the charging handle and steadied his nerves.

  “Listen to me,” started Colton, leaning in through the door. “I think this is an ambush. There are people crouched below the guardrail at the overpass up ahead. The car below it is parked at an angle. There may be more people waiting for us behind it, or they may all be up on the bridge.”

  “What’re you gonna do?” asked Madison.

  “There are less people behind us than in front of us,” replied Colton. “I’m gonna try to scare these guys off, and we’ll backtrack. There has to be a way around this overpass.”

  “What if they don’t scare off, Daddy?”

  “Then we’ll shoot our way through,” replied Colton. “Now, have your guns ready and stay down. Madison, the overpass will be out of your gun’s range. Don’t waste ammo if they begin shooting. Just stay down, okay?”

  “Got it,” she replied. “I love you.”

  “I love you too,” he replied.

  The angle at which Colton had parked the truck obstructed the view of the driver’s side of the Wagoneer from both the pursuing pickup truck and the people manning the overpass. He had an element of surprise that the attackers wouldn’t expect. There was no time for negotiation. With TEOTWAWKI came a life without rule of law. Colton had learned that the only way to establish rules in a threatening situation was with deadly force.

  Colton was comfortable using the AR-15. It had served him well when battling the COBRA marauders last week. He’d never been a gun owner, much less a gun guru. In that short battle that day, he’d learned the AR-15 was accurate, easy to use, and provided sufficient firepower to get the job done.

  Colton peered around the back of the Wagoneer. The pickup was clearly in range. His plan was to throw some rounds in their direction with the hope they’d turn and run. He gave the overpass one more glance. Growing impatient with their prey, the occupants of the bridge popped their heads up to observe the Wagoneer. Despite the distance, Colton could make out five silhouettes, including possibly two children. There was no activity in the car below. Either way, he didn’t like the numbers.

  Colton began to second-guess whether the people on the bridge were lying in wait after all. They might be onlookers, just like his family was at the overpass near Leiper’s Fork. Did he have it all wrong? Was this an ambush or a simple misunderstanding?

  The blast of birdshot that rained down on top of the Wagoneer’s roof provided him his answer. One of the men had exited the pickup and was shooting at them with his shotgun. However, at this distance, the birdshot had little effect other than to provide Colton a reminder that these jerks meant business.

  He answered their first shot with a volley of six quick rounds out of the AR-15’s muzzle, which flashed in the shade of the trees. His rounds skipped along the asphalt like a stone across a pond’s surface. He didn’t hit anything, but he did chase both men behind their truck to seek cover.

  A pit bull roared viciously from the pickup bed. Another round of bullets sailed in his direction, this time from a handgun. They careened along the asphalt and past him into the trees. Colton returned fire, raising his aim considerably and hailing another eight rounds upon the men.

  This time he found his mark, peppering the hood of the truck with bullets and blowing out their windshield. Fluids began to spill out of the pickup’s engine, possibly from the radiator.

  “Colton,” shouted Madison, “are you all right?”

  “Yeah,” came the reply as another shower of birdshot fell harmlessly around them.

  Colton stuck his head up over the rack containing the generator and sent another half dozen rounds in their direction. One hit the spot, blowing the right front tire of the pickup, disabling it for good.

  “Daddy, you blew out their tire,” said Alex as she stuck her head out the driver’s side rear window.

  “Get back in there, Alex,” said Colton as more bullets from the handgun sailed past, getting closer to them with each effort.

  Disabling the pickup was a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, Colton’s option to backtrack was taken away from him. The pickup blocked the road and there were two armed men behind it. But it also meant they couldn’t give chase. He could press forward through the overpass with only the group of three to five adults ahead.

  “Get ready to go forward!” he announced as he fired off another few rounds in the direction of the pickup to hold them at bay in case they decided to chase on foot.

  Colton jumped behind the wheel and tried to start the
truck. It wouldn’t turn over. He sat there in dumbfounded silence—almost in shock. Has our engine been hit? He tried it again. Nothing.

  Bird shot pelted them again. Colton turned his attention to the rear of the truck. They were coming. Frantic now, he turned the key over and over again. Nothing.

  “What’s wrong?” he shouted.

  “Daddy, they’re coming!”

  “Colton,” said Madison, “the gear shift.”

  “What?”

  “The gear shift is still in drive. Hurry, put it in park and try again!” In his haste earlier, Colton had turned off the ignition, but in the unfamiliar truck, he’d forgotten to put it in park.

  The approaching men were close enough now for Colton to hear one of them rack another round in the shotgun and fire. This time, the pellets found their target with more force, causing the rear window of the Wagoneer to shatter.

  Alex shrieked as tiny shards of glass entered the backseat. Colton gathered himself, threw the Wagoneer in park, and fired the engine. He immediately put it back in drive and lurched the nearly fifty-year-old truck forward.

  As their Wagoneer took off toward the I-840 overpass, Colton began to lose sight of the two men, who continued to trail their truck. Feeling a little more comfortable with the space between them, Colton quickly analyzed his approach to the bridge.

  He was still unsure as to whether the occupants of the overpass were a threat. They hadn’t shot at them, although from that distance, unless they were skilled snipers, it would’ve been a waste of effort. In addition, he was almost certain two of the five people up there were children. Would adults be that stupid to place their young children in the line of fire?

  “Madison, use the AR-15. Get ready to shoot, but don’t unless we’re fired upon first.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know if the group ahead is with these other people,” replied Colton. “I thought I saw five heads look over the guardrail, including two children. They could just be stranded.”

  “Okay,” said Madison hesitantly. “But expect the unexpected.”

  Chapter 8

  DAY FIFTEEN

  11:15 a.m., September 23

  Natchez Trace Parkway at I-840

  Near Boston, Tennessee

  As the Rymans put sufficient distance between them and the two men behind them and the pit bull, which briefly gave chase, they focused their attention on the overpass. Colton approached slowly because he was unsure what might be hiding behind the stalled vehicle under the bridge. The Trace was also heavily wooded on both sides and could contain more members of the ambush team.

  Madison hung out the window with the AR-15 pointed at the overpass. Colton positioned Alex on the right side of the truck to watch for any gunmen in the woods and to have her mother’s back. Colton cautioned her against shooting her mom, to which she replied, “Duh!”

  At thirty miles per hour, Colton could approach the overpass quickly enough to be a more difficult moving target but also not so fast as to hinder their balance and aim. They were two hundred yards away.

  “Gun!” shouted Madison. “Left side of the guardrail. Do you see it?”

  “Yeah,” said Colton. “They have really good cover. We’ll keep shooting at them as we sail past. Hopefully, they won’t be bold enough to stand up to get better aim.”

  Bullets flew past the truck from the two men behind them.

  “C’mon, guys,” started Alex. “Now these two are catching up and the dog is running toward us too.”

  “Shoot at them!” instructed Colton as he picked up speed toward the overpass.

  One hundred yards away, a bullet skipped off the pavement and embedded itself in Colton’s door.

  “There’s our answer! Fire back!” shouted Colton. He hung his arm out of the driver’s window and attempted to take aim at the bridge. He had no expectation of hitting anyone under these circumstances, but they didn’t know that. One of the things that Colton had learned from the gun battle with the COBRA bunch was that the other guy was just as afraid of getting shot as you were.

  He kept on the pressure, becoming the aggressor now. Colton jammed on the accelerator and sped toward the bridge. He began to methodically shoot toward the concrete guardrail, causing the bullets to ricochet wildly in all directions. They were taking fire now from the middle and both sides of the overpass, but the shots missed them. The shooters were apparently not willing to show themselves to take better aim.

  Click—click—click.

  “I’m out of bullets,” declared Madison.

  “Alex, give Mom another magazine.”

  “I don’t have any more loaded ones.”

  Colton looked up in the rearview mirror. “Really?” Note to self, he thought as he shook his head.

  “No, I didn’t think about—” started Alex as a bullet shattered one of their headlights, causing Madison to duck behind the dash.

  “Switch to your sidearm, Maddie,” said Colton as he mashed the gas. “I’m gonna speed up now, but they think they have the advantage. Look!”

  The two men on the ends now stood and pointed their rifles at the Wagoneer. They had clear shots and were getting closer to finding their target. Colton fired upon the man on the left, causing him to drop to the highway.

  Madison hesitated for a moment and then began firing wildly toward the concrete railing. This was sufficient to cause her target to seek cover. Colton raced under the bridge, thankful that there wasn’t anything in his way behind the stalled sedan.

  As they emerged on the other side, shots rang out once again, but skipped harmlessly behind the truck, only dinging their trailer hitch rack. Within minutes, they’d confronted the threat and narrowly avoided a disaster. Colton continued to hold his breath as he mashed the accelerator, giving the Wagoneer all the speed it could muster. He was doing seventy-five as he roared away and navigated the next bend in the road.

  Chapter 9

  DAY FIFTEEN

  1:00 p.m., September 23

  Johnson Chapel Baptist Church

  Natchez Trace Parkway

  Near White Oak, Tennessee

  “Look, Mom, there’s a church,” said Alex as she pointed to the right side of the road. Appearing through a clearing in the woods was a small white church with its steeple barely rising above the tree line.

  “Colton, do you think we could take a break?” asked Madison. “The shoulder seems flat here. We might be able to make our way into the woods a little bit and rest. Whadya think?” She rubbed his shoulders and ran her fingers through his hair. He appeared to be very stressed out by the events of the day. It was time to catch their breath and get something to drink.

  Colton steered the Wagoneer off the road and slowly made his way through a clearing created by utility poles providing power to the tiny church. He turned to Madison and Alex, gesturing for them to look around for signs of life. After he drove several feet through the field, Colton stopped, surveyed the surroundings, and shut off the motor.

  Colton turned to Alex. “Have you reloaded the magazines?”

  “Yes, Daddy,” replied Alex, hanging her head. “I didn’t know.”

  Colton reached out and patted his daughter on the leg. “Look at me, honey. None of us know. This whole ridiculous world we’re in wasn’t even a blip on our radar three weeks ago. Now look at us. We’re the stars of a post-apocalyptic action movie!”

  Alex managed a smile for her father, so Madison decided to lighten the mood and continue the subject. “Which actress would you like to play your character, Alex?”

  “Well, maybe Jennifer Lawrence?” replied Alex. “She’d be pretty good. What about you, Mom?”

  “Um, the girl that played on Heroes, Ali Larter,” replied Madison.

  “Oh, good choice,” crowed Colton. “She’s, um—”

  “Careful, husband,” roared his missus.

  “Daddy, who would be a good actor to play you?”

  “Clint Eastwood,” he replied. Colton did his best Harry Callahan im
pression. “Go ahead, make my day!”

  “Great, you get Ali the hottie Larter, and I get ninety-year-old Clint Eastwood.” Madison laughed. “No way. Alex, would you pass the water and the magazines?”

  “Sure,” replied Alex, who picked up on the new vernacular inserted into the daily lives of the Ryman family. “Would you prefer Soap Opera Digest or US Weekly?”

  Alex provided everyone a bottle of water and their reloads and started to open the door before Colton stopped her.

  “Listen, guys, it appears quiet, but take nothing for granted. Let’s clear the area first before we relax.”

  “Okay, Daddy.”

  “Aye-aye, sir!”

  The three of them exited the vehicle and made their way around the church, which appeared to be deserted. Colton tried the front door and it was unlocked. He cautioned them against making any noise as he eased the door open with a slight creak.

  A rush of stale air greeted them as they eased one by one into the open, one-room sanctuary. It was empty except for the hand-carved pews lined up neatly in rows. The Rymans were greeted by the sight of the chapel’s portal in full bloom with colors emanating from the beautiful stained-glass windows.

  It had been a few weeks since they’d attended church services together. Although each of them prayed from time to time, the thought of attending worship service was the farthest thing from their minds.

  “Do you think they’ll have Sunday service again?” asked Alex as she holstered her handgun and walked up to the pulpit. The simple oak piece stood alone on a raised stage, which enabled the preacher to look down upon his congregation. A solitary cross hung high on the wall behind the pulpit. A piano and folding chairs for six choir members finished out the furnishings—simple and unassuming, as many felt God intended.