by Steven Bird
Wincing in pain, Ken gathered his thoughts and continued, “When I watched my very own son resolve to burn a woman alive, well… that was the final straw. At that moment, God showed me the truth and I knew, like me before him, Jacob was serving nothing but evil. I saw the events of my life flash before my eyes when I watched him smile at the thought of seeing her burn. I could see every evil deed I’d done and knew not a damn one of us could be seen as a good, Godly man. It’s as if I snapped out of a trance I’ve been in most of my life.”
Coughing, with his voice growing weaker by the moment, he continued, “I’ve always blamed my father for the man I became. But it’s all my fault. Every horrible deed done after his death is on me. If I would have simply walked away after I dealt with him, I could’ve started a new life, but instead, I chose to follow in his violent, evil footsteps.”
Looking at the tree once more, he said, “Isaac, you’re a good man. You’ve always been a good man. I need you to do something for me.”
“What’s that?” Isaac asked.
“Burn this tree to the ground. Burn its roots. Burn every leaf that’s fallen from its branches. Leave not a trace. Rid the Earth of it, once and for all.”
“I will,” Isaac vowed, placing his hand on Ken Hofstadter’s shoulder.
“The children are safe,” Ken said. “My niece and another lady are with them. They share none of the blame. Let them go in peace, then return the children to their mother and father with my apologies for every atrocity my spawn has committed against them.”
“I will,” Isaac again answered.
Looking Isaac directly in the eye, Ken mustered the strength for one final statement and whispered, “I’m on my way to be judged now. I know the fate the Lord All Mighty has in store for me. It’s the fate I deserve for using His name to commit evil deed after evil deed. But I’ll make sure before He casts me into the fire, I’ll put in a good word for you and yours.”
As Ken Hofstadter's final words slipped from his lips, so ended the long family line of the Hofstadter clan.
Isaac stood and looked around at the horrific scene. For a moment, the events of the recent past began to flood his mind and confusion seemed to set in. Snapping himself back to the moment at hand, Isaac turned to Tina and said, “Come with me. Let’s get the children.” Turning to Jessie, he said, “Make sure Shauna is okay and get some clothes on her. We don’t want her children to see her like this.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Three Months Later…
After the dust had settled and the wounds, both physical and emotional, had begun to heal, the surviving members of the Williams family resolved to rebuild their family farm, as well as rebuilding their community. The quiet little rural farm community of Aly, Arkansas had a new sheriff, duly elected by their citizens—Sherriff Isaac Clanton.
When Isaac and Jessie stood back and admired the cabin they and the survivors of the Williams family had built, Jessie turned to Isaac and wondered, “So, is Frank really going to continue to live in that old cellar?
Chuckling, Isaac responded, “Yes. Yes, he is. It’s got even more of a special meaning for him, since it helped him save some of his family. That damp, dark hole in the ground seems to truly be his happy place.” Kicking a rock while trying to choose his words carefully, Isaac said, “Good ol’ Frank. He sure is different.”
“Different can be a good thing,” Jessie said with a smile. “If Frank were just like you and me, he’d have been right there with us. Him being different is what put him in a place to be there for us when we needed shelter.
“What about you?” Jessie asked. “Are you heading back up to your place, once everything is settled around here?”
“No,” Isaac replied. “There’s nothing for me up there now. Just memories, both good and bad. The bad ones, I’ll try to leave right where they lay. The goods ones, I’ll keep right here, regardless of where life takes me,” he said, gesturing to his heart. “Besides, I’ve got a new purpose in life here in Aly. It feels good to wake up every morning with a reason to be alive. When I came across you in the woods, face down and bleeding, all I had to live for was the care of my horses. Now, well, I feel whole again.
“That, and they’ll need all the help they can get here on the Williams farm to get it up and running again. They’re my family now. Blood or not.
“What about you?” Isaac asked, turning to Jessie. “I know Tina has pestered you to stay over and over again. She can be a very persuasive woman. That, and I think she’s a little sweet on you.”
Smiling, Jessie shook his head and said, “I’m way too old for her. Besides, I’ve got unfinished business to attend to.”
“So, you’re still heading to Tennessee?” Isaac asked. “I wish you’d reconsider. I could sure use a friend around here with law enforcement experience. We could put you to work and put you up in a home of your own, as well.”
“Yeah, although I, too, see these folks as family now, my soul will never rest if I don’t at least find out if my sister is still out there or not. You see, I’ve got this hole in my heart. I’m not quite sure how to fill it, but it’s all-consuming. Without my wife and kids, I feel like my heart is a compass, pointing me in the direction I need to go. It keeps pointing me to my sister Molly. I don’t know when or if I’ll ever see her again, but…” pausing, getting choked up by his own words, Jessie turned to look Isaac in the eye.
It was as if the two men felt like they could see into each other’s souls. Placing his hand on Jessie’s shoulder, Isaac gave him a look of understanding and urged, “Follow your heart. It’ll lead you to where you truly need to be.”
~~~~The End~~~~
A Note from the Author
First and foremost, let me take a moment to thank you for buying and reading The Tree of Penance. This is now my eleventh book, and I’m thankful beyond what words can express for each and every person who has bought and read my books along the way. Your support has been life-changing for my family and me, to say the least.
Between my last release Erebus and this, I faced the longest gap between releases since my first book The Last Layover was launched on Kindle back in March of 2014. This past January, I received a promotion at work that became all-encompassing, causing me to put my passion for writing on hold for a few months.
During that time, I ached to get back to writing. It truly showed me that my real profession is writing, even if at this point in my life, I still need that ‘day job’ to pay the bills.
You may have noticed throughout the Society Lost series that the books have a western-genre feel, even though they are set in the not-so-distant future, rather than the mid-to-late 1800s. I’m a western fanatic at heart, and I simply couldn’t suppress that style and feel. It forced its way through my fingers and onto the keyboard. I’ll be writing a true, period correct western in the near future.
I personally think westerns and post-apocalyptic/collapse of society fiction have a lot in common. The basic theme of people having to do whatever they have to do, taking matters into their own hands to secure their safety, and to seek justice in the absence of a civilized society are common traits of both worlds.
Even though people don’t want to face the losses suffered in such scenarios, I believe many readers of both genres see a romance of sorts, in the freedom from the lack of a heavily-regulated society that many people feel would exist in a post-collapse scenario, just as it did in the vast, untamed expanse of the old west.
The symbolism of Jessie’s Colt Single Action Army revolver and Isaac’s Sharps buffalo rifle are my way of paying homage to the strength and character it took to survive the harsh and untamed conditions of the old west. Those character traits, such as rugged individualism, a sense of justice, standing up for what is right, and doing whatever it takes no matter the odds, are traits I believe would be essential to get us through a post-collapse situation as well.
Thanks again for taking time out of your life to read this book and to let a piece of my ima
gination into your world. May God bless you and your family now, and in any future we may face.
Respectfully,
Steven C. Bird
About the Author
Steven Bird was born and raised in the Appalachian coal town of Harlan, Kentucky, where he grew up immersed in the outdoors. After graduating high school, he joined the Navy and moved to the Seattle area, where he served on active duty for eleven years, eventually retiring out of the reserves at just over twenty years of service.
Upon leaving active duty, Steven began working as a charter pilot and a flight instructor. Eventually finding his way into a turbo-prop airline, and then on to a jet airline, he acquired thousands of hours of flight experience before leaving the airline industry to fly for one of America’s largest cellular retailers.
Steven’s writing career didn’t start off with a degree in English and a background in literature. It was during his time with the airlines that inspired his writing with his first book The Last Layover which was written mostly on an Android smartphone. Since then, Steven has published eleven books and has discovered writing as his true calling.
Steven and his wife Monica, live on a farm/homestead in rural Tennessee on the Cumberland Plateau with their three children, Seth, Olivia, and Sophia. They raise cattle, horses, donkeys, sheep, chickens, ducks, and turkeys, in an effort to be as self-sufficient as possible, while exposing their children to the real world that surrounds them.
Steven’s passion for the concept of individual liberty shines through in all of his works, as it does in his daily life. Join him in the stories he weaves through the following books and series.
The New Homefront Series:
The Last Layover: The New Homefront, Volume One
The Guardians: The New Homefront, Volume Two
The Blue Ridge Resistance: The New Homefront, Volume Three
The Resolution: The New Homefront, Volume Four
Viking One: A New Homefront Novel
The Society Lost Series:
The Shepherd: Society Lost, Volume One
Betrayal: Society Lost, Volume Two
The Tree of Penance: Society Lost, Volume Three
Erebus: An Apocalyptic Thriller
Jet: Dangerous Prey
The Edge of Civility
THEM
Society Lost, Volume Four
By Steven C. Bird
THEM
Society Lost, Volume Four
Copyright 2019 by Steven C. Bird
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, copied, or shared without expressed consent and prior authorization from the author.
Published by Steven C. Bird at Homefront Books
Illustrated by Hristo Kovatliev
Kindle Edition 2.20.19
Edited by:
Carol Madding at Hope Springs Editing &
Sabrina Jean at Fast-Track Editing
www.homefrontbooks.com
www.stevencbird.com
facebook.com/homefrontbooks
[email protected]
Twitter @stevencbird
Instagram @stevencbird
Table of Contents
Disclaimer
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
A Note from the Author
About the Author
Preview of Erebus: An Apocalyptic Thriller
Disclaimer
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarities to real events or persons, past or present, living or dead, are purely coincidental and are not intended by the author. Although this book is based on real places and some real events and trends, it is a work of fiction for entertainment purposes only. None of the activities in this book are intended to replace legal activities and your own good judgment.
Dedication
Where do I begin? Them: Society Lost, Volume Four is my twelfth book (counting two novellas), and along the way, I’ve encountered and befriended many wonderful people. The SHTF/TEOTWAWKI/Prepper/Survival/Post-Apoc fiction crowd is one that generally follows the aphorism - a rising tide lifts all boats. It’s a very supportive group of people whom I truly consider to be family. The list is far too long to name them all, for fear of slighting someone who doesn’t deserve to be left out, but trust me when I say I thank each and every one of you from the bottom of my heart.
I’d specifically like to thank all the fine authors and readers of DD12 (The Dirty Dozen Post-Apoc Army), founded by L.L. Akers. DD12 is a wonderfully supportive social media group where many of the authors and readers are real-world friends. We don’t compete against each other; we support each other.
It’s also a way for readers to be able to interact with the authors on a personal level, which is the reason for limiting the official author group to twelve, although all authors are welcome to join the page.
Many of you also may have noticed my shift to a western feel in many of my recent works. Much of that has been inspired by my good friend and acclaimed gun writer Mike “Duke” Venturino. Mike has written for nearly every gun magazine out there throughout the years, as well as having written numerous books and has appeared both in front of and behind the camera on highly acclaimed movies and historical programs.
Our friendship began as a result of my writing, and since then, I have been fortunate enough to visit him each year at his place in Montana for some outstanding shooting and world-class conversation.
Mike has truly been a mentor of sorts, and for that, I will forever be grateful.
And as for my ultimate motivation with everything I do in life, I thank my beautiful wife Monica, our son Seth, and our daughters Olivia (Livi) and Sophia (Sophie) for being my lighthouse in the storm. You each keep me on track and make me the man I am today. Without you, I wouldn’t be me. I love you all.
Chapter One
Bouncing along on an old, unmaintained county road just east of Knoxville, Tennessee, fourteen-year-old Britney Chance looked out the filthy, steel-mesh-covered bus window, and then to her mother and father sitting in the seat beside her, and asked, “How much farther do you think it is? To the new camp—that is.”
Patting his daughter’s leg with his hand, Bill Chance replied, “I don’t know, sweetie. We’ve been bounced around from facility to facility for so long, I can’t even guess what they’re doing anymore. We’re just along for the ride. But hey, at least we eat. Right?” he said, mustering a smile.
“Something is different this time,” Britney’s mother, Janice, muttered.
Grasping her hand tightly to signal that he understood, Bill glanced across his wife and daughter, and out the windows of the bus, noticing that the area was becoming more rural the farther they traveled.
Turning off the pothole-ridden paved road and onto a gravel road, Bill saw an International DuraStar single-axle tanker truck with the identification markings on the door painted over with black spray paint. He also noticed that the truck had flammable, hazardous-materials, and no-smoking placards on the back.
In front of the tanker truck was an OD-green-painted Unimog personnel transport vehicle with a U and F paint
ed on the door with a stencil, as well as a six-digit black-stenciled number beneath it. Standing around the truck were what appeared to be fifteen or twenty soldiers or security personnel, wearing a camo pattern he had not seen in the past.
As the bus began to slow, Bill could see a clearing up ahead, as well as a tracked loader and a dozer, both of which had been hastily painted OD green with flecks of industrial yellow showing through the higher wear areas, such as the wheels, tracks, and hydraulic cylinders.
Pulling to a stop, the armed guard who appeared to be in charge of the other security escorts stood, and said, “We’ll be changing vehicles from here. This bus requires maintenance. The rest of the men and I,” he said, referring to the other armed escorts, “will be returning with the bus. The security personnel at this location will take good care of you until your further transportation arrives. Your cooperation is greatly appreciated and required. Best wishes to all of you.”
Stepping off the bus when the door slid open, the man spoke with several uniformed men, as the Unimog personnel carrier that they had passed on the road just before reaching the clearing approached and pulled to a stop. Once the Unimog was parked, its accompanying armed soldiers exited the rear of the vehicle.
As the bus pulled away in front of them, Bill turned to see a large, freshly dug trench behind them. His heart sank in his chest as a fear of what might be transpiring raced through his mind. Bill gripped his wife and daughter tightly as a man shouted something in what sounded like German and the soldiers began to form a solid line in front of them, with the trench directly behind the huddled group of civilians.
