Society Lost- The Complete Series

by Steven Bird

  Hearing the crack of a branch behind him, Nate slowly turned around and surveyed his surroundings for threats. Quickly conditioning himself to the detail provided by the PVS-14 monocular, he searched for movement.

  Whatever that was, it was big and heavy. That wasn’t any squirrel or bird.

  Hearing what sounded like a large animal pushing through the weeds, he caught a glimpse of something off in the distance. It’s a horse! he thought as the picture became perfectly clear to him in the green image of the monocular. There’s a rider, too. Damn it.

  With no IR laser, I can’t aim with this thing. What the hell do I do? I guess I can only fire when the target is close enough to point aim without the use of my sights.

  As Nate watched the horseman closely, the rider appeared from behind a tree to clearly reveal himself through the night vision. It was one of them. A large figure sitting atop the horse, wearing what appeared to be animal fur, along with a hat or headdress made of animal hide as well. The figure held a rifle in one hand and the horse’s reins in the other. Around the figure’s neck was a horn.

  They must use those for communications somehow, he proffered. Seeing the figure turn toward him, it was clear the horseman wore night vision as well.

  Crap! Nate thought, ducking down behind the log and out of sight. If I can see him, he stands a good chance of seeing me as well.

  Remaining below the log, Nate nervously listened as the horse and rider worked their way through the woods. Nate gripped his rifle tightly, playing through his head how he may react if it came down to it, which was something he’d prefer to avoid if at all possible.

  If I engage this guy, the others will know where I am. I can’t run. I’m a sitting duck. I guess it’s best if I just lay low and hope he passes on by.

  With the horse and rider now within what seemed to be only twenty yards from his location behind the log, Nate prepared for the worst-case scenario. Just as he began to make his move to pop up above the log to fire, he heard the distant sound of a horn. The horse and rider quickly turned, and in almost an instant, darted off through the woods toward the direction of the horn’s blast.

  Still holding his rifle tightly, Nate waited and listened, afraid to make a move.

  ~~~~

  Dodging brush and branches as best he could, using only the moonlight to navigate while he ran along the ridgeline of a hill, Jessie heard the familiar sound of hoof beats bearing down on his position.

  Turning sharply to his left, Jessie took a leap of faith and began working his way down the steep hillside, one leap and bound at a time. Knowing the rider on horseback couldn’t follow him straight down the side of the steep hill, he hoped the move would buy him some time or present him with an opportunity on which to capitalize.

  Leaping into the darkness below, Jessie’s boots sank down into some soft, muddy soil along the side of the hill where a spring trickled from a small rock slide.

  Losing his balance from the unexpected stop, Jessie fell headfirst down the hill, tumbling end over end several times before coming to rest in a large, briar-filled bush.

  With his head reeling from the impact, Jessie struggled to regain his bearings, and to his horror, he realized his rifle now lay somewhere behind him on the hillside. Feeling for his Colt, Jessie was relieved to find his faithful old friend still in its well-worn leather holster.

  As he slowly and quietly drew the pistol, Jessie found it difficult to move without disturbing the bush with the surrounding thorns having embedded themselves into his clothing, causing the brush to move along with him.

  There he comes, he thought as he heard the hoof beats draw near.

  Looking around, Jessie realized his tumble had ended on the side of an old, overgrown logging road, giving the horseman easy access to his location.

  With the horse closing in on his position, Jessie hoped the horseman’s view of him would be obscured by the bush. Don’t move a muscle, he reminded himself.

  As the rider brought the horse to a stop alongside the bush, Jessie knew the rider was searching the hillside in an attempt to locate him. As a cloud drifted by, allowing the moonlight to highlight the silhouette of the rider and horse, Jessie saw a large figure wearing fur, just like the one he’d caught a glimpse of during their pursuit after Britney was taken.

  As he stared at the figure, he thought back to his encounter with the boat in the darkness of the cave. I guess that’s what I felt when I tackled the other one. Do they all wear that crap?

  When the figure turned his head, the moonlight exposed the outline of a night-vision monocular of a similar make and model to the one he left behind with Nate.

  Do all those bastards have those? Well, that explains their ease of movement through the darkness of the caves.

  After he studied the man, he looked down at the horse and realized, Hank! He’s riding Hank! Excited to see his equine friend, Jessie nearly yelped in excitement, which would have surely given away his position.

  Seeing that Hank was getting anxious, Jessie wondered if the horse was beginning to pick up his scent. Just then, the rider began turning Hank, and nudged him away, back in the direction from which they had come. Sliding his Colt carefully back into its holster, Jessie drew his knife from its sheath, and yelled, “Hanky boy!” as he erupted from the bush.

  Hank immediately reared up, throwing the rider from his back. Grabbing hold of the man as he fell off Hank’s back, Jessie stabbed him repeatedly in the chest until the man’s struggles ceased.

  Removing the night vision monocular from the man’s head, Jessie donned it and looked him over carefully. The man had a thick, black beard, and wore a coat made of what appeared to be the fur of a black bear. The man had also worn a hat that was sourced from a bear. Looking at the hat more closely, he could see that the front of the hat was adorned with a small black bear’s muzzle, whiskers and all.

  Even the man’s boots were wrapped with the fur, claws and all. That explains the tracks, he thought. Taking the man’s weapon, a sawed-off double-barreled shotgun, Jessie cracked it open to reveal one slug and one load of buckshot. Being fitted with double-triggers, the gun was perfectly suited for a choice between close up shots with the buck, and longer range or penetrating shots with the slug.

  Opening the man’s fur coat, Jessie found that he was wearing a bandoleer of shotgun shells, which he quickly removed and tossed across his shoulder.

  Turning to Hank, who had circled back around, attracted by his owner’s familiar voice, Jessie walked up to him and began to scratch him on top of the head, followed by giving him a warm hug, and saying, “That’s my boy.”

  Looking back to the hillside where his rifle lay somewhere in the darkness, and then hearing more hoof beats off in the distance, possibly headed his way, Jessie knew he needed to cut his losses and get moving with his old friend, Hank.

  Moving back alongside Hank, Jessie looked at the horse’s tack with confusion. “What the hell is this?” he whispered allowed. “A bear skin saddle. Well, it’s sort of a saddle. Oh, well,” he said as he climbed aboard, nudging Hank into action. The two then galloped off in the opposite direction, away from the approaching threat.

  Chapter Ten

  Running through the darkness of the caves, chills shot up Britney’s spine as she could feel her pursuer gaining ground. Seeing light from the cave’s entrance up ahead, she dug down deep and ran with every ounce of effort in her tired, shaky legs.

  Just as the light of the outside world seemed to be within reach, her legs felt as if they were beginning to slow. No matter how hard she tried to push ahead, the muscles in her legs seemed as if they had turned to mush. She began to falter and felt the firm grip of her pursuer on her shoulder.

  Jerking away, Britney was awakened by her chains when they abruptly stopped her spastic movements and rattled in the darkness from her sudden moves. Screaming with rage as she realized she had merely fallen asleep from exhaustion and was still confined in her own personal hell, Britney gritted her teet
h as her heart pounded in her chest.

  Her tears were burned as fuel in the fires of rage that now flowed through her veins. She had lost everything. Her family had lost everything that was dear to them. She had lost them, and now these… whoever or whatever they were, had taken her freedom and threatened her very right to live.

  Instead of cowering and crying in the darkness, she wanted to wrap the chains that bound her to the floor around the throat of one of her captors and squeeze the wretched life right out of him. She wanted to rip the chains from the floor and lash out at them, whipping them with the very instruments they used to keep her captive.

  She’d simply had enough. She had nothing else in this godforsaken world to lose, and she refused to waste her last breath with a whimper; no, it would be a vicious roar.

  Startled by her cries of anger, Greg’s chains rattled as he stammered the words, “St… stop it. You’ll just make them come in here. Please, stop screaming.”

  With her heart pounding and her chest heaving, she closed her eyes and began to calm herself. Turning toward the sound of Greg’s voice in the darkness, she said, “If they come, don’t go easy. Don’t give them the pleasure of your tears. Don’t give them the power they crave by cowering to them. Fight! Fight with everything you have!”

  “We’re in chains. We can’t fight. We can’t get away. What are we supposed to do?” he retorted.

  “Anything and everything,” she contended. “What do you think is going to happen to you when they come that final time?”

  “I don’t even want to think about it,” he whimpered.

  “You can surrender your life to them if you want, but I’m going to make them earn whatever it is they plan to do.”

  “They’ll kill you either way,” he argued. “They’ll just make things worse on you if you struggle and fight.”

  “So be it. I’d rather die a painful death knowing I made them earn it than to simply have my life end in submission and tears. Submission is why I’m here. It’s why my family died. We submitted to those who wielded power over us. Never. Never again. If I never see the sunlight outside of this hell again, at least I’ll die knowing I didn’t just give up.”

  “Just wait…” Greg said. “Just wait until you’ve been down here as long as I have. We’ll see how tough and brave you are then. Just wait until you hear my screams. Just wait until they drag me out of here and you’re the only one left, knowing you’re next. I know I’m next, and it’s killing me inside. I just want it to be over. I just want to stop being afraid. I want to stop being hungry. I just want it all to stop.”

  Laying her head down on the cold, damp rocks beneath her, staring into the dark, empty abyss above, confusion and emotion swept through Britney’s body. Was he right? Would she still be so tough when it was her turn? Would she still be able to fuel her anger and rage once she knew they would soon be coming for her?

  Shaking the negative thoughts from her head, Britney said a silent prayer that God would allow her to drift off to sleep once again. But this time, Lord, please, let me dream of my mom and dad. Let me feel like we’re together, once again, at least one more time.

  Chapter Eleven

  After a long, sleepless night, Nate awoke and stared at the sky. He was just beginning to be able to make out the silhouette of the treetops with his naked eyes. Hello, morning, he thought, as a smile came across his face. I wasn’t sure I’d see you again.

  Looking at his wound, Nate could see his leg had become very swollen. Damn, I’m cold, he muttered with a shiver as he pulled his coat collar tight around his neck.

  Hearing a twig snap out in front of him, Nate’s attention was piqued. He focused his eyes with laser-like precision in the direction of the sound. With the sun now cresting the horizon and providing ample light to see his surroundings, Nate slowly and carefully lifted his rifle and held in the direction of the potential threat.

  Hearing the rustle of the underbrush, along with another sound of a snapping twig, he clinched his rifle tightly and slowly brought it to bear. Catching movement in his peripheral vision, Nate homed in on it and focused. Those bastards just aren’t gonna leave me alone, he thought as he mentally readied himself for a fight. You bastards may get me, but I’m going down swinging.

  With the threat now behind a dense patch of briars and brush, Nate couldn’t get a good look, but he could hear it working its way toward his position.

  C’mon, you bastards. Get on with it.

  There! he thought, and his heart raced with his finger grazing the trigger of his M4. Chuckling and feeling a sense of relief sweep through his body, Nate smiled and lowered his rifle as a large whitetail buck rounded the brush, sifting through the leaves for acorns on the ground.

  Hearing him chuckle, the buck froze in its tracks, looking in his direction. Whispering as if he was speaking to the deer, Nate said, “How the heck have you survived this long, boy? I guess those creepy bastards in the cave have kept people from hunting the local area. Hell, maybe that’s their plan? Scaring people off to keep the local game and wildlife for themselves, that is. I dunno, but either way, Godspeed, ol’ boy.”

  Watching as the buck turned and quickly disappeared into the woods, Nate lay his head back against the tree and looked to the sky, thinking, with all the ugliness that surrounds us, there is still beauty in the world. Thanks for the subtle reminders of that from time to time. We need that. And I pray I always see them when You show me.

  ~~~~

  Feeling something brush across his face, Nate awoke in a panic. Swatting at his face and reaching for his rifle, Nate realized it was merely one of the many autumn leaves falling from the trees surrounding him and drifting on the wind. Relaxing at this simple revelation, Nate began to visually search through the treetops for the position of the sun.

  I must have dozed off for a while, he thought, noting that the sun was now directly overhead. Feeling his forehead once again, he realized he had been sweating. It’s way too cool out for that. Looking down at his wound, Nate began to fear his body must be fighting off an infection. He felt shaky and feverish, and his wound also appeared to be a little more swollen than he’d hoped.

  Damn, that must have gone deeper than we thought. I’ve been cut before, but this… this feels different. It feels bad. Really bad.

  Looking around, Nate began to think about all the ‘what ifs’. What if Jessie doesn’t make it back? The odds aren’t in his favor. With the UF pushing this way, and with… ‘them’ out here in the woods, no doubt looking for us and, well, the cards are stacked against him. I know I’d rather face the UF hunters than these fur-covered bastards any day, he lamented.

  But the worst part is… I’m not in any shape to take on anyone. Laying his head back while looking up through the sway of the trees while they moved with the breeze, Nate couldn’t help but think of Peggy and Zack, along with his mother, Judith, and all of the other friends and family he had left behind to go on this mission.

  He thought it would just be another hit and run. Another small victory for the Blue Ridge Militia. Another hit and run that would keep the UF busy and out of their hair back home. The more of a ruckus they could cause the UF, drawing them away, and keeping their attention focused elsewhere, the less likely they would be back in their neck of the woods. Take the fight to the enemy, as one would say. Never let them rest. Never let them relax, and all of those other textbook methods of guerilla warfare.

  No, ever since the devastation and heartache the UN troops had brought to their quaint little mountain world back in Del Rio and Hot Springs, the last thing the militia wanted was to see a replay of those events. The days of just sitting at home and hoping they’d pass you by were over. Nate and the others in the Blue Ridge Militia were determined to keep the UF on the move elsewhere around the region, all while helping out their fellow citizens as best they could.

  And when this mission came up, Nate just couldn’t turn it down. He’d imagined what life would be like for Peggy and Zack if they w
ere to be run out of their mountain home and ended up in one of the camps. He couldn’t bear the thought. And when he heard of what the UF was doing with the “excess,” well, to say his blood boiled was an understatement.

  Thinking it all over and looking back through his life, Nate had no regrets. He’d have done it all over again. Every move, every decision. If Peggy and Zack had ended up in the position of Britney and her parents, he’d hope someone, like him, would be willing to risk it all to save them from the horrors of the UF’s mass graves.

  Lord, if it is Your will to take me here… if it is Your will to end my struggles in these woods, please take care of my family and friends back home. And Lord, please… please take care of Britney. She’s gone through enough in this awful world. I’ll gladly trade you my soul for hers. Take me, and spare her. Help Jessie on his journey, so that he can bring the help she needs. In Your name I pray, Lord. Amen.

  Opening his eyes, Nate looked to the sky as he heard the gut-wrenching sounds of a Mi-24 Hind when it passed overhead at near treetop level. The massive Russian-made helicopter was traveling in an easterly direction. I wonder where those bastards are going? he thought. As he contemplated the ramifications of the ominous sight, his worries for Jessie were immediately intensified.

  Soon after the helicopter had flown overhead, Nate heard gunshots begin to echo through the woods from a distance. “That’s an AK. That’s a ’74,” he whispered, referring to the venerable AK-74M that had been standard issue for most of the UF troops in the area. He, too, had fought with them on many occasions as supplies or tactics dictated. He was a big fan of the 5.45x39 Russian cartridge they fired, but he didn’t want to be on the receiving end of one. The Mujahedeen called it the poison bullet for a reason. It tended to leave wounds that were not easy to deal with.