Braving The Risk
Silent Interruption Book 2
Trent Russell
Copyright © 2018 by Trent Russell
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter One
The risk always lives.
It was something a man named Eli once told Carl Mathers in the first weeks after Carl began training as a United States Marine. Risk wasn’t just something Carl would find in the military. In fact, people were faced with all sorts of risks in everyday life. Sometimes you didn’t know they were there. Risks could show up in anything, from a faulty component in a moving vehicle, to a poor health habit that might result in a heart attack or stroke, to walking down a street in a dark, crime-ridden neighborhood.
Of course, risks weren’t always deadly, and people often did not confront deadly risks. Like colors of the rainbow, risks came in different types. People could risk their heart in a relationship, or risk their money in the stock market, or risk their livelihood by changing a job. Life was meant to be risked to gain reward.
But today, the only kind of risk Carl Mathers recognized was the deadly kind. The world around him had turned sour on a dime. The advanced technology that formed the backbone of their lives had been ripped away thanks to a mysterious electromagnetic pulse that lashed the skies and fried their electronics. In the space of just two days, this city in northern Virginia had turned into an anarchist’s paradise.
So now every time Carl even so much as turned a corner, possible danger could be waiting for him. Perhaps nothing would await him; perhaps only a poor victim of this catastrophe, or a confused wanderer searching for loved ones, or a starving person in need. But on the other hand, Carl could confront an individual who had decided to throw away the constraints of civility and rob, kill or, rape to his own pleasure.
The risk always lives.
Right now, it lived on the other side of the shopping mall door that Carl was opening. He and his three companions had fled to this place without the benefit of a car or truck. Well, scratch that. They did ride a truck down a highway overpass to escape from a mob of anarchists who eyed Carl and his party like wild animals eyeing prey. But other than that, the four of them had trekked on foot for much of the day, only stopping briefly to rest or eat at an abandoned restaurant.
Carl pushed the glass door fully open, exposing a short passage that opened up into the mall’s food court. Then he crept through the door, keeping a close eye on the court ahead. Would an assailant spring out from behind one of the walls? Or would an attacker emerge from one of the restaurant booths up ahead?
Carl turned to look at his companions. “So far, so good. Come in.”
Two adults and a child filed through the door. A short woman in a hooded jacket quickly joined Carl, while the young man following her stuck close to the little girl walking in front of him.
“So, how’s it look?” the woman asked.
Carl squinted. The light shining through the passage helped illuminate the food court, but with all the lights shut down there were bound to be blind spots inside this mall, corners and other areas where no light shone. Those spots could produce nasty surprises if he wasn’t careful.
“Cover me while I head into the food court. And keep Shyanne with you,” Carl said.
The woman chuckled. “Keep this up and I’m going to need my own rank.”
Carl smiled. Tara Rowe was not a soldier, but her hunting and outdoor skills made her a prized asset to his small band of survivors. As he glanced over his shoulder past the young redheaded lady, he lamented silently that Preston Wilson, who stood behind Shyanne, was not better equipped to handle a crisis like this. Preston was a talker, a true product of the modern age. A guy who knew how to use his smartphone to text, call a taxi in different cities he visited, and stream videos of himself making political speeches. Sadly, he knew jack about survival.
“Mister Carl,” Shyanne said, “I don’t think I like it here.”
Carl leaned a little closer to the little girl. “It’s okay. It’s just a little too dark. I’ll go on ahead and make sure it’s safe. You stick with Mister Preston.”
Shyanne nodded. “Okay.”
Carl then glanced at Preston. The young man gripped Shyanne’s shoulders and awkwardly smiled. The two of them, before encountering Tara under an overpass, had discovered Shyanne hiding in a ravaged drug store. She was the sole survivor of an attack on the store by looters who had long since made their escape. Sadly, Shyanne’s father was one of the victims of their malice. Carl and Preston happened to run across his body lying on the concrete near the store’s front door.
The display of carnage had driven Preston into an angry frenzy, and Carl had to shout him down to calm the young man’s fury. Since then, Preston had retrieved his gun from his hotel room, but it only contained two shots after Carl had to borrow it to shoot out a window to escape from the burning hotel. Every now and then, Carl wondered about whether Preston was stable enough to handle the weapon, but so far the young man seemed to have returned to his usual self. Carl also realized that encountering the horrors outside would be enough to disturb anyone who wasn’t used to the carnage of war.
Hell, even people who live with death as a companion can’t handle it, Carl added to himself.
Carl hurried to the edge of the passage while sticking to the right-hand wall. There was little time to dawdle. A band of men, young and old, had pursued them across a grassy field up to the parking lot outside of this mall. He didn’t know their intentions, and he didn’t care to find out. If necessary, this mall would be their shelter until the men lost interest and left.
As soon as Carl checked around the side of the wall and discovered no resistance, he stepped into the food court. Instantly, he found this area was not devoid of human life. People were staggered about the area, with some sitting in the restaurants and a few lying on the floor. Many of them were asleep, with most of the refugees slumbering on tops of tables or kiosks.
Carl coughed. The smell of sweat and body odor wafted through the air. With the air circulation shut down, this place reeked.
As Carl studied one of the restaurants, a hamburger outlet, he found several trays stacked on the floor and on two of the tables, all littered with paper wrappers. They had been eaten clean. The people here likely ransacked these restaurants for all the food they could find, perhaps fearful of not discovering anything more. Carl’s heart sank. If they didn’t save up food for a few days, they would have to leave to find food or starve.
Then he suddenly he heard a shuffling sound. Carl turned his head. A middle aged man was shifting in a booth. He was glassy-eyed and didn’t act as if Carl’s presence was of any concern to him.
“Sir?” Carl asked, “Excuse me? Are you alright?” It seemed like a dumb question. After what just had happened outside, who honestly could claim to be alright? As Carl approached the man, he wondered if he was in shock. It was not a surprise.
Carl quickly surveyed the area
and located two more people who were awake, an older woman and a thin man with stubble on his face and droopy eyes. Neither one of them seemed in good enough shape to say a word. Either they were medically infirm, too tired, or just too shocked to handle conversation.
“Carl!” Tara called to him as she jogged up, with Preston and Shyanne behind. Carl had not given them the clear to walk into the food court, but the wide-eyed look on Tara’s face told him they likely could not wait. “We’ve got trouble. That sunny little group out there who’s tailing us? They’re almost at the doors. They’ll be here soon!”
Carl gritted his teeth. “For God’s sake, what the hell do they want?”
Up until now, that strange band of men outside had not directly tailed them. Carl had hoped they merely were walking in the same direction and would turn away soon, but now it was clear he and his group were being targeted. Carl and his friends first had encountered them in a grassy field, either drunk, stoned, or both. They were mostly naked, as were a group of women strewn throughout the field in various stages of undress. Chillingly, one of them was dead. Carl’s party tried walking away, only to encounter a naked older man who saw Shyanne as his personal supper. Carl smashed the man’s face in, but the damage had been done. The others were alerted by the ruckus, and Carl and his friends had to beat it.
But Carl’s hopes for refuge in this mall appeared dashed. Worse, Carl had led those degenerates right to these sleeping survivors. What would Carl’s pursuers do to them?
“Carl!” Preston called.
Carl shook his head. He had been so deep in thought he was losing valuable time. “Right! We have to go, now!”
He hurried to the edge of the food court, toward the mall corridor that lay beyond. The mall was a two-story complex, though no escalators were in sight. Still, they had plenty of floor space to run across and store units to hide in. At the moment, there was no one else in sight. Carl was mildly surprised the mall wasn’t packed with survivors. A shopping mall was a logical place to take shelter, unless everyone fled early on, or people were too scared of looters to approach this place.
Carl suddenly stopped short of the food court’s boundary. Everyone else stopped beside him. “Tara, did you see how many are on the way?” Carl asked.
“Looked like four guys.” Tara scratched her head. “No, five. I think I saw a woman with them.”
“A woman. She might be a victim, somebody who they’re forcing along with them.” When they passed through the grassy field, Carl had overheard the protests and shrieks of the women as they woke up. Clearly, they had not expected to partake in whatever illicit substances or partying the men offered. “So, they are five. What about weapons? What are they carrying?”
“Couldn’t see,” the redhead replied. “They could be toting handguns in their jackets, or maybe on their belts. But I didn’t see any rifles or bats or anything.”
Carl rapidly calculated the odds in his head. If they truly possessed no guns, then he probably could take them out, but not if he had to guard Shyanne, and probably not with Preston there either. This would be a hard choice, but the former Marine understood how to devise a mission. When it came to a fight, every member of the team had to have the right skills and be in the right position to carry out the plan. And right now, Carl needed only the people who could fight alongside him. That meant two members of their party had to depart.
Carl pointed to Tara. “Stay with me.” Then he jabbed his finger at Preston. “Preston, take Shyanne and get to the farthest exit of this place. Then keep going.”
“Wait, you’re going to stay here? Why?” Preston protested.
Carl turned to a nearby store where the glass doors and storefront window already had been shattered. So, this mall had been looted after all. Fortunately, the looters seemed long gone. Carl didn’t need to deal with any more surprises. “I’ve got to stop those guys before they hurt all those innocent people there,” he replied.
“Carl, have you forgotten that we’re also at risk?” Preston asked.
“Mister Carl, don’t go!” Shyanne suddenly sounded on the verge of panic. “I don’t want you to go!” She dashed toward him. “Please stay with me!”
Carl didn’t turn back to comfort her. “It’s alright, sweetie. I’ll be along, but I can’t have you in danger. Preston, take her.”
“This is crazy.” Preston chased after him, jumping over the door threshold. “Who do you think you are, Superman? Are you going to find a cape and tights in there while you’re at it?”
Tara quickly passed him up, then stopped him with her hand on his chest. “Cool it, Preston.” Then she lowered her voice. “We can’t have those bastards on our tail anyway. Better to take out the trash now while we can. Now go take Shyanne. Hurry!”
Preston trembled. “Damn it, Carl,” he said through tightly clenched teeth. He could see there was no dissuading Carl. With a sigh, he turned to Shyanne, who was waiting by the shattered door.
“Mister Preston…” she began.
Preston reached down. “You heard the man. He wants us to go.”
“But I don’t want to!” Shyanne backed up, stepping out of the store.
“Shyanne, believe me, I don’t want to leave Carl behind. But he’s got to do this and we’d only get in his way.”
“No! I won’t! I’ll hide while he fights the bad guys!”
Preston shook his head. “We can’t take that risk. Look, he’s the Marine. He knows how to handle this. We’ve got to trust him.” He gently took Shyanne’s shoulders. “Please, let’s just get out of here so he can fight without worrying about us.”
Shyanne’s lip quivered. Preston didn’t know if she would burst into tears or what, but instead she gave in and said, “Okay.”
Chapter Two
Carl didn’t relax until he spotted Shyanne and Preston rush away from the store. “Thank God. Keep her safe, Preston,” he whispered before turning to Tara.
His heart sank. He hated to send Shyanne away. The little girl had grown attached to him, likely viewing him as a source of strength and security after she had lost her father. Although suddenly being cut off from him like that had to shake her up.
He tried pushing his guilt aside to focus on the task at hand. “Okay, Tara, give me the news. How much ammo do you have? Or can you remember?”
Tara quickly turned her rifle over and looked at the clip. “I don’t have to remember. This clip has a small window. See?” The clip did contain a small window that ran up the inwardly curved side. Through the window, four bullets were visible near the top end.
“Yeah, four shots. I must have used up a lot during…” She grimaced. “Well…let’s just say I had to use up a lot of bullets getting to the Earhart overpass.”
Carl wondered if Tara was referring to the incident that had separated her from her boyfriend Michael. Ever since Tara had joined up with Carl, Preston and Shyanne, she had alluded to some kind of incident that may have killed Michael, although Tara had yet to confirm his death explicitly. Shortly after they met, Carl had discovered a band of survivors down Earhart Highway some distance from an overpass, but Tara had shown great apprehension, even panic, about joining up with the survivors. Carl had to chase her up the overpass to calm her down and convince her to at least rejoin Carl’s group.
He decided now was not the time to press the issue. Instead he examined his surroundings, looking for anything that could be used as a weapon. Unfortunately, this place had been picked pretty clean. It had used to be a general discount store, but now the shelves were empty, with some of them even turned over. The only material goods Carl had spotted thus far were a smattering of magazines on the floor.
“Do you have Preston’s gun on you?” Tara asked.
“No. There’s no way I’d disarm Preston and let him go, and definitely not with Shyanne with him,” Carl replied. He wondered again about Preston’s state of mind following their discovery of Shyanne. Would he act calmly when it was time to pull the trigger?
�
�Good thinking,” Tara said as she bent down to prop up a fallen shelf. “I can’t believe he actually has a gun. He’s always trashed guns and gun owners. You’d think he couldn’t so much as pick up one without turning his head like Linda Blair in The Exorcist.”
Carl knew Tara was referring to Preston’s political stance. Tara and Preston were like oil and water. Tara was a staunch conservative, while Preston was a dyed-in-the-wool liberal progressive. Tara looked at Preston’s ideological stands as an invitation for disaster in the face of threats the world had to offer, while Preston looked at military force as an agitating factor that stirred up retribution against the United States by aggrieved actors. Additionally, Preston had not cast law enforcement in a flattering light either, and was a fierce advocate for gun control. So, it would be no surprise that Tara would scoff at Preston owning a firearm.
“Preston is a man of…” Carl pushed aside a shelf. “…very intense opinions.”
Unlike Tara, Carl sought to avoid ideological clashes with Preston, though before the EMP struck, that was not easy. Preston had too big of a chip on his shoulder about the military and sought out Carl as a foil for his views. For his part, Carl refused to take the bait. He returned from war hoping to warn his fellow Americans about the fragile state of the world around them. He knew national economies were not as stable as they might have appeared, and that Americans could face economic depression, loss of societal stability, and increased upheaval. Basically, Carl had hoped to unite his fellow citizens, not divide them.
“Hey!” Tara called to Carl. “I found something.” She pulled a Louisville Slugger bat from under the shelf. “Looks like this baby got buried in the looting.” She gave it a swing through the air. “Guaranteed to knock your teeth out or your money back.”
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