The Forge of Darkness (Darkness After Series Book 3)

by Scott B. Williams

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-two

  Twenty-three

  Twenty-four

  Twenty-five

  Twenty-six

  Twenty-seven

  Twenty-eight

  Twenty-nine

  Keep Reading

  Voyage After the Collapse Excerpt

  More by Scott B. Williams

  About the Author

  The Forge of Darkness

  Darkness After Series

  Book III

  Scott B. Williams

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters and events are all products of the author’s imagination and should not be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2016 by Scott B. Williams

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

  Cover photograph: © heshixin, file #95340774, fotolia

  Cover and interior design: Scott B. Williams

  Editor: Michelle Cleveland

  05.12.16

  www.scottbwilliams.com

  For my good friend, Mike—a real Mississippi

  game warden doing a dangerous job

  One

  MITCH HENLEY IGNORED THE occasional drop of rain that splashed onto his forehead and face as he crouched there and watched. The dark clouds overhead muted the late afternoon light to a dreary gray that barely penetrated the dense river bottom forest, and Mitch knew the visibility would get worse as the rain picked up. This was the last chance to bring the day’s hunt to a successful conclusion, and it was up to Jason to pull it off.

  The small whitetail buck was slowly working its way along the top of the creek bank, and was probably 35 to 40 yards from where Jason was kneeling behind the flared base of a large cypress tree. Sensing the change in the weather, the animal was focused on its feeding, stopping only occasionally to raise its head and look for danger. But there was no breeze to carry the scent of man to its nostrils and the light rain helped to muffle any sound the three hunters might have inadvertently made. The soft “twang” of a bowstring released reached his ears and Mitch held his breath as he watched the flight of his friend’s arrow streaking to its target. For him, this would be an easy shot; the kind he couldn’t miss. But it was Jason’s first attempt at a deer with the longbow. Mitch was glad to see him take the chance, because from where he watched, there was too much underbrush between him and the quarry for a shot of his own.

  He grinned when he heard the satisfying “whack” of the arrow smacking flesh and saw the buck spin around and leap into the air just before it bounded off and disappeared into the gloom. Jason’s arrow had certainly connected, but from his point of view, Mitch couldn’t be sure where.

  “It went too far to the right, dammit!” Jason said, when Mitch reached his side. “I think it hit him in the gut. It didn’t even seem to hurt him from the way he took off!”

  “Let’s go see,” Mitch said. “It probably did more damage than you think. Just because he ran off like that doesn’t mean he’ll get far. We’ll be able to tell from the blood trail.”

  As the two of them walked to the spot where the deer had been standing, Jason’s cousin, Corey joined them from where he’d been concealed near the bank even farther upstream.

  “He ran right by me after Jason hit him and I got an arrow off, but didn’t even touch him!” Corey said.

  “That’s not surprising, Corey. Not many people could hit a running deer with a bow, especially in thick woods on a rainy day like this when it’s hard enough to even see a deer.”

  “You could,” Jason said. “But you wouldn’t have to because your first shot would have put him down.”

  “Not necessarily, but that’s beside the point. You hit him, and we’ll get him eventually. We’ll just have to track him down. I think there’s going to be enough blood to follow, see?”

  Mitch pointed to the scattered droplets of crimson on the leaves of the forest floor. Like many of his recent hunts, his purpose today was to teach. Though he was happy doing the bulk of the hunting for the group by himself, he was pleased that some of the others were now working on their skills under his guidance. Jason and Corey had become eager students of the longbow and were ready to put what they’d learned into practice. He’d started them with the basics on the same target range behind the house where he’d mastered archery himself before taking to the woods to hunt live game. But there was no substitute for this real-world experience, and Mitch knew misses and botched shots were inevitable. Though he hated to see an animal suffer needlessly, he was confident they could track down the wounded buck and finish the job. Chances were it wouldn’t run too far if they didn’t push it too closely, but on the other hand, with the rain picking up, Mitch didn’t want to risk losing the blood trail either.

  They had just started moving, working from one splattering of blood to the next, when the faint crack of a rifle off in the far distance caused Mitch to pause. The sound came from the general direction of the farm, which was not entirely surprising, since there were no other human habitations within earshot of where they were. As he considered the possibilities, wondering who there might have fired it and why, two more closely spaced shots followed the first one, but some twenty or thirty seconds later.

  “That was a high-powered rifle,” Mitch said to Jason and Corey as the faint echoes died away.

  “It must have been Tommy or David then, since they’re usually on patrol this time of day. But what would they be shooting at?”

  “That’s what I’m wondering. The way the shots were spaced it sounded like someone hunting. Like maybe they missed or wounded whatever it was with the first shot and then followed up with that second and third one.”

  “Maybe one of them saw a deer too?” Corey suggested.

  “Maybe, but I kind of doubt it. I guess it could have been a wild dog or some other varmint though.”

  Mitch knew that if a deer did appear while the others were occupied with something else, any one of them would take advantage of the opportunity to put meat on the table. But he didn’t think that was likely, as there had been plenty of hunting pressure around the farm in the last few months, as well as a lot of other activity like gathering firewood in the nearby forest. Because of this, he did almost all of his hunting farther afield now, deep in the bottomlands here along the creek and beyond, and he didn’t expect that situation to change.

  Whatever the target, he was sure the rifle shots were fired for good reason if anyone from their group fired them. While they had conducted some practice and defensive drill sessions early on for the benefit of those among them with less shooting experience, wasting rifle ammunition was out of the question now. There was simply no telling how long they were going to have to make what they had last and no way of knowing when they were going to need a lot of it in a hurry to defend their lives and property. H
unting with the bow and arrow helped conserve what ammo they had for their various firearms. Fortunately, the materials for making more bows and arrows were readily available in the woods. Mitch at least, had the skills to utilize them, and he planned to teach the others over time.

  Mitch had finally convinced the rest of them that thinking long-term was their best option. No one had any real answers about the bigger picture regarding their situation, but he could envision a scenario where the blackout lasted so long there wouldn’t be other options. Aside from the issue of resupply, using bows rather than firearms enabled them to keep a lower profile. Rifle shots could be heard from a great distance, especially now that there were no other background sounds like faraway traffic or manmade machinery. Out here, any sound of human activity might attract the attention of strangers passing through the area. The last thing any of them wanted was to draw outsiders to the farm. Recent experience had shown that danger could approach not only from the gravel road that skirted the front of the property but also by way of Black Creek. The creek was a natural travel corridor through the wild national forest lands in back of the Henley’s 600-acre property. It could be followed on foot with some difficulty or easily navigated by canoe, and while useful to Mitch and everyone else living on the farm, it was potentially a backdoor standing wide open to unwanted guests.

  Mitch and his two friends were within sight of Black Creek even as they heard the shots. The wounded buck’s blood trail led upstream, even deeper into the forest and farther from the Henley farm. For a moment, Mitch considered whether they should turn back and head for home. But as he stood there, bow in hand, waiting and listening, there was only the sound of the steadily increasing rain pelting the leaves and the forest floor around them. The shooting was probably nothing significant, since there wasn’t a follow-up or an answering exchange from a different weapon. Mitch wasn’t really worried with Benny and Tommy around the house, and he knew April could hold her own too.

  “Whatever it was, they must have gotten it,” Jason said.

  “Yeah, I don’t think it’s anything we need to worry about. Come on. Let’s go find your deer. We don’t have long before dark.”

  Two

  THEY HAD JUST STARTED moving again when the rain increased to a downpour, the noise drowning out the possibility of hearing anything beyond the immediate vicinity, including more gunshots if there were any to be heard. It wasn’t going to help that the rain would obliterate the blood trail they were trying to follow, but Mitch knew the area like the back of his hand. He had a pretty good idea where the wounded buck might go to lay up and hide, and they would find it eventually, if not by dark then first thing in the morning. The three of them were prepared to spend the night out if necessary, as it sometimes was on hunts like these. The others back at the house wouldn’t be expecting them until they returned with meat, so no one would worry if they didn’t show until tomorrow.

  Mitch was doing his best not to worry either, but the sound of those rifle shots had made him uneasy, even if there was likely a good explanation for them. It was just that so much had happened since the grid went down that it was difficult for him to completely dismiss anything out of the ordinary. If it had sounded like more than one weapon being fired, he would have certainly headed back immediately. If Jason hadn’t already wounded a deer they would have gone back anyway, as the heavier rain would have diminished the chances of a successful hunt. As he moved quickly, trying to find what traces of blood he could before the last of it washed away, he kept telling himself that all was fine back at the house. Benny was there, along with his son Tommy. Those two alone gave Mitch the confidence to stay away overnight. Mitch couldn’t have hoped for a better pair to have around to help look out for the property and everyone there.

  Things around the farm had just gotten back to a somewhat normal routine since the last encounter with outsiders led him into an unplanned adventure a few weeks prior. Harrowing as it was, that ordeal had turned out well in the end and had increased by five the number of survivors now living on the Henley place. More importantly, among those five were April Gibbs and her little daughter, Kimberly. Mitch had never expected to see the two of them again, but he’d never stopped thinking about April since that day he had said goodbye to her in Hattiesburg. He had doubted she still thought much about him, if at all, but then one day she had returned, making her way all the way out here by way of the creek. Mitch had been practically walking on air ever since.

  Their time together in those first few days after the collapse had been brief, but filled with danger and excitement. Something had clicked between them, and the life or death battles they fought together forged a bond that couldn’t be broken. April had come back, bringing both her little Kimberly, and Kimberly’s father, David Green. Mitch wondered if David would suddenly snap out of his amnesia one day and remember their relationship, but even if he did, April said it wouldn’t matter. She told him she had been through with David even before they left Hattiesburg. Now that she was back, Mitch was certain that the two of them were meant to be together; no matter how unlikely that had seemed when they had parted before.

  She was on his mind now as he pushed through the wet undergrowth, the rain seemingly set in for the duration. It was going to be a long, miserable night if they had to camp in this, and a part of him wished that Jason hadn’t made that shot after all. If not for the rain and the pressing darkness, he would have insisted that Jason do all the tracking, since it was his deer and that was the only way he was going to learn, but Mitch knew that would take a lot longer and he was impatient. He pushed on ahead, an arrow nocked on his bowstring, ready for a quick shot if the buck should bust out of cover and try to make another run for it.

  Even when he wasn’t on the trail of a wounded animal, Mitch kept an arrow ready on the string when he was in the woods. The practice had proven its worth countless times since the breakdown, and he had no intention of changing his ways anytime soon. In addition to his bow and the dozen hunting arrows carried in a buckskin quiver slung low and close to his side, his Ruger .357 Magnum rode in a holster on his belt. The revolver was there anytime he was dressed, from when he woke before dawn until he turned in for the night. All three of them were carrying firearms, even though they had no intention of using them for hunting. There was just no way of knowing who they might run into out here, so Mitch made it a point to keep everyone armed at all times. Jason had the AR-15 that was the state-issued patrol rifle Mitch’s dad had kept in his truck. He was wearing it slung behind his back so that it wouldn’t interfere with the use of the bow, but would be easy to bring into play if needed. Corey wore the Glock 10mm pistol that Benny had taken off the corpse of the man who’d abducted April. There were plenty of guns to go around for everyone; that wasn’t the issue. The main limitation was the amount of ammo they had on hand for each. They were well stocked in some calibers like .22 Long Rifle and 5.56mm, but with so many different weapons among them, ammo for some of the handguns, rifles and shotguns was in short supply. Mitch hoped they had enough to make it last, especially if they had to continue defending the farm from outsiders finding their way into the area. Discussing this often with the others however, they all wondered how many survivors were actually left, as it had been nearly nine months since the collapse. Would those who were still hanging on keep to themselves, like his small group was doing? Or would they still be roaming the countryside, looking for others who had more than they, like the men who tried to take April and Kimberly?

  Mitch and those living with him still didn’t know if there was anywhere that was unaffected by the solar flares. They had to believe there must be, but how far away? No one they had met knew and everywhere in the region practically everything electronic or controlled by electronics was down. The result was far worse than a mere power outage though; the pulse had affected transportation and communication as well. In short, they were on their own, with bleak prospects of help or resupply. Most people, accustomed as they were to the comf
ort and conveniences of modern living, had fallen to pieces in the aftermath. Cut off and stranded, facing the prospect of individual responsibility for their survival for the first time in their lives; they found this new reality more than they could handle. Many were undoubtedly already dead. Those who remained were desperate; surely losing hope as the days, weeks and now months passed with no change in sight.

  Mitch too, had been stranded in a world mostly alien to him on that first day. It was rare that he found himself in any city, but of all days that one when the solar flare hit was the one morning he had skipped school to drive his parents to the airport in New Orleans. After dropping them off, his father’s brand new Ford F-150 stalled at an intersection along with hundreds of other vehicles crowding the streets in the morning rush. Mitch did the only thing he could do, and started walking out of the city. Fortunately, home was less than a hundred miles away to the northeast, in rural Mississippi. Mitch could get there in a matter of days and he had to, because his little sister was there alone until he returned.

  There wasn’t a day since that morning he set out that Mitch didn’t think about his mom and dad. He had no way of knowing if they were alive or dead, but others in the streets had seen jet aircraft falling from the sky. The plumes of smoke in several places on the horizon confirmed it was true once he was out of the truck and talking to other drivers around him. Mitch had to assume that unless his parents’ flight had already landed in Houston, they too were probably victims of a plane crash. There had been enough time for them to get there if the flight actually left when it was supposed to, but Mitch simply didn’t know and he knew he never would unless they showed up at the farm one day. It was more than 400 miles from Houston to these south Mississippi woods, but if anyone could find a way to get back home, Mitch knew that Doug Henley could.