Copyright
Powerless World
Copyright © 2020 by Derek Shupert
Cover design by Derek Shupert
Cover art by Covers by Christian
Cover Copyright © 2020 by Derek Shupert
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictionally and are not to be constructed as real. Any resemblance to person, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Derek Shupert
www.derekshupert.com
First Edition
Contents
Also by Derek Shupert
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
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About the Author
Also By Derek Shupert
SURVIVE THE FALL SERIES :
POWERLESS WORLD
MADNESS RISING
DARK ROADS
THE COMPLETE DEAD STATE SERIES :
DEAD STATE : CATALYST (PREQUEL)
DEAD STATE : FALLOUT
DEAD STATE : SURVIVAL ROAD
DEAD STATE : EXECUTIONER
DEAD STATE : IMMUNE
DEAD STATE : EVOLVED
THE COMPLETE DEAD STATE SERIES BOX SET
THE COMPLETE AFFLICTED SERIES :
GENESIS (PREQUEL)
PATIENT ZERO
RIPTIDE
DEAD RECKONING
THE HUNTRESS BANE SERIES :
THE HUNTRESS BANE (SHORT STORY)
TAINTED HUNTER
CRIMSON THIRST
THE COMPLETE BALLISTIC MECH SERIES :
DIVISION
INFERNO
EXTINCTION
PAYBACK
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Prologue
Once more into the fray, into the last good fight I’ll ever know.
Russell Cage didn’t want to die, but it wasn’t his call. The plane was going to crash, and he was helpless to stop it. His fate was bound by luck, and the skilled hands of his best friend, Tim.
The nimble, lightweight aircraft dipped toward the mountains that were coated in lush trees. The torrid wind punished the plane as it fell from the sky.
Russell gulped, then closed his eyes.
The weightlessness of free-falling tickled his stomach. He felt nauseated. The bitter taste of acid burned the back of his throat.
A slew of regrets and words not spoken swelled in his head. He had unfinished business that would never be taken care of.
Tim fought the yoke, trying to keep them out of the blanket of rich vegetation for as long as he could. The tips of the pine trees punished the belly of the aircraft as it dipped below the canopy.
Branches snapped and wood splintered as the plane tore through the forest. The groaning of tortured metal filled the cabin. The propeller ripped from the front of the aircraft. Black smoke vented from the damage.
Tim gnashed his teeth and growled.
Russell pressed his hand against the dash while grabbing the hand grip with the other. He drew a sharp breath as he braced for impact.
The aircraft rattled and jolted the two frightened men. Sounds of panic fled their trembling lips as the front of the plane dipped further into the trees.
The windshield spiderwebbed, then busted as limbs hammered the cockpit.
Tim released his hold from the yolk and shielded his face.
Outside air flooded the cabin. The horrifying crescendo of the plane being ripped apart played in Russell’s ears.
A thick bough breached the fuselage on the starboard side as the plane rolled clockwise. Luggage dumped from the gaping hole.
Russell closed his eyes, and thought of his wife, Sarah, hoping she knew how much he loved her. He had made many mistakes in his life, most of which he feared he’d never be able to rectify.
CHAPTER ONE
RUSSELL
TWENTY-FOUR HOURS EARLIER
Some people find happiness in life. Others at the bottom of a shot glass. For Russell, it was more of the latter.
Another shot of whiskey went down the hatch. He had lost count after the sixth, or was it the seventh, shot that found its way into his stomach. By then, it didn’t matter. He wasn’t drinking for enjoyment. He was drinking to forget.
“Reload,” Russell barked at Nate, the grizzly bartender that kept the drinks coming.
He gave Russell a pensive stare as he retrieved the empty shot glass from the scarred bar top. “Rough day at work?”
Every day was rough, regardless of where Russell was. It had been a year to the day since that home invasion. The day Jess, his daughter, was shot and killed by that ex-con who decided to break into their house and ruin his life forever.
Russell shrugged, then puffed on the cigarette that hung from his lips. “Not any worse than the other 364 days. Just trying to make it through this miserable existence as best I can.”
Nate placed a clean glass in front of him. Russell twisted the top off the bottle of Jack he had been pounding away on for the better part of the night.
Nate shot Russell a glance as the end of the bottle dangled over the rim. “I’m calling it. Last round for you. After this, you’re done.”
Whatever. Just pour the damn whiskey.
Russell rolled his eyes, then twirled his fingers. He was growing impatient as he sighed, and stared at the empty shot glass. He needed his medicine.
The stout, brown liquor poured like a free-flowing river. Russell focused on the opening of the bottle, inhaling the smooth, smoky sweetness that he had grown to love as it sloshed into the glass. He licked his lips from the anticipation.
The alcohol vanished as fast as Nate served it. There was no sipping or savoring the beverage. Russell just needed to du
ll the pain of his daughter’s death, to numb the guilt that had latched onto him like a leech.
He slammed the glass down on the counter, then leaned back on the barstool. His head swam in a sea of liquor and bad memories from the past year. He couldn’t escape either, regardless of how much he tried or drank.
The cigarette was reduced to nothing more than a stump that fit between Russell’s lips. He smashed the tiny bud in the ashtray nearby and blew the smoke from his mouth.
Nate leaned on the bar with both hands flat on the top. He nodded toward the restroom. “Since you’re cut off, I think it might be wise for you to get a cab, and head home before you find trouble. Speaking of which, I think trouble’s looking at you right now.”
Russell rubbed his weary, glassy eyes, then glanced down to the end of the bar at the blonde who was looking his way. She took a sip of the margarita she was nursing and winked at him.
Nate was right. She had trouble plastered all over her. The temptress was glammed up with a heaping dose of makeup. It wasn’t too much to make her look like a clown, but enough to make any honest man do a double take.
Her white dress clung to her hourglass frame as if it were painted on her toned body. The fabric was so tight that it left nothing to the imagination. Her full, puffy lips were coated with a dark-red lipstick, and her eyes were an icy blue that drew you right in.
Russell had spotted her the moment she stepped inside The Metal Flea Pub an hour or so ago. All of the other patrons of the pub gawked, and stared at the vixen as the pompous looking business type she was with paraded her to the opposite end of the bar. It was difficult to tell if they were a couple or if he had bought a block of her time.
“Hard pass,” Russell spoke with a slight slur to his speech as he looked at Nate with shiny, bloodshot eyes. “Not my type. Besides, that’s the furthest thing from my mind at the moment.”
Nate pushed away from the bar top, then grabbed the empty shot glass from in front of him. “You might have to tell her that. She’s heading this way.”
She strutted down alongside the bar with her drink clasped in her hand from the corner of his eye. It was unclear why she even wanted to speak with him.
The day had beaten him into the ground, both physically and mentally. A twelve-hour shift at a security job he couldn’t stand, and the death of his daughter bore down on his slouched shoulders.
Besides, the woman wasn’t Russell’s type. No one was except for his wife, Sarah. Sure, he had needs, but he only wanted her to fulfill those. That wasn’t going to happen anytime soon, if ever, seeing as they had been separated for almost six months now, and divorce was looming on the horizon.
The woman’s perfume arrived before she did, making Russell’s head throb that much harder. He jammed his fingers into each socket and rubbed them.
She sat her drink on the counter, then asked, “Is this seat taken?”
“It’s a free country, lady. Sit where you please. I’m leaving.” Russell sat there with his elbows resting on top of the bar as he fought to keep the world from spinning.
She sat in the chair and leaned against the brass railing that ran the length of the bar while facing him. “No need to rush off so soon. We just started—”
Russell held up his hand, cutting her off before she could annoy him any further. “Listen, lady, no offense, but I’m not interested in what you’re selling. I’ve had a long, tiring day, and I just want to be left alone. Besides, I can assure you that I’m not your type, and I don’t have the money to procure your services.”
She scoffed at the insulting comment. “Excuse me? Did you just insinuate that I’m a prostitute?”
Russell shoved his hand into the pocket of his trousers. He pulled out a wad of crumpled up bills, and cherry picked out what he needed to pay Nate.
He tossed the money on the bar. “Thanks, as always, Nate. See you next time.”
“Want me to call you a cab?” Nate inquired as he grabbed the money.
Russell shook his head. “Don’t bother. I’ll walk. It’s not that far. I could use the fresh air.”
The woman droned on about the slanderous comment Russell made as he spun in his chair and stood up. Her voice grew with anger the more she spoke. He ignored her just the same.
The world was unbalanced as Russell took a moment to gather his bearings. He held his hands out to either side to stabilize his waning posture. He stumbled toward the exit of the establishment, wanting to put as much distance between him and the yapping vixen as possible.
Russell trudged out of the pub, and into the brisk, cool night that nipped at his exposed flesh. It felt good against his heated skin. Consuming the lot of whiskey, coupled with the reminder of his daughter’s death, had done enough to stoke his fire.
His car was parked just around the corner on the far side of the pub. He hadn’t planned on walking home, or drinking as much as he did, but things changed.
The door flung open behind Russell as he slumbered down the sidewalk. Angry voices bickered and grew louder.
“Yeah. That’s the guy who called me a whore,” the vixen yelled.
Heavy footsteps tromped his way. “Hey, asshole. Did you call my girl a whore?”
Russell had no desire to get into a confrontation with some rich snob. He dug his hands into his coat pockets, and continued on his way.
“Can you believe the nerve of this guy,” the agitated man grumbled as he charged him.
“Steve, forget it,” the vixen called out. “He’s drunk and a loser, anyway. Don’t waste your time.”
Yeah, Steve. Just forget about it, Russell thought to himself.
“Screw that,” Steve barked as he grabbed Russell’s arm. “Nobody calls my girl a whore. Especially some low-life gutter trash.”
Russell stopped dead in his tracks. He looked down to the man’s hand that was fixed around his bicep. His fingers dug into the muscle and held firm.
“Listen, pal,” Russell growled with slurred speech. “I didn’t say your girl was a whore. I just insinuated it since, well, she’s dressed for the part and far out of your league.”
Steve snarled, then jerked Russell about to face him. The sudden movement threw Russell’s head into a tailspin. He stumbled about with his hands out to counter the dizziness. He regained his composure just as Steve poked him in his chest.
“Apologize to her right now, and perhaps, I won’t mop the sidewalk with your face,” Steve said.
Russell battled the disequilibrium that consumed his head as he struggled to focus on Steve. He closed his eyes and stood still as Steve jabbed at his chest. This wasn’t his first drunken stupor, or skirmish.
“Touch me again, and I’ll lay you out,” Russell warned. “Just go back inside with your slut girlfriend, and we’ll call it a night, all right.”
Steve gnashed his teeth and balled his hand into a fist. He grabbed a handful of Russell’s coat and drew his arm back. Russell blinked, trying to erase the double vision. Two Steve’s stood before him, ready to pound his face into oblivion.
Time slowed to a crawl. He had it all figured out. He’d dodge Steve’s right cross, and counter with a jab to the stomach, then, knee him in the face. The perfect plan.
Steve swung his arm with everything he had and connected with the end of Russell’s jaw. The blow knocked him off balance and sent him flat on his ass. Russell’s eyes rattled in his head like loose marbles. It was a decent strike, but Russell had been dealt worse.
Russell rubbed his jaw while staring at the proud alpha who strutted back to his woman with his chest out. Russell wiped away the blood that trickled down from his chin. He wasn’t looking for a fight, but watching Steve walk away, he had to wipe that smug grin from his face.
“You know, I have to admit, that’s the weakest punch I have ever taken,” Russell jabbed. “I think your woman there could hit harder than that.”
Steve stopped and glanced over his shoulder. His cocky smirk vanished in a blink as his nostrils flared. Like a bull seein
g red, he charged Russell once more, ready to dish out more pain.
Russell pulled himself off the ground as Steve closed the distance. His balance was still a bit shaken, but he would make do.
Steve drew his arm back, ready to strike the drunken fool who couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “I’m going to mess you-”
Russell exploded from the sidewalk and decked him square in the face. Steve stopped on a dime and reeled from the punishing blow. Both hands cupped his bleeding nose as he squinted and howled in pain. Russell could’ve stopped and went on his merry way, but he didn’t. He had a gut full of rage and heartache that needed to be vented, and Steve was the perfect source to unload on.
“Christ. I think you broke my nose,” Steve yelled out.
His vixen raced to his side until she saw Russell stomping toward him. She paused and backed away. Her face twisted into sheer terror.
Russell punched Steve in the gut, doubling the businessman over in a snap. He grabbed him by the collar of his suit, then threw him against the brick wall of the pub. Steve collapsed, gasping for air. Russell kicked him in the stomach over and over as he glared down at him.
The vixen yelled and cried for help. She pleaded for Russell to stop, but her words fell on deaf ears.
Police sirens whistled in the night air.
The flash of red and blue on the aged brick wall gleamed in Russell’s face, but he ignored them. He wasn’t done yet.
“This is the police,” a thunderous voice called out from behind Russell. “Break it up, now.”
A baton slipped under Russell’s chin. Arms wrapped around both of his and pulled him off the beaten businessman. Steve laid on the ground, coughing and hacking as two police officers dragged Russell to their squad car.
“What the hell,” Russell barked as they threw him face first on the hood of their cruiser. “That dick bag started it.”
“Yeah. Looks like you ended it, though,” one of the officers said as he patted him down. “Have you been drinking tonight?”
Powerless World: A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller (Survive the Fall Book 1) Page 1
