Amitola
The Making of a Tribe
A. Grant Richard
Copyright © 2018 by A. Grant Richard
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.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Though every attempt at being scientifically and/or historically accurate was made, this is still a work of fiction and creative liberties were exercised.
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EMAIL: [email protected] or visit http://SimpleLivingBayou.com
I dedicate this book to everyone who has ever considered what it would be like to have a reset in this world, especially while sitting in Baton Rouge traffic.
And to my four punks, I mean, boys:
It was your love, humor, strength, ambition, testosterone driven fights, tree climbing, suitcase swapping, rooftop bird feeding, nonstop hunting and fishing, driving lessons (can we call it that?), 7,852 cell phone selfies, man buns, rooms smelling of feet and butt, your smart aleck comments, and tenacious veracity that led me to believe that if any woman could survive and thrive post-apocalypse, she would have to be the mother of multiple male children.
And to the love of my life:
Hellooo… you really are.
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 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Also by A. Grant Richard
About the Author
Chapter One
Leaning against the fallen oak, Maia glanced down at her hands. She noticed she placed them over her womb. This happened quite often lately. Maybe it brought her comfort. Maybe it soothed her pain. Maybe it just meant she was sick to her stomach.
Whatever the reason, there was no time to ponder it. What took precedence was hiding from the two men who were rapidly approaching. Their pungent stench assaulted her nose long before she saw them and now they were getting closer. Some of the savages caught on to the tricks women used to blend in rendering them ineffective. Even with her baggy clothes, her hair tucked in a beanie and dirt smudged on her face, they noticed her. She’d have to find a hiding place and soon.
She raced past the wreckage of an old John Deere tractor and climbed a chunk of what used to be an interstate barrier. Standing on top of the concrete slab, she had a view of the four-foot drop to the damaged van below. She hesitated but looking around there was no other viable option. She jumped, simultaneously hoping it wouldn’t cave under her weight or make too much noise.
Her feet caught the metal…hard. A thunderous roar bullied itself from underneath her. At least it didn’t give way. "One out of two ain’t bad," she thought. The problem was she figured they weren't that far behind her. She knew they could've heard that. Even with a head start, she couldn’t outrun them much longer. Fortunately for her, these Louisiana woods were ripe with spots where bodies could go unnoticed.
Before Judgement Day, murderers had a tendency to hide the corpses of their victims in these killing fields. If they were concealed well, it could be years before they were found. She knew this all too well because she’d once had the opportunity of working for the sheriff’s office…if you could call it that. Amongst the insight and information she gained during that time, the hardest to swallow was the repulsive acts human beings could do to one another. And to think, what she witnessed then was nothing compared to now.
She shoved her way through the dense vegetation and debris. Scanning the area, she found a thick patch of brush to serve as her cloak. She wriggled her way in, making sure to replace the dead leaves and ash covered moss above her head and resolved to wait them out.
Tucked into that tight spot all she could do was think about how much she hated hiding like this. She didn’t mind the bugs and sticky foliage as much as the not knowing. Would they see her? What was their plan for her? How long before they were gone? She despised this waiting game.
She noticed a break in the leaves and peered out in an attempt to discern the torturous landscape. So much happened so quickly. Piecing together the actual chain of events was more challenging than surviving, but when she had moments, like now, she had to ponder the enormity of it all. One day they were safe and content in their suburban home with their technology, instant café au lait, and cottage furnishings then the next day thrust into this sad and broken world.
The sky was gone and in its place was a thick dome of ash and debris. She rubbed her arms to create friction. She hadn’t felt the warmth of the sun for months. Everything was wet; the air, the ground, the trees. And it smelled of decay. She inhaled deep and cursed the resistance caused by the bandana used to filter the air she breathes.
She frowned at the images before her. The Birch, Cypress and magnificent Sycamores, that served as a canopy to the hunting grounds of her ancestors for centuries, now painted a picture of despair. Even most of the creatures and critters that resided here either moved on or became part of the rot. Those that remained seemed to understand the tragic nature of their circumstances.
The zipper on her backpack caught a string, so she gave it a jerk to loosen it. She reached inside and pulled out her gun. Hiding like this, she could likely take both of them out before they got too close and removing them from the equation guaranteed her safety. She gripped the cold metal, and as she was about to make sure there was a round in the chamber, she felt that familiar burning in her throat. She swallowed hard and leaned back, relieving her grip on the pistol.
It was times like this she wished she lacked the fight to resist the temptation she faced every day. Giving in to this new world and submitting to her every whim seemed effortless as opposed to standing her ground. But she couldn’t. Her conscience rose up revealing there was too much there already. That settled it. She wouldn’t take their life unless they gave her a reason to.
She tucked her gun back in her bag then moved a bit of moss to the side to get a glimpse of the sky. It was no use. Between the haze blocking the rays and the scratches on her safety glasses, she couldn’t see a darn thing.
Five months passed since the first tragedy and the sun still couldn’t penetrate t
he havoc that wreaked the atmosphere. The air choked the life out of its victims in more ways than one. And with so much loss of life came the silence. There was no getting used to it.
What was harder to accept was the rapid demoralization of once ordinary people in such a short time. Even still, she thought they might survive as a species, but as a civilization, probably not.
She nestled herself tight inside the brush and leaned back on the tree. Once she was settled, she turned her head towards the area she had come from searching for any sound of the men.
Maia must’ve dozed off for a second because she woke up to a loud thud piercing her ears and vibrations ripping through her spine. She turned slowly to try and get a glimpse of what was going on. Immediately, she felt her jacket being jerked upwards while she was still in it.
She stumbled out of the brush by force. A flush of adrenaline sent a shock wave through her body. She screamed and struggled to get free. Her guns were of no use to her in the backpack now laying on the ground, but she managed to get her hand into her jacket pocket and dug around for her switchblade.
She pulled it out and pushed the thumb stud but as soon as she heard the familiar click, it sprung from her hands. She pulled her knees up to her chest and dropped down to the ground, searching the muddy mess. The man yelled out into the woods, “Over here,” then fell behind her wrapping his arm around her neck.
She gasped without hesitation. The man's arms were heavy, crushing her airway. She kicked her feet trying to get leverage enough to escape his grip and pulled the bandana from her face in the process. Her hands drug the ground in search of anything to use as a weapon.
“Damn. Why you still fighting girl? There ain’t nothing left to fight for.” His hold tightened as her breathing slowed then he whispered, “Just let go, sweetheart…”
She found a hard, cold object. She got a grip on it and without looking, she smashed it on his face. The glass broke violently, gashing his eye and forehead. He let her go, and while she was catching her breath, she scanned the forest floor looking for her knife. When she found it, she turned and thrust it deep, allowing it to tear into the closest area of flesh it could find.
The man rolled around on the ground cursing, holding his upper thigh, his face smeared in crimson red. She lunged at him to grab her knife, but a swift kick to her hand ended that.
She jumped up and turned around to see the other marauder pointing a gun at her. Many things raced through her mind but none louder than the thought that she wasn’t about to allow another man to do this to her. He’d have to kill her first. It’s a good thing dying wasn’t on her to-do list for today. Going home was.
He fumbled with his belt and jeans with one hand, the heaviness of the gun caused the other to wobble. Either he was panicking, or he was inebriated. Unfortunately, the end of the world only exacerbated that problem. “Take off your pants,” he demanded.
He gave her the once over like she was sweet potato pie on Thanksgiving Day and she watched as he pushed his long, greasy hair behind his ear. Her stomach churned from the site of him, but what was most obnoxious to her was the amount of spit accompanying his slurred speech and the reeking aroma of whiskey. She could smell it seeping through his pores from five feet away.
“No,” she anchored her feet and took deep breaths to calm herself. She needed to clear her mind and allow her muscle memory to take over. “We both know a dead woman isn’t worth anything, but that’s the only way you’re getting these pants off of me.”
He grinned and tucked his gun away, “Oh, really? We’ll see about that.”
He charged forward to grab her. She tried to hold her footing but the ground was too wet, and she was too weak. Her feet slid from under her, and she fell backward. Before she could get up again, he was on top of her.
With one hand he pinned her arms above her head while he attempted to undo her pants with the other. Her chest tightened. She bucked and twisted underneath him in a struggle to get free. She heard him laugh as though it amused him. He used his knees to put his body weight on her legs and looked at her like he was about to make her pay for everything he’d been through the last few months. She sensed what was coming and turned her head right before he mercilessly backhanded her.
Immediately following the sting, she felt the salty warmth of her blood draining down the back of her throat. The metallic taste of it seemed to tighten her senses. Her heart pounded rapidly, and she gagged as she tried to take in air. Then, she remembered her boys. They’d lost so much already. She had to get back to them.
Chapter Two
Tye glanced sideways to check on his little girl. She was nearly fourteen, but whenever he looked at her, he still saw her as the baby he held in the palm of his hands. She’d been born eight weeks premature. Doctors didn’t offer them much hope, but Tye and his wife stayed by her side until he was able to bring his little princess home.
“Sadie, you have to keep up.”
“Dad, I’m tired. Can’t we stop? Just for a minute?”
His oldest son, Tye Junior, towered over her which was comfortingly symbolic to him. It was a reminder that she would always have someone looking out for her, even if he wasn’t there. He despised that his mind would produce such thoughts, but since Judgement Day it became required parenting. He had to plan for the probable. Mid-step, his thoughts were abruptly halted by his traveling companion.
Caleb stopped and held his hand up in a fist to signal the rest of the crew to follow suit. Once they were still, he turned and placed his finger over the bandana near his mouth to let them know to keep quiet. He tilted his head to the left and listened, concentrating his efforts on a particular section of woods.
Caleb Finnigan spent most of his life listening and observing which can be difficult for a fast-paced city boy born and raised in Boston. The fifth born child of seven, his family consisted of four brothers and two sisters. Except for hand me downs, nothing was given to him freely. He had to dominate and take it by force. This caused him to be keenly aware of his surroundings, collecting ample amounts of information and resources for ammunition to use at a later date. What his siblings called manipulation and blackmail he called business. Today he called it surviving.
“What is it, dad?” Elex tried to whisper, fear gripping his tone.
Caleb faced them, “Not sure. I thought I heard something,” he noted the tired eyes staring back at him. As young as they were they'd aged years in the last few months. “Look, guys, I know you want to rest, but we gotta keep going. It'll all be worth it when we’re sleeping somewhere safe tonight. Come on.”
Some sighs escaped but eventually, the shuffling of feet ensued, and so did the kicking of Sweetgum balls. The spiky nuisance was the only entertainment they’d had today. Well, that and watching Junior waltz right into the woven wonderland of a banana spider and subsequently squealing and jumping around like a ten-year-old girl. When they finally quit laughing, they had to calm him down long enough to convince him the spider wasn’t on him. Good times.
The five of them trekked through in search of a safe place to make camp. The past few weeks they tried holing up in houses off the main highways, but too many encounters with once ordinary people stealing out of desperation or savages seeking to kidnap and rape had driven them to take their chances in the woods. They needed to find something permanent, but tonight they would settle for safe.
Caleb flinched then pointed at the ground. “Whoa, did you see that?”
He looked over at Tye who was eagerly searching the area for something of significance. Tye looked at him like he'd just sworn he was a chartreuse pegasus, “See what?” he asked.
Caleb had noticed a pile of leaves moving right before he saw the snake slither out in front of them. He had an innate need to show his position in the food chain, so he decided to show the snake who's boss. Though he'd never admit it, he was sweating bullets. Urban boys dealt with rats and cockroaches, not snakes, but he never met a challenge he wouldn’t take head-on, or of
f in this case. He cornered it, pinned it down, chopped its head off and then out of the corner of his eye he saw Tye and Junior buckled over laughing.
“What're you laughing at? I didn’t see you trying to kill it.”
Definitely feeling the need to break his stones, Tye strolled over and patted him on the back, “Thank you, oh great one for ridding the world of that deadly Milk Snake.”
Caleb took a step back. “Milk Snake? That’s a Coral Snake. I don’t know what no Milk Snake is, but I know coral stripes when I see ‘em.”
“Red and yellow can kill a fellow.” Junior picked up the headless snake and pointed to the bands on the snake, “Red and black, a friend of Jack.”
Caleb took the map from Tye and studied the area he had circled. “Can’t even get a thank you around here. Buncha punks…let’s go.”
Caleb depended heavily on his good buddy to navigate them. Tye was born and raised in the South, and although these particular woods weren’t his stomping grounds, he was familiar with the landscape. If all went well, they’d find one of the homes hidden on private roads and be able to spend the night there. If not they’d be sleeping in another deer stand. Either way, he believed they were better off than if they were still in the city.
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