Avalon: Beyond the Retreat (The Avalon Series Book 2)

by L. Michael Rusin

  AVALON:

  Beyond The Retreat

  Visit

  www.AvalonTheRetreat.com

  for more in this series.

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  www.KamelPress.com

  for more about this author.

  Copyright ©2014 by L. Michael Rusin. All rights reserved.

  The Avalon “A” logo designed by Kermit Jones, Jr., created by Meredith Sump, and is a trademark of Kamel Press, LLC.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means without permission from the author.

  ISBN-13:

  978-1-62487-025-5 - Paperback

  978-1-62487-026-2 - eBook

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2014942897

  DEDICATION

  This book is dedicated to my late friend James Richard Waters of Rochester, Illinois. He was a friend, a brother orphan like me, and a man I will always respect and miss. We were young Sailors those many years ago, and the memories of the things we did when we were “on the beach” together still make me smile. I hope my friend is at peace and has arrived on the other side where pain and sadness no longer exist.

  L. Michael Rusin

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  The author would like to acknowledge the efforts of the team of men and women who worked so hard to make changes to Avalon: Beyond The Retreat, in order to make this final result, presented for your reading pleasure.

  My gratitude to you all cannot be measured. Thank you very much.

  L. Michael Rusin

  FOREWORD

  Avalon: The Retreat, the first installment of the Avalon trilogy, introduced characters recovering from the devastating effects of a nuclear invasion of the United States. The survival skills and advance preparation shared here demonstrated that there can be survival after holocaust.

  In Avalon: Beyond the Retreat, the same great characters move on to the next step, establishing sense and order out of the chaos left behind from two devastating nuclear attacks on the United States.

  While this struggle seems hard enough, there are new and unprecedented challenges. Amoral gangs form, and, with their mission to rape and pillage the remains of the country and its survivors, incredible acts of human ignominy run rampant.

  Add the nightmare of an incurable plague, with all of its consequences, and the going just gets tougher.

  Stragglers and small communities of survivors struggle against seemingly insurmountable odds in an effort to recapture any sense of their former lives. Members of the Avalon retreat play a key role in providing assistance and leadership to the unfortunates, while establishing order from confusion.

  Punctuated with poignant personal stories, the Avalon survivors are personalized, and share their fears, hopes, and souls. Make no mistake - this is a hell-bent ride into the future. The possibilities predicted within this novel are all too imminent, and the author would simply ask that the you watch the news, and see how comfortable you feel about the likelihood of this supposedly fictitious scenario becoming reality.

  I do not intend to scare, but I very much want to suggest that people prepare. Keeping that in mind, prepare for an experience that will leave the reader deep in thought, and looking forward to the third book in this series, Avalon: Wormwood.

  Table of Contents

  1. Scavengers

  2. Down & Dirty

  3. Rescued

  4. Sneak & Peak

  5. Journey South

  6. Box Canyon

  7. Canyon Dwellers

  8. Plague Subsides

  9. Reunion

  10. First Encounter

  11. Justice

  12. Slavers Advance

  14. Spies

  15. The Unraveling

  16. Move to Action

  17. Battle Ready

  18. The Gathering

  19. The Battle

  20. Forgiveness

  21. Reconstruction

  22. Wormwood

  23. Spies Spurned

  24. Militia

  25. Barter System

  26. Den of Thieves

  27. Patrol

  Prologue

  A MERICA is no longer the land of milk and honey. The United States has fallen and she is challenged with the prospect of total destruction. Time has passed, the initial terrorist bombs have exploded, and the country is going through radical changes on every level of society.

  In an attempt to capitalize on an already dire situation, China and Russia launched attacks with additional bombs in an attempt to take over what was left of the United States. The initial nuclear fallout killed hundreds of thousands of people and continued to eradicate the population for many months afterward.

  Families became homeless, children were orphaned, and the basic human mode of survival set in as people wandered in search of food, shelter and safety. The lethal effects of radiation poisoning were invisible and not apparent until victims were beyond saving. When all was said and done, the death toll from radiation exposure was in the millions.

  With untreated illnesses and the loss of basic sanitation, a plague resulted, its roots embedded in the plagues of the ancients in that it mutated suddenly, becoming virulent and killing quickly.

  Those who studied disease ascertained that it was contracted by ingesting the contaminated breath of infected individuals or by coming into direct contact with the sores or vile liquid ejected from those sores. It was later believed that any contact with an infected individual, be it clothing or flesh, would infect the population.

  The symptoms of the plague were evident… headaches, accompanied by bright red pimply sores that filled with mucus and pus, covering the entire body. Those unfortunate enough to witness the process and yet survive described the progression of the pimples as going from bright red to festering yellow and purple sores that burst open suddenly, emitting a foul smelling liquid.

  The stench from the oozing sores brought on an uncontrollable bout of vomiting. Within days of the first manifestation of the disease, people died by the hundreds of thousands. Those who were not infected barricaded themselves away from what was left of the general population.

  The disease swept the planet quickly, carried silently by those who thought they were escaping it. Of the hundreds of millions that became infected, only a small percentage survived. Many of those survivors suffered permanent disfigurement while others lost control of certain nerves and muscle functions.

  These disfigurements were worn with pride as badges of courage and determination. They had survived a ferocious killer, unprecedented in all of human history. Not even history’s great tsunamis, earthquakes or volcanic eruptions could be calculated against this enemy that had harvested much of the world’s population. As a result of the great plague of World War III, the Earth’s population was reduced from slightly over seven billion to fewer than twenty million in less than two months.

  It stopped as suddenly as it started, as if the gods had taken pity on the inhabitants of the Earth. There were simply no more deaths attributed to this merciless killer. Skeletons were uncovered in the most seemingly innocuous places, the sight becoming so commonplace that people simply discarded the bones with no thought or regard for the person they had once inhabited.

  The regard for human life had changed as people became immune to the death that surrounded them, and their realization of how precious an opportunity living had
become.

  A new Boogie Man arose as starvation ran rampant and the food supply dwindled away to nothing. Panic set in as the realization hit that food production had become practically extinct. Cannibalism took root in some societies where irreverent survivors scoffed at law and order, where rudimentary civilized rule was rendered to “survival of the fittest.”

  Slavery became a means to an end. Someone had to do the work, and women were a common target for the most menial jobs. The more grueling work needed muscle and brute force, so the weaker of the men were enslaved to perform the heavier duties. Almost immediately gangs formed and initiated the practice of capturing and enslaving the survivors. The ruthlessness of these acts drove people into hiding for fear of enslavement, or worse, death. Warriors ruled, becoming slave masters.

  Feudal kingdoms had sprung up from Florida to California and anywhere in between where a strong and ruthless leader was able to form a group of men. Men who would fear him enough to follow him. Any stragglers found along the way were either enslaved or assimilated into the group. Strength in numbers became a way of living, and the larger groups preyed on the weaker, smaller ones.

  In some areas, groups banded together to try and survive. The luxuries of living in a modern society such as food, drinking water, safety, and medical aid had ended overnight. When the war ended, life became a day-to-day struggle. Some were resourceful and began implementing innovations to bring back a semblance of lost amenities.

  Ram pumps were constructed and placed into service, using the head pressure of falling water to power themselves and lift water to higher ground. Water wheels were built and wells were dug. It was a return to an age of technology that existed before electricity was invented and incorporated as a normal everyday convenience.

  Gardens flourished without chemical fertilizers in areas where fallout was not a concern. Canning food became a necessity for preserving these vital commodities for future use. What was once taken for granted, and wasted carelessly, had become one of the primary necessities that would allow what was left of the world’s inhabitants to exist and rebuild societies.

  People traded secrets of herbal remedies to treat the sick. Gasification, through the process of using wood smoke to create a combustible product, was used to run machines without petroleum fuels.

  Warehouses where products had been stored were plundered and looted. Weapons were at a premium along with the ammunition to fire them. Many groups mirrored the people of Avalon and the small town of Fitch, forming small coalitions for the purposes of protection, as well as a sense of community.

  There were some survival groups that, like the Avalon retreat, had prepared ahead for such a disaster and were able to exist with a relative semblance of dignity and comfort. Many others eked out an existence much like the dirt farmers of the American plains more than a century before.

  A few of the men with military experience went out in search of survivors and, as they made their way, they met up with some stalwart, stouthearted souls. That is not to say they didn’t meet up with a few of the wolves who were preying on the masses to further their own evil purposes.

  This begins the saga of those individuals who survived man’s inhumanity to mankind.

  Chapter 1

  Scavengers

  RANDY STEWART licked his dry, cracked lips as he studied the bikers down below him. They were tucked in a small secluded valley that was surrounded by rock strewn rolling hills. Trees were scattered randomly in meandering patterns, good in the event of needing cover. Shirley, his wife, bumped up close against him, distracting him enough that he had to refocus on the bikers, possibly Slavers, that he was studying through his binoculars.

  “What are they doing?” She asked him softly, her gaze following the angle of his binoculars studying the small dots moving about as if they were ants and not people.

  “Not much,” he responded without emotion as he continued to watch the gang. “I think they’re going to be moving on by the looks of things.”

  After a few minutes of observation, one of the bikers got up on a large rock and began to address the group. Randy could tell that the guy was big. He couldn’t hear what was being said, but the guy was animated as he spoke and moved around, his arms flailing about with agitated gestures. The speech lasted about ten minutes. The big man then got off the rock and walked over to a motorcycle. He started it up, and jetted away toward the northeast. The rest of the bikers fell in line by threes, fives, and as many as eight, all riding close together. The big man in front was joined by eight other riders, four on each side and slightly behind him, with the rest following in their dust.

  The bikers were heavily armed. Each appeared to carry a handgun or two. From what Randy could see, some of the bikers had rifles that appeared to be AK-47s or M-16s, but Randy couldn’t be sure because of the distance. One appeared to have an old Thompson submachine gun over his shoulder hanging from an olive green strap. It was just far enough away that he couldn’t be sure, but that was what he supposed. There were knives and side arms, and a few of them even had rocket launchers of some type on their backs.

  Most of them had bandoliers of ammo over their shoulders and chests, and it made Randy wonder just how much ammo they actually did have. Was it just a show of force? Regardless, the sun glinted off the brass, making them easy targets. He also saw what he assumed were hand grenades strapped to their vests. These guys were well-armed and on their way to destinations unknown. Coming up from behind the lead motorcycles were several pickup trucks with canopies carrying the rest of the group.

  As Randy put away his binoculars he spoke to no one in particular, “We’ll follow them a ways and see where they’re going.”

  Still no emotion.

  Without any reply expected he continued. “We have to find some food soon.” His voice trailed as if he were thinking aloud about what to do next.

  “If there are that many men and women,” he said, turning to his family, “there has to be some food. Probably a great deal of it by the size of that gang. I make them out to be more than three or four hundred. I can’t be exact‘cause they were all moving around or were bunched together, but I’m certain there is at least that many, maybe more.” He said it in a stoic manner that didn’t warrant any discussion.

  “Do you think it’s a good idea to approach them?” Shirley asked. He sensed the caution and fear in her voice. “They could be big trouble for us.” Her voice was melodic and despite all that had transpired, he always loved to hear the sound of her voice, even when it was this serious.

  He looked into her eyes, pausing to formulate a response. His shoulders slumped as he finally said. “We need food… and the last time I looked, there weren’t many grocery stores open for business.” He gazed into her beautiful gray eyes, hating the fact that they were filled with concern and there was little he could do about that fact.

  He moved toward the small pile of essentials that they had managed to scrape together. She had sensed sarcasm in his voice but let it slide. They were all on edge and hungry. He wasn’t a mean man and she knew he wasn’t trying to scold her. He was simply stating a fact. As he started to pack their meager belongings, Randy continued. “Let’s gather up our things and head east.” He was looking at his compass as he talked.

  Shirley had the children working with hand signals and body movements as they prepared to move. They all knew what they had to do. They had relocated a number of times in as many days, following these bikers from nearby Crescent City on the coast.

  “We’ll stay a few hours behind them,” Randy said as he swung his pack onto his shoulders. “If they do the same things as before, we should catch up just before dark, or early in the morning.”

  Shirley shrugged her shoulders and went about getting ready to move out. She was tired… they were all tired. The lack of food was draining the energy out of each of them. She wasn’t looking forward to the hike, which could possibly be another thirty or more miles. She was tired of walking and foraging in th
e garbage the bikers left behind. She felt like a dog as she was doing it.

  The food was plentiful among the scraps that were left behind, and she liked the fact that when they were able to take the time to forage and find food, it kept them alive. But just the thought of what they were doing filled her with revulsion.

  “Shirl,” she knew what was coming, “before we move out, let’s do what we’ve been doing and go over to their camp and see if we can scrounge up some of the food they left behind.”

  Her thoughts evaporated at his words and she joined her husband and two children as they walked toward the abandoned camp. She thought a sharp retort, but didn’t say anything. The four of them moved toward the abandoned bikers’ camp and began to scavenge in the trash. Some remnants of edible food were tossed here and there.

  The camp covered several acres of ground, and it took a while for the family to pick through what remained scattered about. Once they were all satisfied that they had salvaged enough to keep them going for a little longer, they moved out toward the unmistakable trail left by the bikers.

  It was dark now, and Randy watched the moon rise over the horizon. He carried a flashlight he had found at one of the other camp sites the bikers/Slavers had stopped at earlier. It was a military flashlight with a goose-neck that looked like an inverted “L.” It was still fairly bright, and he used the batteries sparingly.

  Their greatest find was a rechargeable light that had once been used to illuminate a pathway in a garden or patio. It was convenient and the batteries were recharged every day with a built-in solar cell on the side of the light fixture. They could use the two lights intermittently, as they needed them. He simply removed the battery from the pathway light to keep it from shining needlessly.

  Randy’s family was fortunate this evening as there was a full moon, giving them plenty of light to help them see the trail they were following. He was grateful, as that would help save their batteries.