by L. L. Akers
Run Like the Wind
The SHTF Series Book Three
L.L. Akers
Scorched Earth Publishing, LLC
Ten thousand people, maybe more…
People talking without speaking,
People hearing without listening,
People writing songs, that voices never share
and no one dared…
Disturb the sound of silence…”
~ Simon & Garfunkel
Run Like the Wind
Book Three of the chart-topping SHTF Series is here, and early readers say it’s the best one yet!
It's still TEOTWAWKI for Tucker.
The power grid went down a month ago, and mayhem continues when food is depleted or raided, and water sources are running dry. As resources grow scarce, regular people begin to slide into savagery, especially when Tucker and Katie lose one of their own at Tullymore. Without rule of law, justice is the new law of the land, and they fall back to an eye for an eye.
Can Grayson and Olivia hold it together as their group grows larger, but one of them takes a bullet?
At Grayson's farm, training is in full force, but not everyone is comfortable with the wild, wild west their world has become. When one of their own takes a bullet, and Olivia is to blame, they must all come together before they fall apart.
Is this really the end of their world as they know it?
The streets are either eerily barren, or filled with hunger-crazed mobs. Homes are left with nothing more than blackened stone and burnt-out dreams when the help they thought had arrived does more damage, than good. But F’kn Puck is on a mission to finally be a hero; he’ll either survive and persevere, or die trying.
Death is imminent, and bullets and blood fill their days as they Run Like the Wind in book three of The SHTF Series, a post-apocalyptic thriller packed with Action & Adventure.
The SHTF Series:
Book 1: Fight Like a Man
Book 2: Shoot Like a Girl
Book 3: Run Like the Wind
Book 4: Hide Like a Child
Sign up to the Shit (hit the fan) List here: http://eepurl.com/bMDLT1 to be notified via email when the next SHTF book comes out.
To my son, Zach.
Contents
Prologue
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
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Books by L.L. Akers
About the Author
Hang out with other readers/preppers
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Fk’n Puck squeezed his eyes tight when the gun bellowed, announcing its displeasure at not being respected. GrayMan had given him the lecture: Respect the gun. Always respect the gun. No goofing around.
He’d known it was coming.
He saw it.
At first, Mama Dee had told him it was Déjà vu; nothing special, all people had it at some time or the other. But since Puck had bumped his head—or since his head had been bumped—he had it a lot, and he knew it was more than just that.
Then she’d called them seizures. She took him to a doctor who put him on a table that rolled him into a box. It shook and scared him; made him feel trapped.
The doctor gave him medicine.
The medicine was piled up in his room now at Mama Dee’s house, in a tiny hole in his mattress.
It made his head feel funny.
Funnier than the seizures did.
He’d rather see things coming sometimes, than be confused all the time.
He just wished he was smart enough to stop the seeing.
Mama Dee said to never talk about it. That’s why he drew the pictures. He couldn’t block out this knowing; couldn’t make it stop bothering him…poking at his brain and keeping him awake at night, unless he talked about it, or put it on paper. But he hadn’t had time for this one. When the knowing came, he’d only wanted to stop it, before it had become.
For a moment—after the boom—there was dead silence.
And then, the air erupted in a cacophony of screams, scattering the otherwise quiet of the farm. The cicadas stopped chirping, the chickens stopped chattering. The birds perched on high limbs, peering down over their fat bosoms with darting, cautious eyes at the river of blood, before frantically flying away in fright.
At the women.
Olivia, Gabby, Tina, Tarra—even Graysie.
They were all there.
He’d known they would be. That was why he’d insisted on tagging along with the women today, instead of with GrayMan and Jake, or Elmer. He’d felt GrayMan’s disappointment that he’d not chosen to do A Man Thing. But Mama Dee said never to talk about it, so he couldn’t tell GrayMan why he’d wanted to be with the girls.
Puck’s hands slid down and he slowly opened his wet eyes—ever so slowly—already knowing what he’d see. Dreading it. But it was worse than he’d already seen.
So much blood.
He could hear his father’s angry voice groaning, ‘Fuckin’ Puck,’ and see the disappointed shake of his head. He could feel it in his bones—and his aching heart. He’d failed at something, yet again.
His real dad was gone.
But GrayMan was gonna be mad at him now, too.
1
The Farm
Fear knotted his stomach as Grayson sat alone with his head in his hands in a collapsible lawn chair in the barn, not realizing daybreak had come until Jenny nudged him, and not too gently. She had a ferocious internal hangry clock and if he didn’t feed her soon, she’d take a flirty nip out of him.
Or she’d head to Puck’s window to beg, and wake up the whole house.
He wasn’t used to sharing his quiet place with anyone, but especially a grumpy, mule-headed donkey. He nudged her right back. “Just a few more minutes, Jenny. Leave me alone, girl.”
Ozzie, who had been asleep at his feet, stood and pushed himself between his master and the impatient donkey. Even the dog knew he needed this time alone, to get his head straight before rousting the others.
Grayson was afraid—scared of failing his family and friends—but was trying to keep his salty humor, and not let anyone see the anxiety that was keeping him from slumber.
Ozzie felt it, though. The dog gave a low whine and nudged him, too, as though to say snap out of it, Hooman.
With little to no privacy now, this was where he came to try to gather his thoughts and bury his worries and fears deep inside, from anyone who might be looking. He was responsible for everyone here, and bellyaching about it wouldn’t change a thing, even if nearly everyone else was acting as though
it was all going to be okay.
He didn’t begrudge them their hopefulness. All the way out in the country like they were, it was easy for most of them to forget the world around them was fubar.
But not for him. For him, reality was staring him in the face every moment, around the clock, as their food ran low and their fuel ran lower.
He rubbed Ozzie’s head. “It’s okay, boy. Lay down.”
Ozzie curled up once again at his feet, leaving him to battle the barrage of what ifs and if they could’s once more. There was no peace from the nagging worry that things were about to get much worse. The facts were the facts…and every day was one day closer to their little haven possibly being set upon by a despairing Golden Horde.
One month had gone by and still no power. The city was in chaos. No information was coming from the government. No military had been spotted. Food was scarce to nonexistent for most people, water was hard to come by for many—luckily, he was prepared with a well and a hand pump—but few people had been prepared for a disaster of this level.
The violent scramble to empty the shelves in the grocery stores lasted no more than a few days, ending in bloodshed frequently, and inciting looting, violence and rioting. There were no refills for critical medicines, and no more incoming fuel for vehicles to venture out further to find any of the basic needs of the average American.
People were extremely hungry, sick, and tired.
They were desperate and mad.
The city was being stripped of every critical resource, and recklessly razed to the ground. Soon, those desperate people would be headed out on foot toward the country, moving on to greener pastures.
Literally.
And they would be dangerous.
Big Pharma had added to the mayhem by helping to breed an entire generation of impulsive pill-heads and junkies, all willing to kill or die for their next fix, and unable to get it; they were almost more dangerous than the roving gangs. Most of the elderly soon perished without their life-sustaining medications, and while he wasn’t sure if the power outage was everywhere, he had to assume it was, since no help had come yet. So, what was left of America was probably an anxious, and nearly hopeless nation, the remnants of families who never thought their great country could be torn asunder in such a short time, just by flipping the light switch.
No one had believed it could get this bad, this fast.
Grayson sighed heavily and stood up. He stretched. What he wouldn’t give for a straight eight of sleep.
True to her nature, and not liking to be forgotten, Jenny swung her head in and took a small nip at his backside, her reminder that she was waiting.
“Whoa,” Grayson yelled, rubbing his hind quarters and turning quickly, holding one hand up to ward her off, only to find her big lips pulled back from her square, yellow teeth in a silly, innocent smile.
She brayed her apologies at him, pleading with a fluttering of her lashes.
He answered her with thin lips and a shake of his head, but did her bidding. After feeding Jenny, he hurried from the barn, tamping down his anxiety and setting his jaw with pure grit. He squinted at the big orange orb—seeming higher than it should be. Maybe he had caught a few winks after all. Olivia would be nagging at him for sleeping in the barn if she knew.
He grimaced, knowing that big ball of heat would attack him in no more than fifty feet, the thick and muggy air leaving his shirt damp in the sweltering Carolina summer heat.
Grayson glanced back at the barn, noticing the sun had already been plying its trade against it too, lying in wait for him… it was laying claim to the old red paint, bright and early. He could almost hear the siding peel and curl as he headed to the house through the long clover.
The smell of chicken shit and hay tickled his nose as he passed through, glad that when the chicken feed ran out, they could graze here, and if they couldn’t eat fast enough, it wouldn’t go to waste—Jenny would eat it once it died and dried.
Amazing what a month without mowing would do. He could barely see the chickens as they hurried to cut paths through the tall weeds, pecking at the dirt to look for that early worm, fly, or bug that lurked in the grass.
All around the farm it was still quiet, other than the cicada’s chirping their song, the birds tweeting, and the chickens clucking. His dark mood was slowly dissipating. The quiet sounds of the countryside were already working on his spirits. A balm to his soul.
A real farm was probably livelier, but his was only a homestead with a farmhouse, the barn, and a small-ish garden. It was more of a hobby-farm.
They just liked to call it the farm.
Although he knew they were blessed—especially now—to have this place, he wished it were a real farm, with a sounder of pigs and a herd of cows; fresh milk and meat fattening up on the bone; a rooster to make more little chicks who’d make more eggs and meat, and rows and rows of corn and other abundant foods to be harvested.
If only I’d been more prepared…
Lately though, his place had come alive with life. Where before it was just he and his wife, Olivia, and their dog, Ozzie, and a home-visit every other weekend from Graysie—she’d been away at college when the grid went down—now they had her back, and the addition of another teenager named Puck; this one male, the stubborn female donkey, a cantankerous old man named Elmer, a piglet wearing a ridiculous tutu, Olivia’s twin sister, Gabby, and her husband, Jake, and two more spitfires of the female persuasion: Tina and Tarra.
Nine humans, a donkey, a dog and a pig—and some chickens.
He stole another glance at the sun and realized he really had been lost in his thoughts much longer than he’d thought. Morning was slipping away and things weren’t usually this quiet at this time of day.
The glare of the ratty old pop-up camper shining back at him with the door hanging wide open, framed by torn and tattered curtains hanging limp said the workday hadn’t yet started. He’d expect Tina and Tarra to be up and nearly finished cleaning up the nasty, cramped thing that he and Jake had found in Puck and Mama Dee’s yard by now. They’d pulled it over with the tractor, surprised that the wheels hadn’t rotted off yet, and had made some minor repairs.
It wasn’t the Taj Mahal, but it’d do to sleep in, after Olivia put in some clean bedding and added her finishing touches to it.
They were running out of room in the house and he was tired of tripping over people. It hadn’t taken much to entice Tina and Tarra to agree to sleep in the camper, which would also alleviate some tension between them and his wife. Having five women in the house was no walk in the park. Two less would help.
He rounded the corner and found his family on the front porch. Nearly the whole group, minus himself, Elmer and Jake, sat around looking like death eatin’ on a chicken bone. The day was already stacking up to be a scorcher. Tina and Tarra sat on the porch swing, it barely moving in the soupy air. Olivia sat on the steps, Gabby in a rocking chair, and Graysie and Puck were leaned up against the wall, legs splayed out in front of them.
Grayson dug deep to shake off his mood, and find his humor. “Y’all are like a bunch of dog pecker gnats, hovering around on a hot sticky day. Where’s your get-up-and-go? There’s plenty of work to be done.”
Several sets of eyes narrowed and cut toward Olivia, who sat hunched over, her chin in her hands and elbows on knees. Grayson studied the group: sleepy, grumpy, afflicted with pain? They all had their eyes scrunched up as though they were nursing headaches.
Oh.
He cringed.
The coffee finally ran out.
That alone was an apocalyptic event.
2
The Farm
Before he could put his thoughts to words, Tina snapped a snarky response, “My get-up-and-go has got up and left with the coffee that your wife gave away.”
Tarra elbowed her in warning. “What Tina means is we’re all suffering from withdrawals. Our heads ache, and we just don’t feel like working yet.”
She too probably wanted t
o point the finger at Olivia, but they were guests here, and this was Olivia and Grayson’s house. Lately, she had kept it better in check than Tarra had. While Olivia hadn’t made them feel particularly welcome, Grayson and Jake had insisted they stay, at least until they could devise a plan to get them home safely. Tina and Tarra had been in from out of town for a shooting competition when the grid went down, and by pure happenstance had come across Jake.
Actually, Jake had come across them, camped out in the woods.
They’d recognized the logo on the hat he’d worn as TSS: The Shooting Sisterhood; a Facebook group that they belonged to, where they were online friends with Jake’s wife, Gabby.
Olivia sighed. “I’m sorry,” she said, again. She’d already apologized numerous times for donating some of the prepped food buckets and bins from Grayson’s larder to the church—including the coffee. What they’d been able to scrounge up since then had lasted until now, but they were fresh out. “I can’t believe in all that stuff we found in Elmer’s truck, there wasn’t any coffee.”
After the attack on the farm by Trunk and his gang, Jake had sent Smalls walking. He was the lone survivor, and was in bad shape with a gunshot wound. No one had seen a vehicle, but Grayson had felt sure there was one, somewhere, and Smalls would leave the same way he got here.
