All Dark

by Boyd Craven

  All Dark

  Still Surviving Book 2

  Boyd Craven III

  Copyright © 2018 Boyd Craven III

  All Dark, Still Surviving Book 2

  By Boyd Craven

  Many thanks to friends and family for keeping me writing!

  All rights reserved.

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  Created with Vellum

  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

  About the Author

  Prologue

  I remember the song “A country boy can survive.” I’m not sure how good I’m doing according to the lyrics. I’ve survived all right, but do I still have my humanity?

  When the solar storm knocked out the power, seemingly nationwide, the fall of normalcy seemed to happen quickly for everyone else. For me, at my grandparents’ old homestead, it was a minor inconvenience. I’ve been a lot of things in my life—a poacher, a moonshiner and, although I break the law, I always try to follow what’s morally and ethically correct. Not all laws are, so I only tend to break the ones I need to for my family’s survival, and only so long as it doesn’t harm anyone else.

  In the course of helping friends and family, I’d shot and killed a man who’d been pursuing Lester, Grandpa’s oldest friend, and cutout for our ‘shining business. Turned out, his favorite nephew was the head of law enforcement for the area. Imagine my shock when he’d showed up to the homestead one day with Jessica, Lester, and everyone else. Now? All law enforcement seems to have been pulled into the larger towns, cities, and camps as the federal government tries to get a handle on the worsening situation. My family can live without power for a long time if we’re careful, but not everyone else can.

  Let’s back things up though and reflect on how much has changed. I’d been working toward a degree in chemical engineering, ending up with a teaching job to start this coming fall, and run across an old high school crush. To top things off, I’d finally bullied my grandpa into going to the doctor’s office where we’ve hopefully found his cancer in time. I did what I had to do to get his surgery and treatment paid off by setting up the biggest run of hooch Grandpa and I had ever considered. Then, one day in the barn, I was adopted by a juvenile German Shepherd, Raider. He’s been my companion, protector, and faithful friend throughout all of this.

  The biggest thing that worries me is Lance’s Hillbilly Mafia and their treatment of locals. It didn’t take him long to embrace lawlessness when the lights went out for good. Before that, he’d been nothing more than a honky tonk owner and former boyfriend of Jess. That alone was enough to put a black mark against him, but growing up, I hated him as well. He’d kidnapped friends of Jess and I, torturing them for information about their food storage. That was why I hadn’t hesitated when the man on the four-wheeler had been chasing and shooting at Les’s SUV. If I had done nothing, he would have probably been cornered and killed. I shouldn’t feel guilty that three the father of one of the three little girls had died while I was protecting one of mine, should I? One man or three?

  1

  I rode my bike back to our homestead with a heavy heart. If I were trying to be cool, I’d say I was doing that so the noise of the wind blowing across my face would prevent me from hearing anything, but if I was telling the truth… I’d let the man I’d killed go out of my thoughts. He’d been chasing Lester, shooting at a family friend, and I’d done what I had to do to save a friend. I was sure my shot had been the one to kill the man on the quad and wondered which of the little girls he had fathered.

  Once the little girls back at the farm had devoured all the quick food I had given them. I’d pulled out the Ziploc baggies of rice and oatmeal I always carried in my backpack. The rice was minute rice and the oatmeal was instant, but all of it could be made with minimal cooking and smell. I’d given them to the girls who took off for the house, yelling for their mothers. From what little they’d said, I knew there were at least two younger boys on the farm, their grandpa, and mothers. No more fathers though, Jess’ group and I had killed them in a running gunfight while they chased Lester Doyle onto our property.

  We’d buried their fathers almost in the front yard, up the slope near the road. Had they been trying to ambush and kill Lester for what he had? Was it a case of mistaken identity? In reality, Lester was an old criminal the same way my grandpa and I were. It was possible he’d been recognized and, just like in the fiction books I’d read, someone may have been looking to settle some scores.

  But now… The kids were starving. It wasn’t their fault. What I’d given them today was enough for a day or two for me. It was part of my seventy-two-hour kit, but the kids had treated the bags of food like they were gold. I needed to scoot out of there. Raider kept pace with me easily. Hell, a turtle going fast could have kept pace with me. Even though I was stuck deep in my head, thinking heavy thoughts, I wasn’t so far gone that I didn’t hear the sound of motors coming up behind me.

  “Raider, come,” I said sharply, and went off the road.

  The tall grass on the shoulder had dried in the summer heat, and I hoped I wasn’t making too much of a path; that’d be easily noticed. The motors sounded gas powered and rough running. I pushed my bike behind a clump of tall grass that had taken root around some saplings. I laid it down flat and was about to call to Raider, but saw he was already staring at me, his head cocked to the side. I didn’t have much time.

  “Come here, boy, down. We’re going to hide, just like we did before.”

  I was already pulling my pack off and had my rifle laid out in front of me. The old 25-.270 looked ugly in the dried grass. It wasn’t as lush here as it had been near the Mueller farm. I pulled my camo netting off and shook it out. I had about ten seconds until the vehicle or vehicles crested to rise. Lucky for me, I was on the bottom slope of the hill so anybody coming from either way wouldn’t see me.

  Seven seconds. The net was out, and I was shaking it to get enough coverage to go over me and the bike. I’d lay on the damned thing if I had to.

  Five seconds. It didn’t come undone all the way. Dammit.

  Two seconds. I laid across my bike, pulling the net over my body and head, leaving the end of the barrel poking out.

  I saw a sparkle of chrome as Raider crawled underneath the netting with me and gave me a chuff as if to say, ain’t I a good boy? I was holding my breath and knew any large movement at this point would do more to draw the eye of whomever was coming down the old dirt road. In my right peripheral vision I saw two motorcycles bearing down on me. These weren’t cute dirt bikes; they were Harley Davidsons. I’d looked at these exact models myself once, the 1200 Sportsters, a no frills bike that I had planned on buying when I could afford it.

  Both bikes were black and ridden by two regular looking guys. They didn’t have fancy leathers or vests on, just denim and plaid shirts. Both men, at a quick glance, looked Caucasian or Hispanic. One of them wore a blue bandana and a pair of sunglasses. I got a real good look at them when they stopped about ten feet away from me. I trembled and got the rifle ready. Raider was tense but quiet, even his breathing had slowed.

  The man in the bandana pulled a radio off his right side and turned off his bike. After a moment, his partner did as well.

  “Blue team has done a drive-by,” he said i
nto the handheld.

  “What’s the place look like?” The volume was turned way up on the handheld and the man was holding it to his ear, probably deafened from the bike’s chopped pipes.

  “Old farm looks like they have soybean or some kind of corn poking up. Nothing ready to harvest.”

  The reply was a string of curses. Raider started to growl, but I shushed him as quietly as I could. Only ten feet away, and neither man flinched. Those bikes were very loud. I had the rifle more or less pointed in their direction, and I’d had my can on the end already. I didn’t like the sound of ‘blue team’ and what sounded like a recon report.

  “Had kids start to run down the driveway, but two ladies came running out after them screaming bloody murder. When they saw the bikes, all of them took off into the tree line.”

  “Were the men there?” The radio crackled.

  “I didn’t see them. We didn’t stop and take a longer look because they might have been waiting in ambush. Wanted to look as casual as possible.”

  The radio crackled, and this time it was a lot clearer, as somebody transmitting closer to them got on. “How old were the women?” a rough voice asked.

  “Twenty or thirty, or maybe forty. Old enough, but not used up,” the second man said, hitting bandana on the shoulder with a grin.

  “The right age,” Bandana said, without looking at his partner. “We went a couple miles past the farm. Doesn’t look like there’s anybody else in the area, but we didn’t want to stop and kick in random doors to find out.”

  “Right age? You mean breathing?” His partner laughed at his own joke.

  “Last time I tell you, Danny, you sicko, you ever even look at one of the young—”

  “Do a drive-by again, slower. See if anybody responds,” the first voice on the radio told them.

  “Got it, boss,” Bandana said, and started turning the knob when it crackled again.

  He hurried and turned the volume back up. “What’s that, boss? I missed that last message.”

  “You see that Marshall bastard yet?”

  “No,” he said into the handset, “but if I do, how do you want me to uh… take care of that particular problem?”

  “He can’t be dead. The little fucker should have been choked out on day one, but it’s Lance’s favorite cousin. If he realizes that we don’t have the kid anymore…”

  “Got it, boss. And about the farm? They have to know we’re going to be back…”

  “Yeah, ask him about the farm and the women and the kids—”

  “Go ahead and get rolling, blue team. Change your gear out when you get back and rest. You’ll be heading back that way in two days.”

  “Got it, boss. Blue team out,” he said, turning the knob off and then putting it back on his belt. “Danny, you sick fuck, you keep talking shit like that and I’ll bury you like I did your idiot cousin.”

  Bandana was mad, and his hands were shaking.

  “Yo Momma,” the other shot back in a pique of immaturity that would almost have had me laughing if the situation hadn’t been so dire.

  They were going to hit the farm. It was defenseless and everyone there was probably weak and malnourished, if the kids were any indication. At least one of them sounded like a predator, and Marshall? Wasn’t that the kid who’d broken into the barn?

  As they fired up the hogs, I pieced together the puzzle. Whoever ‘Boss’ was, he’d taken Marshall, Lance’s cousin. To top that off, they were planning what sounded like a raid on the farm, for supplies, and if what the sicko was saying, the women and children. I got a sick feeling in my stomach.

  I know there was one old man there, but the wives and kids were alone other than that. I needed more information, and I needed to get in touch with Jess. I had left the radio back at the homestead with Grandpa and Grandma in case they needed to call in help. I needed to get home, and fast!

  “Raider, good boy,” I said, petting him before lifting the camo netting and getting off the bike.

  Raider bounded to his feet and spun around in a happy circle as I got to my feet stiffly. I’d been laying across one of the pedals, and it had dug into my side. Raider watched me put my pack and rifle back on before picking up my bike and righting it. I could hear the motorcycles still, but they were headed the other way, slowly.

  “We have to get back home. You think you can keep up?” I asked him, pushing my bike into the road.

  Raider made a disgusted snort, rubbed a paw over his nose, then sat and waited for me to mount up.

  “I take it you think you can beat me?” I asked him.

  He shot ahead, a furry streak. I hurriedly followed.

  2

  Raider surprised me, and I didn’t let up on the pedal pounding. If anything, he set the pace and it was one that had my heart racing and my blood pumping as I was finally forced to slow to make the turn into the driveway. The furry missile ran full tilt to the front porch and sat, waiting for me. I got there several seconds later, my chest heaving. I got off the bike and leaned it against the railing then took off the rifle. The door opened, and Grandpa made a gimme motion, so I handed it to him before pulling off my pack.

  “You weren’t gone long,” Grandpa told me, rubbing his stomach.

  “Got news,” I told him, panting.

  “Best come in. Grandma made you a thermos, but you didn’t take it.”

  “No ice. Besides, I wasn’t sure how long I was going to be gone and—”

  “Wes,” Grandma said, pushing Grandpa out of the way, and wrapped me in a hug.

  I hugged her back, dropping my pack on the porch. “Hi, Grandma.”

  “Come inside, take some layers off. I can smell the sweat.”

  She was right. I was dressed much too warmly for the weather, but I had been going for concealment and quiet, which meant my poaching gear.

  I peeled the outer layers off and was left in a pair of basketball shorts and socks. I went to the pitcher and poured some out on my hand, then wiped down my face, the back of my neck, and splashed some under my arms. Grandma just shook her head and rolled her eyes. Grandpa was pulling down three glasses and the thermos of ‘lemonade’.

  “It’s gotta be bad if you’re so quiet,” Grandpa started.

  “Yes, come sit and catch a breeze in front of the window and tell us what you found out.”

  “The… The three men we killed were the old farmer’s sons or sons-in-law. There are three ladies and at least five to seven kids who are wondering what happened to them.”

  “They were shooting at Les, chased him all the way here,” Grandma said.

  “Yeah, but I think Lance and the guys who are with him may have gone there to try to take stuff before—”

  “How do you know that?” Grandpa interrupted, an eyebrow raised.

  “Two guys on Harleys, had to ditch my bike in the tall grass and hide. They stopped right beside of me and got on the radio,” I told him the rest as he poured me a large cup of the nectar.

  I told him how it sounded like they had done a probing action there before and how they were likely to be doing it again, if not an outright attack, in two days. I worried that they thought Lester’s SUV was one of Lance’s and they were retaliating, not raiding. I wasn’t sure about any of this, but there was one thing I was for sure of.

  “If we hadn’t killed their fathers, would those kids still be hungry?” I asked them both.

  Grandma had been fanning her face with an old Time magazine, but she stopped at my question. Grandpa opened his mouth to answer, then shut it and took a long drink of the warm lemonade that had been fortified with whiskey.

  “They were trying to kill Lester,” Grandpa said again. “No use in feeling guilty for saving a friend’s life.”

  “Is it that easy though? What about the kids? Grandpa, you should see those little girls. They look like they’re two meals away from starvation.”

  Grandpa looked to the side, then to Grandma. Raider decided he was done waiting on us and walked to me, flopped
on his back and put all four paws up, kicking with all feet until I reached down and gave his stomach a rub. He let out a yawning sound that sounded strangely human. I took a sip and waited.

  “And you say they are going to be attacked in two days?”

  “The guys were ten feet away from me tops. I could hear the radio clearly.”

  Grandma reached over and took my glass and downed it, then refilled it and handed it back to me. I watched as she shuddered as the warmth spread through her. She joked and complained about Grandpa having a drink or two and hardly ever gave me any grief… yet she was the first one to make the specialty recipes, with her lemonade being my personal favorite.

  “What do you want to do about it?” Grandma asked.

  “I want to get ahold of Jess and see if their group can help, warn the families what’s coming.”

  “I’ll get the radio,” Grandpa said simply.

  “I was worried about something like this,” Jess’ voice came out of the handset.

  “Same here,” another voice chimed in; her father’s?

  “I’m heading back to the homestead to warn them,” I said over the radio.

  “That wouldn’t be a good idea—” Jess was interrupted.

  “No, let us make contact,” the male voice said.

  “I… ok.” I took a long swallow.

  I’d switched from the lemonade to some water I’d just drawn from the hand pump, the coldest thing available without refrigeration, and was sitting out on the front porch, my big rifle leaned against the railing.