Surviving The Black (Book 4): Betrayal From Within

by Finley, Zack

  Betrayal From Within

  Surviving the Black--Book 4

  Zack Finley

  Copyright © 2020 Zack Finley

  All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. While some actual geographic locations are described within, substantial liberties were taken when describing them and their surroundings to advance this story.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Preface

  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

  Author’s Notes

  Preface

  “Betrayal from Within” is not a standalone novel. It is book four in a five book series. I’ve included almost zero backstory.

  Since even I have trouble at times keeping my characters straight, I’ve included a list of people from Books 1 to 3 at the end of this publication with links to maps of some significant locations in the series. Much of the action in “Surviving the Black” is constrained by available roads, terrain, and sometimes even businesses. What happens within those constraints is bounded only by my imagination.

  Chapter 1

  Solemn and sorrowful described yesterday’s memorial service for Andy and Razor. All the old-guard Breckinridge Valley cronies and their immediate families showed their solidarity. Plenty of new faces, too. Seeing them together brought home how much everyone aged since the electric grid went down nearly five months ago.

  All of Force Beta and most of Force Gamma stood in a solid rank at the edge of the cemetery, dressed in their Mecklin Defender uniforms. Except for me, Jeremy, I wore my uniform, but stood with my family, the Breckinridges.

  Andy's three young kids, his brother Jules, parents Roger and Carmine Carlton, sister and brother-in-law, Audrey and Jim Smith, clung together next to Andy's open grave. Roger stood rigid and tall, holding Carmine tightly to him. Tears streaked Carmine's puffy face, her eyes and nose a raw red, a wadded handkerchief clasped in her right hand. Sobs ripped through her body intermittently, causing the rest of us to clench in sympathy.

  Jules was down on one knee, his arms around Andy's youngsters holding them tight. The children stared at Carmine, paying little attention to the rest of the proceedings as they entwined their tiny arms around Jules' arms and legs. The two older kids flinched every time Carmine sobbed.

  As the grim proceedings edged to a close, Andy's youngest, Kathleen, a tot of three, wriggled out of Jules' grasp and tottered over to Carmine. Kathleen raised both arms up on her grandmother's leg, offering comfort or requesting a pickup, or both. Carmine dropped to her knees and wrapped the little girl in her arms, despite the intense sobs still wracking Carmine's body. Kathleen disappeared in the embrace.

  Roger stood, undecided for a moment, before dropping to his knees beside them, wrapping Carmine and his grandbaby in his arms. Audrey moved to her mother's side, and Roger pulled her into the embrace. Jim hesitated, then stood next to the group, patting his wife's head. He had the uncertain look of a spooked colt. Audrey must have sensed Jim's unease because she reached up to clasp his hand, settling him instantly.

  The service ground to an end, eventually.

  Attackers killed Andy near Clarksville, Tennessee, just three days ago. Andy traveled 1,600 miles across post-apocalyptic America to die just 200 miles from the Valley. And safety.

  Edward 'Razor' Peterson, a Ranger and fellow warrior, died in the assault on a prepper compound in Helena, Arkansas. That action freed Andy, Jules, the kids, and the group of refugees accompanying them. We cremated Razor's body in a funeral pyre next to the Mississippi River the same night. His memorial stone in Breckinridge cemetery reminded us that he lived. The monument provided little comfort to me. A small marker for a soft-spoken man who gave so much.

  The watery winter sun hung low over the western hills as our lay preacher spoke words of resurrection and light. I last stood in this graveyard a lifetime ago when we buried my wife Irene. So much changed since, and yet here I was in the same place, honoring two men cut down in the prime of life.

  Two days ago, on February 10, my surviving team of rescuers escorted Jules, Andy's three kids, and the rest of the refugees safely home to Breckinridge Valley, near Huntsville, Tennessee. We brought Andy back, too, but in a body bag.

  But that was behind us. It was time to focus on the living. This crisp, cold pre-dawn morning, I punished myself at PT. All available members of Forces Beta and Gamma assembled before dawn each day for a brutal round of calisthenics, sprints, and runs. After almost two weeks on a mission, my 42-year-old body rebelled against forcing it back into warrior shape. But mentally, I welcomed, maybe even embraced, the pain.

  My body refused to cooperate this morning, acting rusty rather than well-oiled. Most of my team looked bleary-eyed from last night's post-memorial wake for Razor. My dad Aaron donated a 2-quart jar of my grandpa's finest moonshine to my team for Razor's wake. While it was only a small amount when shared within the group, the alcohol and the emotions of the moment hit us all pretty hard. Everyone with a Razor story shared the tale at least twice; some told the funniest stories over and over.

  When I left last night's gathering, loud voices and laughter filled the armory, but I needed to spend an hour with my girls, Jennifer and Melissa, before their bedtime. To make sure they were okay after the funeral. I fully intended to return to the wake after they fell asleep. Utter physical and emotional exhaustion dragged me to sleep instead.

  ◆◆◆

  Craig moved better at PT today. A bullet ripped up his thigh more than a week ago. He then tore several stitches during the engagement targeting those who killed Andy. Tom, our medic, put Craig on light duty for at least another seven days. While Craig might try to work around Tom, he would not push Dr. Jerrod.

  Ben joined us at PT to show his team spirit in the pre-dawn hour but limited his involvement to shouting encouragement--and insults. Ben still nursed four broken ribs, but the other injuries he received from the severe beating, the concussion, facial stitches, and extensive bruising, were starting to fade. The thugs in Helena holding Andy's group hostage delivered the beat down. We killed them. Dr. Jerrod estimated the ribs would leave Ben on light duty for up to six weeks.

  Everyone on the rescue mission got two days off for personal time. Once my crew caught up on laundry, I suspected they would drift by the armory to decompress. I washed and dried my clothes yesterday, knowing Valley business required my attention today.

  Our breakfast cooks served a crowd-pleasing meal of meat, eggs, and canned fruit. I took a sausage patty since Buzzer insisted it contained more substance than the bacon option. Once my parents and Roger came in to eat, I dropped off my dirty dishes and joined them.

  Roger made it easy, he got up and hugged me, complete with a manly back slap. Roger was my third father growing up, after my dad and grandpa. As kids, Jules and I were inseparable. We were more than brothers, spending nearly every waking hour together. Looking back, I sometimes wondered how we survived our epic adventures.

  Throughout our childhood, Jules and I shared a fierce bond that transcended blood. I've learned since that such closeness is rare, resembling the bonds between tight-knit teams after months of combat. Jules and I had dif
ferent skills and very different personalities. But we made an awesome childhood team with complementing talents, always better together than apart. Our dads provided a clear example to follow.

  Roger served with my dad in Vietnam. They shared a palpable closeness that I grew up thinking was normal between best friends. Jules and I learned to never play one father against the other, it didn't work. Lucky for us, we had Pops, my grandpa, in our corner. Pops helped us out of many scrapes by providing cover. While Jules and I thought we got away with a lot, the wisdom of years caused me to wonder whether that was really true. I now understood our dads were much too wily to be fooled so easily. I suspected the joke was on Jules and me.

  Roger understood combat, and his greeting communicated wordlessly that he didn't blame me for Andy's death. He didn't relieve my guilt, but his support soothed the bleeding edges of my grief. I just hoped Carmine forgave me, too.

  "Jeremy, we'll talk later," Roger murmured in my ear. "Both of us are too raw now. As always, it is time to soldier on." I doubted anyone, but me heard the quiet words.

  With a quick squeeze, Roger let me go and returned to his seat next to my dad. I sat beside my mom on the far side of the small table. She patted my arm. To my surprise, her hand stayed, maintaining a light contact. That tender gesture helped me regain my composure.

  My father ignored the entire emotional angst and got right to the point. "Several topics are before the council tonight. The easy ones are sponsoring the new people. Roger, I assume you are co-sponsoring Jules's group?" With Andy gone, it fell to Jules to sponsor the refugees we brought to the Valley from Arkansas.

  "Yeah, they seem the type of people we need, and I doubt they will ever think life here is worse than on the outside," Roger said.

  "All show signs of starvation to one degree or another. I will work with Juanita and Lois to integrate them into Valley life," my mom said, "especially the four unattached orphans. I suspect Dr. Jerrod will need to dust off her psychiatric skills."

  "Keep the group together," I said "Don't separate them, at least not until they start feeling safe. They behave like a herd of skittish horses. It will take work and time for them to assimilate."

  "You think that is better than integrating them from the beginning?" my dad asked.

  "Yes, these people endured constant danger and depredation with only their companions to rely on. No need to make their trauma worse. I hope they eventually feel safe enough to reach out for help. They all suffer from PTSD to some extent. It took more than a few weeks to become this co-dependent. Use work assignments to integrate them with the Valley, not billeting," I said.

  "Alright, Jeremy, I'll free up one of the huts for them," she said. "Roger, this may be a key to helping your grandchildren."

  "Jules tried to tell Carmine something similar, but she won't listen to anyone," Roger said. His tense body language underscoring that my mother pursued this at her peril.

  My dad reached across the table and grasped her other hand, giving his head a small shake. Roger watched this interplay and relaxed the slightest bit. We knew my mom would not let this go forever, but she dropped the issue for now.

  My father breathed a sigh of relief, squeezed her hand, and dug back into his breakfast. Roger acted like he couldn't stomach his food, but after only a few minutes began to chew mechanically. He moved his scrambled eggs around on his plate and cut up the sausage patty into tiny bites. We were lucky there was no blood pudding today.

  "Claire, once Dr. Jerrod finishes her exams, do we have a skills assessment for this group?" Dad asked.

  "Some are obvious, but I'll see the full results tonight and make preliminary assignments by morning," she replied, letting my father divert her.

  "What about Grady and his soldiers?" he asked me.

  "They will strengthen our forces. Depending on how they check out, I may recruit them for Gamma and maybe even Beta," I said. "Zeke is taking Dwayne over to Uncle George's to meet the dog pack. Dwayne served in the K-9 corps, and while we don't need IED sniffing dogs, Army dogs excelled in force protection, too."

  "Good luck prying those hounds away from George," my dad said. Stuffing the last bites of breakfast into his mouth, he looked up, "Are you okay with that plan, Roger?"

  "Yes, Aaron, though I need to hear more about Grady, Jules is full of his praises."

  "Depending on how you assess his loyalty and skills, he may be a good fit to take over as the defense force commander from you," I said. "I don't think he is eager to do it, so that shows his good sense. We didn't discuss details about his Army career, but he is no staff soldier."

  "I think you just want to avoid the command headaches," Roger said. "But I'll bring him on as an aide, and see how he works out. What is your loyalty issue?"

  "The whole hypothetical showdown between the Valley and the US Army, which side would he choose. Not that I expect such a thing to arise, but my men are 100 percent invested in each other and the Valley. Grady and his men don't know us. We'll need to work with them and give them a reason to build their future here. I believe what Grady told me, but he knows more than he shared." I said. "I'm counting on him opening up as he scopes us out. I doubt any Army intel he has will help us other than the radio frequencies, and he is eager to share those."

  "Good input, I'll partner his men with trusted allies until we are certain," Roger said. "I need to do that anyway to bring the newcomers up to speed on Valley defense. Should I pair Grady with you until you know for sure?"

  "If he wants to start PT, sure," I said.

  "Have him start with you. I need to delegate some of my duties near term," Roger said, wincing.

  "Buddy, we are here for you," my dad said. "Just tell us what you need."

  "Jeremy, my family needs me with them, so I'm stepping back from Valley leadership for as long as needed. I can't give the defense force the attention they deserve. I need you to take over my responsibilities there until further notice. I just don't have the juice." Roger looked at me until I nodded.

  He then turned to my dad, "Intel is the other area that is heating up. My guys are great, but there are so many challenges they need help prioritizing. They would really benefit from you and Claire helping them keep their focus? With all the shit going on with the malcontents, that needs someone to stay on top of it. The rest of my stuff won't miss me for a few weeks," Roger said.

  "We have it, Roger, no worries," my dad said, leaning toward his friend.

  "Thanks, Aaron, I need to return to Carmine," he said, squaring his shoulders as he pushed to his feet. "I doubt she will come to tonight's council meeting, but I'll be there and so will Jules and Jim. Audrey is staying with her and the grandkids."

  My father rose but didn't seem to know what to do. My mom didn’t hesitate; she rushed to Roger's side, delivering a big hug; he squeezed back before gently disengaging. Roger looked at my parents for a moment, then turned and strode toward the door. His pace and demeanor discouraged others from intercepting him.

  My folks sat back down, and a gloomy silence reigned for a moment before my dad cleared his throat, "Son, Roger knows you are not responsible for Andy's death. He is very grateful for all you and your team did to bring his family home. Andy just happened to be on duty when the attack came. Nothing about that sticks to you. But he told me last night that Carmine blames you. He expects this to pass but wanted me to warn you. She won't listen to anyone, not even Jules or Roger, about this. Claire and I aren't welcome at the Carlton household right now, either. I just hope Carmine doesn't turn on George, that would really hurt him."

  Straight to the heart, the unexpected words stunned me. Within seconds the mantle of guilt settled around me, heavy and implacable.

  "Jeremy, the blame falls on the men who shot Andy. Grief is not rational; it isn't based on logic. Carmine feels the loss of her son and is lashing out. I hope the joy of having Jules and her grandchildren here and safe will help her heal. One of the best things any of us can do is give her time and space," my mom said,
attempting to comfort me. Even while aching at the collapse of her own nearly 50-year friendship with Carmine.

  My dad picked up on that, "Roger wants everyone to give her room. He doesn't want Carmine to say or do anything in front of others that will shame her later. He worries if that happens, she won't back off. If you need to contact either Jules or Roger, send a runner. No assignments in the horse barn for you this spring." His attempt at lightening the situation fell flat.

  I sat stunned as the implications of the whole situation washed over me. The Valley was too small to completely avoid contact, even if I stayed away from the horses. A secondary consideration involved disrupted leadership while facing a mini-insurrection. Based on the reactions of both my mom and dad, the ripples of Carmine's ire could strain the bonds of the Valley council.

  I lived with pain, anger, guilt, and grief every day; more than a year after my wife died. One never gets over the death of a spouse or a child. Jennifer and I found comfort during therapy with Dr. Kyle.

  I learned how to cope, but he warned me I would never 'get over' Irene dying. For me, he compared grief to a forced march with a full pack, asking how I got through that. Dr. Kyle refused to let me off the hook with answers like pride, Ranger spirit, and such. While those mattered, when it counted, I always refused to quit until I made one more step. Rinse and repeat. Until I got to the end of my journey.