The Off Grid Survivor Box Set: Complete The Off Grid Survivor Series Books 1-4

by Connor Mccoy

  One of the men held up his arm. It was bandaged with a gray tourniquet, a reminder of his transgression against using the propane without permission. He got lucky. It turned out Maggiano liked his cooking and planned to ask him to cook for Maggiano again—every week until the day he dies. The alternative for refusing would be far less pleasant.

  “Hey!” Marco shouted loudly. “Jack! How about you pull up a chair and join the game?”

  Some of the men shouted “Yeah!” through their cigarettes.

  “Tempting,” Jack said while trying to hide his disgust at the thought of socializing with these human chimneys. “But Maggiano has other plans for me today. I’ll have to take a rain check.”

  “Figures.” Marco sat back in his chair, putting down his drink to wipe sweat out of his short dark hair. “We’re playing for this week’s supply of meat rations, but I guess Jack doesn’t want to lose his precious piece of meat for this week, huh?”

  The men sitting with Marco laughed and chortled. Jack frowned, but then he put on his best smile possible and responded, “I’m guilty as charged. Contentment is a gift.”

  “You call it what you want, I call it being a scaredy cat.” Marco glanced at his cards. “Four of a kind! Who beats that?”

  “Aw, shit!” One of the players slapped down his cards.

  “Too rich for my blood!” another bellowed.

  “Looks like Marco eats well this week!” chimed a third.

  Marco sat back, eyes narrowed at Jack. “See Jack? That’s what you get when you take a risk.” He chuckled. “You get it all.”

  Jack twitched. “How delightful for you. Fortunately, I have everything I could want. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  Gritting his teeth, Jack marched toward the end of the warehouse. He had had enough of Marco’s slights, from the veiled to the open ones. Marco had no idea that Jack was playing his own game, and before it was over, Jack would indeed end up with the winning hand.

  Tom flung open the door of the small office building they had picked as their rallying point. This small office lay in the shadow of two big warehouses out back. Its proximity to Maggiano’s warehouse, plus its low profile, made it a good place to operate out of while they scouted. Plus, if anything went wrong, they could retreat here.

  “The guys I saw outside looked bored as hell,” Tom said. “I don’t think they really expect anything to happen. They just go outside to shoot the shit or whatever.”

  “Or in the case of those two men I saw, enjoy a cookout,” Conrad said as he walked through the door.

  “That had to be Maggiano you saw out there,” Tom said with a loud huff. “The guy kicking their ass for using the fuel. I never met him, but I used to hear stories about his temper. You never rip off Maggiano’s stuff and get away with it.”

  “So, I guess it’s shitville for those two men?” Conrad said.

  Tom laughed. “You said he ate their fish right off the plate. Odds are it’s just pissville, then. That means he might spare them, but don’t be surprised if they walk funny from now on.” He shook his head. “Or maybe end up missing a finger or two.”

  The pair dumped their backpacks in the small back office. Tom picked up a roll of paper towels he found in the bathroom and tore off a piece. “So, you found us a place we can stage that diversion?” He wiped the sweat off his face.

  “I think so.” Conrad opened his pack. “Let’s eat first, get our bearings.”

  Tom walked toward the bathroom. “Suits me. I got to use the john.”

  “Remember that toilet doesn’t flush,” Conrad spoke up.

  Tom swung open the door. “Does it matter? I’m only going to use it once. I’ll just shut the door when I leave. It’s not as though this place is going to be used by anybody anytime soon.”

  He then slammed the door shut. For the moment, Conrad was alone again.

  Alone. That word suddenly filled him with melancholy. For a long time, he had been fine being alone. Well, he had been alone for long stretches at his homestead. And sometimes he had his company. What he didn’t have for the thirty years after his divorce from Sarah was family.

  And then one day, out of the blue, family came knocking on his door.

  Liam, Conrad thought. I wish you were here. We needed more time together. He had sent him away, back to his home. But he had a good reason. Once Tom had filled him in on who took Sarah, Conrad knew he could not throw Liam into that kind of danger.

  That, and Liam had a lover who was carrying his child. Liam’s child, and Conrad’s grandchild. Conrad made it clear that Liam had to protect his family. Liam and Carla’s child could be part of a new future for this country, and perhaps the world itself.

  Conrad started fishing supplies out of his pack. “Liam,” he whispered, “I’m sure you made it back safe and sound. I’ll do my damnedest to come back soon with your mom.”

  Fortunately, he had packed away something that might just help him free Liam’s mom. He assembled the materials on the ground and quickly began working.

  Chapter Three

  As he marched toward the homestead in front of him, Liam Drake’s mind raced with possible scenarios to get out of this fix. It wasn’t every day that he was being threatened by a woman aiming a shotgun at his back. But then again, life had ceased to be anything resembling normal since the solar storm occurred. He and Carla had come here expecting to settle down after a long trip, only to be accosted by a mysterious woman with bleached blond hair, dark eyebrows, big brown eyes—and a shotgun aimed at them. Liam and Carla’s efforts to flee were quickly aborted by this woman’s weapon. If they didn’t march back to the house, they’d likely be killed.

  Of course, anything Liam planned to rescue themselves from this woman had to take Carla’s wellbeing into account. The young athletic lady next to him was not only his love, she was carrying their child. To Liam, this beautiful lady with short brown hair and her baby were his prized treasure, so he couldn’t do anything foolish or they also would pay the price.

  Damn, he thought, How did this happen? We were just coming back to Dad’s home. There wasn’t supposed to be any trouble. He thought back to when they had left. His father had locked up the homestead tight and secured the fences and gates. Even if someone had gotten onto his dad’s land, how would they break into the house without heavy tools? Was this woman the only intruder, or were there more invaders waiting for them inside?

  Liam and Carla kept on going until they reached the front steps of the porch. Their mystery lady then walked faster to pass around them until she reached the front door. “Alright, hold it there,” she said, “I’m not stupid enough to let two strangers inside. Let’s talk about what you two were planning. I see a couple of bikes and backpacks down there.” She gestured to the bicycles and packs lying on the ground near the driveway. “So, you two have come a ways, haven’t you? You say you didn’t come to steal Conrad’s food. So, why are you here?”

  She said Dad’s name again, Liam thought. Does she know him?

  “Let me guess.” The woman smiled. “You two were looking for a love nest! Didn’t want to get it on out in the woods. I get that. There are things out here that’ll bite your balls off or leave you with one hell of a rash! You figure there’s a nice warm bed inside to know each other biblically, if you understand my point.” She rolled her eyes. “It probably looked like the safest place in the world for ya, I bet.”

  Liam’s face burned, not just at the woman’s insinuation, but at her loud voice. It seemed she lived her life expressing herself this way, as she had yet to lower her tone just once. Also, her voice betrayed a Northeastern accent. Liam could almost picture this woman shouting over the car horns of a busy New York street.

  Their captor finally had paused her rambling, allowing Liam an opening to talk. “We’re not here to cause any trouble, but I have to ask, you said ‘Conrad.’ Do you mean—”

  But the woman suddenly stormed right up to him, cutting him off. Liam nearly jolted backward. Did this woman c
onsider talking to be a provocation?

  She was staring at him. Something had caught her attention, and it shocked her, for her eyes widened quickly.

  “My God,” she said in a quiet voice, the first time she hadn’t yelled. Then, she dropped her shotgun. She stepped backward, clasping her hands on her mouth. “You’re his. Conrad. His boy. You got hair as dark as his when he was younger and those cheeks! Damn, there’s really no mistaking it. You’re Conrad’s son!”

  Liam couldn’t take it any longer. “Okay, how the hell do you know my dad? We came here a few days ago, left with him, and now we come back and find you! Just who are you?”

  The mystery lady backed up against the porch’s banister. “Conrad,” she said, “Why isn’t he with you? Where is he?”

  “Why don’t you answer my question first?” Liam asked.

  “Tell me, please!” The woman practically shook as she shouted.

  Liam was confused. She obviously was pleading. Could he tell her everything, about their journey to Redmond to find Liam’s mother and Conrad’s ex? Yet, this woman seemed a little off her rocker. Or maybe she was just an excitable person. It was hard to tell.

  “He’s a little over a day away, in Redmond,” Liam said. “He was fine when we left him. He sent us here so he could take care of important business there.” He then took a step closer, feeling a tad braver to be more assertive with this woman. “Now, what’s the deal? Are you a friend of his?”

  The woman grasped a hold of the banister. “So, he ran off somewhere with his son. Makes a lot of sense. Just my luck, I come back after five months, and he’s not here.” She laughed, but Liam could detect the worry bubbling up in her throat. “Of course, it didn’t help that the damn power went out, but hey, it wasn’t any big surprise.” Then she looked at Liam. “Your father’s like a vault of survival knowledge. He knew everything I asked him.”

  Liam studied this woman’s eyes carefully. She clearly was talking emotionally about his dad. He was starting to think she was more than an acquaintance…much more. In fact, given how his dad had lived for the past thirty years, she fit Liam’s image of who Dad’s possible new companion could be.

  But why didn’t Dad mention her? Liam frowned. Perhaps this woman and his dad had been too out of contact for him to think she’d stop by so suddenly.

  She straightened up. “My name’s Camilla. Camilla Pitzo.”

  Then she pointed to Liam. “And you’re Liam. I remembered that.” She grinned. “Your dad told me. And who’s your friend?”

  “Carla!” Carla replied.

  “Carla, huh? That’s a sweet name. I have a cousin named Carla.” Then she locked eyes with Liam. “So, Conrad up and went to Redmond. Important business, right? Mind telling me what it is?”

  Liam still didn’t feel ready to lay out the tale, but maybe he could delay it a little until he felt comfortable around Camilla. “Carla and I have been on one hell of a long trip. Let us go inside and get our bearings. We’ll then tell you the whole story.”

  Camilla nodded. That seemed to agree with her. “Alright.” She then leaned over and retrieved her shotgun. “Get your bikes into the garage and your packs inside.”

  Once Camilla stepped inside the house, Carla quickly turned to Liam. “Okay, what do you think? You want to grab the bikes and get the hell out of here?”

  Liam kept his gaze on the now closed front door. Carla’s suggestion was tempting—very tempting. Why take a chance that this woman didn’t really know his dad? What if she just broke into the homestead and discovered his dad’s identity? She might even have found out that Conrad had a son as well.

  He frowned. Something in that didn’t seem right. His dad didn’t have a picture of him as an adult, so Camilla couldn’t have recognized him. And even if she had found some pictures of his dad, would she have made the leap to know he was Conrad’s son? She detected the familial similarities in their faces. Wouldn’t that be too much for a casual scam artist?

  On the other hand, retreating would be the safest option, plus it would take Carla out of possible danger.

  Damn, Liam thought, this isn’t as easy as I thought.

  Finally, he walked up to his bike and stood it back up. “I think we should take a chance that Camilla really does know Dad.” He started rolling his ride toward the house, but stopped next to Carla. “But have your gun ready, just in case.”

  After stowing their bikes in the garage, Liam and Carla walked through the front door. Each step felt uneasy. In the short time he and Carla had stayed here, it had felt like home. Now he felt like he was walking into a stranger’s house.

  Still, as he looked around the living room, it didn’t seem like it should be that way. The house was exactly the way he and Carla had left it. Nothing was out of place.

  There was one crucial difference. A backpack much like the ones Liam and Carla had been carrying lay on the sofa. It was unzipped and flipped open, revealing clothes, small zippered bags of hygiene and medical supplies, and a couple of canteens.

  Liam glanced in the direction of the kitchen. Through the door, Liam could see Camilla, with her back turned to them.

  “Carla, stand in front of me,” Liam whispered, then bowed his head to Camilla’s pack.

  Carla let out a silent “Oh,” and did as she was asked. With Carla in front of him, Camilla wouldn’t notice Liam leaning a little closer into her pack. It seemed a little strange, but Liam wanted to take a measure of this mysterious woman, and her belongings seemed to be the best witness for or against her.

  The inside of her bag was marked with a bumper sticker that read: “America: Love It or Leave It!” A few American flag stickers dotted the inner pouches. A few paperbacks were stuffed inside one of the compartments. Liam slipped a couple of them out. The pages were yellow and worn. The titles all talked about survival and world politics.

  I think Dad has one of these books, Liam thought. When he was little, his dad took him to library sales. His father had a great interest in history, politics, and the outdoors. Frequently, he’d buy up old or used books on the subjects. It started to annoy his mom after a while.

  He winced. He put the books back and tried to think of Camilla again.

  Liam then noticed a couple of photographs peaking out from one of the folds in the bag. His father and Camilla, wearing big smiles, posed in each of them. In each of them, his father looked younger. In one of them, his hair was mostly dark with silver specks, and in the other photo, his beard was shorter, trimmer, and fewer wrinkles lined his face.

  “She definitely wasn’t lying about knowing Dad,” Liam said quietly.

  “No kidding. Looks like they’ve been hanging around each other for years,” Carla looked over her shoulder. “They sure do look happy.”

  These were pretty old-fashioned photos, too, taken with a camera, and not a phone. Sadly, photos taken with smart phones and not printed out would be lost for all time. The fact that he could see pictures of Dad at all during his thirty-year exile was a miracle.

  Liam looked back into the kitchen. Camilla worked in there as if she knew the place from the top down to the bottom. It was almost as if this place was as much home to her as it was to Dad.

  As Liam continued to look over the bag, he spotted a handgun nestled inside one of its compartments. He poked his finger into the fold next to it and found a spare clip. Between that shotgun and this gun, this was a woman who was packing.

  “Almost ready!” Camilla called from the kitchen.

  Liam quickly stepped back. Carla followed him. He didn’t want to be seen anywhere near her belongings. He and Carla exchanged a few more whispers. They seemed satisfied that Camilla might not be dangerous, and that they should hear her out before making a final judgment.

  Camilla then stuck her head out of the kitchen. “I’m sorry for not asking this, but are you too okay from your trip? I should have seen if you needed any medical attention. Scrapes, cuts, bug bites, snake poison?”

  “No,” Liam said.


  Carla shook her head. “We’re good.”

  Camilla nodded. “Well if you got here in one piece, be glad. You never know what’s lurking out on the roads nowadays.”

  For the eighth or ninth time in the past few minutes, Lance Wilkins rapped on the glass sliding window of the old store. He knew Rod was in there, and Lance was sure as hell not going to leave unless he got something from him. Lance’s stomach was so empty he was sure it would devour his own organs in a mad attempt to consume anything. At this rate, he would smash through the window just to quiet the growling of his stomach.

  Then, just as he raised his fist again, the window slid open, revealing a slightly annoyed middle-aged face. “Lance, do you have anything between those ears? I told you I got nothing for you. Nothing!”

  “But you must have something! Old apples, fruit, anything you munched on!” Lance clung to the window sill as if he had to for dear life. “C’mon Rod, I don’t care. Anything I can shove in my mouth! I’ll even eat crumbs.”

  Rod shook his head. “You never listen. I told you our farm was filled to capacity. I told you there’s barely enough here to feed the refugees, and you come barging in every day begging for food. You’re a sturdy man. Use those muscles. Go. Work for your supper like everyone else has to do.”

  “But where can I go? This town’s my home,” Lance said.

  “Now it’s nothing but a refugee camp.” Rod’s expression grew sad. “Times were good when you could work a chickenshit job and chow down a greasy cheeseburger at night. You got to think differently now.” Rod then reached behind him and pulled up two crackers wrapped up in plastic. “These things are probably stale. You understand that, right?”

  “I don’t care. I’ll take them.” Lance snatched them up. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. If you’re serious about finding food, if you really want somebody who’ll feed you, I got word over the ham radio that somebody’s looking for men that got strong arms. That’s pretty much it. It’s not too complicated, so even a knucklehead like you should be able to handle it.”