Protecting Tova
Havana Wilder
Protecting Tova
Havana Wilder
Protecting Tova is an original work of fiction. Names, characters, places, organizations and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, businesses, companies, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2020 by Havana Wilder
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-7361432-0-9
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, information storage and retrieval systems or other electronic or mechanical means, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
www.havanawilder.com
Edited by: Jes Geisler for CamRei Editing
Formatted by: Shanna Swenson
Cover Design: Christian Bentulan
https://coversbychristian.com
To my precious family,
you have been my biggest encouragers, my voice of reason, and mostly my inspiration
driving me to achieve my dream of becoming an author.
Contents
1. Tova
2. Pierce
3. Tova
4. Pierce
5. Tova
6. Pierce
7. Tova
8. Pierce
9. Tova
10. Pierce
11. Tova
12. Pierce
13. Tova
14. Pierce
15. Tova
16. Pierce
17. Tova
18. Pierce
19. Tova
20. Pierce
21. Tova
22. Pierce
23. Tova
24. Pierce
25. Tova
26. Pierce
27. Tova
28. Pierce
29. Tova
30. Pierce
31. Tova
32. Tova
33. Pierce
34. Tova
35. Pierce
36. Pierce
37. Tova
38. Pierce
39. Tova
40. Pierce
Sneak Peek at Defending Pierce- Book 2 in the Iron Mountain series
Acknowledgments
About Havana Wilder
1
Tova
A sharp, glistening knife follows and stops short of embedding into my skull when the shadow moves.
My eyes slam open as I inhale a desperate breath. I sit up straight in bed, breathing so rapidly my lungs burn. Sweat isn’t just beading down my spine, it’s pouring down in rivulets and soaking through my shirt. My hair is so saturated I can wring it out like a wet washcloth. I draw my legs in as close to my chest as possible. With shaking hands, I wipe the tears from my cheeks and whisper, “Stop hyperventilating. It was just a dream.” But God, for the life of me, I can’t stop seeing it. The vision was so vivid.
Unable to shake yet another nightmare, I take a shower and wash away the perspiration that saturates my hair and body.
There’s only one thing I can do to escape these nightmares, and that’s to run.
The beating of my heart and pounding of my feet are the only soundtrack to my cadence. My feet hammer down like thunder as I take out my frustration and fears, battering the pavement beneath me.
I shift my attention to the fence surrounding the track, taking a quick scan of the wilderness beyond the high protective barrier that encloses our entire territory. You learn quickly around here to always be vigilant and keep an eye out for predators—animals and humans alike. On more than one occasion, I’ve seen a Lynxwolf or two. These beasts are the largest canines alive. They’re beautiful from a distance, and that’s what I intend on keeping them—at a distance.
I love having the chance to run on the track; the only drawback is the roving band of alpha male types that always seem to hang around. The last thing I want to put up with while running is a bunch of burly Protectors and trainees, no matter how easy on the eyes they may be. I run to release stress, to try to outrun the demons that plague me every night, and in the moments of tranquility, focus on my impending choice. I come here to clear my mind, relax, and find a sense of peace and freedom. I am certainly not looking to hookup, find some arm candy, or wanting to bond. On more occasions than I’d like to count, one of those muscled meatheads has come up, meeting my stride step for step and trying to grab my attention. Their charms never get to me, though, and are always met with my polite “No thanks.”
Smiling, I reminiscence about the day a few weeks ago when I got this bright idea after yet another run-in with one of the alpha brutes. I made my way back to the cabin where they house all of us Deciders, those of us yet to decide which occupation to take on to become an asset to society. When I got to the beautiful cabin made of massive old oak beams, I made my way around back and found some twine among some random supplies. Braiding the section, I tied it on the fourth finger on my left hand. This symbol is the traditional mark of betrothal in our society, and one I hoped would keep most of the brutes at bay.
So far, the fake ring has done its job and offered me at least some measure of solace during my workouts. I’ve also started getting to the track earlier to focus on my training and not focus on the testosterone that seems to permeate the air when all the big brawny men show up. Don’t get me wrong; they are fantastic to look at. Even though I appreciate some eye toffee, I have no intention of doing anything other than concentrating on myself and my training.
Great, the guys are now approaching the track. There my peace and quiet goes out the window.
Muffling a laugh, I notice the scrunched-up faces of the testosterone gang when they see the braided twine. Well, all except one of them, that is. There’s a new face in the crowd today, and I wish I could say that’s the only reason I notice him. This six-foot-tall drink of gorgeousness captures my attention immediately, and I feel the heat creep up my neck, warming up to my already rosy cheeks. Thank goodness I’ve been running for about forty minutes already, so my cheeks can’t betray my blush. This guy seems different. He doesn’t come off as feral or as brutish as the rest. I get the feeling there is something more to him. There’s a sudden burning sensation blazing through my veins as his eyes meet mine, followed by an overwhelming sense of comfort. He simply gives me a quick smile, flashing his blinding pearly whites as I pass by. I’m fairly sure I’ve stopped breathing, which isn’t a good thing, as I am already gasping for air with four miles under my belt and more to go. Forcing myself to look away, I stop my gawking and pass the group of guys getting warmed up for their exercise.
Hustling toward the next turn on the track, I quickly sneak another glimpse at the group. Again, the handsome guy is there, stretching his arms above his head. As I round the curve, he must hear my pounding footsteps because he surreptitiously glances in my direction. Against my will, my heart speeds up, my eyes wander to him, and I can’t breathe again. So inconvenient. I need dark sunglasses or something to hide behind because I’m sure my eyes give me away. Checking him out, I do my best to get my lungs to inhale. Breathe in, breathe out, I repeat to myself in quiet, controlled breaths.
Shaking my head, I wonder what it is about this guy. I’ve never had an instant attraction or interest in a male before. Damn, he’s good looking. My wandering eyes trail over his skin that is sun-kissed, arms are ripped, and I can tell he has six-pack abs when his shirt is pulled tight as he lengthens his torso in a stretch. His thick dark chocolate brown hair is just long enough for
the waves to catch the wind. His dark brown, almost black, deep-set eyes pierce my soul as they catch mine. I can’t help but notice his strong jawline and the perfect smile he lets slip when he sees me examining him. My body betrays me, and I let a small grin escape my mouth as well. A fire ignites my veins as we lock eyes and throws me off balance slightly. Correcting my stride, I’m forced to redirect my attention down to my feet, ensuring I don’t bust my ass in front of this gorgeous Johnny-come-lately.
As I start my cool-down laps, the group of Protectors begins their training. After a couple of laps of walking, I make my way out of the track area through the large fence topped with razor wire designed to keep predators out. I tell myself I’ll just come here earlier tomorrow so I can get my entire ten-mile run in with no distractions. Elongating my muscles, my eyes keep deviating to that sexy, dark-haired, dark-eyed newcomer.
Breaking my train of thought, I attempt to rein in my roaming stare, but no sooner than I do, he glances in my direction.
Look away! Look down! Break eye contact, Fungus!
Finally, I'm able to snap the trance I’m in as a blaze burns up my neck. Looking down to assess my shoes, I hope they’ve somehow gotten the power to drive my feet to move at the speed of light away from this guy who now seems to hold a very intriguing part of my mind. Hurrying to the gym, I toy with the idea, determining that, yes, getting here tomorrow at the crack of dawn is vital. No distractions. Just me and the wind in my hair in the morning.
2
Pierce
“Well, let’s get this done and over with,” I whisper to myself as my alarm blares me to life from a deep sleep.
Groaning, I plant my feet on the cold, creaky wood floor beneath me as I vigorously rub the chill bumps along my scarred arms. The cold sends shock waves reverberating throughout my entire body. Good God, if that blasted alarm didn’t wake me up, this cold certainly would. The worst feeling after leaving behind warm blankets is the freezing floor on my bare feet.
Alright, get up, I mentally scold myself.
I shuffle to my chest of drawers, pulling out a set of shorts, t-shirt, and socks, before reaching for my best running shoes. After brushing my teeth and hair, while getting fully dressed, I head out of my room and down the stairs of the massive wooden cabin built for the Protectors.
About a century ago, our world almost came to a crashing end. However, some survivors made it out alive after a power-hungry dictator tried to take over the world, leaving only death and destruction behind, including getting himself killed in the process.
The planet was ravaged by a Dust that Dictator Teivel had his “genius inventors” create that would quickly spread through airborne transmission. They concocted the Dust to be easily distributed to key infection points across the globe. From there, it was released into the air to quickly spread through the population, bringing Teivel’s Extinction Event to fruition. History books state that:
Dust Extinction Event: Dictator Teivel and his self-proclaimed genius inventors established secret factories scattered around on each continent, totaling over a thousand factories. Dictator Teivel, being the proud man he was, let his ego get the better of him. He deemed himself one of the several people to survive an attack on the entire human race. The world refused to give in to his dictatorship. Teivel and his inventors attempted to build up a tolerance by slowly exposing themselves to this Dust in the hopes they wouldn’t succumb to the Dust’s effects. These effects varied widely, but the most common and severe resulted in the complete loss of lung function in the affected body. The Dust had the potential to wipe out the majority of life on earth in a matter of minutes. Not even animals and sea creatures were safe because when the Dust dissolved into the ocean, it changed chemical properties in the water, killing most aquatic life. Conversely, there were small pockets of human, animal, and marine survivors that did not die from the Dust. It did not affect the survivors how it did the majority of humanity for reasons still unknown.
A large portion of the survivors lived here in our territory, known as Iron Mountain. It’s thought our ancestors more than likely survived because the Dust was not as thick in this mountainous area, primarily covered by impenetrable forests. But just because they didn’t die doesn’t mean they weren’t affected.
Slowly, we are starting to see the Dust has altered many of those who survived and continues to change each subsequent generation. Mostly, the changes are not noticeable, and no one really likes to talk about them. Still, for others, the modifications are more prominent. You can see the evidence in the animals.
Shudders rack through my body every time I think of a Lynxwolf. The memory of a decapitated hunter we happened upon last month while out on a hunting trip flashes to the forefront of my mind. The teeth marks marred on his body revealed eight canine teeth, four on either side, penetrating the shoulders of the unsuspecting individual as the beast ripped off their head. There is a chance the creature was protecting his domain, or maybe he just enjoys having skulls for snacks.
When our territory was established eighty years ago, it was determined residents must take on a responsibility and become an asset to society at the age of eighteen. This practice of ‘Deciding’ prevents freeloading and encourages the pursuit of useful training. Someone can pick several tasks they’d like to learn, but must master the primary one first.
When my first turn as a Decider came up when I was eighteen, I had chosen to farm with an additional study in naturopathy. I was happy with those choices for the first two years, but it quickly became apparent my skills would be better served elsewhere. Now twenty, and in a position to take another turn as a Decider, I feel my calling is to become a Protector. So, now I’m in training for that.
As a sworn Protector, I must ensure my mind, body, and skills are appropriate for the task. Protectors are sworn to protect the citizens of our broken-down civilization, if you can even call our little community that. I take my responsibilities very seriously and train accordingly. I must learn intermediate skills in paramedicine, master firearms, handheld weapons, and force my mind and body into pristine shape with my new role. All while helping to keep history from repeating itself.
This means breakfast before dawn and early morning runs. It’s then off to the arena to practice shooting firearms, bows, knives, and ax throwing. I was fortunate enough to be assigned training in my top four weapons of choice this go around. After weapons training, I’ll head to lunch, then spend the afternoon studying paramedicine.
Gaining the needed skills in the medical side of our training involves an intense amount of study. Hours spent pouring over what few books were able to be salvaged from before the Extinction Event, all culminating in an incredibly lengthy exam. Our society's only hope for survival is to ensure we have the skills to ensure our citizens don’t die from the few things we can prevent with our limited resources. As a civilization, we are attempting to rebuild the population. Our ability to survive is the only thing keeping us from complete annihilation. There is no way of knowing how many others survived across the world. Still, all we know is that there are precious few people in our region, and every life is necessary for our survival.
Some animals survived, but because of the Dust many have mutations, they are as much of a threat as the Savages. The ravenous Savages were ostracized from society and survive independently in the wilderness beyond our walled mountain forest that encompasses several hundred-thousand acres.
Our settlement is in the southeastern part of what used to be the United States. At one point, this area was the state of Georgia and is still known as the “Boondocks” to the other territories. The old state lines no longer exist; everything is broken up into smaller regions now. Some are near the ocean, where we travel for fish. Some are southwest of us and provide fuels and other necessities. While we may have contact with the other regions, we keep our trade to a minimum. We only need enough fuel for tractors, small ATVs, and machines deemed essential by the Supreme Seniors.
We’re fortun
ate in Iron Mountain that some of the most highly capable people in our region survived the Dust. The natural-born leaders, many with military training, farmers, and naturopaths that survived, all came together to create a new society to ensure our survival. Each new generation's ability and the necessity to grow in knowledge, strength, and capability ensure life will continue without facing the potential of extinction again. Therefore, training must commence.
The track the crew of trainees and I use for exercising is one of the few left behind in the wake of the destruction. Most buildings, man-made materials, and organics like the forests were not destroyed because the idea behind the Dust was to only destroy “beings of flesh,” leaving behind only the strongest.
This piece of pavement is hot as hell in the summer. The sun blasts directly overhead, and the heat seeps up from the asphalt, baking our bodies. Don’t get me wrong; I am grateful for the fresh air because I loathe running on a belt that is solely powered by my feet in a gym, seeming more like a dungeon. With power being so scarce, we only use it when necessary, and gym equipment isn’t deemed necessary.
Protecting Tova (Iron Mountain Book 1) Page 1
