Undefeated World: A Post Apocalyptic/Dystopian Survival Fiction Series (The EMP Survivor Series Book 5) (The EMP Survivor Series (5 Book series) 1)

by Chris Pike

  Anna was trembling so much, Holly’s dress fluttered. Holly tugged the little girl closer to her and put a hand around Anna’s shoulders to try to calm her.

  Anna’s mother whispered, “Please don’t.”

  Holly studied the soldier’s face, the shape of his jaw, his eyes, and she wondered why he was transfixed on Anna, as if she reminded him of someone. Perhaps he had a daughter in Russia. Whatever it was, the soldier gazed upon Anna with fatherly love. She wondered if she should say something or not, then decided the best offense was to stay quiet, especially since the AK could dispatch them all in a matter of seconds.

  She concentrated on lowering her heart rate, knowing if it beat any faster, she might pass out.

  The soldier lowered the flashlight and put his finger to his mouth. “Shhh,” he whispered, nodding his head in silent communication. “Shhh. I go now.”

  As silently as he found them, he exited in equal silence.

  Holly swallowed and exhaled the breath she had been holding. She pushed Anna behind her in an attempt to shield her from the volley of bullets that was sure to come.

  A long second went by, then another, and Holly strained to listen.

  Hurried footsteps upon stairs echoed in the silence. A slamming door, then more footsteps running down front porch stairs.

  Anna cried and reached to her mother, and Holly relaxed her face for a moment. They had made it for now. They had been discovered, and by the grace of God had been shown mercy. Holly vowed not to forget the soldier.

  * * *

  Andrey took the porch stairs two at a time, and hit the ground running. He came to Colonel Burkov and saluted him.

  “At ease.”

  Andrey dropped his hand to his side.

  “What did you find?” Burkov asked.

  “Nothing, sir. The house was empty.”

  “Any sign of the women?”

  “Yes sir. I found the wedding dress hanging in the bedroom. Wedding decorations were scattered on the bed. No sign of the bride, her mother, or anyone else.” Andrey kept his sentences short and concise, skipping any further embellishment of the story which might give fodder to Burkov to question him further. Andrey fixed his gaze upon the bark of a pine tree, focusing on sap leaking down the side. Concentrating on something of inconsequential value helped provide Andrey the focus he needed. He had seen the consequences of others lying to Burkov. Some disappeared, while others had been forced into hard labor.

  Burkov clasped his hands behind his back and strolled over to Dillon. “It appears you were telling the truth. I thank you for that. Truth is always the best policy, regardless of the cost to life or property.”

  “I am a defender of the truth,” Dillon replied. His sharp jaw line and narrow eyes indicated his anger.

  “Of course.” Burkov dipped his chin and ignored the signals Dillon had sent. “I admire that. I am also a defender of truth and of Russia. We are a great country, greater and older than yours. Centuries older with abundant natural resources. We are rich in arts and history.”

  “A land you took from others,” Dillon said.

  Burkov laughed, but not with mirth. “I am well versed in Indian Wars and how America stole their land. Were they not the first Americans?”

  “The Indians conquered the land from others, as others had taken from those before them.”

  Burkov’s irritation was mounting. He was not used to clever bantering or challenges to his intellect from underlings. On the other hand, Burkov found meeting someone with equal intellect refreshing.

  “Point taken. Perhaps we can talk about this subject further sometime. Over dinner, even. If you will excuse me now.” Burkov walked past the soldiers, past the helicopter, and the truck. This was such a simple ranch with one house, a barn, a corral for the horses. He strolled over to where Cowboy was and admired him. He was a fine animal, strong, with a good coat and markings.

  During his time in America, Burkov had been fascinated with cowboy movies starring John Wayne, James Stewart, Clint Eastwood, names he remembered. American cinema at its finest. A time when men were men, and women were women, when differences were settled with a gun. A simple time with simple people, and even simpler results.

  Burkov strolled over to the corral and put his foot on the lower rung. His mind wandered to the movies. True Grit and The Searchers came to mind, with imagery of horses and wide open spaces, smoky saloons and good whiskey, jovial piano music. But foremost, the horses. Burkov had always wanted a horse. He spied Cowboy at the far end of the corral, and called to him.

  From a distance, Cowboy eyed the strange man. His nostrils flared and his dark eyes widened as Cowboy used the visual and auditory cues presented to him. One of his ears moved to better understand the strange sounds the man made, foreign, sharp sounds Cowboy had not heard before. The man’s body language indicated one of authority, moving with ease and purpose, the voice strong and deep, yet Cowboy didn’t immediately respond to the verbalizations.

  Cowboy tossed his head and snorted, and refused to go to the stranger who called to him with increasing levels of garbled sounds. Angry shouts and hand waving followed until another man entered the picture, and from his body posture, Cowboy recognized him as being subservient.

  While Cowboy didn’t understand the situation, it was obvious the men were communicating, and Cowboy studied the interaction. The subordinate hurried away then returned minutes later with someone Cowboy knew and trusted.

  Cowboy’s eyes brightened and he trotted over to Dillon, lowered his head, waiting for a scratch. Dillon rubbed the horse along the flat part of his head between his nose and eyes while talking to him in a soothing tone.

  “What is his name?” Burkov asked.

  “Cowboy.”

  “Hmm. Cowboy. Does he understand his name?”

  “Yes,” Dillon said. He moved his hand to Cowboy’s ears, twirling them between his fingers.

  “I’ve always wanted a horse,” Burkov said. He reached to Cowboy to pat him, only to have Cowboy move out of reach.

  “I wouldn’t do that. He’ll bite.”

  “A spirited animal. I like that.” Burkov pivoted to Andrey. “Take the American and get whatever you need for the horse. We will attach the trailer to the truck and take the horse with us.”

  “He’s not for sale,” Dillon said.

  The suddenness of which Burkov spun around to face Dillon startled him.

  “I didn’t ask if he was,” Burkov answered tersely. “Do you think I would leave the horse here? To starve to death?” Burkov’s face scrunched in disbelief, annoyed his intentions were being questioned. “That would be cruel and inhuman. What kind of man do you think I am?”

  Dillon knew what kind of the man the Russian was. He’d seen it in the courtroom when defendants thought they were untouchable by the law. What Dillon really wanted to do was prosecute the SOB in an American courtroom. He imagined Burkov with his pompous attitude being forced to sit complacently in front of a judge. Yeah, it was best to stay quiet and let the Russian talk so Dillon could glean all the information he could.

  “I am fond of animals and have always wanted a horse since I was a child. This one will do. This is Texas,” Burkov said opening his arms wide, “the grand land of cowboys and Indians. I want to experience the Wild West like John Wayne did in the movies. Perhaps I’ll ride Cowboy.” Burkov put a finger to his cheek. “Yes, I think I will. Andrey, take him and get whatever the horse needs.”

  Dillon glared at Burkov, seething that Holly’s beloved horse would be in the hands of the Russian Colonel.

  Burkov went back to where the wedding party was being held.

  Andrey motioned with his AK, indicating Dillon had to move. He followed Dillon into the barn, and supervised Dillon gathering Cowboy’s food, saddle, and other items the horse needed.

  The cavernous barn built from virgin timber had farm relics of a bygone era scattered around, including an old tractor. Hay had been stacked three bales high in the corner. A plethor
a of tools were hanging on pegs on a wall. Numerous boxes caved in from weight and weakened by the elements leaned at a precarious angle. The scent of animals living in the barn came full and strong and Andrey sneezed. A rusted metal container with a spout garnered his attention. He walked over to it, picked it up, and shook it. The lid to the spout was long gone, and an old red shotgun shell had been used to cap the spout. Andrey removed the makeshift cap and sniffed the contents. Some sort of fuel. He put the cap back on.

  Once Dillon had gathered the necessary items for Cowboy, he reluctantly coaxed the horse over to the trailer Chandler had used to transport him from Austin to East Texas.

  As Dillon was leading Cowboy into the trailer, the military truck came rumbling over. After the trailer was secured, Dillon was told to get in the back with the others.

  Outgunned and outnumbered, Dillon reluctantly joined the imprisoned wedding guests where there was standing room only. He made his way to Chandler and stood next to him.

  Chandler leaned into Dillon and whispered, “Where did Holly and Amanda go?”

  Dillon’s eyes bounced over to Larry, who had gone AWOL moments before the Russians appeared. Larry had his arms crossed, his head bowed, but his eyes were wide open. Dillon knew the man was listening. Dillon shook his head and mouthed, “Don’t talk.” He flicked his eyes to Larry.

  Chandler leaned back and nodded he understood.

  Burkov came to the side of the military truck. “Dillon, is there anything of value you would like to retrieve from the house?”

  “No.”

  “Anything sentimental, perhaps?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Then you won’t mind if we torch it.”

  When Dillon opened his mouth to protest, Chandler used his fist to put pressure on Dillon’s back. Under his breath, and without moving his lips, he whispered, “Don’t.”

  Burkov barked, “Andrey! Since you searched the house, it should be your honor to torch it. We have an extra can of petrol in the truck.”

  “No need to use our supply, Colonel. I found a can of petrol in the barn.”

  “Very well. Do what you need to do.”

  Dark, low clouds, heavy with rain, appeared on the horizon. A gust of wind blew leaves around, and Burkov scowled. He made a forward motion with his hand, toward the helicopter already powering up, indicating it was time to go.

  Ruslan, who had disappeared into the woods hunting the escapee, emerged. Burkov noted the deepening crimson stain on his pocket. “You better get that taken care of,” Burkov said. “You’re bleeding.”

  Ruslan grunted. “Do you think I’m so incompetent I’d be injured by a sniveling coward?”

  “You’ve got blood on your shirt.”

  “It’s not my blood.” Ruslan reached into his shirt pocket, and with his index and thumb pinching together, he slowly pulled out what appeared to be animal fur attached to recently removed skin.

  Burkov squinted at the item, recognizing it as a human scalp with hair. He made a grunt of disgust. “You’re a savage.”

  “One who does your dirty work.”

  “Keep it out of sight.” Hurrying toward the helicopter, Burkov shouted, “Let’s go!” trying to project his voice over the roar of the helicopter. “Andrey, once you’re finished, catch a ride in the truck. They have already started for the gate. I’ll be sure they don’t leave you.” Burkov cast a glance at the sky and the thunderous clouds rolling in. “You’d better hurry because it will be dark soon. Rain is coming. Go now.”

  “Yes Sir.”

  Burkov ducked his head and sprinted to the helicopter. He stepped into the chopper and sat next to the pilot, while Ruslan pushed his way inside. Once the other men were in, Burkov instructed the pilot to take off.

  Andrey jogged to the barn and took his time retrieving the can of fuel. Coming back to the house, he gauged which would be the best place to spread the fuel, while getting the most benefit.

  The driver of the truck poked his head out the window and yelled angrily at Andrey to hurry up. “Rain is coming! Hurry or we’ll leave you here.” Andrey sneered while the truck rumbled slowly along the dirt road leading to the gate. The Americans were standing in the back of the truck, helpless, Cowboy was in the trailer.

  Andrey was as helpless as the Americans, knowing disobeying Burkov was out of the question. He removed the shotgun shell from the spout and flung it away. He stepped closer to the house and splashed the fuel in places where the fire would cause the most damage.

  Chapter 10

  “Do you think it’s safe to come out?” Cassie asked.

  The dark, closed space was becoming more claustrophobic with the hot breath and increasingly warm bodies of the women huddled together. Holly had on a dress she had saved for the special occasion and open-toed sandals. The back of her dress was stained with perspiration. Amanda had chosen to wear her best pair of dark wash jeans and a sandy toned jacket over a light colored blouse. She was hot as well. She had tried earlier to remove her jacket, but in the cramped space, and, since she lacked the magical escape powers of Harry Houdini, she decided she’d have to wait.

  Cassie’s eyes had grown accustomed to the dark interior, and the outlines of the other women who had taken shelter in the hidden closet were visible. They hadn’t moved in an hour, and with each passing minute their muscles cramped more. Dorothy had managed to sit down, and if she bent her legs at just the right angle, it allowed Anna to lay curled across her.

  “Holly,” Cassie said more urgently, “is it safe to go out?”

  “I think so,” Holly replied. “I haven’t heard anything since the helicopter left.”

  “We might as well take a chance,” Amanda chimed in. “It’s getting hard to breathe in here. I thought I heard thunder a few minutes ago.”

  “I heard it too,” Cassie said.

  Holly nodded, then with great trepidation and caution, she opened the door. Fresh air whooshed in, and the women took a collective breath. It was dark in this early evening hour, and when Holly glanced at the window at the end of the hallway, a strange glow worried her.

  She inhaled two short breaths through her nostrils. “Do you smell something?”

  Cassie cocked her head, searching for the odor. “Like smoke?”

  “Yes.” Holly stepped over to the window at the end of the second story hallway and peered out. Her mouth dropped open at flames licking the porch. “The house! They’ve set fire to the house!” Holly whipped around and barked orders. “Dorothy, take Anna and go out the back door. Hide if you need to. Cassie, you and Amanda come with me.”

  The three women sprinted downstairs and threw open the front door. Dry spots in the yard smoldered and the vegetables Holly had planted in the former flowerbed had been reduced to blackened, wilted stalks. The ligustrum was ablaze, the porch steps charred by growing flames, yet the house had not been touched by the inferno.

  Holly sprang into action.

  Taking a garden hoe propped against the side of the house, she used all her strength and swung it at the base of the five foot tall bush. Repeatedly she heaved the blade of the hoe into the ligustrum’s base until it fell.

  Cassie and Amanda had dashed to the barn, then felt their way around until they found shovels. Racing back to the house, they joined Holly, and worked together to put out the remaining flames by shoveling dirt onto the fire. Using the blade of the hoe, Holly hooked it around a branch and dragged it across the lawn and onto the dirt road, away from the house and the other trees.

  Sweat poured off her forehead and dripped into her eyes, stinging them. She used the sleeve of her dress to wipe her eyes dry.

  Dorothy had filled a gallon jug with water and as she was about to pour it on a stubborn hot spot, Holly waved her off. Panting, her faced reddened from the heat and exertion, she said, “I need a drink of water.” She drank greedily, then passed the jug to Cassie and Amanda.

  After extinguishing the remaining hot spots, the four women and Anna sat down on the porch steps
to regroup. Cassie sat in a slouched position, her elbows resting on her knees, her hands cradling her cheeks trying to ward off defeat. Her thoughts went to Ryan, and she prayed he would be okay. She couldn’t imagine life without him or trying to raise a child by herself, and while she had her dad and Holly to help, there was no replacing a father.

  It was quiet, and lingering trails of smoke filled the air. Lightning illuminated the sky far in the distance, followed by rumbling thunder.

  A sprinkling of rain fell upon the land and puffs of dust rose.

  “Are you okay?” Amanda put an arm around Cassie to comfort her.

  Cassie nodded.

  “You shouldn’t be exerting yourself like this. It might harm the baby. I don’t think it’s good to get too hot.”

  “I’m fine.” Cassie straightened up and surveyed the damage. “I guess we were lucky. The fire could have been much worse. We could have all been killed.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” Holly said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Whoever set the fire poured the accelerant in a manner so the house would not catch fire.”

  “How would you know?” Cassie asked. Gentle raindrops tapped Cassie on her cheeks and she reached to dry her face.

  “Several years ago, I was the defense attorney in an arson case.” Holly reached to a blade of grass and pulled it loose. She broke off a piece and started shredding it. “I learned a lot about how fires start, about how to look where the accelerant had been poured to start it, about burn patterns, all of it. I can tell you, if they had wanted the house to burn, it would have. All it did was to create a lot of smoke, which is probably what was intended. Green foliage creates a lot of smoke. From a distance, it would appear the house was on fire, and the smell can travel for miles.”

  “What about all the damage to the porch?” Amanda asked. “Wasn’t that intentional?”

  “It’s only superficial and looks much worse than it is,” Holly explained, shrugging. “The structure is intact. The heat from the bushes caused the paint to peel, that’s all. It will only need a good scraping and new paint.”