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

  “Do you think it was the same guy that found us?”

  Holly reached to her face and pushed hair out of her eyes. “I believe so.”

  “Why would he do that?” Amanda asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did you get his name?”

  Holly shook her head. “After he left all I heard was a bunch of garbled Russian. I don’t even know one word of Russian. I know a little Spanish, which obviously won’t do us any good. Whoever he is,” Holly pondered, “he’s a friend, and I bet this wasn’t the last we’ll see of him.”

  “What do you want to do with the couple over there?” Dorothy called out. She had left the group and walked over to where an elderly man and woman lay dead in the front yard.

  “We’ll worry about that in the morning,” Holly said. “We’ll also need to get the dead woman out of Cassie’s bedroom. That can wait until morning too.”

  “What happened to our guys? My dad, Ryan, Chandler…they’re all gone. Do you think they’re…” Cassie hung her head, unable to finish the sentence.

  “Is Mr. Stockdale dead?” Anna asked in a way only a child could, too young to comprehend the finality of death. Her worried gaze bounced from Holly to her mother then back to Holly, searching for an answer. “He can’t be. He’s been like a father to me. I’ve never met my own father because he left when I was born.” Anna dipped her chin, and sniffled.

  Dorothy brought her daughter closer to her. “Don’t worry, Anna. I’m sure Dillon is okay. He told me if he could have had another daughter, he would have wanted her to be just like you.”

  Anna met her mother’s eyes. “He said that?”

  “He did.” Dorothy smoothed Anna’s hair. “He’s told me that several times.”

  Anna hiccupped. “Okay.”

  Holly gazed upon Cassie with her own motherly love, then to Amanda and Dorothy, who had their eyes trained on her.

  They were all waiting for leadership, and it was up to Holly to provide it.

  This was her courtroom. This was her chance to use her skills, but this time, she was the prosecutor, and the Russians were the ones on trial.

  Rising from the porch step, Holly stepped onto the lawn where she stood facing the group. Little Anna, so petite, clinging to her mother; Amanda, a young woman who exhibited incredible strength and fortitude in times of adversity; and Cassie, about to be married with the additional burden of carrying another life, all waited for Holly’s sage wisdom.

  Holly took a deep breath. She stood defiant and strong. “The important thing is that we are alive. We are together. This is our land, our country, where we were born. It’s where our forefathers fought for the right to own land, to escape the tyranny of whatever government they were fleeing from. They rose against a better-armed opponent, used guerrilla tactics when needed, endured hunger when they had no food. They united, fought, and won. It’s what we need to do now.

  “In the morning, we will bury the dead, assess our supplies, and make a plan. Whatever the Russians want, belongs to us, and we are not going to allow them to take it. This is our land, and if it is necessary, we will fight to the death for it. Don’t ever forget that. They have surprised us, but let them know we will unleash the full wrath of our fury on them, and of our determination to take back our homeland.”

  Holly took a breath.

  “So dry your tears. There is no more time for crying. We have work to do, and we will start first thing in the morning.” Holly’s attention was diverted to the sky, darkened with low clouds, and a cool downdraft rushed in. “I think it’s time we go in.”

  Cassie swiped under both eyes, sniffled once, and stood. “Before we do, I want to say something.” Holly sat down and gave Cassie the stage. “I met a brave man in Louisiana last year who said he lived his life by the three Fs. His name was Garrett, and he said, and I quote, ‘I live my life by the three Fs: faith, family, and firearms.’” She paused for effect to let that sink in. “And now, this is me speaking. For faith, our heavenly Father will protect and guide us to do what we need to. For family,” Cassie nodded at each person, pronouncing each name slowly, “Holly, Amanda, Dorothy, Anna. You are my family now. Each one of us will need to give the other strength and the willpower to persevere. For firearms, we are armed and I am not afraid to use them. A gun in our hands is just as deadly as in a man’s hands. Remember that.”

  Amanda stood. “To faith.”

  Dorothy stood. “To family.”

  Cassie said, “To firearms.”

  “What about me?” Anna asked. “I want to help too.”

  Cassie laughed. “You’re too little.”

  “I may be small for my age, but I can still help.”

  “No doubt you will,” Cassie commented.

  “I helped my mom when she was sick. I went to the pharmacy all by myself and that’s when I met your dad and when I helped him find antibiotics for Holly.”

  “You were very brave to do that,” Holly said.

  “I also found your dog.”

  Cassie furrowed her brow. “Speaking of dogs, has anyone seen Buster?”

  Chapter 11

  Buster dashed through the thick brush and piney woods of East Texas, dodging over streambeds and gopher mounds, a black missile streaking through the land, unaware of the painful stickers embedded in his tender paws. He ran with the ease of a greyhound, legs stretching out and gobbling distance, away from the wailing of bullets hurting his ears; away from the whining helicopter blasting hot air, and flinging sand in his face.

  Away from the brutal death he witnessed of an elderly couple who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  He panted hard and fast from running, his lungs expanding to compensate for his body’s increasing need for oxygen.

  He ran past the pecan orchard and past the deer blind nestled in a stand of young oaks where he had accompanied Dillon. A flickering memory of Dillon hammering nails into cedar posts came to him.

  His senses were overloaded with memories of changing images and confusing odors.

  The zing of bullets hitting the trees, the acrid odor of gunpowder, the resulting sickening thump of metal obliterating flesh and skin, and the crumpling bodies was too much for his canine mind to bear, so he ran, afraid to look back. Afraid to face the fate surely bestowed on Dillon and Cassie. He had failed in his duty to protect them from intruders, so like the coward who ran, Buster ran.

  Fight or flight.

  He had chosen flight, a trait unbecoming to a dog of his stature.

  When he came to the fence line marking the back boundary of Holly’s sprawling ranch, a place he had grown to know as home, Buster hesitated. In the waning light, darkened with rain and clouds, he trembled, a spasm gripping his muscles from head to tail. His ears flopped on his head. His soulful eyes, usually alert and keen as he walked by Dillon’s side showed the strain of anxiety and indecision. To return to Dillon meant facing the exploding sounds and images, and his inability to protect his pack.

  The land was abundant with oaks and pines, teeming with quail and turkey. A nearby doe hid in a thicket. A rabbit was tucked low into a clump of grass, brown eyes wide open, lying perfectly still, camouflaged even from the eyes of a coyote or a hawk.

  A pang of indecision came to him. Go home where he could be assaulted by foreign sounds and images, or run into the unknown and dark places of the unfamiliar?

  A shiver captured him, and another dark cloud rolled in over the land.

  Thunder rumbled in the distance.

  A bolt of lightning flashed. A yellow-white streak zigzagged angrily from the sky.

  Raindrops, big as silver dollars, hit the dry land, bringing with it the peculiar smell of fresh rain.

  Buster blinked his eyes as rain pelted him.

  Another low rumble.

  The land shook and Buster shivered in response.

  Electricity filled the air, and the dark ruff of his back stood on end. Confusion set in and he trembled.

  Then an ear-s
plitting crack of white lightning shook him to his core when it hit a nearby tall pine.

  He shook, paralyzed by the sensory overload.

  Splinters of hot sap and smoking pine bark exploded off the tree, and a powerful explosive wave raced down the inner core.

  It was more than Buster could handle. He took off running, dodging brush and fallen logs. He leapt over a fire ant mound and dashed through thorny cactus. He wove through a stand of saplings as if he was on an obstacle course racing to the finish line.

  Deeper he ran into the land, away from civilization, away from the unnatural sounds and piercing screams.

  He splashed around the edge of a stock pond, then came to a herd of cows milling under a large oak where they had taken cover from the rain. A massive bull lifted its snout and tasted the air, searching for the meaning of the scent wafting on an air current. Emerging from the middle of the herd, the bull spotted Buster, who was similar in size to coyotes who could easily kill a newborn calf. The bull snorted once, lowered its head, and charged Buster.

  The dog stood frozen as the thundering bull trampled the land. Closer the bull came, and right when it lowered its massive head with horns as lethal as a razor sharp blade, Buster took off running.

  Another crack of lightning and rumbling thunder propelled him to run faster, deeper into uncharted land and unfamiliar sights.

  Buster ran until he could run no more. His fur was soaked, paws bleeding from splinters and thorns. Exhausted, he stopped and huddled next to a large pine where he took stock of his surroundings. He was lost, scared, and was far away from his home. He was on the edge of a pasture lined by thick woods and animal trails.

  Tall pines loomed dark, and Buster detected no human scents. A familiar shaped building caught his eye and he squinted through the misty rain. It was a barn, similar to the one on Holly’s ranch. Buster perked up his ears at the prospect humans could be near.

  Deciding the barn needed further investigating, he trotted a few steps then stopped.

  He heard something.

  It was the sound of a human voice, calling out, searching. A voice so faint and indiscernible, Buster was unsure if it was male or female. With great trepidation, he trotted over the uneven pasture land until he came to the barn. A door was ajar. He went to it and nosed it open. It was dry inside, musty smelling, yet containing the same familiar odors of the barn he had become accustomed to.

  He lifted his snout in the air, tasting it. Several rats had left their mark on an eave high in the barn. A raccoon had been in earlier, deposited scat, then left, and the odor of an owl’s nest drifted in the air. He listened for the voice and tried to identify the human scent. It had been from a man who worked the land whose body smelled of honest sweat, yet the scent was unfamiliar. Whoever had been here was now gone. Deciding it was safe, Buster cautiously went deeper into the barn and padded to a pile of loose dry hay. He scratched at it a few times, twirled, then pillowed into it, and curled into a ball. He tucked his head close to his body and exhaled once. His eyes became heavy and he closed them, lulled to sleep by nature’s metronome of rain pattering on the tin roof.

  Chapter 12

  Austin, Texas

  Chandler Household

  “Tatiana, that was an excellent meal,” Nico said. “I never knew tuna casserole tasted so good.” He dabbed the corners of his mouth with a napkin, folded it, and placed it on the table.

  “You’re welcome.” Tatiana scooted back from her chair and reached across the table to bus the plates.

  “Kate and I will do that. I insist.” Rising, Nico reached for the plates Tatiana had in her hands. “We’ll clear the table.”

  “I can’t ask you to do that. You’re company.”

  “Mom,” Kate said, “let us clear the table. Nico doesn’t mind doing dishes.”

  “Really?” Tatiana asked dubiously.

  “It’s true,” Nico confirmed. “I do a lot of dishes.” He glanced at Kate and winked.

  “If that’s the case, then be my guest. Please scrape off any leftovers and give them to Reload. After you’re finished, I’ll get dessert.”

  Sitting around the table, John, Uncle Billy, and Luke discussed minor issues while Kate and Nico cleared the dishes. Tatiana was busy setting out plates for dessert. “We’ll reuse forks if that’s okay with everyone.”

  After Kate and Nico sat down, Tatiana waltzed in holding a pecan pie. “Pecans were picked from our trees, and I’ve been saving sugar and other ingredients for a special occasion. This certainly qualifies as special.” She smiled and set the pie on the table, cutting it into eight slices. “Who wants the first piece?”

  “Me, me!” Uncle Billy chimed in. He patted his rotund belly, stifled a belch, then with gusto, dug into the piece of pie on his plate as if it was his last meal. “This is delicious,” he said, stabbing his fork into the piece of pie. He scarfed down the last bite while chewing with his mouth open. Afterward he licked his fork clean. “That was absolutely delicious.”

  “Thank you,” Tatiana said demurely, horrified by Uncle Billy’s table manners, especially since they had company. Nico’s table manners, on the other hand, were quite agreeable. He obviously hadn’t been raised in a barn. She shook her head. How Uncle Billy and her husband John had come from the same parents, Tatiana would never understand. She decided to change the subject. “Kate, I’m so glad you’ve come home. How long will you stay?”

  Kate glanced at Nico. He bobbed his head indicating it was okay for her to tell everyone. “Mom, I’m not sure how to say this…” Kate glanced down at the table briefly, then lifted her eyes. “I’m not staying. Nico and I will be leaving, possibly tomorrow.”

  “What? But you just got here.” Tatiana knitted her brow, showing deep lines. She set down the fork on the plate with a clink. “You can’t leave. You and Nico can stay as long as you want to. I’ve been worried sick about you, Kate. We didn’t know what had happened to you, or if you were hurt. I won’t allow—”

  “Tatiana!” John said, his voice stern. “Remember what happened last time.”

  Tatiana opened her mouth to reply to her husband then thought it would be better not to. She dropped her gaze and put her hands in her lap.

  The dinner table went quiet without so much as a clink of a utensil on a dish, a cough, or a sniffle, and even Uncle Billy went silent.

  Nico was the first to speak, but instead of speaking in English, he spoke in Russian. What he had to say was better said so others couldn’t understand it.

  “Tatiana, there’s something I’d like you to know.”

  “You speak Russian very well.”

  Nico acknowledged her compliment with a dip of his chin. “I nearly died yesterday. Has Kate told you that?”

  “I didn’t know.” Tatiana’s eyes bounced to Kate, trying to discern if she had understood anything that had been said. Satisfied Kate didn’t understand enough Russian, other than a few words and polite phrases, Tatiana said, “Please continue.”

  “Kate saved my life. She dragged me out of the water when I was having an allergic reaction to a sting. I would have drowned if she had not risked her life to save mine.”

  Tatiana snuck a peek at Kate, whose gaze was firmly planted on the table.

  Nico understood the subtlety of Tatiana’s questioning gaze. “Before I go on, does anyone besides you and I understand Russian?”

  Tatiana didn’t answer immediately. She took a few moments to study both her children. Kate picked at a ragged cuticle and showed no sign of understanding the conversation, or having mastered the intricacies of the Russian language. Luke sat silent too, twirling a fork. She motioned for Nico to continue.

  “When I was somewhere between life and death, I thought about Kate, and how sorry I would be if I was not in her life. It was a wakeup call for me. Because of her I am changing my life.

  “I want you to know I love your daughter. She’s changed a lot over these past few months into the person you knew she has been all along. She’s strong,
she showed incredible bravery when we were under attack at the Alamo, and she didn’t waver on tough decisions she had to make.

  “I also want you to know she talked a lot about you and how you were her role model, and while she may have butted heads with you, it never meant she stopped loving you or respecting you. I know about the fight between you two when she left home, and what was said. She didn’t want to come home because she was afraid of what you would say to her.”

  “But,” Tatiana protested, “I would never—”

  “I know,” Nico interrupted, “but she didn’t know how you would react. She had to leave home to understand a lot of issues. And if she hasn’t told you, then I’m going to. You have done an excellent job of raising her. In fact, all of your children. They are fine people. You and your husband should be proud.”

  “We are.”

  “The biggest compliment a child can give their parents is when they become their own person. When they can be on their own. You have done that. Do you understand?”

  “I’m trying.”

  “Let her go with open arms. Wish her luck, and one day I guarantee we will be back with a surprise.”

  Tatiana’s eyes widened and her voice rose in excitement. “A surprise? Is she expecting?”

  “No.”

  “Oh.” The disappointment in Tatiana’s voice was palpable, and while the others at the table showed no signs of understanding the conversation, they did understand whatever was being said was profound and personal. “I’ve always wanted to be a grandmother.”

  “If I have anything to do with it, you will be,” Nico said. “I plan to ask her to marry me. I’m asking you now, may I have your daughter’s hand in marriage?”

  “Yes. Of course.” Tatiana spoke cheerfully. “I will speak for my husband that we wish you a long and happy life together. And pray you will be fruitful.”

  Nico stifled a laugh at her last comment, and while he wanted to say something clever about being fruitful, he decided a simple acknowledgement would suffice. This was his future mother-in-law after all. “Thank you. There’s one thing though.”