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

  “The scenario is bleak, but know we will never get a better chance than now to defend our homeland from invasion. We are healthy, we are not starving, and we have persevered and adapted to this new world thrust upon us. We are survivors.”

  “Yeah!” a shout came from the audience. “We are survivors! Let’s go kick those red commies out of our country!”

  Dillon let his speech sink in while the crowd geared themselves up for the battle. He whispered to Holly, “Are the tarps up yet?”

  She gave the thumbs up.

  “Can I have everyone’s attention now?” Dillon shouted. After a few moments the crowd quieted so he could be heard. “Folks, I need half of you to stand entirely under those tarps to your right. Once there, stay under them completely and do not look out from under the tarps regardless of what you hear. Any mistakes will cost lives. Please move quietly and wait for me to tell you to come out.”

  A large man in a muscle shirt bullied his way through the crowd. He bellowed, “Who are you to give us orders? I don’t like being pushed around by a lawyer, because the only good lawyer is a dead lawyer.”

  Nico came out of nowhere and laid him out with a savage haymaker punch so powerful he followed the guy to the ground. Kate came running over with rope, and with Nico’s help, they hogtied the man. A red bandana knotted tightly around his mouth kept him quiet.

  Nico said, “Calm down now so I can hear the crickets chirp. If you don’t I’ll put a bullet in your head to keep you from giving us away.”

  The man glared at Nico.

  A strange buzzing noise filled the air. “Now!” Dillon barked. “Under the tarps.”

  The buzzing emanating from overhead came closer. Not as loud and threatening as a helicopter, but loud enough it was noticeable.

  The drone swooped in and hovered near the treetops, swiveling to get a 360 degree view. It disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, the buzzing fading away with it.

  “Well done everybody,” Dillon said. “The Russian drone has revealed our location, but not our strength. It would have only seen half of you. Now is the time to implement the plan. If anyone does not want to participate, say something now.” The group went quiet as both young and old nervously glanced around, waiting. Dillon scanned the group, finding no takers.

  “Since everybody is on board, we will divide into two groups. The Mission A group will stay to defend this area, while the Mission B group will use the truck and trailer to attack the school first thing in the morning. Nico Bell and Kate Chandler will command Mission A. They have experience defending against large forces. Chris Chandler and myself will lead Mission B. We will have fewer people, so we’ll have to move fast with the selection process.” Dillon motioned for Chandler to stand. “It’s your turn to take the podium.”

  “Hi, I’m Chris Chandler. I’m a trained U.S. Marine sniper. I need everyone who can shoot five shots into one inch at a hundred yards with the rifle they have with them to raise his hand.” One man and one woman raised their hands. “You two, come over here. You’ll be on team B.” Chandler addressed the crowd. “How about anyone who can put five shots into one and a half inches at one hundred?” Nobody raised their hands. “How about five shots into two inches at one hundred?” The group raised their hands in unison. “Excellent.”

  Chandler hand-picked the next sixteen shooters based on the guns they had, a mix of high powered bolt guns with a number of 7.62 NATO battle rifles. Chandler needed powerful cartridges to go against the AK-74s and the Russian heavy machine guns.

  “Luke,” he said, “you’re with me on Team B.”

  “Got it, big brother.”

  Chandler raised his voice to be heard over the low din of the crowd. “Everyone else is on Team A. Non-participants will go with Cassie, Ryan, and Anna. Good luck, everyone!”

  While Chandler was shaking hands and reassuring the group, Holly came up to Dillon. “You were right about Dorothy. She slipped away while Chandler made his selections.”

  “Don’t worry,” Dillon said. “I’ve suspected her for a while, and she’s playing right into my hands.”

  Chapter 32

  Team B headed down the road, using the truck hauling the hay trailer as transportation. Hay bales were used to supply cover for the riders. With only twenty-one members, Team B was a good deal leaner than Team A.

  Taking advantage of the travel time, Chandler moved from team member to team member, giving each person their assignment so they would be able to take their position the moment they stopped near the school.

  Dillon, who was driving the truck, decided to make an unplanned stop.

  “Why are we going down this road?” Luke asked.

  “Your brother mentioned explosives earlier, which got me to thinking. Oil exploration requires seismic charges and perforators for the perforator gun. I spoke to one of the team members who just happened to be a volunteer fireman. He told me where the nearest explosives distributor was located. We’re making a quick shopping trip.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “He had no reason to lie.”

  “What are you going to do with the explosives?”

  “You’ll see.”

  At the end of the dirt road, Dillon stopped the truck. Ahead were two buildings, dark and deserted. One of the buildings, known as a magazine, housed the explosives. It was a sturdy structure made of reinforced concrete with thick steel doors. Steel hoods secured the locks.

  Dillon swore. He’d have to find the keys.

  He exited the truck, went to the office building, and pried open the door. It smelled like it hadn’t been occupied in a long time. Clicking on his flashlight, he made a cursory search and determined it was indeed empty. A chair had been knocked over and papers were scattered on the floor. Papers rustled, startling Dillon for a moment, and he crouched until he realized a rat had scurried across the papers.

  A desk sat in the middle of the room. A row of lockers was on the back wall.

  He opened the lockers and found two backpacks and one satchel. He emptied those on the floor. Next, he opened the top desk drawer, pushing around pens and note pads, an old candy bar that had been chewed on, a stapler, and pencils. He shut the drawer and searched the other one. Way in the back, he found a key ring.

  Bingo.

  Holding the backpacks and satchel, he raced out of the building and went next door to the building housing the explosives. The third key on the key ring did the trick and the lock popped open.

  The room was lined with wood secured by nails painted over with non-sparking putty. Various explosives were neatly arranged in boxes. The sausage shaped yellow packages of extra gelatin dynamite were exactly what Dillon needed. One summer when he was in law school, he had worked on a seismic crew and had become familiar with explosives. Classic dynamite would be leaking nitroglycerine due to aging, while gelatin dynamite was sealed and much safer to transport.

  He needed detonators and connecting cords, which he found. He planned to use Detcord for connection, and boosters to assure the gelatin would have full detonation. Since military detonators were in stock, he grabbed an old blasting machine to complete the shopping trip. Dillon took care to transport each item separately in the backpacks and satchel.

  He hoofed it back to the truck.

  “Chandler, you drive while I make the charges.”

  Dillon crimped the detonator caps on the Detcord and threaded them into the capwells of the boosters. Each booster was surrounded by three gelatin tubes and a charge which he wrapped together with excess Detcord. The unit could be detonated using the blasting machine, a Russian grenade, or a shot from a powerful rifle.

  “We’re here,” Chandler said. He stopped the truck about a mile from the school. Team B unloaded quietly.

  “The darkness favors the Russians with their night vision equipment,” Dillon whispered. “We are going to wait until they take off the equipment at dawn before we sneak up to the outer fence for the breach. If we don’t have an opportunity to
hook each charge to the blasting machine, Chandler and one of our better shooters will shoot the boosters to detonate. Any questions?” After a beat he said, “Good. We’ll rest for a little while until it’s time to leave.”

  * * *

  Nearing daybreak, the group walked carefully through the woods, mindful of a possible ambush. When they came up to the school, three volunteers crept up to the fence where they placed the explosives on all sides except the side with the minefield.

  Dillon held his position with Andrey on the minefield side. He had expected some sort of surprise, knowing Dorothy had arrived first, and thus the Spetsnaz troops would be ready at the school.

  A large dull green tarp covered some type of equipment on the athletic field, but there was no movement under it. Dillon wondered what kind of surprise awaited them. He clenched his jaw in frustration.

  Andrey stared hard at the minefield. “They’ve changed it.” He squinted into the first light of dawn, searching for those straight lines which were a first class ticket to the graveyard.

  Movement at the nearest guard tower caught Dillon’s attention. The guards were taking off their night vision equipment. “It’s time,” he mouthed.

  Three rapid reports of gunfire broke the silence of the night.

  Explosions rocked the compound.

  Chandler’s snipers had timed the detonation perfectly.

  On three sides of the compound, the fences were shredded. Posts had been snapped in half as easily as a child breaking a pencil. Razor wire bent into grotesque shapes.

  Shouts and random gunfire peppered the adjoining dark woods.

  Aimed gunfire from the woods dropped a number of Russian guards.

  Inside the compound, the Spetsnaz soldiers made a decision to spring overwhelming fire on the attacking force. As a group, they rushed outside then scattered in twos, firing their AKs and machineguns as they went while their body armor took the impact of incoming fire. They fired a continuous onslaught of lead and steel. Chunks of wood splintered from the mature trees taking the hits, while others were chopped down.

  Orders where shouted in Russian.

  Someone screamed.

  Three of Dillon’s volunteers schooled in explosive placement anxiously waited in the soft earth of a two foot deep depression, camouflaging themselves with dead leaves and pine needles. A large tree trunk offered some protection.

  The Spetsnaz soldiers cautiously advanced into the woods, unknowingly coming to within throwing distance of the volunteers.

  Using the crunching leaves as cover, a volunteer pulled the pin on a grenade, and the others followed his lead.

  The rustling of leaves was the only indication something wasn’t right.

  A lead soldier turned to fire, and as he did, several grenades rolled behind him. In the millisecond it took his mind to comprehend the severity of the situation, the grenades detonated before he or his nearest comrades had another thought or were able to utter a warning. Blood and bits of flesh rained down on the hidden volunteers, yet they held their position.

  The American snipers pounded the remaining Spetsnaz soldiers without mercy. In the space of a few seconds, the soldiers had all been shot dead.

  * * *

  Dillon and Andrey made it to the back gate by taking advantage of the loud gunfire reports and confusion from the battle. Andrey studied the landmine pattern, using the light by the gate. “This has to be wired, but I don’t see it.” His attention went to the rear guard towers then back to the gate, searching. “I still can’t find anything. I don’t want to take a chance.”

  “We’ll go around,” Dillon said. “You keep an eye out for soldiers.”

  While Andrey kept watch, Dillon went to work on the fence, snapping the wires with the wire-cutting bayonet.

  When he cut the last one, Andrey said, “Let me go first.”

  “I can’t let you do that.”

  “I can see better in low light than you can.”

  Dillon reluctantly agreed, lamenting the fact he hadn’t had eye surgery to correct his vision before the grid went down. Andrey’s eyes were at least twenty years younger than his. He would definitely have better sight at night than Dillon would.

  Andrey’s sharp eyes strained to differentiate the grass from fine lines leading to a mine. He scanned the area, noting the straight lines where none should be. “They’ve mined inside the fence too.”

  “Then we’ll crawl,” Dillon offered. “Make sure your equipment is cinched down tight. We don’t want a loose strap sending us into the next county.” Dillon slung his AK on his back and secured the sling. A quick grab of his AK was now impossible, so he was prepared to use his pistol if necessary.

  Dillon and Andrey belly crawled through the hole in the fence then out into the newly laid minefield. As they loosened their equipment, an AK being racked broke the silence.

  Dillon froze.

  Chapter 33

  “Nice of you to drop in.” Petya Ruslan emerged from behind a wall. He carried a shortened AK, leveling it directly at Dillon and Andrey. “It appears there are traitors on both sides.”

  Colonel Burkov roughly pushed Dorothy out from behind the wall. He held a knife to her throat, pressing it against her pulsating jugular.

  Her face was contorted with deep worry lines and an expression of bewilderment. Her hands feebly tried to pull Burkov’s forearm away. “But I cooperated. Please, no.”

  “Shut up,” Burkov snapped, pressing the knife harder into Dorothy’s throat. “Put your weapons down if you don’t want to see this woman’s blood spurting everywhere. You too, Andrey. You’ll be dealt with later.”

  Dillon didn’t move. Neither did Andrey.

  “I’ll slice her throat from ear to ear.” Burkov said.

  “Please, Dillon,” Dorothy begged. “I have a daughter who needs me. Do as he says.”

  Dillon reluctantly placed his weapons on the ground. This wasn’t going as he had planned.

  Andrey glanced at Dillon. “Why would you save the life of this woman who is a traitor?”

  “The question you should be asking, Andrey,” Ruslan said, “is what will happen to you?” He strutted over to Andrey and faced him. “Russia doesn’t like traitors.”

  Dillon needed to act fast to create some type of diversion. “Dorothy, what will your daughter think of what you are doing?”

  “Leave my daughter out of this.” Her words were short and curt. “The Russians were only going to get the oil then they would leave us alone. Nobody would have gotten hurt if you had cooperated.”

  “They must have threatened you. Or Anna.”

  Dorothy dropped her gaze to the ground.

  Dillon realized he had hit a nerve. “It was Anna, wasn’t it? They threatened her, not you.” Dillon addressed Colonel Burkov. “What kind of man threatens a child?”

  “I’m here to win at all costs,” Burkov replied. “I take no prisoners, a fact you’ll find out in a moment.”

  Burkov jerked Dorothy and shoved her toward a large tarp draped over a bulky object. Burkov put the knife in his belt and pulled his pistol. “Roll the tarp off. Dillon needs to see his surprise.”

  Dorothy backed up to a steel beam with a ratcheted spool of wire rope attached to it. She reeled in the rope, which pulled off the tarp to expose a Russian attack helicopter.

  “What?” Burkov feigned surprise. “Are you not surprised at this magnificent creation of our military force?”

  Dillon wasn’t about to be goaded into a fight he couldn’t win. He’d bide his time and wait for an opportune moment, or a careless oversight.

  “Well then, let me tell you about it. This,” Burkov said, sweeping his hand toward the chopper, “is an Mi-24 attack helicopter with rockets and machine guns. It has the thickest armor available, and will easily wipe out the men you call a resistance. I call them undisciplined and untrained heathens who have no place in the new world I plan to create.”

  “What are you talking about?” Dorothy asked.

&nbs
p; “My dear, you are such a simple woman, and one who has a simple child.”

  “You bastard,” Dorothy spat. “You threatened to kill my child if I didn’t cooperate. You said all you needed was the oil and then you’d leave.”

  Burkov scoffed. “The complexities of our operation are beyond your comprehension. I almost feel sorry for you. Almost. I have no need for simpletons.” He brightened. “On the other hand, I do have a use for you.”

  Dorothy rushed at Burkov, and when she raised her hand to slap him, he roughly grabbed her by the wrist, forcing her to the ground. He twisted his boot into her back to make her lay still. Dorothy looked at Dillon, and mouthed, “I’m sorry.”

  When Dillon made a move to help her, Ruslan jabbed a hard rifle butt to his kidneys, buckling Dillon to his knees.

  Two gunshots sounded, followed by two tower guards falling to their deaths. Their bodies hit the ground with a thud and puff of dust. Chandler’s expert sniping skills were picking off the enemy one by one. It was too bad he didn’t have a clear shot of Burkov and Ruslan.

  Burkov sensed the situation he previously had under control was becoming unstable. He motioned for two of his guards to accompany him to the helicopter. He jerked Dorothy up from the ground and forced her into the chopper.

  Sensing it was now or never, Andrey rushed Ruslan and threw his body into the big Russian, knocking him off balance. Ruslan pounded his smaller compatriot, balling his fists into Andrey’s back. During the scuffle Andrey became entangled with Ruslan’s AK shorty.

  Andrey had his boots dug into the dirt, and with a burst of adrenaline spurring him on, he bent at the waist and looped his arms around Ruslan’s legs, lifting him up. With Ruslan off balance, Andrey leaned forward and stumbled to the grassy part of the compound.

  In the split second when Ruslan understood what Andrey was doing, and the unmeasurable amount of time it took for his body to register his comprehension, his eyes showed a brief flicker of understanding the horror of the inevitable. He didn’t even have time for his muscles to tense.