Them: Society Lost, Volume Four Read online

  THEM

  Society Lost, Volume Four

  By Steven C. Bird

  THEM

  Society Lost, Volume Four

  Copyright 2019 by Steven C. Bird

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, copied, or shared without expressed consent and prior authorization from the author.

  Published by Steven C. Bird at Homefront Books

  Illustrated by Hristo Kovatliev

  Kindle Edition 2.3.19

  Edited by:

  Carol Madding at Hope Springs Editing &

  Sabrina Jean at Fast-Track Editing

  www.homefrontbooks.com

  www.stevencbird.com

  facebook.com/homefrontbooks

  [email protected]

  Twitter @stevencbird

  Instagram @stevencbird

  Table of Contents

  Disclaimer

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  A Note from the Author

  About the Author

  Preview of Erebus: An Apocalyptic Thriller

  Disclaimer

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarities to real events or persons, past or present, living or dead, are purely coincidental and are not intended by the author. Although this book is based on real places and some real events and trends, it is a work of fiction for entertainment purposes only. None of the activities in this book are intended to replace legal activities and your own good judgment.

  Dedication

  Where do I begin? Them: Society Lost, Volume Four is my twelfth book (counting two novellas), and along the way, I’ve encountered and befriended many wonderful people. The SHTF/TEOTWAWKI/Prepper/Survival/Post-Apoc fiction crowd is one that generally follows the aphorism - a rising tide lifts all boats. It’s a very supportive group of people whom I truly consider to be family. The list is far too long to name them all, for fear of slighting someone who doesn’t deserve to be left out, but trust me when I say I thank each and every one of you from the bottom of my heart.

  I’d specifically like to thank all the fine authors and readers of DD12 (The Dirty Dozen Post-Apoc Army), founded by L.L. Akers. DD12 is a wonderfully supportive social media group where many of the authors and readers are real-world friends. We don’t compete against each other; we support each other.

  It’s also a way for readers to be able to interact with the authors on a personal level, which is the reason for limiting the official author group to twelve, although all authors are welcome to join the page.

  Many of you also may have noticed my shift to a western feel in many of my recent works. Much of that has been inspired by my good friend and acclaimed gun writer Mike “Duke” Venturino. Mike has written for nearly every gun magazine out there throughout the years, as well as having written numerous books and has appeared both in front of and behind the camera on highly acclaimed movies and historical programs.

  Our friendship began as a result of my writing, and since then, I have been fortunate enough to visit him each year at his place in Montana for some outstanding shooting and world-class conversation.

  Mike has truly been a mentor of sorts, and for that, I will forever be grateful.

  And as for my ultimate motivation with everything I do in life, I thank my beautiful wife Monica, our son Seth, and our daughters Olivia (Livi) and Sophia (Sophie) for being my lighthouse in the storm. You each keep me on track and make me the man I am today. Without you, I wouldn’t be me. I love you all.

  Chapter One

  Bouncing along on an old, unmaintained county road just east of Knoxville, Tennessee, fourteen-year-old Britney Chance looked out the filthy, steel-mesh-covered bus window, and then to her mother and father sitting in the seat beside her, and asked, “How much farther do you think it is? To the new camp—that is.”

  Patting his daughter’s leg with his hand, Bill Chance replied, “I don’t know, sweetie. We’ve been bounced around from facility to facility for so long, I can’t even guess what they’re doing anymore. We’re just along for the ride. But hey, at least we eat. Right?” he said, mustering a smile.

  “Something is different this time,” Britney’s mother, Janice, muttered.

  Grasping her hand tightly to signal that he understood, Bill glanced across his wife and daughter, and out the windows of the bus, noticing that the area was becoming more rural the farther they traveled.

  Turning off the pothole-ridden paved road and onto a gravel road, Bill saw an International DuraStar single-axle tanker truck with the identification markings on the door painted over with black spray paint. He also noticed that the truck had flammable, hazardous-materials, and no-smoking placards on the back.

  In front of the tanker truck was an OD-green-painted Unimog personnel transport vehicle with a U and F painted on the door with a stencil, as well as a six-digit black-stenciled number beneath it. Standing around the truck were what appeared to be fifteen or twenty soldiers or security personnel, wearing a camo pattern he had not seen in the past.

  As the bus began to slow, Bill could see a clearing up ahead, as well as a tracked loader and a dozer, both of which had been hastily painted OD green with flecks of industrial yellow showing through the higher wear areas, such as the wheels, tracks, and hydraulic cylinders.

  Pulling to a stop, the armed guard who appeared to be in charge of the other security escorts stood, and said, “We’ll be changing vehicles from here. This bus requires maintenance. The rest of the men and I,” he said, referring to the other armed escorts, “will be returning with the bus. The security personnel at this location will take good care of you until your further transportation arrives. Your cooperation is greatly appreciated and required. Best wishes to all of you.”

  Stepping off the bus when the door slid open, the man spoke with several uniformed men, as the Unimog personnel carrier that they had passed on the road just before reaching the clearing approached and pulled to a stop. Once the Unimog was parked, its accompanying armed soldiers exited the rear of the vehicle.

  As the bus pulled away in front of them, Bill turned to see a large, freshly dug trench behind them. His heart sank in his chest as a fear of what might be transpiring raced through his mind. Bill gripped his wife and daughter tightly as a man shouted something in what sounded like German and the soldiers began to form a solid line in front of them, with the trench directly behind the huddled group of civilians.

  Hearing the dozer’s diesel engine rumble to a start, the passengers from the bus gasped as the soldiers raised their rifles in the passengers’ direction.

  The officer who appeared to be in charge stepped forward, took a deep breath, and barked the command, “Feuer Frei!”

  Upon receiving the order, the soldiers immediately opened fire on the group of unarmed civilians
as they began turning to run, screaming for mercy. Bill spun around to embrace his family, shielding them with his own body as he felt several thuds impact his back and his pelvis, sending searing pain through his body before causing him to fall forward and into a world of darkness.

  Landing in the soft dirt at the bottom of the trench, Britney felt the weight of her parents knock the wind out of her, nearly smothering her in the freshly dug soil. The barrage of gunshots seemed relentless as the bodies of the other refugees from the bus began falling into the pit around her.

  Britney shook uncontrollably as terror swept through her body. “Daddy! Daddy!” she shrieked. Shaking her father, who lay atop her, she felt his warm blood begin to soak into her clothes. “Mom! Mom!” she shouted, shaking her lifeless mother as the deafening sound of gunshots, now including fully automatic fire, surrounded her.

  Hearing shouting from the men above, Britney sensed a change in the kinetics of the moment. Something was occurring that she felt wasn’t planned. Instead of their all-business approach to following the orders of their commander, the men of the firing squad were now stressed and confused. Gunshots were coming from several directions, not just the location of the line of men who had formed a firing squad.

  Maybe others are getting away? she thought. “Daddy! Mom!” she shouted, shaking them both again, to no avail.

  As the shooting subsided, with the violence and chaos slowing to merely a random shot here and there, Britney could hear the footfalls of several men approaching the trench where she and so many of the dead lay from the massacre.

  Trying to be as quiet as she could, Britney hoped to remain undiscovered. But what if they start covering us with dirt? What if they bury me alive? Oh, God, what do I do? What do I do? she thought while nearly hyperventilating from the panic sweeping through her body.

  A sound and a thump from the impact of boots jumping into the trench on her immediate left shook her out of her silent panic. Britney focused, remaining perfectly still, hoping the man would pass without noticing her.

  She felt the burden of her father’s weight being lifted off her, exposing her to the bright sunlight of the day. She covered her face in fear as a man in his early thirties looked at her and with tears in his eyes, and shouted to the others behind him, “I’ve got one!”

  Reaching down to take her hand, the man looked at her blood-soaked clothing, and asked softly, “Are you injured? Are you hurt?”

  Shaking her head no, reeling from the shock of what had just happened and too afraid to speak, she watched as he turned and shouted, “Pete! Give me a hand!”

  “Sure thing, Nate,” Pete agreed, wading his way through the heap of bloody bodies in the bottom of the trench.

  “Help me get them off of her,” Nate directed. “And gently.”

  Using care to remove her dead mother and father from atop her, placing them gently and respectfully to the side, Nate knelt down, picked Britney up, and carried her out of the trench and away from the horrific scene.

  “Don’t look,” he warned softly as he quickly carried her into the woods. Nearly tripping on a tree root, he explained, “Sorry. It’s a prosthetic leg. It does the job, but I still get tripped up here and there.”

  Lowering her to her feet, he said suggested, “Here. Sit down for a bit while my friends secure the scene and look for other survivors. And don’t worry, I won’t leave you here alone.”

  Seeing the emotional pain and confusion on her face, he asked, “Are you sure you aren’t hurt? Do you need a medic?” He spoke while looking her over, paying special attention to the bloody area on her shirt and pants.

  Seeing her shake her head once again, Nate extended his canteen to her and urged, “Here. Take a sip.”

  As she reached for the canteen, the sounds of gunfire erupted from behind them, where the massacre had just occurred. Spinning around quickly and bringing his M4 to bear, Nate visually scanned the area, struggling with the decision of whether to run to the aid of his comrades or stay with the young girl he had just recovered from the gruesome scene. Knowing that his mission objective was focused on rescuing and protecting the civilians on the bus, combined with the look of sheer terror on her face, he just couldn’t bring himself to leave her.

  “C’mon!” he whispered softly, taking her by the hand and leading her off into the densely wooded forest. Hearing the sounds of rotor beats from helicopters approaching from the west, Nate pulled her hand more firmly and insisted, “We’ve got to keep going! No stopping until I say. Got it?”

  Nodding that she understood, the two disappeared into the woods, running as fast as they could, leaving her family behind, lying dead at the bottom of a mass grave.

  Chapter Two

  Sprinting as fast as possible, Britney stumbled on roots and rocks as her weakened condition from poor nutrition took its toll on her, both physically and mentally. Still, she drove herself, knowing that every step took her closer to safety and farther from the horrors behind her.

  Looking back, Nate could see movement through the trees. “They’re coming!” he shouted, urging her forward.

  As they approached a clearing where a small stream meandered through the woods, Nate looked back to see that their pursuers were rapidly catching up with them. He knew he and the girl couldn’t keep up the pace for long, and the threat was gaining ground on them.

  Pushing her harder, Nate pointed across the creek and shouted, “Go! Keep going no matter what!”

  Splashing as she ran across the slippery, algae-covered rocks, Britney slipped, falling into the shallow water. As she struggled to get back to her feet, Nate ran to her side, grabbing her by the arm to help her up. “C’mon!” he prodded.

  Stumbling out of the stream, Nate and Britney ran into the woods on the far side as a lone figure on a horse appeared, raising a rifle toward them. Releasing Britney’s arm, Nate started to bring his M4 to bear as the man fired over his head. Watching as the man quickly cycled another round into the chamber of his lever-action rifle, Nate spun around to see one of their pursuers lying dead on the other side of the creek.

  Firing another shot, the man on the horse quickly dismounted and ordered, “Help her up!” as he again cycled the lever of his rifle, preparing to take another shot into the woods.

  Pausing briefly while he processed what the stranger had asked, Nate reluctantly lifted her into the saddle as the man fired another shot.

  Turning to Nate, the stranger said, “Cover her!” Looking Britney in the eye, he spoke with a calm, yet authoritative voice. “Hang on. Hank will take great care of you. Trust him.”

  Seeing her nod in response, he swatted the horse on the hip and commanded, “Git! Go, boy, go!”

  Watching as the horse bolted into the woods, Nate opened fire on numerous targets as more soldiers emerged from the woods on the far side of the creek.

  “That way!” the stranger said directed, pointing downstream. “Go! I’ll follow,” he said, just before firing another shot.

  Running as hard as he could, Nate was rapidly tiring. Losing his footing on the loose rocks, he fell face first, reaching out with his rifle to catch his fall. As he tried to struggle to his feet, the strange man approached and explained, “It’s okay. They’ve stopped.”

  “Are you sure?” Nate asked, rolling over and pointing his rifle upstream, scanning the area for threats.

  “Yeah. They weren’t looking for a fair fight,” the man assured him. “I guess chasing after unarmed little girls is more their thing.”

  Watching as the man walked over to him and offered his hand, Nate reached out and took it. Pulling Nate up to his feet, the man introduced himself. “I’m Jessie.”

  “Um… Nate. My name is Nate,” he answered, stopping short of giving his last name. Looking him over carefully, Nate could see that Jessie was in his mid-forties, with a slim build and a weathered look to him, and a short, scruffy beard that was beginning to show gray and didn’t quite fill in all the way.

  “The girl. We’ve got to
find her,” insisted Nate, getting back to his primary objective.

  “As long as she hung on tight, I’m sure Hank took good care of her.”

  “Hank?” Nate asked.

  “My horse. His name is Hank. We’d best go find them, though. He gets bored easily. If he was a kid, they’d have had him on ADHD meds back when he was just a colt. He has to find something to get into when things slow down around him.”

  Taking a moment to orient himself, Jessie pointed and said, “This way. Let’s see if we can pick up his trail.”

  Working their way through the woods on an angle to intercept Hank’s last known path of travel, Jessie said observed, “Here we go. He went through here,” Pointing down at hoof prints between the rocks and roots in the softer soil. “Hopefully we won’t see her tracks, too, which will mean she’s still on him.”

  “How do you know your horse wouldn’t just keep running?” inquired Nate.

  “Hank’s got personality. He acts like he wants nothing to do with people, being an ornery cuss and all, but without people to screw with, he gets bored. No, he’ll slow up and wait for me. We’ve got a pretty good understanding going.”

  Approaching a clearing ahead, Jessie gestured for Nate to remain quiet while they assessed the situation from the cover of the trees. “There they are,” Jessie announced, pointing to his red dun quarter horse who was grazing lazily as the young girl lay forward on his back with her arms around his neck.

  With a whistle, Jessie called for Hank, shouting, “Hanky boy!”

  Recognizing Jessie’s voice, Hank immediately raised his head while still chewing a mouthful of grass. Seeing his master and Nate standing at the tree line, Hank began ambling toward them. Feeling Hank’s change in movement, Britney sat up to see what was going on.