Betrayal: Society Lost, Volume Two (A Post-Apocalyptic Dystopian Thriller) Read online

  Betrayal

  Society Lost, Volume Two

  By Steven C. Bird

  Betrayal

  Society Lost, Volume Two

  Copyright 2016 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

  Edited by Carol Madding at [email protected]

  Final Review by Sabrina Jean at fasttrackediting.com

  Kindle Edition 7.22.18

  ISBN: 978-1-5323-1200-7

  www.homefrontbooks.com

  www.stevencbird.com

  facebook.com/homefrontbooks

  [email protected]

  Twitter:@stevencbird

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  Table of Contents

  Disclaimer

  Dedication

  Introduction

  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

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  A Note from the Author

  About the Author

  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

  With each book that I write, my list of people to whom I owe an enormous debt gets longer and longer. There are numerous individuals in the indie author community that help to make the dream of writing a reality for myself and many others. That list is, of course, too long to detail here, but for each and every one who has given me guidance or encouragement along the way, I owe you all an eternal debt of gratitude.

  To my beautiful wife and loving children: may this book be only one of many more that I write that helps to secure our future together, living the life that we dream of.

  Introduction

  Continued from - The Shepherd: Society Lost

  After leaving Spence and the rescued girls with Jӧrgen and the remainder of his group, former Sheriff Jessie Townsend traveled the new and unforgiving world alone and on foot, continuing his quest to find his sister.

  Still suffering tremendously from the tragic and brutal loss of his family, Jessie walked the Earth, a prisoner of his own thoughts. Although each of his days had a purpose, continuing his quest that may or may not end before his death, Jessie felt a certain level of emotional numbness that only being alone could provide him. After his loss, as well as the other tragic losses of life he had witnessed since leaving his homestead high in the Rocky Mountains, Jessie enjoyed the solitude. He knew that the joys of friendship and love could lead to heartache and tragedy. No, if he died alone in this world, no one would have to shed a tear, no one would have to risk their life for his, and his choices would put only himself in harm’s way. That cold and empty simplicity seemed to be a good fit for Jessie as he headed east into the unknown of what may lay ahead.

  Although Jessie found solitude in his empty heart—solitude that he felt he desperately needed—not a day went by that he didn’t think back to those whom he had encountered along the way. In this mad and twisted world, devoid of law, order, and the civility that people around the world had come to expect as the norm prior to the great collapse, Jessie knew that there were still good people out there. Good people who would have to face the evil that this lawless and dangerous new world had spawned, once the walls of society came crumbling down around them.

  Chapter One

  As the modern day wagon train, consisting of two older pickup trucks and a minivan, worked its way west across New Mexico via Highway 60 toward Fort Sumner, the driver of the lead vehicle, Gavin Keene, squinted to see through the dusty windshield. The setting sun seemed to illuminate every speck of dirt that clung to the glass. Gavin, a thirty-three-year-old widower, and father of two small children, Patricia and Gavin, Jr., ages five and seven respectively, was the leader of a small group of survivors who had set out to reach the safety of the town of Fort Sumner, located just east of Albuquerque, New Mexico.

  Having heard news of adequate supplies of food, water, and medicine being available there, by word of mouth, HAM radio transmissions, and an AM radio frequency they had discovered during their daily scan of the airwaves, Gavin and his group had decided to attempt the journey in order to build a better life for themselves and their children. They decided to risk everything, in an attempt to give their children a chance at the safety and security that they had been without for so long.

  Gavin drove the lead vehicle, a 2003 Ford F-150 pickup truck with a fiberglass canopy shell covering the bed, pulling a small four-by-eight-foot utility trailer along behind. The trailer was heavily laden with the group’s remaining possessions. He was joined in the cab of the truck by Russell Johnson, a man of Scottish descent in his late twenties, who had immigrated to the United States when he was a young boy.

  The middle vehicle, a Dodge minivan, was driven by Brandon McCoy, a thirty-seven-year-old Navy veteran who had lost his entire family during the violence that had ensued after the collapse. Brandon had been hardened by his losses, and was a fierce and fearless defender of his group. It was this protective tendency that won him the lead position in the minivan, which carried both of Gavin’s children, as well as Leina Sallander’s eight-year-old daughter, Kayla. Leina rode along with Brandon in the minivan to tend to the children’s needs during their journey, as well as being an extra set of eyes, looking for threats while Brandon drove. The minivan offered the children the most room to climb around and play together during the journey, as their stops would be brief and discreet.

  Bringing up the rear were Adam and Becky Stoner, driving a 1999 four-wheel-drive Toyota pickup truck. Adam and Becky were a married couple who had lost their special needs child after the collapse, once her medical care became unavailable. Adam and Becky were the quick-response security team of the group. With their small, lightly-loaded and highly maneuverable truck, they were able to take up a defensive position with their vehicle, in the event the group came under attack. Both Adam and Becky were armed with AR-15s they had purchased before the collapse, when the government had first attempted to ban the private ownership of weapons. They had paid a substantial premium for the guns once the ‘ru
n-on-the-firearms market’ had begun, but with the value of paper money now non-existent, they felt it was the wisest purchase they had ever made.

  Looking over at Gavin, Russell broke the silence by saying, “I’d say we’ve got about an hour of daylight left. We should probably start looking for a place to spend the night.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Gavin replied, struggling to see, blinded by the setting sun. “It’s way too wide open out here, though. We need to press on and find some cover up ahead. I’d feel extremely vulnerable camping out in the open.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. That makes sense. Let’s just keep going,” Russell replied.

  “What’s that?” Gavin asked, leaning closer to the dust-covered windshield in an attempt to get a better look.

  “What? What do you see?”

  “I could have sworn I saw a glint of light on the hill ahead and to the left. I can’t see a dang thing, though, so who knows. It’s probably fatigue.”

  As Russell reached down between his legs to retrieve his binoculars, he heard the crack of glass as the windshield shattered, looking over just in time to see Gavin’s head whip back violently with blood and bits of hair and flesh splattering across the pickup truck’s rear window.

  The vehicle abruptly swerved to the left as Russell reached for the controls. Hearing several other metallic thuds from bullets impacting the hood, he kept his head down below the dashboard, hoping to straighten the truck’s path while it slowed. His desperate attempt to grab the steering wheel was a mere second too late, as he felt the truck’s tires begin to side-load, initiating a violent roll toward the passenger side door.

  After what seemed like at least five successive rollovers, the truck came to a stop on its side with the passenger door to the ground. Quickly regaining his bearings after nearly being knocked unconscious by the violent force of the crash, Russell felt a warm liquid beginning to cover his body. Panicking at first, assuming that it might be fuel, he looked up to see Gavin’s body hanging above him, held in place by his seatbelt, with blood oozing out of the massive head wound, dripping down onto him below.

  Wiping the blood from his face, Russell could hear the sounds of gunfire coming from what he believed was the Toyota. Quickly looking around to find a way out, he pushed up on the now-crushed-in roof of the truck and began kicking the windshield violently, trying to knock away the shattered glass so that he could escape.

  Once he had freed himself, Russell climbed through the windshield, quickly turning back to grab his rifle, a Ruger Mini-14 Ranch Rifle chambered in .223 Remington, a cartridge that complimented Adam and Becky’s AR-15s.

  Hearing the occasional bullet impact the bottom of the F-150, which now lay on its side, Russell worked his way around the truck to the rear of the bed, making sure to stay low, in case any of the rounds penetrated the truck’s thin, sheet metal body.

  Looking back at the others, Russell saw that Adam and Becky had positioned the Toyota between their attackers and the minivan to provide the occupants of the van with cover. Russell could hear Brandon desperately trying to start the minivan, with steam now emanating from the vehicle’s front grill and fluids leaking profusely onto the ground. Using his binoculars, Russell could see numerous bullet holes in the hood of the minivan, a sign that it had been intentionally disabled by their attackers.

  ~~~~

  Giving up on getting the minivan running again, realizing that the damage was too severe, Brandon looked to Leina and said, “Get them outside along the side of the van. Keep them low.”

  Sliding his Romanian AKM with a shorted ten-inch barrel out the window, Brandon began to lay down a barrage of fire in the direction of their attackers, who they still could not positively identify as they were being engaged from such a long distance.

  “Come on,” Leina said to the children as she crouched down behind the van, reaching to them with her hand through the now opened door.

  Slipping outside one-by-one to her protective arms, the children huddled together, terrified and crying.

  Upon firing the last round in his thirty-round magazine, Brandon slid across the seat and behind the van with Leina and the kids. Quickly rocking a fresh magazine into place and cycling the action on his AKM, he said, “Here, take this. That pistol of yours won’t do you any good. Stay here with the kids. I’m gonna grab my .308 out of the trunk and give Adam and Becky a hand.”

  Nodding in the affirmative, Leina took the gun and said, “Be careful,” with fear in her eyes.

  Working his way around to the back of the minivan, Brandon opened the rear cargo hatch while trying to stay down and out of the direct line of sight of the shooters, who from what he could tell, had a position of elevation in the hills southwest of their position. This gave their attackers the advantages of both elevation and having the sun at their backs, their muzzle flashes remaining hidden in the blinding rays of the setting sun.

  Making a break for the Toyota, Brandon left his position of cover and ran to Adam and Becky’s position. The Stoners were taking on heavy fire from the attackers, and Brandon simply could not just stand by and watch.

  ~~~~

  Back at the truck, Russell felt helpless as he watched Leina and the children cowering in fear behind the minivan. He knew, however, that if he tried to make it the fifty-plus yards of open terrain to reach them, he would be picked off in short order. He had already seen firsthand how well placed their attacker’s shots were, even from such a distance, and he simply couldn’t take the chance.

  As he watched helplessly from behind the overturned truck, he noticed Brandon dart from his position of cover behind the van and advance toward the Toyota. Russell’s heart sank in his chest as he saw Brandon flinch, slowing his pace, only to flinch again before falling to the ground, face down, as a pool of blood formed beneath him.

  “Nooooo!” Russell shouted as he punched the side of the bed of the Ford in frustration.

  He then saw Becky turn to run to Brandon’s aid as Adam grabbed her arm and tried to stop her, only to have her, too, fall to the ground, her arm still in her husband’s grasp. As Adam dropped to his knees before her in absolute shock, a high-velocity rifle bullet penetrated his back, sending him slumping over his wife’s dead body, joining her in death’s cold embrace.

  Ducking back behind the Ford to avoid being the next victim, Russell felt his heart pounding in his chest as he watched from a distance as Leina and the children remained behind the van, totally helpless and vulnerable. Leina looked at him with tears in her eyes. They both understood that they had no foreseeable way out of this situation, and with their friends now dead, both Russell and Leina knew they were no match for whoever was raining hell down upon them.

  Chapter Two

  It had been over a month since Jessie had left Spence and the others to continue his journey to find his sister. With the temperatures climbing as summer approached, he knew he needed to start traveling by night for more than just reasons of stealth.

  Traveling by foot had given him plenty time to reflect on what had been, and what might be, of his life, allowing him to start to heal and come to terms with his losses. However, the rigorous nature of traveling by foot was starting to take its toll on him. He knew he needed to find a new mode of transportation and find it soon.

  Climbing up to the top of a hill just east of Red Lake, Jessie found a suitable location to make his camp for the night. With adequate escape routes, as well as good long-range visibility, he looked around and said to himself, “This will do.”

  As he stretched a desert-camo canvas tarp over a length of paracord, anchored at one end to a nearby rock and the other to a tree branch, Jessie placed his pack on the ground, propping his rifle up against it.

  Prior to Jessie’s departure, Spence, unofficially knowing the mission and long, arduous journey his friend was about to secretly resume, sourced him a DPMS LR-308 patterned AR-10-style rifle, chambered in .308 Winchester/7.62x51 NATO, from the group’s supply inventory. Spence knew that the contributi
ons Jessie had made in his short time with them had more than covered the value of the rifle, and he would simply ask for forgiveness after Jessie was gone.

  The rifle, equipped with a twenty-inch heavy profile barrel, a fully floated keymod forward handguard, a 4-12X Leupold scope with ballistic drop compensation, and a set of forty-five degree offset back-up iron sights, was more than capable of handling virtually any task or challenge that might come Jessie’s way.

  As Jessie leaned back against his pack, he pulled his journal from his pocket, clicked his pen, and began to make his daily entry.

  The dreams that once haunted me in my sleep appear to have faded away. Perhaps my mind is just too fatigued to entertain them. Though I feel more in touch with myself than I have in quite some time, I also feel detached. Detached from what? That, I do not know. All I know is that I am pulled toward a goal with an uncertain ending, like an actor in a play who is standing on stage, in front of the crowd, but hasn’t yet begun to read the script.

  As the seasons change, the days are growing longer, and the nights warmer. This is both welcomed and unwelcomed. I am pleased with the warmth the advancement of spring provides, but I know that the cover of darkness is a valuable thing, and as the summer progresses, it will be even more scarce.

  Only having seen signs of people from a distance as of late, my travels have gone mostly unimpeded. Today, however, I came across several sets of relatively fresh vehicle tracks. It appeared the vehicles had passed through the area within the last day. Something to keep a look out for.

  For now, it’s time to rest my feet, feed my anxious stomach, and get some sleep.