The No Where Apocalypse (Book 2): Surviving No Where
Read The No Where Apocalypse (Book 2): Surviving No Where Online
Authors: E.A. Lake
Tags: #Post-Apocalyptic | Dystopian
SURVIVING NO WHERE
e a lake
Copyright © 2016 e a lake
All rights reserved.
Exclusive Kindle Edition.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblances to persons living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations are entirely coincidental.
All events portrayed are made up in the authors mind. As such, none are real. However, they are intended to give the reader pause to consider what a alternate future may look like. If you find yourself creeped out by any of this, then I have done my job well.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form whatsoever without written permission of the author.
Also by e a lake:
(The Shorts - Book 1)
(The Shorts - Book 2)
(Book 1: The No Where Apocalypse)
Coming Soon:
(Book 3: The No Where Apocalypse)
For my nieces and nephews,
Far too many to mention by name
Friends show their love in times of trouble,
not in happiness.
-
Euripides
Year 2 - late fall - WOP
I had to kill them, all of them. Though it caused me great pain, it had to be done.
First off, the pair of boys started firing at dear old dad and me. I was surprised when the first bullet zinged past us, missing by a few feet at the most. That was when I let go of their old man, and pulled my gun out. That caused them both to open fire on me…wildly.
Neither of the boys aimed, they just pulled the trigger and racked another shell into the chamber. That wasn’t good — not for them.
During a long ago hunting season in these same woods, my dad had stopped by after I’d missed my third deer of the morning. Each one got a single well-placed shot in its direction. Well, I thought the shots were well placed.
“Gotta shoot more, Robert,” my father advised. He and my grandpa were the only people who ever called me
Robert
. Everyone else mostly called me Bob (because I hated Bobbie so badly).
“When there’s lead in the air,” Dad continued, “there’s danger. Never forget that. Shoot once and miss…Hell, you may as well not shoot at all. Keep pumping away until your target goes down.”
Apparently, these boys’ father had advised the same. Before I shot once, they’d peppered me with a dozen shots between the two. Snow kicked up all around as I drew on the first shooter, the taller, skinnier one. He went down with a single shot.
Another pull of the trigger dispensed the second shooter.
When dad came at me with the knife (how he found that in the foot deep snow has always bothered me, made me think he had a second) he too received death from my 9 millimeter Glock model 19.
The battle ended in seconds, but raged in my mind for months.
I killed them because they tried to kill me. They would have killed me. No doubt, no regrets…sort of.
If I had managed to chase them off — bad thinking — they would have been a threat to my friends three miles north, the direction I assumed they were headed.
I knew they hadn’t passed Lettie’s place. No, there was enough food and cut wood there to last them the winter. If they had managed to overpower my friends, they would have never had reason to be here.
Glancing behind, I knew I should finish cleaning the deer. I knew I needed to move these bodies deeper into the woods so the wolves could have them.
But what I really needed was to check on Lettie, Marge,
Violet, and Nate. Just to be sure they hadn’t had a similar battle. If people were hurt, they’d need my help.
Walking past the man’s sons, I stopped and stared at the pair. Neither had whiskers, nor any facial hair. The older one might have been 12, his brother a year younger. Maybe they weren’t even this fellow’s boys. Perhaps they were just another pair of lost souls, tagging up with a man who promised prosperity…or at least food and shelter.
But none of that mattered now. The dead would tell no tales.
On the road, I noticed my lower leg hurt. As if I’d pulled a muscle or something. Stopping I rubbed the spot. When my hands came away, I noticed the issue.
Dark crimson stains on each.
“Damn it!” I shouted. I needed a nurse, my nurse.
Year 2 - late fall - WOP
It all began as I peeked up from the bloodstained snow and noticed the eyes in the brush. Kneeling beside my kill, I had felt them on me. Just something you knew was there. Always waiting for that little opening to strike. Not today.
“You got the last one,” I complained, searching for my knife deep in my tan pack. “Took it right out from beneath my nose.”
I shoved my knife at the brush behind. “You ain’t getting this one, Chester. So you’ll just have to wait until I’m finished.”
Rolling the small buck onto his back, the blade plunged easily into the soft spot right below the sternum. I searched again for the nearly translucent eyes, still watching me.
“I’ve learned that if you stick them here first,” I pointed at the small slit my knife had created, “everything goes a whole lot smoother.”
My audience of one didn’t reply. Nor did I expect it to. I knew what he wanted…leftovers.
I’d hit this one right through the lungs, even nicked his heart a little.
Yeah
, I thought,
give me enough chances at a standing deer and sooner or later I’d hit one in the right spot.
Truth was I’d been practicing, a lot. More than 100 rounds went into my target the previous month I recalled. At first, I could only hit the four by four sheet of plywood every other shot. And that was from 20 yards.
My pal Dizzy helped me out and into the second hundred rounds, I was more proficient at coming within six inches (then four inches, then two inches) of the bullseye. Sure, I’d scared off most the deer in my immediate area, but at least I was accurate.
Crunching though the brush and snow off to my left, I watched as the twins came out to greet me. Unlike Mom and Dad, this pair had little fear of humans. The smoke colored female moved timidly to the back of the deer while her brother, more cream colored, came right for my bloody hands.
I knew better than to reach and pet Joshua, not until I made eye contact with Sarah first. Studying the brush, I noticed her slinking forward, moving through the snow without a sound. She was actually a better hunter than her mate. Though either could kill me whenever they chose, thus far we had lived in harmony through the fall.
Little Sadie, the female pup, licked at the blood covered opening without fear of me. I tried to chase her away, but her mother’s growl stopped my hand mid-air. I peeked up to find Sarah no more than fifteen feet away, and I did the only thing that I knew would placate her.
“Here,” I whispered, grinning at the great gray wolf. Tossing a section of the warm heart to her, I noticed Chester stir in the brush. I tossed him his half as well. “Happy?”
Yeah, I talked with the wolves. They were my friends, much like Dizzy. But they never offered any unsolicited advice. Something I admired about the creatures.
No, I didn’t expect them to talk back; but they were good listeners. As long as they got what they wanted first — their piece of the kill.
Feeling Joshua lick at my blood-covered fingers, I finally dared to stroke the top of his head. It always amazed me how different their fur felt from what I had always expected. Instead of smooth and velvet like a rabbit, it was much courser, denser. That shouldn’t have surprised me, in retrospect. They were never cold, even in the harshest months of the winter.
Sadie stared up expectantly at me. She wanted her bounty, hand delivered. Only once had I touched this pup in the past four months. And that was mostly by accident. Tossing her a piece of the liver, I watched as she drug it back by her mother before beginning her feeding.
For the past 15 months, I had been stranded in No Where. Now, that name cannot be found anywhere on the map of the Upper Peninsula of Michigan (the UP as they call it up here). But that what I called this place — No Where.
Remote made it sound like I’d setup an outpost in the suburbs of Detroit. Except for this family of wolves, I had only five others I spoke with…humans at least. It had been a while since my voice opened for anyone other than the ghosts of my past.
For the first few months, I’d held out hope of leaving this quiet place (even if on foot) and getting back to my home in Joliet. But the first winter came, and now a second. I couldn’t even recall the last time I could see my wife’s face clearly in my memory. Now it had become a wiped away chalk-like image with another gust of wind each day removing the details.
Lost in a memory of some distant event I barely noticed, Joshua slithered back into the brush. When Sadie and her children began their hasty retreat, I searched for the eyes of Chester. I found them, but they no longer focused on me.
I watched him crouch, making slow head movements left and right. Someone was approaching from behind. And when the hair on Chester’s massive neck rose I knew it wasn’t Dizzy, Violet, or Nate.
It was a stranger. And that most likely meant trouble.
I hoped I didn’t have to kill this one.
Year 2 - late fall - WOP
The wet snow crunched beneath my assailant’s feet as he drew nearer. Slipping my Glock from behind my back, I rose and spun, leveling the firearm at the single man’s chest. He froze, nearly mid-step, while his glove covered hands went up immediately.
“I only want food,” he shouted in a nervous tone. “I haven’t eaten in five days. It was a week before that. I just need food.”
Taking two large steps toward him, I kept the gun on my target. “And I need you to leave!”
His head shook in small movements as he eyed my kill. Removing a glove, he wiped away frozen saliva from his lips.
“Come on, mister,” he begged. “You got a whole deer there; you can’t possibly eat that by yourself.” His logic was sound…for him at least.
“I’ve got others to feed,” I countered, searching his body for weapons. Unlike most people found on the roads these days, he seemed to have none. “So just keep on moving down the road. Get your own game.”
I tried to make my tone as hard and unyielding as possible. That was the only way to deal with the few drifters we had coming through this remote area. Most relented, eventually. But there were always a few who needed more encouragement. Thus the gun still held on his body.
“I’ve got two kids,” he pleaded, throwing a hand back at the road. “I’ve got them hidden a couple hundred yards back in the brush. I heard you shoot. Thought I’d come see if you had anything to share.”
A likely story and one often repeated. Bring kids into the conversation and a fellow like me might eventually yield to the other’s needs.
Problem was, there were most likely no kids, no family, no friends. Usually these people were by themselves. Alone, much like me, in a world full of desperation.
He dared a half-step towards me. My eyes narrowed. “You can come with me,” he continued. “I’ll show you the kids. You’ll see.” A small smile, something else I’d seen before. “Everything will be just fine. Just like I said.”
