Resignation: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival series 13 (Dark Road), page 1
RESIGNATION
DARK ROAD, BOOK THIRTEEN
BRUNO MILLER
ABOUT THE BOOK
Courage isn’t having the strength to go on, it’s going on without having the strength.
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Betrayal by one of their own leaves Ben and the others with more questions than answers as they push westward toward Colorado and their home in Durango. Or what’s left of it.
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Ben tries to put Martin’s midnight escape and theft of their supplies in the past but soon finds out that won’t be as easy as he’d hoped. Circumstances beyond their control and Martin’s selfishness land them in trouble yet again, forcing Ben, Sandy, and the kids to fight for their survival.
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The road home is fraught with peril and only getting worse thanks to dwindling resources and an unrelenting heat wave that threatens their progress. The remaining survivors they encounter are forced to desperate new lows, redefining evil for Ben and his crew. It’s all they can do to find the courage to go on.
Resignation: Book Thirteen
Copyright © 2022 Bruno Miller
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from the author.
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real person, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
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NEWSLETTER
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
About the Author
CHAPTER ONE
Ben sank down behind the oversized agricultural tire attached to the farm’s irrigation system, his mind racing through a multitude of scenarios as he tried to figure out how Martin’s bullet-riddled Scout had ended up at this farm and what, exactly, that meant for him and his crew. As the mid-morning sun seared his skin, he realized their chances of reaching the Mississippi River tonight were evaporating fast, just like whatever water was left around here. This was the worst thing they could have found.
“What is it?” Joel asked.
“Here, take a look for yourself.” Ben handed him the M24.
“Whoa… it looks like the Lincoln we passed.” Joel paused, but Ben could tell he had something else to say. “Do you think Martin is still alive?”
“I don’t know, but if he is, I’m willing to bet he’s inside that barn, along with our stuff.” From the moment he spotted the Scout, Ben had a feeling this would turn into more than they’d bargained for. The answer to Joel’s question wouldn’t change anything for them either way. They needed the atlas regardless.
And Ben knew he wasn’t crazy or paranoid for thinking this was the work of the people responsible for shooting up the Lincoln they’d passed. Joel thought so, too. And it was safe to assume there was more than one of them.
Whoever they were, they would’ve needed to tow the Scout here, from the looks of it. That would take a few people and at least another vehicle, neither of which appeared to be around at the moment.
The old International had seen the last of its traveling days; that much was obvious. The damage was beyond repair without access to parts, and that was just based on what Ben could see on the surface. Even in better times, coming up with the things needed to get the truck running again would have been a tall order. He didn’t care about the truck, but if the Scout was permanently out of commission and Martin was somehow still alive, that meant he would have to ride with them. If Ben decided to let him.
But he was getting ahead of himself. He didn’t know the situation yet—or if the man was even alive. Judging by the condition of the Scout, he didn’t think it looked good for Martin. Either way, they had to make a move. They couldn’t sit here in the sun and bake much longer without suffering the consequences.
“All right. You ready to move? On me.” Ben slung his M24, exchanging the long rifle for his Trijicon-equipped AR-15.
“Ready,” Joel replied.
Ben dropped back into the nearest ditch, then ran in the farm’s general direction and continued advancing. He felt the top crust of dry earth give way underfoot, crunching as he made his way along a trench that held water not that long ago.
Eventually, the ditch veered westward, away from the small farmstead, leaving them no choice but to make a run for it across open ground. Fortunately, the barn wasn’t far from their location.
“Corner of the barn. Cover me.” Ben glanced back at Joel and waited for him to nod before starting out across the field of wilted knee-high soybean plants. To say he was exposed would have been an understatement. And he did his best to traverse the distance quickly while keeping his rifle in the low-ready position.
Once he reached the barn, Ben motioned for Joel to stay put. He wanted to get a look inside the building before moving on to the Scout. He doubted there was anything of value left in the bullet-riddled truck, but maybe the map was in there. There was a chance that whoever did this to Martin had overlooked the old, tattered road atlas. But that would be too easy. Ben’s gut told him their gear, and everything else Martin had with him, was inside the barn.
He glanced around the corner at the Scout, studying the damage, and concluded his first assessment of the vehicle from a distance was accurate. The old International wasn’t going anywhere. There wasn’t any blood spattered on the windows, unlike on the Lincoln they’d passed. But that hardly meant Martin was alive and well, although it might be easier if he wasn’t.
Ben hated thinking that way, but it was true. Martin had always been a burden on their group, and last night’s betrayal sealed his fate as far as Ben was concerned. His callousness toward Martin and his needs wasn’t strictly because of what the man had done—or, more accurately, hadn’t done. Ben’s indifference about Martin’s well-being or future in this world was a result of the danger he exposed them to. Their current predicament was another prime example of what being associated with the man meant for them as a group.
Ben used to worry he was being too hard on Martin or that the others in the group might judge him harshly for his lack of compassion. He was trying to set a good example for the kids’ sake. There was room for charity while trying to survive, but there was also a limit, and Martin had exceeded it. When it came right down to it, Ben couldn’t make himself care anymore, and he doubted very much the others could, either. If anything, he was afraid he hadn’t been harsh enough, as evidenced by the fact that he was lurking around in an old barn in the middle of nowhere when they should have been driving west. It would have been in the group’s best interest to cut ties with Martin long ago. But that wasn’t a new revelation by any means.
Several high transom windows ran around the outside of the barn. Ben hadn’t noticed all of them until now because of the thick layer of dust and cobwebs caked to the outside of the dull glass. A large roll of hay lay against the building toward the back corner, and he thought it prudent to get a good look inside, if it was possible, before going any farther. He was trying to do this as fast as possible, hoping to avoid the people responsible for shooting up the Scout. But he had to be careful not to rush things. For all he knew, there could be armed men inside the barn, guarding the newfound loot.
He made his way down to the large hay bale, giving Joel the go-ahead to join him. Ben would have preferred that Joel stay in the ditch; it provided better cover than an oversized bale of hay. But the near-midday sun was brutal. If his son sat out there exposed for much longer, he wouldn’t be any good as backup and might end up becoming a liability.
Ben thought about Allie’s fainting episode while behind the wheel of the Toyota. He attributed that to heat stroke and recognized the bullet they dodged; that situation had ended a whole lot better than it could have. The heat was increasingly becoming a factor in the decisions they made these days. He could only imagine how bad it was going to get out here in the open, flatter parts of the lower Midwest come late summer. But he had no intention of finding out.
Ben was already on top of the hay bale when Joel reached the building. “Keep an eye out down there. I’m going to see if I can get a look inside.” Trying not to breathe in the dust he’d stirred up while getting to the window, Ben worked on scratching away a layer of the crusty film from the glass with his thumb. Peering through the clean spot, he found himself looking down into a row of horse stalls.
The stalls had been cleaned out to some degree and were filled with things that made it obvious people were living here. He pressed his face closer to the glass, trying to get a better view, but it was no use from here. There was no one in sight, but that didn’t mean anything. It was a big barn, and he could only see a fraction of it from the window. The place was definitely lived in. By whom and how many, he couldn’t tell.
Ben backed off the hay bale and slid down behind Joel, who was keeping an eye out toward the long dirt road that angled in from the highway.
“We’re going to have to take a look inside. Let’s see if there’s a way in around back.” Ben led the way to the rear corner and peered around the backside of the building. He was appalled by what he saw. There must have been a dozen or more older cars and trucks. All of them had suffered the same fate as the Scout and Lincoln. The exteriors were riddled with bullet holes, and any remaining glass was cracked, some bloodstained in spots. Most of the vehicles had out-of-state tags, but not all of them. The former owners were long dead, Ben assumed. Probably innocent people trying to get on with their lives and reconnect with loved ones, just like him and his crew.
“And we thought the moonshiners were bad.” Joel shook his head as he marveled at the forsaken rows of cars and trucks.
It was clear what was going on here, and it sickened Ben to think about all the unsuspecting travelers who’d fallen prey to the subhuman gang of bandits that called the barn home. They’d seen a lot of evil in their travels. Too much, really, for any of this to surprise either of them, unfortunately. But the indignation and disgust Ben felt for the type of people who were capable of such behavior never waned.
The Scout was destined to join the graveyard of vehicles; it just hadn’t made it there yet. And it was a good thing; otherwise, they never would have spotted it. Ben couldn’t help but wonder where the bodies were. Somewhere out among the rows of crispy soybean plants, no doubt. It was disappointing to learn that the Scout and Lincoln weren’t isolated incidents, but it gave Ben the impetus to seek justice for more than just Martin or the stolen gear.
The was another smaller man door at the rear of the building, opposite the corner they were hiding behind.
Ben pulled the two-way radio from his belt. “Come in, Sandy. How are things out there? Any traffic? Over.” The Blazer and Jeep were well-hidden, but the graveyard of pirated vehicles made him feel the need to check in and make sure everything was all right before he and Joel went inside the barn.
“All is quiet here. Over,” Sandy replied within a few seconds.
“Good. We’re heading inside the barn soon. Let us know if anyone shows up. Over.” Ben and Joel wouldn’t be able to put eyes on the dirt road that led from the highway to the barn while they were inside; they couldn’t even see it now. It was up to Sandy and the kids to alert them to any activity.
Whoever was living here was bound to return at some point. Ben couldn’t imagine them being out and about during the hottest part of the day for too long, especially when they had a fresh assortment of stolen goods to rummage through.
“Roger that. Any signs of our stuff… or Martin? Over,” Sandy asked.
Ben grinned at Sandy’s radio proficiency. She’d changed so much since they first met at the FEMA camp. He was proud of her.
“Nothing yet. We’ll keep you posted. Over and out.” Ben clipped the radio to his belt and motioned for Joel to follow him. They made their way across the backside of the wooden two-story farm building until they reached the smaller door. The top half of the opening was glass, and Ben took advantage of that.
This side of the barn was similar to the other, lined with stalls. From this vantage point, though, Ben could see the large main bay of the barn as well. And there in the middle, bathed in a beam of sunlight from an overhead skylight, sat a large pile of gear. It was their stuff, and at first glance, it looked like everything out of the Scout.
“I see the gear,” Ben whispered to Joel.
“Good. What about Martin?” Joel asked.
“No.” Ben took another look around, making sure he hadn’t missed anything obvious in his excitement about finding the stolen supplies. He didn’t see the map, but he hoped it was mixed in with the gear somewhere. He identified the boxes holding the MREs and the ammunition cans right away. He also noticed the SKS Martin had been using; it was leaning against one of the timber support columns. Martin was here somewhere. Ben could feel it in his bones.
He figured on finding the gear, but a part of him hoped they wouldn’t find Martin. So far, that was the case, but Ben suspected that would change when they went inside.
There was too much stuff for him and Joel to hump it all back the mile or so to the trucks, not in this heat and not in one trip. Should he have the others bring the trucks so they could load up? That was the fastest way to get this done and move on, but also the riskiest. And after what he and Joel had found out back, Ben wasn’t sure he’d be satisfied with just getting their stuff back anymore.
The door was unlocked but creaked softly as Ben opened it. He cringed at the noise and only allowed the door to open far enough for him and Joel to sneak through.
“Check the stalls on the far side. I’ll clear this side. Shoot first, ask questions later. Got it?” Ben looked at Joel, who nodded his understanding.
These people living here had made it perfectly clear they weren’t operating under any moral guidelines or any other basic code of humanity. Why should he or Joel give them the opportunity to make excuses for the heinous acts of violence they were committing? This was no longer just about getting their gear back or seeking revenge for what had been done to the other travelers. This was about stopping a gang of murderous highway bandits from ruining more lives.
Ben swore he wasn’t going to get involved in any more battles that didn’t directly benefit their effort of getting home. He’d done his share to fight the injustices they encountered along the way, hadn’t he? It was time to be selfish and prioritize the group’s safety over all else.
These were all easy promises to make from behind the wheel. But Ben knew in his heart he couldn’t live with simply recouping the gear and moving on now that they’d seen what kind of depravity called this place home. Running away from this wouldn’t be much different than killing the next unlucky travelers who had the misfortune of driving through these parts themselves. Ben and the others were lucky they hadn’t encountered these highway marauders out on the road, and there was no guarantee they still wouldn’t, even after they left this place.
CHAPTER TWO
Ben watched Joel for a moment as he crept across the back wall of the barn, doing his best to stick to the shadows. It was nice to be out of the sun for a change, but the still air inside the dusty old building made every breath feel like it was doing more harm than good.
Joel glanced back and nodded before disappearing around a wall of hanging shovels and pitchforks. Ben focused on his responsibility and began clearing the stalls one by one, all while keeping his ear tuned to what Joel was doing and ready to spring into action if there was any trouble.
Some of the stalls were empty, while others were littered with personal effects and the occasional mattress. Ben noticed one of the stalls had been used to hold captives. Bloodstained ropes hung loosely around the upright support posts, telling a story of misfortune and injustice at the hands of these scumbags.
