Cries Of The World

  Cries Of The World

  The World Burns Book 6

  Boyd Craven

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2015 Boyd Craven III

  Cries of the World, The World Burns Book 6

  By Boyd Craven

  Many thanks to friends and family for keeping me writing! Special thanks to Jenn, who’s helped me with my covers from day one and keeps me accountable!!!!!

  All rights reserved.

  Chapter One

  The Homestead, Kentucky -

  Blake and Duncan had taken the Homestead kids into the woods on a foraging trip. It was the end of the mulberry season and they wanted to gather some, if the birds hadn’t already stripped the trees bare, and they also planned to get a good look at the nut trees. Fall was coming, and the more they could gather and store, the better they would eat in the winter time. They were both taking the opportunity to get some exercise and educate the kids, who were restless and needed to burn off some energy. Chris was one of them in particular who had been wound up tighter than a kite.

  “So you can tell by the leaves and the bark?” One of the older girls, about twelve years of age, was asking.

  “Yes, and later on in the year you’ll see the nut clusters. If you’re out here sitting under a tree and a green ball like this hits you on the head,” Blake showed them an aromatic green globe, “then there’s a good chance that you’re sitting under a walnut tree like this one,” he said, rubbing his hands on the bark.

  The kids crowded around and Chris asked, “Why would a nut fall and hit you on the head?”

  “It’s the squirrels’ way of getting even,” Duncan told them with a straight face.

  The exercise had benefits for the men, as well. Blake was nearly healed and Duncan was taking every opportunity, when he wasn’t working with the Squad or the folks coming in on basic survival, to try to lose the needed weight. His heart had been bugging him a lot less since Martha had gotten him on his blood pressure medicine, and they had found a pharmacy that wasn’t entirely looted on the outskirts of Greenville.

  Of course, all the pain pills had been taken, but there was a treasure trove of antibiotics and basic everyday medicines like blood pressure meds that had been overlooked by the looters. All that was fine, but without a way to manufacture more, Duncan knew if he wanted to live a long and happy life and see his grand baby born, he had to shape up. So walking the hills and the countryside was working for all of them.

  “We used to have those by our house. They break open and stain everything,” Jeremiah, another kid from the rescued folks, piped up.

  “Yeah, they make a big mess. You can hull them a few different ways, but I generally wait till the hulls are almost falling off… But… did you know that you can make dyes out of it?”

  “No,” they all chorused and Duncan stopped and turned to look at Blake.

  “No really, get half a bucket of those hulls, pour two pots of boiling water in and let it sit for a bit. Strain it out and boil it down some. Then, those snare lines I helped you kids make,” Blake said, pulling his out of a pocket and showing them, “Then you soak these wires in that, and it takes the shine off them.”

  “I thought you said most animals don’t care about the shine?” Chris asked.

  “That’s because the animals around our house here have never seen a trap. Later on this year, how many of them do you think are going to get shy of anything shiny?”

  Blake let that sink in and Chris was smiling, as he was getting it. Being the son of Blake, he definitely got a little more schooling on this stuff than the others did, but every single one of the kids in the group was a lightning fast learner, from the school of survival they’d all had to attend. It was a rough world, and Blake’s group was the only island of peace and prosperity in the area that they knew of.

  “So we’re going to start staining the snares this year?” Jeremiah asked.

  “Yes, this fall. That’s why I’m showing you all which trees are which. Part of your job this fall is to come out here with a grownup or two and collect all of these nuts. If we have a really cold winter and the animals don’t do well, we can eat them. Or…” Duncan paused to drop a wink at Blake, “We can use them to fatten up some hogs and have real bacon.”

  That announcement brought cheers and whistles from the kids. The home butchered bacon from the wild hogs was good, but it didn’t taste the same as the store bought bacon full of chemicals. Weird that something that was worse for you could seem to taste better, but it was something the kids had been talking about nonstop. Not that they complained more than three or four times an hour. Each. About everything, but that was their nature, and the men went along with it as best as they could.

  The adults took it in stride and, now that they had a rough sort of schooling set up, the kids found themselves getting frustrated - and with a lot more free time now that the video games, television and all their electronic tethers had been cut. The grownups came up with a plan for them to contribute, and have fun with it. They were also learning how to be self-reliant, and that was something that really mattered to Blake and the family.

  “Hey, what kind of tree nut is that?” One of the kids asked, pointing to another tree.

  “See how the bark on this one’s different? So look at the leaves—“ Blake was cut off by his radio.

  “Blake, Sgt. Smith, this is Patty, Sandra’s on the horn from the roadside. There’s a convoy trying to come up the road. They’ve stopped it, but she wants you to meet Sgt. Smith and his team and have things set up in case they try to push through. Do you copy? Over.”

  “Copy that,” Blake said.

  “Copy, will meet by lane, over,” Smith said.

  “You want me to come with you?” Duncan asked as Blake put the snare in his pocket and patted himself down, making sure everything was in its place.

  “Yeah, let’s get the kids to cover, we don’t know what kind of convoy they are talking about, and Sandra probably is communicating with base over the scrambled frequencies.” Blake said.

  “Yeah, I figured that’s why she had Patty relay the message to us. That way whoever’s out there only hears one part of the conversation,” Duncan finished the thought off.

  “We can only hope.”

  * * *

  They double timed it back, enough to make Duncan breathe hard, but he’d been getting better day by day with exercise, good diet and determination… and Lisa hounding him… Arriving at the Homestead house and barn, they were met with half a dozen of the residents who were ready to take the kids into the barn’s shelter. They also had some equipment ready for Blake and Duncan.

  They had gone over the drill verbally a few times, but never in real life. Fortunately, it worked out flawlessly. They had load bearing vests ready for the men and Duncan’s customized M4. He could reach out and crush someone with it. Blake took an AR variant, a semi-automatic that they had looted off one of the many groups of marauders they’d run across that summer. If he wasn’t going to be needing his squirrel rifle, he still had his pistol… and this AR-15.

  He’d grown somewhat attached to it, appreciating its simple nature once you learned how everything worked and, though it would never replace his deer gun, it was fun to shoot, had little recoil and would definitely work for what it was needed for. The chest rig already had three extra mags fully loaded, so he shrugged out of his .22 and accepted the vest and ran by the house, leavin
g Duncan to make his way to Sgt. Smith.

  “David, Patty, anything you can tell me? Is Sandra still talking on the scrambled frequencies?”

  “Yeah, it’s some guys who look like soldier of fortune mixed with National Guardsman and Mall Ninjas… with a stuffed suit.” Patty answered.

  “Stuffed suit?”

  “Fat white dude, cowboy hat, blue suit,” David answered.

  “Got it, anything else?” Blake asked them.

  “Claims he’s the Governor.” Patty answered.

  * * *

  Duncan met with Sgt. Smith and they set up one artillery team, pointing more or less towards the entrance to Holloway Lane. Duncan had already left to go scout out and be a forward observer when Blake caught up to them. One of the men gave Blake a quad and he rode the rest of the way down the hill, loud and proud. The muffled two stroke was the noisiest thing once the artillery had been towed into position.

  “Blake?” Sandra’s voice asked over the open channel.

  Blake slowed so he could use his left hand. He let off the gas before answering, “Yeah, you ok?”

  “Squad’s fine. Got some folks out here to talk to you. Is that you riding the bike down?”

  “Naw, I’m on the quad. Do I need to bring anything for the visitors?” he asked, letting the hill and momentum keep him moving.

  “Nope, but these gentlemen want to talk to you. They’re starting to get a little impatient,” Sandra said.

  Something was tickling Blake’s senses and he asked, “Any of our friends out there with you?”

  “Naw, Corinne and I were walking and these nice folks stopped. Would you hurry up? My legs are sore and I don’t want to have to walk home,” she answered.

  Blake knew she had gone out there with the full squad, and there should have been one squad of Sgt. Smith’s out there under her orders. If she was only claiming that Corrinne was there with her, they must have seen something and got the others out of sight and into ambush positions. They were actively looking for community members to join their homestead or opportunities to help those in need, so maybe it really was the Governor?

  Blake put the throttle down and in a couple more minutes he killed the switch and let the quad coast to a stop fifty yards behind where he could see the two ladies standing at the entrance to the lane. He parked behind a large tree, but not so close he’d have to back up to get away. A quick turn and he could be back up the hill or in the brush in moments. And maybe die trying if it came to that, but dying wasn’t really on his agenda for the day.

  Blake made sure his AR was ready, and hit the transmit button twice on his hand held before walking up. Sandra had her rifle over her back, and Corrinne was standing nervously with her rifle in her hands, pointed at the ground. Blake noticed the ladies’ body language first and foremost. Tense, nervous. He knew Sandra could out fight and out shoot almost anybody in any situation, so she must also feel a hint of uncertainty. As he strode up and saw the three truck convoy, he could understand why.

  The first vehicle was a military style Hummer, bristling with antennae and looking like an alien bug on steroids. The next was a troop carrier with a canvas side. Half the truck had supplies and the other half was a dozen men jumping off to form a skirmish line. The final truck looked like a semi out of a mad max movie, its paint and bodywork scarred with bullet holes, nicks and scratches. It had an unremarkable trailer, a refer unit Blake thought. They’d parked a hundred yards beyond the girls, in a defensive arrangement.

  Standing in front of Sandra was a human pig in a suit. His made Duncan look like a fashion model, and rivulets of sweat stained his collar. Instead of a white suit like Boss Hog wore, he sported a dark navy blue suit.

  “Sir, what can I do for ya?” Blake asked, making his voice sound as country as possible.

  The man looked him over, his rifle loosely held in his right hand, radio in left. The men looked between the three of them, Sandra rubbing her stomach, trying to emphasize her pregnancy. Blake was confused as to how two seemingly lightly armed women had stopped a convoy of… Mall ninjas? He snickered to himself, remembering the term from the conversation in the house. The soldiers were an odd mixture of uniforms and battle vests. Their armaments were also an odd mix of Russian and American hardware.

  “We’re here to talk to survivors, take stock of how folks are doing and work with farmers to get the food networks running again,” the pig said.

  “That sounds like a good plan, but why the soldier boys?” Blake asked, losing his folksy tone immediately as he realized the man seemed rather sharp.

  “Look at your lane here,” the man motioned with his hands, showing dark splotches of sweat under his arms, “Your homestead is obviously doing well. Well enough that you can have two fine ladies manning the entrance with illegal weapons. Weapons we’re going to have to confiscate by executive order—“

  “What’s it to you? You’re not with the US Government or Military,” Blake said, taking a guess at what had put the girls on edge.

  The lack of formality, the lack of common equipment, and the battered trucks were what was bothering him, though two of them had obviously been military vehicles at some point.

  “I’m the interim Governor of the State of Kentucky. Since Louisville fell, we’ve been rebuilding in the Greenville area. We’ve had equipment knocking down burnt out buildings, digging graves, working on getting the utilities back…”

  Blake let him zone on and looked to his wife. Her lips were smiling, but her eyes were wary. She gave him a shake of the head and nodded to the left where the Governor’s men were edging towards cover.

  “Whoa, wait a minute guys, you aren’t acting all neighborly. This is my property you are fixing to take cover near there,” he pointed to the mall ninja on the end of the lineup.

  “What it boils down to Mr. Jackson, is we’ve been monitoring the open radio and confirmed by DF’ing your signals that you guys are doing all right. I’m here to introduce myself and to take inventory of what you all have in an effort to hurry up the rebuilding process,” the governor said.

  “What’s your name, interim Governor?” Corinne asked suddenly.

  The question from another direction threw off the tirade he was building up to, but the Governor turned to her and told her, “John Davis,” then he turned his gaze back to Blake but, before he could start talking again, Blake snickered.

  “Boss Hogg,” he whispered loudly to Sandra, who snorted.

  “Oh, my God, I thought I was…” Corrinne cracked up and Blake lost it, letting the belly laughs come out.

  “Excuse me, I’m talking to you,” John Davis said indignantly.

  “Ok, ok,” Blake said, wiping his eyes and pulling his rifle off his back again, making the men twitch, but they relaxed after a moment as he kept it aimed low.

  “Now, I’m here to go up there and take inventory, so if you’d move your ladies out of the way, my head of security here won’t be forced to…”

  “Excuse me?” Sandra asked?

  “I said move out of our way. We’re going to inventory food and provisions for redistribution. It’s hot out, and I’m sweating like a pig,” which elicited snickers from Corrin and Blake, but Sandra kept her eyes trained on the Governor, “So if you’d tell your head of security we’re here - and that you’re hopelessly outnumbered…”

  “Daddy?” Sandra said into her handset.

  “Yes, sugar?” Duncan replied, and his voice coming out of the speakers startled Boss Hogg into stopping the steps he had been taking towards them.

  “The Hummer.”

  “What about the—“ Boss Hogg started to ask.

  A deep thunk and whistling sound was heard. Even Blake, who was a new guy around towed artillery, knew what that sound was, and the girls almost tackled him. It went to proving how unprofessional the Governor’s men were; most didn’t recognize the sound until the Hummer was hit by a massive artillery round, setting off secondary explosions as the fuel cans strapped to it went off. Most
of the men jumped to the ground or fell as the pressure wave and heat hit them. They were immediately disarmed by the three dozen men, women and young adults that had ghosted out of the woods. The takedown went as they had rehearsed over a hundred times, and it went flawlessly.

  “Excuse me, I’m the Governor of Kentucky, you can’t…” John Davis said as he was thoroughly frisked.

  “Daddy, you have the transport targeted?” Sandra asked into the handset.

  “Just give me the word - or I can drop one on Jefferson Davis if you’d like,” Duncan said with a chuckle.

  “Jefferson Davis? John! I’m John Davis!” The outraged governor screamed as the guns were put into a pile, and magazines removed from both men and arms. Then the chambers were emptied.

  “Yeah, yeah. I figured that, but you do look like Jefferson Davis Hogg, Boss Hogg.” Corinne said, holding her own gun to bear.

  Sandra frowned and watched Blake work himself to his feet slowly. He was mostly healed, but sore. He wasn’t moving fast enough, so she’d done what she could and tackled him to the ground, using her body as a shield. It was a risky move, but her father had undoubtedly set the first target on the one that held the communications or senior officers. It’s what she would have done, and Sgt. Smith’s men had performed flawlessly with the hasty plan they had apparently put together.

  Blake got up slowly, brushing dirt and gravel off his skin, watching everything happen like he was stuck in slow motion. The concussion of the blast had his ears ringing and the look of sheer shock and horror hadn’t left Boss Hogg’s face yet. Blake walked over and sat down on the hood of a car they’d pushed onto the side of the road earlier in the summer and let his wife’s crew work.

  “Didn’t hurt the baby, did ya?” Blake asked his wife, concern in his voice.

  “Naw, I fell on your head. Pretty soft landing,” she smirked.

  “Cut it out, you two,” Corrinne said, smiling big.