Agony Of The World: A Post-Apocalyptic Story (The World Burns Book 9) Read online

  Agony Of The World

  A Post-Apocalyptic Story

  Boyd Craven III

  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

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2016 Boyd Craven III

  Agony Of The World, The World Burns Book 9

  By Boyd Craven

  Many thanks to friends and family for keeping me writing!

  All rights reserved.

  To be notified of new releases, please sign up for my mailing list at: http://eepurl.com/bghQb1

  1

  John Norton, Texas

  “Caitlin, are they still following us?” John asked into the earwig of one of the radios they had scavenged and repurposed.

  “Yeah, half a mile back. Those boys are in a hurry to catch up with us,” her voice crackled in reply.

  “Ready for company,” Tex’s voice came through clear.

  It should have, John was at the north end of what looked like a box canyon. They had been staging hit and run attacks against the New Caliphate for weeks now. They’d suffered only slight injuries, but John’s group of volunteers had swelled faster than he could train them. So instead, he started sending people north towards Kentucky, where Sandra and Blake resided. He led the central portion of the sappers that had been harrying the invaders, chipping away at them.

  When they first engaged them at Laughlin Air Force Base, John and everyone else involved had significantly underestimated their foe. Instead of goat herders handed an AK and a zeal for Muhammad, they were competent fighters and had repositioned the mortar teams under the group’s nose. Even with the warning, Laughlin was overrun.

  “Get out of there Tex, fall back to where Caitlin is going to come through.”

  “Got it,” Tex replied in his lazy drawl.

  A dust cloud kicked up in the distance, and John watched dispassionately as the old 4x4 Blazer raced through the dry land of West Texas. Caitlin and a small team had staged a mortar attack of their own, hitting in the flanks of the advancing troops. A detachment had split off to give chase. Until now, they had only chipped away at their numbers but, with the materials they had mixed and stashed, they were hoping to cut them down drastically.

  “Come on girl,” John mumbled to himself, his thumb on the button of the detonator, praying she didn’t get a flat or wipe out from hitting one of the many outcroppings of sandstone that seemed to rise up at the last instant.

  He hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until she was through with her truck, and then John made his way over to the dirt bike he’d stashed. Getting on it, he fired it up and waited. More than a dozen trucks, and a troop carrier the Caliphate had stolen from somewhere, came barreling into the pass, hoping to bottle up Caitlin and her small team.

  “Fire in the hole,” John murmured, depressing the button.

  The explosion seemed to suck all the oxygen out of the crisp fall air and, when the shockwave and sound hit, it looked as if a train had come off the tracks and hit the side of the mountain. The ground rumbled and the noise deafened John, but he stood there watching as the entrance to the pass collapsed, making it impossible to back out. He kick-started the dirt bike and raced along a trail almost at the top of the canyon wall, and saw that the column of Caliphate had stalled. Whether from confusion, shock, or the dawning realization that they were about to meet Jesus and not Allah, it didn’t matter. Tex held the last detonator and all John had to do was drive past his location. A stream that had cut its way into the side of the hills gave the small canyon the look of a box canyon. It wasn’t.

  Rocks exploded in front of the bike and he swerved, knowing somebody had sighted him. He couldn’t hear their motors running, but he gave a half a look back to make sure they were coming. They had started rolling, and he smiled grimly. Nobody in the team had wanted him to do this part, but he knew the greatest aspect of any trap was to have the right kind of bait. Caitlin was the first bit, and John was the second. Pouring on speed, he wound out the two-stroke bike for all it was worth, holding on to keep from flying over the handlebars as he raced down the side of the wall, towards the ground level.

  “Now!” he heard Caitlin scream as the bike shot past Tex.

  He’d made it, and the adrenaline was making everything seem as if it was working in slow motion. He hit the back brake and put a foot down, sliding the rear wheel 180 degrees, and motored back to where Caitlin had parked as the land he’d just left erupted. The charges had been dug in and, when they went off, a mountain of rock just slumped towards the middle of the gap. Where there had been probably sixty men chasing after them in vehicles, now only a pile of rubble remained. They closed their mouths and pulled up bandanas as the dust billowed out.

  “Mop up?” Tex asked.

  “Yeah, and scavenge anything we can. That troop carrier will be a bonus if it isn’t wrecked.”

  “I’m pretty sure everything’s wrecked sugar,” Caitlin said, her accent thick when she was worked up.

  “I know, but even ammo at this point would be helpful. It isn’t like the government is doing our resupply. Have somebody get on top of the ridge and watch to see if they send more people to check on these guys. We need to be ready to move out fast if that’s the case.”

  “On it boss,” Tex said.

  For the first time since Laughlin had been lost, Tex broke into a grin. This was his home state, and seeing how the invaders had been treating the Americans and the land, had been heartbreaking for him. Now they had some real payback. They had cut down more than those that had died in the canyon this day, but it was by small numbers. Doing this had been calculated to remove material support, as in trucks and weapons, as much as anything else.

  “Looks like we’ve got more 7.62x39 than we can haul home, there’s three AK47s left intact, and we can probably Frankenstein a couple dozen more from the stuff we scavenged.”

  “What about RPGs?” John asked.

  “About that,” Caitlin said, pulling at the ends of her hair, “Launchers are no good, but we were able to scavenge two crates of grenades for them.”

  “Vehicles?” John asked.

  “None worth spending time on,” Tex answered. “But I know you want that troop carrier. I’ve got a few guys digging out the front end, to see if we can get it up and over the rest of the rubble. By the way, the guy we pulled out of the center truck died. Nobody to interrogate.”

  John cursed; he’d been hoping for one to talk to. Instead, they’d done their jobs all too well.

  “I just wish the president wasn’t working against us here,” John groused for the hundredth time.

  “Why’s he got you locked in his sights?” Stu asked, having joined up with them after Laughlin.

  “You weren’t there for the start of things,” Tex said. “John here shook up the South before people knew it needed shaking up.”

  “What do you mean?” Stu asked.

  “Broke some folks out of FEMA camps that were being run by an Eastern European gangster named Lukashenko,” John told him. “Apparently he’s related to somebody with the same name, or has some serious pull with our president. Anyway, we tore the walls down at his camp, and he slipped away. I thought he was still in the wind but my son’s friend, Michael, and King saw him murdered by some of his own men. They blame me for th
at.”

  “Wait, were these the camps where they were…? Making the women and ladies…?”

  “Yeah,” John said hurriedly, “But sometimes there’s only two things the people upstairs care about: money and power. This Lukashenko was a conduit to one or the other to our government, and they blame me for throwing a monkey wrench into the works. Don’t worry, though; they want me, they just won’t supply the folks with me unless I turn myself in.”

  “We’re doing just fine, don’t ya think?” Caitlin asked.

  Stu always got tongue tied around her, and she knew it. She used that to her advantage whenever the younger soldier started asking a ton of questions when he should be hustling or paying attention to anything else.

  “We got a live one,” Tex yelled as a dirty, dusty and bloody man was pulled from underneath the troop carrier. “Somehow got between the front tires, under it.”

  The gash across his forehead was almost blinding him with blood, and he kept wiping at it with the one arm that wasn’t broken, smearing red across his tan robes.

  “We good here? Anybody see anything coming?” John asked.

  “No, I just heard from the watchers, and we’re clear. The main body kept right on rolling,” Stu said after a moment, dragging his eyes away from the former Miss America model.

  “Good, get him over to medical,” John told Tex, smiling. “Patch him up, and we’ll talk.”

  “Good deal, and then?”

  “We’re going to get ahead of them. They are going after Air Force installations. I’m worried they are trying to gain control of, or disable our nukes.”

  “Shoot,” Caitlin said. “We have to stop that.”

  “Yeah, put a call into Sandra on scramble. Our fearless leader may not resupply us or give us good intel, but Sandra will via Michael and King.”

  2

  Duncan & Sandra, The Homestead Kentucky

  “Grandpa?” Chris yelled.

  “Hey buddy,” Duncan said, catching the boy as he almost ran into him, and Supermanning him in the air.

  “Put me down,” the little boy giggled. “Mom says she needs you in the barn. She’s got some new recruits and wants you to take over.”

  “Is her stomach hurting again?” Duncan asked, putting him down.

  “No, she says the body snatcher is hungry, and her tummy is growling at the class. The guys keep cracking up, and she says if she doesn’t get something to eat, she’s going to crack them up if they keep cracking… Grandpa, what’s cracking up mean?”

  Duncan smiled and mussed the boy’s hair as they walked. He’d been sitting on the porch, having had his blood pressure taken by one of the medics that had come to be stationed there at the Homestead. It was almost under control, and Duncan had been dropping weight faster than he’d thought possible. No longer did he have chest pains, but years of abusing his body and heart had made him worry that overworking himself would provoke a heart attack.

  “Where’s your dad? He around?”

  “He’s down at the Smith’s farm,” Chris said, turning to wave at Melissa who had walked out with Bobby. She waved back and blew him a kiss. Chris acted like he caught it and then proceeded to pretend to eat it very loudly. “Mwah mwah mwah.”

  “Hey, don’t do that. Someday you’ll want girls to give you kisses.”

  “Like you and Grandma?”

  “Something like that. Now, don’t you have schoolwork you should be doing?”

  “It’s Saturday,” Chris giggled, “there’s no school on Saturdays unless you’re a soldier and then the school is every day.”

  “Well, I guess that’s okay.”

  “Chris, come get lunch,” Lisa’s voice drifted out from behind them.

  “Okay!” he called back.

  Before he could shoot off, Duncan stopped him. “Tell her that your mom is going to be hungry too. Tell her I said to make her a double triple-decker.”

  “What’s that?” Chris asked, all serious now.

  “A heart attack sandwich,” Duncan told him, smiling.

  “That sounds gross. Hey, after you’re done, can we play some Battleship or Uno?”

  “Sure thing, kiddo.” Duncan mussed the boy’s hair again, and he took off like a shot.

  “…and it’s reassembled like this.” Sandra was finishing as Duncan walked in.

  “Oh, Daddy!” she said excitedly and put down the receiver of an AR-15 and gave him a hug.

  Her stomach was pronounced on the normally whipcord thin woman. The bottom of her shirt barely covered her baby bump, making it hard for her to lean over and give her father a hug. If he hadn’t been losing weight, they never would have made it. As it was, their embrace was as warm as always. Duncan saw the glow of happiness in his daughter and thanked the Lord for her, for Blake and for their new direction in life.

  Somebody coughed behind her, and someone else snickered. The rest were almost ready to crack up when Bobby and Melissa walked in. Melissa was part of Sandra’s squad, and everyone quieted down. They knew her squad consisted of all very capable and determined women, but none of the men in the room had seen Sandra do more than rub her aching back, her stomach or teach them about guns, tactics, and theory. She was an unknown to them, other than a legend.

  “Something funny?” Bobby asked in an offhand manner to the forty men and a few women mixed in the open doorway of the barn where the class was taking place.

  “Well, it’s just that… she’s all baby, and she had to get on her tip toes and…”

  Sandra shot her dad a mischievous look, and Duncan shook his head.

  “How many of you have done your hand-to-hand training with me?” Bobby asked.

  Half the hands in the room shot up, including some of the women.

  “How about me?” Melissa asked.

  Almost all hands shot up, making her smile and jab him in the ribs.

  “Well, before Sandra got too far along in her pregnancy, she taught me everything I know,” Bobby said. “Melissa as well.”

  More than a few jaws fell open. Bobby was slowly putting on muscle and gone was the young, lanky kid who had first wandered onto the Homestead, running from a gang of raiders and rapists. Now stood a young man who was sure of himself, of his abilities, and who had a direction in life. He’d taken on a lot since Blake had left to try to show the other camps why his were outperforming everyone else’s. One of the things that Bobby and Melissa had taken on, other than their regular duties, was teaching hand-to-hand basics. They were known for being an almost unbeatable team and had often had half the class come at them at once.

  “Don’t look at him like that, I heard the first time Bobby met Sandra, he hit on her,” Melissa said, and even more jaws dropped as they swiveled to look at her fiancé, and Bobby was smiling and nodding in agreement.

  “Well, let’s just say I got my butt handed to me,” Bobby said.

  A hand raised toward the back, and Sandra stood on her toes and pointed to the woman. “Jessica, is it? You have a question?”

  The crowd of people parted, leaving a young woman standing in a small empty pocket. She started talking, but Sandra couldn’t hear her, so she motioned with her hands for Jessica to come toward the front.

  “Ma’am, I’m not doubting what they’re a sayin',” jessica’s Cajun accent came through clear, “but you’se so tiny. I’d like to learn how to not be… I don’t ever want a man to be able to…”

  “If I can do it,” Sandra said, “so can you. If you, or anyone else, wants to learn more advanced techniques than the basics we’re teaching at this site, I can set aside some time to work with folks on a one-on-one basis.”

  “Not until you have that baby, ma’am,” Bobby cut in, “but I’d be more than happy to work under your direction so you don’t pop early.”

  “Yeah, I’m good with that too,” Melissa said, putting her arm in Bobby’s.

  “So…” Duncan said after clearing his throat loudly, “…what are we teaching this group today?”

  “Fie
ld stripping different weapons. We are on the AR-15 currently, showing them the differences in the bolt carrier and auto sear compared to what we have here in the civilian model. Next up are the AKs and then some Israeli gear we recovered. The basics.”

  Duncan rubbed his hands together in anticipation. He loved his guns and, as the former armorer for the Homestead, before it was turned into a small training ground, he was happy to get his hands back in the gun oil again.

  “That sounds great! Hey, I asked Lisa to fix you something, it should be ready. When’s lunch for this group?”

  “We just ate, sir, we’re her third group in a row,” Jessica answered before anyone else could talk.

  In response to that, Sandra’s stomach let out an audible grumble, and she held her hands over her belly and looked at her father and then at the door. He pointed with his thumb, and she gave him a thousand-watt smile and hurried off.

  “Her feet are killing her too,” Melissa whispered as she and Bobby left as well.

  Duncan took a deep breath and looked around the room. Lots of eager faces awaited him. What they were learning here at the Homestead wasn’t the same as they would have gotten in boot camp. Everyone alive this long after the EMP attack was already a survivor of one sort or another. Instead, the training they were giving was meant to be a starting point, as the volunteers were assigned where they were needed. They would assist the growing population of military personnel that was either returning home from overseas, or coming back from helping their own families with the massive fighting that was breaking out all across the country.

  In Texas, where the land-based war had started, there were already three large militia groups that were being reinforced with volunteers to help stop, or at least slow, the advancement of the New Caliphate. Still, looking at the mixed group of recruits, Duncan saw something in these young men and women that had been gone from the countryside for a while now. Hope. Hope, and a determination to hold onto the country they were born in.