Unexpected World: The EMP Survivor Series Book 1 Read online

  After the death of his wife, Dillon had thrown himself into his work with a newfound determination to put away as many criminals as possible. That’s what he kept telling himself. He couldn’t face the fact he had become a workaholic to fill the emptiness he felt. The house was so quiet without Amy. There was something comforting when he drove up to the house after a day’s work, knowing someone was listening for the patter of his footsteps. The only one listening for him now was Buster, a once cute 10 pound ball of wiggly fur, a “gift” Cassie had given him after Amy died.

  His daughter had said, “He’ll keep you company, and a reason to get up in the morning, if only to let him outside.” The 10 pound wiggly ball of fur had grown into 70 pounds of hound dog.

  Leaving a dog alone for most of the day hadn’t been the best of ideas. After coming home day after day to torn and soiled carpet, Dillon had installed a doggie door so Buster could let himself outside when needed. Apparently the dog much preferred the sofa in a temperature controlled environment to a sunny spot outside because whenever Dillon came home, Buster was inside waiting for him.

  Now that he thought about it, having a dog did fill some sort of longing or need.

  Dillon had other things on his mind, too, like the latest trial. It was a minor victory among all the current carnage. Fortunately, the jurors had seen through all the lies and were about to hand down a guilty verdict on that lousy piece of shit who thought he could strut into Houston and claim it as his own. Maybe the plane did everyone a favor by dispatching Cole Cassel, though Dillon wasn’t sure what had happened to the guy. Last he saw Cassel was sitting at the defense table, chatting with a groupie like nothing had happened. These types of trials brought out all sorts of people.

  Coming to his old car, Dillon stopped, swiveled around, and said, “Shit!” He palmed his head. How was he going to find his daughter? The realization hit him that Cassie’s plane had probably gone down somewhere in the vast and dangerous expanse of the Atchafalaya Basin, a 260,000 acre mix of swamp and forest. It was home to the Louisiana black bear, monster alligators, and nearly impenetrable wetlands.

  He said a silent prayer in the hopes the Almighty would hear him, granting him this one request to keep his daughter safe until he could reach her. It was the first time he had said a prayer since Amy had died. None of his prayers had been answered in the hospital where he had kept a vigil, waiting for Amy to regain consciousness. She never had. Now, for some reason, he felt a little better acknowledging his troubles to a higher authority.

  He couldn’t bring himself to go to that dark place to face the reality the plane Cassie was on would have crash landed. He couldn’t think of her not surviving a plane crash. He couldn’t bear to lose his only child, not after his wife was gone. His daughter was the reason for his purpose in life. If the pilots were any good, or had any military training, they could glide the plane as far as possible before landing hard. It was a scenario they should have been tested on in flight simulators, or at least he hoped so.

  He held onto that thought.

  To find her, or the plane, he’d have to do a quick calculation of where the plane was when the EMP struck. It would be a crude calculation, based on the departure time and approximate speed, and now that he thought about it, he remembered the flight attendant giving her a hard time about being on the phone. So, the plane must have begun descending.

  Standing at his car, which was a relic of the 80s, he pointed the key fob at the car, and beeped it open. Fortunately, battery operated devices without a computer board still worked.

  Dillon wasn’t the kind of guy to buy the latest car with all the bells and whistles. This one worked well enough to his satisfaction with an AC, radio, and a CD player. Change the oil every few thousand miles. Besides, it had been paid off years ago, leaving him plenty of leeway to put his money in things that he would need now. Things that would sustain his life.

  Fishing around in the glove compartment, he found a faded Texas/Louisiana map. Folding it, he stuffed it in his pants. Following the little blue dot on the map app on his iPhone would be useless in his upcoming travels. He’d have to skirt I-10, the main interstate connecting Texas to Louisiana and eastward through other southern states. Instead he planned to stay in the shadows and follow the rarely used farm-to-market roads of the East Texas Piney Woods.

  He was home in that country.

  Nobody would guess he had a semi-automatic AK-47 in the trunk, not in a jalopy like this. The AK was his go-to rifle. A reliable weapon, it wouldn’t jam in wet or sandy environments, and rarely wore out. It could be dropped, used as a club or a cane without sustaining any serious damage. That and the fact it was simple to operate made it one of his all-time favorite guns. He could overlook the fact it was only effective to about 300 yards. What hunter shoots a deer at 300 yards? Probably not many.

  He swung around to the trunk, pushed in the latch, and the trunk popped open. Quickly, he retrieved a backpack. Standing at the back of the car, he checked his surroundings making sure he was alone. Light was fading fast, and the open air garage wouldn’t be a good place to be after dark. As soon as the sun went down, looters would come out as sure as thick green scum forms on a stagnant pond smothering the life out of it.

  Dillon loosened his thick leather belt and slipped the Kydex holster in place. He buckled back up. With his elbows tucked close to his body, he held the Glock 17 9 mm pistol securely, right hand on the grip, index finger resting outside the trigger guard, left hand cupping the right one. Always a stickler for safety, he squinted, racked the slide back, and peered into the chamber. A round was already chambered. Having an extra round in addition to the ones in the magazine was comforting. Seventeen rounds plus one in the chamber equaled eighteen chances to stay alive.

  He placed the Glock in the holster then grabbed a couple of magazines and secured those in the pouch also on his belt. Dillon was one to be prepared, knowing two extra magazines were better than one. Tugging his shirt out of his pants, he covered the Glock with his shirttail.

  Time to hoof it.

  With his AK slung over his shoulder, he padded down the stairwell of the garage and came to the floor above where he left Holly. He stopped dead in his tracks. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and that gut feeling he’d had so many times in Iraq spoke loud and clear.

  It’s that little voice that says stop, something’s not right.

  That sixth sense early humans relied on to survive against larger predators. The predators in today’s urban jungle weren’t as big but were just as deadly, and Dillon proceeded with caution.

  He exhaled slowly and pressed his back into the shadows of the concrete wall. Deftly, he unholstered his Glock, holding it in both hands.

  He listened intently, trying to filter the extraneous sounds. A benign conversation drifted down from one of the upper garage floors. There was laughter and some more conversation. A car door thumped shut. Footsteps upon concrete.

  All normal.

  Nothing to worry about.

  Directing his hearing to another location, it was the muffled angry voices with an unmistakable accent that caught his attention.

  One voice he recognized.

  He strained, trying to catch a word or phrase. A flight of pigeons spooked Dillon, and he flinched at the sudden movement.

  It was then a scream so shrill, so viscerally frightened, sliced the air.

  He recognized it, too.

  Holly.

  Chapter 11

  Dillon faced a serious decision. If he left now, he’d have a chance to find his daughter because he’d still be alive. His daughter would definitely need him. Or he could try to save Holly. However, if he was wounded or worse, he’d never be able to help his daughter or know what happened to her.

  On the other hand, if he left Holly to the unpleasant fate that was sure to befall her, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. He was that kind of a standup guy. He was the guy who had your back in an alley; the kind of guy that looked o
ut for the little guy; the kind of guy that wouldn’t leave a lady, even if the lady was one he had a contentious relationship with.

  Shit.

  There really had only ever been one decision.

  Dillon thought quickly about the best offense. In the close quarters of the stairwell, the AK wouldn’t work because he could accidentally shoot Holly. Fortunately, his Glock loaded with hollow points would do the trick because once the bullet hit flesh, it would expand instead of exiting the body. Less chance of collateral damage.

  He inched his way down a few steps, and the voices surrounding Holly were becoming more ominous with each passing second.

  Dillon heard three distinct voices. Two were unidentifiable, while the third belonged to Cole Cassel. He strained to listen to the conversation, waiting for the moment he’d make his entrance.

  He steeled his nerves, raised his Glock to firing position, and took a big breath. The element of a surprise attack would be his best offense.

  He’d shoot first and ask questions later.

  “Looky what we got here, boys,” Cole Cassel said.

  Holly closed her eyes and turned her head, recoiling from Cole’s hot breath on her neck.

  “Hmm? No quick retort or objection, Ms. Defense Lawyer? Or is it Mrs. by now?” Cole’s tone was mocking. “Hey boys, I think we got a women’s libber on our hands.” Cole’s groupies from the trial laughed. “You’ve been making me answer all your stupid questions and sit nicely like I’m some goody two shoes choir boy, and what did I get for it? Probably a guilty verdict. Now you know I don’t like losin’ one bit. I paid you mighty handsome for you to get me off. Good thing the plane came to my rescue, and if you think anyone is coming to your rescue, like the bailiff, you’d better think again. That stiff won’t do you no good no more,” he said, running his hands through Holly’s hair. “Brings back good memories. Don’t it?”

  Holly recoiled from his touch and closed her eyes.

  “Remember what I said would happen if you didn’t win my case?” He held a lock of her hair to his nose and sniffed.

  Holly didn’t answer.

  “Hmm?”

  Holly winced and thought quickly while Cole pawed her and driveled on about what he was going to do to her. While he inspected her tattered suit, she sneered at his cohorts and refused to show fear. She had managed to scream before Cole had stuck a knife to her throat telling her if she screamed once more, he’d slice that tender white throat of hers from ear to ear.

  If Dillon was the kind of man she thought he was, he wouldn’t leave her. And if he had his wits about him he probably should be somewhere close by, possibly even listening. He’d be armed too, or she hoped he would be. He didn’t exactly say what he needed in his car, but she took an educated guess, being aware of his military background.

  That’s right, she had done her own intel on her courtroom adversary, knowing that Dillon had done a stint in the military, been wounded, and had come home, married, had a child, and gone back to school.

  Though she knew he was a widower, that didn’t garner him any slack in the courtroom. She was a fierce competitor and knowing her adversary was a way to win.

  She scanned her surroundings checking for any indication Dillon was near. Maybe a shadow where one shouldn’t be, or a bird whistle among birds that weren’t song birds. The only clue he might be around was the spooked pigeons that suddenly scattered.

  Maybe he was close.

  All her senses were heightened and her heart beat fast, her mouth dry.

  “I think it’s time you answer some of my questions,” Cole taunted. “Still got that nice spread in East Texas? Barn too? As I recall your daddy liked his guns. Now where do you suppose all of them went to? Got a secret hiding place? Fake wall or something? I’ve heard ‘bout people making safe rooms.”

  Holly didn’t hear what he had said after that because she was attuned to her environment. Cole was behind her while the two other jokers flanked her. She wanted to give Dillon a clean shot at Cole, but she couldn’t manage to position her body in a way it would be possible. With the two guys on either side, at least Dillon could get them.

  “I got myself an idea, boys. Let’s write up a bill of sale right here. I’ll title it ‘Land for your life’.” Cole jabbed the handle of his knife into Holly’s wounded arm.

  Holly flinched and let out a wounded scream, piercing the stairwell.

  “Got your attention, finally,” Cole said. “Anybody got a pen?”

  “I do,” one of the groupies said, handing it to Cole.

  Cole took the pen and put it in his shirt pocket. “You know the old saying business before pleasure? I don’t really cotton to that. Let’s have pleasure before business.” He took the knife and flicked off the top button of Holly’s silk shirt. “Well, boys, why don’t we show Ms. Defense Lawyer what she’s been missing?

  Holly refused to beg but she could barter, stalling for time. “Cole, I’ve got money. I can go to the bank and withdraw a couple of thousand for you. Cash. No questions asked. You can—”

  The first round caught the guy to Holly’s left in the throat and he stumbled back, dropping to the floor. Blood squirted on the walls of the stairwell. He grabbed his obliterated throat and flailed around like a fish on a dock trying to escape a filleting knife.

  The second round cracked bones and ribs of the next guy, and the 9 mm hollow point sent him to an early and quick death when his heart exploded. He crumpled to the ground, a stiff spasm capturing his body before he went limp. He still had a surprised look on his face when the lights went out.

  Dillon swiveled the Glock a fraction, trying to sight in on Cassel.

  Coward, he thought.

  Cassel was using Holly as a human shield, and the third shot Dillon knew would be a whole lot trickier because Cole had Holly in a chokehold with the knife pressing into her throat.

  “Drop your gun or I swear to God I’ll slit her throat,” Cole ordered. He pressed the knife harder into Holly’s neck. Holly stood frozen, afraid to exhale. “Do it! Now!” He was cornered like a rabbit with no place to run, and was about as frightened. His bravado leaked out as fast as the blood on the dead goons’ bodies.

  Holly had her fingers wrapped around Cole’s forearm, willing Dillon with her eyes to do something.

  Dillon’s gaze swiveled from Holly to Cole. He gambled that Cole wasn’t willing to die to exact revenge on Holly. With hawkish eyes, he stared laser straight at Cole. “I’ll never give up my weapon. Maybe you’ll slit her throat, and maybe she’ll die. If she does, you’ll be next, and that’s a guarantee,” he said, his voice steady and low.

  A shout echoed through the garage momentarily distracting Cole and his eyes flicked that way.

  Holly sensed the distraction, and with great determination she raised her foot, using the heel of her remaining pump to slam it back into Cole’s shin.

  The shearing pain reverberating along his leg caught Cole by surprise. He grunted and instinctively flung Holly toward Dillon.

  In the close quarters, her off-balance momentum caused Dillon to waver a second before he caught her with his left hand. By then, Cole had escaped through the doorway leading to the landing then to the next flight of stairs. Beyond that was the alley behind the garage. Cole hobbled to the corner, favoring his throbbing shin, all the while looking back, checking if Dillon was following. A few more yards and he’d be on the banks of Buffalo Bayou. From there, he could disappear in the tangled brush and gnarled trees lining the bayou.

  Dillon still held the Glock in his right hand. “Are you okay?” he asked. “Did he hurt you?”

  “You bastard!” Holly spat. “You took a gamble on my life. I can’t believe you would do that.”

  “Guys like Cole are basically cowards. He wasn’t about to die for you. He’s like a rat that jumps ship when it is going down, and he knew he was about to go down.” Dillon touched her chin, moving it gently, inspecting her for any new wounds. “Are you hurt?”

  “A litt
le shaken up but I’m okay.”

  “Good. Stay here. I’m going after Cassel.”

  “No,” Holly pleaded. She put a hand on his arm. Dillon looked down at her hand and Holly, acutely aware she was touching him, abruptly removed her hand. “Don’t leave me again. I’ve got a bullseye on me now. Not everyone likes defense attorneys, especially ones who don’t win the case for their clients. There’s no telling how many other prisoners have escaped.”

  “I thought you only took white collar crimes.”

  “I had to take this one,” Holly said.

  “Why?”

  “Never mind,” Holly said tersely.

  Dillon really wanted to ask what she meant by that and what Cole had meant when he asked Still got that nice spread in East Texas? but decided against it. Holding his Glock in both hands, he popped his head out the doorway. “I have to go after him. He’s dangerous. I’ll be back in a second.”

  Holly opened her mouth to protest but couldn’t muster the strength. She slid down and sat on the concrete floor, resting her back against the wall. “Do what you have to do. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Dillon sprinted down the stairs. After a quick jaunt to the end of the garage, Dillon’s suspicions were confirmed. Tracks in the soil led from the garage to the bayou.

  He followed the tracks halfway down the grassy embankment. It was obvious the person who left them had been running. Dillon scanned the thick tangle of brush and trees. It would be impossible, if not foolish, to try to track Cole any further. This part of the bayou leading out to the ship channel was a virtual river city of homeless people, prostitution, and drug users. Trash and drug paraphernalia were scattered around. Empty liquor bottles littered the area. The people living on the fringes of society had claimed possession of the bayou a long time ago, making it a dangerous place at night.

  Coming back to Holly, he said, “He’s gone now, probably trying to cross the bayou. Good riddance. Maybe the current will get him. It’s not as tranquil as it looks.”