Suicide Six_Post Apocalyptic EMP Survival Fiction Read online

That’s it! Preacher bolted for the stairwell and took the steps two at a time. The gunfire ceased, allowing him to steady his nerves. First, he glanced out the window at the end of the hallway, which overlooked the front porch roof. He didn’t see any movement and noticed the fire was dying down somewhat. Fire fueled by dry hay burns fast, he thought to himself. He was glad he’d made a habit of storing chemicals and fuel in a separate block building a hundred feet away.

  He then confirmed his memory by glancing into the bedroom located above the original kitchen. He could slip through the window and then slide off the tin roof to the ground. The eight-foot drop would not be painful.

  Preacher removed the magazine from his AR-15 and checked the ammunition. He’d spent about half of this thirty-round magazine. He had two more. Duncan had taught him a method to keep up with his ammo count. As Preacher loaded his magazines, he inserted three tracer rounds first. During a battle, Duncan suggested, you’d know when your mag was about to empty. This helped the shooter mentally prepare to change magazines quickly and efficiently.

  He slammed the half-spent magazine back into the AR-15’s receiver and pulled the charging handle. He was ready. He made his way back to the front window and peeked around the corner. He waited for the commandos to advance upon the house. With a little luck, they’d assume that everyone had run off, abandoning the house to them. He could pick off a few of them before he made his escape.

  He waited. There was no movement. He ran to the master bedroom and peered through the curtains to look for an assault from the rear. The surroundings appeared to be still.

  Then he heard the sound of crunching glass coming from downstairs. How did they slip past me? Crafty devils!

  Preacher was fully aware of the creaking sounds the ranch house made. He didn’t want to give away his position, but he needed to be prepared to shoot anyone who came up the stairs. Walking slowly, heel-to-toe, he moved along the hallway toward the front of the house. He pointed his gun over the railing as he went, prepared to fire upon the first sign of movement.

  He heard hushed voices in a language that sure as heck wasn’t Texan. Dang, he thought to himself, I hate it when I’m right.

  Then he saw one of them. A man, dressed in camouflaged clothing, moved through Preacher’s field of vision and into the kitchen. Another began to climb the stairs. Preacher slowly slipped backwards to get a better shot at the stair-climber and the man in the kitchen, who’d most likely appear after hearing the sound of the gunfire.

  He slipped his finger on the trigger and exhaled. He thought of Cooper as he readied himself to ride a two-thousand-pound bull into the ring. Coop’s muscles would tense. He’d get that look of determination on his face. When he was ready, he’d say, “Here we go, boys!”

  I’m ready!

  Preacher calmly fired two rounds into the commando’s head, splaying blood and brain matter all over the decades-old wallpaper installed by Miss Lucy the week she’d moved in after marrying Major.

  As predicted, the shooter who’d entered the kitchen rushed out to assist his comrade. His loyalty earned him two bullets to the chest, killing him instantly.

  Preacher didn’t hesitate. He rushed to the front window and opened fire upon the men who were racing toward the house. He missed wildly at first, but then finally found his mark as the tracer bullets emerged from the magazine. One of the four men in the front yard was knocked to the ground.

  Preacher dropped the magazine, and it hit the floor with a thud. His nervous hands momentarily failed him as he fumbled with the replacement. Not having sufficient practice swapping magazines took precious seconds away, and it allowed the attacking commandos to gain the upper hand.

  Bullets tore through the open window and ripped into the plaster ceiling. Preacher finally inserted the second magazine and was preparing to shoot back when more gunfire splintered the window frame, causing debris to pepper his face. He wiped away the splinters, which had embedded in his skin, and stuck his rifle around the window frame to fire back. This caused the commandos to back down, or so he thought.

  The crunching of the glass gave away their position downstairs. Preacher moved to the top of the stairs and trained his rifle on the first step. One of the men started to turn the corner, and Preacher fired prematurely. Had he waited a split second longer, he could’ve had a bigger target. Instead, his four-round burst only managed to knock the rifle out of the shooter’s hands.

  Then the unexpected happened. Gunfire erupted once again, and this time the bullets were ripping through the floor beneath his feet. Powerful NATO 7.62 rounds were erupting out of an AR-10, turning the wood floor into kindling.

  One bullet went through the flooring and embedded in his left foot. The impact startled Preacher, who recoiled and attempted to flee for cover. As he lost his focus, the trained commandos sensed an opening.

  Screaming something in Korean that Preacher couldn’t understand, one of the men bolted up the stairs and fired at him, striking him in the right arm and shoulder. He got knocked backwards into the wall but reflexively managed a shot at his attacker.

  The bullet found the attacker’s knee, which caused him to fall and roll back down the stairs. Preacher had an opening to escape.

  He hobbled toward the bedroom window, allowing one leg to carry the bulk of his weight. His right arm was incapable of carrying weight, so he abandoned his rifle to give him more mobility as he climbed through the window. He’d almost cleared the window opening when he heard shouting and the heavy footsteps of men racing up the stairs.

  Preacher had to hurry. They’d follow the blood trail. He tried to make his way down the tin roof, but he slipped on his own blood, causing him to crash to the roof and roll off to the hard ground below.

  Landing on his right shoulder, the excruciating pain shot through his body, causing his eyes to roll into the back of his head. But Preacher didn’t give up. He wasn’t going to die here. He clawed his way to his horse and lifted himself up using the post where the reins were tied off.

  “I can do this,” Preacher mumbled, encouraging himself to survive. He untied his horse and took a deep breath. He tried to put weight on his left foot, and it caused him to spontaneously scream in pain.

  “I bangbeob! I bangbeob!” shouted one of the North Koreans.

  Preacher didn’t have to understand the language to know that his escape route had been discovered. With a renewed sense of urgency and will to live, Preacher inserted his right foot in the stirrup and used his left arm to pull himself onto his horse. He allowed himself a slight chuckle as he thanked God for not getting him shot with the wrong combination of arms and legs to mount his horse.

  “Hah!” Preacher encouraged his horse forward with exuberance and a squeeze of his legs. His beloved stallion, a high-spirited horse, immediately responded, and they were off.

  Preacher managed a prayer in those brief seconds as he raced away from the carnage.

  Heavenly Father, thank you for Your protection. Please deliver me to your Rock of safety.

  At that moment, more bullets were delivered to the body of Preacher Caleb O’Malley, striking him in the back as his horse galloped into the darkness.

  Chapter 6

  January 23

  The East Woods

  The Armstrong Ranch

  Borden County, Texas

  After a rough ride down the ravine, Riley found a suitable hiding spot for Red Rover that he knew his siblings could find as well. The east woods bordering the Armstrong Ranch had been a favorite place for the three rodeo kids to play together before their lives became immersed in the rodeo lifestyle. They’d hunt and fish, in addition to playing hide-and-seek, in those early formative years. Their constant companionship resulted in a bond between the three that didn’t include their older brothers, Dallas and Duncan.

  They all knew the woods well, and Riley was certain they’d find this clearing in the middle, where they’d built numerous forts as kids. Using leftover lumber from projects that had been built aro
und the ranch, Riley, Palmer, and Cooper would build elaborate structures in the oak trees and on the ground below.

  They’d spend a day fishing and then cook on an open fire. Palmer was a dead-eye hunter with her .22-caliber rifle. She’d shoot squirrels, rabbits, and other small game. Riley and Cooper became adept at skinning the animals and preparing them for their campfire. It was a routine the kids learned from playing, but it was a useful survival skill they could employ now that they’d grown up.

  “Someone’s comin’, Momma,” started Riley, as he could hear the horses descending the trail toward their camp. He quickly jumped to his feet, grabbed his rifle, and positioned himself to fire upon anyone that wasn’t his family.

  Their camp was enveloped in darkness, as the tree canopy blocked out any ambient light that emanated from the sky. Riley craned his neck over the fallen tree he used as cover and stared up the trail, hoping to catch a glimpse of movement. The slow approach of the riders gave him some comfort. He doubted the commandos would ease up to their camp on horseback.

  “Four horses but only two riders,” mumbled Riley to himself as they got closer. He decided to take a chance, but with his rifle ready. “Who’s there?”

  Palmer cautiously replied, “Riley, is that you? It’s me and Sook.”

  “Yeah, come into the clearing,” he said as he emerged from behind the tree to show himself on the trail. “Momma needs y’all’s help.”

  Palmer, leading the way, entered the clearing first. “What’s wrong with Momma?”

  “She got hit with debris from the blast,” replied Riley. “I’ve stopped the bleeding on one arm, but she made me wait until y’all arrived to pull the barn board out of her other arm.”

  “What?” asked Palmer as she quickly got off her horse. “Where is she?”

  “I’ve got her over here inside the sleeping bag to keep her warm.” Riley led Palmer to an area he’d cleared when they arrived. He’d created a two-inch layer of pine needles on the ground to add insulation between the cold surface and the sleeping bag. Lucy was wrapped up in the one-person sleeping bag like a burrito.

  Palmer rushed to her mother’s side and fell to her knees. She began to well up in tears. “Momma, are you okay?”

  Lucy was weak, but she managed a response. “Yes, honey. I’ll be fine. But I’m glad you’re here. Sook too?”

  “Yes, Miss Lucy. I am here too.” Sook felt Lucy’s forehead.

  “Fever?” asked Palmer.

  “Not yet,” replied Sook. She turned her attention back to Lucy. “We need to see your wounds.”

  Lucy provided an imperceptible nod, causing Palmer and Sook to give each other a concerned look. Palmer slowly unzipped the sleeping bag, allowing the cool night air to surround Lucy’s body slowly. Once her arm was exposed, they asked for a flashlight.

  Riley provided a battery-operated lantern, which had several levels of light settings. “I’m gonna stand watch, okay. If you need me, I’ll be at the entrance to the woods.”

  “Thank you, son,” whispered Lucy. She looked at Palmer. “He’s a good boy, but he doesn’t need to tackle this arm. You girls will know what to do.”

  Palmer turned to Sook. “The bleeding has stopped, but see the redness around the wound? Soon, it will become infected.”

  Lucy raised her other arm to get their attention. “My medical bag is next to that tree stump.”

  Sook jumped up and retrieved the trauma kit that Lucy had built years ago but never had an occasion to use. She began pulling out certain essentials like gauze dressing, medical tape, and Betadine to cleanse and disinfect the wound.

  “Girls, you have to get the entire piece of wood out of my arm.” Lucy managed the strength to give Palmer and Sook instructions. “Sook, you do it. Palmer will be too emotional out of fear that she is hurting me. This needs to be removed quickly. Don’t worry about my pain. Palmer, you be prepared to flush the wound with the bottled water over there.”

  Sook searched through the bag and laid out the tools she’d need. After locating three sizes of tweezers to extract various parts of the splintered barn board, she searched through the outside pockets of the bag.

  “What are you looking for?” asked Palmer.

  “Needles and sutures.”

  “Keep looking in the side pockets,” interjected Lucy.

  Seconds later, Sook was satisfied she had everything necessary to proceed.

  “I know what to do, Miss Lucy,” said Sook as she leaned over Lucy’s face. She handed Palmer a large bulb syringe and another syringe-looking device out of the bag. “Palmer, I will need you to keep the wound clear so I can see, okay?”

  Palmer held up the larger device. “It looks like a turkey baster.”

  “It is, honey,” said Lucy. “It’s perfect for larger wounds like this one.”

  Sook leaned over Lucy and whispered, “I am sorry if I hurt you. It has been a long time since I practiced on the pigs at home.”

  Lucy managed a smile and a chuckle before grimacing in pain. “I guess I’m stuck like a pig already. Can’t get any worse. You’ll do fine.”

  After they donned sterile gloves, Palmer and Sook worked together to extract the board from Lucy’s arm. Lucy, to her credit, remained calm during the process. She groaned a little here and there, but otherwise she was a real trooper.

  Sook put on a single-light headlamp, which had been packed in the medical kit. This helped illuminate the wound and allowed her to remove all the splinters she could find.

  “I am also worried about these paint flakes in her body. Palmer, I will continue to flush the wound while you suction. Okay?”

  For the next several minutes, they continued to wash out the wound until Sook was satisfied.

  “Miss Lucy, I will use the size four suture thread with the thin, curved needle. Your skin is much softer than the pigs’.”

  Lucy, who had a few tears streaming from her eyes, smiled at Sook and Palmer. “Nicest compliment I’ve received all day.”

  “Yes. Miss Lucy, this will hurt worse than the removal of the board. I am sorry.”

  “Go ahead, my angel,” said Lucy as she closed her eyes and prepared herself for the suturing process.

  With the wound cleared of debris and the bleeding stopped, Sook set about the process of suturing. First, she wiped Lucy’s skin around the open wound with antiseptic wipes. Then she knelt next to Lucy so that the wound was parallel to Sook’s body.

  She threaded the needle with the suture thread and began the process from the middle of the laceration outward. Leaving one-eighth of an inch between each stitch, Sook methodically sewed up Lucy’s arm and used basic suture knots to ensure their stability. Finally, she used triple-antibiotic ointment to dress the wound and wrapped bandages into place with medical tape to protect it.

  When she was finished, Sook leaned back on her heels and removed the sterile gloves. She nodded to Palmer and pointed to the zipper on the sleeping bag. Palmer took her cue and immediately zipped it closed.

  “Thank you, Sook,” said a teary-eyed Palmer. She bent over to look into her mother’s face and immediately grew concerned.

  “Momma! Momma!”

  Chapter 7

  January 23

  The East Woods

  The Armstrong Ranch

  Borden County, Texas

  Lucy slowly opened her eyes and looked at Palmer. “Sorry, I was just resting my eyes.”

  Palmer wiped away her tears and then burst into laughter. “Don’t scare me like that, Momma!”

  Sook, puzzled by the reaction, studied them both and then began to laugh as well.

  Palmer explained the inside joke. “Sook, after Daddy retired, we bought him a leather recliner for the family room. He called it his retirement chair, but really it became like a second bedroom. We would be watching a TV show and notice that Daddy had fallen asleep. Sometimes he would jolt himself awake and look around. He’d always say I was just resting my eyes.”

  Lucy managed a smile. “Your daddy was al
ways up well before dawn to tend to the ranch. He’d tell me to sleep in, but I felt obligated to at least make him coffee and a little something to eat. Because he worked hard, he deserved to go to sleep at nine o’clock every night, but he tried to stay up with the rest of us.”

  “Hey, look who I found!” Riley announced his presence into the clearing with Cooper.

  Palmer leapt up from her crouch and ran to give him a hug. She examined him for injuries, much like her mother would have done if she could.

  After their hug, Riley stood aside so Cooper could see his mother. He knelt down next to Sook and gave her a hug with his left arm, followed by a thankful smile.

  “Hey, Momma. Riley told me what happened. How’re you feelin’?”

  Lucy, who was mummified in the sleeping bag, couldn’t move, but her smile spoke volumes. “I’ll be fine, Coop. I have a couple of damaged wings, but they’ll heal with the help of these young ladies.”

  Cooper touched her cheek with the back of his fingers. It was a simple gesture, but one that caused the waterworks to open up on Palmer and Sook.

  He choked back the tears and tried to be reassuring. “It’s gonna be okay, Momma.”

  “Son, where’s Preacher?” Lucy asked.

  “He stayed to stall them. I had to lead two horses down here, and he wanted me to have a good head start. I’m sure he’ll be along shortly.”

  Riley had been pacing around the clearing, listening to the conversation. He needed to get back to watching the trail, but he was clearly agitated. “Y’all, I ain’t givin’ up the ranch. I think we need to talk about fightin’ back.”

  Cooper touched his mother’s face one more time and stood to address his brother. “Preacher’s last words to me were live to fight another day. It makes sense, and we need to regroup before we go charging back up that hill.”

  “I think the longer we let them stay in our home, the harder it’ll be to get ’em out,” Riley shot back.

  “What about the families in the bunker?” asked Palmer. “They’re gonna be buried alive under the barn.”