Lone Survivor (Book 1): All That Remains Read online

  ALL THAT REMAINS

  Jack Hunt

  Direct Response Publishing

  Copyright © 2019 by Jack Hunt

  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, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be resold. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to an online retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

  ALL THAT REMAINS book 1 is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Also by Jack Hunt

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  The Agora Virus series

  Phobia

  Anxiety

  Strain

  The War Buds series

  War Buds 1

  War Buds 2

  War Buds 3

  Camp Zero series

  State of Panic

  State of Shock

  State of Decay

  Renegades series

  The Renegades

  The Renegades Book 2: Aftermath

  The Renegades Book 3: Fortress

  The Renegades Book 4: Colony

  The Renegades Book 5: United

  The Wild Ones Duology

  The Wild Ones Book 1

  The Wild Ones Book 2

  The EMP Survival series

  Days of Panic

  Days of Chaos

  Days of Danger

  Days of Terror

  The Against All Odds Duology

  As We Fall

  As We Break

  The Amygdala Syndrome series

  Unstable

  Unhinged

  Survival Rules series

  Rules of Survival

  Rules of Conflict

  Rules of Darkness

  Rules of Engagement

  Mavericks series

  Mavericks: Hunters Moon

  Time Agents series

  Killing Time

  Single Novels

  Blackout

  Defiant

  Darkest Hour

  Final Impact

  The Year Without Summer

  The Last Storm

  The Last Magician

  For my Family

  Contents

  Prologue

  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

  Epilogue

  A Plea

  Readers Team

  About the Author

  Prologue

  December 24

  The tempest raged.

  Landon Gray felt the snow long before he saw it. The wind tore through the gaping hole, stabbing his body with cold. It thrust snow at his face with such force that it stung like tiny ice needles. He gasped, a futile attempt to breathe. How long was he out? Disorientation overwhelmed him. It was still dark. Was he up or down? More snow spilled in through the windshield, a wall of white before his eyes. Terror gripped him at the sudden sense of his mortality. Regrets; everything he hadn’t done besieged his mind. Gale force winds shook the metal causing it to groan and sway.

  He shivered and faded in and out of consciousness. The hazy pain brought him back. He blinked ice crystals out of his eyes. Was this how it would end? He tried to move, but a bolt of excruciating pain shot up his legs. Unable to catch his breath, he thought he would pass out again from the pain coming from his legs, or broken ribs? The thought of a rib collapsing his lungs and suffocating overwhelmed him. The taste of iron on his lips. Had he cracked his head open?

  Another blast of wind, strong, steady and unforgiving.

  Where was he? A momentary lapse as his mind tried to piece together what was a real or a nightmare. The plane! That was it. Oh God. More noise. Birds squawking, a wild animal roaring? More pain buried below indistinguishable sounds. Smoke. He could smell gas. Fire. No, no. He didn’t want to burn alive. He opened his mouth to cry for help but a throatful of snow choked him. He coughed and spluttered, thrashing in agony, trapped by something heavy pressing down on his lower legs. His mind went hazy. Another wave of darkness. Complete nothingness, then gone, nothing but a blur only to be slapped awake by the chill of frigid air.

  An acidic taste, followed by nausea, he wanted to throw up.

  No, I’m not dying here. A primal urge to survive rose inside.

  Landon clawed at his jacket, trying to find the keys; the keys with the small flashlight. The same one gifted to him by his son. His fingers sank into snow, the tips. Wet. Cold. Too cold. C’mon, you’re not gonna die here, he told himself. More pain. Every movement invoked a torturous wave of agony worse than the last. He fumbled, clawing at fabric until two fingers touched metal and he heard a jangle. Yes. Yes. Thank you, God. He fished them out and clicked a button on the tiny flashlight, a strobe of bright light burst forth, slicing through the darkness like a laser. Shadows formed, dancing and flicking, revealing carnage, debris and disarray, then landing on the pilot.

  Dustin. No. A large jagged tree branch had lanced straight through him pinning him to his seat. His face was gray and expressionless. If anyone should have survived, it was him. Dustin’s voice came back to him as did the memory of treetops slapping beneath the fuselage before wings clipped then snapped branches. Would he die out here? Help! A croaky voice, barely audible, escaped his blue lips but was quickly smothered and hushed by the wind.

  Another fragment of memory solidified in his mind.

  They had to be at a high elevation as they’d traversed the Great Smoky Mountains over North Carolina before banking to the right. Dustin had wrestled with the plane, trying so hard to control the landing. Brace for impact. His final words echoed in his mind. A sudden drop, the feeling of free falling, faster and faster. Wind lashed at the wings sounding like maniacal laughter. Landon opened his eyes, not wanting to relive another second, it was too much. He angled the flashlight beam at the control panel. Unlit. No power. Covered in white.

  Hello? Hello? Anyone?

  He was alone.

  Then like a spark, it came to him.

  Ellie. As if his mind had blacked it out. His daughter was here with him. Fourteen. Spunky. Long flowing dark hair. Green eyes like her mother. Where are you? He twisted in the vise of pain, every inch hurting him more.

  “Ellie? Ellie! Speak to me… Ellie! C’mon, baby.”

  Behind him, the seats that had once been there were gone,
missing as well was the tail of the fuselage. His eyes scanned the darkness, the beam sweeping from left to right like a lighthouse.

  Where are you?

  Where are you!

  Fear gripped him. “Ellie!”

  Gone. A grief more powerful than the pain in his legs swallowed him.

  Shivering, he tugged at his legs trying to free them only to wail in agony.

  A flash of memory. Ellie smiling as they discussed how they would spend Christmas, then lights blinked out, the plane surged forward into a nosedive and Dustin cursed as they entered a world of black far below. No city lights. No headlights. Nothing but pure darkness for miles in every direction. How? Impossible.

  Ellie! Frantically he shone the light over snowdrifts. It bounced off pine trunks. He couldn’t tell if the plane was off the ground or if pine trees and massive amounts of snow were supporting the jagged tube of metal. The light hit on something. A dark mound in deep snow. A trail of blood leading up to it. A seat. A face. Eyes closed, face drained of blood, a body contorted. An arm twisted in an ungodly position. Broken. Her leg angled backwards, the other hidden by snow… he began to breathe harder, darkness creeping in at his eyes as more snow blew and swirled around him.

  The cold sucking the remaining life from his skin.

  Struggling to control his gasping breath and pounding heart, he reached out calling her name but his voice was lost in the brutal wind. “Ellie…”

  He blinked. She was gone. Nothing but snow for as far as the eye could see.

  Was he hallucinating? Was his mind fabricating the worst outcome?

  He wanted her so badly to be alive.

  A glimmer of silver.

  Something shiny in the snow.

  The gifts. For Sara. For Max. For you, Ellie.

  Groans of grief turned to wails. He cried so hard he choked on his tears.

  It wouldn’t be long and he would join her. He’d freeze to death before anyone came. It would all be over really soon. Ellie… I’m sorry. I should have never brought you. I should have listened to your mother. I shouldn’t have let you convince me. But you so desperately wanted to go. Please. Please. Be alive. I can’t lose you.

  Landon shifted in his seat, pain stabbing his leg like a red-hot poker.

  Stay with me.

  His eyes closed.

  1

  One day earlier

  There was only one thing Landon Gray hated more than Christmas parties, and that was ugly sweater Christmas parties. Whoever came up with that idea needed to be shot, or at a bare minimum given twenty lashings of the birch, his preference was for the latter.

  He looked down again at the undersized monstrosity he’d squeezed his six-foot hulking frame into only an hour earlier. He pulled at the elf-green collar. It was itchy and cutting off his circulation. His wife, Sara, had laughed hysterically as he came out of the bathroom to show her what it looked like. The damn thing was a bright Santa Claus red with white snowflakes. It had a green collar and a giant 3D gold satin bow mounted on the front. It was the most hideous sweater he’d ever seen. “I look like a walking Christmas present,” he said, trying to hide his own amusement.

  She slapped his arm playfully. “That’s the idea. Oh, Tess will love this.”

  Tess Hudson, Sara’s longest and could be debated, most annoying friend, had phoned that day to remind her about the party. For a while, he thought she’d forgotten. Nope. Tess just loved to stir the pot. If Tess jumped off a cliff, Sara wouldn’t be that far behind her. She was like her shadow.

  Sara had grown up in Castine, Maine. Her parents owned the Manor Inn, a gorgeous nineteenth century home that catered to summer travelers. They’d met after he’d ferried a plane to Maine from Florida, which was where he originated until their paths crossed.

  The rest was history.

  Seventeen years and two kids later, they were just another American family; barring what he did for a living which took him to far-flung locations as a ferry pilot.

  “Come on, let’s blow this off. We’ll get some beers, have a games night and—”

  He went to remove it and she tugged it back down.

  She screwed up her face. “No, don’t be a killjoy. You said you would go. It’ll be fun. Everyone will be there.”

  “Exactly,” he groaned. The humiliation. He could already hear them yukking it up at his expense. Sara got this sour look on her face, the one that made it clear he was pushing the envelope. It was a squint in the left eye. He was sure all ladies had it. It had taken a few years to pick up on it but now he’d become quite adept at seeing the warning sign. He knew he had roughly a minute or so before she lost her cool.

  “Landon, it’s not going to kill you to attend one event. Besides, you missed last year. And it’s not like you’re going to be the odd one out. We’re all wearing them,” Sara said, trying to convince him that made it bearable. It didn’t but how could he fight her on it? He’d bailed on the previous year, and had foolishly promised to be at this one.

  Oh, how those months had flown by.

  The crazy shindig was held every year at the town hall for local business owners, and put together by that douche Hank Thomas who would get liquored up and then flirt with everyone’s wife. He was an embarrassment not only to himself but to Rita who, for some abnormal reason, still hadn’t divorced him. However the worst part was no one seemed to do a damn thing about it — well until two years ago, when Hank found himself on the end of Landon’s fist.

  Yep, he pushed his Don Juan act a little too far.

  Now most would have cheered him on, slapped him on the back, and told him that Hank had got what was coming to him. Nope. Not this bunch of blind small-town fools.

  Anyway, that was another reason why he dodged last year, he really didn’t want to deal with the whispers, and dagger eyes. He could already feel them breathing down his neck and he hadn’t even arrived. Landon raked a few fingers through his dark, wavy hair and splashed some cologne on his shaven cheeks. At thirty-nine he was beginning to show his age with fine lines around his blue eyes, and this kind of event wasn’t exactly helping.

  Still, a promise was a promise and if there was one thing Landon was good for, it was his word. It also helped that he adored his wife, and she’d been more than accommodating the year before so he felt he owed her. After hustling Max, his seventeen-year-old, and Ellie who had just turned fourteen, into the back of the SUV, they headed out to brave the foul winter weather. Along the way, they spotted a couple of vehicles in the ditch, and Jake Parish, a local tow driver, hooking one of them up. He would certainly earn his money this year. Winter was brutal in Maine. As they turned onto Court Street, Landon circled around the block, searching for a spot to park; not so close that they would be noticed but not too far as he wasn’t one for hikes. It was packed, which was saying a lot since Castine was a small town with a population just over one thousand. His wipers whipped snow back and forth as they got closer to Emerson Town Hall — a clapboard, gray and white, two-story building that dated back to the 1900s. It stood out like a sore thumb among the residential homes that lined the street.

  As he swerved the SUV into a tight spot between a souped-up Mazda and a rusted-out truck, Landon once again felt the familiar sinking feeling in his gut as he looked at those streaming towards the building. Sara was right. It should be fun. Parties were meant to be fun but usually ended up being nothing more than a sack of regrets just waiting to happen. It wasn’t exactly the event that he hated so much as it was the people who attended. Okay, hate was probably too strong a word. Dislike, maybe? The binge drinking session represented the pinnacle, the so-called cherry on the cake of Castine residents’ social lives. If a competition to see who had the flashier sweater could be deemed the pinnacle. Sara placed a caring hand on top of his and looked over. “It will be fine. Have a drink. And heck, maybe you’ll forget you’re there,” she said getting out with an eye roll. He glanced in his rearview mirror at Ellie who pulled a face and stuck out her tongue. She
loved the event just as much as her mother did. She snapped a quick selfie for her Instagram before following her mother. Then there was Max. Anything that pulled him away from his marathon gaming sessions was worse than death itself. Dark emo-style hair stuck to his jawline, a beanie hat that conveyed some kind of coolness swallowed the remainder, and a black bomber jacket was used to cover up the oh-so-uncool sweater. He had his earbuds in listening to music and was pretending to be asleep in the grand hope they would leave him in the vehicle. No such luck. Landon knew him better than that.

  He reached over and shook his leg.

  He didn’t move so Landon shook harder.

  If he had to endure the alcohol-fueled obstacle course so would he. All for one and one for all, and whatnot.

  “Come on, if I’ve got to go, so have you.”

  He opened one eye and groaned. “Come on, Landon. I need my sleep!”

  “And miss all the fun? And it’s Dad, not Landon,” he said sarcastically, hoping to extract a smile. No. Nothing. He got out, leaving him alone for a few seconds. In all honesty, he loved being with his family, there was nothing he enjoyed more, but he really wasn’t much of a social bee. That was Sara’s thing. It was one of the many reasons why she took over the inn after her parents retired, and her father passed away. He looked at his sweater again beneath his dark navy peacoat as he did up the top button. He didn’t think he could feel anymore emasculated than he was in that moment. He wished he could be anywhere but there. But that wasn’t to be. Hell, he would have rather flown a plane through the foulest weather than endure another eye-rolling party.