Lone Survivor (Book 3): All That Escapes Read online

  ALL THAT ESCAPES

  Jack Hunt

  Direct Response Publishing

  Copyright © 2019 by Jack Hunt

  All rights reserved.

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  ALL THAT ESCAPES book 3 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

  Lone Survivor series

  All That Remains

  All That Survives

  All That Escapes

  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

  Epilogue

  Plea

  Readers Team

  About the Author

  Prologue

  The ambush was set. Camouflaged, a group of heavily armed men crawled toward the tree line either side of U.S. Route 1. Their target was a convoy of three military Humvees.

  A cool morning breeze blew in off Penobscot Bay, rustling the leaves around them in Moose Point State Park. Nervousness roiled in the pit of his stomach as Ray Ferguson’s finger twitched near the trigger of the M16. He never wanted to kill anyone, especially military, however the odds were high that blood would be shed. The truth was it shouldn’t have come to this but when word spread that martial law was in effect across all major cities, he knew it was only a matter of time before Belfast, Maine, fell under government control.

  “The target is approaching,” Edgar Barrow said.

  Ray unclipped the radio and brought it to his lips. “Roger that.”

  Ray nudged Lee, his brother, an overbearing man in his early forties with a buzz cut and hard mileage in his eyes. Like many in their group, he was ex-military, a man who’d served his country only to be spat out the other side with little to live on. It was a harsh reality that was all too familiar. Lee rose from his position and clicked on and off a small red flashlight, pointing to the other side of the road where five more of the group were waiting for the signal.

  All of their camo-striped faces were a picture of concentration.

  Before the blackout, the media had pegged them as extremists, no thanks to the Southern Poverty Law Center, which said they were against Muslims and immigrants and had listed them among 273 anti-government groups in the U.S., however, that wasn’t the truth. Maine Militia were law-abiding patriots whose sole purpose was to protect the rights of the American people from all enemies, both foreign and domestic.

  And right now the rights of Belfast were being trampled upon. It was a pity. They had worked so hard over the last five years to fight against a skewed public perception by appearing in Memorial Day parades and speaking one on one with residents.

  Politics, religion, racism, none of that came into the equation. And yet the term militia still caused a negative reaction in the minds of Americans.

  In his mind they were no different than the militia known as the civil defense. It was back then that local militias had prepared Americans in case of military attack. They had been relied upon to protect civilians during the French and Indian and Revolutionary Wars. And because everything functioned at a local level, and citizens participated in annual militia musters — they were accepted, celebrated and revered as the citizens army. That’s why he believed their aim was to back up the National Guard and take care of the American people.

  It had been one hurdle after another, an uphill battle that hadn’t been helped by the arrests of men in connection with the recent bombing of a Minnesota mosque. The same men who had been part of a skewed Three Percent Militia group in Illinois, the same group who had encouraged people to take up arms against the government.

  The SPLC had jumped all over that and as usual threw every militia group under the bus including them. It wasn’t long before the term “domestic terrorism” was being used.

  Terrorism?

  They weren’t the threat.

  And they certainly weren’t racist.

  They were here for the people. It had always been about the American people.

  As a group they focused on tradition, survival, being prepared and community service, not recruiting civilians and putting them through dangerous training scenarios to take on the government. As he had told the local news, they were all about allegiance to the Constitution, that’s all.

  And that’s why it pained him to have to do this.

  Nevertheless it had to be done.

  The mission was simple: Take back the supplies the military were taking from the people of Belfast. Ray belly-crawled forward and brought up high-powered binoculars as the caravan of three armored Humvees snaked around the final bend in the road.

  His
eyes roamed over the telephone poles brought down to block the passage. With the high winds they’d had over the past few days it would have been easy to assume it was the work of Mother Nature. It wasn’t.

  Over the radio, Ray gave his team instructions to hold.

  He was familiar with how the military would respond to this. It was all about timing.

  The first vehicle eased off the gas and came to a stop a few feet from the poles. Four National Guardsmen leapt out, two took up offensive positions while the other two went to inspect the obstruction. “Hold,” Ray said in a whisper.

  It would take more than two to move the poles. A hand went up from one of the military guys, and Ray’s eyes bounced to the two vehicles. They shut off their engines and eight more guys hopped out. They were outnumbered by two but it didn’t matter, not for what he had in mind. He glanced at his men, their faces, alert, tactical and strained. “Wait for it,” he said into the radio.

  One by one, the soldiers on the road removed their rifles and propped them up beside the Humvees as they jogged up to the telephone poles to help move them out of the way. As soon as the last one stepped away from his rifle, Ray gave the signal and his group launched the attack.

  From both sides of the road they blasted out of the tree line at a crouch.

  Short, sharp bursts of diversionary fire from M16’s clipped the ground near the feet of the men and caused them to fall back, away from their vehicles, away from their weapons. They had handguns but they would have been fools to go for them. There was no cover. Nothing to fall behind. The attack was so swift and unexpected that hands instantly shot up in surrender.

  “On the ground. Now!” Ray shouted.

  His team fanned out and bellowed orders for the guardsmen to get on the ground. They emptied a few more rounds while two of his men gathered up their rifles. Ray and Lee moved toward the group.

  His men rushed in and relieved them of their handguns.

  “Faces down,” Lee said. “We are not here to harm you. All we want is what you have taken from the people of Belfast.”

  A cocky son of a bitch lifted his head. “You are making a big mistake. This jurisdiction is under martial law. We have orders.”

  “To steal what belongs to another? To trample our constitutional rights? If you want fish, you fish. Our people are not doing the hard work for you. You want our guns, try to take them. But don’t expect to make it out alive.”

  “Listen,” the cocky guy said in a demanding tone.

  Ray dropped down to his level and yelled in his face. “No! You listen. I want you to go back to the FEMA camp and tell them that this ends today. If you try to come back and take what we have, the outcome won’t be good. This is your final warning.”

  “Buddy, you have no idea who you are messing with.”

  Ray squinted at him. “Neither do you. Now get your men up and move those posts.”

  “You want us to do it?”

  “Did it sound like a question?” Ray replied. Slowly the group of twelve rose to their feet and under the instruction of their platoon leader they moved the telephone poles out of the way. Ray shouted over his shoulder. “Lee, how we doing?”

  “All good.”

  They had moved the fresh fish, guns and medical supplies from the two vehicles and loaded them into the last, the one they planned on taking and putting to good use. “Get back into your vehicles,” Ray ordered.

  “Now who’s stealing?” the soldier said.

  Ray got almost nose to nose with him. He glanced down at his name tape. “Johnson. Call it interest for the goods you took last week, and the week before that. Now go. Get the fuck out of here.” Under the watchful eye of his team, the guardsmen hustled to the vehicles and crammed themselves inside like sardines in a tin. The engines roared to life and the National Guard rolled out, leaving them with a Humvee full of goods. A few cheers came from the men. A smile flickered on Ray’s face. They’d done it and without killing one soldier.

  He turned to Lee. “See, brother, I told you it could be done.”

  “Yeah, today. But tomorrow might be another story.”

  “We’ll deal with that when we get to it. For now, have Donnelly take the truck back to Belfast and distribute it out,” he said heading back toward the tree line.

  “Ray.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You know there will be backlash from this.”

  “I expect there will.”

  “Next time they’ll bring more. Maybe we should stay on the move.”

  “And go where?”

  “Anywhere.”

  Ray placed a hand on Lee’s shoulder. “This is home.”

  “I’m not talking about going far.” He turned and pointed out toward the bay. “The islands. Hell, we could station ourselves in Castine. I doubt they’ll head into that sleepy town. We can move back and forth across the bay with ease and keep an eye on Belfast.”

  “No. We operate from here. They haven’t seen our faces,” he said from behind the green bandanna covering the lower half of his face.

  Ray turned to walk away.

  “They’ve seen mine,” Lee said.

  Ray stopped and looked back at him. “I told you to keep it up.”

  “I did. But they’ve seen all of ours.”

  He screwed up his face. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Everyone in Belfast knows us. We were in the parade. We’ve spoken with residents. There might be seven militia groups in Maine but we are the only ones in this jurisdiction. They’ve seen us. And if they’ve seen us, it’s only a matter of time before townsfolk point them in our direction.”

  “No, you’ve got it all wrong, brother. People won’t throw us under the bus; not once they see what we’ve done for them.”

  Lee shook his head. “Not everyone agrees, Ray. Some trust in the government, not us.”

  Ray walked back to him. “They might not trust us now but they will.” He lowered his head. “Look, we’ll gather up what we have, and stay low for a while. We’ll head across to one of the islands. It will let us stay close enough to remain a fly in the ointment but not so close that we won’t see them coming if they decide to react.” He tapped his brother’s chest. “But I’m not leaving for good, brother. These people need us.”

  1

  Max Gray slipped out the window at the break of day, longing to clear his mind. The sun was just beginning to rise, spreading its warm glow across the town of Castine. It was Saturday and yet it didn’t seem like it. Since the EMP, nothing seemed the same. His week used to be defined by the weekends. Waking up early, going fishing or heading into town with Ellie. Unlike many of his friends, his relationship with his sister was good. Of course they fought just like any siblings but that didn’t last long.

  When he wasn’t getting out of the house and creating his own adventures, he usually had his head stuck in a video game but even that was a thing of the past. Five and a half months, that had to be a world record. Now it was all about hunting and gathering. He was beginning to understand what cavemen must have felt like foraging for food.

  It was exhausting, physically and mentally.

  Then there was the sugar crash, he’d experienced it sometime in the first month. Okay, it wasn’t as bad as he thought, but still, he was only seventeen, he was used to consuming a large pack of Doritos, sucking down Mountain Dew and eating his way through four candy bars and that was all before lunch.

  Now it was dried fruit, fish, vegetables, jerky and nuts.

  Not exactly teen food.

  He slid down the roof and dropped to the ground. A heavy dew had settled on the grass. He paused there for a moment and listened, hoping his mother hadn’t heard. Lately he felt suffocated. It was like she was micromanaging everything he did. Where are you going? When will you be back? Have Jake go with you. It was tiresome. Sure, he understood. She was worried something terrible would happen but he would be eighteen in a month and in some areas of the world, that meant he was an adult.<
br />
  He didn’t hear any movement so he adjusted his backpack on his shoulder, pulled his beanie down and jogged away from the Manor towards a shed where his bike was stashed. He dragged the red mountain bike out, hopped on and pedaled off into the mist that hung low.

  Days seemed to blur into one, just an endless stream of trying to keep their heads above water. Survival had become the default state, and with every passing day it had got harder. He missed his father, but most of all he missed Ellie. At least if she was here he wouldn’t feel so damn alone. It wasn’t that he didn’t have friends. There were a few that lived in Castine but he hadn’t seen them since the lights went out. Most of the teens his age either bused out to Bucksport High School or George Stevens Academy in Blue Hill, both were about a thirty-minute ride away.

  He just wanted one day, one day he could be himself. One day to forget that the world had turned into one big shit burger.

  Over the past few weeks Jake been scoping out some of the islands nearby. He figured that they needed to keep their options open. Even with Deputy Daniels and residents policing the town, theft and murders were still on the rise. The Manor was comfortable, but for how long?

  Almost everything they needed to live could be gained from the land, the bay and the sky: vegetables, small animals, fish and rainwater.

  The trouble was moving away from the manor was just talk, that’s because they didn’t have just them to think about — there was Rita Thomas, and Tess, and now Sam and Carl who had taken a liking to coming over in the evenings, drinking wine and shooting the breeze with Jake who was now deputized. Talk, talk, talk. That’s all they ever did. That wasn’t going to get them anywhere, so he figured he’d scout out the islands for them.