A Powerless World | Book 4 | Outlive The Darkness Read online

  OUTLIVE THE DARKNESS

  A Powerless World Book Four

  Jack Hunt

  Direct Response Publishing

  Copyright © 2021 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.

  OUTLIVE THE DARKNESS: A Powerless World Book Four 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.

  For my Family

  Also by Jack Hunt

  Click here to receive special offers, bonus content, and news about new Jack Hunt’s books. Sign up for the newsletter.

  If you haven’t joined Jack Hunt’s Private Facebook Group you can request to join by clicking here now.

  A Powerless World series

  Escape the Breakdown

  Survive the Lawless

  Defend the Homestead

  Outlive the Darkness

  Outlaws of the Midwest series

  Chaos Erupts

  Panic Ensues

  Havoc Endures

  The Cyber Apocalypse series

  As Our World Ends

  As Our World Falls

  As Our World Burns

  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

  Against All Odds Duology

  As We Fall

  As We Break

  The Amygdala Syndrome Duology

  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

  All That Rises

  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

  The Lookout

  Class of 1989

  Out of the Wild

  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

  Chapter 31

  A Plea

  Readers Team

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Humboldt County, California

  Four months after the event

  Freedom. He could almost taste it. John Boone stood at the door of his eight-by-ten cell, watching through a thin vertical pane as hands on the clock ticked over. His eyes flitted between correctional officers as they hurried to prepare the transfer of thirty prisoners from Humboldt Correctional Facility to North Kern State Prison.

  Transfers occurred for all manner of reasons. If inmates were near the end of their sentence, they might be moved to a prison that was closer to where they would live after release. Sometimes the conditions were better elsewhere. Other times it was due to overpopulation. This time they’d been told two reasons: to curb the spread of sickness and because the generators were needed elsewhere.

  The transfer had been planned for some time. He’d heard the rumors that state was expediting the release of inmates ever since the power grid went down four months ago, but it was when an officer banged on his door and told him to pack up his things that he knew the situation had gotten worse. They didn’t release folks like him. Violent offenders, that is. Only those who were deemed nonviolent or had serious medical conditions.

  “I’m being released?” he’d asked.

  “In your dreams,” Dustin Parish replied.

  Boone had seen inmates leave. The lucky few. He learned that it was only those who had served a lengthy sentence, posed a low risk of reoffending, and were vulnerable to the sickness that had spread for over a year.

  It didn’t matter to him. He was getting out one way or another, and he knew who would help. He locked eyes with Parish, a correctional officer who had dodged a bullet that year after Humboldt County arrested a fellow deputy for smuggling contraband into the facility. He wasn’t the first to do it. What the drug task force had gotten wrong was that Deputy Jameson hadn’t acted alone. Parish was in on it but because Jameson hadn’t squealed, he had gotten away scot-free. They might not have known his involvement but Boone did and he’d planned to use that to his advantage.

  Boone turned and dropped down to do thirty push-ups. It was routine. It kept his body fit and his mind active after years inside for armed robbery. A year ago he’d been transferred out of state back to his hometown to serve out the remainder of his sentence. That’s why it bothered him that they were talking about transferring him back to state.

  The muscles on his back rippled, the huge tattoo of a cross looked as if it was alive with each dip. His belief in God wasn’t the healthiest. It almost bordered upon an obsession. While others shared their faith, did good to others, quoted the New Testament, and talked about love and forgiveness, he was much more partial to the Old. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. There was substance to that. None of this namby-pamby business. Forgiveness? That was for pussies. The God he served was a God of vengeance, ready to strike down upon the heads of those that stepped out of line. Now that he could get behind.

  Boone heard the steel flap on the door clank
against it. That familiar sound that drove men mad. “Boone. Let’s go.”

  “Sixteen more to go.”

  “Get your ass up now.”

  “Fifteen, fourteen.”

  “Don’t make us come in there.”

  “Is that a promise? Twelve, eleven.”

  Hernández acted all tough but he knew his place. The last time those assholes had tried to strong-arm him into submission, he’d stripped naked and lathered himself in his own feces. The look on their faces when they barged in the door was priceless.

  They waited for Boone to finish.

  “And one.” He breathed in deeply as he rose. Boone put on a T-shirt, then backed up to the door and stuck his hands through the slot. “You think I can take my books with me, boss?”

  “No.” Hernández grabbed his wrists abruptly and yanked him back, forcing him to crack his head against the door. “You know, Boone, I can’t wait to see you gone.”

  “The feeling’s mutual.”

  Steely teeth chomped at his skin as the handcuffs locked into place. He was told to take two steps forward before the door was opened and Hernández and Parish entered to secure the rest of his shackles. Boone shuffled out wearing the usual bright orange prison garb. Along with four more criminals he was led outside.

  It was dawn. A summer breeze brushed against his face and he stopped for a second, raised his nose to breath in the fresh air. It didn’t last. Hernández shoved him forward. “Keep moving. We don’t have all day.”

  “Just breathing freedom, boss.”

  “If you call freedom taking fifteen steps to that bus, sure, all right, Boone.”

  Hernández chuckled.

  He had no idea.

  Boone kept moving behind the line of inmates, all of them he knew well. These were guys that had done some serious shit: Tim Barnett, Joe Wilson, Wonky-Eye Pete and Mike Conley, to name a few. Most bore swirling ink on their skin and scars from one too many bar fights. No one wanted to be there. All looked subdued. That’s why he must have looked like an oddity, grinning as he got on an ancient prison bus. “You think they could have wrangled up a Greyhound or a luxury RV instead of this old beat-up piece of crap?”

  “Shut up and take a seat.”

  Boone shuffled down about halfway on the 70-seater. The seats were busted up with exposed sponge like a burst pimple. “Geez Louise. Boss. How long is the journey?” Barnett asked, taking a seat behind Boone.

  “Five hours, give or take.”

  “I heard it’s as long as they have gas,” Conley muttered. “Ain’t that right, boss?”

  “Sounds like you’re all in a rush to get there,” Hernández added, smirking at Parish.

  A third correctional officer, named Rodrigo, stepped on. Tall guy, dark skin with sun spots. “All of them accounted for?” he asked.

  Hernández nodded and the doors were closed. Rodrigo removed his jacket and slumped into the driver’s seat. He adjusted his rearview mirror, ready to roll out. “This is going to be a long trip.”

  “Just the three of you?” Wilson asked from the back.

  “That’s all that’s needed,” Parish said, making his way to the rear where he could keep a good eye on him. The CO was packing a Benelli twelve-gauge, as was Hernández who had taken a seat at the front and was eyeballing everyone. Usually the inmates were separated from the COs at the front, but not on this bus. There were a few empty seats between Parish and the rest of the men. It was precautionary. Although they were cuffed the COs couldn’t be too careful. The bus hissed and peeled away. Hernández took out a pack of smokes, and tapped one out then cracked a thin window open.

  “Think I can get one of those, boss?” Wonky-eye Pete asked.

  “Sure,” he said. He got up, tapped one out and brought it up to his lips, only to pull it away fast as Pete leaned forward. Hernández burst out laughing.

  “Oh c’mon man.”

  “Gullible moron. The only thing I’d give you is a sharp jab to the gut.” He returned to his seat. Rodrigo glanced in his rearview mirror and chuckled. Hernández said something to him and they both laughed. Boone leaned his head back and closed his eyes. The smell of fumes from the bus was nauseating.

  The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon, its bright orange rays bursting through the giant redwoods, offering them a clear view of the town. Its silhouette cut into the sky. It had been years since he’d seen it. All of the men looked out wide-eyed at the devastation. Four months in and it looked a state.

  “Are the rumors true?” Wilson asked.

  “About what?”

  “You know, the mayor is dead, and that militia were taken out by the native community.”

  “Apparently,” Parish replied. “I don’t keep track. Too busy watching you assholes.”

  Boone glanced back at Parish as the bus made its way around the winding roads heading toward the outskirts of the county. “You want to kiss me, Boone?”

  “No, boss.”

  “Then turn your head.”

  He surveyed the area.

  Business windows were boarded up. Brickwork was marred by swaths of graffiti. Artwork. Crude accusations against city officials. Stalled cars littered the roads, windows smashed, doors torn off. Most were lining the edges of the roads like steel walls. Boone caught sight of local police patrolling on bicycles, others on horseback.

  “Hey, Hernández,” Boone piped up. He glanced his way. “So with the grid down, I gotta ask. They paying you guys in hand jobs?” The men in the bus laughed.

  Hernández narrowed his eyes. “Well, funny you mention that. I had your old lady take care of me last night,” he shot back before he took another hit on his cigarette. “In fact she does the rounds. Don’t she, boys?” He looked to Rodrigo who eyed Hernández in his rearview mirror. Boone looked to Parish, who had a smirk but it quickly vanished. Boone hadn’t seen Leanne in over a year. She’d visited him in the first year then gradually stopped coming. Too busy looking after his two kids. Too busy with life. Too busy screwing others. He hoped that wasn’t the case but he wouldn’t put anything past her. She wasn’t exactly a first-class woman. He’d soon find out, and God help her if she had gone behind his back.

  The bus had made it through Benbow and across the South Fork Eel River bridge and around several bends when there was a loud pop. Rodrigo struggled to keep the tires on the asphalt as it swerved. He hit the brakes and it came to a stop just after the bend on the Redwood Highway. On either side was nothing but tall redwood forest with miles of road before and behind them. It was the perfect spot for an ambush.

  “All right. Settle down!”

  Rodrigo was the first out of his seat. He pulled the doors wide and stepped out to take a look while Hernández got up and racked his shotgun. “Shut your traps, you mongrels.”

  Outside, Boone eyed the tree line as Rodrigo made his way around the entire bus before getting back on. “The front tires are blown.”

  “You think?” Hernández replied sarcastically before getting out to check. Him and Rodrigo chatted, pointing at the tires and looking up the road.

  While they were doing that, Parish got up and shuffled down to where Boone was. “Settle down,” he said to them all before leaning over and unlocking his restraints. Boone eyed him with a smirk. Outside, the sound of gunfire erupted, and Rodrigo fell back against the bus, gripping his chest. Hernández spun around and unloaded several rounds into the forest before hurrying onto the bus. He pulled the doors closed and got down.

  “Parish. Can you see them?”

  Boone sat quietly, a smile spreading.

  “Well?”

  Hernández cast a sideways glance toward Parish who was near the back of the bus, looking out. “Come down here, hold the door, I’ll see if I can get this bus moving. Tires or not. I’m not sticking around here.” Outside, there was no movement, no sign of an ambush and yet that’s exactly what this was. Hernández hopped into the driver’s seat and was putting the gear stick in drive when Boone touched the end of
Parish’s handgun against the side of his head. “Going somewhere?”

  Hernández turned ever so slightly. “Parish?”

  “Parish isn’t going to be of much help. Are you, Parish?” He grinned back at him then nudged Hernández. “Now open the doors and shut off the engine.”

  All the inmates on the bus cheered, hooted and hollered.

  Hernández hesitated for a second. One last moment of reluctance. “Open the doors. I won’t ask again.”

  “Parish.”

  “Do as he says, Hernández,” Parish advised.

  Once it was done, Hernández stood up as Boone shoved him out. “What have you done?” As soon as they were outside the bus, Boone breathed in the crisp morning air.

  “Like I said, freedom smells good.”

  Without any signal, armed men on horseback began to emerge from the tree line, two at first, then four more, followed by another twelve. It was overkill but neither Boone nor Parish knew how many correctional deputies would be assigned to escort them. One rider headed to the front and slipped off his horse, an AK47 in hand. Tyler Boone was just under six foot, muscular, healthy with a full head of hair, though most of it was gray from midlife. He stretched his arms wide. “Brother.”

  “Good work.”

  “I aim to please.”

  Boone turned his attention back to Hernández. “Drop to your knees.”

  “What?”

  “You heard the man,” Tyler said. Hernández shot Parish a look as he climbed down off the bus and joined them.

  “Boone. Please. I’m just doing my job,” Hernández said.

  “As am I. Go on now. Get on those knobby knees of yours before I have Parish force you down.” Tears welled in Hernández’s eyes, for he knew what was coming next. Slowly he got down on the blacktop.