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  DEFEND THE HOMESTEAD

  A Powerless World Book Three

  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.

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  DEFEND THE HOMESTEAD: A Powerless World Book Three 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.

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  A Powerless World series

  Escape the Breakdown

  Survive the Lawless

  Defend the Homestead

  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

  Epilogue

  A Plea

  Readers Team

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Humboldt County, California

  Four days before the event

  The night Ryland Strickland chewed on a bullet, he was happier than a bird with a French fry. The cannabis farmer who’d embodied the outlaw culture of Humboldt County had scored his biggest payday on the black market since he’d gotten into the industry. Deep in the hills of Humboldt, inside a cabin nestled among the giant redwoods, he did a jig around a mahogany table; a joint in one hand, a full bottle of Dom Pérignon in the other. He uncorked it and set it down, lit two candles, and considered his fortune.

  Buried on his property inside steel ammo containers were hundreds of thousands of dollars.

  Illegally earned. Pure profit. All stashed away for his retirement.

  It wouldn’t be long now and he could turn his back on it all.

  It was moments like these he was glad he hadn’t toed the line. He’d seen the abatement letters; the notices of violation posted on farmers’ gates. They were hilarious. Permits? Who needed those? That was for the chumps scared of the government, the fools who wanted to play the legal game, and those not smart enough to know how to hide crops. Not him. Oh no, he’d tasted the better life, and it was a hell of a lot sweeter than the scraps the county wanted to toss him.

  Regulations, rules, endless fees. Who were they kidding? He’d seen farmers try to go the honest route only to stumble in the process. The red tape, the hurdles, and the cost of going legal was killing the cannabis market. It had unfolded like an apocalypse, quickly destroying livelihoods, forcing thousands of growers out of business, and sending many underground. Lots of families had fled the area, leaving behind abandoned homesteads. Nothing more than shacks that once held the hopes and dreams of hard-working people. The brave few, bold enough to man up and deal in the black market, vanished into the hills, settling on smaller plots and keeping their mouth shut.

  And who could blame them? The county rubbed fingers together in front of their faces, knowing full well that most couldn’t run a business under their tight regulations. They wanted sales tax before a grow, after a grow, and then if that wasn’t enough, after a sale. Were they insane? That didn’t include all the other ongoing costs, penalties, fines, and fees. It was a joke. And these suits had the nerve to call them criminals?

  Ryland crossed to a mirror and buttoned up his plaid shirt, angled his clean-shaven jaw, and patted a few dabs of spicy cologne on each cheek. He ran fingers through his wavy brown hair, checking that all the hair dye had covered the gray patches at his temples. In his early sixties, he was still in shape barring a small belly that pushed at his waistband.

  But that was a sign of good living. A living that he’d gained from turning up a middle finger to the man. To a government that didn’t care about their lives or morals.

  No, the rule makers were hypocrites. The whole damn lot of them.

  They imprisoned them when it was illegal to grow — but oh, now the idiots had come to their senses and deemed it legal, they wanted the lion’s share of profits or would imprison them if they didn’t play by their rules? How was that fair?

  Screw their rules and screw them.

&nb
sp; His kin hadn’t lasted generations by paying a middleman.

  And definitely not by bending the knee to a greedy one.

  Ryland pushed aside the drapes to see if she was here yet. Nope. Outside, ambient floodlights lit up his property, a wrought-iron gate secured his land, and a curtain of redwoods framed the small legal grow inside a greenhouse. Of course, it was all smoke and mirrors. He had to make the county believe he was a law-abiding citizen. They wouldn’t buy that a Strickland had stopped growing altogether, so he and Hank ran a few small legal farms to appease the powers that be while the real moneymakers were deep in the hills, hidden away from their prying eyes.

  His cabin was modest like his lifestyle. It had to be that way. Anything more and it would raise questions, bring trouble, and they already had enough of that.

  No, those days were behind him.

  Divorced twice, with one daughter and two sons, he had given up on relationships and chosen to live out the remainder of his years as a bachelor tending to fields of bud, enjoying the rugged coastline, and maybe, if fate would have it, dipping his toe into Martha Riker’s waters. She was an attractive woman. Confident. Sure of herself. There was something very magnetic about her.

  Since the unfortunate happening ten years ago, they had agreed to meet each other in the middle and find a common ground where both Stricklands and Rikers could live in peace.

  It had worked.

  Each year they would meet for a parley, a time when the two families would discuss issues and concerns, and renew the agreement. After starting as a large meeting where many came together for their own protection, it had eventually dwindled to just two. It had become second nature. Safe. They would laugh together, drink and celebrate each other’s success in the black market.

  He’d come to look forward to that meal.

  Ryland was stabbing the sizzling steaks with a fork to make sure they were ready when there was a knock at the door. “Come in, Martha,” he yelled over his shoulder as the meat darkened in the pan in front of him and he sliced a chunk to taste.

  Martha entered, sniffing the air. She removed her coat and hung it up on a rack near the door. That evening she was wearing that low black number that offered a generous view of her plump breasts. He had to purposely look away to prevent himself from feasting upon her curves as she sauntered into the kitchen, getting close.

  She leaned over, sweeping back her long hair. “Steak and onions?”

  “Yes, I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all. Smells delicious.”

  He thought the same about her. That exquisite perfume made him want to bite lumps out of her. He’d often thought how lucky Bruce was. He slung a dishcloth over his shoulder as he checked on the roast potatoes in the oven.

  “I like what you have done with this place.”

  “Ah, thanks. Decided to add on the sunroom last summer. Gives me a place to take in the rays and…”

  “Keep an eye on those trimming your crops?”

  He smiled. Great minds thought alike. There was little that got past that woman. In all the years they’d known one another, she’d always presented herself as the decision-maker even though she said she would discuss matters with Bruce. “Exactly.”

  “So how’s it been this year? They are clamping down on the growers,” she said.

  “The legal crop keeps the wolves away from the door. You?”

  “Likewise, though we haven’t seen much of Humboldt’s finest up our way as of late.”

  He stabbed the fork in the air. “That would be because of the new element.”

  “I’ve heard. Transients dealing in hard drugs, hustlers looking to make a quick buck. Well, I’m sure they won’t last.”

  “I wouldn’t underestimate them, Martha,” he said. He removed the potatoes and burned himself on the pan before dropping it on the countertop. “Damn, that’s hot.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He glanced at her. “They’re not like others we’ve faced. We’ve had plenty of crops stolen.” He was referring to the illegal ones.

  “That wasn’t us.”

  “I didn’t say it was. We caught them. Roughed them up. Figured they would learn their lesson and leave town like others before. Not these guys. They showed up at one of our farms, and wrecked the place, shot and killed Nile Kendall, took out four of our security, and then took off. We got it all on camera.” He took the open bottle of red wine from the table and poured some in a glass and gave it to her.

  Martha scooped it up. “Thanks. And so you handled it?”

  “We did.” He clinked his glass against hers. “To another year.”

  She cocked her head and smiled. “Another year.”

  He gulped a mouthful and set it down so he could serve up the meal. “However, it wasn’t easy. On hard drugs, these idiots have no fear. I think it’s PCP. They’ve learned to use the hills to their advantage, like the way we used to elude the cops. Remember that.”

  “I do. Sounds like you have your hands full.”

  She returned to the table and took a seat.

  “I’m surprised you haven’t encountered them.”

  “Ah, they know better than to come our way.”

  “Do they? Please tell me they don’t work for you.”

  Martha laughed. “Oh come now, Ryland. Do you honestly think we would send boys to handle a man’s job? You know by now we don’t back down easily.”

  “I know, that’s what’s so puzzling about this.” He took a seat and adjusted his cutlery in front of him. “Anyway, let’s move on. We should discuss pressing issues. Would you like to begin?”

  “Let’s eat first, shall we?” Martha replied. He poured more wine and they tucked into the meal. They kept the conversation general. Touching on what kind of profits they had seen in the black market. Changes. Threats from undercover police. New blood in the area trying to capitalize on their world. Although the two families were competitors, there was enough money out there for both of them to prosper, as their clients came from all over the nation. Many were repeat buyers, top guys based out of Miami and Chicago.

  Once they had finished eating, Ryland leaned back in his seat, satisfied, full, and slightly tipsy. Nothing about his exchange with Martha that evening was different from the previous nine years. Nothing that would have given him a reason to be concerned. Conversation flowed. Humor was reciprocated. Once they had business matters out of the way, they would address issues that had arisen between the two families: run-ins, disagreements, anything that might lead to a divide. They couldn’t have that happen again. There was too much at stake.

  “You know, Ryland, I’ve been thinking lately about the past.”

  He smiled before taking another sip of his wine. “Yes, it lingers.”

  “There was always something that didn’t add up about that night.”

  His brow furrowed. Confusion spread across his face.

  “Night? Can you be more specific?”

  “You know… the night Skye died.”

  His smile quickly faded. “Remember what we agreed. We’re not here to talk about that.”

  He got up and collected the plates and took them over to the sink. His mind circling back to that night. Skye was his one and only daughter. The one good thing in his life that was pure, untainted, and untouched by the madness of the mountain.

  “I know but something about it didn’t add up.” She pressed the issue, ignoring everything they had agreed. That conversation was off-limits. It was too painful. It unearthed feelings that could easily bring about a dividing line in the sand.

  Without turning, Ryland looked at her reflection in the windowpane as he ran water over the dishes. “It was a tragedy. We all lost that night. But that’s why we are here today. So that something like that never happens again.”

  She got up, carrying her half-filled glass to the counter, observing him as he scrubbed the dishes. “I found out that Skye wasn’t about to turn over Colby to the law.”

  “I ne
ver said she would have.”

  “No, you didn’t need to. You let Nancy believe it.”

  They locked eyes, and he swallowed hard as he dried his hands.

  “Where are you going with this, Martha?”

  “After Colby left for L.A., I let it go. I had to, I believed we’d done the right thing. Then I ended up having a conversation with the deputy that pulled Skye in on the night of her death. It’s amazing what you learn when you are ready to listen.” Her fingers drummed on the counter, making him feel uncomfortable. “He had some interesting things to say. After, I decided I needed to talk to Nancy but she was in prison at the time.” She let her words linger. “Do you know, no one from your family visited her. Can you believe that?”

  He could.

  She continued. “So you can imagine her surprise when I visited her. Of all people, right? It’s interesting what a person is willing to share in hindsight with ten years behind them. You see, Nancy said that you approached her that night and told her that Colby was responsible for killing her boyfriend Vince, but it wasn’t Colby. You knew that. She didn’t. And you also knew Nancy would fly off the handle and do something rash. Something foolish. She knew Skye was planning to meet up with Colby to leave with him for L.A. But you already knew that.” Her eyes narrowed. He listened but said nothing as she continued. “Skye was late for that meeting with Colby because Nancy had told the cops that she knew more about Vince’s death. So she was pulled in for questioning. Of course, Skye denied knowing anything. In fact, she spoke up for Colby because he wasn’t there the night of the fight between my son Dax and Vince. Why was that?” She tapped the side of her temple. “That’s right, Skye had given Colby a reason to not go to that rumble.”