No Sanctuary - The Thrilling Post-Apocalyptic Survival Series: No Sanctuary Series - Book 1 Read online

  The results would be unimaginably disastrous.

  Without constant deliveries, grocery stores would run out of food in a matter of hours or perhaps a day or two at most. Hospitals would be unable to provide essential care as they would run out of basic supplies in a few days. Fuel would quickly run out as tanker trucks would no longer be able to make their daily or more frequent deliveries. Families—most of whom have no more than a few days worth of food on hand at a time—would starve.

  Our modern society operates on a razor’s edge. All it would take to plunge us into chaos, anarchy and total societal collapse is the smallest of nudges one way or the other into a world where there is no sanctuary.

  Chapter 1

  Inside the diner, a triage station of sorts had been set up, with Lucille moving from her position as head waitress to impromptu doctor. Her skills as a nurse hadn’t been forgotten, and she was clearly in her element as she gave out instructions, forming the other waitresses into a squad of makeshift nurses under her command.

  Frank, for his part, stayed as far from the commotion as he could. After dragging his backpack inside, he made a beeline for a booth at the far back corner of the diner near the bathrooms. The power had flickered back on half an hour after he came in, though the only thing showing on the TV screens was static. After searching for and locating the remote control for the television behind the counter, he spent several minutes flipping through each and every channel, but couldn’t find anything except white noise.

  “Damn!” Frank sighed and tossed the remote onto the table. He turned to his backpack and opened the flap and began rifling through its contents. In addition to the boots he had pulled from the backseat, he also had three other changes of undergarments, a couple of shirts, an extra pair of pants, enough toiletries for a month, a couple packs of beef jerky and a large tin of peanuts. He pulled each item out and placed it on the table in front of him, making a mental note of everything as he went along.

  Though Frank wasn’t too fond of the title, he was what most people called a “prepper” and as such he carried his “go bag” with him wherever he went. His go bag was his backpack, and in addition to clothing, toiletries and some emergency food, it also contained a large, flat pan at the bottom that had a watertight lid affixed. Inside the pan was a full survival kit that included matches, water purifying tablets, fishing line and lures, a signaling mirror, a magnifying glass and a whole host of other odds and ends that could be used in case of emergency.

  While Frank had been an accountant, he had never subscribed to the notion of preparing for “the end of the world as we know it” or “TEOTWAWKI,” but after he lost his job he started to realize just how fragile life really was. The fact that his parents were both born and bred preppers was enough to send him over the edge. In between job hunting he had helped his parents with all sorts of tasks on their Texas ranch, including restocking their emergency larder, reloading ammunition and performing maintenance on the various gadgets and appliances around their house.

  Frank soon fell in love with the prepper lifestyle, and even after he was hired as a truck driver he continued practicing what he had learned. The survival case he put together was entirely of his own creation, inspired by watching a myriad of videos online and taking advice from his parents, too.

  In spite of all of the time he had spent preparing for a theoretical “end of the world” scenario, Frank wasn’t entirely certain what to do now that he was in one. In fact, he was having trouble believing that what was going on was really all that serious—but one quick glance out the window reaffirmed that whatever was going on wasn’t only real, but incredibly serious.

  The metal survival case was left safely tucked away inside his pack to avoid drawing attention, but Frank popped the top off while it was still inside the backpack to visually check what was inside. Once he had verified the rest of the contents of the pack, he quickly refolded the clothing and put them and the other items back into the bag.

  Frank slung the backpack over his shoulder as he stood up. He walked slowly back through the diner, looking around until he spotted Lucille. She glanced at him and he waved, then she held up a finger and mouthed for him to wait. Frank sat down at the bar and watched as she held up the leg of a young boy, no older than seven, and helped his parents wrap a thick layer of gauze around a burn on his leg. When she finished, she stood up and took off a pair of disposable gloves before walking around behind the bar and heading toward Frank.

  “Sorry, hon; we’re not cooking anything now. We’ll probably start something in an hour or so, if you want to wait.”

  Frank shook his head and smiled. “No, thanks, I’m good. Listen, I was wondering—do you have a phone or something I can use? My phone was kind of… stolen. And my wallet, too.”

  Lucille glanced at the phone on the wall behind her. “They went out a while ago, hon.” She pulled a cellphone from her apron pocket and turned it on, shook her head and turned the screen around to face Frank. “See, no signal.”

  Frank groaned. “So there’s no way to get in touch with my company? Or the cops?”

  Lucille blinked at him a few times before responding. “You don’t know what’s going on, do you?” Frank’s blank stare was all the answer she needed. She motioned down to the other end of the bar and he followed along. When they got to the other end, away from everyone else, she leaned forward and whispered to him.

  “We heard some calls come in from some guys with portable CBs. They said that this thing is everywhere. There are trucks going up in flames all across the state and the country. Nobody’s driving anywhere right now. Even folks with regular cars are too scared to drive. All the planes are grounded and apparently even some boats were hit. Whoever did this has everyone all scared.” Lucille stood back up and gave Frank a sad smile. “I’m sorry, sugar. We’re all stuck here for the time being. This is bigger than… well, bigger than anything.”

  Frank sat on the barstool and rubbed his eyes as he tried to comprehend what she was saying. “So there’s like… no way to contact the company, then?”

  “Hon.” Lucille put her hand on Frank’s arm. “You must have hit your head harder than I thought. I’m telling you that your company is probably gone. Yours isn’t the only rig that’s burning right now. They’re burning across the whole country. This is some kind of big terrorist attack or something.”

  Lucille’s words finally hit home, and when combined with what he remembered from the brief newscast earlier, he suddenly felt a wave of nausea hit him. Lucille looked at him with concern, but one of the other waitresses ran up to her before she could say anything else.

  “Lucy—they brought another one in. He’s hurt bad.”

  Lucille glanced back at Frank and gave him another sympathetic pat on the arm. “Take it easy there, hon. You should go sit back down in a booth, give your head some time to catch up with you.”

  Frank nodded slowly as Lucille dashed off, then promptly ignored her suggestion as he stood up and headed toward the front door. Outside once again, Frank breathed deeply of the smoke-filled air, wrinkling his nose at the taste and smell. Across the parking lot were the scattered remains of burned and damaged vehicles, though not a single one of them looked drivable.

  Frank started walking in the direction of the gas station, not entirely certain where he was going, but knowing that he didn’t want to stay in the diner any longer. Being cooped up in the place was making his head hurt, and he wanted some space to try and get a handle on his thoughts.

  If what Lucille said was true, and whatever happened to his rig had happened to others, he was most certainly without a job. The feeling of unemployment, though, meant nothing in the face of being stuck in a remote part of a state where he had never been, and over a thousand miles away from his closest family.

  Frank picked up his pace as he neared the gas station, and a plan started forming in his mind. It was still early in the afternoon, and he had passed a larger town a few miles back, before the diner.
He could get to it before the sun went down and they would surely have some sort of phone service that he could use to contact his employer. If things really were as bad as Lucille had predicted, Frank would have to find some way of getting back to Texas and his parents. How he would do that, though, was a problem he wasn’t entirely certain how to solve.

  Chapter 2

  The small newsroom is—for the first time in its existence—consumed in chaos. Not even the string of tornadoes that hit the region a few years prior caused as large of a stir. After the power shuts off and the emergency generators kick in, reports begin flooding in across the newswire. The journalists are too stunned to speak, merely standing and reading silently as the reports stream across the monitors.

  Four hundred dead on a highway in Los Angeles during rush hour after two tractor-trailers explode.

  Fifty-nine dead and scores injured after a freight train carrying toxic chemical waste is derailed into a residential neighborhood.

  Three separate explosions shake the main east coast sorting hubs for two of the nation’s largest logistics and shipping companies.

  Hundreds feared dead at seven different ports; Customs and Border Patrol have yet to release official numbers.

  Three oil refineries along the Gulf Coast are in flames after vehicles at the facilities burst into flames.

  White House orders immediate deployment of Coast Guard and reserve units to four major metropolitan cities as part of a wide scale search and rescue mission.

  Civilians are advised to stay in their homes and avoid public areas.

  Martial law has been declared in Manhattan, Los Angeles, Miami and dozens of other cities after widespread damage.

  The reporters and staff in the newsroom can scarcely believe their eyes. Their small town has yet to see any of the horrors described in the incoming reports, but there is no denying the fact that something terrible is happening.

  “Listen up, everyone.” The station manager claps his hands and motions for everyone in the room to circle up around him. “The main phone lines are dead right now, but we’ve still got web access—for now. I want everyone to their computers gathering as much information as you can. Call, video chat, talk to your sources. I don’t care what you have to do to get more info. Just do it!”

  A flurry of activity begins as staff and reporters alike begin scouring the web, piecing together what information they can. The station’s backup generators hold a few days’ worth of fuel, but once that fails, they won’t be able to broadcast anymore. The station manager checks his watch. An hour till prime time. With any luck, they’ll have something concrete to pass on to their viewers, though he doubts it will matter. The reports continue to stream in and he studies them intently. ‘Things,’ he thinks, ‘are only going to get worse, aren’t they?’

  Chapter 3

  Frank moved down the highway at a fast pace until he saw the smoking wreckage of a large pileup ahead of him. A lone ambulance was on the scene, its lights flashing, and multiple people were running around, trying to use bottles of water and small fire extinguishers to put out the massive blaze. He thought about trying to help, but the sight of another ambulance racing down the opposite side of the highway and stopping near the wreckage was enough to prompt him to keep moving.

  After climbing over a short fence that separated the highway from the median, Frank moved to a service road that appeared to be abandoned and disused. Grass and weeds grew from cracks in the asphalt and the service road wound between small hills, keeping parallel with the highway but meandering along instead of cutting a straight path. The air was brisk and fresh, but every time the wind changed Frank picked up on the scent of something new that was burning on the highway nearby.

  Frank completely missed the name of the small town after passing the sign for it, but as he walked down the idyllic streets, he was sure it was something that ended in “-ville” or “-burg.” Wide-trunked oak trees sat in every yard, and the leaves they had long since shed in preparation for winter were scattered about in the yards and streets, adding stunning red and orange accents to the neighborhoods. Frank wasn’t used to much physical exertion and the two-hour walk left him out of breath and tired. He trudged along through the residential neighborhood, keeping his eyes open for any signs of movement nearby.

  When the first car drove past, it turned out to be an electric vehicle, and it startled him as it appeared out of the corner of his eye. He tried waving and shouting at the driver, but they accelerated instead of slowing down, blowing through a stop sign and turning at the next street up.

  “Asshole.” Frank grumbled and then sighed as he begrudgingly admitted to himself that he would probably do the same thing. “I guess it’s good that there are still cars that are running, though. Means that whatever happened wasn’t some kind of EMP or something crazy like that.”

  The thought, while initially comforting, became a source of discomfort as Frank thought back to the news announcement he had seen in the diner. A terrorist attack that was large enough to disrupt the entire country would have to have been absolutely massive in scope and scale. If trucks and other transportation-related hubs were attacked first, he wondered what targets would be next.

  Most of the houses that Frank passed didn’t have any cars outside, though their garage doors were closed shut and he assumed their vehicles were inside. He stopped at the first house he saw with a car parked outside and walked up the driveway, crossed the yard to the front porch and stood nervously at the front door. He was more than aware of how he looked, but he didn’t have much of choice but to start ringing doorbells and asking for help.

  Bzzzzz.

  The doorbell was metallic in sound, though hearing it meant that the power outage at the diner had been isolated. Maybe a truck hit a power pole along the highway. He waited at the door for a full minute before pressing the button again, then followed it up with a few loud knocks on the door.

  “Hello?” Frank shouted as loudly as felt comfortable. “If anyone’s home, I could really use some help. I just need to make a phone call!”

  There was no response, and after two more attempts at knocking and ringing the bell, Frank sighed and headed back to the street, giving the car in the driveway a longing glance as he went. Three more houses with cars parked outside went the same way, and Frank started getting nervous about the fact that no one was answering their doors.

  “Oh come on, people.” Frank threw up his hands in frustration at the fourth house and stomped through the yard. “How can it be that nobody’s home?”

  Several gunshots from further down the street were the answer to his question. Frank ducked and scurried to the side of the street, looking around as he tried to identify where the shots were coming from. Three more followed in rapid succession, and though they didn’t appear to be aimed in his direction, they sounded very close by. While Frank initially hesitated to head in the direction of the shots, he still needed to find a phone or transportation, and given the lack of response he had gotten so far in the town, he didn’t see many other options.

  “Lovely.” Frank grumbled as he picked up his pace and began jogging in the general direction of the shots. Guns weren’t a stranger to Frank, though he had found little use for them in his day-to-day life. On his parent’s ranch he had practiced with everything from Derringers to a 50 caliber Barrett, but once he took a job with the trucking company, he hadn’t gotten enough time off the road to catch up on sleep, much less to have any sort of fun at the range.

  As Frank drew closer to the source of the gunshots, he started to hear other loud noises, too. More than a few vehicles were revving their engines and dozens of people were shouting and screaming at each other. Frank emerged from a road leading from the residential neighborhood into the commercial part of town. The city was apparently larger than he had originally thought, as there was a divided four-lane highway a short way ahead of him. A narrow two-lane road ran parallel to the highway, and there were periodic intersections that allowed
drivers on one road to reach the other.

  The two-lane road led to a variety of small shops to the left and right of where Frank was located, and the sound seemed to be coming to his right, down toward a gas station. Leaving the relative peace of the residential neighborhood behind, Frank turned off of the street and ran along the thick wooded area that acted as a noise and visual barrier between the commercial area of the city and the residential neighborhood. The road, being open and providing little in the way of protection, was a far less appealing route when there were gunshots and shouting involved.

  Two more shots went off, confirming for Frank that the source for them was, indeed, the gas station up ahead. He kept to the trees as he approached the station from the side until he was close enough to clearly make out what was going on.

  Dozens of cars crowded the station, their drivers revving their engines and honking furiously. The lucky few near the pumps tried to ignore the noise around them and fill their tanks. As one driver opened his trunk and pulled out a small red plastic gas can, the person sitting in the vehicle behind him opened his door and shouted at him. “No cans! Just your car, asshole!”

  The man tried to ignore the shout, but the word “cans” was like a dinner bell to the surrounding vehicles. The man pumping his gas barely had time to close his trunk and hop back into his car before he was surrounded by a swarm of people beating on his windows and shouting at him. So many people had tried to pull into the station that there was no way in or out, forcing the man to crouch down in his car and hope that the anger from the surrounding people would die down.

  Another gunshot rang out and Frank ducked, though the people at the pumps acted like they didn’t even hear it. At a small outbuilding along the side of the gas station, though, a group of four people jumped back and began shouting wildly. Frank looked closer and saw that there was a woman inside the outbuilding though he couldn’t make out any details about her. What he could make out, however, was the heated shouting match she was having with the small group outside her building.