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  FERAL NATION

  Tribulation

  Feral Nation Series

  Book 3

  Scott B. Williams

  www.scottbwilliams.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters and events are all products of the author’s imagination and should not be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 by Scott B. Williams

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

  Cover image composite: Bayou Cover Design

  Cover photo: Old U.S. flag: Fotolia #100579897 © Stephan Orsillo

  Cover design © Scott B. Williams

  Editor: Michelle Cleveland

  12.13.18

  This series is an ongoing serial. Each book is an immediate continuation of the earlier story, so for the best reading experience the books should be read in order, starting with Book 1.

  Here are the links to the current books in the series:

  Feral Nation - Infiltration: Book 1

  Feral Nation - Insurrection: Book 2

  Feral Nation - Tribulation: Book 3

  Feral Nation - The Divide: Book 4

  Feral Nation - Perseverance: Book 5

  These links will be updated as new books are added to the series. Be the first to know what’s coming next in this series as well as my other books by signing up for my New Release Updates

  One

  IT HAD BEEN A long day for Eric Branson, and he knew it wouldn’t necessarily end when the dock lines were secured. But at least he was back aboard Dreamtime, and his crew was accounted for, even if not all present at the moment. Eric’s trip upriver to find his brother had taken some unexpected turns, and he had yet to even lay eyes on Keith, but Bart and the others had and he would too, soon enough. What he needed now after more than 24 hours on the go was sleep, and he hoped to have it shortly, if nothing else went wrong. Unlike after operations in the old days, there would be no formal debriefing to struggle to stay awake through, but that didn’t mean he would be spared a full interrogation. The tough old Marine standing next to him—the man who also happened to be Eric’s father—wasn’t going to wait any longer. Bart Branson wanted to know what in the hell could have happened that delayed Eric for an entire day when Keith and Jonathan had made it back downriver by early afternoon, some ten hours prior.

  Bart had the wheel as they stood together at the helm, the old man keeping the schooner dead in the wake of the big shrimp trawler that was leading them up the broad Atchafalaya in the dark. Eric wouldn’t have considered nighttime navigation on any river in the present conditions, with no working GPS or detailed charts, but Bart assured him that the captain of the trawler had the necessary local knowledge to get them where they were going.

  “Your brother says Vic’s been running this river to the Gulf and back all his life. Shrimping’s all he’s ever known. He doesn’t need help finding his way out here; nighttime or not.”

  Eric had no reason to question this. He had never met Vic, but he knew Keith had married into a family that made their living on the water. Keith’s brother-in-law was no doubt familiar with the river and competent at navigation. As wiped out as he was at this point, Eric was more than happy to hand off the task to someone else for a change, simply following a local guide without the worry of dodging shoals or staying in channels. That Vic had successfully freed the schooner from the underwater wreck upon which it had been firmly stuck was enough to convince Eric that the man knew his way around boats. That challenging job had been accomplished in a single afternoon, and Dreamtime was once again moving under her own power, apparently little worse for the wear. It was a huge relief for Eric, as he was the one who drove her aground in the first place. The longer the vessel was trapped out there in the wide-open marsh, the greater the risk to the crew and all the gear and provisions they had aboard. Sooner or later, someone would discover their mistake and try to take advantage of their predicament. It was simply what things had come to now.

  “So, what are you waiting for son? Are you going to tell me why you missed that boat ride with Keith and Jonathan?”

  Eric reached up and felt the lump on the back of his head, still tender to the touch, a dull headache throbbing in his skull from the blow that nearly knocked him out. Bart wasn’t going to wait any longer for an answer, especially now that there was nothing else for the two of them to do but stay in Vic’s wake. The old man hadn’t noticed the lump or Eric’s discomfort in the dark, but he would fill his father in on what happened, even if it did make him feel like an idiot for making such a stupid mistake.

  “Yeah, a couple of things came up that I had to take care of. I didn’t expect either one of them to take as long as they did, but you know how that stuff goes.”

  “Jonathan said it wasn’t long after midnight when you left in Keith’s truck. Said it was right after the two of you were sure Keith wasn’t at home and you figured out something had happened to Lynn.”

  “I suppose it was. I didn’t know if it was an accident or something else at that point. I found out what happened a little later, when I met one of Keith’s fellow deputies. He told me Lynn was shot in a terror attack on the highway, along with a whole lot of other people. I guess you got it straight from Keith?”

  “Yeah, he said the victims were trapped on the I-10 bridge over the river basin. Most of them were refugees from the coastal areas that were trying to evacuate before the hurricane hit. Lynn was supposed to be at home that day but Keith got back to find a note saying she’d just gotten word that her mother had a heart attack. She was trying to reach her, and that’s how she got caught on the bridge when the shooting started. Keith didn’t get there until it was all over. He was too late to help her.”

  “Oh man, that’s tough! He must be taking it pretty hard, and blaming himself, I’m sure.”

  “Yeah, I imagine so. He may not even talk to you about it, I don’t know. Nothing but time is going to help, if anything does. I feel for him, I really do. Lynn was a special girl. But getting back to yesterday: Jonathan says he waited and waited and you didn’t show, but then Keith pulled up in his boat around daylight. The kid’s lucky your brother didn’t kill him on the spot, finding him trespassing on his place at that hour, but they somehow managed introductions without gunfire and then the two of them went looking for you. Jonathan said they didn’t see any sign of you or the truck anywhere in town or on the road along the way. What they did see though was a couple of shot-up vehicles and the bodies of some men that were probably the owners. You must have seen that too, since there ain’t but one road back to Keith’s place coming from over at St. Martinsville?”

  Eric had indeed seen the two vehicles in the road, and he quickly told Bart the story of how he was returning to Keith’s house a couple of hours before daylight when he had come upon the unfolding scene. Seeing what was happening in his headlights, he had a split second to decide whether to intervene or turn around and try to find another route. It hadn’t been a hard decision really, because he already knew there wasn’t another route, and it was obvious what was about to happen when he saw two men dragging a struggling young woman to the back of a pickup truck. Such things were going on everywhere and Eric was under no obligation to intervene on behalf of a stranger, but the sight of the helpless female victim reminded him of his own Megan, and it was a situation for which he had a ready solution, so he instantly made the decision to use it. The bodies of the two attackers and the woman’s friend that Eric was too late to save were the dead that Keith and Jonathan had mention
ed to Bart. They knew nothing of the woman and her young son of course, because Eric had already taken them away, driving them to the hospital in Lafayette to get help for the boy.

  That encounter had delayed his return to Keith’s house, but it was nothing compared to what happened later, after Eric finally arrived and found Jonathan already gone, a note wrapped around the tiller of the dinghy outboard. Jonathan’s message explained that Keith had returned and that the two of them had found help to free the schooner. They couldn’t wait any longer for him, because they needed every hour of daylight they had left but it wasn’t like they left Eric stranded. He still had the dinghy and outboard, even if he didn’t have enough gas for the return trip downriver. Jonathan probably forgot to mention that little detail to Keith before the two of them left, but it didn’t matter.

  After putting away Jonathan’s note, Eric disconnected the portable fuel tank and carried it with him back up to the house. There was plenty of gas in Keith’s patrol truck that he’d just been driving, and likely some in the other two vehicles parked in the yard as well. He was sure he could find a hose to siphon some out of one of the tanks, but then he noticed again the two motorcycles parked in the workspace under the elevated house. If those bikes had gas in their tanks, getting it there would be an even easier option.

  He checked the bigger one first; the Kawasaki KLR 650 that he knew had an oversized tank. Lifting the kickstand and rocking it back and forth, Eric could tell by the sound of the liquid sloshing inside that the tank was nearly full. He was in luck. Without the key, he couldn’t open the filler cap, but it was a simple matter to disconnect the fuel line to the carburetor and drain it straight into his portable tank. Just as he’d hoped, he collected enough gas from this one source to get him where he was going. But as he finished securing the hose clamp back on the Kawasaki’s fuel line, he caught movement in his peripheral vision out at the entrance to the driveway. Any motor vehicle approaching on the gravel road would have made enough noise to alert him before it came into view. The reason he hadn’t heard anything, however, was because the vehicles that suddenly rolled into Keith’s driveway were bicycles!

  Eric dropped low behind the motorcycle as he reached for the M4 he’d pushed behind him on its sling. For a moment, he’d considered leaving it in the dinghy while going to search for gas, but he was glad he hadn’t now. The riders streamed into the driveway in a loose cluster, slowing and coming to a stop midway between the house and the road. Eric covered them with the rifle as he studied the group, counting nine of them and noting that they were loaded down with gear, some of it on their backs, but most of it strapped to their bikes on racks, under the seats and across the handlebars. Two of the bikes were even fitted with low-slung, one-wheeled trailers behind them that were loaded with even more bags of gear and supplies. Eric was primarily looking for weapons though, and as he expected, several were in evidence as he studied the riders more closely.

  The one in the lead who’d stopped first had an AK-type rifle slung horizontally across his back, and Eric noted a couple of other long guns among the stuff tied to the bikes. He figured some of them were carrying pistols as well, and it was perfectly reasonable, of course, considering the situation. It was obvious from the way they were packed that these folks were traveling, and it would be foolish to do so unarmed. Eric hadn’t given it any thought until now, but seeing them used this way, he realized that bicycles were a reasonable option in a time when fuel was in such short supply that it was virtually unobtainable. It was the uncertainty of getting more gas along the way that had deterred his ex-wife, Shauna from attempting to drive to Colorado to get their daughter, Megan—that and the likelihood of roadblocks put in place by both the authorities and bandits. Bicycles, being fuel independent, had some advantages, at least for the young and fit, as this group appeared to be, but cyclists were certainly vulnerable to attacks by anyone in faster vehicles. Perhaps this group was relying on their weapons to keep them safe, but it was brazen to be on the road in the daylight, whether armed or not.

  As the riders rolled to a stop and began dismounting, Eric guessed that all but one of them were college-aged kids like his own daughter, Megan. The only one who appeared older than his twenties was the lean and bearded middle-aged man carrying the slung AK. From his position at the front and his demeanor, it appeared he was in charge or at least leading the way. Among the eight young adults who followed him, Eric counted three women, one with her hair pulled back in a ponytail and the others with boyish, short haircuts.

  What they were doing here, boldly riding into Keith’s driveway off the small road that dead-ended not far past the house, was the real question. Eric doubted it was because they knew his brother. From the way they were packed, along with the dust and sweat stains on their clothing, it was obvious that they had been on the road for a good long while. It occurred to him that they might be traveling I-10 and had turned off at the exit to the north. Maybe they were riding mostly at night and were just now looking for a place to camp during the coming daylight hours? The more he thought about it, the more likely that seemed, as it was still quite early in the morning. A gravel road leading into the woods along the edge of the river basin would no doubt look promising if that were their intention. But why would they pull into someone’s driveway if they were trying to avoid people? Was it because they’d spotted Keith’s patrol truck with the sheriff’s department emblem on the doors and thought they might find refuge here? The more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed that might be the case. He saw them looking at the truck and the other vehicles in the yard as they talked amongst themselves, but he couldn’t hear anything that was said from his vantage point, as they were keeping their voices low.

  Eric wished now he hadn’t been so focused on the task of getting gasoline out of the motorcycle. If he’d been paying attention he would have probably noticed the riders coming in time to get himself into a better position before they suddenly rode into the front yard, but it was too late for that now. There was little concealment in the open space beneath the pilings of Keith’s house, so keeping low behind the KLR was the best he could do at the moment. If he just wanted to avoid being seen, he could crawl backwards on his belly to the dinghy and slip away before they realized he was there, but it wouldn’t do to leave Keith’s house vulnerable to whatever these travelers might decide to do when they realized no one was at home. Eric had little choice but to watch and wait, while preparing to confront them, as it was uncertain whether they were going to simply turn around and move on. It was aggravating, being delayed yet again when he needed to be on his way to help his crew downriver, but it was fortunate in a way too. If he hadn’t needed more gas for the outboard, he would have already been gone when the riders arrived and would have never known they were here. Since he was here, he was going to make it his business to ensure nothing happened to his brother’s property.

  Eric watched as two of the young men laid their bikes down on the grass and walked over to Keith’s old Toyota pickup that was parked in the yard nearby. Eric had already determined the night before that the vehicle was disabled. Keith had apparently left it blocked up there after pulling the transmission and hadn’t gotten around to putting it back together. It didn’t take long for the two strangers to figure this out as well, but whether they’d been merely curious or were interested in stealing it, Eric couldn’t say. It didn’t matter now anyway, because his attention was focused on the older man with the AK, who now had his weapon in hand, carrying it loosely at his side as he walked in the direction of Keith’s patrol truck. Eric watched as he approached the vehicle and looked into the driver’s side window, and then up at the elevated house. The two that had checked out the Toyota now joined him, while the three women and the other young men stayed behind with the bicycles.

  Eric watched and waited, to see what they would do next. If they were looking for help, surely they would announce their presence soon. They weren’t attempting to be stealthy or particularly cau
tious, so he couldn’t be certain they were up to no good just yet, but if they were, they were deluded by a false sense of security by their numbers and their weapons. The reality was that Eric could easily take out most of them and probably all of them with the M4 before they realized what was happening, not that he wanted to have to do that, of course. But as he watched in silence, he was aware that the temptation to break into the house might be hard to resist if they thought no one was inside, even with a sheriff’s department truck parked out front. Traveling as light as they were on the bikes, they had to be desperate for supplies, and seeing the truck probably gave them the idea to turn in there to ask for help to begin with.

  Eric could wait them out, but the problem was that in his present position, he couldn’t cover the front door. He couldn’t even see it from where he was, because to enter Keith’s house one had to climb the outdoor stairway leading to the wooden deck at floor level ten feet above. As soon as any of the intruders were above eye level on the steps, they would be out of sight and higher than Eric’s position, which wasn’t something he wanted to let happen. Besides that, if he allowed the group to split up and spread out, it would be much harder to contain them and avoid taking return fire if any shooting did start. As much as he hated to reveal his presence and give up the advantage of surprise, Eric figured it best to confront these strangers now and learn their purpose. It was either that or kill them all preemptively, which of course wasn’t even a consideration, even though it felt like he’d infiltrated deep behind enemy lines on a wartime mission ever since he’d come home to find his country in ruin. Eric had to constantly remind himself that the locals he came into contact with here were American citizens, most of them just trying to survive. Like those he’d already encountered, he would give this group the benefit of the doubt until proven wrong. In doing so, he would be giving up some advantage but he was ready to follow up with firepower if the conversation didn’t go as he’d hoped. Keeping low behind the motorcycle, Eric suddenly broke his silence with an authoritative shout: “YOU’RE TRESPASSING ON PRIVATE PROPERTY! GET BACK ON YOUR BICYCLES AND LEAVE!”