No Way Back: A Sheriff Duke Story (Forgotten Fallout Book 3)

  No Way Back

  Forgotten Fallout: A Sheriff Duke Story. Book Three.

  M.R. Forbes

  Published by Quirky Algorithms

  Seattle, Washington

  This novel is a work of fiction and a product of the author’s imagination.

  Any resemblance to actual persons or events is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 by M.R. Forbes

  All rights reserved.

  Cover illustration by Geronimo Ribaya

  Chapter 1

  Marine Sergeant Isaac Pine was startled by a crash of glass from beyond the door of his temporary prison. It was loud enough he instinctively tried to get up from the bed he was stretched out on, only to be yanked back into place by the pair of handcuffs holding him fast to the headboard.

  More glass shattered on the floor downstairs. It sounded like someone sweeping plates and glasses out of kitchen cabinets and onto the floor.

  He glanced at the window on his right. He was pretty sure it hadn’t always had iron bars affixed to it. No matter how many times he could see himself chipping away at the plaster the bars were embedded in, there was no way he would ever be able to escape that way, even if he managed to rid himself of the cuffs beginning to chafe his wrist.

  Quick footsteps thumped on the stairs, causing the old wood to creak and moan. There was no way anyone could get up or down those steps unheard. Isaac stared at the door, waiting for one of his captors to check in on him, ensuring he was still locked down.

  The footsteps stopped in front of his door. The rusted gold knob turned, the old hinges whining. Camila’s face leaned in past it, quickly sizing him up. She was young, with a small, broad nose and big brown eyes, her hair cut in a short, chaotic pattern that suggested she did it herself. Without a mirror.

  “Still there I see,” she said. “Good.” Her eyes shifted to the table next to his bed. A glass of water and a centuries-old MRE rested on it. “You should eat.”

  “I’m not hungry,” Isaac said.

  “Bullshit. It’s been three days.”

  “What’s happening out there?”

  “Alexander got a little too fresh. I gently reminded him it was better if he kept his fucking hands off me.”

  “That was gentle?”

  She laughed. “He’s going to be picking glass out of his skin for the next three weeks.” She pointed at the MRE. “Eat.”

  “Not interested,” Isaac said.

  Camila sighed, moving more fully into the room. She was dressed in a sleeveless shirt and a pair of frayed denim shorts that showed off more of her body than Isaac cared to see. She had a knife strapped to her calf and an ammo belt and revolver hanging from her hips, along with a familiar tattoo that rode on her shoulder, identifying her as a follower of Shurrath.

  She had never said as much, but Isaac knew she was infected. He wasn’t sure which part of her cared whether or not he ate—the parasitic, worm-like khoron or the part of her original consciousness that still maintained a minimum of control.

  She sat down on the bed beside him, putting a calloused hand to his face. “There’s no reason to fight it, Sergeant,” she said. “What you think you’re protecting, it doesn’t exist. It’s a memory.”

  “Then I’ll protect my memories,” he replied, turning his head away from her touch.

  He looked at the MRE. It was wrapped in aluminum, the words ‘Thanksgiving Dinner’ printed across the outside. He was hungry. They both knew it. But he wasn’t going to give Shurrath the satisfaction.

  The woman moved her hand down to his shoulder, petting him like he was a puppy. “Come on now, Sergeant. Be a good boy.”

  “Can you go away, please?” Isaac said. “Just leave me alone while we wait for whatever the hell it is we’re waiting for.”

  Isaac had been captured three days earlier, overwhelmed by the biggest trife he had ever seen in the middle of a confrontation that had finally found him face-to-face with Grace Salk. They had stared at one another, him from behind a rifle, her from behind an alien weapon Sheriff Duke had labeled a microspear. Neither of them had said a word, but the moment had spoken volumes for both of them.

  The moment had ended when the trife grabbed him, throwing him roughly to the ground. Huge claws tore off his helmet, leaving his head exposed to the razor-sharp blades. The demon was ready to kill him, would have killed him if Grace hadn’t stopped it. The trife had gathered him up, joining a group of a dozen others. They took him from the scene, the fight still raging as they carried him away. He still didn’t know the outcome. Had Sheriff Duke neutralized Brute and Grace? Or was Hayden dead?

  He had been captured, which made it seem more likely Hayden was dead. If that was the case, maybe Camila was right. Maybe there was no use continuing the fight. The past was gone. Centuries gone. Maybe humankind was beyond saving. Beyond hope.

  “You’re starting to get it,” Camila said.

  Isaac snapped out of his malaise. It was easy to get sucked into despair when he had been handcuffed to a bed for the last fifty-something hours, dealing with this woman who alternated between treating him like she either wanted to kill him or keep him as a pet.

  He didn’t want either outcome. He wanted to get loose from this fucking bed, out the fucking door, down the fucking stairs and…

  His thoughts trailed off. And then what? He didn’t know where he was. When the trife had brought him to Camila and Alexander they had cuffed him and blindfolded him before shoving him in the back of a modbox and driving away. They had gone some distance—far enough he was pretty sure they were outside of the UWT, or at least in an unpopulated area of the territories—and then brought him up here. The cuff had been removed from one wrist and reattached to the headboard. Only then had the blindfold come off.

  “Fine,” he said. “I’ll eat. But stop touching me.”

  Camila pulled her hand away with a smile. “You’re lucky Shurrath has plans for you or I’d have plans of my own.” She grabbed the MRE and ripped it open, dropping it onto his chest. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

  She stood and stormed out of the room.

  Isaac grabbed the bar and took a bite. She was right, there was no point starving himself. Maybe he couldn’t protect his memories.

  But if he had the chance, he was damn well going to avenge them.

  Chapter 2

  Isaac had long finished the MRE by the time Camila came to see him again. Alexander was with her this time. He remained in the doorway while she dumped a change of clothes onto the bed and moved to release him.

  Alexander was a muscular man, but still a twerp compared to Brute. Middle-aged. Bald. Crooked yellow teeth and some white stubble. He wore a recently-made leather jacket over a rough cotton shirt, along with leather pants that fed into deerskin boots. A pair of revolvers hung on his hips, two of the newer models the UWT was producing for its deputies. Isaac didn’t need to guess where he had gotten them.

  Alexander didn’t speak. He didn’t move. He guarded the doorway, staring at Isaac while Camila released the end of his cuffs from the headboard. She left the other end attached to Isaac’s wrist and stepped back. “Put those on.”

  Isaac slid off the bed. He was dressed only in his underwear, the combat armor he had been wearing taken from him. He shifted the rough pile of clothing Camila had dropped until he found replacement undergarments. He stripped quickly, facing away from the pair, though he could practically feel Camila’s eyes burning into his rear. They had given him an old plaid flannel shirt and jeans, along with dark brown work boots that made him feel like a lumberjack before he even got them on.

&
nbsp; He dressed quickly, the activity a little awkward with the handcuff hanging from his wrist. When he was done, Camila grabbed it and pulled his arm behind his back.

  “Give me the other one,” she said. He hesitated a little too long. She pinched the nerve on his wrist, deadening the arm and sending a wave of pain up into his back. “Now!”

  He lowered his other arm so she could attach the other end of the cuffs. Then she gave him a shove, pushing him toward Alexander.

  “Where are we going?” Isaac asked.

  “Shurrath’s ready for you, and we’ve got a bit of a ride ahead.”

  Alexander took the lead as they left the bedroom, going down a short hallway to the creaky stairs. It was the first look Isaac had gotten of anything beyond the simple room. Peeling, cracked, and yellowed wallpaper hung limply from the walls, along with a few picture frames that lined the route down the steps. The plaster roof was stained from leaks, and a musty smell hung in the air.

  “Skip the third step from the top,” Camila said. “Unless you want to go through.”

  Isaac started down the stairs behind Alexander. The third step from the top was clearly rotted. Alexander stepped over it with a long stride. Isaac did the same.

  He glanced at the pictures as he passed. One was a family portrait. An elderly couple surrounded by what he assumed were their kids and grandkids. They were all arranged on a beach in front of a sparkling light-blue ocean, the word ‘Aloha’ printed at the base of the photo.

  “A relic of a useless civilization,” Camila said. “There’s only the Hunger now.”

  It wasn’t a relic to Isaac. It had been his life as recently as three years ago, at least in his mind. He had been to Hawaii with Amanda. The beach looked familiar enough. Maybe he had even been in that same spot.

  “Keep moving.”

  Isaac caught up to Alexander, following him to the bottom of the steps. A doorway to the left revealed the kitchen, where dishes still lay shattered on the floor. Alexander went to the right, through the foyer to the front door. He threw it open and held it there for Isaac, glaring at him without a word as he passed through.

  The brightness of the sky hurt Isaac’s eyes, and he squinted while they adjusted, trying to place himself on the planet.

  He saw other houses across from his position, modest-sized single-family units, all of which had seen better days. They were nearly identical in appearance save for the color of the chips of paint that clung stubbornly to them after all these years. Same doors, same windows, same shape. They all sat in overgrown grass, half-rotted and decayed.

  “Where are we?” he asked.

  “East,” Camila replied, surprising him. He hadn’t expected her to answer, even if the answer was vague.

  “Skirting around the UWT?”

  “Like we’re hiding? No. But we’re couriers, not hunters or warriors. We just deliver the goods.”

  “Do you make a lot of deliveries?”

  “Enough.”

  The modbox they had arrived in was parked out front. It was a beat up, rusted piece of machinery, with bits and pieces of scrap metal bolted onto it to offer some protection against the trife. It looked like it had been made by someone desperate who really had no idea what they were doing. They just knew they needed protection from the demons that roamed the landscape.

  “Not that way,” Camila said, noticing him looking at the car. “That POS is done for. Transmission is shot, and we don’t have the tools to fix it. That’s the cause of the delay. We had to improvise.”

  She grabbed his shoulder, turning him to the left.

  “Are you serious?” he asked.

  “It’ll take longer, but there’s less chance of a breakdown,” she replied.

  Eight horses stood in front of him, four pairs tethered together, ready to pull a steel and aluminum carcass that had been roughly fashioned into the shape of an old-west stagecoach and mounted onto the chassis of a former off-road vehicle with big, fat tires and a pair of thick axles. Two more followers of Shurrath were waiting for them there, one sitting in an old bucket seat mounted directly behind and slightly over the horses, the other standing on the back, resting a rifle against the top of the coach.

  “Where did you find that?”

  “Dutch came across a scavenger on a highway twenty klicks southeast of here,” Camila replied. “We were just looking for horses, but this is better, don’t you think?”

  “What happened to the scavenger?” Isaac asked. Not that he didn’t already know.

  “Trife can be unpredictable sometimes. Let’s go.”

  She gave Isaac another shove, pushing him toward the coach. The man she had called Dutch jumped down from his seat to open the door for them.

  “All aboard,” he said gruffly, eyes narrowing as he glared at Isaac.

  Isaac climbed into the coach. There were four more old bucket seats bolted down inside, their fabric stained and torn, the stuffing leaking out. The whole thing had a lingering smell of hard alcohol and vomit.

  Camila pointed him to one of the seats. “Turn around,” she said before he sat. She undid the cuff on his left hand, attaching it to a steel ring mounted on the side of the carriage. Isaac didn’t have any other options, so he sat down. Camila sat in the seat beside him, while Alexander took a position on the opposite side.

  From outside, Dutch slammed the door closed. The carriage shook from side to side as he climbed up to the front and started shouting at the horses. Then they jerked into motion.

  “You might as well sit back and relax,” Camila said. “We’ve got a good week of travel ahead of us.”

  “What’s our destination?” Isaac asked.

  “South.”

  “Can you be more specific?”

  “Just south.”

  Isaac rattled the cuffs against the steel ring. “It’s not like I’m about to escape.” Camila leaned her head back and closed her eyes, ignoring him. Isaac looked across at Alexander. “What about you?”

  Alexander’s expression didn’t change. He kept glaring at Isaac until Isaac decided to close his eyes to escape. There had to be some reason Camila had stopped short of telling him where they were going. Was she worried he might get away? Was that the proof he had been hoping for?

  Was her silence confirmation that Sheriff Duke was still alive?

  Chapter 3

  Sheriff Hayden Duke stood at the edge of a hastily constructed wood barrier, taking a moment to watch the activity within the cordoned-off area of the city. A group of deputies were examining the environment, collecting used bullet casings and logging claw marks and other evidence from the scene.

  It took nearly half a minute before one of the deputies noticed him standing there, hat low, eyes narrow, jaw clenched. Zorro knickered and tossed his head slightly beside Hayden, sensing Hayden’s tension.

  “Sheriff Duke,” the deputy said. “Sir. What are you doing here?”

  Hayden didn’t answer right away. He needed a minute to process everything he was taking in. He had been here three days ago, part of the fight that had created the mess the deputies were in the process of cataloging. It wasn’t standard procedure to do so much evaluation, but Natalia had sent the order right away, reading his mind while his mind had been too rattled to think straight.

  Max, gone. Isaac, taken. Rain, Latos, Kisha, a dozen Rangers and nearly as many deputies dead. He had lost people before. The UWT had spent six months attacking local trife nests, and they rarely made it through a job without someone getting clawed. He had come close himself a few times. But this was different. This was personal in a new way. Shurrath had come to hurt him, specifically.

  He had succeeded and that made Hayden angry.

  “What’s your name, son?” he asked.

  He didn’t recognize the deputy, which meant he had been sourced from Sanose, the closest city to the crime scene. They had probably met once before during the deputy’s swearing-in, but they had enlisted quite a few recruits in the last few months. Nobody would expect
him to remember them all.

  “Deputy Harley, Sheriff.”

  “Harley,” Hayden repeated, committing the name and face to memory. He wouldn’t forget it again.

  “You were here during the fight, weren’t you?” Harley asked, shaking his head. “I hope I never see anything like this again.”

  “Me too,” Hayden replied softly. He had a feeling he might not see something like this again.

  The next time would probably be worse.

  “What brings you here, Sheriff?” Harley asked when Hayden was quiet for too long.

  He snapped out of his thoughts. “I wanted to check on the investigation. I’m hoping for a lead.”

  “A lead? This is all pretty cut and dry, isn’t it? I mean, well.” Harley paled. He didn’t want to say what he wanted to say. He didn’t want to put the truth out there.

  “The trife ripped us a new one,” Hayden said. “And they weren’t acting alone. We lost a lot of good people here.”

  He knew what else the young deputy was thinking. They had lost people more experienced than him. It was a blow to his own sense of security.

  “We didn’t lose all of them,” he continued. “One of the people I came with was taken.”

  “Taken, Sheriff? As far as I know, trife don’t take prisoners.”

  “They don’t.” He motioned Harley closer with his finger. “I’m going to let you in on something, Deputy Harley, because I need your help. You can’t mention this to the others. Not a word or I’ll see to it that you get reassigned to the front line the next time we head out to the Eastern Expansion Zone. Do you understand?”

  “Uh...yes...yes, Sheriff,” Harley stuttered.

  “The trife weren’t acting on their own. It turns out they were the vanguard to a larger invasion force. One that’s aiming to change things up a little more quietly than their initial assault would suggest.”