Fighting to Survive Read online

  Table of 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

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  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  Copyright

  Prologue

  They called it the Last War.

  I don’t know why. Everyone knows another one is coming. But when they hijacked the power grid and the oil fields, there was little fighting left to be done. With the military disabled by a severe lack of resources and the numerous computer viruses that hit, there was nothing to be done but retreat and consolidate their forces.

  No one had seen it coming.

  The Cosa Nostra, once commonly known as the Mafia, was thought to be dead, an old, forgotten organization snuffed out by the modern day. With technology advancing at an unprecedented rate it was impossible for them to keep up. Or so everyone believed.

  No, instead they were planning a new age of rule. Secretly. Quietly. And underground.

  Society had become too focused on the glowing screens six inches from their faces that they’d gone blind to what the world was really becoming.

  That was fifty years ago, long before most of us were born. But everyone knows the story. Or at least a version of it.

  Today they still debate who launched the first of the bombs. We can at least be grateful no nuclear weapons were used. Thankfully the Cosa Nostra had no desire to destroy the place they wished to rule. They didn’t have an issue with the American citizens, just those that governed them. History books say there used to be fifty states. But now the borders are blurred. Instead, there are five territories, each run by one of the Five Families of the Cosa Nostra.

  Legend says that the America we used to know still exists in the west. Somehow, they managed to annex part of their own country and defend it successfully, and though no one really knows if it’s true many hold out great hope that it is.

  With the power grid under the Cosa Nostra’s control, it’s hard to believe they could have any real quality of life. Without electricity, they can’t have running water, or much in the way of assisted heating. Some prefer to stay here, in the East, where the luxury of running water and power is possible, even if it comes with a hefty price.

  The cities remain illuminated, and the hustle and bustle endures. But it’s different. Those that choose to have luxury do so at the expense of their freedom. Some say this was the case in the old world, too. You were just pledging your loyalty to a different set of tyrants, and paid a hefty tax for the privilege.

  Some have even tried to reach the west, in search of the American dream they once knew. No one knows if they made it, but it’s certain plenty have failed. If the patrolling border guards didn’t shoot them on the spot, they would have perished in the extreme heat of the great divide—the old mid-west.

  Those old enough to remember the old world remain angry the rest of the world didn’t help. The abandonment and isolation left them bitter. But if truth be told, it was their own doing.

  The Third World War in 2030 was the last straw. The rest of the world saw America as nothing more than the bully who took the Middle East’s lunch money. Even their allies started to dislike their increasing arrogance. It seems karma—if you believe in that sort of thing—came back to bite them in the ass.

  There are still those who are loyal to the old world, but most are too old to do much about it now. The active few that can make up the hierarchy of the Independence Alliance, the IA, a unit of rebels fighting for what once was, and as the Cosa Nostra bosses become more and more self-indulged, the more followers and recruits the IA gains.

  Another war is inevitable. It’s just a question of when.

  Until that day comes, however, one thing is for sure.

  No one will ever forget the day the Last War began; July 4th, 2046.

  Chapter 1

  October, 2096

  Northern District

  Parsons & Son’s Orchard, Romney (formerly in West Virginia).

  Casey was awoken by the barn door slamming shut with a heavy thud. It had to be little Billy. He was always excited when he came to the barn and rarely did so quietly.

  Casey’s living quarters were in the upper level of the barn. Thankfully, he didn't have to share it with live-stock, just farm tools and the occasional small tractor. It was a simple space with no standing room, but he didn’t mind. He had come to know it as home over the last ten years, and he’d grown to know the owner and his boss, George, rather well. Although still technically his employer, they saw each other more as friends these days. Casey had felt like part of the Parsons family for years now.

  “Uncle Casey,” Billy shouted with urgency. “Pop said I could come an’ ask you if we could train some. I did all my chores!”

  He lifted his tired head off his pillow just enough to see Billy through the gaps in the low wall that separated him from the fifteen-foot fall. As always, Billy was standing there with his hands in his pockets, a habit he’d inherited from his father, George. Billy couldn’t stand still, rocking backwards and forwards on his feet and fidgeting, almost uncomfortably. But Casey knew from the beaming smile on his face that he was just too excited to keep still. That could mean only one thing; he’d come to learn more of Casey’s wisdom.

  “I’ll be right down, Billy,” he replied after a moment. Casey looked over at the empty floor next to his mattress. Where’s my watch? He had no idea what time it was. It couldn’t be too late if Billy was still up. Usually, it took him all night to finish his chores, dragging his feet and protesting like most twelve-year-olds would. He must be extra eager today.

  Casey rolled back over to look out the small circular window on the rear side of the barn. The sun hadn’t yet set, but it would soon be dusk. Must be about 6 o’clock, Casey thought to himself. How odd Billy hadn’t come to shout me for dinner.

  He got up and lumbered his aching body down the wooden stairs. With each thud of his boot, he saw Billy’s smile getting wider. It took more effort than usual to come down the stairs. He’d decided to take a nap this afternoon and had slept heavily. This morning’s work had been especially hard and had taken a toll on his tired, forty-two-year-old body. George wasn’t around to help him harvest the apples from the Orchard this morning, and Casey wasn’t sure why. But he’d heard him arguing with his wife, Maria, around the side of the barn earlier. They always tried to stay out of earshot of Billy and his younger sister Daisy when they fought. The sound traveled particularly well up the length of the Orchard, so Casey was sure the children could hear them too, even if they were in the house.

  Casey got to the bottom of the stairs and stood in front of Billy, his six-foot frame towering over him. Billy pulled his hands out of his pockets and raised them in front of his face with his fists clenched tight.

  “I’m feelin’ good today, Uncle Casey. I think I can get ya. Today’s the day, I can feel it,” he said, more excited than ever.

  Casey looked down at the boy with his usual poker-fa
ce expression, never giving anything away. “Have you been practicing? Like I showed you?” he asked.

  Almost without pause, Billy responded. “Sure have.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Casey said, finally cracking a smile as he spoke.

  Billy always seemed to do anything Casey asked of him, even if it was helping him work around the Orchard. Casey had never known why Billy was so obedient to him and not to his own parents. Billy was a good boy, for the most part, and rarely caused any real trouble. Casey had just assumed the boy saw him as the “fun” uncle. After all, he had been teaching him how to fight, though it was something Maria strongly disapproved of. George, on the other hand, had suggested it. They both knew George would be about as useful as a paper bag in a fight, but after trouble had found them at the farmers market one day, George had asked Casey if he could be the one to teach Billy some life skills.

  That day at the market, Casey had carved through those three thugs without even breaking a sweat, finishing them off in seconds. After that George sensed Casey had a past he wasn’t going to share with anyone, not even his best friend. George had even tried getting him drunk one night before asking him a lot of questions about his past, but Casey was trained to withstand interrogation, and if necessary, torture. A few beers in his belly wouldn’t to be enough to get him to open up. That scrap in the market was almost two years ago, and Billy had been practicing with Casey every week since.

  Casey led Billy out in front of the barn. As he stepped outside he looked to his left towards the back of the main house. Maria was busy cooking in the kitchen, he could smell it. He wasn’t sure what it was, but it smelled good. Before Casey turned his head away Maria appeared in the kitchen window, and when she saw Casey, she smiled. She held up her hands, fingers spread. The ten-more-minutes sign. Casey’s belly rumbled at the thought of food, the wafting aromas making his stomach ache with hunger.

  “Ma said dinner’s late ‘cause pop was getting in her way. He kept asking her to leave while he used the phone in the kitchen. He wouldn’t let any of us in.” Billy paused, and his smile disappeared. He looked worried. “I think pop was crying.”

  Casey was taken back by Billy’s comments. George wasn’t exactly a hardened criminal, but crying was unusual.

  Most people don’t have phones any more, certainly not beyond the city. Everyone knows the Cosa Nostra monitor as many calls as they can, and the people out here hated the lack of privacy. It was just another reason to despise the Cosa Nostra even more.

  Casey remembers when they got the land-line hooked up. Maria was heavily pregnant with Daisy at the time, and George had insisted on it, despite Maria’s reservations. They had almost lost Billy when he was born, and he didn’t want the same to happen with his unborn daughter. It made some sense, because although Casey knew he could drive Maria to the hospital faster than it would take for an ambulance to collect her and take her there, they did at least treat anyone in an ambulance with priority, regardless of the injury or problem. It was a crapshoot if you drove yourself. Ambulances were a privilege these days, and you paid a hefty price for calling one. George wasn’t concerned about handing over money he didn’t have to the Cosa Nostra, he just wanted his child to survive. Casey respected him for that, and yet he loathed it at the same time. No one hated the Cosa Nostra more than he did; he had more reason than anyone. But he certainly wasn’t going to let George know why. He wouldn’t put them in danger like that.

  Casey put his arm around Billy, and said, “Don’t worry, Billy, I’m sure it’s nothing serious. It’s almost dinnertime. Let’s see if today’s your lucky day?”

  Casey squared up to Billy who already has his guard up. But before they could start this week’s lesson they heard a yell. They both turned to face the house. It was George. He looked panicked, and was running over to them.

  “Billy, get in the house, now!” George screamed.

  “Why? I didn’t do nuffin’ wrong. Ask—”

  George cut Billy off. “You ain’t in trouble, boy. I just need yous to stay inside for a minute. Yer Uncle Casey and me are expecting a visitor, and it’s grown up stuff. They’ll be here any second, so scram.”

  Casey didn’t like the sound of this one bit. He wasn’t expecting anyone, nor had he been told anyone was coming. They were miles from town, and no one just dropped by unannounced anymore. There was something George wasn’t telling him.

  Billy put on his cross face and stomped toward the house. Despite his size, broad for a boy his age, he was more immature than most would expect. Neither Billy nor George were the sharpest tools in the shed, but they had good hearts and they worked hard. Casey loved that about them. It seemed those qualities were becoming rare these days, from what he’d experienced himself over the last ten years.

  George’s eyes followed Billy until he was safely in the house. He turned back sharply and his eyes met Casey’s. Before he could open his mouth Casey spoke.

  “What are you not telling me, George?” Casey’s tone was harsh.

  George was taken back, not used to Casey speaking to him in that manner. Even at the market when those thugs attacked, Casey had spoken calmly.

  “Ain’t no need for talk like that. Yous work for me, remember?” George said, sounding defensive.

  Casey paused. He wanted to ask George when he’d grown a pair, but resisted. Casey needed to know what was going on. Why didn’t he help harvest today? Why was he crying on the phone? And who was visiting unexpectedly? But Casey knew George wouldn’t answer his questions if he didn’t keep the situation calm.

  “I’m sorry, George. I shouldn’t have—”

  And then Casey stopped, and knew exactly what was going on as he saw the unmistakable black sedan cruise down the dirt road towards the house.

  George turned his head to see what Casey was looking at, and Casey watched as the blood rushed from George’s face and sweat beaded on his forehead.

  Casey’s tone shifted from calm to angry in a split second. “What the fuck did you do, George?”

  Chapter 2

  September 25th, 2095

  North-West District

  The Lane Household, Springfield (formally in Illinois).

  Alex hid in her room, listening to her mom screaming at her father.

  Again.

  They seemed to be fighting more and more these days, though her father usually just stood there and took it like a pussy, she often thought. She adored him most of the time. He was the only one who ever listened to her, or paid her any attention whatsoever. Sure, she dressed differently to the other girls in town, but she wasn’t like most girls. Her mom was always droning on at her about that, though it never bothered her. She hated her mom.

  Tonight’s fight seemed different, her father unusually vocal. I wonder what she did now? Alex mused. Maybe tonight he’ll do everyone a favor and punch the bitch in the face. Better yet, bash her head in and end her bullying for good!

  She’d pondered the fantasy of killing her own mother before. She was never quite sure whether the idea perturbed her because she’d had it in the first place, or because it was somewhat satisfactory. But Alex would never follow it through. She just couldn’t do that to her father, couldn’t hurt him like that.

  Her father didn’t have many faults, at least not in her eyes, but the one fault he did have was loving her. She asked him about it once, after she’d had a huge argument with her mom. He gave her some bullshit story of how she’d always been there for him since they were teenagers, how she still makes him happy, blah fucking blah. “Pussy,” she said out loud.

  A sudden hefty knock at the front door startled her, and everything went quiet downstairs. That’s odd, she thought. No one ever came by uninvited after dark, and it wasn’t safe out at night. Curious, she pulled the door open quietly and padded across the hall into her parent's room. Mom would flip if she knew I was in here, Alex thought, and smiled.

  She peered out the window to see who was at the door, and froze when she saw three men
in black raincoats, one of them smoking. Then she saw it, the black sedan parked in the drive. “Fuck,” she whispered, thoughts racing to her younger brother. He’d better be in his room and not downstairs. He can’t get caught up in this shit.

  Alex heard the front door creak open, and she strained to listen. Her father's voice was audible, just, and though every bone in her body warned her to stay hidden she couldn’t resist taking a look.

  Alex crept to the top of the stairs. She could see the door, but no one was there. Have they gone already? She tiptoed back down the stairs, keeping low behind the dividing wall that lined the left side. But the closer she got to the bottom the more she heard. They were all in the lounge. She wedged herself close to the dividing wall and continued to listen in, peeking through a small crack in the wood.

  “Now, Mrs. Lane,” said the one smoking. “When you first approached me for help I was more than happy to oblige. But, honestly, I was expecting your debt to be repaid in full by now. After all, we’d agreed on the on the 20th, and it’s now the 25th.”

  “Mr. Rossi, you see—”

  “Excuse me, Mrs. Lane. I wasn’t finished. Interrupting people is very rude. Please extend the same courtesy and respect that I’m offering you.”

  Alex’s mom nodded, remaining silent.

  How odd, Alex thought. She didn’t yell at him or demand to be heard. This wasn’t the sorry excuse for a mother she knew. She’s scared of them.

  Even though Alex was just sixteen-years-old, she knew full well who the Cosa Nostra were. Moreover, she knew having them in your house was a bad thing, and you had every reason to shit yourself. But she somehow hadn’t expected her mom to be scared of them. Why was that?

  The smoker continued. “I know times are hard these days, especially for a farm like yours, but a deal’s a deal, am I right?” The rhetorical question went unanswered. “It’s getting late, and I’m eager to get this over with.”

  He leaned forward, nonchalantly stubbing out his cigarette on the antique coffee table. Even though he was beyond her view, Alex knew her dad would be snarling right now, she could practically feel it. That was Alex’s grandmother's table, and her father adored it.