The McClane Apocalypse Book 4

The McClane
Apocalypse

Book Four

Kate Morris

Ranger Publishing

Copyright © 2015 by Ranger
Publishing

Note to Readers: This
publication contains the opinions and ideas of its author. It is
not intended to provide helpful or informative material on the
subjects addressed in the
publication
. The author and publisher
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All rights reserved;
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First Ranger Publishing softcover
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Manufactured in the United
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Library of Congress
Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file

ISBN 13: 978-1507855218

ISBN 10: 1507855214

For my fans: I’ve included a character
sheet at the end of this book for reference purposes. Just a hint,
though try not to peek at the list until after Chapter 7. There
will be new characters introduced and the same McClanes who we’ve
come to love.

Hope you enjoy the direction
the McClane saga is taking. Connect with me through email at
[email protected]
or on
Facebook at the McClane Apocalypse fan page or through my website
at
www.katemorrisauthor.com
.

Best Regards,

Kate

Chapter One

Simon

He’s been to Clarksville and
Nashville for supply runs many times, as well as to the smaller,
nearby towns and neighborhoods during the past three years, and it
never feels safer, the trip never any easier.
A woodpecker sounds off his signature tapping against a tree
high above him in the dense forest. It reminds him of automatic
machine gun fire. A bitter, late winter wind whips through the
surrounding trees and blasts him in the face, causing a sudden
chill to run the length of his entire body. His riding companion
seems oblivious, however, much the same as he always is.

“We’ll make the cabin by nightfall if we keep
up at this pace,” Cory calls over his shoulder.

Simon would like to tell him
to
stow
it
because he could care less how soon they get there. This
trip
sucks
and there is no denying it. Making the pilgrimage in the
summer season is considerably easier. Winter weather can be
bitterly cold. It’s nothing like where he grew up in
Arizona.

“Cool,” Simon answers because he knows Cory
doesn’t want to hear him lament about being homesick.

He’d much rather be back at the
McClane farm in their shared log home and in front of the
wood-burning stove or even in the big house with the calamity and
noise of the kids. A few years ago they’d built another small
ramshackle hunting cabin closer to Nashville that mimics the one
near Clarksville. They have only once seen evidence that anyone had
found either, but nothing
was
stolen
. Perhaps someone had only used the
cabin for a one night stay to get out of the weather like they do.
Cory had been so angry about it that he and John had spent three
days patrolling the woods searching out the “creeps” who had
squatted in their cabin. It had been a fruitless pursuit.
That had happened about a year and a half
ago and hadn’t been repeated, which left Simon to believe that it
was a single, harmless incident and probably just a desperate
person or group of persons who had needed to take
shelter.

Sometimes John or Kelly goes with
them, but they are both busy at the farm and likely relieved that
they can pass this duty on to the younger generation of McClanes.
They both have their
own
set of responsibilities to take care of back at
the farm. It’s understandable that they’d want him and Cory to take
on the job of supply runs.

His favorite gelding prances beneath
him as if he, too, would rather be back at the farm munching hay or
flirting with one of the mares who would likely kick his butt since
he’s a worthless gelding and not capable of getting the job done,
though Simon often thinks he’d like the chance
nonetheless.

“I want to go in this time at
night,
and then
we’ll sack out at the cabin,” Cory says. “We can go back in
tomorrow morning again and then be on the trail for home by the end
of the day.”

Simon calls back his agreement. The ‘going in’
part that Cory is referring to is the city of Nashville for which
they are in route.

Cory has slowed his stallion down to
a more manageable pace in an open pasture so that Simon can bring
his gelding in beside him. Though his
stallion
is still young, only four years
old, Cory manages him with ease. Even though her grandfather
advised it, Reagan had not allowed the stud colt to be gelded. It
had turned out to be a wise decision since their other stallion had
passed away a year later from colic. Now they have a way of
breeding the mares at the farm to keep the stock producing and
thriving. The horses are nearly the only source of transportation
that they have anymore, the only source of
transportation
that most people
have. Gasoline is reserved for their trips to the clinic in town.
Every once in a while when they are in one of the cities or towns,
they catch sight of someone on a motorcycle, ATV or even more rare
are the people traveling in a car or truck. There aren’t exactly
any oil refineries still delivering gas to the local 7-Eleven. The
family traded two older horses that were dead broke and safe for
riding to the Reynolds family for two new dairy cows about three
and a half years ago. Trading is about all that anybody does
anymore.

“I hope we can find another carburetor for the
tractor,” Cory says as he peers into the distant tree
line.

“Yeah, me, too. Gonna suck if we can’t get both
planters going this coming spring,” Simon replies as he spies a
hawk circling overhead, likely searching for a late day meal of
mouse, rat or some other undesirable rodent.

“No kidding,” Cory companionably
agrees.

He’s easy to get along
with
and they have
become like brothers instead of what they really are, which are
orphans of the new world. Simon had liked Cory, his brother and
young sister and all of the McClane family from the start. They
were honest, hard-working and loyal people, and their sense
of
family
was like none that Simon had ever seen before. It made the
ache of losing his own mother, father and sister just a little
easier to cope with.

“Did you hear that?” Simon asks and reins in
his horse.

Cory spins sharply, pivoting
his
horse
on just its rear legs and faces backward toward the woods
they’ve just left.

“Yeah, I heard it,” he answers with
agitation.

The sounds of twigs breaking and
dried leaves crunching can be heard
above
the wind and the birds and the
sounds of nature all around them. Someone is either following them
or moving through these desolate woods, as well. The lush
camouflage of thick underbrush and the
wide
, flat leaves are gone from the
trees, leaving them more exposed to being seen. All of the summer
foliage is dead, snow-covered or wilted and covering the ground
instead.

Simon swings his horse and the pack
horse about, and they trot over to seek cover at the edge of the
forest to await their would-be stalker. Cory takes his rifle from
its scabbard while simultaneously flinging his reins over a long,
spindly branch to stay his stallion. He slides fluidly and near
silently to the ground. Simon removes his revolver from his hip
holster but does not dismount. It is imperative that should Cory be
shot and killed
, then
Simon will still make it home to the farm,
especially with the two remaining horses. Unfortunately, the
depletion of ammunition in the country hasn’t completely run its
course. People are still shooting and killing one another on a
daily basis for food, for supplies, for women and for
survival.

“Easy, bud,” Simon shushes his horse who is
starting to feel that familiar tension of its rider whenever
something bad is about to happen. Simon hates this. He hates the
dread that comes with the violence this world has bred. He hates
the apprehension. And most of all, he hates the idea of any harm
coming to Cory or that his best friend could be killed.

Cory signals to him and they both
nod in understanding that Simon will stay put while Cory hunts down
the predator. He disappears into the forest, going wide and to
their south so that he can come up behind
whoever
is following them. It only
takes but a few minutes for him to
return
and he’s looking about as pissed
off as one person could be.

“Damn it, Em!” he is shouting as he
stomps from the woods in a
rage
of two hundred pounds of pure
muscle and righteous anger. “What the hell were you
thinking?”

A second later, Em plods along
looking sullen and thoroughly reprimanded on her chestnut mare. She
is Cory’s little sister and only fifteen years old, way too young
to be going on a dangerous supply run with them. Unfortunately, she
also knows this because she’d vehemently
argued
with them the previous
evening at the farm over this very point. Apparently she didn’t
take to Cory and his side of the argument about being too young to
tag along because here she is. They are simply too far along to
turn back now to return her.

“I was thinking for myself for once, Cory,” Em
grumbles in an outburst of petulant teen anger as Cory reaches his
mount again.

“Bullshit!” Cory shouts as he jerks his
stallion’s head too roughly, garnering him a snort. “You’re just a
kid. You don’t belong out here with us. Kelly’s gonna be pissed.
Did you even think of anyone back at the farm? They’re probably
freaking out that you’re missing.”

“Cory, I left them a note,” she tries to
explain. “They’ll know I’m with you guys. I’m not a complete idiot.
It’s cool.”

“It’s
not
cool, Em,” Cory rants.

He is quite the adversary when he wants to be,
which Simon has seen too many times for his taste. They’ve both had
to do things that are unmentionable to stay alive during these runs
for supplies.

“I’ll be
fine
, Cory. Tell him, Simon!” she
pushes.

This is one family battle that Simon really
doesn’t want to get involved in. Also, he doesn’t want Cory to haul
off and deck him. He can be kind of volatile sometimes. Luckily for
Simon, though, Cory’s anger is usually pointed toward dangerous
people who would mean them harm.

“Um
…
well,” is all he manages before Cory
is right back on her.