Time of Ruin

By Shauna Granger

The world has ended, and hope is the most dangerous thing left.

Battered and bruised after barely escaping San Francisco with their lives, Kat, Dylan, and Blue press north – desperate to reach the possibility of a new home.

But strange, monstrous ravens are tracking the remaining survivors, food is becoming scarce, gasoline is running short, and people are becoming suicidal, making survival almost impossible.

And the Pestas are growing bolder. Somehow, their numbers are growing.

The further north they go, the harder it becomes to ignore the signs that they’ve made a fatal mistake. Kat must face the impossible truth that there is no escape, there is no safe haven, and their worst nightmares don’t come close to their new reality.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shauna Granger
• Release date: Jul 22, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310596964

Shauna Granger

Shauna Granger lives in a sleepy little beach town in Southern California with her husband, John, and their goofy dog, Brody. Always fascinated by Magic, Shauna spent most of her teen years buried in books about fairies, elves, gnomes, spells, witchcraft, wizards and sorcery. When she's not busy working on the next installment of the Elemental Series she enjoys cooking, entertaining, MMA fight nights, watching way too much TV and coffee. Lots of coffee.

Book preview

The world is quiet with the sound of rain. Cold drops collect in puddles on the ground, but the air is heavy and damp. A thick layer of white and gray has blanketed the sky. My hands are jammed into the pockets of my jacket, and I’ve given up some visibility by pulling up my hood to protect my head. Ahead of me, I hear Blue bounding through the wet brush, twigs snapping underpaw, and the occasional huff as he tries to snuff out whatever he thinks he smells.

The summer storm is a break from the endless heat of Middle of Nowhere, California. We haven’t even made it to the border yet, but thanks to this rain, I think we must be close to Oregon—probably just a couple more hours by car if our Humvee hadn’t run out of gas two days ago. Now it sits like a hulking shell or some slumbering green giant waiting for a weary traveler to wake it so it can use their bones for its bread.

I whistle for Blue. In a moment, he bursts through the tree line along the narrow road I’m walking. His nails scrabble against the asphalt as he spins to face my direction. His jaw drops open in a silly dog grin, his tongue lolling out as he pants. I lift my hand and motion for him to come. He pauses to do a full body shake, and water flies off of him in every direction. His thick black and grey and white fur poofs out before settling again. Then he runs toward me, as fast as he can, and I think he’s going to barrel into me and smother me with that lovely wet-dog smell. I brace for the impact, taking half a step back, but when he reaches me, he runs around me in a quick circle, stopping in front of me.

Good boy, I say, scratching the top of his head. His top coat is soaked, but under it, I feel his warm, dry fur. He rubs his muzzle against my leg, soaking a spot on my jeans. Thanks for that.

I chuckle when he looks up at me, his grey eyebrows shifting back and forth. Sometimes I forget he’s not really a person—close, but not really.

C’mon, let’s find Dylan. At the sound of the familiar name, Blue cocks his head to the side, perking his ears up. Yeah, let’s go find him.

I turn around to walk back to the disabled vehicle that’s become our campsite, and Blue trots alongside me, sticking with me instead of bounding back into the foliage.

It’s early morning; the sound of rain on the metal roof of the Humvee woke me. I slipped out with Blue while Dylan slept in the passenger seat, a grimace on his face. Because those assholes in San Francisco got away with our sleeping bags, we’ve been sleeping upright in the front seats. Blue sleeps in the back, only the thin blanket Dylan found in a car on our first day together separating him from the cold metal floor. It’s fucking miserable. I wake up stiff and sore, my arm hot with pain where the bullet grazed me, but I know it’s nothing compared to the agony Dylan must be in. He insists sitting up is better for his injured shoulder, but I know he’s having as hard a time relaxing as I am.

It took us a day to agree that he must’ve torn his shoulder muscle. At first I was afraid he’d broken something, and he was afraid his shoulder was dislocated. He could wiggle his fingers and move his arm, albeit painfully, but he had very little strength in it. After a series of tests, Dylan finally announced the muscle must be torn. I am no expert, so I just accepted it. I tore up a shirt and made him a makeshift sling, strapping his arm to his torso to keep him from using it.

Our meager pain killers aren’t doing much to alleviate his pain, and it’s wearing on his patience. My once easy-going companion with a quick smile has become a miserable grouch with a short fuse. I nearly punched him in the face last night when he reached to swat Blue for jumping into the front seat. I’m sure the jarring of a fifty-pound dog jumping into his lap was painful, but I won’t stand for anyone, not even Dylan, striking Blue.

After I assured him that if he ever hit my dog, I would give him the same in return, he pulled his jacket over his shoulder and turned into the door to try to sleep. I sat in the driver’s seat for hours, unable to find a comfortable enough position to fall asleep, especially after how angry Dylan had made me. But eventually, I did sleep. Cramped and cold, I woke every couple of hours, finally giving up when the rain started.

The damp, cool air cleared my head better than any cup of coffee, and the walk was good for my tight muscles. I don’t think Dylan will appreciate the smell of wet dog when we get back, but I’m still pretty pissed off at him, so I don’t care what he likes. Neither of us has been able to wash in days, so he doesn’t smell like a bouquet of roses either.

The narrow road curves, and up ahead, I see the disabled Humvee in the mud at the side of the road. When it started to sputter and lose power, I was lucky to get it off the highway and into the entrance of the national park. I didn’t want us sitting like ducks on the highway, vulnerable to scavengers and Pestas. At least here in the park, the trees and bushes provide some cover from passersby on the road. But if they wander into the park, we’re screwed. We need to move again, but with Dylan’s injury, he can’t pick up and carry his pack. I’ve offered to go out to search for a vehicle, but every time I bring it up, Dylan shuts me down, refusing to even discuss the idea.

As we approach, I hear the passenger door open. I watch Dylan carefully get out of the Humvee. Blue bursts forward to greet Dylan, the argument from last night not even a memory for him. Blue’s paws sink into the mud as he reaches Dylan, and I cringe at the thought of all that mud coming inside with him. Dylan walks Blue back to the road and out of the mud before, much to my surprise, he squats down to pet him. I stop a few yards back to watch. Dylan dips his head forward and presses his forehead to Blue’s before the dog rubs his damp muzzle against Dylan’s scruffy face. His silent apology melts the frost of anger that settled inside of me last night.

As if feeling my eyes on him, Dylan lifts his face to look at me, a sad smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. He gives Blue one last pat before walking over to me. Stopping in front of me, he reaches with his good hand, and I pull mine from my pockets. Our fingers interlace, hanging between us as we look at each other.

Hey, he says, keeping his voice soft.

Hey, I say back, just as softly.

I’m so sorry about last night. He shakes his head. I don’t know what was wrong with me.

You were in pain, I offer. I’m sorry I flipped out on you.

No, he says with another shake of his head. If I ever hit Blue, I’d expect you to hit me.

I step forward to close the distance between us and look up into his green-flecked brown eyes, causing my hood to fall back. I would. Don’t you worry about that. For the first time in days, I see that familiar, easy smile spread over his face.

Good, he says before lowering his face to mine.

His lips are warm and dry against my wet, cold lips, and it’s a wonderful feeling. His good arm slides around my shoulders to pull me closer, and my hands fist his jacket, holding on. Blue whines and shuffles next to us, making me break our kiss with a laugh. I open my eyes just in time to see him jump, his muzzle as high as my shoulder.

Jealous, Dylan says with a shake of his head.

He’s probably hungry.

At the word hungry, Blue whines again.

Aren’t we all. Dylan takes my hand, and we walk back to the Humvee.

Blue jumps into the back, his muddy paws soaking his blanket, as Dylan and I climb into the front seats. I watch Dylan struggle to get the door closed behind him. His brow wrinkles, and the corners of his mouth turn down as a muscle in his jaw jumps. He’s clenching his jaw hard enough to crack his teeth. I reach across him and grab the door to pull it closed, moving quickly enough that he doesn’t have time to stop me and insist he can do it himself. I fall back into my seat and grimace as a spring digs into my thigh. This damn thing is the most uncomfortable vehicle I’ve ever been inside. Hell, it’s the most uncomfortable thing ever.

The back of the Humvee is an empty shell, but I can still see where the backseats should be and the boxes for storage once were. Wires hang from places along the roof like thick cobwebs threatening to tangle in your hair. Good thing I chopped mine off. We were lucky to find a rifle and some ammo left behind by the infected kids, plus the two handguns I took in the fight. But Dylan can’t use the rifle with his shoulder injured, and we don’t have any spare ammo to let him practice shooting a handgun one-handed. We’re just going to have to hope we don’t need to use them. I’ve never fired a gun, so I hope, if the occasion ever arises, just the threat of a gun will be enough to keep an attacker away. And no, I’m not counting that massive thing on the Humvee as a gun.

Blue whines again, pulling me out of my thoughts and back into the present. I reach through the front seats for my pack, pull out one of Blue’s collapsible bowls, and fill it with kibble. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve said a silent prayer of thanks they didn’t take Blue’s food.

Blue pounces on the bowl as soon as my fingers are out of the way.

Dylan already has a can of Chef Boyardee Beefaroni open with a spoon sticking out of it, waiting for us on the dash. He hands it to me. Sorry it’s not warm.

Nothing we can do about it, I say as I take the can.

It’s cold and gloopy and has a metallic tang. Whoever thought of putting tomato-based sauces in metal cans was an idiot. I grimace at the first few bites. After we’re halfway through the can, passing it back and forth, I get used to the taste.

God, I say, leaning back against the cold door, what I wouldn’t give for a damn salad.

Yeah. Dylan cracks his window just far enough to throw out the can. All this salt is making me bloated.

I look at him to see if he’s teasing me, but watching him try to find a comfortable position, wincing as he does, I know he’s being serious. There are beads of sweat along his forehead. His curly hair is wet enough that he’s been able to push it away from his face. The pain is getting to him. I open the bottle of Motrin and shake out a few pills. I hand them, and my bottle of water, to Dylan.

He takes them reluctantly. If I keep taking so many, we’ll run out.

We have them for when we need them. You need them right now. Don’t worry, we’ll find more.

Dylan sighs as he settles into the seat, finally finding a modicum of comfort. When he opens his eyes, they’re a little glassy, pain simmering under the surface. A stitch forms in my chest.

We need to get moving soon, he says.

I nod.

There’s no food around here. If we wait much longer, we’ll go through our supplies.

I nod again.

We’re just lucky there’s water here.

I nod.

Kat, talk to me.

I don’t want to fight again.

Why would we?

I stare at him, waiting for him to catch up.

When he does, he sighs audibly. You’re not going on your own.

You can’t carry your pack.

I know, but—

We’re not going to leave half our supplies behind.

I know—

We both know I need to head out, look for a car, and come back for you. It’s the best plan.

That is not a plan; it’s a suicide mission, he says.

Excuse me, but I was on my own for months before you came along, and I was doing just fine.

I know that.

See? I lean my head back to look up at the roof. I didn’t want to do this again.

I just can’t let you go by yourself.

Okay, one—I sit up, holding up a finger to stop him—I wouldn’t be by myself. Blue would come with me. And two—I hold up another finger—"you don’t let me do anything."

Kat, that’s not what I meant.

I hold out my hand to stop the circular argument, the same argument we’ve had since the Humvee ran out of gas. I know what you meant, but you’re going to have to come to terms with what needs to be done. It’s just up to you if you come to terms with it before or after we run out of food and I can’t go because I’m too weak.

Kat, what if you don’t come back? His voice is low and rough. His eyes are pinched with worry and pain.

Leaning forward, I hold out my hand. Dylan takes it with his good arm. I rub my thumb over the back of his hand and feel the bones pressing at his skin. He isn’t drinking enough water, which is stupid because that’s the one thing we do have in this park.

I inch forward until our knees are touching. Dylan, I will always come back. The words stretch to fill the interior of the vehicle, reaching out for him.

I know, he whispers back. Can you just wait? Give me a couple of days? I’m sure it’s just a small tear, and I’ll be able to lift my pack soon.

We both know that’s not true. Maybe it is a small tear, but it’ll be months before he can pick up his pack and walk for miles.

My mouth is dry, and I swallow roughly. I don’t want to lie to him, but I have to. I promise.

Awkwardly, Dylan pushes away from the door to lean toward me. I meet his lips, trying to memorize the shape of his mouth and the taste of him. His hand twitches in mine, and I give it a reassuring squeeze. I don’t want to lie to him. I don’t want to leave him. But I can’t sit back and let us die either.

You need to drink more water, I say. If you let yourself get dehydrated, you’ll have more problems than just a lame shoulder.

I know, it’s just… He makes a face, pursing his lips as though he doesn’t want to say something.

What? It’s just what?

Do you have any idea how hard it is to undo your pants and pee one-handed? He lifts his brows and widens his eyes, surprising a laugh out of me.

I can help you, I offer between laughs.

No, he says firmly. We’re close, but the last thing you’re going to do is help me go to the bathroom. I have some dignity left.

Do you? I tease.

Dylan punches me lightly in the shoulder with his good arm. Laughing has burst the bubble of tension between us, and we manage to have a pretty decent day together. I even pull out my battered copy of Stardust and read it to him to pass the time.

When night comes and Dylan is deep asleep, a few extra Motrin to help him past the pain, I slip out of the Humvee and open the back door to let Blue out. It takes me more than a few minutes to get my pack out without making enough noise to wake Dylan. Once it’s on my back, I lean against the door to close it as quietly as possible.

Before I walk away, I press my hands against the dark glass to shade my eyes enough to see Dylan’s shadowy form, still fast asleep. A lump presses at my throat, and it’s suddenly difficult to breathe. I should have kissed him again. I should have grabbed him and held him, breathed in his scent before I slipped out. It’s too late now. I take my fill of him and hope it isn’t my last look.

The rain has let up, but the sky is still thick with clouds, blotting out the moonlight and hiding the stars. With a handgun strapped to my thigh, my pack heavy on my back, my mask secured over my mouth and nose, and the rifle hanging from my shoulder, I head for the highway.

Chapter 2

Blue and I walk along the highway. Somewhere in the distance, I hear the ocean pushing at the cliffs. Blue’s nails scratch at the asphalt. My pack shifts against my back. Already my muscles are tightening under the load, and we’ve only been walking for about a mile. I’ve decided to keep us on the road as much as possible. It keeps us exposed, but the night is so dark that I think it’s worth it rather than trudging through muck and mud. The last thing I need is to get my feet wet and develop some kind of fungus I can’t treat. When the sun rises, I’ll decide whether or not staying out in the open is still worth the risk.

Blue swivels his head back to bite at the makeshift leash I’ve tied to his collar. The other end of the rope is tied to my waist strap to keep my hands free.

Quit, I say, short and firm as I snap the leash away from him. My voice is a little muffled behind my mask, but it’s clear enough.

Blue snorts at me. I pull down my mask and stick my tongue out at him.

Deal with it. I don’t want to have to yell for you if we have to move. I close my mouth and shake my head. I have to stop talking to you like that.

Blue tilts his head, his eyebrow shifting.

Such a person, I say, ruffling the fur at the top of his head. I click my tongue to get us moving again. I leave my mask hanging like a necklace so I can breathe the cool air for a little while.

The air is becoming heavy with moisture again. It isn’t so much raining as it’s just a curtain of water, like thick fog. I can’t believe, after all the shit we’ve gone through, that we didn’t make it at least to Oregon. The tiny wisps of hair along my forehead and neck are curling and sticking to my skin. With my pack arching over my shoulders, I don’t want to give up any more visibility by pulling up the hood on my sweatshirt. I’m just grateful my jacket is keeping it from getting thoroughly soaked. My fingers are cold and clammy, so I flex my fingers, willing blood into them.

When the sky lightens over my right shoulder, I breathe a little easier, glad to have the light coming back into the world. There was a time I would have never dared walk out in the open at night for fear of the disease-spreading Pestas. But now that I’ve seen them in the daylight, I know that there’s no safe time to be outside. I still keep my head on a swivel though, checking my blind spots and even turning around once in a while to look behind me. Blue and I are alone.

The road lifts ever so slightly. If I’d been in a car, I would have never noticed, but with a twenty-pound pack on my back, I totally notice. My breathing is becoming labored, and I have to really think about controlling it as I trudge upward. Before I reach the top of the incline, I see a black spot in the white sky. A thin trail of smoke cuts through the air, making the black spot wider. Someone is burning a body. Or a house. Either way, someone is in the distance ahead of me. I force myself to swallow, my throat tight and dry at the sight of the smoke. Blue looks up at me with a question in his canine eyes, and not for the first time, I wish he could talk.

Easy, I whisper, afraid to speak at a normal level. I just hope the caution in my voice is clear to him.

When we finally get to the apex of the incline, I stop, tugging on Blue’s leash to get him to stop next to me. Below us, the road dips into a shallow valley. The forest rises up in the east, and in the very far distance, I can see the coast. But just in front of me, a few miles down the road, is a small town. The trail of smoke is coming from somewhere in the center of the town. My stomach twists at the sight of it.

Blue dances in place and whines at me, pulling my eyes away from the town of ruin. My stomach grumbles painfully, and Blue whines again. We needed to take a break for food a while ago, and I definitely don’t want to do it once we’re in that town. I want to look for a car and get the hell out of there as quickly as possible.

Okay, boy, I say, giving the leash a gentle tug. I turn toward the tree line so we can take a rest out of sight.

Behind the protection of a massive redwood, I slide my pack off with a grateful groan. The branches are so thick here that the ground is only a little damp and mostly covered in fallen pine needles, making the ground soft and bouncy. Blue paws at my pack, whining softly.

I know, I know, I say, pushing him back so I can open the top zipper.

Inside is my neon yellow rainfly, protecting my pack from the rain. I haven’t used it because it’s so conspicuous, but it seems safe enough to sit on for now. After I lay it out as wide as I can make it, I sit with my legs crossed and dig out a double handful of kibble. I barely have a chance to pile it on a corner of the rainfly before Blue is on it, crunching noisily.

Oh, it’s okay, I say, that was just my finger, but whatever. Jerk.

Blue pays my sarcasm no mind, so I just shake my head and pull out a tiny can of fruit cocktail. It’s a meager lunch, but I have a few precious cans of food with me, and I don’t know how long it’ll take me to find a vehicle and get back to Dylan. I have to stretch everything as far as I can.

My lunch of overly sugared chunks of fruit is over all too quickly. I grimace as I swallow the sugar water, not letting a drop go to waste. With a sigh, I relax against my pack, fighting to keep my head up. I don’t have the time or luxury to take a nap right now. I watch Blue trot off, sniffing the ground to his little heart’s content until he finds a tree that is worthy of him to relieve himself on. I’m just glad I don’t have to go. I’ll probably be fine until we get down into the valley, and I can use a bathroom in one of the houses down there.

It’s starting to take too long to open my eyes when I blink. My head feels as if it weighs a hundred pounds. The muscles in my back are still firing, and my legs are twitching with exhaustion. Maybe a quick catnap wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

Blue growls, and my eyes snap open. He’s looking back the way we came, toward the highway, and his ears are perfect triangles as he listens to something I can’t hear. I don’t wait to find out what caught his attention. I just move, jumping up and gathering my rainfly, shoving it back into my bag and pulling the zippers closed. I reach for Blue’s leash, grab it, and pull him back to me, holding him close to my side.

I put a hand over his muzzle and whisper, Shhhh.

I reach for my pack to shrug it back on but stop when I hear footsteps on the road. I just thank whoever is listening that Blue and I are behind the tree line. On my belly, I tug on Blue’s leash to get him to lie next to me. I crawl forward, the pine needles biting into my palms and the knees of my jeans becoming soaked as I go. Blue inches forward along next to me. We stop when we can just see the highway, a mere three yards away.

The footsteps are getting louder, and I hear something on wheels, but it’s not a car. Soon, the group of people reaches the top of the incline, walking away from the town below. Blue growls the deep rumbling noise that I know can lead to a bark. I wrap an arm around him and grab his muzzle, holding his mouth closed.

His blue eyes shift to me, and I hold up my other hand to my mouth and shush him again. Too scared to take my hand away from his mouth, I hold on as I return my attention to the road. There are two women and one man, a teenage boy who looks a few years younger than me, and two little girls and one little boy who all look under the age of ten. All are dressed as though they’re taking a family hike on a Sunday afternoon. It’s kind of refreshing to see people who aren’t decked out in military cast-offs.

The adult man is holding a massive crossbow as he leads the group. The women are walking side by side, both pulling toy wagons. One wagon is piled high with supplies, and the other is full of three little kids. The teenage boy is pulling up the rear with a BB gun. His jaw is clenched, and his knuckles are mottled and white from gripping the toy guy so hard.

It’s so strange to see three actual adults after not seeing any in such a long time. I wonder if they’re immune to the pox like Dylan and I seem to be.

Bill, the woman pulling the kids calls, and the guy