Feudal Land, Book one: FEUDAL LAND, #1

By Lisa Grace

FEUDAL LAND 
Government Acronym: 
Forced Economic United Domestic Alliances Limited 

Everyone is in the game. 

Cam McGee’s school bus grinds to a halt from an EMP blast, which is part of a series of carefully planned terrorist attacks. Seventeen-year-old Cam, the daughter of a doomsday prepper, and Jaren, a foster teen she barely knows, head to a prepper’s enclave deep in the Carolina Mountains. 
The glitch in her survival plan comes in the form of a dream from God, telling her to deliver two young kids to their grandfather, the notorious General Mors, who is running the most ruthless cell of the government alliances. 
Cam believes God's will trumps everything, including whether she lives or dies. Jaren trusts only in himself and his growing feelings for Cam. Can he save himself and Cam when she is willing to throw it all away for a dream? Or is there something really worth risking your life for? 

Lisa Grace’s teen Angel Series is optioned for a major motion picture through Motion Picture Pro Studios. 

Lisa Grace delivers another exciting supernatural young adult series. She is best known for her Angel Series which has been optioned for a major motion picture, currently in development through Motion Picture Pro Studios. She deftly merges scriptural beliefs into real world dystopian scenarios. Filled with action and adventure, plus a budding romance, the end of the world in FEUDAL LAND is a future where everyone is in the game. Enjoy the journey. 

Author Bio 
Lisa Grace spends her waking moments battling evil angels and demons. During coffee breaks, she writes her novels on her NEO or her trusty battle scarred laptop. Her hobbies include dolphin riding with mermaids, paddle boarding with turtles, and kayaking with sharks. She is an official protectress of manatees, gopher tortoises, and the much-maligned Virginian Opossum. She loves to hear from readers and is grateful for reviews. 

For notifications of new releases join her subscriber list at www.lisagracebooks.com

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lisa Grace
• Release date: Nov 8, 2015
• ISBN: 9781519988744

Lisa Grace

Lisa Grace spends her waking moments battling evil angels and demons. During coffee breaks, she writes her novels on her NEO or her trusty battle scarred laptop. Her hobbies include dolphin riding with mermaids, paddle boarding with turtles, and kayaking with sharks. She is an official protectress of manatees, gopher tortoises, and the much-maligned Virginian Opossum. She loves to hear from readers and is grateful for reviews. Join her subscriber list at lisagracebooks.com

Book preview

Everyone is in the game.

Nothing ever begins at the beginning. There’s always some story where your beginning is someone else’s middle or end. My name is Cam McGee and I never thought I would live to see the end of the world, not because it’s not ending—it is—it’s just that I’ve been classified as an enemy of man, so it’s a miracle I’m still alive.

Chapter One

Chaos is Coming

––––––––

My middle:

We were on the bus heading home from school. You could catch a whiff of orange blossoms on the breeze, (nature’s air freshener here in Florida), which was working hard to cover the exhaust fume smells from the passing traffic.

My only friend, Isabella, didn’t come to school that day. I texted her, "WRU" when she wasn’t at the bus stop that morning.

She texted back, "sick."

Anyhow, it didn’t happen on the way to school, but on the way home. Tommy Edelson, I like to call him, Addled-son (just to rile him), was being gross and spitting paper wads alternately out the window or into the girls’ hair when he didn’t think they were looking. He’s pretty much a pig. He leaves me alone now ’cause he knows I can whip him. I took martial arts. One day after I moved into the neighborhood, he tried to grab my boob, so I kicked out my leg, tripped him, and threw him on his sorry keister. He’s left me alone since then. He has easier targets to pick on.

Anyway, right after I saw him spit a wad that got stuck in Maria’s thick wavy hair, and she tried to grab it and shake it out, well that’s when it happened.

The bus just quit running and drifted to a stop. At first, I just thought it was our bus, but then I looked out the window and saw all the other cars had slowed to a stop too. Then I noticed all of the stoplights were dead. Everything got quiet. Even the chatter on the bus ended.

One of the guys, I think it was Dante, said, Hey, it’s like that ‘War of the Worlds’ movie.

He got off the bus all excited. A couple of the younger girls squealed at his comment and laughed. No one was worried—yet.

My cell phone won’t work, one of the kids said followed by the murmurs of the teens who noticed the same thing.

The rest of the teens on the bus checked their cell phones and stuff, but their devices were dead, too. Most were dead because smart phones drain so easily, but the ones that were charged didn’t work either. Eerie.

The bus driver turned the key in the ignition several times, trying to get the engine to engage—but he didn’t even get a click. He climbed down the bus stairs slowly as if his legs had stiffened from driving the bus too long. He lifted the yellow hood, which howled in rusty protest, and peered in the engine compartment, wiggling different parts, like he had a clue on how to get the bus running again.

US 19, the highway we’re stuck on, is one of the busiest deadliest roads in the country. Especially the part we travel. In the before days you could’ve Googled this bit of information, but it’s irrelevant now.

Those in the lanes around us tried to restart their cars before they gave up and got out. Some just stood there looking lost. Some of the adults panicked when they realized their phones wouldn’t work either. I just watched everyone react, because that’s what I do.

~

I looked around me, and saw I was on the corner of US 19 and Spring Hill. I still had about a mile to walk home. I emptied out my backpack except for the leftover granola bar and a bottle of water.

The kid in the row behind me asked, Why are you dumping your books on the seat? And your tablet?

I don’t need them.

I heard him protesting, You can’t just leave your computer tablet on the bus. You’re responsible for it, you know.

I snorted. He had no clue how useless those things would be for at least the next six months.

I took my now much lighter pack and stepped off the bus. The kids were milling around. They were waiting for someone to take charge.

I said to no one in particular, but loud enough for those who looked lost to hear me, You should all just walk home, and wait for your parents.

No one asked why. But one voice spoke up, Do you know what’s happened?

I sighed, and turned back in the general direction of the bus. Even the driver was looking at me now.

At least one electromagnetic pulse—what’s called an EMP blast—has been detonated in the atmosphere and now vehicles, cell phones, and anything that runs or travels through an electrical connection won’t work for the next six months, or more.

Someone answered, Well that’s just stupid. Cell phones don’t have wires. You’re just full of it.

I expected that reaction. Right out of the manual: Sheeple will react with denial. It springs from their fear of knowing they are unprepared. Denial gives them the false hope that they can delay the consequences of their actions or lack of action. I’m not about to argue or explain how the transfer of energy through electromagnetic fields worked. I turned away and started walking home.

Hey.

I ignored whomever it was. I only had one friend on the bus, and she didn’t make it into school today.

Hey, Cam.

I looked over my shoulder just as Jaren fell into step with me. The foster kid. Everyone knew he lived in the foster home at the end of Spring Lake Drive. It’s the stop before mine. It seemed like a new kid got on the bus just about every month from that house. When they got on, everyone just called them, foster. They never lasted long, so it wasn’t worth most of us remembering their names. Except Jaren. He lasted longer than a month. The only reason I knew how to say and spell his name was he’s in my English class and the teacher, Mr. Sims, had a habit of spelling and saying everyone’s names.

Cam, Jaren called out again.

What? I glanced at him and then looked back to the grass ahead. The ground is uneven. This stretch of Highway 19 doesn’t have sidewalks and is not walker friendly. A homeless guy on his bike rode by slowly. Plastic bags filled with crushed cans swayed lightly from the handlebars. I caught a whiff of oniony body odor and stale beer as he passed by us. He has the best ride in town now. A bike. The pauper is now a king, I thought to myself.

I’m coming with you, Jaren said.

I stopped, which caused Jaren to run into me. Since he’s the stop before mine, he has to walk in my general direction, so I didn’t think much of his tagging along. I thought his sudden desire to talk to me was because I’d known what the EMP was, or maybe he wanted to argue that’s what it wasn’t.

You can’t come with me. I’m leaving, I said.

"I have to come with you." He looked at me, and not for the first time, I noticed he’s cute. He has light wavy brown hair, bleached golden on top by the sunlight, sea green eyes, and a tan from being outside. If he weren’t a foster, girls would have been falling all over him.

You can’t come with me, I said as I started walking again, my dad won’t allow it. I’m not sure it’s true, but how would I explain to my dad, someone I don’t even know, except he rides the bus with me and happens to be in one of my classes, wants to tag along?

I’ll ask him, Jaren said.

Suit yourself.

He easily kept pace with me as his legs were longer.

I don’t tell him to go home. That would just be cruel seeing as he didn’t really have a home. I didn’t talk much, and I didn’t think he even knew why he wanted to come with me.

Jaren spoke up again, "I know you want to know why."

I kept walking. We passed an older lady who sat in her car, looking lost. I didn’t stop. On a normal day, I thought I would have. I would have asked if she needed help. Today, I can’t help anyone. I may not even be able to help me. There’s no time. Maybe the people would have three days before all the store shelves emptied and the population realized no cavalry or hero would be coming to help. We might have three days, tops, to get where we needed to go, and it was going to be tough. I didn’t have time to get sidetracked.

Jaren repeated himself, I guessed in case he thought I hadn’t heard him the first time. "I know you want to know why."

I kept walking. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings by saying, I don’t care, because even if I did, I couldn’t let it stop me from doing what needed to be done.

Because you seem to know what’s happened, and you have a plan, don’t you? Jaren stumbled, but caught up to me again in a couple of steps.

This time though, he held out his hand and grabbed my arm to stop me. I turned and looked at him again.

You have a plan, don’t you?

Yes.

He nodded and let go of my arm. We walked again. We’re almost to his street, which we wouldn’t stop at, and continued to walk down the road to mine.

~

I entered my house closely followed by Jaren, and saw the kitchen door that led out to the garage was open. No reason to keep it closed anymore, to keep the air-conditioning inside. I heard dad clunking around in the garage so I stood in the doorway.

You made it home, my Dad said as I saw him wheel out his corn oil powered motorbike into the middle of the garage from the big metal container the bikes were stored in.

Yep. My feet were damp from walking home a mile in the Florida heat. I took off my sneaks and the smell wafted up. The scent of warmth mixed with sweat. Maybe they’d have time to air out before we had to leave.

My dad looked over at me, Wear your boots.

I have a broken in pair (so they won’t cause blisters) prepared to wear. Just in this heat, I would have preferred my sneakers. I listened to my dad though, and went to put them on.

I had a feeling we wouldn’t stay long. I headed to the fridge, which was now dead, just like everything else that ran on electricity or electronics. I placed my never-to-wear-again sneaks on the counter, which was something dad would have yelled at me for yesterday. But he won’t today, because it doesn’t matter anymore. I opened the fridge and pulled out some Cokes, still cold. I offered the first one to Jaren, which he accepted. I popped the top on the next one and took a sip knowing it might be quite a while before I had an icy cold Coke again. I opened the freezer, grabbed some ice, put it in a glass, and poured the third Coke over it. It fizzed and almost overflowed. The foamy brown head hissed as it slowly fell back into the glass. I walked into the garage and gave the Coke in the glass to my dad.

He looked at me and said, Thanks. Then he reached out and pulled me to him. I just hugged him back and willed my love for him into that hug. I knew he would do his best to keep me safe. I also knew there were no guarantees.

For all his bravado of saying he’d talk to my dad, Jaren instead hung out quietly in the kitchen, and sipped his Coke.

He’s not so brave after all, I thought.

Dad let me go. He drank his Coke, while looking around the garage. Maybe he was saying goodbye to all his stuff with his eyes.

My dad’s a mechanic and an inventor. He’s been gathering things and preparing in case an electromagnetic pulse hit the country. He has notebooks full of what if scenarios, which he memorized, and worked on making me memorize them too.

Dad had the bikes stored in a special metal on the outside—insulated on the inside—box, just in case this happened. He has extra shielding around the electronics on the bikes, and the electrical parts. He’s brilliant in that way.

I knew the plan. Dad prepped me my whole life in case something happened to him, so I could survive these last few terrible years before the end. Dad and I would be leaving to join Uncle Ryan and his team in the mountains. We live almost twelve hours away, if we were traveling by car at max speed with no delays. Now it might take all of the estimated three-day safety time. We have to get there. My Mom’s ashes were already up at Uncle Ryan’s. When she died, Dad buried her up there. He knew when things got bad we needed to be ready to leave.

What does our survival manual say? Don’t even go back into your house for a coat. Flee to the mountains. Traveling by motorbike is a little faster than the days in which the manual was written, so Dad figured we would have enough time to grab basic preps.

It’s happening, my dad said, the end is coming.

I nodded.

He drained the rest of his glass. I noticed his cheeks were stubbly from not shaving.

He pulled out the second bike, the one he built for me.

We need to leave in the next fifteen minutes, before people realize how bad things are going to get.

He checked my bike, giving it a good once over. Your ruck bag is packed?

I nodded. We check all of them, every weekend.

We won’t be coming back, he added.

I nodded again and looked at my old-fashioned geared watch, a present from my Uncle Ryan. It still worked. It runs on a spring and gears. No electronics in it. We’ll be seeing him soon. Uncle Ryan’s been preparing for the end for a long time, even before I was born.

I went in my room and grabbed my army issue ruck. Dad bought it for me at one of those Army surplus stores.

In the spare room, I picked up one of our surplus ready-rucks for Jaren. I walked back into the kitchen where he was still leaning against the counter, sipping his Coke. I hold it out for him to take. He grabbed at the shoulder harness with one hand, and the filled ruck almost dropped to the floor.

I smiled. He obviously didn’t expect it to be that heavy.

I rummaged in the kitchen drawer, looking for my Swiss army knife. I found it and jammed it in my back pocket. I slipped my switchblade in the back of my pants, where some girls, not me, have tramp stamps. Jaren’s eyebrows raised up at that action, but to his credit, he remained silent. From out of the junk drawer, I found and handed him a switchblade of his own. He pressed the lever and the knife shot out. He sat his Coke down, and pushed the blade back into the handle. He then stuffed it into his back pocket.

I didn’t need much. We have supplies stored in Uncle Ryan’s bunker, enough to last us seven years. We have caches of supplies buried at strategic points all the way up to the safety zone. Survival training 101. Every four months, Dad and I run a drill making our way up there. We take the bikes, find the caches, then head back. We once did it during a tropical storm, and once when a severe snowstorm hit the mountains. Dad believed in being prepared for all weather conditions.

I spent the last minutes in my room looking around for a personal item, something I might want, not need. My Scripture book. A gift from Mom and Dad. I flipped it open to the first page. My mom’s handwriting was beautiful, like calligraphy. I wiped at my tear that threatened to fall on the page.

Caro Cam, As much as I love you honey, there is someone who loves you even more, and I thank Him for giving you to me. Trust and love Yeshua, and I’ll see you soon. Mommy

She wrote those words before I was even born. She gave her life for mine. No greater love has someone than to lay down their life for another. That was how she lived her life. And that was how I wanted to live mine.

I put the book in my pack and turned to leave. Even though this was the beginning of the end, I felt like the ride ahead of us would be the start to a new beginning, because nothing ever started at the beginning or ever ended at the end.

~

Our bikes were like nothing on the road. Like I said, Dad’s an inventor. They run on battery power when we needed them silent, and the oil motor contained a muffler and scent suppressor. The tires were a special design that made them practically impossible to deflate, and the way to start the bikes made them as theft proof as possible.

Here take this.

Dad handed me a gun. A Colt .45. It has quite a kick. Dad’s been taking me to the shooting range since I turned ten. I’m seventeen now. I checked it. Full clip. It’s loaded, plus one in the chamber. My Dad nodded and handed me my ankle strap. I pulled up my jean leg, and strapped it on.

Dad tightened his shoulder strap, placed a gun in his ankle holster, and then shoved one in his waistband under his shirt.

Let’s pray.

Wait, Dad. I motioned my head toward the kitchen, and walked back in. He followed.

Jaren now stood facing us with the pack on his back.

Dad just looked at him.

Jaren nodded and said, Hello sir.

Dad sighed through his nose. He motioned his head toward the garage and we followed him out. He motioned Jaren toward the bikes and patted one of the seats.

Sit.

Jaren looked back at Dad before he straddled his bike.

Hold this button in while staring at it for three seconds. Don’t blink.

Jaren pressed the grey button, which was the same color