Living amongst the Dead: Will there be No Reprieve

By J N Morgan

The struggle has been seemingly never-ending. Life, as it has been previously known, is over. Each and every day provides difficulties, some old and some new, but always present. How much longer can it go on? When will the breaking point be reached?

• Language: English
• Publisher: J N Morgan
• Release date: Aug 24, 2017
• ISBN: 9781975709082

Book preview

Chapter 1

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A final look back was given at the face-down corpse, a bullet through its head, and a cloth covering the exit wound on the back of the skull. It was difficult to feel sympathy for him, but even with none or at least very little it didn’t make killing any easier. So the three made their way through the wooded trail which opened into a clearing. Young Maram still squatted down, head resting on her forearms which were on her knees, only 12 years old and yet widowed. The murderer of her late husband stood at a distance, the murder weapon in his jacket pocket, a revolver recently found on the corpse of an apparent suicide which was nearby. Arm slung from a previous gunshot wound, pistol on his left hip where his one useful arm was, semi-auto SKS rifle slung over shoulder, and the woman who had been accompanying him for quite some time went forth to the Middle East born child.

Gentle hands on her shoulders, whispers in her ear, small pats to try and encourage her to get strength enough to come with them. Young Brian, head aflame with red hair, his bright blue eyes watched the two not far from where the tall form of Richard stood. Boy and man, girl and woman, survivors. The bayoneted bolt-action English-made Lee Enfield rifle slung over Tiffany’s should jostled as she helped the girl up. It was not her rifle, in fact she had never even shot it before; it was her lover’s. It was easier to use a semi-auto one-armed than a bolt-action however so though the Lee Enfield had much stouter recoil she took care of it. The Soviet-designed Simonov rifle was a far better option for a new shooter, and a new shooter he was not, but a wounded shooter he was.

Hijab dutifully covering her head, the Muslim’s head was still bowed, eyes wet, as she went with the woman towards the Trans-Canada Highway that they had been traveling on. The Sun was still low, early morning, they had not yet eaten but skipping a meal every now and then was pretty standard procedure. The four passed by the corpse with the ripped-open pocket and were soon on pavement, looking towards the morning Sun, squinting, and a walker in a nearby vehicle bumped its hands uselessly against a window. Another walker, on the ground, its spine pierced, could only helplessly look around towards the west in the opposite direction, jaw gnawing at nothing at the sound of footsteps and hushed feminine whispers.

Come on, we’ll take care of you, you’ll be alright. I promise. She had no right to truly promise such, but the girl was clearly shaken. Probably the only man she knew in the continent of North America, the only one she knew from where she came from, was gone. He would not allow her to speak before men, he would now allow her to pursue an education, and he had every intention of planting his seed within her on her nearby 13th birthday, an opportunity denied upon an overreaction with the assumed leader of the group.

Maram’s response was just a weak nod, her mouth opened to speak, but then closed, and thought ‘inshallah;’ if Allah wills it. Something her late husband used to say fairly frequently, even towards the end.

Come on, buddy. Let’s get started. Tapping the boy lightly on the back, the two gave the women some distance as they went ahead. The grieving girl wouldn’t even look at the man, but all the same new he passed, yet her facial expression was unchanged.

One step at a time, one day at a time... here sweetie. Her hand went down to the girl’s, the woman around three times her age had rougher skin than she, but soft in its own right, and so they went, following the scruffy man who looked to be in his 30s but was in fact not yet in that decade of his life, and the boy by his side, clearly no relation. Brown hair and brown eyes, red hair and blue eyes, Tiff with her brunette hair previously dyed red which was left to fade at the fringe of her locks which framed her still slightly chubby face with pretty green eyes, but they were nothing compared to Maram’s. A brown right eye and a green left, not as dark a shade as her green hijab. Even the woman herself wouldn’t claim to have such ocular beauty.

A tiny rock cut was passed, jagged surface destroyed likely with explosives for the sake of maintaining a flat road. Quite a bit of open area on the left side, the north side, of the road. A pleasant change, the survivalist up ahead thought as he watched their paved path curve to the left. Looks like they’ll be heading north-east soon, likely to go around a bay of the nearby Great Lake. It had been spotted a few times but not yet reached. As the trees thinned further to the north, a huge flat-topped mound of what appeared to be gravel came to view. What it had been used for, he didn’t know, maybe some roads nearby were being paved at the time when everything went to shit. Wooden poles held power lines up high along the right, undoubtedly devoid of actual power. More charge would be attained by rubbing a balloon on one’s head.

It was thoroughly quiet as they went on by food. Brian was far from being much of a talker; having been essentially mute since witnessing what had come of his father, the poor man. Though Maram knew fairly good English she was in no mood to chat, and so the adults were mostly left to their own devices. Still they went in two groups, the males up ahead and the females remaining behind, mostly due to the present issue between Rich and the girl though thankfully things didn’t seem at present to be dangerously volatile.

Thick wire guard rail followed far beneath the power line for quite a ways. For the most part the road was barren of vehicles surprisingly, considering the apparent population nearby. It would seem that most vehicles either got trapped in the cities and towns or managed to get a good distance away, save for the three that had been passed not long ago. A quaint dirt road went off to the right that they didn’t bother to stop for, and a few minutes later with the woods dominating both sides of the divided highway yet another appeared on the left, that one gated. No need to go farther north than they had to, he figured.

Shh-shh-shh-noooooow... the man whispered, coming to an immediate stop, his hand going to the boy’s shoulder. It then quickly went back to the women to stop their progress. They noticed, looked in the direction he was looking, and their eyes widened. A buck had just calmly walked out from a tree line up ahead, above a relatively high rock cut perhaps three or four meters up. It looked ahead, then peered off to the left, ears flicking. The hand with its palm facing the girls then faced downwards, as though patting an invisible dog on the head slowly. He then lowered himself to kneeling, and they did likewise. He would much rather make this shot with his trusty .303, but then again one of those diminutive ‘half-load’ cartridges were chambered, he knew this. A casing that was given exactly half the powder that he’d gotten from a .308 cartridge that Tiff had. It wouldn’t be as accurate as a full-strength .303 and possibly even not as potent as a 7.62x39 that was in the SKS on his shoulder.

With everyone knelt but the boy, who just stood and stared, the buck then looked their way, its ears giving another twitch but staring intently none the less. Still it stared, the man’s arm still out in the direction of the women, but he dare not move it. Still as statues they were.

Shhhhhhhh... he quietly gave, likely too distant from the animal to be heard but Brian heard, and it reminded him of his dad. The tension could be cut with dull butterknife; don’t run, don’t you bloody run... it turned left and began walking towards the side of the rock-cut, likely intent on crossing the road he figured, unless it was planning to head north-east just as they were. Not an option. With the animal’s back turned, Rich turned as well, looking to the females and pointing to the treeline for them to get out of sight.

Come on, I’ll need your help. Patting the boy on the back, he kept low and moved as quietly he could while also covering ground at a reasonable pace. The rifle was unslung as he went, cursing his backpack as it jostled and clunked behind him. If only there were a ditch he could hide in while approaching! The terrain was quite flat, and almost opposite the deer’s rock cut, another was just across the road. The hunter was heading for that stony ridge. He stopped a brief moment, put the rifle down, dropped the pack carefully, gave the boy a brief but excited grin and turned to check the buck again. It was on its way down, nearly level with the road. A quick look back and the other two were kneeling down amongst the trees, some green overgrowth around them. The quiet and simple safety on the SKS was flipped off before grabbing the firearm around the balance point and returning to stealthy travel. They had to get close.

The rock cut was approached from the side, going up its hard, slanted surface, and by this point they were on their bellies, crawling forward. Boots scraped as they dropped to this position, and nearly on the road already, the buck stopped once more and looked in their direction.

Tss-tss! He hissed, stopping the prone advance, and hearing him the boy stopped as well, they just noticed it looking at them. Eaaaasy... eaaaaasy... a hushed whisper, barely audible even to Brian next to him. He was talking to the deer even though it couldn’t hear him; don’t panic, don’t flee, don’t scarper... stick around. It felt as though at any second it would run. How they managed to get this close, no idea, it was a miracle. Must be within 40 meters! The seconds ticked by, still it looked, still the two males lie deathly still, the only sign of them being the upper halves of their heads and the bayonet sticking out in front of them, the firearm merely in his one hand down on the stone. Their rock cut was only perhaps a meter and a half high at its highest point, it put them at a slightly elevated position even while prone.

Its head raised, a wary eye still looking their direction; sniffing the air. Leveling, it looked about, its head twitching left and right, big black eyes peering, its big ears twitching, the right one (or their left) moved back a couple times. A thung whipped out, jaw moving side to side, seeming to lick at the edges of its lips. Seeing its massive torso at a sharp angle, all that fur, and he knew it hid warm meat. Delicious meat. The four of them would feast for days! It lazily turned and began walking back towards the tree line.

Shhhhit... Brian looked towards him, and then back to the buck. Richard’s eyes wouldn’t leave it, he crawled forward a bit more while it had its back turned to them. With his one arm, the rifle was brought to position on his shoulder, aiming. His right arm was still slung within his jacket. The buck stopped and looked back, tail giving a flick. Was it six points or eight? Six at least. The front post was centered in the rear notch, a thin circle around the post from the protective hood, the tip of the post was right behind its shoulder. From this angle, he could visualize it, the bullet going in from the side, punching through the heart/lungs area, and then the FMJ bullet would leave from around the right side of the front of its chest.

Ohhhhh... a quiet and long gasped exclamation as another deer came through the tree line around where it had initially come out, its head low as it seemed to sniff at the ground, the head came up to show a few points. Another buck, however only a 4-pointer by the looks of it, younger.

Now get ready, you have to pull the trigger. Brian stared at the man aiming the Soviet-designed rifle, and then looked down to the trigger hanging exposed. It’s ok, go ahead, put your finger on it, wait for when I say so then slowly apply pressure. Hushed whispers, the steel buttplate against his left shoulder, awkwardly holding the firearm by roughly the magazine. He wished the bayonet weren’t fixed to the end, it made it a bit front-heavy, too bad he couldn’t rest the bayonet or the barrel on something but nothing was high enough to allow him to do such. The irons weren’t too steady... this was foolish. Might just end up hitting it in the stomach, which would allow it to run away and die slowly in pain.

The irons were steadied as best he could. Dropping the bayonet to let it hang could potentially aid him in acting as a monopod, the point resting on the rocky surface, but the opportunity to take a shot might slip away. Front post, rear notch, and the faintly blurred outline of the larger of the two bucks was centred on, going back and forth from the front post to the beast.

Alright, steady... wait now... the man whispered, Brian having slowly gone forward to touch the trigger with his finger tip, remaining as steady and slow as possible not wishing to make the gun fire by accident. He twitched as a click ran through the air. Richard had loudly clicked his tongue; the two animals heard, stopping in their tracks and looking in their direction. Irons slightly adjusted.

Pull. The boy’s face twisted in worry, though at the same time there was excitement in him, and he quickly but steadily applied pressure until the trigger gave way, falling back. A brief report followed by intense ringing, Brian’s hand recoiled back, Rich took the recoil into his left shoulder but watched the animals. They ran into the treeline.

Fuck... the firearm was lowered. No pink mist, no jump or shudder, it just ran. He was aiming right for behind the shoulder and would bet his left nut that the round should have gotten it somewhere around there! Lowering his head in disappointment, he looked over to the boy, who had of all things, a smile on his face.  Lips parted, teeth bared, it was the broadest grin he’d yet seen, the only real smile he’d seen on the lad since meeting him. It turned the man’s frown upside-down, laying the rifle down, turning from his belly to sit up on his back side, and thereby had his left arm able to pat him on the back while he remained prone. You’re a lousy shot, but good effort, hahaha. Purely meant in joking and jest. The boy soon realized himself however, the events of the day before last returning, and his face turned stony once more.

Did you get it?! Tiff called out, walking with Maram from the treeline.

I don’t think so! The rifle was picked up, looking to the bayonet and wondering if he should collapse it or leave it out. Fixing it quickly would be difficult so it was left as-is. The casing had flung itself energetically to his right, past the kid, and off in the brush. Not that it mattered; it was milsurp, steel cased, and undoubtedly Berdan primed. Different from Boxer primed, which is the only ammo he could reasonably reload given his limitation in tools. The safety was flicked on, his thumb pulled at the action to see the chambered round, and then looked up to the rear sight. It was indeed all the ways back... but...

"Aw man!" The problem was readily apparent. At the back of the rear sight, behind the lowest setting of 100m which is what he thought it was set to, was a ‘Battle Sight’ or ‘Battle Zero’ or some such thing, but in short if you lift the rear sight and pull it back farther it will come upon a ridge that’s higher than 100m. He was pretty sure it was 250-300m or so, but at any rate, the rear sight was not set to what he wanted and needed. The bullet likely either passed right over the deer or barely skimmed its back.

What is it? She saw the disappointment in him, head rolling back in disbelief before adjusting the rear sight accordingly.

Nothin’, just... damn... rear sight was set to the ‘battle zero’ or whatever the damn thing is called. Set to a hundred now.

So... um... it missed? They’d caught up with the two males now.

Yeah, it missed, at least I’m pretty sure. Probably went right over it. Let’s check for blood to make sure. Maram stood not far off, but she left Tiffany’s side as she approached the man. Her dark green hijab-topped head looked in the direction the animals had been. The man noticed the distance she put between them, and gave a frustrated sigh at the predicament. Not with the deer, but with what had happened mere minutes or perhaps an hour ago.

Putting the drama behind him, he rose with the rifle now holding 3+1 instead of 4+1 and headed for the rock cut. It had been the far side where the buck had initially gone down, but they went up the nearer side since it seemed like a fairer slope. Looking about, no redness could be seen. Complete miss, bullet over the buck; bugger. It was his own stupidity, but all the same it reinforced that which he already knew; don’t depend on a rifle you don’t know. He’ll have to take a couple shots at something sometime to make sure it’s properly zeroed in with the 100m setting.

Well at least we didn’t seem to have wounded it. We’ll get a bite to eat at the next river or pond I dare say, maybe even the Great Lake if we can get to it. Standing there on the ledge, what had been hidden by tree line was now in sight towards the south and a bit southeast as well. The great body of water, and besides a couple island in the distance off to the right towards the west, the blue went on forever. They collectively stood there for a time, looking upon it, on that huge body of fresh water, and a sniffle came from nearby.

The man looked down to see the boy looking to the islands intently, standing on tip-toes since his shorter height couldn’t see quite as