Paths of Righteousness: Land of Tomorrow, #3

By Ryan King

The Land of Tomorrow Series continues...

The fragile world the survivors have carefully built after a nuclear holocaust has crumbled. Rebellion, starvation, and torture stalk the lives of those who seek to simply endure. Nathan and his family are now separated, a diabolical dictator seeks to enslave any survivors, and a terrible winter has come early. Only a miracle can save mankind's remnants from destruction in this brutal and desperate future world. 

Paths of Righteousness is the third book in the post-apocalyptic Land of Tomorrow series. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Three Kings Publishing
• Release date: Jan 27, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386512257

Ryan King

Ryan King is a career army officer with multiple combat tours who continues to serve in the military. He has lived, worked, and traveled throughout Europe, Africa, the Middle East, and Asia. King is married to fellow author Kristin King and they have four young and energetic boys who keep them constantly busy. Ryan King writes post-apocalyptic, dystopian, thriller, horror, and action short stories, short novels, and novels. He has also published the first book in his post-apocalyptic Land of Tomorrow series called Glimmer of Hope. Ryan King also writes under the pen name of Charles R. King for historical non-fiction. He has published 22 works, primarily covering the Punic Wars and late Roman Republican Era which was the focus of his graduate degree. Five of these works are currently on seven different bestseller lists. King is also writing a historical fiction series about Hannibal and the Second Punic War. The first book in that series debuts 2013.

Book preview

Prologue - Red Sticks

Major Susan Rivera's eyes burned from the smoke. She admitted to herself that it wasn't as bad as when she first arrived over a year ago. Maybe she was getting used to it. Who knew where these Creek Indians were obtaining tobacco anymore or even if that was what they were smoking. It smelled like it could be something else, something unfamiliar. Either way, whenever two or more gathered, they treated it as a duty to smoke. At least the alcohol was gone. She had personally witnessed several fights and one stabbing. Smoking just seemed to make the Creek mellow and introspective.

Rivera and Jasper Timmons were the only non-Native Americans in the room. In fact, they were the only ones on the small reservation far from any major town or city. It was a miracle we even stumbled upon the reservation at all, she thought.

She considered leaving the dim smoke-filled room that also served as a reservation warehouse, but a gust of wind shook the structure with a howl. It likely wasn't as cold as North Dakota, but winter in Iowa was still cold enough. Besides, it would soon be time for storytelling. Entertainment was hard to find anymore and the old Indian tales and folklore were fascinating. Word had also come to her that Chicoca, the tribe's oldest elder, wanted her to relay the Tale of How Susan and Jasper Brought the Fire From Heaven Onto the Earth and Then Walked Through the Invisible Death to Find the Creeks.

It was a story she had told before and the telling had been difficult at first, but after a year, the pain and guilt were fading. Glancing over at Jasper, she knew his wounds were deeper. His face sometimes betrayed him and showed visible anguish when she relayed the story of their unlikely survival. He had lost his wife and unborn baby. Susan hadn't really lost much of anything, except maybe her humanity.

Looking back, she couldn't understand how she joined the military, much less been responsible for ballistic nuclear weapons. Her grandfather had called her a gentle soul and allowed her to work with his horses. She had always been good with animals, and horses especially seemed to trust her. That skill had saved their life after escaping the silo and helped bolster her worth with the Creek. Maybe I should have been a veterinarian, she thought.

There was a stirring at the far end of the packed room followed closely by a settling of people. An expectant stillness fell over the large group of nearly three hundred Native Americans huddled around small fires on the cement floor. Billy Fox, the tribe's current chief and one of Chicoca's many nephews, stood and looked at them with dark eyes that always appeared sad. He was young for a chief but had proven his wisdom after Fire Rained From the Sky. The previous chief had died shortly after N-Day of no apparent cause and Billy Fox had stepped into the role.

It has been a good day, said Billy with one of his regular openings. We are alive and have food and warmth. We are a community and a tribe. No one has died today or been seriously sick, and for that, we are grateful.

A low murmur of agreement and nods slowly swept through the room. Billy had a way about him, Susan realized. He calmed people the same way she calmed horses.

Billy looked at them with the barest hint of a smile. Tonight my uncle has asked Susan Who Soothes the Horses to tell the story of how she and Jasper came to us.

Susan liked her new name much better than the previous one of Susan Who Burned the Land. Jasper did not have any additional names. Probably because Jasper Who Grieves or Jasper Who is a Hard Worker But Talks Little or Jasper Who Lives With Ghosts would be accurate but impolite. To the Creek, politeness and courtesy were taken very seriously and tied to their tribal honor.

Will you tell us your story? asked Billy solemnly.

She never told the story the same way, although it always began and ended the same. It had been difficult the first few tellings, but time had taken away some of the pain. At least for her.

Looking over at Jasper, she saw him drop his head. This was best. It was more difficult when he looked at her with all that loss. Susan didn't think Jasper had yet figured out if he was glad to be alive or if he sometimes believed he had made a mistake. Although much happened before, this story began with Jasper coming back for her.

I was in the silo, Susan began, and the room seemed to become even more still. The cracks of wood popping in the fire were the only sounds in the room. The fire cast dark shadows on angular and attentive faces while smoke rose toward the ceiling.

She looked at Jasper. "We were in the silo. The missiles were fired, but we couldn't exit the command module because one bird was still in the silo. It was a safety feature, you see. Once there was a real authenticated order to launch, no one was allowed out of the launch room until they had fired all their missiles. One was stuck."

Did I really have a hand in all of that? Susan wondered. Did I push that big round button and kill millions of innocent people somewhere on the other side of the planet?

Pushing this thought aside, she continued on, I was in the room with Lieutenant Jacobs. He was extremely...stressed by what we had done. Crazy in actuality, thought Susan. We had sustained a close strike topside and it had knocked the fuel line loose from the generator backup. The lights were flickering on and off. He pulled his pistol on me and I was able to kill him instead.

It sounds so simple, she mused. Almost like one of those Old West movies I watched with my grandfather. Bad guy pulls a gun, good guy draws, and bad guy is killed. The reality was Jacobs could have killed her, but he stalled. Maybe he was conflicted. Maybe she could have talked him out of it. Maybe he could have been there with them today if she hadn't used one of those times between the flashes of light to kill him in the dark.

You killed your own airman, a voice said in her head. A man who you were responsible for. He had a family.

Why is this so hard tonight? she asked herself. Clenching her fists, she forced herself to exhale slowly. When her breathing was near normal again, she continued, I was trapped in the launch module with no way to get out. The power had gone off and I was in the dark. I knew with the air fans and filtration systems off it would only be a matter of time before I ran out of oxygen and died. Fortunately, Jasper came and saved me.

I didn't think you were going to come back for me, she thought.

Jasper did look at her now, as if he could hear her thoughts. It was hard to read his expression from across the smoke-filled room. There was a look in his eyes that could have passed for anger.

Anger at me, Susan thought. Better than the despair he's been cloaking himself in. You have to be alive to feel anger.

We waited as long as we could in the silo to allow as much of the irradiated particles to fall out of the sky. After nearly a week, we were getting low on air and needed to make a run for it. We donned protective suits and loaded what supplies we could find into the facility's one decontamination vehicle.

Jasper startled her with his deep southern voice. I performed maintenance and service on that damn vehicle every week. Thought it was a waste of time, but turned out it wasn't.

Susan waited for him to say more, but he dropped his head again. Yes. We loaded up into the vehicle and drove as far south as we could, avoiding all the major strike sites. After a day, we were forced to break the vehicle's seal to get fuel. After three more days, we couldn't find gas. We had to leave the vehicle and begin walking. Jasper and I were in pretty bad shape by then.

She never told them how bad. There was a specially designed filtration tube so you could drink water in the suit, but no way to eat. There was also no way to piss or defecate, and both of their suits were fouled by their own wastes. Jasper, a chain smoker, had it especially hard. Still, they knew the longer they were in the suits, and able to get away from any nuclear fallout, the better their chances of survival would be.

My water tube broke the day after we started walking, she said and reflexively took a drink of cool water from the plastic cup beside her. I didn't last much longer, and besides, we were nearly out of water unless we wanted to drink what was lying on the ground. Susan paused and shuddered. I finally took off my mask.

She didn't tell them that she was crying at the time, convinced she was killing herself. It would take days for her to show signs of radiation poisoning, but she would be dying slowly nevertheless.

Jasper took his off, too. Susan smiled at him. He didn't have to do that. Could have gone on longer without me. He stripped our suits off, did what he could to clean us up, and got us moving again.

I would have lain there and not moved, she thought. She remembered being so tired and guilty. All was futility. Who would want to live in a damned and destroyed world? A howling waste of madness and death.

We made our way south, she said. Without the suits, it was easier to see and feel everything around us. The sky was hazy and a strange color. Huge smoke clouds rose off to our right most of the first day. Birds flew erratically over us, and we nearly got trampled by a herd of crazed deer. We did our best to filter the water we drank, but I think we both thought it was useless. We slept in gullies and avoided any towns or settlements out of fear after getting shot at a few times.

Susan shifted and looked at Billy's flat expressionless face. His eyes were dark pools of incomprehensibleness. I'm not fooling him about anything, she realized. She asked herself for possibly the twentieth time why these people accepted them. Never once had she or Jasper encountered even the barest glimmer of suppressed anger or blame from them. They had taken in mass murderers and treated them kindly.

After nearly a week, she said, we realized neither of us felt nauseous or had fevers. We suffered through terrible headaches, but that was because of dehydration. Radiation sickness is one of those things that strikes you and gets worse if you have a lethal dose. We certainly possessed some symptoms, but nothing that would kill us. We realized we were going to survive.

Yeah, quipped Jasper, what a relief. He stood and walked to the side door of the floor and flung it open, letting in gusts of cold wind and snow before pulling it shut behind him.

Even this outburst didn't seem to change the Creek’s attentive expressions. This wasn't the first time their story had bothered Jasper, but it was the first time he had barged out.

She almost stopped, but Billy nodded toward her slightly with encouragement. Susan closed her eyes, remembering. It was an abandoned farmhouse miles from anything. Not much was missing other than vehicles. We found food and water and slept in real beds for the first time in weeks.

Except she hadn't slept well. Something drew her attention to the large closed barn. She had gotten up in the middle of the night, donned the fresh, sturdy and warm clothes she'd found, and walked to the imposing and dark structure. She had stopped with her hand on the latch and heard movement and maybe a small sound. Susan had almost walked back into the house. She had seen and experienced enough horror for a lifetime and didn't need any more.

Don't be a coward, girl, her grandfather's voice had said in her head. With trembling fingers, she had unlatched the barn's front door and swung it wide. Darkness greeted her. She had taken one tentative step forward and froze at the sounds. Bracing herself to flee, she had taken another step and then another. The sounds had tugged at the back of her mind. She could almost place them, but not quite.

A dark angular head had suddenly emerged from a stall to her left and snorted. Susan had shrieked in surprise and fell away. Looking up, she had seen dark sad eyes. The horse's mouth hung open and he was trembling all over. The gelding's legs shook weakly, and Susan realized the horse had run out of food and water. She had known it couldn't have been too long ago since horses were fairly delicate creatures that needed care to survive.

She had risen and gently reached her fingers out to stroke the muzzle of the beast. The gelding had rubbed its head against her hand and whinnied weakly. The whinny had been answered further down to her left.

Susan had gone back toward the front of the barn and after several minutes was able to find a large flashlight. Returning to the stalls, she had discovered a mare lying on her side looking up at Susan with wild eyes. Next to this stall was a dead colt with a broken leg.

We found horses, Susan finally said and couldn't keep the emotion out of her voice. Some of the Indians nodded slightly in understanding. They were in bad shape. I got them water first, but had to take it in stages so they didn't founder. After a day of this, they were rehydrated, and I pulled some hay bales from the loft and fed them. The mare didn't want to eat at first. I had to coax her. She showed signs of recent childbirth, but I didn't see any foals around. Finally, she did eat and was able to stand.

Some of the Creek were smiling at her. These people were filled with a great love of horses. This is why they aren't angry at me, she suddenly realized. For all my other faults, they can't be angry at someone who loves horses like they do.

We stayed at the farmhouse a few more days until the horses had regained their strength, she said. Then we saddled them, loaded up what supplies we could, and rode south. That was how we found the reservation...or you found us.

Susan paused and looked around awkwardly. Was that it? she wondered. Thank you, she finally said and sat.

The Creek nodded slightly and returned their attention to those in their small huddled groups and talked quietly amongst themselves.

Were they talking about her? Susan didn't know. She wanted to join in, but it was not to be. Although she had been accepted into the tribe, she was not part of them and probably never would be. They were hospitable and polite, but the barrier separating her from these people seemed insurmountable. She was no closer to them after a year than the day she arrived.

Can I live the rest of my days here like this? she wondered.

Billy Fox spoke softly to Chicoca and then turned to address the room. My uncle and our chief elder of the Red Stick Creek tribe will tell a story tonight. He will tell of how we came to be here.

A slight murmur rippled through the crowd.

Billy Fox made his way carefully over to Susan and sat down beside her. You did well. It is a good story.

A good story, she thought. Is that all it is? Why is everyone surprised that Chicoca will speak?

They're not surprised about that, Billy answered. My uncle still speaks on occasion and is one of the best storytellers in the tribe. It is his tale that is unexpected.

Of how the Creek came to be here? I've never heard it.

Billy glanced at her with the faintest hint of concern in his face. "The tale is only told on special occasions. Momentous occasions. Something is going to happen. He's getting up now; let's listen."

Susan wanted to ask more questions, but knew Billy would not answer them. At least not now. She looked at the ancient man standing at the far end of the room. He wore a long thick blanket like a robe and his gray hair hung down around his head like a mantle. Susan doubted she would be able to hear him. Chicoca surprised her with a strong clear voice that belied his obvious age.

My great grandfather first told me this story when I was a young boy, began Chicoca. "I have heard it all my life as have you, but we retell it in order to remember where we come from and why. Much has been lost to us, but much still remains.

The Creek were once a mighty nation. We were feared for our fighting ability and admired for our wisdom, ingenuity, and craftsmanship. That all changed when the white man came to our lands.

Susan felt conspicuous and expected those in the room to look at her as if she had brought the white man, but every eye remained focused on the elder.

"We did not recognize the threat at first. The Creek were many, the white man few, but they kept coming. Then there was a star that flashed across the sky. Our elders said it foretold a great leader who would lead us into victory over the white man. That man was the Shawnee, Tecumseh.

"He led the Shawnee against the French to help the British, then against the British to help the Americans, and then against the Americans to help the British. He sought to rally all the great Indian tribes against the white man in order to drive him from our land forever. He came to the Creek, explaining his many visions. Some of the Creek were convinced, but the nation's elders were not. They turned Tecumseh down.

"But there were some amongst the Creek who believed Tecumseh's visions and were fearful of the white man's growing strength. They defied their elders and joined the Shawnee. The elders were furious and banished them from the tribe, telling them if they dared return they would be beaten with sticks until they turned red. The outcast Creek were known from then on as the Red Sticks.

Warriors moved north with their families following Tecumseh and allied themselves with the Shawnee and many other tribes. It was a mighty host of Indians and there was no thought that the Americans could stand against them. But the Americans defeated the British far to the east and the British abandoned the Indians and withdrew to Canada, leaving us to ourselves. Even without the British, we might have prevailed, but then Tecumseh died. There was no one else like him who could rally all the tribes. With him gone, petty squabbling and internal power struggles consumed the confederation, making it easy for the Americans to destroy it.

Chicoca paused and stared up at the ceiling. The Red Sticks who had left their own tribe to help the Shawnee and others were no longer welcome and were driven out. We fled west, fighting other new tribes until we found a place to settle. And we did.

Billy started to rise from beside her, but froze in confusion when his uncle continued to speak.

They carried with them a prophecy that one day the Red Sticks would return to their ancestral homes. That when stars fell from the sky again, it would be time. I had forgotten, but now it is plain.

The old man gazed around the room solemnly and perhaps hesitantly. Last night I had a vision.

Murmurs swept around the room and the Creek looked at each other in surprise.

Chicoca continued, Tecumseh himself visited me. He said the time to return was now. We can finally go home.

Billy stood suddenly. Uncle, this is momentous news, but are you sure? Visions can be interpreted many different ways. There is much danger and death out there, and we do not know the way. Besides, winter is coming. Even if we go, we should wait until the spring.

Chicoca pointed a long thin finger at Susan. She will show us the path. She knows the way around the dead cities and the invisible death.

What? asked Susan loudly. Me? I'm not even sure what you're talking about.

The old man ignored her and turned to those assembled around him. We should begin preparations and start our journey before the next full moon. The time is now. We have waited two hundred years for this, we can wait no longer. The old man then turned away and supported by several young men moved toward the exit.

Billy Fox began to follow after the old man, but Susan grabbed his sleeve.

Where are you supposed to be going? Where is this Creek ancestral home?

He looked at her for a long moment before finally speaking. A pretty wide area in the southeast. No one knows exactly anymore.

But where does Chicoca think we're going?

Billy sighed. Tennessee. Like most of us, he believes our home is in Tennessee.

Part I

Dark Winter

Chapter 1 - Fire in the Woods

As they returned from Cairo, Illinois, Nathan Taylor could see black smoke billowing in the distance. Even through the heavy wet snow, the dark streak of hot air rose into the sky angrily cutting through the falling whiteness like a knife.

The smoke was coming from the south. He increased the speed on the motorcycle as much as he dared on the slippery road.

Look, said Joshua, pointing from behind Nathan on the bike.

I know, cried out Nathan. It looks to be in the direction of Jack's cabin. Nathan felt his son stiffen behind him, but to his credit, Joshua didn't ask any further questions. While keeping a tight grip around his father's middle, Nathan heard Joshua checking the assault rifle that hung between them.

He knows what to do and what might be coming, Nathan thought. Did I teach him that or did he pick it up on his own? Doesn't matter. He's a grown man now; I have to think of him that way.

Nathan drove the motorcycle to the edge of the concealed trail that led from the paved road back to Jack McKraven's cabin deep in the woods. He considered trying to ride the bike down the narrow trail but decided if the snow and ice didn't cause him to have a fatal crash, then one of Jack's hidden booby traps would.

They gathered their gear and set off at a run. The cabin was several miles away, but they could now smell the smoke and it hung over them, cloaking the light from the sky even more. Nathan was so intent on getting to Jack as quickly as possible that he didn't notice what was right before his eyes.

Wait, said Joshua, grabbing his father's arm and making him stop. He knelt down in the snow and brushed it aside. A large boot print appeared in the soft earth beneath. He brushed away more freshly fallen snow on the trail, uncovering more prints.

Looks like four men, Joshua said. All headed toward the cabin. The boots all have the same tread.

Nathan swore under his breath. The boots were issued to them. These must be some of the Missouri Alliance soldiers who escaped the Jackson Purchase attack on their camp. Those men are complete animals, even when they aren't scared and desperate. Come on, let's hurry.

They jogged down the trail toward the cabin, but Nathan was more cautious now, his senses alert. He was pretty sure he could hear intermittent gunshots in the distance. Gunshots were good; they meant Jack was still alive and fighting back. No one would waste ammunition unless there was something to shoot at.

Nathan rounded a corner and nearly fell into a deep pit in front of him. Joshua grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back. Both leaned forward to look at the bottom.

A man in camouflage clothing lay at the bottom. Sharpened wooden stakes wet with blood protruded up out of the man's stomach, left shoulder, and right thigh. Wet snow was starting to cover the man, and he looked up at them with wild and desperate eyes. The man's mouth opened and closed with wet pops in a manner that reminded Nathan of a landed fish.

Joshua pulled his rifle to his shoulder and pointed it at the man.

No, said Nathan, pushing the rifle barrel down. It might give us away. We need to catch his friends by surprise.

But we can't just leave him here like this,