The Brother's Creed (Book 2): Battleborn

  BATTLEBORN

  The Brother’s Creed

  Book 2

  JOSHUA C. CHADD

  Copyright © 2017 Joshua C. Chadd

  All rights reserved.

  Cover art by Stefan Celic

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and events portrayed in these stories are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is coincidental.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Contact the author via email at: joshuacchadd@outlook.com

  Print Book ISBN-13: 978-1548405960

  ASIN: B073CBMFZ3

  Contents

  Copyright

  Colors of Heroes

  Dedication

  Prologue

  1 Burns

  2 Field Trip

  3 Missing

  4 Déjà Vu

  5 Picking Up the Pieces

  6 Regime Change

  7 Back in the Saddle

  8 Friend or Foe

  9 Discovery

  10 Ambush

  11 The Mountains are Calling

  12 To Build a Fire

  13 A Perfect Storm

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  A percentage of the profits from The Brother’s Creed series will be donated to Colors of Heroes®.

  Freedom is never free!

  Colors of Heroes is a 501c3 nonprofit foundation dedicated to rebuilding confidence for combat wounded veterans and gold star families through new relationships and outdoor adventures.

  Learn more at: www.colorsofheroes.org

  Aunty Brenda,

  I know you can get through this with God and your family by your side. You too are battle born!

  #Brendastrong

  ~~~

  We’ve been through a lot over the years and you’ve always stood by me when times were tough. You were there for me when it felt like the whole world was against me. It’s been a privilege to stand by you as we’ve both grown into men over the years. Through thick or thin we’ve kept and strengthened our bond. I couldn’t imagine life without my ‘little’ brother!

  You’ll always be my closest friend and the best brother a guy could ask for.

  This one’s for you Caleb!

  Prologue

  The summer sun sank below the Bighorn Mountains as a string of vehicles drove north on I-90. The caravan was led by a massive big rig with a makeshift plow attached to the front. It was the perfect behemoth for pushing vehicles aside and also did quite a number on the undead. There were six vehicles in the caravan, consisting of four trucks, a minivan, and the big rig with twenty survivors ranging from middle-aged men and women to children. The fourth vehicle in line was a maroon Chevy Avalanche with a twenty-year-old man behind the wheel.

  Tank hung up his cell phone and set it on the dash, turning the music back on. Generation Dead by Five Finger Death Punch resumed playing. Adjusting the rearview mirror, he looked at his reflection. Keen gray eyes stared back at him. His short brown hair was in need of a good wash and his beard was quickly growing wild. He regretted not shaving the weekend before the apocalypse.

  He’d always been a little bigger than other men—not only in stature, but with a few extra pounds as well. However, the apocalypse was turning out to be the best weight loss program—only five days in and he’d already lost a few pounds. Another week of this and he’d be approaching a weight appropriate for his frame.

  That is if I can survive another week, he thought.

  He looked out the windshield at the end-of-the-world scene before him and smiled. Abandoned vehicles were scattered on the interstate, undead slowly wandering between them. Unlike other people, the apocalypse didn’t mean the end of the world for him but rather the start of a new life. He wouldn’t miss his dead-end job bartending at the Blue Crab or his so-called friends in Fort Collins, Colorado. This could be a grand adventure, the beginning of something truly great. And when the Andderson brothers joined him, the Wolf Pack would be back together and nothing would stand in their way!

  One thing kept this situation from being the best damn turn of events for him in a while. His mom was gone, and although she’d passed away over a year ago, it still weighed on him. Lynda Hook had been an amazing woman, far more so than most recognized. She was the one who’d always supported him in all he did and was always there for him. He missed her, although it was probably better that she didn’t have to live through this shit-storm. His dad, Grant, was still alive last he knew, opting to stay in a small town in the San Juan Mountains. Grant was a good man and more prepared than most, with a wide collection of guns and in a great location for survival. Tank had almost gone south to weather the apocalypse with his dad; however, he’d escaped north of Fort Collins and he wasn’t about to go back.

  Losing his mom and being away from his dad wasn’t enough to make the smile disappear from his face entirely, even though it did dampen his spirits. He readjusted the mirror and subtly glanced at the two smokin’ hot women in the backseat. Chloe was a brunette with soft features, full lips, and a pout permanently glued to her face. He didn’t like her at all. From what he’d seen, the pout was not only a facial feature but personified her whiney personality. Eva however, was the opposite. While she looked and dressed somewhat gothic, she was one of the most genuinely cheerful women he’d ever met. She had medium-length black hair—the tips dyed purple—and the body of someone who worked out often.

  I hope she survives long enough for me to get to know her, he thought.

  The man sitting next to him in the passenger seat was someone he knew would get along well with the brothers. Garett had some serious five o’clock shadow and long blonde hair which he had pulled into a ponytail. He was a quiet man and a hunter, with his own collection of guns.

  Big Bertha—as they called the semi-trailer truck leading the caravan—made a grinding sound and a few seconds later the big rig rolled to a stop. Smoke billowed from the engine. The rest of the caravan stopped and four people piled out of the semi. Three took up a defensive position, shooting at the undead closing in, while the fourth went around to the front of Big Bertha.

  “Morons,” Tank said under his breath.

  Don’t they listen to anything? The damn things are attracted to sound, he thought.

  “What is it?” Chloe asked, worry in her voice.

  “Just three idiots making enough noise to draw every undead within a mile,” Tank said.

  “Are you always such an ass?” Chloe asked.

  “Does the sun rise in the east?” Tank said.

  “Figures,” Chloe said, “The end of the world and I get stuck with him.”

  “Just be quiet, Chloe,” Eva said, then turned to Tank. “Can you see anything?”

  “Not really. The engine is smoking, but could be nothing,” Tank said.

  “Or could be bad,” Garett said, grabbing the AR-15 at his side and sticking it out the open window.

  Garett began taking out the undead that were closing in on the caravan, most of his suppressed shots finding their mark. Tank looked down at the Colt 1911 handgun holstered on his right hip. It had been a high school graduation present from his dad. The handgun was black with rosewood grips and the skeleton of a dragon painted on the slide. He
felt better with the handgun on his side and three extra magazines shoved into the various pockets of his green cargo pants.

  It was cooling down outside, the sun having disappeared below the mountains. He slipped his black jacket on overtop his Five Finger Death Punch t-shirt and looked out the window. The undead were mainly taken care of, for the time being, but if they didn’t get that big rig rolling soon, they’d be in trouble.

  “I’m gonna go see what’s wrong,” Garett said after finding nothing else to shoot.

  “I’ll stay here and be ready to pick you up if all hell breaks loose,” Tank said.

  “Thanks,” Garett said, getting out of the truck.

  Looking forward, Tank wondered what had happened to stop them dead in their tracks. Until now, he’d thought Big Bertha was indestructible, especially after Casper. But what did he expect? The world was ending, and at this point if things weren’t going to hell that would be more of a concern.

  “Tell us about your friends you were talking to on the phone earlier,” Eva said.

  “They’ve been my best friends since middle school,” Tank said, “two of the only real friends I’ve ever had. They’re brothers and way kickass. It’ll be good to meet up with them since they’ll be rollin’ heavy.”

  “Rollin’ heavy?” Eva asked.

  “Yeah, like loaded,” he said, glancing back at her, but he could tell she still didn’t know what he was talking about. “They’ll have a lot of guns.”

  “Oh,” Eva said, “that’ll be nice.”

  You have no idea, he thought as he noticed Garett walking back toward them. Hopefully, whatever’s wrong won’t be too serious.

  A shot sounded in the darkness. Garett fell against the side of the green Ford Ranger in front of them and slid to the ground, blood soaking his shirt.

  “Get down!” Tank yelled to the girls as the night lit up with the sounds of gunfire. The windshield shattered as bullets peppered the side of his truck. Flashes of light from the muzzles of the guns shone in the encroaching darkness on a hilltop to the east.

  “Hold on!” Tank roared as he slammed the truck into gear.

  The tires squealed on the pavement as he pushed the pedal to the floor and the truck jerked forward. Bullets continued to slam into his truck and he heard glass shatter in the backseat. One of the girls screamed.

  We need to get the hell out of here! he thought, swerving off the interstate and into a ditch on the left. The truck easily drove down the small embankment and onto more level ground, but out of nowhere, the green Ranger sped off the interstate right in front of him. He tried to slam on the brakes, but it was no use. He plowed into the side of the smaller truck and the airbags deployed, slamming into his face as the truck came to a screeching halt.

  Dazed, he opened the door and stumbled out, going down to his knees. His nose was bleeding and he had small cuts in at least a dozen places. Looking back, he groaned. The entire front end of his truck was pulverized and he wouldn’t be driving it anywhere. A bullet whizzed by overhead and he burst into action. Rising to his feet, he opened the back door and Chloe stumbled out, bleeding from a cut on her forehead. Tank reached in and tried to pull Eva from the backseat, but she was still buckled in. Climbing inside, he reached for the seat belt but stopped short. Half of her neck had been blown off.

  Cursing, he quickly climbed back out. Two survivors, Bob and Selena, got out of the Ranger and began to stumble toward the edge of a hill to the west. Tank hauled Chloe to her feet and they followed. Bullets started to punch the dirt all around them and they ran faster. A bullet slammed into Bob’s back and he fell to the ground. Selena slowed to help him.

  “Don’t stop!” Tank yelled. “Keep moving!”

  The three of them made it to the lip of the hill and ran over the edge, starting down the gradual decline. They continued to run over the barren, hilly terrain as darkness continued to grow. Descending another hillside, Tank stumbled to a stop after ten minutes of running. He couldn’t run any further without having an asthma attack and his inhaler was back in the truck. The girls weren’t faring any better. Both were bent over, taking heaving breaths.

  “What do we do now?” Chloe asked when she’d mostly caught her breath.

  “I honestly have no idea,” Tank said, “But we can’t stay out here in the open. We need to find some cover and—damn.”

  “What?” Selena asked.

  “The brothers,” Tank said. He reached into his pants pocket, searching for his phone. It wasn’t there. Checking his jacket, he came up empty.

  “Oh, come on,” he said.

  “What now?” Chloe asked. She looked like she was about to have a breakdown.

  “My phone’s in the damn truck,” Tank said. “Either of you have one?”

  “No,” Chloe said.

  “I have mine,” Selena said, pulling out her phone.

  Tank grabbed the phone and hesitated. What the hell was James’s number again? He racked his brain and finally came up with it. Punching the number into the phone, he hit the call button just as the screen blacked out. He held down the power button and the dead battery screen popped up.

  “No chance you have a portable charger?”

  The girls shook their heads.

  “I figured as much. The brothers shouldn’t—”

  “Are those headlights?” Selena asked, looking back the way they’d come.

  Tank looked back and cursed. “No, those are flashlights,” he said. “They’re hunting us!”

  The three of them stumbled into the darkness toward the Bighorn Mountains in the distance.

  1

  Burns

  Wednesday, post-outbreak day five

  Headlights illuminated three zombies next to the gas pumps and James slowed his white Dodge RAM truck. Connor hopped out while it was still rolling forward, AR-15 at his left shoulder. With three shots, he had them on the ground. Using the flashlight mounted on his AR, he scanned for more as he signaled his brother to pull forward. James parked his truck and jumped out, 1911 handgun at the ready, meeting his brother at the back of the vehicle.

  James wore his customary Kryptek camouflage and had his short brown hair hidden under a ball cap. His hazel eyes scanned the darkness through his glasses, looking for any threats. Standing next to his brother made James look smaller than he actually was. Connor stood at six foot, four inches taller, and had at least another ten pounds of muscle on him.

  “Looks clear. Bring ‘em in,” Connor said.

  He wore an outfit similar to his brother’s, but his shaved head was bare of a hat and sported night vision goggles instead. While James wore a long-sleeved Kryptek shirt against the night’s chill, Connor wore a t-shirt, his muscled arms with the word “persevere” tattooed on his left forearm showing in the light from the truck.

  Taking the radio out of a pocket on his tactical vest, James pressed the button. “Target is clear,” he spoke into the receiver.

  “Roger that, boys,” Ana said teasingly over the radio.

  He was still surprised at her slight Russian accent even though she’d lived her whole life in America. He hadn’t learned much about her since this morning when Ana, Alexis and Emmett had convinced them to tag along. Emmett was Alexis’s dad—that was plain by the resemblance—and they’d picked Ana up a few days before. The events surrounding that were still foggy for James since they hadn’t shared much, but he’d gathered that Alexis had lost her mother around that time too.

  Alexis . . . now she was something. She was skilled with a gun and seemed completely unfazed at almost being fed to zombies the night before. He knew she had to be struggling with it in her own way, but outwardly she was holding it together surprisingly well. Emmett had done a good job of raising her right. That didn’t come as a surprise since he was a Marine and a man after James’s own heart. In fact, Emmett reminded James of his father in quite a few ways.

  Memories flooded his mind—hunting with his dad in the mountains of Colorado; learning how to build camp, s
tart a fire, and properly care for the meat and hide; learning to respect the animals and the land they hunted; and learning to be a man of his word and to treat everyone with respect, even when he didn’t like or agree with them.

  He was pulled from his thoughts as a set of headlights exited the interstate and a black Ford F-450 pulled up to the pumps opposite them. James wiped a single tear from his eye and put on a smile.

  Emmett Wolfe stepped out of the driver’s seat, his dark brown duster settling around him. Grabbing his cowboy hat off the dash, he set it on his head, covering short-cropped black hair. He gazed into the darkness, his hawk-like features accentuated by the low light and the pale line of a scar that stood out on his left cheek. Walking around the front of the truck, he held his Beretta handgun at his chest.

  “We good here?” Emmett asked, continuing to survey the darkness.

  “Yes, sir,” Connor said, taking up a position at the back of the Ford where he could cover the girls while they got out.

  “It’s clear girls,” Emmett said.

  Alexis stepped out and around the front of the truck, smiling at James. She was beautiful, with brunette hair pulled into a messy bun on top of her head, blue eyes looking like gems in the darkness, and a SCAR assault rifle at her shoulder. Despite himself, his heart gave a small flutter.

  Are you serious right now? You’ve only known her for a day and already you like her? he asked his heart. Damn thing must be broken. That thought sparked painful memories of the past few days and he realized the last statement was too close for comfort.

  Ana climbed out of the backseat, her auburn hair pulled into a ponytail and her green eyes reflecting the light. She walked over to stand watch next to Connor, holding her Springfield XDM handgun close.

  They began to fuel up their trucks. James walked around to the bed of his truck and opened the tailgate, sitting down. Pulling up his left pant leg and unwrapping the gauze, he checked his gunshot wound. It hadn’t bothered him since his brother cleaned and wrapped it yesterday morning.