Years After Series | Book 2 | Five Years After Read online

  Five Years After

  By

  LeRoy Clary

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Five Years After

  1st Edition

  Copyright © 2021 LeRoy Clary

  All rights reserved.

  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 the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Cover Design Contributors: Karen Clary

  Cover image: Used by license from www.bigstock.com

  Editors: Beta Readers

  Acknowledgments

  Good books are a team effort, written by several exceptional people, all of whom have my thanks. This group sets my limits and helps establish the foundations for my books, keeping me on track as they progress.

  My beta readers, Lucy Jones-Nelson, Laurie Barcome, Paul Eslinger, Dave Nelson, Sherri Oliver, Joel Mobley, and Pat Wyrembelski, all found lots of things for me to correct, and to improve. Thank you all. I want to publish the best books I can, and they are certainly better with your help.

  My wife puts up with me and deserves extra credit for her help with the covers and her ideas—and she gives me the time to write.

  And my dog, Molly. She sits at my feet and watches me write every day.

  Contact LeRoy Clary at [email protected] or message him on Facebook at: LeRoy Clary's Facebook Page if you have questions and/or suggestions

  You can “follow” LeRoy Clary on Amazon by going to: LeRoy Clary's Author Page. Amazon will then notify you about new releases.

  If you’d like to receive earlier notification of LeRoy Clary’s latest novel releases, books in progress, or other cool stuff, please sign-up for his mailing list by going to: leroyclary.com. Your e-mail address will never be shared, and you may unsubscribe at any time.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Books by LeRoy Clary

  The 6th Ransom

  Blade of Lies: The Mica Silverthorne Story

  Here, There Be Dragons

  The Last Dragon: Book One

  The Last Dragon: Book Two

  Humanities Blight

  Nine Years After

  The Mage’s Daughter Series

  The Mage’s Daughter: Discovery

  The Mage’s Daughter: Enlightenment

  The Mage’s Daughter: Retribution

  Dragon! Series

  Dragon! Book One: Stealing the Egg

  Dragon! Book Two: Gareth’s Revenge

  Dragon Clan Series

  Dragon Clan: In the Beginning (short introduction)

  Dragon Clan #1: Camilla’s Story

  Dragon Clan #2: Raymer’s Story

  Dragon Clan #3: Fleet’s Story

  Dragon Clan #4: Gray’s Story

  Dragon Clan #5: Tanner’s Story

  Dragon Clan #6: Anna’s Story

  Dragon Clan #7: Shill’s Story

  Dragon Clan #8: Creed’s Story

  Chapter 1

  *A quick note: All the books in this series were intentionally written to be enjoyed in any order. Please feel free to start and finish with any.

  “Pen, we have to get you out of here,” Jake whispered as he snuck up on the door to my jail cell just after the evening lights dimmed in the Monroe underground sanctuary.

  “Are you crazy?” I snorted in surprise. “You were there in the courtroom. The judge sentenced me to death. She has always hated me.”

  He fumbled his keys at the lock and finally pulled the door of the only jail cell open. Jake was my two-timing ex-boyfriend. He was going to get himself into serious trouble for being here.

  I backed away to the far corner, not in fear of him, but for him. There was no reason he had to attempt the impossible. I’d brought the sentence down on myself. After five years below ground after the war began, the future held nothing for me. I tried to convince myself that death was welcome.

  I pleaded, “Come on, Jake. You know the outer doors of the sanctuary were sealed when the war started. There’s nowhere to hide down here.”

  He reached inside the cell and took my wrist in an iron grip. “There’s a way.”

  “No, you’re going to get yourself killed along with me.”

  He pulled me out and started walking down the deserted hall as he hissed, “Shut up and walk faster.”

  “Jake, let go.”

  “I can get you out,” he muttered.

  I shut up and started walking. We passed others in the hallways, the few who were still awake and about. They looked at us in shock. Everyone knew about my trial. It wouldn’t take long before everyone in the sanctuary knew I’d escaped, and that Jake had helped me. Rumors fly faster than a pair of fugitives can run. We ran faster.

  Our footfalls echoed down the corridors as he turned away from the community area and the residential section and rushed down a few levels on concrete stairs. We entered a maintenance tunnel. The dim night-lights were barely enough to see by. We jogged past several closed doors and made another turn. I didn’t recognize our location, but I’d never had reason to visit there.

  Jake urged me to move faster.

  The seldom-used overhead speakers crackled to life and a tiny bell chimed for attention. The voice of the young woman judge, the one who had ordered my death a few hours earlier, spoke, “Attention, attention. The woman prisoner, Penelope has escaped with the help of the soldier known as Jake. They were last seen in the lower sections.”

  Penelope paused to listen.

  The excited voice on the speakers continued, the voice louder than before, and rushed, “Please report any sightings to me. All military are to report to the armory.”

  “They’re getting guns,” I blurted.

  Jake huffed, “It’ll be alright, Pen.”

  I snarled, “They’re going to kill me, you friggin idiot. It is not ever going to be alright.”

  “Shh.”

  Jake had shushed me, something that was somehow more offensive than the judge’s words. My instinct was to slug his shoulder with my free hand. He’d never done that to me before. My anger flashed—and as quickly, resided.

  He wouldn’t shush me without a good reason. A glance around found that a door a few steps away stood open an inch. An eye was watching us, and no doubt an ear listening to our every word. He tugged my arm to make me move faster.

  Rumors spread quickly among the three hundred of us locked away down there, like rabid foxes after a flock of chickens. A good, juicy, rumor like the death sentence of a troublemaker, even one who received a punishment undeserved, moved even faster. Nothing similar had ever happened before.

  The overhead speakers came back to lif
e with a burst of static. “All residents are ordered into the safety of their personal residences. Do not come out until the emergency is under control.” The speakers shut down with a final burst of static.

  Back when the war began, I’d been accidentally swept up along with local government officials, senior military personnel, and a few financial leaders designated by those in charge as survivors. Important people. Including Witch Hazel, the judge who had sentenced me.

  More than one of those notables had made it a habit to drink at the tavern where I worked. They rushed us from there to the federal land in crowded busses, SUVs, and in the beds of pickups, to an entrance in the forest as simple as crossing a cattle guard and a swinging metal gate. I hadn’t noticed the camouflaged guard shack or the machine guns until we passed by.

  Not that I was a great waitress or good at serving schooners of cold beer. Sure, I was cute and perky and chatted with the boys. However, mugs of beer from my tray regularly spilled on customers, sometimes intentional, some not. But I was always the kind of person who enters a room, and something nearby breaks or spills. My body moved through a doorway and a glass vase that had been sitting on a shelf across the room for three years chose that moment to fall and shatter.

  The thirteen of us who were not on that survivor list were never accepted by the privileged who were worthy. We never socialized with them before the war and didn’t after the massive outer doors of the sanctuary sealed behind us. They regulated us to third-class citizens. The military, including Jake, along with those with skills like welding or electronics, became second-class citizens, only a small step above in the social structure. But we were still at the bottom, no matter how you looked at it.

  They assigned menial chores to those of us who had been scooped up in the confusion of the impending war. We became the cooks, cleaners, and laundry workers—if we wanted to eat, as they reminded us frequently. Our duties rotated until they assigned more permanent positions. The cooks became the top rung of our lower ladder of hierarchy.

  I didn’t cook.

  About year number two, I’d started a succession of my many small revolts, and became a regular pest. I wanted better treatment and I wanted some of them to help with the laundry, cooking, and the rest. Depending on one’s outlook, I was fighting for equality, or I was a danger to the tranquility of life in the sanctuary.

  Serving beer in my old life had kept me busy. One night a new girl entered and hit on my boyfriend. She claimed to be the judge in traffic court, and the daughter of one of the richest men in Monroe. In front of half the crowd that night, I gave my boyfriend the option of which of us he would leave with.

  He chose me. Our female war began. Hazel and I were at odds for a year or more. Then the other war began, and we ended up in the sanctuary together.

  The first time I had formally faced judge Hazel in the sanctuary, the young woman we called Witch Hazel, I did my best to explain the feelings of all of us they treated as slaves. I hoped to improve our lot, not cause trouble. Witch Hazel, had ignored my words and simply asked in the judicial tone that she had learned in traffic court, “Do you enjoy eating, Pen?”

  I’d told her, “Yes.”

  “Then you will do as we tell you or that privilege will cease.”

  Those things flashed through my mind, as Jake strode down the tunnel with me in tow, his jaw set, his eyes challenging any who dared look at us.

  We angled left again, and our speedy footfalls slapped on the concrete floors announcing our approach in the empty passage. A door ahead opened only enough for us to slip past. I tripped over the sill and Jake pulled on my wrist to keep me on my feet.

  “Hold up,” Jake said.

  The hunt was on. Even in the warren of tunnels, it wouldn’t take them long to find us. Those in the passageway would eagerly point out our direction. Jake shrugged off my questions, which seemed flippant considering the circumstances. We had entered one of the many mechanical rooms that allowed the sanctuary to thrive.

  From the hum of the huge fans and air in the ductwork, I knew it handled air distribution. Inside the room stood three anxious people, all known to me, one of whom I liked, and two I didn’t. All looked scared. They were members of the same lower class as me.

  A little man with an annoying voice named Gerry said, “We have to hurry.”

  I kept my attention on all of them, trying to understand and control my confusion. Together, there had been endless hours washing dishes, clothes, and scrubbing floors. They had seldom spoken up for me. Yet all were looking at me as if we were old friends.

  “Hurry?” I asked, totally confused with their friendly demeanors, and excited expressions.

  “We’re all here to help you, Penelope,” Jake said as if the five of us were going to complete a task before attending a party.

  “They’ll just find us, kill me, and you’ll all be in trouble,” I said, trying to bring the subject back to normal.

  Any temporary hope I may have held of escape or freedom fled like a startled deer in a forest glade. My concerns turned to those who were offering their help, even the two I disliked.

  Jake said softly, in a rushed and tense voice that petrified me, “Penelope, there’s a way out of here.”

  “It’s too late. They know we’re here. Soldiers are coming with guns.”

  “No, I mean, out of here. This place. The sanctuary.”

  “Come on. I’ve seen the entrance,” I told him. “The bank-vault doors sealed us in. There is no way to open them without the combination and special keys, and I know for a fact we don’t have either.”

  I awkwardly turned away from Jake and looked at the other three for answers.

  Gerry wore a homemade backpack and almost danced in place with nervous excitement. Danny held a blanket rolled tightly into a tube under his arm. A piece of twine looped over his shoulder to hold it in place. Grace carried a small canvas sack in one hand and wore a determined, worried expression.

  Gerry and Danny were the two I didn’t like. They were mice among men, never complaining about the assigned work, and always doing what the others ordered without any backtalk. Grace was loud and abrasive, always ready with a sharp comment to anyone. I liked her.

  “What is this?” I asked them, my eyes quickly shifting from one to the next.

  “A jailbreak,” Grace said evenly, without mincing words. She looked the calmest of the lot, a woman well over thirty, but looking over forty after a hard day’s work. Life had been hard on her. Before the war, she had worked nights at the Circle M convenience store in town, was on her third husband. The war forced her to leave five kids up there the day the bombs fell.

  We all had our stories, but my emotions were peaking and screaming that we had little time to reminisce. My mind refused to cooperate as it flashed across what I knew of each.

  Gerry not only looked the part, but he had been a young computer geek that barely made ends meet by repairing residential PCs for people that often didn’t or couldn’t pay. He had shared a shabby one-bedroom apartment with a guy that co-managed the Burger Shack out on the highway.

  Danny, the youngest, had just finished his first semester at community college on that fateful day. He was about three years younger than me, but without any experience in the world since he had still lived at home with his parents and two sisters. Entitled might best describe his personality. The world owed him—until he arrived in the shelter with us.

  My eyes went back to Jake, the guard who had brought me here. He was the lousy two-timer. When he should have been with me, he dated one of the elites. Yes, he’d dated the young judge I called Witch Hazel on the sly. I wouldn’t forget or forgive.

  He met my gaze. “I have no choice but to go with you because everyone knows you were in my custody. Henry had been assigned to escort you, but I told him we were still close, and I wanted the chore of guarding your cell.”

  I must have looked as confused as I felt.

  He continued quickly, “In a few minutes, all hell w
ill break loose down here when the military arrives. By now, they know where we are.”

  Instantly, I understood that part. He was right. No excuse could cover the reason he’d let me out of my cell and accompanied me here. In rescuing me, he’d committed himself to whatever we were up to, which would probably end in the deaths of both of us.

  I partially forgave him for two-timing me with Hazel. Not totally, of course, but a little.

  I turned and backed away a step to see them all at once, Jake, Gerry, Danny, and Grace. Five of us had ended up in the sanctuary by accident. A hell of a crew to escape with.

  My mind took another leap. There must be another way out of the tunnels. If there was, we were going to escape into a devastated world where mutants killed, radiation burned, and people starved. Me, an ex-beer server in a cowboy tavern, along with a two-timing soldier, a clerk from a gas station, a half-assed computer geek, and a college kid who’d finished less than a year at a community college.

  It could have been worse.

  Maybe.

  I forced a weak grin. “You must have figured something out or we wouldn’t be meeting like this. Tell me.”

  Grace said, “It’ll take a while for the cavalry to get down here, and I doubt if they are going to rush in with guns blazing. They’ll have to talk about it and decide on a plan, so we have a little time.”

  Jake pointed to the rear of the machinery-room. The whir of fans that pushed clean air to the rest of the sanctuary and other fans that pulled it back, created a steady hum. The ducts were massive, taller than his six feet, with smaller arms branching off to carry clean air to different levels and sections.

  It was easily one of the largest rooms in the complex, but I doubted that any of the ducts reached up to the surface. It would be stupid to do that and pull down biologically contaminated or radioactive air to spread in the sanctuary. Expelling our air up there was almost as bad because replacing it with contaminated air was worse. Besides, leaving a dangerous penetration from the sanctuary to the surface was dangerous.