Edwards Rise of the Faithful

1. Auflage 2017
ISBN: 978-0-9910323-5-8
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 200 Seiten

When America is attacked by an ancient enemy, society is left in ruins. The once great cities filled with entertainment, art, and every desire of man are turned into devastated neighborhoods ruled by the gangs that once roamed their ghetto streets. Soon, the gang's resources begin to run dry. With no knowledge of how to produce food, obtain water, or live independently, they begin raiding the countryside to take from those who do.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Edwards, D. S.

Leseproben

CHAPTER 1 Amish Country Lancaster County, Pennsylvania 2:00 P.M., Monday, July 28 SARAH BEILER INCHED her way forward, belly crawling through black Pennsylvania mud, carefully choosing her path to avoid twigs, leaves, acorns, and anything else that could give away her position. The seventeen-year-old’s long, gray dress was caked with mud, and her greasy, strawberry-blonde hair had begun to fall out of her bonnet. With each movement, she paused long enough to shift her granddaddy’s double-barrel shotgun an arm’s length in front of her. The stench of decaying vegetation filled her nostrils. Sweat dripped from her head, a bead occasionally snaking down her temple and into the corner of an eye. It stung like peroxide dumped into an open wound. In the distance, a hen turkey yelped. It was answered immediately by several sharp peeps from its young. Sarah paused, raised her head slowly, and looked over her right shoulder. The field’s grass, eight inches high, swayed gently in the breeze. Sarah pulled a turkey wing bone call from the pocket of her dress and gave a short series of hen yelps. She was answered by turkey sounds from fifty yards away. Sarah crawled another ten feet before pausing at the edge of the shallow draw in front of her. She slowly parted the grass and looked intently up and down the path that wound its way through the twists and turns of the canyon. She watched and listened for several minutes, then sent another signal with her turkey wing bone. A minute later, a young man on the other side of the draw rose up on his elbows, removed a backpack, and placed it on the ground in front of him. He rested his beat-up model 94 .30-.30 on the pack, its barrel pointing up the canyon. Sarah placed her granddaddy’s shotgun on the ground in front of her and waited. Her breathing was steady in spite of the talons of fear clawing at her stomach. Sarah shut her eyes tight and prayed. She wasn’t sure if God would forgive her for what she had done, or what she was about to do. Dark memories swirled in her mind. Blood, so much blood. Cold, lifeless eyes staring blankly up at her as dirt was thrown over them. The smell of stomach acid and half-digested roast beef as it gushed from her mouth. The ear-piercing moans of anguish, her moans of anguish, echoing through the oak trees. Sarah opened her eyes, and the memories scurried back into the dark places of her subconscious. A man’s voice floated down the canyon. “Hurry up!” he shouted. “I thought you Amish was stronger than this. If you can’t handle the load, then we don’t need ya. Maybe we should just cap ya n’ haul it ourselves.” Sarah’s friend Kevin Hummel, eighteen years old, his sister Naomi, only thirteen, and two men came into view. Kevin was harnessed up like a mule, pulling a cart loaded with raw vegetables, home-canned foods, and two large slabs of beef. Naomi walked at his heels. The two strangers walked ten feet behind, their rifles trained on their captives. They were seventy yards away and moving closer. Kevin’s boot caught on a rock. He fell to his knees. Naomi bent down to help him. One of the men, a red scar running down the full length of his face, rushed forward, grabbed her by the hair, and jerked her backwards. The other man came forward and raised his hand to slap her. His companion caught his arm just before it made contact. “Not in the face, Hanson! If we bring her in all marked up, Randy gonna cap us both!” Hanson withdrew his hand. Scarface grabbed Naomi by the hair again and dragged her out of the way. Hanson took a step forward and kicked Kevin in the ribs. Kevin doubled over and curled up on the ground in a ball. Sarah gritted her teeth and fought the urge to jump up and shoot Hanson in the face. They were too far away. If she acted too soon, there was a chance one of them could escape and bring more men than she and her companion could handle. Usually, when the bad men came to the village, they took what they wanted and quickly left. This time they had stayed four days, lounging around and eating as much as they could. They had also raped three of Sarah’s friends. The extra time had strengthened her hate. Now that hate was starting to consume her. The only way to feed it was to focus it on these men. Scarface bent down and yelled in Kevin’s ear: “Get up!” Kevin moaned and made no effort to get up. “We have orders to bring this n’ your pretty lil’ sister, with no marks.” Scarface walked back, grabbed Naomi by the forearm, dragged her next to Kevin, and threw her on the ground. “Our orders said no marks. Randy didn’t say nothin’ bout a little trainin’. Maybe we can just wait here for a while. You can catch your breath, n’ I can have a lil’ fun with sissy. Maybe break her in a little.” Scarface tore open the front of Naomi’s dress, exposing her breasts. Naomi screamed and tried to crawl away. He grabbed her by the ankle and dragged her back. He pinned her arms down with his knees, then grabbed a handful of breast with dirty fingers. “I’m up!” Kevin shouted as he got to his feet. “I’m up.” Kevin’s muscles strained and he grunted as he pushed forward, dragging the heavy cart down the path. Scarface let Naomi up. Red faced and sobbing, she held the front of her dress closed and trotted after her brother. “That’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout!” Scarface said and the two men followed, laughing, twenty yards behind. When the foursome was still forty yards from Sarah, Scarface stopped them to take a rest. Kevin let the harness fall from his sagging shoulders and sat down hard in the dirt. Naomi sat beside him and buried her face in the folds of his shirt. Sarah slipped her finger into the trigger guard of her shotgun and placed her other hand under the forestock. She could hear her blood pounding in her ears. Her breathing, steady just minutes before, now came in short, ragged gasps. A sliver of doubt wedged into her thoughts. Could she go through this again? She knew what she was about to do was wrong. She knew it as sure as she knew it would condemn her to the fires of Hell. Why had God allowed the world to become so dark and violent? Why didn’t he protect his people from the anguish and torment? Life had been so simple, so innocent, before the bad people began invading their home, taking what they pleased by force. She just wanted to go back. Back to the way it used to be. Sarah closed her eyes. Her mind drifted to an afternoon just a month before. She was standing with her father, mother, sister Amity, Grandpa Vernon, and Grandma Grace in the Yoders’ barn on a warm morning. Her father held The Ausbund hymnal open as they all leaned in close to read the words. The voices of her family and friends rang out loud and in perfect harmony as they sang “Lob Lied.” Soft breezes carried the scent of horse manure and Summersweet bushes through the open doors of the barn. Sarah glanced over her shoulder and caught the deep blue eyes of Jakob Miller staring back at her from the back bench. He really was quite hand-some—six feet two inches tall, with coarse, brick-red hair, his boyish face and a smattering of freckles on his cheekbones making him look younger than his nineteen years. The rest of him, though, was definitely all grown up: broad, well-muscled shoulders and long, sinewy arms hardened by many hours behind a plow and from swinging a heavy sickle. When Jakob grinned and winked, impure thoughts nearly overwhelmed Sarah. She quickly averted her eyes. Her mother caught the exchange out of the corner of her eye, smiled at Sarah, and tilted her head toward Sarah’s father. Sarah mustered the most innocent look she could and smiled back at her mother. Sarah had always been a daddy’s girl. In her eyes he was the greatest man alive. But her mother understood her and had been her best friend as long as she could remember. After the weekly service ended, Sarah joined her friends just outside and waited for the women of the village to transform the barn from a church into a meal and fellowship hall. There was much talking and laughing among the girls, but Sarah paid little attention. Instead, she positioned herself near the small doorway so she could watch Jakob visit with the rest of the village men. After the men finished their meal, Sarah got in line with the other women and girls to dish up her own food. Suddenly, the double barn doors burst open. Four men in tattered clothing ran inside. Three of them pointed rifles at the village men. They swept the muzzles of the rifles side to side, sometimes stopping for a few seconds in front of a bearded face. Children scrambled under the dresses of their mothers, who also cowered in fear. The man in charge of the group shouted out orders, then walked through the barn, studying the faces of the young men. Sarah tried to keep her head down like the rest of her people, but she couldn’t help glancing up. The leader of the invaders was at least six feet tall, his head shaved. Sarah thought he was ugly. He walked with a limp and had thin, red lips set below a gaunt face. Despite the circumstances, part of Sarah felt sorry for him—he obviously hadn’t been eating well. She had never known true hunger and had always taken it for granted that her...