In Pieces (A Finding Peace Novel) Read online

  IN PIECES

  © 2016, Christa Lynn

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, organizations and events are the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual person’s, living or dead, events or situations is purely coincidental. This book includes intense sexual themes and profanity. This work of fiction also includes sensitive subject matter, of which the author is not an expert, nor has the author experienced the sensitive matter enclosed herein.

  "Except as provided by the United States Copyright Act of October 1976, Public Law number 94-553 no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher and author.”

  Acknowledgements

  First of all, I want to thank my readers and fans for your encouragement and dedication to my books, without you I wouldn’t be here.

  Thank you to my Ride or Die BFF, Kimberly Dean. You’ve inspired me to keep going with your eye roll and swift kicks in the ass. I ask my supporters to please support Kim as she releases the first book in her series, Guilty Condolence!

  Thank you to my beta readers Tara Greseth, Jo Overfield, Kathy Bargiacchi and Alana Edlington, you guys gave me what I needed to continue this book. I love you guys hard!

  And to my amazing PA, Ebony McMillan. Ebony, you’ve been a rock to my roll and I’m so glad you wanted to take on the job of being my PA. I know I might not be the easiest person to work with at times, but you’ve gone above and beyond the roll of Personal Assistant and I’m so happy to know you and to work with you, and to call you a friend. Thank you for all your hard work and perseverance. You. Amaze. Me.

  Thank you to my wonderful editor, Ready, Set, Edit, and formatter, Indies InDesign! You guys bailed me out of a jam and I am so thankful to you guys for digging me out.

  To my cover designer Lark Adams with Wycked Ink, your graphics have rocked my world and I couldn’t be prouder of the covers for this series. Please check her out if you need graphics or book covers.

  Cover Designed By: Wycked Ink

  Edited by: Ready, Set, Edit

  Formatted by: Indies Indesign

  In Pieces is the first book in a three-book series, Finding Peace.

  In Pieces

  Missing Pieces

  Piece Me Together

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  “We’ve battled our

  demons within, but can we win the war amongst ourselves?”

  Read and find out.

  They used to say everything was OK in Oklahoma. Especially in Arrow’s Crossing, a rural country town about seventy-three miles from Oklahoma City. And everything was okay, until everything changed. And when I say everything changed, I mean everything.

  Arrow’s Crossing was rich in Native American history, with the roads and neighborhoods named after warriors and Indian Gods. Screaming Tiger Road and Red Cloud Avenue were the two main streets in town. The main road to our farm was Apache Street, named after the largest Native American tribe in Oklahoma. Arrow's Crossing was the site of a Native American/American battle where the Americans took over the Apache Land there, land where our home now sits. Our land was as rich in minerals then as it is now, and our Apache ancestors have kept this land in our family for centuries. It’s always been a working farm and if Daddy had anything to do with it, it always would be

  Life was quiet as I grew up on the farm. Cows, chickens, horses, and vegetable gardens adorned our thirteen-acre farm. Daddy worked the farm, slaughtered the heifers, and sold the beef to the local market. My brother and I collected eggs from the chickens and milked the Holsteins before school, and Mama planted and harvested fresh fruits and vegetables. I always wondered why we didn’t just buy groceries at the local market, but the day everything changed, I learned why.

  After dinner one night, the local news was on and Mama and Daddy were glued to the television. My brother, Hank, and I were in our rooms doing homework and struggling to get it done quickly so we could either play video games or read. We didn’t get much down time, so we rushed through our homework and household chores just to have a little fun. Little did we know, that night would be the last night we ever had fun.

  Mama and Daddy were nervous and on edge, so they sent us to our rooms to bed earlier than usual. We argued, “It’s Friday night! Why do we have to go to bed so early?”

  “Just do as I say and go to bed,” is all Daddy said, his eyes glazed over and a small semblance of fear overtaking his features, hardened from years in the sun putting food on our table and keeping us clothed. The look in his eyes was enough to send me into a tailspin of fearful dreams.

  Suddenly, my bed began to shake. Or was it the house? I couldn’t tell right away, but as I blinked the sleep away, I realized I was being cradled by my father as we ran through the corn rows, fast and quiet. “Daddy?”

  “Shh, baby. Don’t speak. Keep quiet,” he whispered in my ear. I lifted my head and looked around the farm. We were deep into the corn rows and the only sounds were of his feet. Over his shoulder I saw Mama and Hank, sweating and struggling to keep up.

  “Put me down, Daddy,” I demanded, but he gripped me tighter and kept running, his eyes full of darkness and uncertainty. “Daddy?” I asked again, his old legs coming to a screeching halt. “Daddy, what’s wrong? Why are we running through the corn rows?”

  “Be quiet, Josephine, they’ll hear us,” he whispered, his index finger over his dry, cracked lips.

  “Who, Daddy?”

  “Josephine, just do what I say and be quiet.”

  I looked back at Mama and Hank, Hank looking just as confused as I was. Mama’s face was red, and her eyes were puffy, like she’d been crying. Her silver hair was pulled into a bun with soft, wispy strands framing her face. Daddy finally put me down and I ran alongside him, his callused hands gripping my small hand. “Daddy, you’re hurting me,” I cried out, his bony fingers cutting into my skin.

  He didn’t say anything, just tugged me behind him as we ran, and ran, and ran through rows and rows of corn stalks. He stopped at the end of one long row and peered out from behind the high stalks of corn. “Stay here,” he said as he let my hand go and stepped forward out of the row. I watched him disappear into the darkness, and it was then that I realized, the darkness was different. I looked up and there were no stars in the sky. No hazy lights from the center of town, no planes flying overhead, and none of the animals were making noise. It was stone silent, nothing but the sounds of our heavy breathing from running through the corn. Farms aren’t quiet, nor are they supposed to be, but the silence that overwhelmed me was deafening. And it was hot, humid, and the air was completely still. No breeze at all.

  “Mama, what’s happening?” I asked, stepping back toward her and my little brother, who wasn’t so little.

  “Just do as your daddy tells you.”

  “Where are we going?” I asked, the tears starting to crest my cheeks.

  “To the shelter,” she answered as Daddy came back down the row of corn.

  “Shelter? W
hat shelter?” I asked as quiet as I could, but Mama didn’t answer me.

  “Coast is clear, now be quiet because they could be out there. We have to get to the shelter before they find us,” Daddy said as he took my hand again, pulling me behind him.

  “Who, Daddy?”

  “Them,” he answered, but not looking at me.

  “Daddy, stop. Tell me who’s looking for us.”

  “I … I don’t know yet, but I know they’ll find us. We have to get to the shelter before they do.”

  We ran to the edge of the field to the tree line and started running through the woods before Daddy stopped at a small clearing. He let my hand go and started kicking dirt and leaves away, exposing a large steel door. He pulled his keys from his pocket, frantically searching for the right one before dropping to his knees and unlocking the large silver lock.

  He lifted the door and stepped in. “Stay here, I’ll be right back,” he said before disappearing into the hole in the ground, a hole I never knew was there. I rode Nelly, my horse through there all the time, and I’d never seen it before. He had it covered so well that no one could know it was there. I stared into the darkness of that hole, and suddenly, a soft glow filled the space down there and Daddy came back up a ladder that I then could see.

  “Go on, hurry. Climb down, Mama and Hank are right behind you,” he said as he nudged me to move forward. I tucked my nightgown between my legs and my bare feet touched the cold metal rungs of the ladder, and I climbed down into a concrete and metal room. The room seemed to be about thirty feet by thirty feet, with one wall covered with canned foods and bottles of water. I took in my surroundings as Mama and Hank joined me, with Daddy climbing down behind Hank.

  “I’m going back to the house to get some things; I didn’t have time to grab the emergency kit before we left. You stay here, and don’t open that door for anyone,” he said as he hugged Mama tightly. “Take care of yourself and my babies, Ellen. You mean the world to me, and I promise to do what it takes to be back here within the hour,” he said as he nudged his chin up at the old analog clock on the wall.

  Two o’clock.

  He shook Hank’s hand and patted him on the back. “Take care of my girls, son,” he said before turning to me and pulling me into his arms. “I’m sorry, baby, but you have to stay here. Mama and Hank will take care of you. Do not open this door for anyone,” he said again. “I love you all, take care of each other.” He cried as he climbed the ladder and bent over to close the metal door. But as it closed, a golden/green flash of light broke through the darkness, and a low rumble broke the silence as the door slammed shut.

  “Daddy?” I cried as I started to climb the ladder.

  “No, Josie, you have to stay here.” Hank pulled me back, and I buried my face into his neck.

  “What’s going on, Mama? What’s happening? Why are we here?” I babbled, rattling off questions so fast no one could answer.

  “Let’s turn the radio on, see if we can find out anything,” Mama said as she picked up an old white radio, its long antenna stretching toward the ceiling. She turned the knobs, but all we heard was static before a shrill siren billowed from the small speakers and we all listened quietly. A shaky, male voice full of panic and despair filtered from the tiny speakers:

  This is the Oklahoma Emergency Broadcast System. This is not a test. Repeat: this is not a test! Chemical bombs have exploded all over the state of Oklahoma and the United States causing massive destruction and countless deaths. If you can hear this broadcast, hide. Do not go outside as the poison in the air is deadly. Stay with your family members and stay inside. Close all windows and doors and do not go outside! Ration your supplies and protect your property. But most of all; pray. God Speed, everyone.

  The three of us stood there and stared at the radio, which went silent. We tried changing the station and turned the dial back and forth but found nothing. I glanced at the clock on the wall, which still hung on two o’clock, the second hand no longer ticking. It was quiet; deathly quiet, with the exception of Mama’s sniffles. We looked at each other and kept quiet, listening for some sort of life out there, for Daddy to come tapping on the metal door to let him in, but he never came back.

  Days after the chemical bomb wiped out the country, I was plucked out of our hideaway, never to see my family again. I was bound and gagged, then dragged up the ladder and taken far away on horseback to a sterile environment where I lived for the next thirteen years. I was forced into a life of servitude with other young girls assembled to repopulate the country. I was repeatedly raped and gave birth to three babies, all ripped from my arms to be raised as soldiers, fighters, and defenders. I was beaten and bruised, but all women were trained to be fighters after they had children. I can use a knife, a gun, and a bow and arrow, but the chemicals that still blow through the air, as well as my age, have now made reproducing impossible, so I’ve been released into the world to fend for myself as I’m no use to them anymore. But who is the enemy now? The homes and buildings that used to occupy our great nation are now collapsing and burning. Nothing is the same, as war and famine have destroyed everything that we once knew.

  My name is Josephine Tucker, and I was thirteen years old when the United States of America became the Unified Territories. I am now twenty-six and ready to fight. I’m not afraid to kill or be killed. I will find my family, and anyone that gets in my way dies. I’m no longer afraid as this is the life we all know now, and there’s no time to be afraid.

  This, is my story.

  Jo

  I blink my eyes open and gaze at the sky; it’s dark, cloudy and smoky. Not a star in the sky to be seen, unlike the farm back in Arrow's Crossing. I wonder if that town even exists anymore, or if the farm is still there. I imagine it was pillaged through and burned to the ground, like so many other places. The smell in the air is foul, full of death and blood. Bodies lie on the ground and people walk over them, stepping on their corpses and moving on, like they don’t even see them. It’s as if they are just part of the scenery and a permanent fixture in someone’s living room. Vultures sit atop a few of them, scavenging anything they can get from the meat of the dead.

  Everyone is armed, and evil fills their eyes. Who’s a good guy and who’s a bad one? No one really knows, so everyone keeps to themselves. I’m tucked away in a darkened corner doorway of what was once a drug store. I’m inside, so no one sees me, but I’m sitting on broken glass and the store is completely empty, the looters having long cleaned out this store. I spy the food section right about the time my stomach growls, realizing it’s been two days since I’ve eaten, my once lean body now weak with malnourishment.

  I peek out the door, and all is quiet, so I cautiously move toward the back of the store, hoping to find a hidden morsel of food, something to calm my aching stomach. It’s hard to believe that even after thirteen years, the entire city is still a war zone. Where is the government or police? Why hasn’t some higher authority tried to calm the unrest and bring this country back to life? Because they’re all dead, and now good is fighting evil to take control of what was once a great country. The result of homegrown terrorists, and not from some other country or group. We did this to ourselves because too many people didn’t agree with freedom and love for all. Greed and violence took over, and now my country is an impoverished country. The years of refugees fleeing to our country ended and now people flee from here, in search of a better life. One they were once accustomed to.

  Flee.

  That’s what my mind tells me to do. I overheard some guys talking about a boat near the coast transporting refugees to some small island in the Atlantic Ocean. I thought about approaching them, asking them to take me with them, but fear gripped me. I need food and to arm myself before approaching anyone, as I’ve been through too much to die now.

  I crawl on my hands and knees, the glass crunching under me. I feel blood seep through the denim of my jeans, my skin being cut and gouged as I move as quietly as I can. Being low to the ground, I
spot what looks like a granola bar jammed under a collapsed shelf. It’s flat, so I know it’s in pieces, but I grab the package, ripping it open like a crazy person. It’s nothing but crumbs, but I scarf it down and swallow, my throat dry and parched. I start coughing as I choke on the dry bark, my eyes watering and clouding over as I try and get the rest down.

  Once my eyes clear, I see a large pair of black combat boots a few aisles over, deep breathing coming from the man that wears them. Fuck. He’s going to find me, and I’m not strong enough to beat him off, I can only hope he’s a good guy and not one of the Heretics. I drop my breaths so they’re low and shallow, hoping he can’t hear me. Though my hacking cough gave me away, so it’s only a matter of time before he finds me. He’s near the door so I have to find another way out of here and pray he doesn’t catch me first.

  My eyes scan the store, shelving on their sides, debris scattered everywhere, and that broken glass, reminding me of the wetness through my jeans where my skin was sliced. I spot a large piece with a nice jagged edge and grab it, holding it close to my chest. It’s the only weapon I have, and while it won’t do too much, it can slow someone down if I plunge it into the right place.

  Go for the jugular, I tell myself. He’ll bleed out quickly, and then I’m free, at least, until the next bad guy finds me. They’re on the hunt for women like me—former slaves. They think we’ll be weak and an easy fight, and more than willing to spread our legs for anyone. They have no idea what we’ve been trained to do besides having babies. I almost wish I was still there. I might have been beaten and raped regularly, but at least I had a roof over my head and food in my stomach. A drastic difference from this Hell I’ve been thrust into. No one back at the clinic told me what I would see, what I would experience once I was freed, and I’m glad they didn’t or I would have begged to stay, to do anything necessary to not be out in this world.