The Forge of Darkness (Darkness After Series Book 3)

Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-one

Twenty-two

Twenty-three

Twenty-four

Twenty-five

Twenty-six

Twenty-seven

Twenty-eight

Twenty-nine

Keep Reading

Voyage After the Collapse Excerpt

More by Scott B. Williams

About the Author

The Forge of Darkness

Darkness After Series

Book III

Scott B. Williams

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters and events are all products of the author’s imagination and should not be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2016 by Scott B. Williams

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.
 

Cover photograph:
© heshixin
, file #95340774, fotolia

Cover and interior design: Scott B. Williams

Editor: Michelle Cleveland

05.12.16

www.scottbwilliams.com

For my good friend, Mike—a real Mississippi
 

game warden doing a dangerous job

One
 

M
ITCH
H
ENLEY
IGNORED
THE
occasional drop of rain that splashed onto his forehead and face as he crouched there and watched. The dark clouds overhead muted the late afternoon light to a dreary gray that barely penetrated the dense river bottom forest, and Mitch knew the visibility would get worse as the rain picked up. This was the last chance to bring the day’s hunt to a successful conclusion, and it was up to Jason to pull it off.
 

The small whitetail buck was slowly working its way along the top of the creek bank, and was probably 35 to 40 yards from where Jason was kneeling behind the flared base of a large cypress tree. Sensing the change in the weather, the animal was focused on its feeding, stopping only occasionally to raise its head and look for danger. But there was no breeze to carry the scent of man to its nostrils and the light rain helped to muffle any sound the three hunters might have inadvertently made. The soft “twang” of a bowstring released reached his ears and Mitch held his breath as he watched the flight of his friend’s arrow streaking to its target. For him, this would be an easy shot; the kind he couldn’t miss. But it was Jason’s first attempt at a deer with the longbow. Mitch was glad to see him take the chance, because from where he watched, there was too much underbrush between him and the quarry for a shot of his own.
 

He grinned when he heard the satisfying “whack” of the arrow smacking flesh and saw the buck spin around and leap into the air just before it bounded off and disappeared into the gloom. Jason’s arrow had certainly connected, but from his point of view, Mitch couldn’t be sure where.

“It went too far to the right, dammit!” Jason said, when Mitch reached his side. “I think it hit him in the gut. It didn’t even seem to hurt him from the way he took off!”

“Let’s go see,” Mitch said. “It probably did more damage than you think. Just because he ran off like that doesn’t mean he’ll get far. We’ll be able to tell from the blood trail.”
 

As the two of them walked to the spot where the deer had been standing, Jason’s cousin, Corey joined them from where he’d been concealed near the bank even farther upstream.

“He ran right by me after Jason hit him and I got an arrow off, but didn’t even touch him!” Corey said.

“That’s not surprising, Corey. Not many people could hit a running deer with a bow, especially in thick woods on a rainy day like this when it’s hard enough to even see a deer.”

“You could,” Jason said. “But you wouldn’t have to because your first shot would have put him down.”

“Not necessarily, but that’s beside the point. You hit him, and we’ll get him eventually. We’ll just have to track him down. I think there’s going to be enough blood to follow, see?”

Mitch pointed to the scattered droplets of crimson on the leaves of the forest floor. Like many of his recent hunts, his purpose today was to teach. Though he was happy doing the bulk of the hunting for the group by himself, he was pleased that some of the others were now working on their skills under his guidance. Jason and Corey had become eager students of the longbow and were ready to put what they’d learned into practice. He’d started them with the basics on the same target range behind the house where he’d mastered archery himself before taking to the woods to hunt live game. But there was no substitute for this real-world experience, and Mitch knew misses and botched shots were inevitable. Though he hated to see an animal suffer needlessly, he was confident they could track down the wounded buck and finish the job. Chances were it wouldn’t run too far if they didn’t push it too closely, but on the other hand, with the rain picking up, Mitch didn’t want to risk losing the blood trail either.
 

They had just started moving, working from one splattering of blood to the next, when the faint crack of a rifle off in the far distance caused Mitch to pause. The sound came from the general direction of the farm, which was not entirely surprising, since there were no other human habitations within earshot of where they were. As he considered the possibilities, wondering who there might have fired it and why, two more closely spaced shots followed the first one, but some twenty or thirty seconds later.
 

“That was a high-powered rifle,” Mitch said to Jason and Corey as the faint echoes died away.
 

“It must have been Tommy or David then, since they’re usually on patrol this time of day. But what would they be shooting at?”

“That’s what I’m wondering. The way the shots were spaced it sounded like someone hunting. Like maybe they missed or wounded whatever it was with the first shot and then followed up with that second and third one.”
 

“Maybe one of them saw a deer too?” Corey suggested.
 

“Maybe, but I kind of doubt it. I guess it could have been a wild dog or some other varmint though.”
 

Mitch knew that if a deer did
appear while the others were occupied with something else, any one of them would take advantage of the opportunity to put meat on the table. But he didn’t think that was likely, as there had been plenty of hunting pressure around the farm in the last few months, as well as a lot of other activity like gathering firewood in the nearby forest. Because of this, he did almost all of his hunting farther afield now, deep in the bottomlands here along the creek and beyond, and he didn’t expect that situation to change.
 

Whatever the target, he was sure the rifle shots were fired for good reason if anyone from their group fired them. While they had conducted some practice and defensive drill sessions early on for the benefit of those among them with less shooting experience, wasting rifle ammunition was out of the question now. There was simply no telling how long they were going to have to make what they had last and no way of knowing when they were going to need a lot of it in a hurry to defend their lives and property. Hunting with the bow and arrow helped conserve what ammo they had for their various firearms. Fortunately, the materials for making more bows and arrows were readily available in the woods. Mitch at least, had the skills to utilize them, and he planned to teach the others over time.
 

Mitch had finally convinced the rest of them that thinking long-term was their best option. No one had any real answers about the bigger picture regarding their situation, but he could envision a scenario where the blackout lasted so long there wouldn’t be other options. Aside from the issue of resupply, using bows rather than firearms enabled them to keep a lower profile. Rifle shots could be heard from a great distance, especially now that there were no other background sounds like faraway traffic or manmade machinery. Out here, any sound of human activity might attract the attention of strangers passing through the area. The last thing any of them wanted was to draw outsiders to the farm. Recent experience had shown that danger could approach not only from the gravel road that skirted the front of the property but also by way of Black Creek. The creek was a natural travel corridor through the wild national forest lands in back of the Henley’s 600-acre property. It could be followed on foot with some difficulty or easily navigated by canoe, and while useful to Mitch and everyone else living on the farm, it was potentially a backdoor standing wide open to unwanted guests.

Mitch and his two friends were within sight of Black Creek even as they heard the shots. The wounded buck’s blood trail led upstream, even deeper into the forest and farther from the Henley farm. For a moment, Mitch considered whether they should turn back and head for home. But as he stood there, bow in hand, waiting and listening, there was only the sound of the steadily increasing rain pelting the leaves and the forest floor around them. The shooting was probably nothing significant, since there wasn’t a follow-up or an answering exchange from a different weapon. Mitch wasn’t really worried with Benny and Tommy around the house, and he knew April could hold her own too.
 

“Whatever it was, they must have gotten it,” Jason said.

“Yeah, I don’t think it’s anything we need to worry about. Come on. Let’s go find your deer. We don’t have long before dark.”

Two
 

T
HEY
HAD
JUST
STARTED
moving again when the rain increased to a downpour, the noise drowning out the possibility of hearing anything beyond the immediate vicinity, including more gunshots if there were any to be heard. It wasn’t going to help that the rain would obliterate the blood trail they were trying to follow, but Mitch knew the area like the back of his hand. He had a pretty good idea where the wounded buck might go to lay up and hide, and they would find it eventually, if not by dark then first thing in the morning. The three of them were prepared to spend the night out if necessary, as it sometimes was on hunts like these. The others back at the house wouldn’t be expecting them until they returned with meat, so no one would worry if they didn’t show until tomorrow.
 

Mitch was doing his best not to worry either, but the sound of those rifle shots had made him uneasy, even if there was likely a good explanation for them. It was just that so much had happened since the grid went down that it was difficult for him to completely dismiss
anything
out of the ordinary. If it had sounded like more than one weapon being fired, he would have certainly headed back immediately. If Jason hadn’t already wounded a deer they would have gone back anyway, as the heavier rain would have diminished the chances of a successful hunt. As he moved quickly, trying to find what traces of blood he could before the last of it washed away, he kept telling himself that all was fine back at the house. Benny was there, along with his son Tommy. Those two alone gave Mitch the confidence to stay away overnight. Mitch couldn’t have hoped for a better pair to have around to help look out for the property and everyone there.
 

Things around the farm had just gotten back to a somewhat normal routine since the last encounter with outsiders led him into an unplanned adventure a few weeks prior. Harrowing as it was, that ordeal had turned out well in the end and had increased by five the number of survivors now living on the Henley place. More importantly, among those five were April Gibbs and her little daughter, Kimberly. Mitch had never expected to see the two of them again, but he’d never stopped thinking about April since that day he had said goodbye to her in Hattiesburg. He had doubted she still thought much about him, if at all, but then one day she had returned, making her way all the way out here by way of the creek. Mitch had been practically walking on air ever since.
 

Their time together in those first few days after the collapse had been brief, but filled with danger and excitement. Something had clicked between them, and the life or death battles they fought together forged a bond that couldn’t be broken. April had come back, bringing both her little Kimberly, and Kimberly’s father, David Green. Mitch wondered if David would suddenly snap out of his amnesia one day and remember their relationship, but even if he did, April said it wouldn’t matter. She told him she had been through with David even before they left Hattiesburg. Now that she was back, Mitch was certain that the two of them were meant to be together; no matter how unlikely that had seemed when they had parted before.
 

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