Fallout Read online

  BOOK 1

  BY

  Copyright

  Fallout

  Copyright © 2019 by Derek Shupert

  Cover design by Derek Shupert

  Cover art by Covers by Christian

  Cover Copyright © 2019 by Derek Shupert

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictionally and are not to be constructed as real. Any resemblance to person, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For information contact :

  Derek Shupert

  www.derekshupert.com

  First Edition

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty One

  Chapter Thirty Two

  DEAD STATE SURVIVAL ROAD

  Author Notes

  Enjoy the book? Spread the word…

  Dead State Series

  Survive the End Series

  Afflicted Series

  Ballistic Mech Series

  Also by Derek Shupert

  About the Author

  Dedication

  I wouldn’t be able to write without those who support me. I thank you for your encouragement and being there for me.

  To those that read my books, I thank you for your support.

  Fallout

  Beta Readers – My deepest gratitude for your help !

  Patti Holycross

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  PROLOGUE

  Duke has been on edge ever since we’ve left the house. I’ve never seen him this way before. His body is so tense, head on a swivel as his ears stand on end. They twitch and move, honing in on every single sound they pick up.

  There’s been some rustling down in the thicket below us, which is driving him crazy. He crouches down and inches his way toward the cliff’s edge. He growls subtly from deep within his chest, watching with great intent.

  “It’s ok, boy. Probably just some animal scurrying about. Nothing can get us up here. Why don’t you come over by the fire and get warm?”

  I pat my leg gently, trying to snare his attention away from the animals below.

  He looks back at me with those big brown eyes as his tongue licks around his mouth. A yawn escapes him as he stretches his front legs. He comes over to me and turns about. He faces the entrance to the cave we’re in and sits down, lowering his head to his front paws.

  I gently run my fingers up and down his yellow coat, starting at the back portion of his head and coming down to his tail. He lets out a small groan, which I can feel through my hand.

  This has been a nightly routine with us for as long as I can remember. When Dad brought him home for the first time, just a pup and full of life, we bonded instantly. Wherever I went, Duke was right there, tongue hanging out the side of his mouth as we ran and played. We were inseparable.

  Now, I try to think of those happy times as much as I can. Anything to take my mind off what is happening, which I’m still unsure of. It all seems so unreal, like a bad dream that I can’t wake from.

  All the chaos.

  All the death.

  I’ve cried more this past day than I think I have my whole life. I know if my father could see me now, his response would be the same as it always has been.

  “Don’t let it get to you, son. It only has as much power to hurt you as you give it.”

  Right now, it feels as though it has all the power in the world, and I am powerless to stop it.

  The chilly night air whips about in the cold moonlight. I’m beat. I need to get some shut-eye before we get moving again in the morning.

  Hopefully tonight, I’ll get a better night sleep than last.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Saturday morning. The light from the hall creeps in through the narrow crack in my door and hits me right in the face. I knew I should have closed it all the way, but it wouldn’t have made any difference.

  “Come on, James, time to get up. Get showered, dressed, and head downstairs. I’ve got a fresh pot of coffee going for us,” Dad yells from the kitchen below.

  I lift the covers over my head and bury my face in the pillow. It’s bad enough that I have to get up before the sun does during the week to go to school. Now, what seems like most weekends, my father wants to go hunting, hiking, or something that involves me getting up way too early.

  Duke groans and moans at the edge of my bed, trying to wake up himself. He gets to his feet and stretches. His nails rake along the sheets, his sharp claws snag the plaid pattern fabric. He nudges my foot with his nose and follows it with his paws.

  “You are so going to stop hanging out with Dad,” I mutter through a yawn. Nothing like getting a second wakeup notice from a large yellow golden retriever who doesn’t take no for an answer. “Can I get fifteen more minutes, please?”

  Of course, Duke is like my dad and doesn’t believe in the snooze button. When it’s time to get up, it’s time to get up. He never wants to sleep in.

  He grabs my blanket with his teeth and drags it down off my head. The cool air nips at my warm flesh. A chill comes over me as the rest of my body is exposed to the chilliness of my room.

  “All right, dude, I’m getting up.” I remove my head from under the pillow and peer down at the end of my bed. Duke sits there with my blanket still resting in his mouth, stiff as a board. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he probably enjoyed that.

  “Traitor.”

  Bark!

  Duke drops the blanket and gets to his feet. He turns tail and darts out the door. No doubt going downstairs to get his reward from Dad for not letting me rest any longer.

  It’s 5:35 A.M. This has to be a crime somewhere in the world. No use whining about it, though. Better get to the shower before Dad comes stomping up the stairs.

  Still half asleep, I half-heartedly get out of bed and trudge to the bathroom. The house is still dark, except for the ha
llway light that beats down on me. It’s just as cool out here as it is in my room. An extra incentive to get me moving quickly.

  I stop at Cindy’s room. Her princess nightlight catches the corner of my eye. She’s sleeping peacefully with her brown teddy bear, the one with a big red heart on the front, clutched tightly in her arms. She gets on my nerves on a daily basis, but seeing her sleeping makes me glad she’s around. And also, that she’s sleeping and not bothering me.

  “James, you in the shower yet? I don’t hear the water running. We’re burning day light, son. Get it in gear,” dad calls out once more.

  I yawn, and rub my eyes.

  Doesn’t it have to be daytime to burn it?

  “Getting in now,” I reply half asleep.

  The soles of my feet hit the ceramic tile of the bathroom floor. I flick the light on. The sudden shock of the large glamor lights causes my eyes to shutter. I shield my face with my right arm, as I scamper to the mat in front of the shower.

  Cold as ice. Got to love winter time in Oregon.

  I start the shower, twisting the silver handle to the hot, red side. The pipes subtly rattle in the wall while I slip my boxers off, and step inside.

  The warmth of the water nearly puts me back to sleep. Through past experience, I know if I don’t do this quickly, Sergeant Sleep Hater will be all up in the bathroom giving me the third degree. I would lock the door, but Dad doesn’t believe in locks. At least, not on bedrooms and bathrooms.

  I can just hear his heavy footsteps clomping up the stairs and down the hall toward the bathroom. He’d test the doorknob first, then hammer the door with his fist.

  “James. You know my rule on locked doors, son.”

  Ugh. So annoying. Privacy in this house is hard to come by.

  I scrub down, and take a few minutes to enjoy the silence before turning off the water and getting out. I dry off, and quickly shuffle back to my room. The cold air is hot on my tail, causing goose bumps to flood my wet skin. I start to get dressed in my hunting gear when my computer screen turns on.

  “You up, Lady Killer?” a voice asks from the speakers on my desk.

  It’s Dawson. He stares at me with a smile on his face as he snickers.

  “Lady Killer. Somebody got jokes early in the morning,” I reply while slipping on my shirt.

  “I’m just calling you by your new name. After that stunt you pulled with Kimberly, seems fitting, dude.” Dawson laughs, which actually sounds like a snort or something. That’s about the only thing about him that anyone could possibly pick out as a turn off.

  Oddly enough, most of the girls find it charming. Perhaps, they look beyond it to his California blond surfer look and athletic stature. Plus, carrying a high GPA doesn’t hurt either. Though, to be honest, I’m not sure how many really care about grades.

  “Yeah, well, it would have worked if Steve wouldn’t have gotten in the way. I spent a good amount of time working on that poem. It took a lot of guts to not only write it, but then try to sing it to her during lunch.” I sit down on the edge of my bed, and start to slip on my boots. “Anyways, you didn’t call me to bust my balls this early. Have you been scavenging the web again for conspiracy theories of UFO’s?”

  I try to not to chuckle, but it slips out. You wouldn’t peg Dawson as one of those types who lends credit to grand stories of abductions by little green men. It’s all B.S., but don’t tell him that.

  “Actually, naysayer, I came across an article and some footage that someone shot in Gresham,” Dawson snidely remarks. If I didn’t know any better, I would say that he didn’t care for me poking fun at him.

  “Of little green men running wild and the mother ship ready to beam them and their victims back for a good probing?”

  I chuckle. I do enjoy giving him a hard time. He enjoys giving it much more than receiving it though.

  “No, smart ass. This is a whole other level of weird. Like X-Files on crack.” Dawson’s eyes shift to the left.

  Laughing under my breath, I finish lacing up my boots, and grab my coat from the dark brown chair near my computer. I reach for my phone, but think twice as Dad hates it when I text on our outings.

  “Whatever. It’s probably some guys messing around, and trying to stir things up. I wouldn’t get sucked into anything.”

  “Nah, man. The article was talking about outbreaks that are popping up all over the country. Remember that plane crash that happened in New York about three weeks ago? The one where the CDC came in, and quarantined the crash site?”

  I’ve never been big on watching the news, or following the conspiracy threads on the internet like Dawson does.

  I shrug, and shake my head. “Doesn’t ring a bell. You know I don’t generally watch the news, dude. I have a life, you know.”

  Dawson rolls his eyes. “Anyway, apparently, people are going all homicidal and crazy. Like attacking random folks and such. I’m talking bath salts, but amped up. They’re calling these freaks chasers.”

  “I haven’t heard anything on the news about people doing what you’re talking about,” I counter. “And chasers? Come on, man. Sounds like a made-up story to stir things up. Some media companies trying to get ratings.”

  “I don’t think so. I’ve been following this, and it seems legit. Besides, the news and the government are probably trying to keep this under wraps. Can’t have the general population finding out that a deadly virus is circulating on the streets.”

  I check the time on my hunting watch that my father got me for Christmas. It can do everything under the sun, even tell me when my dad is about to blow his top. Kidding on the last part.

  “Hey, man, I got to get running. My dad’s waiting for me. I don’t need to get him irate this early in the morning.”

  “All right, man, but before you go just watch this clip that I found.” Dawson’s fingers pound away on his keyboard in a fury.

  “Daw-” I try to say but he’s gone. Logged off. There’s a file waiting in my inbox titled, People gone crazy: Volume 1. Rise of the chasers. Who comes up with this stuff?

  I go to turn off the screen. The video starts to play. I jump. My hand springs to my chest. Dang auto play feature.

  People scream and run around with a naked fear gripping their faces. The footage shakes as if it is a handheld camera.

  “Oh, my gawd, check this crap out,” the guy recording says with a horse growl.

  He zooms in on a handful of cops circling a guy that has blood all over his face and body. The camera shifts to the side some, and moves down.

  A cop is prone on his back on the ground. His face is severely bruised and swollen. The top portion of his skull is smashed in. His light blue shirt is torn open. Portions of his flesh are missing from his chest and stomach.

  “Put your hands on top of your head and get to your knees, now!” one of the cops yells.

  Now, I know this is fake and all. It seems like a low budget zombie flick that someone threw together to just shock the crap out of people.

  For some strange reason though, my heart beats a little faster—my nerves getting the better of me. These people are really selling this. And that guy the cops are surrounding, his eyes are all red and bloodshot. A distant expression of wild rage fills his face. He seems unafraid of all those guns pointed at him.

  “I am not going to say-”

  The man lunges at the police officer. Their gun discharges, triggering a salvo of bullets that tear through the man’s flesh.

  “OH, MY GAWD! OH, MY GAWD!” the man recording the dramatic footage screams. You can hear him scrambling about and breathing heavy. The camera’s video becomes distorted. “I don’t know what the hell is happening, but I’m gone. I hope this is all recorded ‘cause I’m not going to try to get anymore.”

  Silence ensues. No screams or gunfire. Just the unsettling pants of panic from the distance as the man’s breathing slows back to normal.

  The camera’s view is more stable now. It points at the concrete, but you can hear the man worki
ng back up to his feet.

  “I’m going to make sure it’s clear before I jet.”

  Bringing the camera back up and around, the man screams as a police officer’s body is laid out on the back of his cruiser. His face is covered in blood and his eyes peer deep into the lens.

  “James?”

  I nearly jump out of my skin at my dad’s voice.

  “What are you doing? I’ve been calling you for the past few minutes.”

  My eyes stay focused on the screen. I tilt my head slightly to the left, and respond. “Sorry. Guess I didn’t hear you. Dawson sent me another one of his conspiracy theory videos he found on the internet.”

  “Well, turn that mess off and come on.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  My dad heads back downstairs. He totally scared the crap out of me. I didn’t even hear him enter my room. Stupid video. I’m so going to get Dawson back for that. I still think it’s all bogus, but it certainly did give me a jolt of fear.

  I shut my monitor off, and grab my pack from the floor. Tossing it over my shoulder, I turn off my light and head down the stairs.

  The smell of coffee brewing, and Dad’s normal hunting breakfast, fills my nose. Mom always tries to slip the decaffeinated stuff in when Dad isn’t paying attention. Most times it works, but on occasion, he lets me have the other. Just our little secret though.

  Duke’s waiting by the door patiently, his head going from side to side, that yellow, bushy tail wagging about happily. I drop my pack, and saddle up to the bar to eat.

  Dad’s normal hunting breakfast consists of three eggs, over easy, bacon that’s not too crispy, a bowl of oatmeal, and a glass of orange juice to wash it down. Protein for the hunt is what he calls it.

  There is no savoring, or taking your time to eat. You just clean the plate like it could disappear at any moment. I can enjoy it later, I guess.

  I scrape my plate for any leftover food, rinse it off, and place it in the dishwasher. Dad’s got my mug ready to go. The steam from the warm coffee billows up from the lid’s single slit. The scent grabs my nose. I inhale.