These Times of Sedition: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survivor Thriller (The Abandon Series Book 4) Read online

  These Times of Sedition

  Ryan Schow

  Copyright

  The ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you are reading this ebook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy so that you may read it with a clear conscience and not one day end up in hell over a shitty technicality. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

  THESE TIMES OF SEDITION

  Copyright © 2020 Ryan Schow. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this ebook, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, cloned, stored in or introduced into any information storage or retrieval system, in any form, or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading and distribution of this ebook via the Internet or via any other means without the express written permission of the author or publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

  Author’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents—and their usage for storytelling purposes—are crafted for the singular purpose of fictional entertainment and no absolute truths shall be derived from the information contained within. Locales, businesses, events, government institutions and private institutions are used for atmospheric, entertainment and fictional purposes only. Furthermore, any resemblance or reference to an actual living person is used solely for atmospheric, entertainment and fictional purposes.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  Cover Design by Milo at Deranged Doctor Design

  Visit the Author’s Website: www.RyanSchow.com

  “War is a toxic business, for the fields of battle are soaked with the blood of scoundrels and patriots alike.” – The Unknown Patriot

  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

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Your Voice Matters

  A Look Ahead: These Times Of Insurrection

  FREE BOOK: The Last Light of Day

  Also By:

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Marley McDaniel

  Marley McDaniel woke up naked in her boss’s bed in a quaint condominium in Washington D.C.’s ultra-chic West End near Georgetown. She and Killian O’Brien had been seeing each other for several weeks now. One of her friends had warned her against mixing business with pleasure, but she hadn’t listened, and thank God for that! Marley was old enough and wise enough to handle a man like Killian, for she’d been in several relationships before and was no stranger to men of influence. As a McDaniel, Marley was goal oriented and fiercely driven, and her desires were more about advancing her career in politics than being some man’s conquest or blindly falling in love.

  In retrospect, this might have been how Killian was able to catch her off guard.

  Killian was a sweet-talking, no-nonsense Irishman from Boston. At thirty-two years old, he was charming and powerful, two qualities that were alluring in their own right, but downright lethal when combined with the world of politics. Marley’s consideration for the Irishman never went much further than using him for his ability to get things done and to help her with her career. His consideration for her, however, was vastly different. This was, perhaps, where she failed to realize that under the surface of their professional relationship, something deeper and more personal was taking shape. It had all started with her promotion.

  She had been discussing some of the parameters of her new job as Deputy Chief of Staff of Communications with Killian when he told her that her position was a sink-or-swim arrangement where if she was able to swim, he wouldn’t have to fire her for incompetence. She was all too aware of how the wheels turned in D.C.; the atmosphere was not much different from the other most high-stress, high-paying jobs. Still, hearing Killian speak such unabashed truths had given her pause, maybe even a bit of a jolt.

  “The fickleness of my position is the same as yours in that capacity,” Killian had said, reassuring her, “which is why I refuse to pussyfoot around the issue with you. You need to know the mechanics of this machine, right down to which way the screws turn.”

  “I know this is a sink-or-swim job, Killian. I’m just asking you to teach me to swim so you don’t have to watch me sink,” she’d said, dressing her words up with a sly but enchanting smile.

  “Only if you ask nicely,” he’d said back.

  Over the next few weeks, Killian showed her the ropes, pointed out the potential pitfalls of the job, introduced her to the people she needed to know around the White House. Then one night, as the time got away from them, he had said, “I have things to do, but I’d love to continue this conversation outside of work, if you’re okay with it. Perhaps you’d like to join me for dinner? Before you say yes and get the wrong idea, though, I want you to know this would be a working dinner only.”

  Marley didn’t have plans, so she had said yes. She hadn’t realized they would be eating at his condo as opposed to somewhere quaint or even upscale. Looking back, even if she saw this first domino for what it was, she still would have taken a meal with the man.

  “I used to love the different restaurants here,” Killian had said, “but the pandemonium of dinner in the city these days is enough to give you an aneurism.”

  “Yeah, it’s pretty bad,” Marley had replied, taken aback, but not worried. That was when she began looking at him with a more discerning eye. Killian O’Brien was a handsome, fit specimen of a man, a gentleman even her father might mark with a nod of approval, if ever the day came.

  “If you want to head into Foggy Bottom,” he’d said, “there’s this market that I participate in—”

  “You participate in a market?” she’d asked with a laugh. “What does that mean?”

  Marley’s mother told her that next to her good looks and solid work ethic, her laugh was the most delightful thing about her. Killian had alluded to the same thing, for he seemed to brighten each time she laughed, or giggled, which was encouraging to them both.

  “Fresh Farm Market requires you to pay for your groceries in advance,” Killian had explained, “but they’re strict on timely pick-ups, especially if you do a full share, which is you participating in the first and second halves of the CSA season.”

  “CSA?”

  “Community Supported Agriculture.”

  Together they had gone to Foggy Bottom to the Fresh Farm Market where the locally-grown food was both vibrant and amazing. After that, they headed to Killian’s condo in the chic West End ove
rlooking a wide-open park with a gorgeous waterfall and a stocked pond.

  Killian had poured her a glass of Merlot, told her to relax on the patio while he “whipped up an Irish Beef Stew.” She had no problem with that.

  Out on the patio, the merlot was divine and the views were to die for, but the delightful smells of a dinner being made from scratch made their way out to the patio where she sat. Soon, like a moth to the flame, she was pulled inside, the aroma beyond enchanting.

  She refilled her wine glass and said, “My olfactory senses are tap dancing right now.”

  “Too much?”

  “Too much for me not to be in here helping. Give me a knife, let me help with the prep.”

  “Does it look like there’s room for two in here?” he had asked with a grin.

  Glancing at countertops steeped in chaos, she saw bacon drying on paper towels, beef cooking in a pan, and chopped up leeks, carrots, celery, and garlic set aside for peeling. Most of these ingredients were either in states of prep, or they were placed in prep dishes of all shapes and sizes. There was also tomato paste, an unopened bottle of dark stout beer, two Yukon Gold potatoes, and several bunches of fresh herbs.

  “What did I do to deserve all this?” she had asked.

  “Nothing in particular. I was making it anyway and felt it would either be really selfish or incredibly sad to eat alone. How’s your Merlot, by the way?”

  She had smiled, looking at him less like her boss than a potential suitor, which was not a thought she wanted to entertain for very long. Perhaps it had been the wine talking. “One more glass and I’ll be a bit tipsy.”

  “You know you’re talking to an Irishman, right?”

  Of course she knew. “I didn’t eat today.”

  He graced her with a short, knowing laugh. “We nursed on Irish whisky just to make sure as kids we had the tolerance to drink like we do as adults. Drinking on an empty stomach, though? Now you’re playing with fire.”

  “Maybe I’ll have that third glass with the stew and we can talk about your youth. I’ve never been to Boston, but I’ve heard so many curious things about it.”

  She relaxed on the couch while he made the stew, but then he told her it needed to cook for two hours and she suddenly felt like the two hours they had to kill might be two hours of him wanting more than just a work relationship with her. This, of course, forced her to consider the idea.

  “How would you feel about going on a walk with me?” he had asked, surprising her. “I have a friend in Georgetown who’s in the final stages of completing her dissertation on…whatever, the mating habits of Aborigine goats or something, and I promised her I’d take her dog for a walk.”

  “That sounds good,” she said, grateful he didn’t have other things in mind. Then again, why didn’t he have other things in mind? She was a good-looking, smart woman with character, charisma, and drive. Wasn’t that the kind of complete package men like Killian O’Brien were looking for?

  They drove to Killian’s friend’s house where Marley met a beautiful Jewish girl who was every bit as pretty as Marley, but a touch more spicy in the attitude department. Strangely, the girl had tickled her jealousy when she leaned in and kissed Killian beside his mouth.

  “You’re a lifesaver,” she said, handing Killian the leash. The Jack Russell was already on the move, his attention on everything at once.

  “Where are we headed?” Marley had asked.

  “Montrose Park.”

  When they arrived, Marley expected Killian would let the Jack Russell off his leash, but Montrose Park was a bit of a secret, Killian had explained. While not being a formal dog park, per se, there were lots of people walking their dogs, all of them on leashes, as was required.

  “I love it here,” he had said. “It’s just as beautiful of a park for humans as it is dogs. The dogs love it, the humans love it, and no one steps in crap or has to chase after their dog when it’s time to leave.”

  Marley had smiled, pulling her blonde hair aside before tucking a strand behind her ear. She was thinking about the gorgeous Jewish girl. “So is she your girlfriend? Or some side-dish on the weekends?”

  Killian shook his head. “I think she’d want to be my girlfriend, but she’s too busy with school and I’m too busy with work.”

  “Makes it tough to land yourself a soulmate,” she said as they walked under the cool canopy of a shade tree.

  “Soulmates are for the movies, Marley. You’ll find that relationships in D.C. are more about meeting one’s needs than fulfilling one’s ideals, which makes our personal interactions less important in some ways and extremely important in others. You’re in the halls of power now. Being here daily is far more exciting than holding hands or picking out bedsheets together.”

  She had laughed, then lightly slapped his shoulder. “There’s more to falling in love than just holding hands or picking out bedsheets.”

  The more they talked, the more Killian spoke of the nature of life in D.C. Marley had lived and worked there long enough to get the gist, but still, being with him and the dog in the park had pitched her into a perpetual state of wonder.

  Was he interested in her privately or was this the start of a work-related friendship? Maybe it wasn’t even that.

  She watched him for signs that he was trying to work his way into a physical relationship with her, but she just didn’t see them. Was she happy about that? Disappointed?

  By the time they got back to his condo, she was confused as to why she was even there. Then, they had dinner and it was amazing, but nothing happened after that. Well, nothing sexual, that is. The next few hours of hanging out turned into the next few weeks of hanging out and pretty soon people began asking if they were an item.

  Now, three or four weeks later, things had changed. Last night was the big night and he’d earned every bit of the love he got, meaning he was caring, charming, and ridiculously hot. There wasn’t a single thing about him she could find she wanted to improve upon with the exception of his stance on the importance (or lack thereof) of meaningful relationships.

  Like any good woman trying to lock down a man, Marley understood the next part was up to her. That’s why, right then, on that morning after their first sexual experience together, she got out of bed, put on only her panties, then walked across the room stopping to turn and smile at him. He’d been watching her all the way.

  Refusing to cover her breasts, she moved her blonde hair aside knowing it was messy/sexy, then she said, “Will this be a shower for two, or am I going in solo?”

  He was biting his lip and feigning deep emotional pain. “Sadly, it’ll have to be solo. I have a call coming in that’s super important.”

  “Do you want me to save you some hot water?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “I might have to skip the shower today, so feel free to run it cold.”

  Before she could suffer the let-down, he got out of bed naked, walked over to her, and kissed her deeply and passionately on the lips.

  “If you don’t come back and do this again with me,” he said, “you’re going to make me regret passing you up for this stupid phone call.”

  “I can come back,” she teased. “Maybe…”

  “You need to,” he grinned, taking in the whole sight of her. “I need you to.”

  His phone started to ring. He went to take it, but then said, “The water comes on hot and quickly, so jump in and enjoy.”

  She went into the bathroom, started the shower, then slid off her panties and decided it would be cute and playfully torturous to give him one more look at her. She was in shape and in her prime, so what could it hurt? That’s when she heard him speaking in a different language and with an accent she hadn’t heard him use before.

  Instead of stepping into the open to tease him, she stood around the corner and listened to him. She could hear most of what he was saying, but that was because she had a rare hearing sensitivity that allowed her to hear better than most people.

  According to th
e local community of hearing specialists, Marley had been diagnosed with “Golden Ears.” The audiologist simply said, “You have better hearing than most people, a condition that has its upsides, but a few potential downsides, too.”

  He had been spot on. She did hear quite well, baffling some of her friends and her family, as well as her first boyfriend, but certain sounds came off as too sharp—the sounds of closing doors and running faucets—which hurt her from time to time. For this reason, her mother had taken her to a number of specialists fearing she might have hyperacusis—a hearing disorder with the power to make life extremely difficult. If Marley did have this affliction, there was a possibility that she could encounter serious ear problems while suffering from things like audible annoyances, depression, and intolerability. It turned out she had some minor symptoms, which terrified her parents after what had happened with Leighton’s hearing loss, but over time the sharper sensitivities went away and only her enhanced hearing remained.

  In D.C., she kept this secret to herself, for anyone with political power and influence would know to keep their distance from someone like Marley. In the halls of power, as Killian called them, even someone with a careful whisper would never feel safe around a staffer with “Golden Ears.”

  So there she stood, naked, blissful, and now intensely curious about the nature of Killian’s conversation. He switched languages again, transitioning back to English. Frowning, Marley snuck a look around the door frame and found him sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched over, his hand cupping his free ear. Was he having a hard time hearing the other person? But then he said, “Oh yeah, it’s better now,” and he seemed to relax.