Honor Road by Jason Ross (best non fiction books of all time TXT) 📕

Honor Road

Sequel to Black Autumn Travelers

Jason Ross Adam Fullman

Contents

Preface

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

Meanwhile…

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About the Authors

Preface

A post-civilization world would astonish us all, gunfighter and gardener alike. In this novel, we tell the bare-knuckle truth—and this time, it might leave a scar. Forgive us for stripping away layers of literary comfort and dipping into stark tales of starvation and twisted honor.

Honor Road is the direct sequel to Black Autumn Travelers, the stories of Mat Best, Sage Ross and Cameron Stewart. We rejoin them in the nightmarish abyss of lost civilization, two months after the Black Autumn collapse.

Army Ranger Mat Best scrambles to defend the Tennessee town that struggled and failed to save his love, Caroline, from the ravages of gangrene. He stands between her orphaned brother, William, the town and tens of thousands of desperate, feral urbanites starving to strip the town bare.

Seventeen-year-old Sage Ross flees the charred and broken farm of the Holland family in western Washington state. He faces a perilous, winter mountain climb, then a chain of impossible choices that he must brook before continuing his homeward journey to Salt Lake City, Utah.

Cameron Stewart, the insecure family man, surviving on luck and fury, flees a black-hearted polygamist enclave in northern Arizona with his family, then drops them into the gristmill of starvation. Hunger takes them down dark roads, and Cameron commits foul acts in the midst of his delirium. Will his wife and children pay the ultimate price for his dishonor?

“Sing to me of the man, Muse, the man of twists and turns, driven time and again off course, once he had plundered the hallowed heights of Troy.

Many cities of men he saw and learned their minds, many pains he suffered, heartsick on the open sea, fighting to save his life and bring his comrades home.”

Homer, The Odyssey

Cameron Stewart

Six weeks before.

Highway 59

Outside Apple Valley, Utah

Did you screw him?” Cameron seethed.

Julie answered low and angry, “We. Were. Married.”

“Don’t ever say that again. Don’t you ever fucking say that again. You weren’t married. That’s just whacko cult shit. Did you screw him or not?” Cameron’s hands flew up and down in front of his face like furious pistons.

She stole a glance at the pickup truck idling beside the highway. Four passengers stared straight ahead, avoiding their eyes. A man watched in the reflection of the driver’s side mirror—the big, extended kind for pulling trailers.

“Yes, Cameron. I had sex with him. Is that what you want me to say? I did. They made me marry him and, yes, there was a wedding night. You were in a coma. The boys needed protection.”

The sun set over Utah Mountain, and the chill of evening gnawed at the warmth coming off the blacktop. Cameron cradled his Mosin-Nagant rifle. Forty-five minutes before, he’d fled a polygamist colony in the confusion following the killing of their Prophet.

Cameron, Julie and the boys had been their prisoners, but he’d turned the priesthood inside-out with a killing spree. He’d made them pay to play. Oh yes, he had.

The rifle was all Cameron had in this world. Julie’s hands were empty. They had no vehicle. No backpack. No buckets, bags or suitcases. She and the kids escaped with the clothes on their backs.

The boys milled around the shoulder of the highway, pretending not to listen to their mother and father argue.

Cameron stared hard at the pickup truck, idling, waiting for the couple to reach a decision. The asshole behind the wheel was the son of the dead prophet, the heir apparent to the cult. He’d probably called dibs on Cameron’s hot wife as soon as they’d ambushed and captured his family six weeks before.

What a difference a day makes, Cameron thought as he shot daggers from his eyes at the round, blonde-haired face in the mirror.

They’d shot Cameron through the neck, stolen his wife, his boys and his supplies. But Cameron had his revenge. He’d broken the back of their cuckoo collective and left the remnants tearing at each others throats. No doubt, that’s why this dipshit polygamist in his Shit-kicker-mobile had come along with his truckbed full of gear. He was making a run for it. After his father was exposed as a sex weirdo, then gunned down by the elders in a “blood atonement,” the son grabbed what he could and got out of town. His other wife sat in the passenger seat, her hair piled up in a doo like it was the nineteen eighties. Three small heads bobbled around in the back seat.

Cameron pictured himself walking up to the driver-side window, pointing the Mosin at the man’s head and blowing his brains into the polygamist chick’s lap in a shower of blood and shatter-proof glass.

Why do they call it shatter-proof glass if it blows into a million pieces?

His mind did a little loop-de-loop. It’d been doing that a lot since he got shot and spent a week in a coma. Maybe it’d started on the drive through Las Vegas, he corrected. The last two months had been a horror show. He’d set a personal record for killing dudes. He’d gone from zero to...he didn’t really know how many.

Not counting the Prophet Rulon—because he hadn’t actually pulled the trigger on that crazy, old coot—he’d smoked six polygamists. Seven, maybe? Rulon’s son, idling in the truck, would be Number Eight.

“You have to promise me not to hurt him, Cameron,” Julie hissed, interrupting his loop-de-loop right at the top. He came crashing back to earth. “Cam. Can you hear me? We need to go. Right now. And you can’t hurt Isaiah. You need to promise me that you won’t touch him. He’s got what we need to survive—stuff.