Lone Survivor Stories Novels & Stories

But Jake shot blind from the hip, with the sun in his eyes to boot, and hit the bandit right in the Adam’s apple, a thing not likely to occur more than once in a lifetime, i that often But it was Jake’s luck that most of the men who saw him make the shot were raw boys too, with not enough judgment t appreciate how lucky a thing it was. Those that survived and grew up told the story all across the West, so there wa hardly a man from the Mexican border to Canada who hadn’t heard what a dead pistol shot Jake Spoon was, though an

Even though Patrick had locked down the information in time, this was the digital age. Rumors still spread like wildfire. Mom's frown finally relaxed as she hugged Freya, full of concern. "Don't worry, I'll be fine." I curled up in the corner, dejected. Another lead was gone! … Two days after my murder, Patrick received a police report. Two miles from the market, a motel staff member had found what appeared to be human remains. The caller was a housekeeper at the motel.

Amelia shook her head. "Yes and know. He's all buddy buddy with one of the elders and from what Kyle has been told they chalked up all the deaths to a rouge attack and claimed that during this attack he found he second chance mate in a rouge she wolf." I looked at her confused. "I was told they met while they were in college." Amelia shook her head.

"The Superless watched while we were rounded up. They turned the channel when the news showed the camps. They voted for the politicians who fund the butchers." He stood up and walked to the balcony, the wind catching his coat. "I have built this Sanctuary to keep my people safe. But safety is a temporary illusion. A cage is still a cage, even if it is gilded. Real peace? Real peace is only achieved through dominance." He turned back to me, extending his hand. "That is why I need you, Baraka. You are the Lone Survivor. The one who absorbed the Source. Your power... it is different from ours. We have limits. You adapt. You evolve. You are the key to our victory."

You can see the love in their smiles, and when they look at each other, their love is hard to hide. My clan, Clan Adair, is easily the largest and safest clan to be a part of. Surrounding clans rarely have an issue with us, and we are left alone most of the time. Our clan is feared, not only for our size, or our warriors. Our clan has a secret, we're werewolves. Not that anyone knows that fact. They just know our warriors are strong, and we've never lost a war. The stories told are that no one is left alive, and our warriors are all that is left on the battlefield.

The battle showed that even the bravest warriors could not overcome the ferocity of the sand people’s relentless assault. Now, she and a handful of survivors huddled together in the dimly lit cave, their bodies sore and their minds fractured from the battle's trauma. The merciless and vast sands stretched beyond the horizon, seemingly endless. They were trapped, isolated, with no clear path out, and the world outside felt alien and suffocating. It felt like they had spent weeks there, not just days. The warriors murmured amongst themselves, but no one had the strength to argue, and the fear that hung in the air made it nearly impossible to think clearly.

“I am Lira. A wanderer. I never stayed long enough to be found. I listened. I watched. I remembered names when others forgot them.” One by one, they spoke. A former scholar who memorized rituals because books were too dangerous to keep. A warrior who lost his mate during a purge and never lifted his blade again until now. A quiet man who said little beyond his name and the words, “I survived because someone else did not.” Each story was different. The pain was not. Elise listened to all of them. When the last voice fell silent, she exhaled slowly. “This is what remains of us,” she said. “Not because we were weak. Because we were hunted. Because we were erased.”

Unless you have guests randomly show up as I often seem to. Axel stirs in my mind, hating unannounced company. We’d been hoping for a long hot bath and a few beers. I’d been working a case for a few days now of a small pack that was raided, barely two dozen people and only half survived it. It was brutal and it just never gets easier. So far there’s been no rhyme or reason to it, and few survivors have been too traumatized to say much. “Everything okay,” I question, when I realize Harlow isn’t making eye contact with me.

Rylan slept through it. _Baby_. But when we left, he didn’t look back. He looked _up_. Like Four was in the _clouds_. --- *Alaska — 3 Days Later — Abandoned Mine* “Report,” Kieran said. Gregor was pale. “Lost two more.” “_Lost_?” “Wendell put his gun in his mouth at 0200. Said _‘he’s thirsty’_ before he did it.” Gregor’s jaw ticked. “Mira walked into the lake. Didn’t come up. Last words: _‘he’s cold’_.”

The abnormal weather had killed many survivors. In my past life, I'd only arrived at a safe zone five months after the zombie outbreak. There'd been elite soldiers and over a hundred thousand survivors there. Over a hundred of these safe zones were scattered across the country, significantly contributing to mankind's survival. "Why aren't we leaving now since the safe zones have already been set up?" Mom asked me. I looked at the snow outside. "It's highly likely we'll freeze to death in this weather if our car breaks down." …