World on Edge: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller (World on Edge Book 1) by Chris Pike (top ten ebook reader TXT) 📗

“I tried calling out for help, but my voice was so weak. I drifted in and out of consciousness. I couldn’t get enough air, and when I saw you walk past me, I summoned the last of my strength.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t see you. I didn’t want to look at the bodies.”

“I must be a wreck,” Becca said.

“It doesn’t matter, Mom. You made it. Lots of people didn’t.”

“How many?”

“Don’t know,” Ethan said. “A lot were killed when the jet crashed, and it’s still burning, so anyone with respiratory problems isn’t going to fare too well. And as you know, there’s a lot of deceased people in the concourse.”

Becca glanced at her clothes and inspected her hands, turning them over. “I still have my wedding ring on.”

“Dad was protecting you.” Kinsey smiled weakly.

 “Who’s helping all the injured people?” Becca asked. “And why aren’t any first responders here? Let’s get Tyler and get out of here.”

“Mom, when I was searching for you, I looked outside. I’m not sure how to tell you this, but we’re stranded until help arrives.”

“What do you mean?”

Ethan observed the mother and daughter interaction. They had a strong bond, and while Ethan could explain the situation outside, he kept quiet, thinking it would be better for Kinsey to tell her mom.

“There are very few cars working. I only saw a couple of really old ones on the road. Lots of people are standing around the cars in the parking lot. It’s like nobody knows what to do.”

Becca’s gaze swiveled to Ethan.

“She’s right.” Ethan nodded. “Cars aren’t working, which means no ambulances will be able to get here. We’ll have to help ourselves.”

“Get an Uber and let’s go home,” Becca suggested.

Kinsey shook her head. “Phones aren’t working.”

“This keeps getting better and better.” Becca rested her head against the wall and closed her eyes. “What are we going to do?”

“How far away do you live?” Ethan asked.

“Not sure. Thirty miles, maybe forty.”

“Will you be able to walk that far?”

“In these heels? I don’t think so. Shouldn’t we try the car first?”

“If it’s a late model car, it won’t work. Do you have anything of value in it?”

“No,” Becca said.

“Any firearms?”

“No. I took those out after my husband died.”

“Too bad. We’re going to need them.”

“Good Lord!” Becca gulped. “What’s going on?”

“Let’s get you back with your son, then we’ll talk about it,” Ethan said. “Can you stand?”

With Ethan and Kinsey’s help, Becca stood, and though lightheaded, she managed to stand on her own. When she took a step, her right leg buckled out from beneath her.

“What’s wrong, Mom?”

“I’m not sure.” Becca took a big breath. “My leg doesn’t feel right.”

“Let me check it.” Ethan rolled up the bottom of Becca’s ripped and tattered jeans to assess her injures. Dried blood stuck to her jeans, and Ethan had difficulty peeling the tough cotton material away from her skin. “Am I hurting you?”

“Not much. Kinda stings.”

He pulled up her pants’ leg below her knee, and it was there he saw the problem. A piece of shrapnel had sliced through her jeans and embedded in the fleshy part of her calf. The area was red and swollen.

“Becca, you’ve got shrapnel in your leg. How bad does it hurt?” Ethan asked.

“It throbs somewhat.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

Becca shrugged. “I chalked it up to being bruised from being tossed around and hitting God knows what. I didn’t want to complain. I’m lucky to be alive. Is it bad?”

Ethan sat down, assessing her injury. “If we leave it in, you’ll have trouble. If we take it out, there might be trouble, depending on whether or not the shrapnel hit anything important, like a vein. Regardless of what we do, you could get an infection.”

“Then let’s go to the hospital.”

“Mom,” Kinsey said, “if there was any help it would already be here.”

“I don’t understand.” Becca waited for Ethan to explain.

“Becca,” Ethan said, “from my military training and what I’ve experienced so far, the United States, or at least Houston and the surrounding areas, have been subjected to an EMP.”

“Electromagnetic pulse, right?” Becca asked.

“Yup,” Ethan answered.

“I thought that was something science fiction writers made up.”

“It’s real. We learned about it in the military.”

“Then it’s not good at all,” Becca postulated. “I’ve read some post-apocalyptic novels, and the picture the authors paint isn’t a pretty one. Society will collapse quickly.” Becca paused to take a big breath. “What about fallout?”

“That’s the least of our worries. The bomb would have been detonated high enough in the atmosphere so as not to affect us.” Ethan ran his fingers through his hair, thinking. “Whoever detonated the bomb strives to cripple the United States, not destroy its natural resources. Radioactive fallout would contaminate water and the land. Someone, some rogue country, wants to take over the U.S. If the population is crippled by lack of food and medical help, we would be prime for a takeover.”

“Surely our government will stop it,” Becca offered.

Ethan shook his head. “If there was a coordinated EMP over the main hubs of the US, there will be no help. My state-of-the-art jet is a perfect example because it was designed to be EMP proof. Obviously, the theory failed. There is no communication and no way to get supplies. If we survive it will be because of our resiliency and willingness to adapt, and our fortitude to endure hardships. I don’t mean to be a downer either. I’m telling you this so you can make informed decisions for yourself and your family.”

Silence fell on the group of three, each keeping their thoughts to themselves. Cries of anguish and hurried footsteps echoed along the concourse walkway. A scream emanated from