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

and where a few survivors picked through the remains. Most of the players and coaches had been killed in the initial blast lay where they had fallen. Some had a towel or shirt covering their faces, others didn’t.

Jumbled sound equipment and wires were scattered across the field and sidelines. Clipboards, headsets, caps, helmets, jerseys, sneakers, drinks, towels, and a plethora of football equipment clogged the sidelines.

The crowd had dwindled to a fraction of the people previously in attendance. Whoever was physically able to leave must have done so at first light.

Unable to provide any guidance or help on the field, Joe proceeded in his quest. With Oscar by his side, Joe said, “Oscar. Find. Find David.”

Oscar understood the command ‘find’ and the meaning of the sound following the command. Tugging on the taut leash, he lowered his head and moved forward with the sole purpose of finding David.

Oscar pulled hard, like a mule pulling a heavy plow through the soil. Oscar’s slobbery tongue hung to the side of his open mouth, his sides heaving. Joe leaned back to counter Oscar’s forward momentum, struggling to keep his balance while at the same time allowing Oscar enough leeway to guide them to his handler.

They had covered about two hundred yards, walking in an arc around the stadium. The closer they came to the site of the downed jet, the more carnage they encountered. An entire section of the stands had been gutted, rebar sticking out, concrete in chunks, seats blown apart, body parts everywhere. A pipe dripped a steady stream of water, mixing with blood on the floor.

Joe pulled Oscar away. “Find David.”

Oscar lifted his black nose, moving it from side to side, testing the air, searching for the scent he knew so well. He swung his snout to the side and proceeded in the direction he pointed.

Ahead and to the left, a man rifled through the pockets of a body.

Oscar stopped and growled low in his throat then barked a loud and throaty warning to the man ahead. The two locked eyes, staring each other down.

The dog lunged and broke free of Joe.

“Oscar, Heel!” Joe shouted.

Oscar bolted towards the man with speed and agility Joe had never witnessed. “Oscar, Heel!”

Oscar skidded to a stop, the man in his sights. Oscar’s vision was laser focused, and he moved with single-minded purpose. The man stepped back to put distance between himself and the dog.

“Don’t make any fast moves!” Joe shouted, racing up to them. “Wait until I get hold of the leash.” Joe carefully approached Oscar and grabbed his leash, wrapping it tightly around his hand. He stroked Oscar on the head and spoke in low, soothing tones. “Good dog. Everything is okay.” He stroked Oscar on his side. “Good dog.”

Oscar blinked and broke eye contact with the man. He swiveled his sight to the body on the floor. Dull eyes comprehended nothing. Mouth wide open. Skin a pale, unnatural color. He padded to it, sniffed along the arms and up to the face. Oscar licked the man’s cheek then lowered himself to the floor, resting his snout on the man’s chest.

The somber moment affected Joe to his core as he realized the body was his former buddy, his friend, and it pained him to see his life end in the way it did.

“What were you doing?” Joe asked the man.

“Nothing.” The man tucked in his shirt and hitched up his trousers.

Joe noted his nervous body language, and the sweat on his brow. “Did you take something from him?” Joe demanded.

“No.” The man shrugged. He stepped to the side, putting more distance between him and Joe.

“You did!” Joe exclaimed, moving forward. “He was my friend, so give me whatever you took.”

“I don’t want no trouble, mister. Trying to survive like the rest of the people.”

“More like looting dead bodies.”

The man reached his hand into his belt buckle.

“Stop right there!” Joe yelled. “Don’t move!”

The man pulled a 9mm out of his waist band and pointed the semi-automatic at Joe. “Don’t make me shoot you. I will if I have to do, so back away nice and slow.”

“You win.” Joe put his hands in the air. Anger boiled up in him, the anger of knowing the man had stolen his friend’s service pistol.

With the gun pointed at Joe, the man said, “I’m leaving now. Don’t come looking for me.”

Joe watched the man back away, and when he was several kiosks away, the man turned and ran.

Joe muttered a few choice profanities aimed at the man, venting his frustration and anger.

Oscar nudged Joe’s hand. “I should’ve let you take a bite of that scumbag, Oscar. So much for doing the right thing.”

Joe took a moment to gather his thoughts and concentrated on steady breathing to calm himself. If what the man did was a glimpse of things to come, he and Lexi needed to leave, and the sooner the better. The number of dead worried him, and it wouldn’t be long before they became a health hazard from decomposition, bringing the inevitable scourge of rats. He faced the problem of how far Lexi could walk. He couldn’t carry her, so that was out of the question, and without transportation, he’d really be out of luck. It would be another day before she could put any weight on her ankle, so he decided it was best for them to hunker down and wait a day or two.

He said a silent prayer for his friend then placed a jacket over the body, covering the face.

“Oscar, there’s nothing more we can do. Let’s find Lexi some meds and head on back. Sound good?”

Oscar tilted his head at Joe’s rising intonation, sensing the meaning of the words. The man Oscar had come to know and respect was no more. His body was cold and