Edge of Fear: An EMP Post-Apocalyptic Survival Prepper Series (American Fallout Book 3) by Alex Gunwick (year 7 reading list .txt) 📗

to put every member of the cult in a shallow grave. No, not a grave. He would let their bodies rot in the open, leaving them to be picked apart by carrion eaters. Yeah, that would be awesome.

Kyle stood carefully. The adults assumed he was crying in his room, and that’s the way he wanted to keep it. He took down his rifle from the rack over his bed and held its comforting weight in his hands. He grabbed several boxes of ammunition and stuffed them into his coat pockets. In the back of his mind, some tiny voice cried out that this was extremely dangerous, even stupid, but he was beyond his ability to care. The only thing on his mind was revenge.

He set the rifle on his bed and eased the window up with agonizing slowness. He threw constant glances over his shoulder, certain his mother or father would burst in at any second and stop him, but they remained embroiled in their meaningless debate.

Kyle threw his leg over the windowsill, straddled it, and then dropped to the snowy ground. He carefully reached back into the room to retrieve his rifle. He set it against the cabin then dragged the window shut. It closed with a soft thud. He waited for a second to make sure no one noticed him leave, and then he took off at a run from the cabin.

Night had fallen. He ran as fast as he dared through the dark forest until his breath came in short, ragged bursts and his side ached terribly. The idea of getting caught by his parents was somehow more terrifying than the possibility of getting killed himself. He wanted revenge, and he’d kill anyone who got in his way. Not his parent’s, of course, but anyone else. But if he got caught, his dad would whoop his ass.

When he was far enough away from the cabin, he slowed his pace. He remembered the man he’d hit with his hatchet. He’d saved his mom’s life. But damn, there was so much blood. He’d almost barfed.

At that moment, he’d left childhood behind. He’d become a man and a legitimate threat. Those cultists would be pissing themselves if they knew he was coming.

If his family was too chicken to do what had to be done, then it fell upon him. He would show his father and Derek and his mother that he wasn’t a little kid anymore. He would show them he belonged in the discussions, the debates, and the decisions. They’d stop thinking of him as just a little kid. They’d see him as their equal.

Kyle’s father had shown him the game trail that led to the cultists’ cabin. His mom was right, it was kill or be killed, and he didn’t want to end up like his sister. The look of horror on her frozen face would haunt him for the rest of his life. He never wanted to look like that. He was a predator now, and he had to behave like one.

When he judged himself to be close to the COB’s cabin, he ditched the trail and instead took a parallel path through the woods. It was slow going with all the underbrush and thickly clumped trees in his way. Not only that, but Kyle had to move silently in case the cult had sentries. Dad said you always had to watch out for sentries.

He caught his first glimpse of the cabin. His heart pounded. With his goal in sight, he became increasingly paranoid about discovery. His father had taught him that breathing through the mouth was quieter than through the nose. Kyle opened his mouth as he picked his way through the woods, stepping on bare ground or live growth to mask the sound of his footsteps.

He stopped when he reached the clearing. Twenty feet of exposure lay between him and the nearest cabin window. Twenty feet of risk. For a moment, he almost lost his nerve and turned around. The cabin seemed deserted, anyway. Then a flash of movement from inside caught his attention. He clenched his jaw and crept out from the tree line.

His heart pounded harder and harder until he feared it would burst out of his chest. His mouth went dry. The gun felt like a lead weight dragging him down. It seemed to take forever to cross the open ground between the forest and the cabin.

When he reached the window, he glanced inside. A middle-aged man puttered around the living room. His right hand held an open bottle of beer, and his left index finger was buried in his nose. The man let out a revolting belch. The man pulled back his finger and stared at the green booger he’d excavated from his nostril. For a moment, he glanced around as if searching for a place to wipe it. He smeared it across the stone fireplace.

Kyle was disgusted beyond measure. This was one of the men who’d killed his sister. Maybe he hadn’t pulled the trigger, but in Kyle’s mind, they were one and the same.

Kyle took a step back from the window and pulled the rifle off his shoulder. Smoothly, he brought it up and sighted down the scope. The man took a swig of beer and set the bottle down to stand with a wide-legged stance in front of the fire.

Kyle realized he was about to pee into the fire. The guy was too lazy to go down the hall to the bathroom, if they had one, or too afraid of the darkness to go outside.

Without an ounce of mercy or hesitation, Kyle lined up his sights on the back of the man’s head and pulled the trigger.

Glass broke, a sharp retort cracked in the frigid mountain air. The man collapsed into a heap on the floor. Kyle took a moment to take in the sight of his crumpled, lifeless form before he shouldered his rifle and calmly, but hastily, made his way back toward the cabin.

13

As Luke