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

The stale, damp air in the closed space magnified the odor of a car used for carting a bunch of kids around. Spilled juice, sweaty feet, dirty hands, a stale sandwich, a missing athletic sock, a used diaper, odors mixing into a cornucopia of suburban life.

He picked up a flyer on the passenger seat, read it, and tossed it aside. He couldn’t be bothered with an animal rights group picketing the zoo trying to sign up members.

A guttural roar in the distance sent shivers up his spine.

He froze.

Another animal of the same species answered back in an equally spine-chilling roar.

The Houston Zoo, with all its state-of-the-art technology to keep wild animals locked behind thick glass windows, had obviously been compromised, allowing animals to roam freely and escape. But how? The mechanical locks didn’t rely on electricity. And that roar was nearby.

Nature found a way. It always did, and Joe Buck ought to know.

A few years prior, he had been working on a job at a zoo and had heard the rumblings of the crew who installed the new security system, after a cheetah discovered a way to squeeze through an opening next to a tree. When donations from wealthy donors hadn’t materialized, the zoo was forced to install a less expensive security system.

He was also aware of the pitfalls of zoo safety measures, reliant at times upon electricity to lock doors, electrify fences, arm alarms, to have the animals’ every move monitored on short circuit TV. When the electricity stopped working, the generators automatically kicked in. When those ran out of fuel, it was every man and animal for themselves.

As a last resort, zoos kept rifles on hand.

Joe Buck knew that too.

During his internship at a zoo, he was required to clean cages, a job he hated. The money wasn’t bad, and nothing much happened except for the time some kid climbed over an enclosure in the gorilla exhibit. Panic ensued as the gorilla dragged the poor dazed kid around like it was a baby gorilla. The kid’s mom screamed bloody murder, other visitors gawked at the real-life drama, unsure how to help except to make noise to try to coax the gorilla into relinquishing the kid.

Nothing worked except for the blunt-nose solid slug from a .375 H&H Magnum bolt-action elephant rifle.

The prize he was after.

The gorilla was dead before it hit the pavement. The kid was okay though.

Joe opened the glove compartment, the console, pushing around papers and other useless items in search of a weapon. Instead, he found a cell phone charger, a woman’s compact, lipstick, a pen, a child’s squeaky toy, a flashlight he pocketed, and even if it didn’t work, he could use it as a weapon.

In the back floorboard, behind the passenger seat, Joe spied children’s books, crayons, a well-used stuffed toy, an umbrella, and an empty box of animal crackers. He leaned over and reached further under the backseat. His hand came in contact with a canvas backpack.

Bingo.

Not the kind a school kid would take to class, rather one used for a specific purpose – the purpose Joe was searching for.

Reaching over at an awkward angle, he lugged the heavy backpack into the front seat and plopped it down next to him. He flinched at the pain in his shoulder, aggravated from a war injury. He massaged his shoulder and rotated his arm until the pain subsided.

In the first pocket he unzipped he found a plastic water bottle. He twisted the top off and guzzled half of the tepid water. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, took another gulp, and—

He froze at the sensation of pressure on his shoulder.

In a millisecond of time, his mind whirled over what it could be: man or animal.

Something or someone was touching him.

Regardless of who or what it was, it couldn’t be good.

Chapter 20

Joe twisted his body around, latched his hand onto a bony structure, and pummeled it with his other hand.

He landed three good punches.

“Stop! Please stop!” It was a woman’s voice. “Don’t drink all my water.”

Joe released his grip, mortified he had been hitting a woman. He flicked on the flashlight he had pocketed earlier and shined it in the backseat. Maybe he was lucky after all since the EMP should have rendered the flashlight batteries useless.

“Who are you?” Before the woman had time to answer, he said in a scolding tone, “You shouldn’t have snuck up on me. You scared the beejesus out of me. I could’ve hurt you.”

“Oh yeah?” she quipped back. “I was here first, and since possession is nine tenths of the law, you have no claim to this van.”

“Is this your van?” Joe asked.

“Umm, well, I uh—”

“Then no, it’s not yours. Am I right?”

“I guess so. I uh… oh never mind. It doesn’t matter whose van it is. I’m in it and I’m not giving it up to you or to anyone else.”

“Okay, lady. It’s yours,” Joe explained. He twisted all the way around to get a good look at the woman. “It obviously doesn’t work and I don’t want it anyway.”

“You don’t?”

“No. I don’t need a van. I need a weapon.”

“To do what with? Shoot defenseless animals?”

“To protect myself, that’s what. And in case you haven’t noticed, there’s a shit storm outside. Come to think of it, I have a few questions for you.”

“Go on.”

“I’m Joe Buck. What’s your name?”

“Hannah Hammer, and if you say anything about my name, you can open the door and go back to wherever you crawled away from.” Hannah leaned back in the seat, huffed, and crossed her arms over her chest.

“You’re putting words in my mouth without me even saying anything, and making assumptions. And what’s up with the buffalo size chip