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

He scowled and grabbed his lock-picking kit. As he brushed past his mom, she sighed. He didn’t stop walking. If he stayed, he’d say something he’d regret. He had absolutely no doubt about that.

After dropping the Wrights off at the bunker, Luke decided to take a quick trip back to his cabin. He’d left Derek with the Wrights so he could give them the grand tour of their new home. In the meantime, Luke picked a trail through the woods. He stayed alert for any unexpected sounds.

Coming out under cover of darkness would work to his advantage because it would make it harder for the enemy to see him. But it also worked against him because he wouldn’t see them until it was too late. He hoped he’d be able to hear them before they heard him.

When he reached the edge of the woods, he studied the cabin. It was dark. No lights shined from inside. Nothing moved. He gripped his rifle with both hands. His right forefinger rested across the trigger guard, ready for the first sign of a threat.

He needed to grab some things from the shed, items he couldn’t afford to leave unattended. He didn’t want the cult members to find anything useful, especially not his other guns.

As far as he could tell, he was alone. He crept out of the trees, moving quickly but quietly toward the shed behind the cabin. He unlocked it and slipped inside, latching the door behind him. He glanced out the small, dirty window, but the night remained still.

He pried up a loose floorboard near the back of the shed and tossed it aside. He pulled out a large, black duffel bag and unzipped it to check the contents. Inside were four AR-15’s, four Kevlar vests, boxes of ammunition, and a case that housed four not-quite-legal frag grenades.

He closed the bag and set it aside before pulling a long, flat case from under the floor. He unclasped the latches and flipped it open, revealing his disassembled, camouflaged .300 Winchester Magnum rifle with suppressor, folding stock, and high-powered Nightforce scope. It was a gun he’d used during a few of his tours, and it had saved his ass more than once. Seeing it brought on a strange mix of nostalgia and regret, but he managed to shut out the emotions and remain focused on his task.

He re-latched the case and set it on the floor.

After replacing the floorboard, he grabbed the duffle bag and gun case and headed toward the cabin. Once inside, he placed his bags near the front door. He locked it before hurrying over to the couch in the den. He ripped off the cushions and lifted the false bottom. Four large, sheathed knives and a crossbow were stored in the hiding place, along with a few dozen arrows.

He strapped two of the knives to his utility belt and was carrying the other two over to the bags by the door when a flash of light outside caught his eye. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, but he forced himself to walk toward the bags as if he hadn’t seen anything. If anyone were out there in the woods, he didn’t want them to know he’d seen them. If they’d wanted to kill him, they would have shot him already. Or maybe he’d just imagined the quick flash of light.

He moved out of view and dropped to the floor. He crawled toward his gun case. After flipping it open, he grabbed the rifle and attached the scope. He stood and placed his back to the wall. He slid along it toward the small window next to the door.

He quickly glanced out the window. He spotted two hostiles in the tree line. Another one moved along the south side of the cabin. There were at least three, maybe more. They were probably armed if they were bold enough to come this close.

He adjusted his scope and positioned his rifle toward the man to the south. He’d be easier to pick off first, and with him gone, Luke could focus his attention on the other two men.

Luke took a few slow breaths to steady himself. He braced the stock against his shoulder and squinting through the scope. Adjusting his position until the man was centered in the crosshairs, he blew out a breath and squeezed the trigger.

The shot shattered the window. Luke watched through the scope as the man fell forward, faceplanting in the snow. One down, two to go.

He swung the scope back toward the other men.

Glass shattered.

The second he realized the sound came from behind him, he spun toward the rear windows. Two men busted through the broken glass.

16

A naked, clear glass bulb buzzed over Liz’s head as she stood in one of the shelter’s storage rooms. Among the various Cold War relics, they discovered clerical and office supplies, including the clipboard and pen she held.

She counted the water barrels stacked on top of each other at the back of the concrete chamber. Each barrel held fifty gallons, which seemed like a lot.

But then she crunched the numbers. She knew from her days as a fitness buff that the average human needed at least a half-gallon of water each day to remain healthy. If she divided the amount by seven—counting her family, as well as the Wrights and Derek—it came out to roughly two weeks per barrel.

She clucked her tongue as she examined the water supply. With four barrels, they could last for two months, a pitifully short time. And that didn’t include bathing or cleaning their clothes.

“Think, Liz, think,” she muttered.

There had to be a solution. On the mountain, there were various sources of fresh water, including a large lake. There was also a purification system which, while currently nonfunctional, could probably be repaired.

Still, providing enough food and fresh water for seven people had proven to be a tough prospect. Mentally, she ran through the group.

Kyle was young but