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

ate almost as much as his father, so he should be counted as an adult. Sandy wasn’t a big eater, but her husband Edwin was, so any potential surplus would be accounted for anyway.

Derek ate like a goddamn horse, which was to be expected given his age, size, and activity level. For herself, rationing food wouldn’t hurt, but the thought of listening to Sierra complain made her—

Sierra.

The memory of her daughter’s death crushed Liz’s spirit. She’d been planning for seven mouths to feed, but now there was one less. Sierra’s death meant the supplies would last that much longer. She felt guilty for even thinking it, but it was the truth.

Liz’s vision grew blurry with tears. She shoved a hand against a barrel to hold herself up as sobs wracked her thin frame. Liz had strained to keep her family safe through all the terror of the bomb and the rampant lawlessness that followed. That was why she’d gone up against the Children of the Bomb in the first place, to protect her family. Not out of some gung-ho sense of militarism or revenge like Derek and Luke. But that was then and this was now. She’d failed to neutralize the threat against her family. Now Sierra laid in the cold, hard ground, totally alone.

How in the world was she supposed to carry on? Her heart was broken. If it weren’t for Kyle, she would have given up already, but she had to stay strong for him.

She sank to her knees and thumped her hand against the barrels, sobbing uncontrollably. In her mind, Sierra’s body kept being lowered into the ground, then covered with dirt. Over and over, she replayed the scene, unable to stop the cycle of guilt, misery, and loneliness.

After a time, she cried herself out. She rocked back and forth while hugging her knees. Her nose had clogged up completely. She could only imagine how terrible she looked with a red, swollen face. Struggling to keep it together, she wiped her face with the clean handkerchief she kept in her back pocket. She took several deep breaths until she felt like she was in control again. Almost.

The grief kept hitting her like ocean waves. For a while, she’d be functional. Not happy, not over her pain, but functional. Then another wave of sorrow would hit, inundating her and dragging her under. In those moments, she knew what Hell must be like. Hell was losing your child despite your best efforts to save them. Hell was trying to make your way in this nightmarish world, knowing that you will never hear your daughter’s laugh or see her smile again.

Liz broke down again, muffling her cries with the handkerchief so no one would hear her. The last thing she wanted to deal with was Luke or someone else trying to console her. Sometimes, you just had to be alone with your grief.

Once she’d composed herself again, she heaved a heavy sigh. She wiped her face clean and rose to her feet. She finished her inventory and tucked the clipboard under her arm. Being overwhelmed by grief was a luxury she no longer had. Work had to be done every day to ensure their survival, and she needed to do her part.

Life goes on, she thought bitterly, for everyone but Sierra.

Derek rammed his shoulder into the shelter door again. It still refused to budge. Cursing under his breath, he examined the hinges for rust or signs of breakage but found none. Behind him, Sandy shifted her weight from foot to foot while trying to be patient.

“Do you want me to find Edwin to help you?” she asked.

“No.” Derek shook his head, annoyed that he couldn’t open the door by himself. “I think it’s starting to give way. I’ll break it open in a bit.”

“Or you’ll break your arm trying.” Derek shot her a glance, and Sandy chuckled. “I’m just saying. There’s nothing wrong with asking for help now and then.”

“Of course not. Ugh!” Derek slammed himself into the door again. This time he did feel it budge a half an inch. “But I don’t—ugh—happen to—ugh—need any help.”

Derek rammed the door until it flew open. He stumbled in a few feet and nearly fell, catching himself on a large console of plain gray metal. Sandy came in behind him with her flashlight in tow.

“Wow.” She swung the yellow beam about the room, slicing out cone-shaped wedges of light. Large consoles as tall as Derek and covered in unmarked buttons lined the walls. Spools of magnetic tape were visible through clear glass near the top of several machines. “I haven’t seen computers like this since I was a little girl.”

Derek flicked on the light switch. The bulbs overhead buzzed and flickered for a moment before putting out a steady stream of light.

“Thank God the power’s still working in here.” Sandy turned off her flashlight.

“Can you figure out how it works? If not, maybe Edwin could take a look. He knows radios.”

“Maybe.” Derek rubbed his stubbled chin before pressing a few buttons. “Bingo!”

One of the consoles beeped several times, and its magnetic tapes whirred. The sound of a printer caught their attention.

After searching for a moment, Sandy located the printer. She carefully tore off a thin sheet of paper and read the faded message.

“Naval blockade to continue until further notice. DEFCON 3.” She looked up at Derek and grinned. “It’s dated October 24, 1962. Do you know what that means?”

Derek arched an eyebrow and scratched the back of his head. “No, I’m afraid I don’t.”

“I forget you’re too young to have lived through the Cuban Missile Crisis. I guess that’s the last time this facility was used,” she said.

Derek grunted. It was interesting but not particularly useful information.

“I just love this stuff.” Sandy walked around the room, checking out each piece of equipment. “There’s so much history in this room. Who knows what’s on those tapes? Maybe confirmation of the flying saucer at Area 51?”

Derek shook his head. Aliens? For an