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

she blew on it until it cooled. After several sips, she was able to relax. Her headache eased enough to make it bearable.

“Now, what’s got you so riled up?” Sandy asked.

“It’s Luke. And Derek.” Liz sighed and rubbed her eyes. “They’re both dead set on attacking the cultists, and I’m running out of arguments as to why they shouldn’t. They’re so focused on eliminating any potential threat that they don’t seem to be considering the inherent danger.”

Sandy nodded. She stirred a cube of sugar into her tea. “That’s what they were trained to do. Search and destroy.”

Liz took her cup in both hands, letting the soothing warmth travel through her body. “I’d prefer they didn’t take such a direct approach.”

“You know, it’s not just about eliminating a potential threat, real or imagined,” Sandy said.

“How do you mean?” Liz set down her cup on the crate they were using as a table.

“At the end of the day, it’s about exerting a sense of control.” Sandy looked down at her teacup then gave her a wry smile. “It’s the same reason I brewed this tea. It’s a routine I used to have before the bombs. Engaging in it makes me feel like I have some degree of control over my universe. I may not be able to wish away my problems, but I can at least brew a good cup of tea.”

“I guess I do the same thing. I’ve been trying to inventory everything and plan for every contingency. It makes me feel better. Like things aren’t a total disaster.”

“We don’t really have control over our lives. Not completely. It’s an illusion.”

“I don’t like where this is going.” Liz frowned. “Are you saying nothing we do matters? I might as well walk under ladders and go swimming in a thunderstorm because it doesn’t mean anything anyway?”

Sandy chuckled and shook her head. “That’s not quite what I mean. You plan things and take precautions, but you really can’t control your destiny. That’s not for you to decide.”

“Well, it’s not for the Children of the Bomb to decide either.” Liz chewed her lower lip. “One way or the other, that cult is ruining our lives. Even when we try to ignore them, the knowledge that they are out there hangs over everything we do. I can’t stop thinking about them. We should have destroyed them the first time. I feel like I failed.”

“You didn’t fail. You’re not the kind of woman who shoots men in the head. But that’s what you’ve been doing ever since the bombs dropped. We take control when we can, however we can. You took command of the situation, and you killed the original leader of the cult. You did what you had to do. You made a choice. The right one if you ask me,” Sandy said.

“But I’m just barely holding it together. I feel like one little nudge will send me over the edge. How can I protect my family when my husband is so damn determined to get shot at?” Liz put her face in her hands.

“The men aren’t stupid. They won’t take unnecessary risks. They want safety as much as the rest of us. Try not to worry. Edwin told me Derek and Luke are going to look over the COB’s headquarters tonight. We’ll know more after they get home.” Sandy smirked. “Home. Can you believe this place is home now?”

Liz shook her head.

“Me either. But it is what it is. No sense getting all upset about it. At least we have stuff that passes as food, and we have enough water.”

“For now.”

“For now,” Sandy agreed. “Let’s take things one step at a time. It’s really all we can do anyway.”

“You’re right.”

Liz peered into the teacup as if it held secrets from the future. Sandy was right. Ultimately, Liz wasn’t in control. It was a foreign feeling. She was so used to having a routine that not having one was extremely agitating.

Maybe she needed to get back into her meditation practice. She’d had to leave her yoga mat at home, but it didn’t matter. She’s spent plenty of time being uncomfortable. She might as well get used to it.

Kyle couldn’t wait to attack the second of the three locked doors in the shelter. Riding the high of his first success, he skipped toward the door. After unlocking it, he pushed as hard as he could. The doorknob turned, but it wouldn’t open. He studied the hinges. They were slightly rusted. Probably stuck.

He’d seen his dad deal with a similar problem once when their shed’s door wouldn’t open. He needed to grease the hinges. As he scratched his head, he remembered seeing several cans with spray nozzles in a nearby supply room.

“I’ll start looking over there,” he said under his breath.

When he walked into the other room, he spotted rows of cans on an upper shelf. Unable to reach it, he pulled a chair over. He tested his weight on it before fully standing on it. It didn’t feel very stable, so he quickly snatched as many cans as he could grab.

He jumped off the chair. It toppled over behind him. He set his haul on the floor and bent to study the labels. A can of WD-40 stood out. Kyle was pretty sure that was what his dad used to loosen up the shed.

Back at the door, he sprayed a generous amount on each of the hinges. He waited about a minute before testing the door. He felt some give for the first time, but the door remained stuck. He grabbed the bottle and resprayed the hinges. This time he decided to wait longer for the stuff to work.

He leaned against the wall opposite the door and glared at it. There was no doubt something amazing behind that door. Perhaps there was a cool military weapon, like a bazooka. Or maybe this was the secret door to a nuclear missile. Kyle had always wanted to see one up close. The bombing of his country