Read After: Red Scare (AFTER post-apocalyptic series, Book 5) for Free Online Page A
Authors: Scott Nicholson
that weird glimmer of fire in her eyes. Somehow she’d gone half Zap, and when Shipley’s men attacked the compound, she abandoned Franklin to join the Zapheads. Worse, the little boy Stephen and Rachel’s other companions went missing in the battle, and Franklin was right back where he started.
Alone.
And now far from his remote home.
“Alone isn’t so bad,” he said aloud.
Even the sound of his own voice made him lonely. The worst part of this whole damned escapade was discovering he wasn’t nearly as tough and self-reliant as he imagined himself to be.
Newton was still five miles away, but already the houses had grown more numerous. He didn’t think any survivors were holed up in them, given the number of Zapheads in the area. Still, he stuck to the dirt roads instead of the highways because he didn’t trust other survivors any more than he trusted the mutants or the military.
“No going back,” he said in cadence with his steps, almost as a marching chant.
He’d let the goats loose to forage in the forest, just as he’d done with the Jiminez horses. The chickens were on their own as well but probably wouldn’t last the week, considering the number of predators in the wild. He could always return for his solar-power supply and radio, but he had a feeling that his years of survivalist planning put him in no better position than the average lawyer, corporate executive, or Hollywood actor.
“No going back,” he repeated, as if to convince himself.
Lots of houses available. The real estate market is wide open. People are practically dying to find new owners. Har-dee-fucking-har-har.
The muffled gunfire dissipated as he descended into the valley. Shipley had likely ordered a probing assault, not a full-on attack of the town. But Franklin couldn’t rule out the possibility of a civilian militia. And Rachel’s buddy Lt. Hilyard was on a mission to gather some of the soldiers who had joined Shipley’s mutiny against him. The officer had brass balls for sure, and probably wrapped them in red, white, and blue.
“No going back !” he shouted, just to disrupt the oppressive quiet or piss off God or maybe just to remind himself that he existed.
“No going back where, compadre ?”
Franklin didn’t recognize the voice, but he certainly recognized the metallic click of a round being chambered. He froze, mentally calculating the distance and probable location of the speaker.
I’m locked and loaded. A quick spin while spraying off a few bursts and I’ve got a chance.
Not much of one, but a chance.
“Don’t even think about it, Wheeler.”
Franklin kept thinking about it. “Let me guess. You’re one of Shipley’s goons.”
“If I was, you’d be about a hundred-and-sixty pounds of ugly hamburger right about now. So drop it before you do something stupid.”
Franklin shook his head. “Sorry. I was born stupid and got worse with age.”
“We’re on the same side here.” This second voice was female, young and nearly pleasant aside from the strain in the words.
So playing hero and going out in a blaze glory was off the menu. He’d need one-eyed-Jack blind luck to take down one of them, but against two guns, the house held all the aces. And no telling how many jokers up the sleeve.
He turned his head slightly to the side, his peripheral vision worthless because of the thick forest, suburban jungle, and crumbling homesteads. “How do I know I can trust you?”
The first man laughed. “From what I hear, you’re the most paranoid man in the world. And that was back when the world had seven billion people.”
“We don’t want to shoot you.” The woman sounded as weary as Franklin felt.
Okay. If worse comes to worse, at least I get to rest for a minute .
He eased his rifle to the road, careful not to scratch the finish. Then he held up his arms in the universal sign of surrender and slowly turned to face his ambushers.
The man was a couple of inches over six feet, bearded like most
Alone.
And now far from his remote home.
“Alone isn’t so bad,” he said aloud.
Even the sound of his own voice made him lonely. The worst part of this whole damned escapade was discovering he wasn’t nearly as tough and self-reliant as he imagined himself to be.
Newton was still five miles away, but already the houses had grown more numerous. He didn’t think any survivors were holed up in them, given the number of Zapheads in the area. Still, he stuck to the dirt roads instead of the highways because he didn’t trust other survivors any more than he trusted the mutants or the military.
“No going back,” he said in cadence with his steps, almost as a marching chant.
He’d let the goats loose to forage in the forest, just as he’d done with the Jiminez horses. The chickens were on their own as well but probably wouldn’t last the week, considering the number of predators in the wild. He could always return for his solar-power supply and radio, but he had a feeling that his years of survivalist planning put him in no better position than the average lawyer, corporate executive, or Hollywood actor.
“No going back,” he repeated, as if to convince himself.
Lots of houses available. The real estate market is wide open. People are practically dying to find new owners. Har-dee-fucking-har-har.
The muffled gunfire dissipated as he descended into the valley. Shipley had likely ordered a probing assault, not a full-on attack of the town. But Franklin couldn’t rule out the possibility of a civilian militia. And Rachel’s buddy Lt. Hilyard was on a mission to gather some of the soldiers who had joined Shipley’s mutiny against him. The officer had brass balls for sure, and probably wrapped them in red, white, and blue.
“No going back !” he shouted, just to disrupt the oppressive quiet or piss off God or maybe just to remind himself that he existed.
“No going back where, compadre ?”
Franklin didn’t recognize the voice, but he certainly recognized the metallic click of a round being chambered. He froze, mentally calculating the distance and probable location of the speaker.
I’m locked and loaded. A quick spin while spraying off a few bursts and I’ve got a chance.
Not much of one, but a chance.
“Don’t even think about it, Wheeler.”
Franklin kept thinking about it. “Let me guess. You’re one of Shipley’s goons.”
“If I was, you’d be about a hundred-and-sixty pounds of ugly hamburger right about now. So drop it before you do something stupid.”
Franklin shook his head. “Sorry. I was born stupid and got worse with age.”
“We’re on the same side here.” This second voice was female, young and nearly pleasant aside from the strain in the words.
So playing hero and going out in a blaze glory was off the menu. He’d need one-eyed-Jack blind luck to take down one of them, but against two guns, the house held all the aces. And no telling how many jokers up the sleeve.
He turned his head slightly to the side, his peripheral vision worthless because of the thick forest, suburban jungle, and crumbling homesteads. “How do I know I can trust you?”
The first man laughed. “From what I hear, you’re the most paranoid man in the world. And that was back when the world had seven billion people.”
“We don’t want to shoot you.” The woman sounded as weary as Franklin felt.
Okay. If worse comes to worse, at least I get to rest for a minute .
He eased his rifle to the road, careful not to scratch the finish. Then he held up his arms in the universal sign of surrender and slowly turned to face his ambushers.
The man was a couple of inches over six feet, bearded like most