Read Rise From The Ashes: The Rebirth of San Antonio (Countdown to Armageddon Book 3) for Free Online Page A

“Now I know you’re confusing love with something more physical.”
         “Whatever. The bottom line is, we happen to outnumber you at the present time, so we get to choose what we want to talk about.”
         Tom was unswayed.
         “Hey, Jordan. What do you think about all of this?”
         “Leave me out of this one, Tom. You dug your own grave, and I’m not going to let you drag me into it with you.”
         Hannah looked at Linda and laughed.
         “That’s a smart boy you raised there.”
         Joyce looked at the kids, sound asleep and dreaming little kid dreams.
         “Should we try to move them?”
         “No, let’s not. If Scott makes it back tonight, they’ll want to be here to greet him. If not, we can wake them up at sunrise to send them upstairs.”
         “They look so peaceful when they’re sleeping. Like little angels.”
         “Yeah, well, looks can be very deceiving.”
         It was five thirty when Linda thought she heard a squawk on the radio.
         “Scott, this is Linda. Was that you?”
         Nothing.
         “Scott, this is Linda. Did you say something?”
         Still nothing.
         They weren’t quite sure what the squawk was. A bit of atmospheric interference, perhaps. Or maybe someone else on the same frequency. Perhaps it was Scott, on the outer edges of the radio’s range, trying to get a signal.
         In any event, it was a moot point. The sun was breaking over the horizon. If it was Scott, he would be bedding down and waiting for the night to return. He wouldn’t be getting any closer than he was right now, and his signal wouldn’t be getting any stronger.
         And it wouldn’t be any easier for the rest of them to get through this new day without knowing where or how he was.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    -7 -
     
         Scott lay on the couch for what seemed hours, debating on whether to move. The bleeding seemed to have stopped on both his entry and exit wounds. His shoulder was still mostly numb. The searing pain from the night before was now more a dull ache.
         He was thirsty. But all in all, he didn’t think he was in too bad of shape for a man who’d been shot and left for dead. And he wondered if he was better off just staying thirsty, instead of moving and taking the chance of restarting the bleeding.
         He very gingerly felt the area around the wound. It didn’t feel hot to the touch, or particularly hard. He wasn’t a medical expert, but he took that to mean that he wasn’t bleeding internally. At least not to the degree that he’d lose all of his blood.
         Still, he knew he couldn’t lay here forever. He was in a comfortable and safe setting, but no one lived here anymore. No one would show up to help him. He had to keep his wits about him, and figure out a way to get himself to a hospital.
         He dozed off to sleep again.
         When he awakened, it was no longer dark outside. From the angle of the light coming through the window, he guessed late morning.
         He was parched. He needed water.
         As gingerly as he could, he eased himself off of the couch and onto his knees. He knew not to stand too quickly. He knew that blood loss would cause him lightheadedness and he might pass out again.
         And he knew if he passed out from a standing position and hit the floor hard, the bleeding would probably restart.
         So he took his time.
         First, he was on both knees next to the couch. Then one knee. Then on both feet, but bent over with his hands on his knees.
         And slowly… very slowly, he lifted his head and straightened his body.
         And he felt dizzy. He felt himself starting to pass out.
         He bent over again and put his hands back on his knees to steady himself. And took several deep breaths.
         When he felt he was