Atomic Threat (Book 3): Survive The End Read online

  Survive the End

  A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller - Atomic Threat Book 3

  Dave Bowman

  Copyright © 2020 by Dave Bowman

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  About the Author

  Also by Dave Bowman

  1

  11:34 AM - White Rock, Arizona

  There were six guards, and Jack was watching all of them.

  From the roof of a three-story building, he could see their hiding places.

  They were stationed near the interstate, dotted behind buildings and clusters of trees. They shifted restlessly, waiting for a vehicle to appear on I-10.

  Since running vehicles were few and far between, they didn't concern themselves much with staying hidden during this downtime. The sound of a distant engine traveling east or west on the interstate would give them plenty of time to position themselves out of sight from a driver’s vantage point.

  Then, if a driver stopped to siphon gas from one of the abandoned vehicles clustered in that area, the six guards would ambush them.

  And if the driver didn’t stop? Jack suspected the men would start shooting at the passing vehicle, trying to kill or wound the driver.

  These guys were serious. They meant to steal every car that passed through the small city.

  But stealing cars was the least of their crimes. Jack knew that firsthand.

  Most of the men sat, yawning and trying to stay awake. A couple of them paced anxiously back and forth. They wiped the sweat from their brows, hot and red from the late morning Arizona sun.

  Must be hard work terrorizing an entire city, he thought to himself as he watched the men with disgust.

  Jack squinted through the scope of his rifle. He had spent most of the morning searching for ammo. He kept his search confined to the downtown area, where he knew the gang members wouldn't venture. Even hardened criminals had their limits. They didn't want to spend time in the city center where a nuclear bomb had blown a huge swath of the city to smithereens.

  Miraculously, he had found some ammunition for his firearm in the manager's office of a greasy spoon diner. The restaurant had stood just beyond the blast radius, and it had survived the explosion. Jack was discovering all kinds of things people had kept behind closed doors, safe from the world to see.

  And now, that restaurant manager’s foresight would mean that Jack could go back into the gang's territory.

  Back into hell. Where they had kept Jack prisoner, handcuffed and chained to a bed for two nights as punishment for back-talking their leader.

  Well, not just punishment.

  They had intended to break Jack, both physically and mentally. That was how they had taken over this small city. They had broken people’s wills, stripped them of any hope of ever escaping and returning to freedom.

  But they hadn’t succeeded. Not on Jack.

  Through luck and sheer will, he managed to escape that blood-soaked motel they had kept him in.

  But Naomi and Brent were still being held in those prisons.

  Jack had fought so hard to escape, and now he was going back in. But first, he had to get the gatekeepers out of the way.

  The sun rose higher. A few minutes later, two of the men rose to their feet. They said something to the other remaining men. Then the first two guards walked away, heading south toward the gang’s headquarters.

  Just as Jack expected.

  Two days before, when he, Naomi, and Brent had been ambushed on this very interstate, it had been around high noon. The men who captured them had taken the trio to their headquarters. There, Jack, Naomi, and Brent had been assessed, split up, and sent to separate detention centers.

  And who had been there at the headquarters, seated at a table and stuffing their faces with food cooked by their prisoners?

  The core twelve members of the gang. The ones who called the shots and were in charge of this operation.

  Below them were countless lower-ranked members. The trusted ones were armed guards. They were stationed at the entrance points to the gang’s territory. They watched over the workers, the drones – the prisoners. They made sure the prisoners didn’t revolt.

  The four men Jack now watched were the mid-level guys. Entrusted with weapons, loyal enough to run the carjacking operation, they were vetted members of the gang. But they weren’t the elite members.

  The two men walking south toward the adobe house were part of the elite crew – the core twelve members. And it was lunchtime.

  In his short interactions with these guys, Jack had watched them closely. The twelve men at the top were too power-drunk to give up their special privileges like a daily feast with their buddies. Not even after the crisis situation of last night. Not even when their numbers had been reduced by two.

  At least Jack thought two of the core members had been killed last night.

  Oscar, the leader of the group, had been the one to assess new prisoners. He’d raked his eyes over Jack, Naomi, and Brent as they stood in that big adobe house two days ago and decided which detention center – prison – to send them. He’d been calling the shots.

  But then last night, Dox, the second in command, had burst into Jack’s room and announced he was taking things over. Dox had killed the leader.

  And then Jack had killed Dox, just before making his escape.

  Now, just ten of the leaders were left standing. And they were all meeting in the headquarters right now. In just a few minutes, they’d be stuffed and sleepy, leaning back in their chairs and unbuckling their belts as Jack had seen them do two days ago.

  Now, Jack watched the two guards abandon their posts and disappear over the hill, headed toward that big adobe house where they ran their operation.

  And Jack happened to know that adobe bricks had excellent sound insulation properties. The guys meeting in that fancy house might not hear gunshots some distance away on the interstate.

  Down below, the remaining four guards ate packed lunches of sandwiches and packaged food.

  Good.

  The guard Jack would have to worry about the most was the closest one. The tall, wiry man stood behind a nearby building. He hadn’t sat down once. He paced back and forth, full of nervous energy. He scanned the area constantly. Jack had to be careful not to give his own position away.

  Jack’s eyes darted to the stand of junipers along the edge of the highway, where he monitored two more guards. One was l
azy and half-asleep, but the other was on high alert, clutching his rifle and studying the area.

  The fourth was farther away, on the far side of the interstate, stationed behind an abandoned car beside the meridian.

  Four guards. And not only would Jack have to get rid of them, but he’d also have to go down there and take a couple of their weapons. The magazines he’d found were of some help for his cause, but they weren’t enough. Not for what was coming after this initial confrontation.

  And the only protection he had was a flimsy wooden outcropping at the edge of the roof. It covered him fairly well. His enemies wouldn't be able to see him clearly. But the outcropping didn't offer much physical protection. Bullets would easily pierce the flimsy wooden structure. If he was going to survive this, he would have to keep down.

  The guard nearest him would have the best view of Jack's position. Jack planned to take him out first. Jack watched him now, pacing back and forth and munching on potato chips.

  It was almost time for Jack to make his move.

  The guards were distracted with their lunch. It would be easier now. Jack would have to keep this short – dispose of them, then use the access ladder on the back of the building to get to the ground level as quickly as possible. He would pick up the weapons from the closest guard, then he would clear the area.

  Though the ten core members were blocks away, enjoying their lunch in the adobe house, the sound of gunfire would alert other, closer members of the group. No doubt there were several other checkpoints along the interstate. The sound of Jack's rifle – and the blasts from the guards as they would return fire – would send dozens more men running.

  Jack would have to get out of sight before they arrived.

  As soon as the first round fired, time would start ticking. He’d have only moments to finish the whole thing.

  Over in the juniper trees, the lazy guard was chowing down on a sandwich. Even the guard on high alert had shouldered his rifle while he drained the last of his soda. On the far side of the interstate, the guard behind the car gave a quick look around before he began picking the lettuce off his sandwich.

  Everything was riding on this moment. Somewhere in the gang's territory, locked away in one of their makeshift work camps, Naomi and Brent were being kept prisoner. They were being forced to work. All of their hopes of making it to safety in Texas were becoming distant memories. They needed him.

  And somewhere in central Texas, Jack's wife needed him too. Perhaps she was struggling at that very moment, hoping against hope that her husband would make it home to her alive.

  There was no room for mistakes.

  Jack took a deep breath. He sighted the closest guard. Just as the guard made it to the end of his pacing loop, he turned and started moving away from Jack.

  Jack steadied himself. His trigger finger began to tense. Then, sure of his target, he pulled the trigger.

  The shot rang out through the sleepy, quiet town, its noise echoing between the buildings lining the interstate.

  The guard stumbled forward a few steps, then fell to the concrete like a felled tree.

  Jack focused on him a split second more, just enough time to send another round into the guy's back.

  Keeping himself low, Jack swiveled the barrel toward the men in the junipers.

  The standing guard had dropped his soda bottle and swung his rifle up to aim. He began to open fire on Jack. His aim was low. Jack used the opportunity to return fire.

  Soon, the guard dropped his gun and fell to his side.

  Two down.

  The farthest guard began shooting as well. But his aim was way off. Jack stayed where he was and focused on the next target.

  The slower guy in the trees had finally lifted his rifle. But before he could open fire, Jack hit him. The man lay sprawled on his back, immobile.

  Jack turned his sight toward the man by the meridian. He shot off a few rounds, but his aim was off by several feet to the right. He hadn't adjusted for the effects of the wind across such a large distance.

  Meanwhile, the guard's aim was getting better. Bullets whizzed by Jack's head, and Jack ducked down for a moment. Keeping below the outcropping, he inched over toward the side.

  Then, he raised his rifle again. Doing his best to correct for the discrepancy in elevation and the wind, he adjusted his aim. He fired several shots toward the man, who had continued aiming at Jack's original position.

  Finally, the guy yelled in agony. Jack fired off another round or two. Soon the guard was down, splayed out on the pavement below.

  Jack took a breath. The first part was over.

  Now, he would just need a quick look at the surroundings before heading to the ladder.

  The two men in the trees were dead.

  The first guard –

  Jack swallowed.

  The first guard was gone. He was still alive, as Jack could tell from the trail of blood leading away from the sidewalk. And the guard had taken his rifle with him.

  Panicked, Jack scanned the area below. He pushed himself to his feet, ran to the opposite wall and looked at the area below.

  Nothing. No sign of the first guard.

  Jack had lost him. And any second now, more men would show up. Jack looked around frantically.

  He had to get off the roof.

  He ran toward the access ladder at full sprint. Once there, he dropped down to a crouch. Kneeling behind the wooden roof outcropping, he waited a moment.

  He heard nothing, no movement or sound, save the pounding of his own heart.

  Behind him, voices shouted from farther west on the interstate.

  They were coming for him.

  He dared to raise his head just a bit, just enough to see over the edge through his scope.

  There was a flash of movement behind a garbage dumpster.

  Jack aimed. But he was too late.

  Off to the side, behind a parked car, another shooter that Jack hadn't spotted opened fire.

  All at once, he was trapped.

  The two shooters unleashed an onslaught of bullets toward the roof, sending bits of wood from the outcropping flying in every direction.

  Jack flattened himself to the ground. The rounds were coming too fast. He was unable to return fire.

  2

  Sunday, 6:22 a.m. - The Texas Hill Country

  Annie woke up shivering.

  She looked over at Harvey. He was still asleep. Or unconscious, rather. Charlotte was sleeping in the passenger seat of the car.

  Annie grabbed the pistol from her side and stood up awkwardly. Her muscles were tight from having spent the night sitting upright on the ground.

  She had dozed off for a bit. She guessed she hadn't been asleep for long. The sun still hadn't risen, and she had already spent long hours keeping watch through the night.

  She had managed to stay awake for most of the night, sitting in the grass and propped up against the car. Though Harvey was still tied up, he was dangerous. She had made the knots on his wrists and ankles tight, but she didn't trust the rope completely. Not after he had shot Charlotte.

  She rubbed her hands over her arms, trying to warm her skin. The temperature had fallen overnight, and dew had collected on the weeds. The dampness of the early morning chilled her to the core.

  Though she had been tempted to spend the night inside the shelter and relative warmth of the car, it would have been too risky. If Harvey had woken up, he might have gotten free of his bindings. He had already tried to steal their Porsche. He had snatched the .22 out of Charlotte's hands and turned it against her. And then the worst had happened.

  He had shot Charlotte.

  Somehow, Annie had managed to stop the bleeding, but just barely.

  Harvey would regain consciousness with a splitting headache, only to find himself tied up. He would be furious.

  Annie shivered again. This time, she wasn't sure if it was the cold or the fear of another confrontation that made her pull the sweater tighter around her neck.

>   Still though, she hadn't shot him. And she had her reasons. Their car was hopelessly stuck in a muddy ditch. And he had mentioned something about a farm nearby. Maybe if he had a gun pointed at him – by someone competent with firearms this time – he would be willing to help them push the car out of the ditch. Maybe there was some equipment on the farm that could help them. Or maybe there were more people that could help push the Porsche out.

  But he was still out cold. Annie thought he would have woken up by now. She knew she had given him a good crack on the head with a glass bottle, but she hadn't expected him to stay out this long.

  She's squinted over at his dark shape in the grass nearby. Was he dead?

  She inched over toward him, careful not to rustle the grass too much. It was still dark, so she had to get close to him to get a good look. Too close for her taste. She felt her heart quicken as she bent down to look at him. She gripped the pistol, her palms growing sweaty despite the cold.

  He was still alive. His chest was rising and falling like clockwork.

  Annie moved away from him again. She bent to pick up Harvey's cowboy hat from where she had left it in the grass. Feeling the stiffness in her back, she straightened up and perched the hat on her red hair. It provided at least a little warmth.

  She would have to make a decision. Spend another day stuck in the car, hoping that someone would magically appear to help push them out of the ditch? Wait for Harvey to come to, then force him to help? Or try to walk the countless miles to safety at Jack's old house in the country?