America Strong_A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller by Keith Taylor

Author:Keith Taylor [Taylor, Keith]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-06-25T22:00:00+00:00

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12 :::

CHIEF ROBERTS KNEW he was going to die.

He should have been paying more attention to the road. He should have listened to Abi when she pointed out the folks who were following the Humvee, but he’d been too busy worrying about the foul taste of gas in his mouth to wonder why they were there. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He was paying for it now, though, and then some. He didn’t know where the shot had come from. Hadn’t even heard it. The first he knew about it was when the bullet tore through his thigh and buried itself in the dash. Somehow – he didn’t even remember doing it – he’d managed to pull the driver’s door closed before passing out from the pain. The last thing he’d seen before the darkness closed in was a guy standing at the back of the truck, and Abi falling to the ground.

The attackers hadn’t been interested in him. They hadn’t even cared enough to stick around and make sure he was dead, even though it only would have cost them an extra minute or so. The Humvee’s doors weren’t locked. The chief was unconscious and completely helpless. They could have pulled open the door and put a bullet in his skull, but they didn’t seem to care. He was just a distraction, a fly to be swatted away and forgotten.

They’d only been interested in Abi.

Lord knows how long he’d been unconscious. Five minutes? Ten? By the look of the blood soaked into the driver’s seat it hadn’t been all that long, but plenty long enough to drain him of a dangerous volume. He was already woozy when he came to, his ears ringing and his stomach fluttering, his body warning him that it didn’t have quite enough oil to keep everything running as it should. A little voice in his head told him he’d already lost too much. He was already on borrowed time.

It had been ten years since the chief had sat through a first aid course, and even longer since he’d sat through one without dozing off halfway through the day. He fought against his exhaustion, trying to remember what to do next. The left leg of his pants was deep red, warm and sticky, but the entry and exit holes in the fabric were clear, a few inches apart and a few inches above the knee. He tore a hole, fighting back a wave of nausea at the sight of the wounds, and pressed his hands against both to stem the bleeding. The pain was almost enough to make him pass out again. He panted through clenched teeth, saliva mixing with the tears dripping from his chin.

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