Finding Shelter: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller (The EMP Book 8) by Ryan Westfield

Author:Ryan Westfield [Westfield, Ryan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-06-05T22:00:00+00:00

13

Max

The blows rained down on Max. His body quivered in pain. His body was so full of pain that it became pain.

If he'd been able to think a single normal thought, it would have been that what he hated most of all was simply not being able to fight back. The pain wasn't the hardest thing for him to deal with. It was the lack of agency. The lack of taking action.

Max's mouth was somehow full of dry earth. It felt horrible in his mouth. Dry. Disgusting. It hit the back of his throat. His face was pressed into the dirt now. A boot pressed hard down on his back. He felt the pain in his spine radiating up towards his skull.

Another boot came down hard, right onto his shoulder blade.

Max couldn't help it. He let out a scream of pain. Dry. As if the saliva was gone from his mouth.

For so long, Max had been searching for an answer. He'd been searching for someone or something to bring order out of chaos. From what he'd heard, the man who could do it was Grant.

Max had thought he'd needed to find Grant. To talk to him. To work for him.

And he'd finally found him.

He'd found Grant.

The same man who was kicking him. The same man who was inflicting so much psychical pain. The same man who was about to kill him.

Max had found what he'd thought he needed, only to discover that he'd needed something else entirely all along.

Max should have never left Mandy. Never left his unborn child. Never left the camp.

He should have never come.

And now he'd never get a second chance.

It was a hell of a way to go out. After everything that he'd avoided, all the danger he'd fought through, he'd finally dug his own grave by marching right into the lion's den. Max only had himself to blame. He'd delivered himself right to Grant.

The boots were off Max's back now. No pressure. No weight.

Max could move. He shifted his weight around, bending his knee, pushing with his hand against the ground. He was going to get up. He was going to fight. Maybe he wouldn't live, but at least he'd go down fighting.

But before Max could get up, another boot smashed into his side, sending him collapsing back to the ground, letting out a grunt of pain.

"I thought you were the type of man who'd let me get up to fight," said Max, laboriously, through gritted teeth. His breathing was heavy and labored. It was difficult to speak through the pain.

"I'm the type of man who knows not to give his enemies any chance," growled Grant.

Another boot smashed into Max. This time into his face.

Max felt the pain. His lip burst open. More blood in his mouth. Pain in his cheek. Deep in it. A couple of teeth loose. Tumbling around his mouth. More blood. More pain.

"This'll be better with... using my own two hands," growled Grant.

Max was on his back, lying in the dirt. Struggling to get up.

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