Pilgrimage: Fracture Book 6: (A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller) by Kenny Soward & Mike Kraus

Author:Kenny Soward & Mike Kraus [Soward, Kenny]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Muonic Press Inc
Published: 2022-04-07T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

Ben Willard, Nevada Desert

A muffled explosion shocked Ben from a light, listless sleep where he’d been traipsing on the edges of the dream that he couldn’t quite grasp. The woof of the 12-gauge tripwire followed by Bagley’s snap-jawed barking sent him spinning on his sleeping bag, springing to his hands and knees, and grabbing his rifle. Wide-eyed and blinking at the darkness, he waited to hear something more as a waft of gun smoke drifted by.

Head turning with disorientation, he focused on the crack of light that was his tent flap, where the lantern glowed dimly beneath the tarps they’d set up. Rising into a stooped position, he crept toward the tent’s entrance and threw back the flap with his left arm. A shadow rushed at him around their card table, pressing up close, snatching his shirt and forcing him to look upward. Still mentally muddy, Ben grabbed for the man’s collar to hold him back, pausing when he blinked into his father’s face.

“Shhh,” Joe hissed, their noses two inches apart, not waiting for Ben to reply but dragging him from beneath the protective tarpaulin and around his tent, away from the light and Bagley’s barking, and his mother.

He tripped over a rock, pain boring up his foot, reminding him he’d forgot to tug on his boots before exiting his tent. Sharp stones stabbed his feet through his socks, bringing him awake faster than a triple shot of espresso injected into his veins. Whispers drifted around them, shoes shuffled on the stone, air shifting. They’d parked the vehicles on either side of the camp for easy access and protection, and Joe was guiding him along the GMC’s side, away from the tents. Bagley’s baying stopped, allowing the voices and the scuffling boots to sound even louder in the darkness, Ben’s shoulders pinching tight at the base of his neck as they reached the left front fender and paused.

Teeth clamped, gripping his gun at his hip, he leaned in and hissed, “Dad, where are we going? We’re leaving Mom—”

“Shut up,” Joe snapped over his shoulder, turning around the edge and pulling Ben past the truck’s grill. He let go near the passenger side corner, the old man pivoting on the balls of his feet like someone half his age.

Ben could barely stay upright as pinpricks of pain lanced through his heels. Through the anger and surprise at the rude awakening, he came awake, stepping lighter, rifle raised and pointed to the left, away from Joe and into the threatening darkness. He didn’t know what his father planned on doing, but he had to trust his reasoning, whatever it was.

As they crept along the GMC’s passenger side, heading back toward the tents, Ben’s ears tilted at the shuffling sounds, focusing on the direction and volume, still unable to triangulate their exact location. Echoes bounced off the rocks. A rounded boulder shape loomed just up ahead, sitting three feet left of the truck’s rear end. He remembered thinking at the time that

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