Shoot Like a Girl: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller (The SHTF Series Book 2) by L.L. Akers

Author:L.L. Akers [Akers, L.L.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Scorched Earth Publishing, LLC
Published: 2017-12-15T05:00:00+00:00

27

The Three E’s

“It’s Olivia,” Edith blurted out. She crossed her arms. “There was a terrible accident. So, you can mark twins off that list. There’s not a matching set anymore. And Mei went home…the other way. Alone. I have no idea where she lives.”

Trunk narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you lying again, Grandma?”

Edith slowly shook her head, her face burning with heat.

Trunk shrugged.

“Well, that’s a shame. My condolences.” He stonily stared at Edith and then reached out and patted her shoulder. “May Olivia rest in peace.”

Edith nodded, swallowing loudly.

“Okay! Let’s see what else is on the list you might could help us with then.”

He nonchalantly swiped up the paper, and bent his knees to squat down a foot, coming eye to eye with Edith.

She held her breath as he held his pose and stared at her for what seemed like eternity.

“I’ll take those!” He plucked her glasses off her nose, causing Edith to jerk away in fright. He lifted the glasses over her head with the chain still intact, and put them over his own head. Laughing, he walked into the den and plopped down into Elmer’s recliner, kicking his feet back.

He leaned back to look at Edith, still standing as still as a statue in the kitchen. “Bring me some coffee, honey,” he said, and winked.

Edith shook off a shiver, and sidestepped the other biker. “Excuse me.” She pulled a cup down from the cupboard and shakily poured the coffee, sloshing it onto the counter.

The other biker, Backfire, took up where Trunk had left off, shoving chicken into his mouth. “Pour me a cup, too,” he mumbled through a mouthful, not even looking at Edith.

These were men used to getting what they wanted…when they wanted it.

Edith carried the coffee to Trunk and after a moment of hesitation, during which time she considered throwing it in his face and running, she finally handed it to him. Backfire sauntered into the living room, carrying the whole plate of the remaining chicken.

“Can I sit for a bit, too, Boss?” he asked.

Trunk generously waved a hand at the old plaid couch and Edith grimaced as the nasty man sat down, sloshing the black liquid on her favorite green and yellow afghan; one that had taken her nearly a year to crochet.

“Sit, Grandma.” Trunk demanded.

Edith squeezed past his legs and perched on the other end of the sofa, farthest away from the strangers. She stared at the quiet television, seeing her life with Elmer flash by on the empty gray screen. She should’ve listened to him when he told her to carry the pistol in her apron. He’d told her a dozen times it wouldn’t do a darn bit of good under her pillow.

“Where’s your husband, Grandma?”

Edith realized they had no way of knowing if Elmer was even here. They hadn’t looked… why were they so confident he wasn’t about to come out shooting from another room in the house? And how did they even know she had a husband?

“Grrrrraaaaaandma…I’m talking to you…”

“How

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