Storm's Fury (Book 2): Wind Shear by Bell Justin & Kraus Mike

Author:Bell, Justin & Kraus, Mike [Bell, Justin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Post-Apocalyptic | Survival
Publisher: Muonic Press Inc
Published: 2020-03-26T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

Joel leaned back on his heels, wiping sweat from his forehead, the air thick and hot in spite of the cloud cover overhead. Leaves rustled to his left and Helen emerged, her hands stained with dirt, a smudge of brown in a lazy diagonal across her forehead, her hair twisted and tangled, draped over her young face like a torn curtain.

The knees of her jeans were a mottled green and brown, and her shirt’s elbow was torn, a pale knob of skin poking through the frayed edges. In spite of her disheveled appearance, she was smiling, her white teeth showing.

“All done,” she said.

“All through the southern edge?” Joel asked, pushing himself to a standing posture. As he stood, he reached over and plucked the bottle of Corona from the dirt and took a long slug, draining the remainder of the beer in a single desperate, desert-thirst gulp. He swallowed it around the narrow nub of the Marlboro, which was clamped in the corner of his lips, a thin wisp of smoke rising into the air.

Helen nodded.

“Stakes nailed down every eight feet. All of them snug to the trees so they can’t be seen. Fishing line nice and taut.”

“Good,” Joel replied, lowering his bottle and taking a long puff on his cigarette.

“Those things will kill you,” Helen said.

“You seen the world?” Joel asked. “Lotta stuff out there will kill you. I’ll just add these to the list.” He walked along the perimeter of his strung fishing line, then took a cautious step over where he knew it was pulled tight, right about shin height. It had taken them the better part of the morning and into the afternoon to get the tripwires staged and strung. The location was chosen carefully, where the line could be concealed by trees, but not so far into the woods that wildlife might trip it. There was still a good chance that an errant deer or rabbit might set it off, but it was easy enough to fix if that happened, and much better to be safe than sorry.

Walking back toward the cabin, he took another long drag, sucking the cigarette down to a scant stub. He plucked it from his mouth, licked his fingers and clamped them over the end, extinguishing it in a soft hiss. Stuffing the butt in his pocket, he veered right and checked where the line went into the cabin, snaking through a gap in the front door. From there, it clung snug to the floor, crossing the kitchen, then down through the trapdoor.

Easing open the trapdoor, he lowered himself and crept down the stairs, running his finger along the fishing line until it ran the perimeter of the shelter and terminated in the piece of cardboard interrupting the integrated circuit.

The circuit was wired to three battery-powered LED lights which were mounted in the main room, the dry goods storage area, and the bedroom, as well as a small, tinny-sounding speaker in the main room as well.

If the tripwire was

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