Surviving The End (Book 3): New World by Hamilton Grace

Author:Hamilton, Grace [Hamilton, Grace]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Post-Apocalyptic | Survival
Published: 2020-01-07T16:00:00+00:00

13

All of the volunteers on Owen’s team were considerably older than him, and he knew the instant he met them that they had no respect for him. Certainly, judging by the way they looked at him, they did not see this teenage boy as the leader of the team. Gary Morde was a hugely-gutted old man with short, gray hair, a black shirt the size of a tent, and a gray beard hanging from his fleshy face. He’d brought what appeared to be a late-80s model Chevy Nova—not a particularly lovely vehicle. When Owen walked up, Gary was leaning against the hood, dabbing his forehead and cheeks with a yellowed handkerchief.

“You’re late,” Gary said. “It’s hot. Let’s hurry up.”

Owen had been dropped off nearby by his dad, and he approached the front of the high school now. The volunteers had agreed to meet there because it was roughly equidistant to all of their houses. David Horton had come with him, his trilby hat pulled low, shading his eyes. The other two volunteers were already sitting in the back seat of the car with the windows rolled down.

Claire Harris was a scarecrow of a woman with stringy hair, a freckled face with nearly translucent skin, and tired eyes. Owen couldn’t tell how old she was. She could have been anywhere between forty and seventy. As Owen approached, she leaned out of the open window and stared at him with an expression that was either hostile or strangely interested. He didn’t care for either possibility.

“This was your idea,” she said. “What took so long?”

“I had to get a ride,” he replied, jogging toward the car.

The final member of their volunteer team was the oldest of the bunch, a shriveled little man with a shiny bald head. He wore a long-sleeve t-shirt that was a few sizes too big for him. His skin was like loose leather. During their first encounter, he had introduced himself by a single name: Carlos.

“Get in, muchacho,” he said. “It’s hot. Let’s get the air moving. I’m sweating like a chancho.”

Neither Claire nor Carlos had claimed the front passenger seat, and when Owen walked around the car and opened the door, he saw why. The front floorboard was piled with trash—mostly crumpled paper cups, wrappers, and used napkins.

“Just stomp it all down,” Gary Morde said. “I’ll get around to cleaning that out one of these days. The trunk is empty, though, so we have plenty of room for pills and such.”

Owen did his best to make the pile of trash manageable, smashing it with his left foot until he had at least a small amount of room for his legs. Then he climbed on the seat and pulled the creaky door shut. David got into the back, though he had to stand there dumbly for a moment before Carlos scooted over to make room for him. Gary got in last, the bottom edge of the steering wheel pressing against his prodigious belly.

“So I have a few ideas of places we could start,” Owen said, struggling to pull his seat belt.

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