Surviving the Dead (Book 7): The Killing Line by Cook James N

Author:Cook, James N. [Cook, James N.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Zombie Apocalypse
Publisher: Unknown
Published: 2016-06-26T04:00:00+00:00

NINETEEN

We rode east along the highway for as long as we dared, while Caleb and Eric hung back and took turns keeping an eye on our six. They saw no more pursuers. We covered twelve miles by nightfall and pushed on a few miles farther past the town of Cullison.

The plain was crisscrossed every mile or so by narrow service roads, most of them still more or less paved. This worked in our favor. Not only would traveling over pavement make us harder to track, assuming we cleaned up after the animals, but since there were so many roads we could have chosen, the raiders behind us would have to split their forces to attempt an effective search.

The path we chose took us over gently sloping terrain that rose up for close to a mile before sweeping sharply back down. When I figured we were close to the bottom of the shallow valley, I switched on my IR scope and looked behind us. I could not see over the ridge, which meant the raiders would not be able to see us from the road even in daylight. Another point in our favor.

Just after midnight I spotted the unmistakable cylindrical shape of grain elevators pointing toward the sky. I had the group halt and wait off the path while I rode ahead and reconned the area. It was quickly obvious the place was abandoned. Nothing had been disturbed for a long time, possibly since the Outbreak.

The grain elevators were still structurally stable, as were the ladders and catwalks leading to their peaks. There was a long cinder-block storage building at the elevators’ base that was perfect for hiding the livestock and wagon. A little further down the road was a farmhouse and a barn. The roof of the house was half torn away, probably the victim of a high-plains twister, but the barn was intact. I thought about news reports of tornadoes back in the old days, of people describing how a funnel cloud would rip apart an entire town, and in the midst of it all, one house would be left standing unscathed. I had a feeling I was looking at the aftermath of just such an event. Then I had another thought and looked around the periphery of the house, and sure enough, I found the twin doors of a storm shelter.

The doors were padlocked, but a pair of bolt cutters has long been a staple of my survival kit. I cut the lock, activated the tactical light on my M-4, and opened one of the doors. The white beam cut deep into the darkness below, revealing a set of damp, green-tinted wooden stairs. A quick test with my foot determined the stairs were intact enough to hold my weight. I had a moment’s indecision about how to proceed and decided it was best not to take unnecessary risks. I radioed for Eric to join me.

Static. “On my way.”

When I heard the approach of hooves on soft grass I waved my tac-light in his direction.

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