The Last Orchard (Prequel): The Last Orchard by Hunt James

Author:Hunt, James [Hunt, James]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: Post-Apocalyptic | Dystopian | EMP | Survival
Published: 2018-06-01T04:00:00+00:00

8

Dripping with sweat and stinking of the ditch, Charlie skidded to a stop at the end of the same street corner where he’d seen the men in the yard, which now held nothing but empty chairs.

He retreated behind the house on the corner and stepped into the overgrown grass of its backyard. Four fences separated Charlie from the house where the girls were being held, and he moved quickly over the first two, which were both chain-link and only three or four feet tall.

The third fence was wood and taller than Charlie, but it had a side door.

The fourth fence was similar to the third, but this one only had an exit to the front of the house.

He scanned the fence, looking for cracks that offered him a view of what he’d encounter on the other side. The backyard was empty.

Before that changed, Charlie tucked the revolver in his pocket then pulled himself up and over the fence and landed hard on the balls of his feet, then he kept low on his sprint toward the back of the house.

He paused near the back door, reaching for the revolver and catching his breath. He slowly reached for the doorknob but found it locked.

“Shit.”

Carefully and quietly, Charlie crawled around toward the far side of the house and undid the latch on the gate’s exit from the backyard. He opened the gate only a crack and peeked at the other side.

He found the side yard clear of people, and he saw a potential entrance point. A basement window at ground level was cracked open. It looked big enough for Charlie to squeeze through, and he hurried over to check.

As he moved closer, he found the window smaller than he originally envisioned. But he opened it all the way, he was able to square his shoulders up and stick his head inside to get a better view.

It was dark, but after he blinked a few times, he saw the basement was crammed with boxes and old furniture.

Charlie backed out then shimmied into the window feet first, his back to the ground. His wet jeans scraped against the concrete sides, and when his legs were inside, his back started to pinch due to the harsh angle. He shimmied faster, trying to rid himself of the pain in his back, but he became stuck when he tried to pass his shoulders through.

He stuck his arms straight back, narrowing his shoulders as much as possible, and gravity did the rest of the work, pulling him down until he landed awkwardly on concrete.

Charlie winced, a harsh burn running down his right side, and when he pressed his palm against the pain, he felt something wet. When he examined his palm in the darkness and wiggled his finger, he was able to make out the dark crimson of blood.

A piece of jagged metal had cut him down his left side, from love handle to armpit, and while the slash only broke the first layer of skin, the length of the scrape had produced a significant amount of blood.

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