The Last War: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller (The Last War Series Book 1) by Ryan Schow

Author:Ryan Schow [Schow, Ryan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: River City Publishing
Published: 2017-12-12T22:00:00+00:00

12

Back upstairs, in the old lady’s place, Macy hands the note to Rex, who reads it again: I KNOW WHAT YOU DID TO THE OLD LADY.

“What did you do to the old lady?” Rex asks.

“She…she didn’t make it,” Stanton says.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning she pulled a rifle on Stanton,” I say, “and when he took it from her, she stepped backwards, tripped on the carpet and hit her head on the coffee table.”

“This carpet looks a whole lot like a hardwood floor,” he quips. Yeah, we get it, there’s no carpet on the floor. No fluffy rug to blame for the owner’s absence from this place and life in general.

“No kidding,” Macy says, arms folded, being playful. She adores her uncle, so I’m pretty sure it’s just posturing so we don’t have to talk about it. We don’t really like to talk about it.

“So this carpet, the one that’s not here—”

“We rolled her up in it,” I say. “Then we sort of…found a place to stash her.”

Then it dawns on him, my smart, resourceful little brother. He gives a knowing grin and looks at Stanton.

“Ah,” he says, “the gardening.”

“Yes, the gardening,” Stanton echoes.

Looking at Macy, pointing to the note, Rex says, “You want me to solve this problem?”

“That would be nice,” I say.

“No,” Macy replies. “I can handle it. I just need to borrow Daddy’s gun.”

“No,” all three of us say at the same time.

“Whatever,” she says before heading out the front door. Seconds later she’s up there banging on the upstairs door. UNIT C, if the pattern follows. Me and Stanton trade worried looks, then both hustle up the stairs to where she’s on the third floor landing kicking the note-writer’s front door.

“Open up you sissy!” she’s saying. “It’s your pen pal from downstairs!”

Stanton gets to her first, grabbing her by the arm.

“This isn’t the way we do things!” he snaps. “Downstairs, now!” Then to me, he says, “Take her downstairs. I’ll deal with this.”

He moves to the side of the door so whomever is inside doesn’t get the bright idea to shoot through it and catch him in the chest. Macy breaks free of me, tromps downstairs and heads back inside our confiscated home. I hang out a few steps down.

“I’m sorry about that,” I hear Stanton say into the door. He waits to see if anyone is listening. “I don’t know if you’ve been out there, but it’s really bad. All this…nonsense, it’s turning people into, well…versions of themselves they’re not.”

There is nothing but silence. Then a creak on the floor. We both hear it. Stanton lets out his breath, takes another, then lets it out slower.

“We didn’t kill her,” he says. “But by virtue of us coming in here to avoid the warzone going on outside, she is dead and that…I don’t know how to make that right.”

The creaking again, then the sounds of feet walking away.

Stanton looks at me. With haunted eyes, he raises his brow, slowly releases his breath in either shame or dismay—I can’t be sure.

“It’s okay, hon.

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