Trackers 3: The Storm (A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Series) by Smith Nicholas Sansbury

Author:Smith, Nicholas Sansbury [Smith, Nicholas Sansbury]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Great Wave Ink, Inc.
Published: 2017-09-12T04:00:00+00:00

GENERAL DAN FENIX was freezing his ass off. Morning was still hours away, and it was cold as hell. He’d had to leave his camp, his dying men, and the rest of the beer. To make things even worse, he was now lost in the goddamn woods with Doc Rollins.

Their escape didn’t matter if he and Rollins didn’t find shelter soon. Otherwise, they were going to end up as icicles.

The howl of a wolf sang through the forest. Fenix raised his M4, and Rollins brought his weapon up a moment later. The guns moved in opposite directions to search for the beast.

The sound faded into the night, leaving the two men in silence and shivering in their coats.

“You sure you don’t got a cigarette, Doc?” Fenix asked.

“Carson had us hand in all of our reserves this morning. ”

Fenix thought of his right-hand man, the guy that had given his life to protect Fenix. He could clearly picture the dozen sharp spears of wood sticking out of Carson’s back.

“Fucking A,” Fenix said, his teeth chattering. “What a c-clusterfuck.”

He hoped some of his men had survived the attack, but he had his doubts. For all he knew, Rollins and him were all that was left of their camp. There was only one way forward. He had to reach the closest Sons of Liberty outpost before he froze to death. Or got his balls eaten by a wolf.

“Come on, Doc,” he grumbled.

They continued north through the forest, following the compass Fenix always carried with him. It was five miles to the shack where two of his sentries were posted. They were equipped with a working radio that would allow Fenix to contact his men in the other camps scattered across Colorado.

Now if he could just find his way back to the road…

Another howl sounded in the distance, but Fenix didn’t stop this time. He pressed onward, his aging joints creaking like the canopy of pine trees overhead. The thought of a cigarette and warm coffee kept him moving as the temperature continued to drop. Rollins shivered behind him, his rifle shaking in his grip. For October, it was an unusually cold night in Colorado. A storm front had moved in, bringing with it freezing temperatures and the threat of snow. Fenix spotted heavy clouds rolling toward the moon. The last thing he wanted was to be caught out here in a snowstorm.

After another hour of heading north, he finally came up on a hill overlooking a country road. The sight of asphalt filled him with relief. He crouched next to a tree and aimed his rifle at a single car parked in the middle of the road. Rollins stopped on the ridgeline a few feet away from Fenix.

“Looks clear,” the doctor said.

Fenix held up a hand. “Hold on, Doc.”

He focused on the car. It wasn’t as good as a cabin, but it was shelter from the wind and cold. Maybe they could hunker down for a few hours until dawn. Fenix moved to scope the rear of the vehicle.

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