Weathering The Storm (Book 3): Inferno by Soward Kenny & Kraus Mike

Author:Soward, Kenny & Kraus, Mike [Soward, Kenny]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Post-Apocalyptic | Survival
Publisher: Muonic Press Inc
Published: 2019-11-07T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

Jake, Boston, Massachusetts | 7:57 p.m., Tuesday

It was Jake’s second excursion out into the surrounding neighborhoods in as many days. He leaned into the wind as he rode through the demolished subdivision east of the Ultimate Dollar store. The area seemed like a sweet spot for great finds, and the past few hours had netted him two more flashlights, a bike tire repair kit from a garage, and as much canned food as he could carry.

One of his backpacks was already full—that one hung from the bike’s handlebars—and he had a little more space in the second one he carried on his back. He was sweeping back through the neighborhood, looking for anything he might have missed the first time through.

Jake was feeling greedy.

None of the houses were habitable, barely shells of what they once were, blown over or beheaded by the tornado that had blustered through last week. There were no people hidden away or gangs to deal with since the street was nestled relatively far away from any of the main roads. Several cars had been flipped onto their sides, swept into the road and smashed together, or buried beneath rubble. One had been tossed into the front of a house and rested in the living room, its wheels spinning gently in the wind.

It looked like the play set of a giant child with a very destructive imagination, and Jake was a lone figure riding through the aftermath, hoping to score some goods before the giant child returned.

He spotted a house on the corner that he’d missed on his first pass. What remained of the siding was a pale blue color, and a bright red car was parked around the side at the curb, somehow left unscathed by the weather’s wrath.

Jake coasted up the driveway, hopped off his bike, and pushed it into the garage like he’d done a dozen times before. He parked the bike out of sight and pulled his gun from his waistband at his back hip, moving through a door that led to the kitchen of the home.

Water dripped everywhere and the wind cut through the house, making whistling sounds that gave Jake a chill. He listened for signs of movement, but it was as quiet as a tomb. Jake stepped over to the kitchen counter, set his gun down, and shrugged his backpack off, wincing at the stiffness in his right shoulder where he’d landed after the gas line blast the other day.

Unencumbered, Jake started going through the kitchen cabinets. He opened them up one at a time, peering inside and removing items he thought they’d need. Like the other houses in the neighborhood, a lot of canned goods had been left behind. The occupants must not have had any time to gather their things before the tornado came blasting through.

That’s when the air touched his nose with the faint hint of rotting meat, ripe with bacteria and aged over a period of days. He put down a can of ravioli and put the back of his hand against his mouth to keep from gagging.

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