Nights of Fire: An EMP Survival Thriller (Blackout & Burn Book 2) by Rebecca Fernfield

Author:Rebecca Fernfield [Fernfield, Rebecca]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Redbegga
Published: 2018-06-03T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter 15

The Tramadol is wearing off as Michael reaches Bramwell’s gate. The walk back has been hard, but the bike has given him the support he needs. He pulls back the bolt and pushes the heavy gate open, it sticks on the gravel and he flinches at the pain in his legs as he forces the muscles to work. At least the clingfilm was still in place. Grahame had urged him not to go, but despite the pain he just wanted to be comfortable and back in a place where he felt safe. Home, his house back in the town, hadn’t been his first thought; Bramwell had. Interesting how quickly he’d come to think of it as his home, somewhere he felt at peace—somewhere he’d defend.

The town’s edginess was growing and since news of the fire had spread among the inhabitants a new and fierce militancy was rising. Sure, it had been growing in the preceding months, years probably, with all the terror attacks the country was suffering, and the frustration of leaky borders and a government that didn’t seem to have the balls to deal with the growing illegal immigrant problem, and the thousands of men pouring into the country claiming to be refugees, but now the threat wasn’t just in the cities. It was real—it was in the towns—the bastards were targeting them—the ordinary, inconsequential people living their small-town lives. What the hell was going on? What had he, Michael, ever done to deserve being run over or set on fire? Nothing. Absolutely bloody nothing. Intolerant bloody fuckwits! He closes the gate behind him making sure to slide the bolt back in place then pushes the bike onward. The front door is in sight but seems so far away—the sooner he gets another one of those pills down his neck the better. He wheels the bike and begins to lean it against the wall. No. If someone should see it … He takes a breath as another wave of pain spreads through his shins and upwards to his knees then rises through his thighs.

Fumbling in his pocket, he reaches for the strip of tablets Janet had given him and hobbles to the kitchen grabbing the half-drunk bottle of water. He pops two pills and downs them with one mouthful of water. They catch in his throat and their bitterness makes him gag. He swallows another mouthful of water and they disappear into his stomach. Hobbling to the living room he lies on the settee—the leather is cool, the cushion soft on his head. He waits and listens to the birdsong as the Tramadol enters his bloodstream.

Still raw from this morning’s horrors, he startles when a loud scratch sounds outside. Heart tapping a heavy rhythm against his ribs, he pushes himself up on his elbows to listen.

Scratch!

Birds! Just the house martins that were nesting under the eaves.

He lays back against the cushion and closes his eyes. Flames. Screams. Stinking, singeing flesh and hair. Eyes snap open and he focuses

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