Surviving the Collapse: A Tale Of Survival In A Powerless World- Book 2 by James Hunt

Author:James Hunt [Hunt, James]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-10-01T22:00:00+00:00

The snowfall offered poor visibility, especially from the back of the group. After what happened with Mulls and Jimmy in town, he didn’t want any of these guys with a gun in their hands standing behind him. Who knew what kind of stray bullet would find its way into the base of his skull.

And when the tear gas was thrown from the only entrance and exit of the building, Dennis was glad to have been in the rear.

Thick streams of gas left the cylinder canisters, blending with the white of the snowfall. Smoke crawled over the snow, spreading outward, forcing the inmates to retreat. Dennis stepped back, shielding his face with the front of his shirt, which he pulled up from beneath his coat. Three more canisters were flung from the station’s entrance, and the poisonous fog continued to blanket the ground, lingering in the air.

“Watch the doors!” Dennis barked. “They could be coming out in masks! Be ready! Be ready!” But while a few of the inmates trained their weapons back on the station, most were too busy fending off the effects of the gas.

A burning sensation filled Dennis’s eyes and throat, his nasal cavity growing thick with phlegm. He hacked with the rest of his men, who continued to backpedal from the gas. But the longer they stood out there in the cold, the more Dennis realized that the officers weren’t coming out. Which meant one of two things: either they had enough supplies inside to wait them out, or they didn’t have the numbers.

Dennis shielded his nose and mouth from the gas that still lingered, and while he tried to avoid it, he didn’t always succeed. His eyes teared and burned, blurring his vision, but he kept his concentration on the station’s entrance.

After a while the gas dissipated, and the retreated masses slowly crept back to their original front line. Dennis remained in the back, wiping the freezing snot from his face, flinging it on the snow. The smoke had cleared, but his vision remained blurred from the watery effects of the gas.

The slope they’d dug to the front doors was steep, and Dennis only saw the very top of the doors. He clenched his fists. He was so close. All of the days and nights where he was locked away in that cell flooded back to him. The endless hours that stretched for eternity. In prison, there was no horizon, no dawn of a new day. It was only the repetition of the same day, over and over and over again. All of the same atrocities and horrors, the monotony, the hopelessness of being locked in a cell where you would rot into nothing for the rest of your life.

The bug stirred in his mind, then burrowed, tunneling its way deeper into Dennis’s brain, igniting all of the ways he’d like to kill the officers inside. There would be no quarter given to those that dropped their weapons, only torture. It would be slow, methodical. Maybe

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