Surviving the End
Crumbling World
Fallen World
New World
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.
RELAY PUBLISHING EDITION, JANUARY 2020
Copyright © 2020 Relay Publishing Ltd.
All rights reserved. Published in the United Kingdom by Relay Publishing. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Grace Hamilton is a pen name created by Relay Publishing for co-authored Post-Apocalyptic projects. Relay Publishing works with incredible teams of writers and editors to collaboratively create the very best stories for our readers.
www.relaypub.com
Blurb
They’ll protect what’s theirs—or die trying.
The McDonald clan have learned their lessons the hard way these last months. Shane and Jodi finally realize they must keep their reunited family close and protect their own above all others to survive in this new post-apocalyptic reality. The repairs on the home are complete, solar panels installed, and the now operational pump means they won’t have to continue collecting rainwater for the foreseeable future.
But it’s no longer just outsiders wreaking havoc on the small Georgia town, as unprepared townsfolk learn of their hard-earned stores—and threaten to take their prepper supplies by force.
To stem the mayor’s confiscation plans and keep the angry hordes at bay, the McDonalds’ blind teenaged daughter spearheads a community garden project to teach the citizens how to survive the coming lean years. But word travels fast when there are too many hungry mouths to feed.
And the gang that has long menaced the McDonalds comes looking to exact their pound of flesh.
When loved ones get caught in the crossfire, Shane and company won’t hold back against an enemy that threatens to take everything they have left.
Or kill those they hold dear.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Epilogue
End of New World
Thank you!
About Grace Hamilton
Also By Grace Hamilton
1
The humidity was like a warm, wet blanket that hugged every inch of exposed skin. The kind of moisture that soaked into clothing and turned hair limp. In a strange way, Jodi didn’t mind the sweat running down her face, trickling down her back, dripping from her fingers, her elbows, stinging her eyes. Somehow, it felt like it was helping with the physical therapy, as if she had worked up the sweat through sheer effort. Despite the thin, white t-shirt and cotton shorts she was wearing, it felt like she’d put on a wool parka. The brutal Georgia heat had come early this year. It was only May, but it felt like the middle of August.
Jodi was still a mess. Her progress seemed minimal, and so many parts of her body still ached. The gunshot wounds on her right arm had mostly healed, but the arm still hurt. The muscles seemed weaker, and she wondered if they would ever fully recover. Her left arm was worse— broken from her motorcycle wreck and still firmly encased in a cast and sling. Worst of all was her aching back. It wasn’t the most serious injury, but her every movement seemed to aggravate it. There was no comfortable position to lie down in.
If she’d been a less driven person, it would have been an easy thing to become sedentary. Staring at the big diagram of physical therapy exercises that Dr. Yates had given her made her want to cry, and there were times when she was tempted to wad the damn thing up and toss it over the fence. But she was determined to get better, to become stronger, and to be ready the next time her family was in danger.
I’ve done it before, she reminded herself. I’ve defeated my enemy. Talon called me his “Treasure,” but I left him to die in his tent.
Her sense of satisfaction mingled with a sense of trembling darkness. Yes, she’d plunged a knife into his neck and listened to him bleed out. It was still hard to believe it had really happened.
But she knew what she was capable of now. I’ll do it again if I have to. I’ll do what I did to Talon to anyone who threatens me or my family.
“You’re not going to hurt a fly if you don’t get to the bottom of this exercise chart,” she muttered, scolding herself for getting lost in her own thoughts.
Fortunately, the next exercise allowed her to sit down. Gnashing her teeth at the stiffness in her back, she crossed the back porch and stepped through the open door into the dining room. The interior of the house wasn’t much cooler than the outside. God, she missed air conditioning more than anything else on the face of the earth. If gas hadn’t been in such short supply, she would have found endless reasons to ride in one of the vehicles. Mike’s big neon-green LTD had great air conditioning, like an icy wind blasting out of those old vents.
A can of Campbell’s tomato soup was waiting for her at the head of the table. She sat down on her mother’s padded chair, to the creaking protest of her aching spine. Unfolding the doctor’s therapy sheet, she studied the next exercise: a simple repetition of arm curls using the tomato can. The doctor was worried about the stiffness in her right arm—a valid concern.
She grabbed the tomato can and tested her grip. It was still hard to clamp down. The muscles in her forearm resisted. Gritting her teeth, Jodi tightened her grip as much as she could and set her elbow near the edge of the table, then she followed the diagram. The immediate results were discouraging.
I’ll never be strong enough to knock someone out with a single punch at this rate, she thought.
By the tenth arm curl, she had to stop and rest.
“Did the doctor specify the tomato soup?” Shane said.
Her husband approached the dining room table from the living room and sat down beside her. With a groan, Jodi set the can down and shook her hand, marveling at the magnitude of the ache moving all the way up to her shoulder. Shane picked up her exercise sheet and looked at it.
“Dr. Yates is merciless,” he said.
“I kind of feels that way,” Jodi replied.
Just then, Sheriff James Cooley entered the room. The poor man looked like he’d been run ragged. He was wearing his full sheriff’s uniform, with his badge pinned to the pocket and that silly, wide-brimmed hat on his head, but he was sunburned and bleary-eyed. He removed the hat and tossed it onto the table, revealing a head of unkempt gray hair, as he sat down across from Shane. For his age, he was a handsome man, and Jodi could see why her mother was fond of him.
“I don’t dare step away from the office for too long,” he said, “but I was in the area, so I figured I’d stop by and see how my favorite people are doing.”
“It’s good to see you, James,” Jodi said. He had helped S
hane find and rescue her when she was lying unconscious in a ditch beside the highway. She’d heard the whole story multiple times, and she would feel a debt of gratitude to the man for the rest of her life.
“How’s it going out there in our fine community, Sheriff?” Shane asked.
“As bad as I feared,” he said with a sigh. “I’ve lost count of the theft reports. Our little community is overrun with desperate and ill-prepared people. I can’t keep up. I made the mistake of putting a crime report box in the reception area, and the damn thing gets jammed to overflowing every day.”
“What are people stealing?” Shane asked.
“Whatever they can get their hands on,” James replied. “Someone stole a garden hose this morning. Another lady is convinced her cat got stolen and used for food.”
“Oh, gosh,” Jodi replied. It seemed all too possible.
James went into a coughing fit.
“Let me get you a drink,” Jodi said, rising from her seat. “Would you like a cup of coffee? I’ll heat some water on the grill. It’ll only take a few minutes.”
“I’ll get it,” Shane said. “You take it easy.”
“My back hurts whether I stand or sit,” she replied. “It doesn’t make a difference. Let me do it.”
Fortunately, he relented. She appreciated his constant concern for her well-being, but it occasionally edged toward being too much.
“I would love a cup of coffee, thanks,” James said.
Jodi worked as fast as she could, which meant roughly a snail’s pace, gathering up the supplies she needed to make coffee: the old stainless-steel percolator, a bag of coffee, a gallon jug of water, some enamelware coffee cups. It took multiple trips to get them all to the propane grill on the back porch, and Shane finally got up and helped her. In the meantime, James regaled them with an exhausting array of petty crime stories from the surrounding community.
“Vandalism is a bigger problem than I expected,” he was saying, speaking loudly from the dining room. “Bands of listless teenagers with no school, no activities, no cell phones, no video games, and no shopping malls to haunt, they just wander around looking for something to do, and it doesn’t take long before they’re up to no good. I caught a group of boys smearing butter on a sidewalk. I guess they wanted to watch people slip and fall. I don’t know. I made them clean it up with scrub brushes and Pine-Sol. They were young enough that they cried.”
Shane had to help Jodi lift the water jug and pour it into the percolator.
I can’t even lift a stupid jug of water, she thought, feeling again that burning frustration. Her right arm was no longer bandaged, and she glared at the ugly scabbed wounds on her forearm.
“I almost hate to ask,” Jodi said, “but what about Pike? Tell me he’s still safely behind bars.”
“Oh, he’s right there where he belongs,” James replied, “and he’s a royal pain in the butt, too, always whining about his rights. I can’t count the number of times he’s asked to make a phone call. ‘I get one phone, call, Sheriff. I get one phone call. I need to call my lawyer.’ He knows the phones don’t work. Heck, I even offered to bring him two cans and a piece of string.”
“Don’t let him rattle you,” Shane said, starting one of the burners on the grill. “I’m sure he’d love you to get frustrated and drop your guard.”
“It’ll never happen,” James said. “He expects a trial, but nobody can get hold of the judge. The court is in shambles. I tell you what, sometimes I’m tempted to drive that old boy out to the nearest swamp and feed him to the gators.”
“Whatever you do, please don’t let him out of that cell,” Jodi said, opening the bag of coffee.
“I’m mostly joking about the gators,” James said. “He’d probably give the poor critters indigestion anyway. I just…” He shrugged. “Honestly, folks, I don’t know what to do with him. With no functioning court system, what are we supposed to do with criminals? I’m certainly not going to release him, and the State Troopers don’t want him.”
“He’s right where he needs to be,” Jodi said. A fresh sheen of sweat broke through the drying layer on her forehead as she stood in the heat. Shane noticed with a look of concern.
“I got this, honey,” Shane said.
She couldn’t argue with him, so she moved back into the dining room and collapsed in her chair.
“I guess I’m stuck with him for the foreseeable future,” James said. “I resent it every time I have to feed that sucker. I’ve avoided arresting other people just because I can’t comfortably fit more than about four people in the holding area.”
Shane poured the coffee and brought it to them one at a time, Jodi first. He’d made the coffee strong. When James took his first sip, he grimaced, shook his head, and blew his breath out.
“It’s like Italian espresso,” he said. “Thick as ink.”
As Jodi struggled to lift her cup, her brother, Mike, shuffled into the dining room. He was looking better these days. He’d gotten some of his color back, and she could see new hair growing in the bare patches from his last round of chemo. He still had the plastic IV port in his arm as a constant reminder of his recovery.
“Hey there, James,” Mike said. “Do you have anyone helping you out in your sheriffing?”
“Not at the moment,” the sheriff replied, then dared another sip of his ink-thick coffee. “The rest of my staff seems to have disappeared from the face of the earth. I tracked down one of the receptionists, but she won’t come back to work. I’m afraid keeping law and order is a one-man job east of Macon these days.”
“Well, to be honest, I’ve sort of been looking for something to do,” Mike said. “I’d be willing to help if you want to deputize me, Sheriff.”
Seeing his still-frail form, his loose shirt, and his still-sunken cheeks, Jodi protested. “Mike, that doesn’t seem like a good idea.”
“This isn’t the Wild West,” Shane said. “You can’t just ask the sheriff to deputize you.”
“It’s your health I’m concerned about,” Jodi said, seeing the frown on Mike’s face. “Mikey, you have to take care of yourself.”
“Don’t you Mikey me, sis,” he said. “I feel a lot better. Look at me. Aren’t I the picture of recovery? Anyway, I need to be productive. You know how mind-numbing it is just sitting around the house day after day? I won’t get myself into any trouble.”
“I can’t pay you,” James said. “Heck, I’m not even get paid myself these days.”
Mike shrugged. “Fine with me. Consider me a volunteer.”
Jodi could see Mike’s point, though she hated to admit it. He’d been rather restless the past couple of weeks, wandering from room to room. When James gave her a questioning look, apparently seeking her approval, she resisting scowling at him.
“Well, I would certainly be grateful for a little help,” he said, then quickly added, “Don’t worry, folks. I’ll limit him to the work he can do, and I won’t put him in harm’s way.”
“Are you sure about this, Mike?” Shane said. He tried to hand Mike a cup of coffee, but Mike waved it off.
“Yeah, put me to good use, Sheriff,” Mike said. “I’m your man.”
“Okay, you’re hired,” James said, raising his cup as if making a toast. He started to drink it, then seemed to reconsider and set it down.
“Shouldn’t we make it official?” Mike said, walking around the table to stand beside the sheriff.
“What do you mean?” James said.
“Well, shouldn’t there be a ceremony, like pinning a badge on my chest?”
James rose from his seat. “I don’t have a badge to pin on your chest, but I suppose we can do something sort of formal.” He reached down and picked up his hat, then touched it to Mike’s right shoulder. “I hereby deputize you by the authority vested in me as a sheriff of Bibb County.” He touched the hat to Mike’s left shoulder. “You’re now a deputy.”
“That’ll work,” Mike said with a smile.
“Of course, this would
all be highly illegal under normal circumstances,” James said, putting his hat on and pulling the brim low. “I can’t just deputize someone, and if any semblance of real law and order is ever reestablished, this might become a problem. But…” He shrugged. “What are you going to do? It is what it is. Stop by the office later, and maybe we can scrounge you up a real badge.”
“A real badge,” Mike said, eyes wide like he was a kid again.
Jodi shook her head. Was he taking this seriously? “James, keep an eye on him.”
“He’ll be fine,” the sheriff replied. “I won’t let him do anything foolish.”
He stepped away from the table and waved Mike into his chair. Then he picked up his coffee, held it (but didn’t drink it), and stood near back door. Jodi marveled again at how unpleasant the constant, unrelenting warmth was. There was no escaping it. She’d been tempted many times to ask Shane to use the solar panels to power a swamp cooler, but she’d held off. It seemed like a meaningless indulgence, and where would one find a swamp cooler anyway now that almost every store had been looted into oblivion?
“James, other than the roaming bands of listless teens, how are things going in town?” she asked. “We’re all pretty much stuck here at the house.”
Jodi had been spending her days mostly inside the house, waiting for her body to recover and growing more frustrated day by day, so the world beyond the surrounding fence almost felt like a foreign country. James’s questioning look indicated he clearly didn’t understand the magnitude of her detachment from the community.
Surviving The End (Book 3): New World Page 1