Edge of Fear: An EMP Post-Apocalyptic Survival Prepper Series (American Fallout Book 3)

by Alex Gunwick

  Derek nodded curtly.

  “One, two…”

  On three, Derek sprang up from the ground and braced his rifle on top of the jeep’s tailgate. He shot through the empty winds using short bursts. Derek avoided the temptation to empty the mag all at once instead of spacing out the shots.

  He took one man right in the chest. The enemy screamed and fell into the dirt. Blood seeped out of the body and into the ground.

  The other cultists hid behind their cover. They stopped shooting temporarily, possibly to avoid becoming Derek’s next target. Liz and Luke made it to the boulder just as Derek ran out of ammunition.

  “He’s reloading,” one of the cultists shouted. “Charge him!”

  Three cultists dashed out and raced toward him. Luke and Liz hadn’t yet repositioned themselves to fire on the cultists. Derek reached for his hip to grab another magazine. He came up empty. He knew he’d never dig another one out of his pack in time to reload before the cultists were on top of him.

  He dropped his rifle and reached behind his back to draw twin trench knives from their sheaths. Derek leaped up and buried one in the belly of an overzealous cultist. The man’s mouth went slack. His eyes wide as he went into shock.

  Derek stabbed the dying man in the throat with his remaining knife, then used both it and the one in the man’s abdomen to lift the guy’s body into the air. Derek gripped the knives so he wouldn’t lose them, then sent the dead cultist through the air. The man crashed into one of his brethren, knocking him to the ground.

  That left only one charging cultist. Derek turned on him, preparing to throw a knife. He realized he was too late when he was staring down the barrel of a gun.

  Before the man could shoot, Liz took him clean in the back of the head. One of the man’s eyes exploded, leaving a gory red hole. He pitched forward into the dirt and lay still.

  Derek shoved his knives in their sheaths and seized the dead guy’s rifle. Unlike Derek’s, it was in poor condition. But also, unlike Derek’s, it was still loaded.

  He moved in on the remaining cultists, firing short bursts and taking them down one by one. Liz and Luke added their own barrage to his. The cult members broke rank and fled.

  The scent of cordite hung in the air. Bodies lay on the ground, seeping blood into the mountainside. Derek checked to be sure they were all dead. He picked up as many weapons as he could carry.

  “We need to pull back,” Liz said.

  Before Derek could respond, shouts and footsteps came from everywhere. Luke and Liz dove behind the boulder. Derek took cover behind a tree.

  “What do you see?” Luke yelled to Derek.

  “Gunner. Second floor.” Derek yelled from behind the rock.

  The heavy machine gunner unleashed a deadly rain of bullets on the boulder where Luke and Liz hid. Sparks and chips of stone showered the couple, who could do nothing but cower in the face of the onslaught.

  Derek stared up at the gunner, a more physically intimidating specimen than many of the cultists. The man’s arms were as thick as tree limbs, and his lips were peeled back in a sneer as he fired his heavy weapon.

  “Hey, asshole!” Derek shouted.

  He threw his knife toward the man then bolted toward the side of the building. As expected, the blade missed and bounced off the window frame, catching the man’s attention. With a shout, the gunner turned the heavy machine gun on its tripod toward Derek. Bullets tore up the ground right behind him, but he made it to the wall.

  Derek flattened himself against the compound. The gunner wouldn’t be able to angle the weapon down enough to hit him in that position. Dirt clots flew up into the air as the gunner tried in vain to zero in on Derek. When the man’s belt-fed weapon ran dry, Derek calmly stepped away from the wall and aimed his rifle.

  As the gunner struggled to reload his weapon, Derek fired a three-round burst. The gunner took a round right between the eyes. The dead man pitched forward and fell out of the window, doing a half flip before slamming hard in the dirt.

  More cultists came charging around the corner of the building. Derek scrambled to get back behind the jeep’s rusted bulk, while Luke and Liz provided cover from the boulder. More bodies jerked and fell to their death.

  Derek glanced behind him, wondering if he could make it to the boulder where Liz and Luke hid. He took a step in that direction but nearly took a round for his haste. He pinned himself against the jeep.

  Inching up slowly, he peered over the hood. More than a dozen men fired weapons at him and at where Liz and Luke hid.

  He checked the magazine. He only had one reload left for the rifle. He also had two other pistols he’d taken from dead cult members. It wasn’t enough. The situation was dire. They were pinned down by gunfire, unable to fight back.

  Kyle’s hands trembled as he filled his canteen from one of the water barrels. Annoyed with himself, he tried to will them to stop quivering. It didn’t work. It was impossible to be calm when he knew that his parents—the only family he had left—were fighting, and maybe dying, all so he could be safe.

  He needed a distraction, but there wasn’t anything to do inside the shelter. Granted, he could be cleaning weaponry or inventorying the medical supplies, but he couldn’t focus. Touching those items would be a constant reminder that his parents were fighting for their lives at that exact moment. He wanted to be out there helping, but they wanted him to stay behind. It wasn’t fair.

  As he wandered around the shelter, he passed the last locked door they hadn’t been able to open. What was behind it? And it would be useful in any way? Or would it be dangerous like the last door he’d opened?

  He spent a few minutes debating. The last time he’d unlocked a door, a cultist had stood on the other side. If it hadn’t been for his father, Kyle would be as dead as Sierra. He hadn’t tried to unlock any more doors since. He was too worried about what could be on the other side.

  Eventually, his curiosity, and need to keep his mind off his parents, won out. Kyle screwed the lid back onto his canteen and stashed it in his backpack. He studied the stuck door.

  Edwin and Sandy’s voices carried from down the hall. They were walking toward him, so Kyle took cover behind a spool of cable. He waited until the elderly couple meandered past. While they weren’t technically in charge of him, they were still adults, and they might frown upon his current plan.

  Once they were out of earshot, Kyle headed to the supply room, where he picked up a rusty crowbar. If he couldn’t pick the lock, he’d do his best to leverage it open.

  Back at the door, he studied the lock. There were scratches near the keyhole where Derek and his father had tried to pick it. A thin metal wire hung out of it. His father had abandoned it in frustration.

  Kyle set the crowbar down. He put his ear against the door and tried to move the tumblers. Luke complained that he couldn’t hear the tumblers falling into place, so he couldn’t tell whether he was making progress. Kyle realized his young ears were much sharper than his father’s because he could hear the clicks as plain as day.

  But it didn’t make it any easier.

  He would move a tumbler up, then go to work on the next, only to have the first click back into place. Sweat broke out on his brow. Frustration boiled in his belly, but Kyle forced himself not to throw a fit. Children threw fits. He wasn’t a child anymore.

  At last, he heard the last click. The handle jerked down. The door opened about three inches before getting stuck. Kyle grabbed the door. He leaned back, pulling with all his might, but it didn’t budge.

  After a few more frustrating attempts, he slapped himself in the head. The crowbar! He picked up the tool and thrust the bent end through the narrow opening. As he pulled, his arms burned. He was about to give up when the door swung out three feet. It was more than enough room for him to squeeze through.

  Kyle stepped into a large chamber, and his footsteps echoed off the walls. He set down the crowbar, then extracted a flashlight and turned it on. He swung the beam around. When h
e saw a dozen old-fashioned three-wheeled ATVs, mouth dropping open.

  “Wow! This is awesome!”

  He brushed the dust off a vinyl seat and climbed onto one. Kyle was delighted to find the keys in the ignition. Unfortunately, nothing happened when he attempted to turn the engine over.

  Kyle dismounted his would-be ride in frustration. He explored the rest of the room. It seemed to be a garage. There were pits in the floor, so it would be easier to work on the underside of vehicles. A rusted engine dangled from a pair of chains. A variety of tools lined one of the walls.

  He found a light switch and flicked it on. Once the room was fully illuminated, he realized that there was another exit, a large set of bay doors.

  “Well, duh. Of course, they wouldn’t move their vehicles out through the shelter itself,” he muttered.

  His heart beat harder when he realized the bay doors probably led outside. Unlike the previous door, these weren’t rusted shut. He was able to shove them open with only minor effort.

  However, rather than standing under the nighttime sky, he found himself staring into a cave. Efforts had been made to smooth a path for the vehicles. Kyle noted old tire tracks. If he followed them, he might be able to find another exit.

  Kyle walked down the tunnel for a while. In several spots, it had clearly been widened to accommodate the passage of vehicles. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been walking, but it felt like a long time.

  Eventually, he became aware of an odd sound, similar to thunder. It hadn’t rained in days, and it never thundered when it was snowing. It was super weird. He almost turned back, but he refused to give in to his fear. He needed to know what was at the end of the tunnel. Depending on what he found, he might have to seal it off.

  Kyle came around a bend. He spotted a patch of starry sky at the end of the tunnel. Now the thunder resolved itself into something with which he was all too familiar: gunfire.

  The cave had let him out near the cult’s compound. The same place where his parents were even now fighting for their lives.

  Kyle stood in the mouth of the cave for a moment. Then he hurried out into the open. He skidded down a steep slope, half on his butt and half taking stumbling steps. As soon as he hit even ground, he took off at a run, heading towards the sounds of battle.

  Fear of death gripped him, but not as tightly as the fear of losing his parents. He couldn’t lose his family. The thought of life without them terrified him more than any boogeyman or closet monster ever had when he was a young child.

  Kyle made it to the edge of the lake. He watched as Derek shot a man out of the second-story window. Then he was pinned down for a moment until someone sent a payload of bullets at the cultists bearing down on him.

  Kyle was delighted to see that his parents were responsible. Derek reloaded his weapon and fired back at the cult members. Kyle stood, hiding in the bushes, waiting for the right moment to strike. He pulled his knife from its sheath and stalked forward.

  26

  Luke crouched behind the boulder, pulled another magazine out of his backpack, and reloaded. He was running dangerously low on ammo. If he ran out, he’d have no way to protect Liz.

  He managed to take out another dozen men. Several cultists retreated into the compound, leaving six left to defend the exterior. Although he didn’t have a good count of their total numbers, he finally felt like they were making a dent in their fortification.

  However, he worried about what he didn’t know. There could be dozens more inside. He had to go back in and find out how many were left.

  “Are they retreating?” Liz asked.

  “Don’t count on it. We don’t know how many others they have inside. We don’t know if they’re circling behind us right now.”

  He spotted movement near the compound.

  “Where the hell is Derek going?” Liz jerked her head toward their ally.

  A bullet pinged off the rock. Luke ducked but not before catching a glimpse of Derek slinking around the edge of the compound. He disappeared around the corner.

  “I have no idea,” Luke said.

  One of the cultists stepped out from behind a thick tree stump. He hurled a hand-sized object their way. As it sailed through the air, Luke recognized it as a grenade. Luke shot the man through his throat, killing him instantly, but it was too late to stop the deadly explosive.

  “Down.” Luke slapped his palm on the back of Liz’s head and shoved her face-first into the dirt behind the boulder. A split second later, a tremendous bang set their ears ringing. Shrapnel peppered them, but they’d avoided a direct hit. For now.

  “We have to kill their leader. It’s the only way to take the fight out of them.” Luke peered carefully over the boulder at the compound. No doubt it was full of adversaries, but he didn’t see any other option. “Their new preacher is probably hiding inside there.”

  “Agreed.” Liz reloaded her rifle. “I’ve got one mag left. Let’s do it. Let’s go in.”

  “No.” Luke fixed her with a flinty stare. “It’s too dangerous. I want you to run for the forest. I’ll cover you. Go back to the bunker. Make sure you’re not being followed.”

  “Like hell I will—”

  “Liz! It’s too dangerous. You can’t stay here.”

  “There’s no fucking way I’m leaving you. Stop arguing with me and move!”

  She took off running. Luke cursed and sent out a volley of fire to cover their sprint. Bullets tore up the ground behind them. They made it to the wall and raced around the side.

  They spotted Derek through one of the windows. He bashed it out with his gun and fired at the men chasing Luke and Liz. Two cultists jerked like marionettes before falling face down. Smoke still trailed from the barrels of their weapons, but the men were dead.

  Liz vaulted up through the broken window and landed inside, instinctively dropping into a crouch. Luke hopped in behind her. Derek put a finger to his lips. Luke looked left then right. The hallway was clear.

  “Stay with Derek. I’m going to look for the real generator room.”

  “Be careful,” Liz said.

  “We’ll hunker down here and pick off anyone trying to get back inside,” Derek said. “Once you flip the lights, we’ll throw on the night vision and take out the rest of these assholes.”

  “I’ll find it,” Luke said. “I’ll look for their leader too.”

  He knew the old generator room was to his left, so he turned right. He slinked along the wall, carefully checking around corners before going into any rooms. So far, nothing.

  When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he heard muted sounds, as if someone were talking somewhere upstairs. His instincts told him the cult leader would be on the top floor. Even though a basement would be far more secure, the man’s ego would demand he be able to look down on everything in his ‘kingdom’.

  Shouts and pounding footsteps on the ceiling above his head spurred him on with greater urgency. He raced up the stairs and turned into a random room just as a group of cultists entered the hall. He’d missed them by a split second.

  As they passed the room, he yanked his knife out, grabbed one, and slit his throat. The guy crumpled to the floor.

  The second guy turned around, but he was too shocked to move. Luke stabbed him through the heart. The guy looked down at his chest, then back at Luke. As he stumbled back, Luke smirked and pulled it out.

  Outside the building, the rat-a-tat-tat of gunfire pierced the air. Luke worried about Liz and Derek, but he couldn’t do anything to help them right now. He had to find the preacher and kill him.

  Luke jogged toward the next hall. He reached the corner and peered up the darkened corridor. It seemed empty, but he wanted to check it out anyway.

  Halfway down the hall, he spotted a second, more hidden staircase. The sound of someone speaking was louder. Luke was getting closer. He could feel it.

  He eased a foot onto the first step, checking for creaks. By walking near the edges rather than the middle, he minimized the flex
of the boards. Silently, he ascended the stairs.

  When Luke was close to the top, he dropped down, laying across the steps on his belly. He peeked up, exposing only his head and shoulders. The upstairs hallway stretched for twenty feet before ending at a T-junction. It was hard to tell, but he believed the voices’ source came from the left corridor.

  Luke rose silently, drawing his Browning M1911. Taking out multiple adversaries with a handgun was a challenge, but Luke was running out of options.

  He flattened himself against the wall and sidestepped along the passage, blinking sweat out of his eyes. He worried about Liz and Derek. Other than the quick volley of gunfire earlier, it was silent now. The pregnant hush hanging over the place was unnerving.

  When he reached the end of the hallway, he was close enough to hear the discussion in the next room.

  “They’re going to kill us all,” a man simpered.

  “Do not fear, my children, because the Lord of the Bomb is on our side. In his glorious name, we shall smite the ruin of these murderous heathens.” The speaker was definitely the same preacher Luke had heard before.

  “But there must be dozens of them,” a man said. “We’re all going to die!”

  Luke grinned at the sound of panic in the guy’s voice. He was right. One SEAL was easily worth twelve normal men, and he intended to kill every last one of them. It needed to happen if he was going to keep his family safe.

  “No matter. Do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am the Lord of the Bomb. I will strengthen you and help you. I will uphold you with my righteous right hand and wash away the dirt to dust.” There was a moment of silence; then the preacher heaved a sigh. “This is where you say ‘amen’.”

  Luke heard at least a couple of voices hastily say ‘amen’. He wasn’t sure how many people were in the room, but they outnumbered him. However, if he went in fast, he could take the leader out before they gunned him down.

  He walked to the doorway, stepped inside, and leveled his pistol at the spindly-limbed preacher. No one had a weapon handy.