Betty replied, “Well, they tend to get overlooked around here.” The comment was delivered with a withering glare at her grinning husband.
Abram chuckled. “He’s just mad that Vaughn beat him in the poker match last week.”
Frank grumbled, “Man’s got a ponytail, for God’s sake. You’d think he’d have an easier tell at the green table. But Dexter, he needs testosterone shots or something, but he’s a good guy. Loses gracefully.”
Abram smirked. “Not like you, you grumpy old bastard. Maybe some of our unequaled, fine three-month-aged whiskey will take the sting out of losing to Vaughn, though. Let’s get you a round or three. Betty, I promise we won’t let him drive home tonight,” he said hastily at the end.
She thanked him, while Frank grumbled something about how staying would be his idea, not Abram’s.
Abram led them back to the party behind the house, back toward where Abram’s people—now Frank’s people, too, in spite of any curmudgeonly protests to the contrary by the bull of an old man.
Ahead, singing reached his ears. A full-house rendition of “Hotel California” was in full swing, it seemed. It raised Abram’s heart to hear it. Out here in the middle of nowhere, amidst a sea of chaos that was, thankfully, slowly being pushed back now, his people had reasons to celebrate life, to cry out into the night that they were still here, still alive, in spite of nature’s best efforts. And someday, maybe for Abram’s children if not for him, life would go back to normal. A new normal, at any rate.
Maybe a better normal, because so much of the deadwood that had gathered on “civilization” had been burned away. Exfoliating mankind, he thought, laughing inside. But whatever the future held, Abram knew now, his compound would continue to be there for these people, his friends, who were closer to him than his own family had ever been, though he’d known them only for a few long weeks. It would be there for his children, when he passed on—and someday, maybe, for his grandkids, too.
Frank’s raspy old voice cut through Abram’s somber thoughts, as he burst out in song when his fellow revelers reached the “Hotel California” chorus.
Abram, grinning, pushed away such thoughts of the future. It might have been the shots of rotgut “fine whiskey” talking, but as his people sang, his spirits soared to listen while the classic song they all knew by heart poured out from of them, joy of life etched on their faces.
Halfway through their Eagles rendition, a reverberating harmonica in a Blues key joined in, keeping perfect tempo. Vaughn’s accompaniment was brilliant, and as the compound survivors celebrated the mere fact of being alive together, Abram joined his voice with the others.
They sent their joyous music rising up to the heavens.
# # #
THE END
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Also by JJ Holden
Dark New World (9 Book Series)
Dark New World
EMP Exodus
EMP Deadfall
EMP Backdraft
EMP Resurrection
EMP Retaliation
EMP Resurgence
EMP Retribution
EMP Redemption
** NOTE: The Dark New World series contains strong language and graphic depictions of violence **
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About the Authors
J.J. Holden is the co-author of the EMP CRISIS and DARK NEW WORLD series. He lives in a secluded cabin and spends his days studying the past, enjoying the present, and pondering the future.
Mark J. Russell is the co-author of the EMP CRISIS series. An avid outdoorsman, he enjoys reading and writing stories of survival.
For updates, new release notifications, and more, please visit: www.jjholdenbooks.com
Get in touch: [email protected]
EMP Crisis Series (Book 3): Instant Mayhem Page 42