Supernova EMP Series (Book 2): Deep End

by Hamilton, Grace

  “They’re not going to stop until we’ve killed ‘em all,” Donald said as Josh fired his first shot. The head he’d been aiming at had already ducked out of sight behind a carcass in the paddock.

  “They’re tying us up here,” Henry said, sending a burst from his MP5 out beneath the window board. “Best we can do is keep them down. But the ammo ain’t gonna last forever. And I bet you they’re circling the house already.”

  “I’ll go and take a look out the back,” Poppet said, hefting a shotgun and two boxes of shells under her arm. “I’ll look in on Maxine and Storm, too. Hopefully, the operation’s nearly done.”

  Storm was in a back room being operated on by Lawrence Banks, a surgeon Maxine had risked everything over in order to bring him back to the M-Bar to deal with her’s son’s appendicitis. Maxine, a nurse and wound care specialist, was assisting Banks, and as the house came under fire, Josh couldn’t imagine how difficult the operation had become with this new addition of stress.

  “Thanks,” Josh said as Poppet left the room; however desperately he wanted to know that Maxine and Storm were doing okay, he was needed here in the kitchen more.

  Henry sent out another burst of bullets just as Josh saw a figure making an opportunistic break from behind cover to run towards the barn. The figure was caught by Henry’s fire across the legs and pelvis. His arms flew wide, his Stetson spinning away and his body flailing. He wasn’t dead, but he was out of the game.

  “Where’s Tally and Greene?” Josh asked, sending another shot into the paddock, though it didn’t find his target.

  “Covering the windows at the side of the house in the den,” Donald said, sending a blast of shot towards the paddock.

  Josh chambered another round with the bolt and took aim through the scope. He had no idea how this was going to end and who would be left at the end of it to pick up the pieces.

  Maxine felt like she was going to fall into the open wound in Storm’s abdomen. Doctor Banks—Mr. Call-me-Larry—was wrapping tape around the gauze he’d circled around his shot-up fingers, and he’d sat back on his backside to direct Maxine in continuing the operation.

  “I can’t,” she’d said at first.

  “You can,” Larry had answered. “The wound is open. You can do this under my direction. Back in the mists of time when I learned how to do this, the maxim was ‘See one, do one, teach one.’ I’ve done this a thousand times. You can do it.”

  A volley of shots had interrupted Maxine’s answer, and Storm, sweating, covered in his own blood and in Larry’s from his injured hand, had reached for his mom. “There’s no one else, Mom. You gotta do this. Please.”

  So, as the shots had pummeled the side of the building, coming through the window boards with anxiety-spiking regularity, Maxine had followed Larry’s instructions.

  It wasn’t a case of being squeamish. She’d seen plenty of open wounds in her time as a wound care specialist at Morehead Mercy, where she’d worked in their North Carolina hometown. It was just that this was her son. Opened up to the world, and in a room that was coming under sustained gunfire from attackers outside.

  “Right, Maxine. We’re nearly there. Hook your finger through the peritoneum and you should be able to feel the appendix there. It’s thin like a green bean, and squashy but tough. Get your finger under it and bring it out.”

  Three bullets sang across the room from the window to bury themselves in the wall opposite. Maxine and Larry ducked instinctively. Plaster spat into Larry’s silver-gray hair, and he used his free hand to dab at Storm’s iodine- and blood-smeared abdomen to remove the flakes.

  “The longer this goes on, the more garbage that’s going to get into the wound. We can flush it out, but it’s still a huge risk. Get the appendix now, Maxine. Now.”

  Maxine nodded and hooked her nitrile-gloved finger through the last layer muscle in her son’s abdomen. Larry had managed to open everything he’d needed to before he’d been shot. That was something to be thankful for, at least. Now, the sweat was standing out on his wrinkled forehead like rivets on a battleship. Maxine knew he must be in terrible pain, but he was keeping a lid on it. He couldn’t help her other than to direct her movements.

  She closed her eyes to think herself into her finger. Feeling through the small hole to try to locate what Larry had described. Larry was swabbing around the retractors and forceps that were already in the wound in order to staunch as much of the blood as he could. Storm groaned as Maxine worked her finger in and she almost pulled back. But then the thin, hard ribbon of gut she was searching for moved against the pad of her index finger, and suddenly she was hooked beneath it.

  She pulled up with her hand and the appendix—blue-red, swollen, and hot beneath her finger—came into view.

  “That’s it, girl. Well done. Infected for sure and the thing that’s been causing all his pain. Homestretch now, son,” Larry said, a strained smile sketched across his face as the sounds of the battle intensified outside.

  “Okay, hold it there, and I can use the forceps to clip the artery feeding its blood supply; then you can ligate… tie off… the vessels before we crush and cut out the appendix.”

  Larry clipped the arteries and told Maxine how to prepare the surgical thread to tie them off.

  The door opened breaking her concentration as Maxine spun her head. For a moment, she expected to see one of Creggan’s men in the doorway about to shoot them down. But it was Poppet. She came in with her face determined and her shotgun in hand, kicking the door closed with her heel behind her. “They’re moving up behind us and to the side. I’m gonna see if I can pin some of them down from here. Okay?”

  Maxine nodded. She hadn’t had time to get to know Poppet yet, but she hoped she would on the other side of this if any of them got out alive.

  Poppet knelt at the window and fired both barrels of the shotgun through it. “Nailed one. They’ll think twice about just walking up here now.”

  She ducked as a line of machine-gun bullets studded the board.

  “Or maybe not.”

  The operation continued as best it could under the circumstances. Larry explained how to tie off the arteries and Maxine followed his instructions with shaking fingers. Then she was directed to crush the base of the appendix with another set of forceps and tie off below the crushed area. Larry reached in with forceps-scissors at that point, and the appendix was free. Maxine pulled it away and dropped it on a plate by the side of the bed.

  “Now to close up. First, we need a purse stitch around the stump of the appendix, and…”

  Larry’s head dropped forward, his face pale and his mouth lolling.

  Poppet fired two more shots from the window and tracked back to look at Maxine, who felt like her heart was about to burst out of her chest. Her hands were still in the wound, and as Larry’s voice had trailed off, he’d slid back. His chest was rising and falling softly.

  Poppet felt for a pulse in his neck. “He’s alive. Fainted from the pain or blood loss, I guess.”

  “But what are we going to do?” Maxine asked as the firing intensified outside again.

  Poppet pushed Maxine backward and her hands plopped from the wound in Storm’s tummy.

  “Improvise,” Poppet said. She passed the shotgun to Maxine’s bloody hands and started pulling on a pair of sterile gloves.

  “You take the window, and I’ll do what I can here.”

  “You know how to stitch up wounds?”

  “Some. Ask Josh if you ever get the chance. He’s living proof.”

  Maxine nodded and went to the window.

  Get your copy of Bitter End

  Available May 13, 2020

  www.GraceHamiltonBooks.com

  BLURB

  Skin of Your Teeth Survival is a reality show made famous for pairing part-time survivalists with a real-life survival situation. Always carefully planned out by world-famous Prepper and Survivalist Wolf Henderson, season ten promises to be different This time none of the contestants are survivalis
ts. They’ve all been picked to fail.

  But when an EMP hits, the cast scatters and Wolf is left to care for a husband and wife team, a quietly scrappy chick, and a bumbling scientist. At the spur of the moment, Wolf offers them safety at his island bug-out location and takes off with his ragtag team to move through the wild and dangerous swampland of Florida.

  The loner of the group, Regan, isn’t sure what to do. She can’t survive on her own, but she also doesn’t work well in a group. She believes she has a better shot in one of the major cities on the coast than in the swamp, so she joins the team with every intent of striking out on her own once the opportunity arises. But with the world around them growing more dangerous every day, she has to figure out whether she’s better off with the group or alone in the post-EMP world.

  And whether Regan or Wolf realize it, the dangerous journey through swampland will soon become a literal fight for survival once they reach the chaos of ‘civilized’ South Florida.

  Grab your copy of Surviving the Swamp.

  www.GraceHamiltonBooks.com

  EXCERPT

  Chapter One

  Regan Goodfellow wasn’t a quitter. This last week had tested her strength and her will to survive, but she’d taken on every challenge willingly. More than anything, she wanted to prove to herself how tough she really was. Facing off against a dangerous swamp with deadly animals was a great way to do that. Maybe not the most practical or conventional method, but exciting, nonetheless. If only it wasn’t so damn wet. Of course it was wet; it was a swamp, complete with endlessly boggy ground, damp hand-holds, and humidity like she’d never imagined.

  Moving through it was brutal, and easily the hardest thing she’d ever done in her life. She stopped yet again, to drag in several deep breaths, her lungs sorely lacking oxygen after the breakneck pace she’d set for herself through the dense foliage that kept slapping her face. Thankfully, she had worn a lightweight, long-sleeved shirt. It was certainly coming in handy now, even if it was snagged and torn in places.

  With her feet sinking into the muck that counted as ground in this area, three inches below water and settling into mud, her legs felt like they had a million pins pricking her flesh, tingling as they did from overexertion. She was so close to making it to dry ground. Or, drier ground. There was no way she was going to stop now. She had to get her feet out of the water.

  Most people would have been terrified to be alone in the Everglades, and she knew that might be the rational mindset, but it wasn’t hers. She had something to prove to herself and all the people who had tried to keep her down over the years. No Florida swamp was going to beat her. People thought that because she was a bit on the small side, and didn’t look like one of those badass chicks from any of the movies, she would fail. They were wrong.

  “Keep moving,” she whispered to herself, willing her legs to carry her through the swampy bog.

  She had once thought running on sand was tough, but this marsh was a completely different challenge. Every step was a battle. Her hiking boots sank into the mud, making a sucking sound as she pulled each boot out and took another step. So much of the land was muddy ground, much of it covered by at least a few inches of water—and every bit of it fought her forward momentum. Thankfully, it wasn’t overly hot. Although, the humidity made it uncomfortable even in the shade. Florida humidity had turned her skin into a sticky glue that bugs and debris clung to. It was gross, and the first thing she was going to do when she got out of this swamp was take a long, hot shower. Maybe the weather wasn’t bad when you could lay out on beaches and then jump in the ocean, but this journey she was on was a long way from any beachside vacation.

  “Focus,” she reminded herself when her mind started to acknowledge her physical discomfort yet again.

  Shifting her weight, she took in another deep breath and grimaced as the sucking sound of the mud beneath her feet responded to her renewed attempts to move forward. She had to get to dry land. She’d never make it through another week if she had to stay in the thick swamp with its millions of mosquitoes and other bugs feasting on her body. Every sting reminded her that she had used the last of her bug repellant earlier that morning when things had gone from bad to worse.

  The worst of it all was, her feet were wet, something she knew was bad. Wolf Henderson would lecture her for days when he found out she had lost her spare socks somewhere along the way. When they’d first set out on this little adventure, he had warned them all about foot rot. Human skin was not meant to be wet; he’d told them more than once. And now she knew why. Running was rubbing her toes and heels raw despite the fancy socks she had on. If she ever managed to find him and the others, she was fully prepared to be called out. He could complain and lecture all he wanted so long as he had some dry socks for her.

  A small clearing ahead greeted her when she glanced up from the boggy ground to take new stock of her surroundings, and she pushed her body more upon seeing it. The clearing would provide options. At the very least, she wouldn’t be smacked in the head with the branches that came from every direction, creating the dense canopy of the swamp. The shade was great—the bugs that came with it, not so much.

  “Stop it!” she scolded herself aloud. “I can do this. And someone will come looking for me if I don’t check in. Right?”

  Her sinister laughter in the quiet swamp sounded funny to her ears. Everything about this situation was so wrong. Why had she ever thought a reality survival show would be a good time? It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She’d been ditched by her partner earlier, and now she was alone. And yeah, of course, that’s what she’d said she wanted, but now….

  Reaching the sandy ground of the clearing, Regan gave herself a moment to enjoy the solid footing and take in her surroundings, weighing her options and calculating what path made the most sense. There was a wide pond in front of her, and going through it would be the quickest, shortest route to where she was trying to get to. Heading left would lead her deeper into the swamp, and she was not going back the way she’d come. Her eyes drifted to her right, where a steep hill of a rock stood ominously above her, stretching a good twenty feet into the sky. Going that route would take her a little out of her way, but she could circle back and get to her rendezvous point. It didn’t look insurmountable, but it was steep. Especially considering her soggy footwear.

  She let out a long sigh. None of her options promised she would make it to safety. The pond covered with floating green algae actually looked like the easiest choice, but Regan knew simplest was not best, especially in her case. Who knew what was under that algae, creature-wise? The tree that stretched out over part of the pond, keeping it in the shade, was also a problem. There was a wasp nest hanging over the area. That was a major deterrent. Even being in the vicinity of the nest was freaking her out. One sting and she would go into anaphylactic shock, and she couldn’t exactly pull out an EpiPen while swimming. Her allergy was no joke. That had been a hard lesson learned when she’d been a little girl, and the single EpiPen she carried wouldn’t be enough to save her if she was stung by more than a few of those horrible wasps.

  Standing around and debating what to do could get her killed, too. She had to keep moving. She looked at the murky water, knowing it would likely be a safer option in some ways, but there was always a chance there’d be a deadly snake waiting to clamp down on her leg. Snakes were one of her least favorite animals on earth. The swamplands of Florida were rife with snakes; a fact she should have thought more about before signing up to do this stupid survival show. Sure, only a fifth or so of Florida snakes were venomous, but in her mind, snakes were snakes.

  She stared at the water, shaking her head and cursing the rain they had been dealing with all week. It had made the swamp extra treacherous, which was never a good thing when survival was the goal. Staying upright had been her main goal as she’d traversed slippery rocks made deadly by the layers of moss and slime covering them, and remaining on her feet hadn’t even been easy on what counted for solid gr
ound around here, given the mud and the water.

  “Relax, Regan. You’ve been in worse situations,” she said aloud, trying to calm herself down.

  She had to stay calm and think rationally. It was how she had stayed alive as long as she had. She couldn’t lose her head now at the thought of a snake brushing by her.

  Finding herself staring up at the slippery hill of rock that could lead to safety, she groaned. It was her best option. She knew it. The risk of being stung was too great. She had to avoid the wasps at all costs. Could she climb the rock wall alone? Having a partner would have made this path an easier prospect, but it was too late for that.

  Besides, depending on other people always ended badly. Another hard life lesson she had learned over her twenty-seven years. People sucked. They were unreliable, and they always promised to help and be there for support, and then when you actually needed them, they screwed you over. Regan was done with all that. Being on her own had been a lot easier. She never had to worry about people letting her down or inserting their drama into her life, like her first partner on the show had done. Little Miss Sunny had been a nightmare. Regan had wanted to kill the producers for pairing her up with the school teacher. Thankfully, Sunny had been booted off, leaving Regan with a new partner. And while anyone was better than Sunny, her so-called partner was now nowhere to be found. Typical.

  “You can do this. You don’t need anybody. This is all you. Get your butt up that slope!”

  The rock-covered hill was a slippery mess and her boots were coated with mud, making it even more difficult for her to get a strong foothold. Having clambered five feet above the base, she closed her eyes and focused on the goal. Getting to the top. It wasn’t all that high. A couple stories, if she’d been trying to scale a building. Not something she had actually done, but she easily imagined jumping out of a second-story window and the height involved there—that, she had done.