by Alex Gunwick
Edge of Collapse
An EMP Post-Apocalyptic Survival Prepper Series
Alex Gunwick
Copyright © 2017 by Alex Gunwick
Cover Design by Jacqueline Sweet
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Contents
One Family’s Struggle to Survive Nuclear War…
Excerpt
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
Chapter 31
Newsletter
About the Author
One Family’s Struggle to Survive Nuclear War…
Luke is four hundred miles away from home when the first bomb drops. In seconds, his routine business trip becomes a nightmarish struggle to survive. After narrowly escaping a nuclear explosion in San Francisco, the Navy SEAL must travel through a world without rule of law. Relying on his skills and the items in his Bug Out Bag, he fights an epic battle as he struggles to get home. Nothing will stop him from getting back to his family. As his resources run out, his resourcefulness kicks in. His family’s depending on him and he won’t let them down—even if it means leaving a trail of destruction in his wake.
Liz can’t believe they’re under attack. At first, it seems like things won’t be too bad. Yet within hours, it seems like the whole world’s gone crazy. With communication lines down, she’s unable to reach her husband, Luke. Getting her kids to their Bug Out Location won’t be easy, but she’s determined to make it. It’s well stocked and safely tucked away in a canyon. But as people begin to flee the cities, a new darkness spreads across America. Her struggle to survive rips apart her core values and forces her to examine what it means to be a mother, a wife, and a survivor.
American Fallout is a thrilling post-apocalyptic survival prepper EMP fiction series that makes you step back and ask: Could this happen tomorrow? What would happen if the world’s nuclear arsenal was unleashed? What would you do if it happened while you were away from home? And how would your family survive?
Excerpt
Luke ducked behind the truck as a second gunshot rang out. He inched toward the corner and peeked out. Back at the well-lit gas station, the man who’d rammed his truck into the store’s wall lay on the ground, facedown, with his arm twisted at an unnatural angle. A dark red pool of blood oozed from under the dead man’s body. The guard stood over him. He held his shotgun in the air and hollered something Luke couldn’t make out. Order was degrading fast. He had to get on the road before a gunfight broke out.
He quickly skirted the edge of his truck and hopped into the driver’s seat. He held onto his gun with one hand and drove with the other.
After exiting the shopping center, he turned left onto Sperry Avenue. As he passed through the center of town, people who were gathered in groups in the parking lots of other stores turned to watch him. Men holding crowbars bashed in windows at a pharmacy. A woman carrying a baby dashed across the road, narrowly dodging cross-traffic as she fled the mob.
At the next intersection, an angry group of men wearing white tank tops and matching blue bandanas shot up a police car. So much for Rule of Law. He’d expected societal norms to break down, but he’d hoped it would have taken longer than a few hours. Society operated on a thin veil of law and order, but any cracks in the system could shatter it in a matter of hours.
1
Luke weaved his way through a sea of businessmen on his way toward Gate 20 at San Jose International Airport. As he stopped to double check the departures board, a teen wearing noise-cancelling headphones bumped into his backpack. Luke dropped his hand to his waist where he typically carried a SIG Sauer P938. It wasn’t there. He’d been forced to unload and lock his concealed carry gun in a hard-sided case before stowing it in his checked bag.
“Sorry, man,” the kid mumbled as he melted back into the crowd.
Luke dropped his hand to his side and tracked the kid until he disappeared into the bathrooms. Damn Millennials had no respect.
He returned his attention to the departures board. Flight Delayed. Of course. He sniffed. If the commuter flight between Silicon Valley and Orange County ever left on time, he’d buy a round for everyone on the plane. It wouldn’t happen, but it was fun to dream.
He settled into a chair with his back to a wall so he could keep an eye on the crowd. An old habit he’d learned the hard way at a bazaar in Iraq. Situational awareness had become second nature after he’d finished pulling shrapnel out of his ass.
Across the room, a man pulled his phone away from his ear and glared at it. His voice jumped in pitch and volume as the heated conversation he’d been having with his wife reached a crescendo.
Luke shook his head and pulled his phone out of his pocket. His wife Liz would be picking him up at the airport, but he hadn’t sent an update yet. As he punched in the first few words, the cacophony of conversation around him stopped. People gasped.
His head snapped up. Everyone in the room angled toward sets of televisions spaced throughout the airport. A bright red ribbon flashed across the top of the news channel.
New York Under Attack!
He bolted up and moved closer to read the closed captioning.
Social media reports are streaming in from people outside of New York City.
A shaky video shot through a maze of tall buildings captured a mushroom cloud in the distance. His stomach dropped. Adrenaline spiked through his veins. He forced himself to take calming breaths. Assess then react.
A second image flashed on the screen as the ribbon of terror scrolled on.
We have live video of what appears to be a nuclear bomb explosion over New York. An ABC News chopper captured the detonation from Princeton, New Jersey. UPDATE: LOS ANGELES has been hit.
Shit!
On September 11, all planes had been immediately grounded. A nuclear attack meant his flight would be delayed indefinitely. If he didn’t act now, he’d be stuck in San Jose without transportation.
Luke headed toward the exit at a fast clip. He didn’t want to start a stampede, but he had to get his gun. He took the escalator stairs three at a time. When he hit the ground floor, he jogged toward the counter where he’d dropped off his luggage.
“Excuse me,” he said. “I need my bag. I dropped it off thirty minutes ago, but my flight’s been cancelled.”
“Do you have your claim ticket?” she asked.
He thrust it into her hand. She scanned the barcode on it and squinted at the computer.
“You’re in luck. We ha
ven’t sent it through security yet. I’ll be right back.”
As she disappeared into the baggage processing area, he studied the flow of people into the airport. No one seemed alarmed. There weren’t any televisions in the area, so they probably hadn’t heard the news yet.
“Here you go, sir,” the airline representative said. “Can I help you with anything else?”
“No.”
As he jogged toward the car rental area, he scanned the options and chose the agency without a line. Alamo. Ironically appropriate.
“I need to rent a car.”
“What type would you like?” the agent asked. “We have compact, sedan, four-door, SUV—”
“Anything with a full tank of gas,” he said.
“They all have a full tank, sir.”
“Anything with four wheel drive?” he asked.
“We have a Range Rover Sport. Are you planning on taking it off road?”
“I don’t know,” Luke said. “I’ll take it.”
“There’s an extra service charge because it’s a—”
“Here’s my credit card. I don’t care about the price.” Luke thrust his card toward the man.
“O…kay. I just need you to fill out the rental agreement. We have optional full coverage insurance but—”
“I don’t need it.”
“Oh, sir. I highly recommend—”
“Please just print the paperwork,” he said through gritted teeth.
The background noise from various conversations inched up with each passing second. He didn’t have much time before the shit hit the fan and everyone started to panic. After scribbling his signature across the paperwork, he grabbed the key.
On the way to the lot, he whipped his phone out and tried to call Liz. When his wife didn’t pick up, he sent a text.
“LA hit by nuke. BOL now! Take kids. Coming home. Love U.”
He hit send. He repeated the process with his daughter’s number. Sierra was a freshman at University of California, Irvine. Hopefully she’d already seen the news. But if she hadn’t…
He shook his head to clear it. There was no reason to think they were already dead. Their home and Sierra’s apartment were both about forty miles south of LA in Orange County. The explosion wouldn’t have reached them, but the fallout could. It was October, so the Santa Ana winds might blow the worst of it into the ocean, if they were lucky.
As he ran down a row of cars, he spotted a red Range Rover. He hadn’t thought to ask about the color. Damn. No chance at being inconspicuous with this one, but no time to go back and ask for a different color. The highways would already be gridlocked with commuter traffic, so he couldn’t waste time.
He pulled onto Highway 101 and headed south. Immediately slowed by a wall of cars, he tapped a few buttons on the console to turn on the GPS. As he attempted to enter his home address, a flash of light blasted across the side and rearview mirrors. He flinched. His eyes snapped closed. As he opened them, an enormous mushroom cloud ballooned into the sky behind him.
San Francisco.
Gone.
People stopped their cars and got out to stare at the nuclear explosion. He swerved onto the shoulder and drove past the melee. The air blast wouldn’t reach San Jose, but if the wind blew this direction, the fallout would blanket the city. He needed to get over a mountain and into the central valley as soon as possible. He took the Alum Rock exit toward Mt. Hamilton. Traffic inched along until he hit Mt. Hamilton road.
As he headed up the two lane road, a view of the entire valley sprawled out to his left. The mushroom cloud had flattened out near the top. Condensation rings circled the deadly gray plume. Radioactive fallout would cover hundreds of miles depending on how hard the wind blew. The more space he could put between him and the cloud, the better.
The road wound up the mountain in increasingly tight curves. After skidding around the third corner in a row, he eased off the gas. He checked the odometer. Twenty-five miles from the airport. Far enough to let him breathe a bit more, but not far enough to ease the tension in his jaw. He wouldn’t be relaxing anytime soon. Not until he reached his family.
Liz pounded a punching bag at the warehouse-style boxing gym. Cardio kickboxing kicked her ass, but she loved it. As she pummeled the bag with her fists, briny sweat poured down her face. Biceps aching, shoulders screaming, lungs burning, she refused to let up. Ten other women toiled under the direction of their instructor, but she easily outkicked all of them.
“Five more,” Brad yelled, ever the drill sergeant. “Come on, ladies. I want to see those asses working!”
She grinned as he approached.
“Looking good, Anderson.” He preferred using their last names, probably an old Navy thing. He and her husband had been on the same SEAL team. Hard as granite and in killer shape for men in their mid-forties, they obsessed over their fitness regimens.
“Pretend it’s Luke’s face when he forgets to take out the trash,” Brad yelled.
She snorted, narrowed her eyes, and assaulted the bag. A warm breeze rattled the rolled-up door. Her flushed skin chilled in the brief blast of air. A long ponytail slapped against her back. A green camo tank top clung to her like a second skin. Running shorts fluttered against her upper thighs. Calves burning, abs aching, she wanted more.
Several phones buzzed in duffel bags which were hanging from hooks along the concrete wall. As she paused to wipe her brow, her phone chimed with Luke’s ringtone. She jogged over to grab it, but missed the call. A series of text messages covered the screen. As she scrolled through them, her heart kicked and fear sliced through her belly.
Nuclear war?
A group of horrified faces looked up from their phones. Everyone started talking at once.
“Did you see the video?”
“I didn’t feel anything. Why didn’t we feel anything when they hit LA?”
“Oh my God, we’re all gonna die!”
“I have to go.” She grabbed her bag and ran toward the door.
“Liz!” Brad called.
“I’ll check in with you later. I have to get home. Kyle’s with the sitter.”
“Call me if you need anything,” he said.
“Will do.”
She hopped into her Jeep Renegade. On the drive home she tried to call Luke and Sierra, but neither answered their phones. She tried the house phone and got a busy signal. Although she was worried about Luke, the root of all fear sprouted from the threat of losing her children. Every mother’s worst nightmare.
Ten minutes later, she pulled into the driveway of her two-story home. Several neighbors had gathered at the end of the cul-de-sac. They turned toward her. She waved but didn’t stop moving.
Inside the house, she made a beeline for the living room where the television blared. Brittany, their sixteen-year-old babysitter, sat on the couch watching MTV.
“Hey, what’s up, Mrs. Anderson?”
“Where’s Kyle?” Liz asked.
“Upstairs playing video games.”
“Kyle!” Liz hollered upstairs. “Come down here.”
“He probably has his headset on,” Brittany said.
“Have you heard the news?”
“What news?”
“About the nuclear bombs.”
“Bombs?” Brittany’s already pale skin turned white.
“Hand me the remote, please.”
After Brittany handed it to her, Liz flipped to CBS.
A static bright red screen displayed the message: Emergency Alert System. An attack on America is underway. This is an emergency action notification. Seek shelter immediately. Threat Level: Critical.
Reports indicate that a nuclear attack has occurred in multiple cities across America. Additional strikes are imminent. We are under attack. Take shelter immediately. Please stay tuned for any additional information. This message will repeat.
“Seriously?” Brittany asked, her eyebrows knitting together.
“Yes, seriously.”
“I need to
get home.”
“Do you need a ride home?” Liz asked.
“No, I rode my bike.”
“Be careful out there. We’re not close enough to be in the fallout zone from LA, but if they try to hit the power plant at San Onofre—”
“They?”
“Whoever’s bombing us,” Liz said.
“Oh, God. I have to go.”
Liz paid her and walked her to the door.
“Be careful on your way home. Everyone seems calm so far, but they may not stay that way.”
“I will.”
“Kyle!” Liz yelled. “Get down here.”
When he didn’t appear at the top of the stairs, she huffed and headed up to get him. His bedroom door was closed. She knocked and waited. The last time she’d walked in unannounced, he’d been getting dressed for football practice. He’d nearly lost his mind screaming about privacy. She’d had to remind him that he was still a child and therefore wasn’t entitled to absolute privacy. Although, she did agree to knock in the future.
“Open up, Kyle.”
After banging on the door again, she listened for movement. Nothing. She cracked open the door.
“I’m coming in.”
She entered the room. Empty. There was no sign of Kyle. The computer screen was dark and the bed was unmade. Nothing unusual about that. She checked the closet, but he wasn’t hiding inside.
Her throat constricted. So he’d chosen today, of all days, to sneak out?
Really?