Nuclear Dawn Box Set Books 1-3: A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Series

by Kyla Stone

  Already on her knees, she doubled over, gulping in scalding air devoid of oxygen her lungs so desperately needed. Waves of dizziness roiled through her. Darkness wavered at the corners of her vision.

  She heaved, coughing violently, eyes bleeding tears. Barely able to see, she blinked furiously and rubbed the stinging wetness from her eyes.

  How much longer did she have before the smoke overwhelmed her?

  Not long. She could already feel it burning in her chest, her lungs.

  There, just ahead of her. Another door.

  She crawled on her hands and knees, wheezing, struggling for every breath, her lungs about to explode. She touched the wood, then the handle. Warm, not hot.

  She pushed on the handle. The door didn’t open immediately. Something on the other side hampered its movement. She shoved harder, straining with her exhausted arms. Come on, come on!

  “Move!” she grunted desperately.

  She pushed again, slamming her shoulder into the door.

  She half-collapsed as it finally gave way against her weight.

  She pushed the door open and crawled on her elbows into the small bathroom. At first she could barely see through the heavy shadows. It stank of piss, though she could barely smell anything over the acrid, stinging smoke.

  There were no windows. A couple of large sofa cushions peeked out of the ivory claw-foot tub. Wedged beneath the door was a rumpled turquoise bath mat tangled with a fluffy towel—that’s why she’d had trouble opening it.

  Eden. She had to be here.

  “Where are you! Answer me!” she cried even though she knew Eden couldn’t respond.

  She crawled deeper inside the bathroom, the tile unnaturally warm beneath her palms. She reached up to the marble counter and felt for standing water in the sink.

  The first thing Ezra had taught them to do in a power outage or other emergency was to conserve water.

  The sink was bone dry.

  She moved to the tub and pushed aside the cushions in a desperate, futile hope that Eden would be lying there, grinning up at her, Surprise! scrawled in her little notepad.

  The tub was empty.

  Eden wasn’t there.

  39

  Dakota

  No, no, no!

  Dakota hadn’t survived a nuclear blast and journeyed across burning, radioactive Miami to lose everything now. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

  She’d done everything right! Everything she possibly could.

  Eden was supposed to be here.

  “Eden!” she croaked.

  A dark shape at the bottom of the tub caught her eye.

  Her sister’s notepad.

  Blinking fiercely, Dakota picked it up with trembling hands.

  She smoothed the satiny surface of the unicorn leaping over the rainbow clouds, touched the drawing pencil neatly tucked into the spirals, pressed the pads of her fingers to the smooth, high-quality paper for sketching and drawing.

  Dakota had bought it for Eden’s fifteenth birthday a month ago. It was a copy of the one she’d bought last year, and the year before that.

  Eden loved it, and when she loved something, she wanted it over and over—like macaroni and cheese, chocolate-covered rice crispy treats, or her favorite dystopian novels. Sometimes, she would wear the same shirt over and over until Dakota or Ezra forced her to wash it.

  Eden never went anywhere without her notepad. It was her language, her way to express herself, to communicate.

  It was her voice.

  Her sister had been here.

  But she’d left without her notepad.

  What if she’d left the bathroom, searching for an escape from the smoke and the fire, and passed out somewhere, unable to cry for help?

  Dakota’s heart clenched. Dread seeped into every pore. Fear throbbed through her bones.

  If she didn’t find Eden right now, it would be too late.

  Her sister trusted her. Depended on her.

  Dakota would not fail her.

  She had to check the rest of the house. Tucking the notepad down her shirt, Dakota slithered out of the bathroom on her belly, keeping her head as close to the floor as possible.

  The air was gray, thick with ash, and hot. So hot, it felt like her skin was melting off her bones. Her eyebrows felt scorched.

  A dull roar filled her ears. Black smoke roiled above her head, heaving and snarling like some monstrous creature.

  Cotton stuffed her aching head. Her thoughts came jumbled and disconnected, the smoke and the strange house disorienting her.

  Which way was she supposed to go?

  Dazed and woozy, she managed to turn her head to her left. Her lethargic brain took far too long to process the sight before her.

  Tongues of fire licked the walls only fifteen feet behind her in the hallway. Flames whooshed into the opened doorways she’d left behind, drawn by the oxygen sucked in through the shattered windows.

  Stupid. She should’ve closed the doors. Too late now.

  Not that way.

  She turned slowly and crawled for the other end of the hall.

  Her limbs felt so heavy, like they were weighed down with boulders. She was so tired. Every movement took phenomenal effort.

  She reached another door but barely had the strength to reach up and open it.

  Eden.

  She could no longer speak the word aloud. Her parched tongue stuck to the roof of her bone-dry mouth.

  Darkness fringed her vision. Unconsciousness was coming for her, hunting her.

  It would be so easy to just give in, to let the cool, sweet darkness carry her away into oblivion.

  Every terrible memory, gone. Every brand and burn, gone. Every person who’d ever betrayed her, gone. Maddox, the compound, the group home, her parents’ death; all gone. The blood, the body—erased forever.

  No more pain, no more suffering, no more horror…

  How easy it would be. How simple. It would all go away. The fear, the anxiety, the guilt.

  All she had to do was stop fighting. Give in. Give up on herself. On Eden.

  Her thoughts fragmented, turning to ash, just bits of embers glowing in her feverish mind.

  Give up.

  No…Never.

  Go to sleep.

  Had to find…Eden.

  It’s so easy. The only easy thing you’ve ever done. Just close your eyes.

  Couldn’t…give up…

  Never, ever.

  40

  Dakota

  Never, ever.

  Through the hazy darkness of Dakota’s muddled mind, a single ember glowed dimly. She was fading. Some part of her knew she was fading, knew this was it.

  If she didn’t get the hell up right this second, it would be over.

  Dakota didn’t give up. She didn’t know how.

  Her eyes fluttered. She moaned hoarsely.

  A sound reached her, hazy and distant but closer, closer, jarring her dulled senses.

  The snap and crackle of things bursting into flame—carpet, books, and magazines, lamps, throw pillows, and brocade curtains, wood and metal and plastic, filing cabinets and shelves, picture frames melting off the walls.

  Slowly, painfully, she turned her head, blinking through the stinging tears, the thick haze of smoke.

  The house was engulfed in flames. The fire blazed with a crackling, popping cacophony, a pulsing roar in her ears.

  It surged down the hall after her, a devouring dragon desperate to breathe, to feed.

  Sheer terror careened through her body. Drawing on the last of her energy, she forced herself to her elbows, wriggled frantically for the nearest door, and pushed it open.

  She crawled blindly inside. She dragged herself all the way in, then, groaning, she twisted her body and kicked at the door.

  It swung half-closed.

  A wave of blistering heat swept toward her, followed on its heels by the ravenous fire. Flames darted through the doorway, seeking her with their scalding tongues.

 
; Her skin felt roasted. Her eyebrows were singed. The stench of burning hair filled her nostrils.

  Her tortured lungs dragged in a breath of scorched air. Maybe her last, if she didn’t do something, if she couldn’t find a way to get out of there, stop the fire somehow…

  If she couldn’t shut the damn door.

  With a desperate, howling scream, she gathered her waning strength and kicked again. Her heel slammed against the heavy wood.

  This time, the door banged shut.

  She nearly cried with relief.

  It was a moment of reprieve. It wouldn’t last long.

  Gasping, she flipped back onto her belly and dragged herself across the carpet. Her arms were so damn heavy. She could hardly lift her legs.

  She was trapped in quicksand, her body constricted and sinking, sinking...

  Come on! Move, damn it!

  A dresser stood to her right. Beside it was an arched hallway leading to a large walk-in closet, the door slightly ajar. A huge king-sized bed in a massive whitewashed frame loomed directly ahead of her.

  Dim light streamed into the master bedroom from somewhere over the bed. A window. She crawled toward it.

  Sharp pricks stabbed her hands and forearms. Droplets of blood beaded her palms. Glass shards from the shattered windows littered the plush white carpet and the bed.

  She sucked in a hoarse whimper and kept going.

  She forced herself to her knees, enduring the sting of fresh cuts as more glass dug into her kneecaps. She tried to brush off her hands, but it was useless.

  Several glass shards were embedded too deep. She couldn’t afford the time it would take to pry them from her skin.

  Using the bed frame, she pulled herself to her knees.

  A wave of dizziness washed over her. Her head pounded from lack of oxygen, her heartbeat throbbing in her chest.

  White stars danced and flickered in front of her eyes. She felt herself going limp, her muscles slackening, the dark oblivion descending again.

  It was coming. This time, there was nothing she could do to stop it.

  Her legs collapsed beneath her.

  “Dakota!”

  She flung out her hands to catch herself. The sharp sting of glass piercing deeper into her skin brought her back.

  She fought the dark, forcing herself to open her eyes, blinking groggily.

  “Dakota!”

  The voice wasn’t unconsciousness beckoning.

  It was real.

  She opened her mouth. Nothing came out. Panic gripped her.

  This was how Eden felt—voiceless, vulnerable, powerless. Unable to communicate even the most basic tenet of human communication: help.

  Gripping the bedpost, she pulled herself back up again, inch by painful inch. Bits of glass still clung to her arms, hands, and knees. With each movement, tiny needles jabbed her skin again and again. She winced and ignored them.

  Orange, flickering fingers pried at the door behind her, smoke pouring in through the cracks as the fiery dragon roared to get in, to get to her. The air was blurry with heat, her eyes stinging so badly she could hardly see.

  “Dakota!”

  “I’m here!” she croaked.

  She crawled on her knees for the window, coughing relentlessly, struggling for each smoke-clotted breath as she used the bed to keep herself upright. “Here!”

  Logan appeared outside the window. His rough, disheveled face was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

  He climbed onto the HVAC unit below the window and reached for her, careful to avoid the jagged teeth of glass still protruding from the frame. “Come on! Let’s go!”

  She rose trembling to her feet, took a last staggering step, and then he was there, leaning through the shattered frame, lifting her up and pulling her out into the dazzling light, into the humid air bursting with precious oxygen, into bright, dizzying life.

  Logan cradled her in his strong arms. He bounced and jostled her as he carried her across the lawn, but she didn’t care.

  She was safe. Safe from the flames and the suffocating smoke.

  But Eden wasn’t.

  She wanted nothing more than to lay her head back, close her eyes, and give in to the lush, beguiling darkness sucking at the edges of her mind.

  But she couldn’t.

  “Eden,” she mumbled. “Find Eden.”

  She had to get down, had to go back in. She hadn’t searched the walk-in closet or the master bathroom, hadn’t braved the stairs to the second floor.

  Eden could still be in there, scared and suffering and alone.

  “Let me go!” Dakota shoved weakly at Logan’s chest, trying to break free.

  “Damn it, you crazy girl!” Logan only tightened his grip on her, cursing as the glass shards protruding from her palms scraped his arms. “Stop it!”

  Desperation drove her. She squirmed harder, fighting him, fighting the darkness, fighting fate and chaos and everything that had conspired against her since the day she was born. “I need—I have to—”

  “Stop! You aren’t listening!”

  She punched him as hard as she could right in his scruffy jaw.

  Logan stumbled. He didn’t drop her. He hissed a pained breath and crushed her against him, trapping her flailing hands even as she went for his eyeballs with her fingernails. “Hot damn. You’re more trouble than you’re worth, you know that?”

  “Eden!” she wailed into his chest, struggling against him. She pounded his chest in futile despair.

  The pain of loss was inside her like a heavy stone pressing down on her chest, breaking her into shards, into a hundred thousand pieces.

  She had to go back in, even if it killed her. She’d fight to her last breath. She’d never give up. Never, never.

  “Dakota! Listen to me!”

  She heard his voice as if from far away, as if she were underwater and he were calling to her from somewhere up in the bright, bright sky.

  “Eden is safe,” Logan said. “She’s right here.”

  41

  Dakota

  Dakota came to slowly, and then all at once.

  She floated somewhere in pleasant darkness, in a comforting cocoon: a warm, pulsing womb she didn’t want to leave, not ever.

  Eden’s safe. She’s right here.

  She jerked awake, gasping for air as if she’d just broken through the surface of a deep ocean.

  “Careful!” Shay knelt over her, gently picking the last of the glass shards from her knees. “You suffered smoke inhalation and a few dozen small lacerations. I don’t know how serious the smoke inhalation is, yet. Take it easy.”

  Dakota sat up fast, fighting the wooziness until her head cleared. For a moment, she couldn’t remember who or where she was.

  She wasn’t in her apartment, lying on her cheap, saggy mattress with her lumpy pillow and rattling fan that couldn’t make up for the crappy air conditioner.

  She was outside. An ant crawled up her arm. Sharp blades of St. Augustine grass pricked her legs and butt.

  She sat in a perfectly manicured yard. The grass was a vivid green, uniformly trimmed, completely free of weeds. In Miami, people paid good money for a yard like that, she thought dimly.

  She stared down at her hands without recognizing them. They were wrapped in white gauze. Shay had bandaged them while she was unconscious.

  She could feel Band-Aids stuck to her arms beneath her shirtsleeves, which Shay had carefully rolled back down and re-duct-taped.

  “Thank you,” she rasped.

  “You’re welcome.” Shay squeezed her shoulder. “How do you feel?”

  “Awful.” Her voice was hoarse, her throat raw. It felt like someone had scraped her airway with a knife.

  It hurt to breathe. And her lungs still burned like she couldn’t take in enough oxygen.

  Because of the fire.

  It all came back then. The nuclear explosion, the race to the theater, the attack in Old Navy, the arduous journey to find her sister.

  “Eden—”
She started to get up. A violent coughing fit wracked her body. Fresh pain speared through her fiercely aching head.

  She sank back to the grass.

  “What did I say about taking it easy?” Shay said sternly. “You need oxygen, a chest X-ray, complete blood cell count, a metabolic profile, and bedrest. I can’t do anything about most of that until we get to the EOC, but you must rest, do you understand?”

  Blearily, Dakota nodded. Her thoughts were still coming muddled and disjointed.

  “Are you experiencing difficulty breathing?” Shay asked.

  She shook her head. It hurt like hell, and it felt like her lungs would never get enough air again, but at least she could breathe.

  “Prolonged coughing spells—"

  In response, another coughing spasm gripped her.

  “Okay, yes to that one. How about mental confusion? That’s common with smoke inhalation injuries. You’ve already been hit on the head today.”

  “It’s—it’s coming back,” she whispered huskily.

  “Good, that’s good.” Shay sank back on her heels and touched her own head wound gingerly. “I didn’t let anyone come near you until I’d checked you out. You gave us all a scare.”

  With a slow, careful movement, Dakota looked around, searching for her sister.

  To the east, smoke poured into the sky. Flames licked at the windows of a dozen houses at the end of the street. Creaking, groaning sounds reached them, the dull roar of wood popping, things splintering, houses heaving, caving in on themselves, walls collapsing.

  To the west, the sky was clear of smoke. The sun descended, the clouds striped with great scarves of color. The palm trees lining the street waved gently in the breeze.

  The stately, stucco houses looked perfect but for their broken windows and the splinters of glass glinting in the manicured bushes. Shiny Audis, BMWs, and Mercedes dotted the driveways. Other than their group, not a person was in sight.

  “Why she went through the back way is beyond me,” Logan was saying. “Most normal people use the front door. She would’ve seen the kid sitting right there on the neighbor’s lawn.”