Read Online Afterburn: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller (Next Book 1) by Scott Nicholson - Free Book Online
Authors: Scott Nicholson
Ads: Link
could kiss my feet.”
The boy was taunting him, knowing Franklin couldn’t freely scold or punish him. “Well, just maybe I’ll come over and do that. And bring a hammer to smash your toes.”
“If you hurry, maybe you can make it in time for breakfast.”
So Stephen didn’t expect Rachel and DeVontay until morning. “What’s Mom and Pop cooking?”
“Ham and eggs.”
That wasn’t a code, and it made Franklin hungry. “Brew up some coffee and I’ll accept your invitation.”
“Don’t kill yourself getting over here, Cowboy. Plenty of cups to go around. Three, in fact.”
So Marina and Kokona were in the bunker, too. Good. He didn’t think Rachel and DeVontay should be taking the kids out into this hostile land, but maybe they must learn to survive like everyone. Kokona, though…that bizarre child was a constant reminder of her kind, and her helplessness seemed a little too convenient for Franklin’s taste. In five years, she hadn’t grown an inch, but her gaze didn’t miss anything—she was rapidly absorbing and analyzing the world around her.
Possibly a tiny, drooling spy, but you can’t tell Rachel anything. Birds of a feather flock together.
“Okay, Eagle One, hope the bed bugs don’t bite. I’ll catch you on the flipside.”
“I read, Cowboy. Over and out.”
Franklin disconnected the converter so as not to prematurely drain the battery. He began dressing in layers both to ward off the cool night air and hopefully repel the teeth of surprise predators.
He collected a sidearm—an old-school Colt revolver—and clipped it to his belt along with a tactical combat knife. While most survivalists favored automatic or semi-automatic high-caliber rifles, Franklin liked the profile of a shotgun, as well as its absolute shredding power at close range. An M16 could knock down a target, but the twelve-gauge would turn it to soup.
He wasn’t looking forward to the night walk but he was ready for the job. He slipped a paperback copy of George Orwell’s Animal Farm into his back pocket for Marina—Stephen had told her so much about it, she’d made Franklin promise to let her borrow it.
We live on a different kind of animal farm now, Georgie Boy. The kind where the animals eat you.
Franklin patted the paperback. He appreciated the fringe benefit of having a little extra protection if some nightmarish critter bit him on the ass.
He wished he had some Kevlar body armor, but the few pieces stored in the bunker were heavy and clumsy—well, that and they wouldn’t fit around his belly. His garden, livestock, and the bounty of the surrounding forest all served to keep him well fed. Besides the chores around the compound, he didn’t get a whole lot of exercise these days. Running for his life was over.
Except there was no retirement for crusty old survivalists, not when it seemed nobody else in the world understood the gig. He’d shared as much knowledge as he could with Rachel and her friends in Eagle One, but you couldn’t just grant the gift of paranoia.
Franklin had no way of knowing how many humans were left alive, but the evidence suggested his kind was dying out. Even those unwelcome recon helicopters were few and far between.
But he knew just as little about the Zaps, or the mutated wildlife. Many of the animals were unchanged, or else exhibited only harmless new behavioral quirks. Birds migrated in all directions at once, fish beached themselves on the creek banks, and deer had so forgotten the threat of men and guns that they would practically walk right into the compound if Franklin left the gate open. But some of the animals had transformed into ravenous beasts that sported maws packed with sharp, gleaming enamel.
Franklin’s motto was “Live and let live.” So far, the Zaps, the creepy critters, and the military had all left him alone.
But he couldn’t isolate himself from his love for Rachel. Not only had she always been his favorite granddaughter, she was the only relic
The boy was taunting him, knowing Franklin couldn’t freely scold or punish him. “Well, just maybe I’ll come over and do that. And bring a hammer to smash your toes.”
“If you hurry, maybe you can make it in time for breakfast.”
So Stephen didn’t expect Rachel and DeVontay until morning. “What’s Mom and Pop cooking?”
“Ham and eggs.”
That wasn’t a code, and it made Franklin hungry. “Brew up some coffee and I’ll accept your invitation.”
“Don’t kill yourself getting over here, Cowboy. Plenty of cups to go around. Three, in fact.”
So Marina and Kokona were in the bunker, too. Good. He didn’t think Rachel and DeVontay should be taking the kids out into this hostile land, but maybe they must learn to survive like everyone. Kokona, though…that bizarre child was a constant reminder of her kind, and her helplessness seemed a little too convenient for Franklin’s taste. In five years, she hadn’t grown an inch, but her gaze didn’t miss anything—she was rapidly absorbing and analyzing the world around her.
Possibly a tiny, drooling spy, but you can’t tell Rachel anything. Birds of a feather flock together.
“Okay, Eagle One, hope the bed bugs don’t bite. I’ll catch you on the flipside.”
“I read, Cowboy. Over and out.”
Franklin disconnected the converter so as not to prematurely drain the battery. He began dressing in layers both to ward off the cool night air and hopefully repel the teeth of surprise predators.
He collected a sidearm—an old-school Colt revolver—and clipped it to his belt along with a tactical combat knife. While most survivalists favored automatic or semi-automatic high-caliber rifles, Franklin liked the profile of a shotgun, as well as its absolute shredding power at close range. An M16 could knock down a target, but the twelve-gauge would turn it to soup.
He wasn’t looking forward to the night walk but he was ready for the job. He slipped a paperback copy of George Orwell’s Animal Farm into his back pocket for Marina—Stephen had told her so much about it, she’d made Franklin promise to let her borrow it.
We live on a different kind of animal farm now, Georgie Boy. The kind where the animals eat you.
Franklin patted the paperback. He appreciated the fringe benefit of having a little extra protection if some nightmarish critter bit him on the ass.
He wished he had some Kevlar body armor, but the few pieces stored in the bunker were heavy and clumsy—well, that and they wouldn’t fit around his belly. His garden, livestock, and the bounty of the surrounding forest all served to keep him well fed. Besides the chores around the compound, he didn’t get a whole lot of exercise these days. Running for his life was over.
Except there was no retirement for crusty old survivalists, not when it seemed nobody else in the world understood the gig. He’d shared as much knowledge as he could with Rachel and her friends in Eagle One, but you couldn’t just grant the gift of paranoia.
Franklin had no way of knowing how many humans were left alive, but the evidence suggested his kind was dying out. Even those unwelcome recon helicopters were few and far between.
But he knew just as little about the Zaps, or the mutated wildlife. Many of the animals were unchanged, or else exhibited only harmless new behavioral quirks. Birds migrated in all directions at once, fish beached themselves on the creek banks, and deer had so forgotten the threat of men and guns that they would practically walk right into the compound if Franklin left the gate open. But some of the animals had transformed into ravenous beasts that sported maws packed with sharp, gleaming enamel.
Franklin’s motto was “Live and let live.” So far, the Zaps, the creepy critters, and the military had all left him alone.
But he couldn’t isolate himself from his love for Rachel. Not only had she always been his favorite granddaughter, she was the only relic
Similar Books
