Read Online The Razor's Edge: A Postapocalytic Novel (The New World Book 6) by G. Michael Hopf - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: G. Michael Hopf
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offices when you’ve never stepped foot in here before. You’re making this look bad, and I suggest you cool down and tell your friends to be patient.”
“Could he be alive?” Eli lamented.
“He could be.”
“I have to tell the others,” Eli said, racing back to the door.
“Hold on!” Baxter barked.
“No time, I must warn the others,” Eli said, grabbing the door handle.
“No, hold on!” Baxter snapped.
Eli turned and asked, “What?”
“I want to meet everyone, the leadership. We need a strategy, and if I’m back involved with this, I want a say in how this goes down.”
“Not going to happen.”
“It does or I don’t do a damn thing you ask,” Baxter warned.
“You’ll do what we say or we’ll expose you,” Eli threatened.
“I was with you before, but I changed my mind and recommitted myself to fulfilling the reunification of the country. I don’t want any part of your plans unless I have a say. Otherwise I’ll have you arrested now, and I’ll expose myself.”
“You wouldn’t do that.”
“Try me,” Baxter snapped, his eyes fixed on Eli in a death stare.
Eli returned the glare, opened the door and left.
West of Joseph, Oregon, Republic of Cascadia
Lexi stared out the large picture window that overlooked the front driveway of a house she had spied when she had first arrived in the area. Knowing her campsite had to be abandoned following the altercation and needing a place to house the man, she went against her gut and brought him there. By the looks of the interior, no one had called the place home for a long time.
After dumping him in a bed and dressing his wounds, she raced back to break camp and bring everything back. She half expected to return to find him awake but he wasn’t. She imagined he had lost some blood and was weak. Who wouldn’t be? He had suffered several small cuts to his arms but there was a large gash on his left side, just below his third rib. It wasn’t a fatal wound unless he was to get an infection.
Taking care of the wounded was something she shied away from. Her new mission was to neutralize what evil she came upon, including injecting herself in any altercation or situation; but after the threat was disposed of, she’d leave. One reason was she never really knew who was truly friend or foe, but normally it was easy to spot.
Nervous about her predicament, she chewed the skin on her fingertips, a habit she had been working for years to quit.
Rustling from the back bedroom pulled her away from the window. She quietly crept down the hall and stopped just outside the door that was cracked opened slightly.
She peeked in; the orange glow of the afternoon sun slipped through the sides of the curtains and lit the room enough for her to see him toss and turn.
She felt pressure on her calf and looked to see Beau standing there. He too was curious about the man.
Lexi watched until it felt like she was being a voyeur. She pulled herself away and went back to her spot looking out the window.
What am I doing? she thought.
She couldn’t risk many bad moves, because bad moves in this world got you killed. But there was something about this man, something she couldn’t quite peg, but she felt he was a good person. She squashed that idea as quickly as it had popped into her mind.
“As soon as he’s good, I’m gone,” she said out loud.
She often fought this internal struggle, but any time her generous side would start to win, she’d remind herself of Carey. It was tough, but it kept her mind sharp, and what helped her deal with the loss was vigorous training, including calisthenics, meditation, plyometrics and good old knife play. Before she had used alcohol to drown her sorrows but it really only made things worse and actually put her life in jeopardy. Regardless of how good a fighter someone thought they were, their skills were deficient when plied with too much alcohol. In fact many bad judgments and their disastrous outcomes were the result
“Could he be alive?” Eli lamented.
“He could be.”
“I have to tell the others,” Eli said, racing back to the door.
“Hold on!” Baxter barked.
“No time, I must warn the others,” Eli said, grabbing the door handle.
“No, hold on!” Baxter snapped.
Eli turned and asked, “What?”
“I want to meet everyone, the leadership. We need a strategy, and if I’m back involved with this, I want a say in how this goes down.”
“Not going to happen.”
“It does or I don’t do a damn thing you ask,” Baxter warned.
“You’ll do what we say or we’ll expose you,” Eli threatened.
“I was with you before, but I changed my mind and recommitted myself to fulfilling the reunification of the country. I don’t want any part of your plans unless I have a say. Otherwise I’ll have you arrested now, and I’ll expose myself.”
“You wouldn’t do that.”
“Try me,” Baxter snapped, his eyes fixed on Eli in a death stare.
Eli returned the glare, opened the door and left.
West of Joseph, Oregon, Republic of Cascadia
Lexi stared out the large picture window that overlooked the front driveway of a house she had spied when she had first arrived in the area. Knowing her campsite had to be abandoned following the altercation and needing a place to house the man, she went against her gut and brought him there. By the looks of the interior, no one had called the place home for a long time.
After dumping him in a bed and dressing his wounds, she raced back to break camp and bring everything back. She half expected to return to find him awake but he wasn’t. She imagined he had lost some blood and was weak. Who wouldn’t be? He had suffered several small cuts to his arms but there was a large gash on his left side, just below his third rib. It wasn’t a fatal wound unless he was to get an infection.
Taking care of the wounded was something she shied away from. Her new mission was to neutralize what evil she came upon, including injecting herself in any altercation or situation; but after the threat was disposed of, she’d leave. One reason was she never really knew who was truly friend or foe, but normally it was easy to spot.
Nervous about her predicament, she chewed the skin on her fingertips, a habit she had been working for years to quit.
Rustling from the back bedroom pulled her away from the window. She quietly crept down the hall and stopped just outside the door that was cracked opened slightly.
She peeked in; the orange glow of the afternoon sun slipped through the sides of the curtains and lit the room enough for her to see him toss and turn.
She felt pressure on her calf and looked to see Beau standing there. He too was curious about the man.
Lexi watched until it felt like she was being a voyeur. She pulled herself away and went back to her spot looking out the window.
What am I doing? she thought.
She couldn’t risk many bad moves, because bad moves in this world got you killed. But there was something about this man, something she couldn’t quite peg, but she felt he was a good person. She squashed that idea as quickly as it had popped into her mind.
“As soon as he’s good, I’m gone,” she said out loud.
She often fought this internal struggle, but any time her generous side would start to win, she’d remind herself of Carey. It was tough, but it kept her mind sharp, and what helped her deal with the loss was vigorous training, including calisthenics, meditation, plyometrics and good old knife play. Before she had used alcohol to drown her sorrows but it really only made things worse and actually put her life in jeopardy. Regardless of how good a fighter someone thought they were, their skills were deficient when plied with too much alcohol. In fact many bad judgments and their disastrous outcomes were the result
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