Darryl knelt beside the big open crate full of junk. He picked up a leather boot with a huge hole in the sole. “Really? Is there a problem that would require an old boot?” He tossed the boot back into the crate and picked up a small hatchet with a broken handle. “Or tools we can’t even use? Dad, you’ve got a pair of jeans in here with a hole in the crotch, a couple of chipped glass jars wrapped in filthy rags. This stuff is never going to be useful, is it? It’s basically someone’s garbage.”
“It might be,” he replied, maintaining a remarkably even tone. “Broken tool handles can be repaired. The leather from that boot could prove useful. The cloth from the jeans, the glass from those jars—you never know. Look, it’s not just for the journey today. The hunting cabin is isolated and private. No one’s going to bother us up there. We’ll have all the time in the world to build and repair and make things, but only if we bring plenty of materials with us. You’re looking into that crate and seeing junk instead of thinking about the possibilities.”
“Oh, I’m thinking about possibilities all right,” Darryl replied. He was tempted to raise his voice, but his father had stayed so calm. If Greg could manage a civil discussion, so could he. “The possibilities of what might happen if we overload the wagon, if we get bogged down on the mountain pass, or if the travel is too rough for the people—yes, Justine, in particular. I see where you’re coming from, Dad, but I’m prioritizing people over junk.”
“Me too,” Greg said. “I always prioritize the people. That’s my whole point.”
Darryl heard footsteps behind him and turned to see Tabitha and Marion approaching. By the looks on their faces, it was clear they had overheard at least some of the debate. Between them, they were lugging a big sack of folded linens.
“Well, it sounds like the two of you are least being civil,” Marion said. “Is this really the best time to have an impassioned debate about what to bring and what to leave behind? We’ve had the whole winter to figure it out.”
“I think we’re at an impasse,” Greg said. He started to reach for the crate full of junk, but he paused and grabbed another box instead, hoisting it up into the wagon. “Darryl wants to travel light; I want to bring everything. What do you two think?”
Tabitha and Marion traded a look, as if waiting to see which of them would go first.
“Well, I’m with Greg,” Tabitha said, setting the sack of linens down. “I think we should bring absolutely everything we can. I haven’t been to the cabin in years, so I’m not sure what we’ll find there. The roof might have collapsed. It might be infested with vermin. Who knows? The more resources we have, the better our chances of being able to address any problems.”
“I think you’re jumping the gun,” Marion said. “Before we can worry about what we find at the cabin, we have to worry about getting there. The journey ahead is the most important thing right now. If we’re overloaded, we’re going to travel a lot slower, and we might struggle to even get over the mountain.”
“So it’s a tie,” Greg said, shaking his head. “We’re still at an impasse.”
Now, Darryl was struggling not to get really annoyed. At this point, he was ready to suggest that they build a second wagon. Maybe they could somehow get the cows to pull the damn thing? Whatever it took to make Justine more comfortable. He was still kneeling beside the crate of junk, but he was at a loss for words.
“Should we play a round of rock-paper-scissors to settle the debate?” Marion asked. She didn’t sound like she was completely joking.
“I’ll settle it.” Justine’s voice. Darryl turned to see his girlfriend stepping through the curtains, her hands on her belly.
“We were just debating—” Greg started to say.
“I know. I heard it all,” Justine replied. “Sorry, Darryl, but your dad and grandma are right. Take everything. I can handle being crunched up in the back. You never know what we might need. Okay?” She gave each person a lingering look, one by one. “There. No need for rock-paper-scissors. Bring it all, and I’ll be just fine. I’m not so delicate, you know. Thanks.”
And with that, she turned, sighed, and walked back through the curtains. Darryl felt chastened. He’d been trying to advocate for her comfort, but in the process, he’d made her feel awkward about being in the center of an argument.
“Are you okay with that, son?” Greg asked.
Darryl appreciated the question. It was clearly an attempt to prevent hurt feelings. “Yeah, if she’s fine with it, I’m fine with it. Let’s load up.” To prove he meant it, he wrapped his arms around the crate of junk and struggled to hoist it up. Greg had to bend down and help him, and they managed to get it onto the lowered tailboard of the wagon.
“Look, I’ll make sure the trip goes as smoothly as possible,” Greg said. “That’s my promise to you and Justine.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Darryl replied.
But as he said it, he heard the back axle let out a loud groan. The sideboards were already lined with boxes and barrels from front to back, and they had a lot more to go. Greg didn’t seem bothered by the noise from the wagon’s underbelly, as he proceeded to shove the big crate of junk beside the back bench.
“It’ll ride heavy, but I did some work on the wagon over the winter,” Greg said. “It’ll hold up.”
And then, even as the words were still leaving his lips, the axle gave another loud groan. Then it snapped with sudden violence. The back right wheel broke free of its hub and fell over, and the whole back corner of the wagon crashed down. Greg fell off the tailboard, landing among their supplies, and the crate of junk slid backward. It hit the back leg of the bench, spun, and tipped over, gushing broken tools, scrap metal, and tattered clothes all over the cave floor, as Darryl danced backward out of the way. Other bags and barrels soon followed, sliding down the slope, many of them tipping over, tumbling, scattering their contents all over the ground.
Get your copy of Survive the Journey
Available February 10th, 2021
(Available for pre-order now.)
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BLURB
When the lights go out, anarchy reigns supreme.
After journalist Austin Merryman’s wife died, he and his fourteen-year-old daughter left home to travel the country in an old RV. But the comfort and renewal they sought soon descends into chaos.
After a message from an old college buddy leads Austin to a bridge in the middle of nowhere, he finds his friend—now an NSA agent—waiting to give him a USB drive. Before the contents can be explained, machine gun fire strafes the bridge, killing Austin’s friend and forcing Austin into the raging river.
Rescued downstream by a beautiful veterinarian, Austin learns that EMP attacks have thrust the world into eternal darkness—and separated him from the only person he has left. Now, he’ll move heaven and earth to locate his daughter and make it to his brother’s prepper hideaway in Utah.
But the post-apocalyptic world is no longer a friendly place. Resources are growing scarce. Factions break out along ethnic and religious lines. Everyone is willing to do whatever it takes to survive in an increasingly hostile environment. And Austin’s daughter is caught right in the middle of this splintering society.
But an even deadlier foe stalks them as they struggle across the landscape. Someone who hasn’t forgotten about the USB drive Austin possesses.
And they’ll do anything to get it back.
Grab your copy of Survive the Chaos (Small Town EMP Book One) from
www.GraceHamiltonBooks.com
EXCERPT
Chapter One
Austin Merryman stored the last of the dinner dishes in the small cupboard of his thirty-two-foot fifth wheel. The RV wasn’t an ideal living space for a man and his fourteen-year-old daughter, but they’d been managing to make it work. As he and Savannah constantly reminded each other, it was both easy and difficult to keep the small living space clean. It only took a stray pair of shoes or a few dishes on the tiny kitchen counter to make thing
s look untidy, and both of them were guilty of forgetting the fact on a too-regular basis.
Waiting for Savannah to emerge from the little upper bedroom, he folded a blanket, tossed it on the couch, and put the TV remote back in the little caddy mounted on the wall. Austin liked things neat, though he knew Savannah had to clean up after him just as he was cleaning up after her now.
“Savannah!” he called out, checking his watch again.
She popped her head out from around the upstairs corner of the fifth-wheel, a hair dryer still in her hand. “What?”
“I have to get going.”
She shrugged as she wrapped the cord around her dryer. “I told you, I don’t need a ride. Leave already.”
“I’ll be back within an hour or so. Where are you going exactly?” he asked. She’d told him she was going to the creamery for ice cream with the girl who lived on a nearby farm; somehow, he couldn’t believe it was that simple. He wanted to, but he’d seen the way she’d ogled that boy they’d run into in town—and the way they’d leaned in to each other to talk. He remembered being young and carefree. Yeah, it had been a long time ago, before life and the world had given him a much more jaded view of things, but he remembered. And Savannah was too pretty for him to forget what he’d been like as a teenage boy.
“Dad, I already told you. We’re going to get ice cream,” she groaned, adjusting her hair in a hand mirror. “Me and Cassie.”
Out with it, Austin. “Are you going to see that boy?” he asked.
She glanced over to meet his eyes and then gave him that maddening teenage shrug again. “He might be there,” she replied.
Right. He might be there. Austin kept eyeing her, trying to decide whether or not to trust her—not that he had much choice, but still. She looked so much like his late wife that it hurt sometimes. Her long, light brown hair had been brushed to a high shine and left loose around her shoulders. She’d only asked him to buy her lip gloss and mascara thus far. He dreaded the day she wanted to go full face-paint. He preferred the clean, youthful look that befitted her fourteen years over the girls her age who he’d seen with more makeup than a supermodel wore.
And he had to admit, she didn’t give him as much stress as he knew many fourteen-year-olds dealt their parents. Even with tonight being a warm early summer night, she wore something he couldn’t quite object to. For tonight’s ice cream trip, she’d donned the black flowy shirt with the shoulder cut-outs that she’d begged him to buy her on their last mall visit. And it wasn’t truly revealing, so he couldn’t complain. It just made her look far more mature than he liked, reminding him that he had to accept that she was growing up.
“I want you home by ten,” he reminded her. “Not at the farmer’s house with your friend down the street, either. Home.”
Finally starting to move down toward the door where he stood, she quirked her lips in a frown. “Dad, it doesn’t even get dark until like nine-thirty,” she argued.
“Ten, or don’t go at all. You don’t need to be walking around after dark. There are wild animals out here,” he lectured her.
“I have my phone,” she said, brandishing it as if the expensive gadget were a gun. He wished it were, the way she looked.
“And the service out here sucks,” he told her, “as you remind me all the time. Animals aren’t going to wait for you to call for help, either.”
The look she gave him told him she was mentally slapping her hand to her forehead, even if she was smart enough not to actually do it in front of him. “My phone has a flashlight and Cassie knows this area. We’ll be fine, Dad.”
“Don’t take rides from strangers, and remember what I told you if anyone tries to grab you.”
She got to within a foot of him and leaned back on the couch in obedient daughter mode. “I remember: palm to the nose, fingers in the eyes, and knee to the crotch,” she recited robotically.
“Upward palm,” he corrected her.
She rolled her eyes. “Fine. I got it. Maybe you should just have me carry mace or something,” she suggested.
Austin grinned, gesturing her toward the door to get her moving. “That’s a good idea. I’ll pick up some bear spray tomorrow when we go into town for groceries,” he commented, only half joking. He had to hide a grin when she gasped in a breath like they were in a horror movie.
“Dad! No! I can’t be the only girl carrying bear spray around!”
“Sure, you can. If you want to wander around by yourself, Savannah, you’ll do exactly that.”
She looked in the mirror on the wall, doing one last primp of her hair as Austin forced himself to remain patient. “You are so overreacting. We’re in the middle of the country,” she grumbled. “The nearest town has a population of like two hundred people,” she finished, exaggerating the low population by a few thousand.
He shrugged back at her, now holding the door open as a heavy hint that he wanted them both out if she was going. “Small towns have bad guys, too. And plenty of teen boys who don’t always know when to keep their hands to themselves,” he added.
She shook her head in disgust. “I’m old enough to date, Dad, and Malachi isn’t like other teen boys.”
So, she was planning on seeing him. Damn. He just curbed himself from telling her she had to stay home, knowing he couldn’t watch her all the time. But he wouldn’t consent to dating. Not yet. He caught her eyes with his before he emphasized, “No, Savannah. Not yet.”
“Da-a-a-d.” She dragged out the word.
This wasn’t a conversation he was going to have again tonight. She was growing up too fast. His wife had made him promise to take care of her, and that’s what he would do, even if it meant dragging her around the country and keeping her out of the reach of boys.
“Savannah, be glad I’m letting you go at all. I could insist on driving you to the creamery and meeting the boy who may or may not be there,” he warned her.
He heard her mumble something under her breath but didn’t bother asking what she’d said as he stepped into the doorway, hoping she’d get the hint that he really had to go. It had probably been one of those snappy comments that would only irritate him further. Austin grabbed his cellphone from the table beside the door and slid it into his back pocket as he stepped outside. It didn’t do a lot of good to carry the thing out in the mountains of west Kentucky where he and Savannah were currently staying, but he might as well. Despite it being inconvenient when it came to keeping track of Savannah, he liked the idea of being somewhat off the grid. So what if cell service was spotty? It gave them more time to focus on the moment, the here and now—wherever they happened to be on any given day.
When Karen had died a little over a year ago, he’d used part of the life insurance money to buy the fifth wheel. He’d waited until Savannah had finished the eighth grade and then they’d hit the road. He just couldn’t stand being in the house with all the reminders. He’d planned on traveling through the summer, and then it had turned into a year. He still couldn’t go back and face her clothes, the pictures of them on their wedding day, and all those little things in the house that were reminders of her.
So, now, he traveled the country with his daughter, doing stories about things national reporters were too busy to worry about. She could homeschool easily enough, and he liked the salt of the earth people and discovering little secrets in small towns and out of the way places; writing about them felt worthwhile. It was a way for him to fulfill his need to travel and make a living while still being a good dad to his daughter.
Finally, Savannah stepped down the two steps of the trailer and looked at him, daring him to say something about the mascara she had piled on. She was pushing it and she knew it.
“You look nice,” he said with a smile, completely throwing her off. “Thanks,” she mumbled, slipping her own cellphone into the back pocket of her jeans.
“Be careful, please,” Austin reminded her. “Be aware of your surroundings, and call me if you need anything,” he said, giving her a quick hug
.
“I will, Dad. Stop worrying, okay?” she said, squeezing him back. “We’re just getting some ice cream. It isn’t that big of a deal.”
After she checked for her key, he locked the trailer door, though even he admitted it was a little silly considering they were out in the middle of farmland. Still, it was an old habit, and one really never knew when someone could stop by and rifle through their things.
Turning away from the door, Austin watched as his daughter cut across the pasture, dodging horse manure as she headed towards the dirt road that led into town. He shielded his eyes with his hand and saw Cassie standing under a tree by the roadside, gesturing for his daughter to hurry. He waved back when Cassie spotted him and sent him a big wave, happy to know Savannah had made a friend—especially one who lived just a few farms down the road. In another moment, Savannah picked up her pace, almost jogging as she rushed to meet her friend. He watched for another minute as they met and bumped shoulders before starting the mile or so’s walk into town.
Austin would have driven them, but Savannah had wanted to walk, and he was going in the opposite direction anyway. He climbed into his black F-350 and started the diesel engine, taking only a quick glance at the GPS before bouncing down the bumpy driveway and heading for the highway. Callum Barker had called him a few days ago, completely out of the blue, and asked to meet. Austin had thought it strange, but Callum insisted it was important and that the story would be worth his time. He’d also promised the meeting would take less than five minutes, which meant Austin would be home in plenty of time to make sure Savannah met her curfew—and to go looking for her if she lingered in town with that boy.
By the time he hit the highway, the meeting had taken over the fore of his thoughts. Austin remembered Callum as being a little off when they’d been in college, one of those conspiracy-type guys, but he’d sounded desperate on the phone. And they’d spent enough nights drinking together that Austin figured he at least owed him the gas it would take to hear him out. He figured he’d meet him, give the guy the proverbial pat on the head, and promise to look into the evidence he presented and be on his way. Maybe it would even be an interesting diversion from his usual stories and offer a brief change of pace. That couldn’t hurt, right?
EMP: Return of the Wild West | Book 2 | Survive The Attack Page 26
