Atomic Threat Box Set [Books 1-3]

by Bowman, Dave

  But then, there was no way she could leave this child alone to be hurt by him.

  The man finally scooped the girl up and began to carry her off in his arms. They were headed toward the front door of the house. The girl continued screaming and struggling.

  Heather moved quickly, careful to keep quiet as possible. She ran lightly across the rear parking lot of the gas station, crossed an alley, then entered the front yard of the house.

  Her heart thudded out of control in her chest. What would she do once she reached him? How would she make her move?

  Though her mind was at a loss, somehow her body knew what to do. Clenching the knife as she neared the man, she covered the last few feet in a charge. Watching him carry that little girl so roughly, Heather was filled with rage. He wanted to hurt that child.

  Heather wasn’t going to let him. Her anger fueled her movements, but she was careful to keep quiet. She gained on him as he scaled the top step of the porch. He opened the front door and was crossing the entrance with the girl when Heather lunged at him.

  The little girl saw her first.

  Heather plunged the knife into the man’s lower back, just to his side. It was a sharp, long blade, and it went deep. Heather was surprised at how easily it pierced his flesh.

  The man let out an enraged roar. He let go of the little girl, who fell to the floor inside the house.

  Heather reached for the knife still jutting from the man’s side, but he whipped around before she could.

  His fiery gaze landed on Heather. Confusion flashed across his face for a moment. Then he understood, and his eyes widened in anger.

  Heather took a step back. Keeping her eyes on the man, she nearly fell down the porch steps. The man's face went dark as he looked at her for a moment.

  Finally, he made a sudden movement, lunging at Heather.

  The sound of her scream filled the quiet town.

  6

  Myra pedaled the bicycle furiously, trying to keep up with her granddaughter.

  They were on a Forest Service road, traveling on bicycles through the hilly, wooded land. Myra rode on Brody's bike. It was too big for her, but she was happy to have it. They were able to cover much more ground than Myra had on foot. Brody was resting back at the house, having assured his mother that he would be okay alone.

  Another day searching for Henry, Myra's missing husband. Every so often, Myra would begin to lose hope of ever finding him. After all, he had been gone for over three days. But every time she found herself despairing, she pushed those thoughts away. She was going to find him.

  Katie disappeared over the next hill. Myra panted to catch her breath. If she was constantly trying to keep up with the teenager, she wouldn't have time to search through the woods surrounding the road.

  "Katie, slow down!" Myra called.

  Myra struggled over the hill, scanning both sides of the road for any break in the dense green forest. At the crest of the hill, she saw Katie below. Katie watched as Myra coasted down the hill and came to a stop beside her.

  "You're going too fast for me, kiddo," Myra said as she struggled to catch her breath.

  "Sorry, Grandma," Katie said. "I'll try to slow down." Katie looked around, pushing her long, red hair behind her shoulders.

  "Do you think we’ll find him out here?" Katie asked in a small voice.

  Myra smiled. "Of course I do. He's out here somewhere. He probably twisted an ankle trying to walk back after his truck died."

  Katie nodded, then looked away. Myra saw the worry on the girl’s face. The older woman wrapped her arms around Katie, pulling her close. Katie let herself be embraced without pushing away, which Myra took as a good sign.

  "It's okay, sweetie," Myra said. "We're going to find your granddad."

  Katie looked up at her and drew a deep breath. "But . . . what about water? He's been out here for a few days, hasn't he?"

  Myra swallowed. "He always takes a big Thermos of coffee in his truck wherever he goes. I reckon he's made it back to his truck and has been rationing that coffee. It would be enough to keep him alive for a few days. But we have to find him today, all right?"

  Katie sniffed and nodded. "Are you ready?"

  "Ready."

  They took off on their bikes down the dirt road. Katie seemed a bit more open to talking than she’d been back at the house, so Myra decided to broach another difficult subject.

  "You know your father loves you very much, right?" Myra began.

  "I know."

  "I – I want you to be prepared, Katie. He's very sick."

  Katie frowned. "I'd rather not talk about this."

  "I know this is difficult for you. I know you care about him."

  "Dad's going to be fine. It's just the flu."

  "But Katie, he was out there after the bomb –"

  "Yeah, he was worried about some other little kid. If he had cared about me, he would've stayed at home." Katie began to pedal faster.

  "You mean the world to him! He was just trying to do the right thing and help that little boy who didn't have anyone. It doesn't mean he didn't care about you!"

  "But he should've stayed with me. This is all his fault. If he had cared about me, he wouldn't have gone out there. And he wouldn’t have gotten sick!"

  She began to race ahead, pushing her bike toward the curve on the road.

  "Katie, wait!"

  Myra watched as her granddaughter disappeared around the curve on the mountain bike. Seeing the child so upset pained Myra. Brody had been right – this was Katie's way of dealing with an impossible situation. Rather than face the possibility of losing her dad, Katie was lashing out at everyone around her.

  Myra steered her bike down the road. She didn't try to catch up with Katie this time. Best to let her cool off alone.

  If only I had a magic wand.

  Everything in Myra's life seemed to be falling apart, and there was nothing she could do about it. Her husband was missing, her son possibly dying. And she didn't know where her daughters were. Or even if they were alive.

  No. Don't think the worst.

  She couldn't let herself fall into despair. There was too much work to do. She might not be able to fix all of the problems right now, but she had to keep trying. She had to do everything she could to find her family and keep them safe.

  "Grandma!" Katie called suddenly. The alarm in Katie's voice sent a chill down Myra's spine. "Come quick!"

  Myra's heart began to pound. She pedaled quickly, approaching the curve in the road. She steeled herself against what she might see.

  Finally, she rounded the curve and saw Katie standing on the road, still straddling her bike.

  Henry's truck was parked on the side of the road.

  7

  The two shooters pummeled the roof with bullets.

  Jack slid on his belly to the side. One of the shooters never stopped, but the second one paused at last.

  Jack lifted his rifle and aimed toward the first shooter. Gritting his teeth, he unleashed a torrent of rounds. First at one target, then the other.

  Finally, all was quiet. A pool of blood expanded on the ground behind the garbage dumpster. The second shooter lay face-up in the parking lot, his eyes glazing over.

  With his heart pounding, Jack began to descend the ladder.

  His ears rang, and the voices in the distance were muted and fuzzy. But he could tell they were increasing in strength. More guards were on their way.

  His eyes watered, mixing with the sweat running down from his forehead. Several feet above the ground, he jumped from the ladder, hitting the ground with a jolt.

  He moved toward the first downed man – the first guard he had shot, who he’d mistaken for dead at first. Jack snatched up his AR-15 and found some ammo in the guy’s pocket. The man wore a Glock in a holster. With trembling hands, Jack unfastened the holster and snatched it up as well.

  Jack ran to the second man behind the dumpster, grabbing his Bushmaster rifle and a small supply of ammo. As he g
rabbed the things off the dead body, he heard footsteps approaching from the front of the building, coming from the west.

  With two of the rifles slung over his shoulder and the third in his arms, Jack took off running.

  The footsteps pounded the pavement several yards away, then came to a stop at one of the guards.

  Jack tore through the parking lot, heading to the south. He looked frantically to the left and right, his tunnel vision shaky and confused.

  Which way, which way?

  Voices made their way through his fuzzy hearing to him. People were nearby, coming from the left. He veered to the right, running between a cluster of abandoned cars at the edge of the lot.

  He turned down an alley between two large apartment buildings.

  There was someone on his trail. He heard them knock over a garbage can in the parking lot behind him. They weren't yet in the alley, but they would get there soon.

  And once they got there, Jack would be spotted.

  The alley opened up into a large road. Jack heard the sound of work being done in the next block – rhythmic clanging of hammers and other tools. If he ran out to that road, he would be seen by a work crew – and their guards.

  He was trapped.

  Up ahead, a fire escape ladder gave access to the apartment building on the right. Without hesitation, Jack began to scale the ladder.

  His only hope was that could get inside to one of the windows.

  He had to hurry. At any moment, the guard could enter the alley and shoot him.

  He made it to the first floor. The window was closed. Jack pulled on it. It opened. He pushed the rifles inside, then squeezed himself through the small opening.

  Silently, he waited inside the room. A moment later, the footsteps grew louder as a guard entered the alley down below.

  It was a young man with a shotgun, dressed in an ill-fitting police uniform that was typical of members of the gang. Jack waited as the guy got close to the ladder.

  If the guard climbed the ladder, Jack could take him. Jack was in the position of advantage – perched up high out of sight. He wasn't worried about this guard as much as he worried about giving his location away.

  Firing a gun in that alley would send dozens of guards running. They would enter the apartment building, trapping him where he couldn't get out.

  Jack held his breath.

  The guard kept running. Somehow, he didn't even look at the ladder. He was so focused on the road ahead that he didn't even stop in the alley.

  The guard's dumb error had bought Jack some time, but he wasn’t yet out of harm's way. Far from it.

  In fact, he didn't even know if this apartment building was empty.

  The room was dark, and at first he couldn't see anything. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he looked around.

  The room had been ransacked, torn apart for anything of value. But it didn't look like anyone was living in the apartment. Oscar's gang hadn't used it as one of their prison rooms.

  Jack moved through the rooms quietly. It was a shabby one-bedroom apartment. Someone had lived in it just a few days ago. Now, that person was either dead or enslaved.

  Jack returned to the window, looking out at the alley below. For several minutes, he didn't see any movement out there.

  Moving quickly, he looked over the weapons he had taken. He reloaded the rifles. He would have liked more ammo, but it would have to do. He adjusted the Glock in its holster, glad to not have to carry a gun in his waistband for a change.

  He spent several nervous minutes pacing around the room and keeping an eye on the alley below.

  The work crew on the next block were still at it, banging around with hand tools. He could hear the guards supervising them, giving them orders.

  He would have to make a move soon. He had to find Brent and Naomi without getting shot.

  And that meant going deeper into the gang’s territory.

  8

  White Rock - Sunday, 12:41 p.m.

  Naomi stood her shovel upright and perched it in a crack in the ground. She leaned against it, shielding her face from the sun for just a moment.

  Nearby, a woman glanced at her. Looking quickly away and back at her own work, the fellow inmate spoke to Naomi under her breath. "Don't let them see you resting, dear."

  Naomi looked over at the nearest guard. Sure enough, the guard had noticed Naomi leaning against her shovel. The guard was headed her way. Naomi quickly drove the tool into the dry earth once more.

  "That's right, 156," the guard hissed. "Don't let me catch you slacking off again."

  Naomi's eyes darted up toward the guard as the woman walked away. The guard was a tall woman in her thirties with black hair and skin so pale it looked like it had never seen the light of day. The woman wore a large sun hat, paired with some kind of uniform that looked like it had once belonged to a park ranger. The other prisoners jokingly called the woman Morticia.

  The prisoners had grown adept at communicating in brief moments while they worked. The women had to speak to each other in little snippets, without looking at each other, and without moving their lips. The guards had forbidden any talking while the prisoners were out of their rooms.

  Naomi was being kept prisoner along with hundreds of other women. She hadn't seen Jack or Brent since those people had separated them at the headquarters.

  Naomi remembered how terrible that first day had been. She had been taken through the town, past several blocks, to the women's dormitory. The women were kept in a budget motel. The female guards had led Naomi to a room on the second floor and locked her in there alone. Naomi sat there in the dark for a couple hours, on a bed that had already been slept in.

  Naomi sat there despairing. What had they done to Jack as punishment after he’d called the leader, Oscar, a coward? Had they killed him? Was Brent still alive?

  How had her life so completely deteriorated in under a week?

  Finally, a female guard unlocked the door.

  "Time to work, 156!" the woman barked.

  Naomi looked up at the woman, who clutched a shotgun in her muscled arms. The woman had dyed her hair green, and she sneered at Naomi in disgust.

  "You're too scrawny to do much work, but I bet you can learn to dig a hole," she spat.

  Naomi felt tears brimming in her eyes. So these people had captured her and the only two people Naomi had left in the world – and they were going to force them to work?

  Naomi felt herself sinking into a dark hole. She was trapped in a nightmare, and she didn't know how to wake up.

  There was no escape from these people, and no one was coming to rescue her. Jack was probably dead, or would be soon, judging from the gang leaders’ reaction when Jack had defied them. And Brent was sweet, but not exactly the rescuer type. It was hopeless. And she had lost her mother, the most important person in her life. What did she even have to live for anymore?

  Naomi decided to just give up.

  She didn't want to work for these people. She didn't want to further their cause. They would kill her eventually, anyway.

  Naomi closed her eyes and waited.

  "Are you deaf? I said it's time to work!" the guard said, raising her voice.

  Naomi didn't respond.

  The guard was losing her patience. She crossed the room in long strides and stood before Naomi. She grabbed Naomi's chin and lifted it upward.

  "What's the matter with you, 156? You just gonna sit here crying all day? I'll give you something to cry about!"

  Naomi braced herself. A moment later, she felt the woman's hand strike her face.

  "Get up!" the guard screamed.

  Naomi slumped over, letting her body go limp.

  The guard shifted the shotgun to her left arm. With her free hand, she grabbed Naomi under her arm and pulled her off the bed. Naomi felt her body crash to the floor. She cringed from the impact on her bottom and hip.

  "Around here, we all have to work! This is what happens when you don't work!" the guard roared. She
kicked Naomi in the gut. Naomi curled up, groaning in agony.

  The guard grabbed Naomi by her hair and lifted her head off the floor. "You lie there and think about what you're going to do," the woman said. "I'll be back to see what you've decided."

  The woman gave her one final slap across her face, harder this time, and let her head hit the carpet before she turned and left the room.

  Naomi lay there for a long time.

  Her stomach was aching from the guard’s kick, and Naomi’s face and backside hurt as well. But what else could she do? She didn’t want to spend the rest of her days helping these evil people build an empire. She couldn’t fight them, and she had lost hope that there was anyone left who could save her.

  She would just let them beat her to death.

  Finally, she heard the door open. She swallowed the lump in her throat and felt tears spill from her eyes again.

  This would be the end.

  It wasn't the green-haired guard standing in the doorway this time. It was a guard with black hair.

  I guess they sent someone else to finish the job, Naomi thought to herself as she lifted her head off the floor and watched the new guard step inside the room.

  But there was another woman behind her. A middle-aged woman with short brown hair walked inside. She was sweaty, and her skin was sunburned. Naomi could tell from her body language that she was another prisoner.

  This new woman walked inside and sat on the second bed, looking down at Naomi on the floor.

  The guard slammed the door shut and walked with heavy boots across the room. Naomi stared at the boots inches from her eyes.

  "You ready to work now, 156?"

  Naomi looked up at the guard who frowned down at her and clutched a big rifle. Then Naomi closed her eyes. Maybe they would shoot her instead of beating her this time. Then it would be over faster.

  Naomi felt a heavy boot slam into her belly again.

  "What the hell's wrong with you?" the woman asked in an amused voice. "You want to just go out like this?"