Days of Danger

by Jack Hunt

  Days of Danger

  EMP Survival Series Book 3

  Jack Hunt

  Direct Response Publishing

  Contents

  Also by Jack Hunt

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  A Plea

  Reading Team

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2018 by Jack Hunt

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  DAYS OF DANGER: Book 3 is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Also by Jack Hunt

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  The Agora Virus series

  Phobia

  Anxiety

  Strain

  The War Buds series

  War Buds 1

  War Buds 2

  War Buds 3

  Camp Zero series

  State of Panic

  State of Shock

  State of Decay

  Renegades series

  The Renegades

  The Renegades Book 2: Aftermath

  The Renegades Book 3: Fortress

  The Renegades Book 4: Colony

  The Renegades Book 5: United

  The Wild Ones Duology

  The Wild Ones Book 1

  The Wild Ones Book 2

  The EMP Survival series

  Days of Panic

  Days of Chaos

  Days of Danger

  Mavericks series

  Mavericks: Hunters Moon

  Time Agents series

  Killing Time

  Single Novels

  Blackout

  Defiant

  Darkest Hour

  Final Impact

  For my Family

  Prologue

  Six Months After EMP

  The strike on New Hope Springs would occur in the dead of night. Radical militia leader General Frank Shelby and forty-six members of the Texas Defense Force gathered in the harsh humidity of East Texas to carry out the assault. His group had been aware of the high-end doomsday community long before the EMP. He’d watched with piqued interest as plans were drawn up for the $350 million development, funded by silent investors and protected by 13-foot walls. The property sat on 650 acres with 420 underground bunkers to house 1,700 people. He’d chuckled to himself as the owner marketed it as a “5-star playground equipped with DEFCON 1 preparedness” yet filled it with a golf course, a spa, lagoons, running trails, a gun range, a hotel, a chapel, restaurants, retail shops, a fitness club, a village, sports courts, greenhouses and a private airstrip, and then tried to sell off underground condos in the mid six figures.

  What might have been a successful venture never took off because unfortunately it relied on two things: people who had lots of money, and people who were willing to part with it before a disaster. Until the EMP few people saw the urgency, so only seventy of the condos were sold and out of those not everyone made it to the location. Of course, their loss was his gain as he was planning on taking it by force.

  Camouflaged, wearing ballistic vests and gripping their M4s, they moved silently through the coniferous forest that hedged in the property. The smell of pine lingered in the air. Mosquitoes nipped at their skin. Nothing would distract them. Frank had spent hours, days, weeks performing reconnaissance with his team to ensure that this went off without a hitch. He’d seen the armed security personnel manning the walls and watchtowers. He understood their strengths and weaknesses and was ready to wipe them out if need be. There was no two ways about it — people were going to die. It was inevitable but necessary.

  Inching their way closer to the walled compound, Team 1 approached the south wall while Team 2 approached from the east.

  “You in position?” Frank asked his brother John Shelby.

  “Roger that,” his voice crackled over the radio.

  The attack was strategically coordinated so that once the C4 charges were planted, snipers would cut down the perimeter guards and then the walls and gate would be blown on the south side. This would allow time for a diversionary assault.

  “Take ’em out!” he said over the radio to four snipers. Frank observed intently as the guards in the watchtowers dropped followed by four men on the southern and eastern walls. He raised the remote detonator, smiled and flipped the switch. The explosion echoed, and flames, pieces of rock and smoke billowed in the air before raining down.

  “Go, go, go!” Frank bellowed. His team pressed forward with M4s raised unleashing three-round bursts. Once inside the walls they fanned out and emptied magazine after magazine as residents rushed to defend against the twenty-man team. Seconds later another explosion shook the ground to the east causing even more confusion as Team 2 fanned out in combat intervals, moving at a crouch and flanking them from the east side. It was over in minutes. Those that didn’t wish to die threw down their weapons and dropped to their knees, fingers locked behind their heads. Others fled into the safety of the underground compound as a last resort. Smoke from the explosives drifted like a ghostly apparition across the courtyard as his men secured those who’d surrendered while he and his brother John approached the phase 3 bunkers, which surrounded a sixteen-acre lagoon. The bunkers were positioned to the north, east and west, and all had tunnels beneath them allowing people to go back and forth without ever coming out. Frank didn’t need to look at the map he’d obtained to know what he was dealing with. In fact he probably knew the place as well as anyone who lived inside.

  He lowered his rifle and shouted out loud.

  “We have twenty-four of your people out here. We will give you to the count of ten to open the doors and come out otherwise I will have my men execute them one at a time. You decide!”

  Frank didn’t miss a beat as he turned away. There was no worry on his face. He had no emotion when it came to survival. It was black and white with no gray in the middle. Spending time thinking about other people’s suffering only led to weakness, and weakness led to mistakes and ultimately that meant death, and he sure as hell wasn’t dying because someone wanted to be a pussy. He’d made up his mind a long time ago when he formed the TDF that there was zero room for mercy. Every decision he made even if it was perceived as showing mercy had a specific purpose. He operated with precision and rarely needed to second-guess his decisions. His eyes roamed the faces of survivors. He didn’t want to kill these people any more than he wanted to kill his own men. They served a purpose. They were a means to an end — that being survival, freedom and liberty. Frank was well aware that he had those in his circle who saw the militia as nothing more than family. It gave them a sense of belonging, and he had no problem with that. For him though, it was much more. It was about control — it had to be as the government were masters at it. While he hadn’t seen them impose martial la
w, he knew it was only a matter of time until the military returned to the shores, and what remained of government tried to pick up the pieces. The first thing they would try to do was disarm the American people, and there was no chance in hell of that happening.

  In order to ride out the next year he had to think beyond his own resources and look at those who had stockpiled their own. New Hope Springs was exactly that. Just another resource that could be used to establish what he’d already built. He could already tell from the pitiful defense shown that these people were lacking.

  He glanced at John who tossed him a serious expression. Unlike him, it had taken close to a month before John came around to the realization that if he didn’t kill others, they would perish. While Frank had taken every precaution prior to the EMP to create a camp stocked with enough critical provisions to last them a year, they needed to stay ahead of the game and that meant taking action early. Being proactive was vital to survival. It was because of his own early action that he and the others had survived the initial attack on America; and once again it was because of his actions they would take this compound.

  John scowled.

  Frank responded, “Oh settle down, you know it has to be done.”

  “To gain entry but we are in now,” John replied.

  Frank pointed at the bunkers. “We’re not in until those doors open up. That’s where they have the dry food and ammo stored.” He took a deep breath and pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his top pocket. “And, whoever is in charge of this place is inside.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Call it a gut instinct,” he said sparking up his cigarette while cupping a hand to block the wind. All the while he had been counting down. Once he reached one he turned and gave a nod to Davis, one of his men. Without hesitation Davis aimed the gun and squeezed the trigger. A sharp pop. A man in his early twenties collapsed to the horror of the other survivors.

  “Ten more seconds and another one dies. Do you really want their blood on your hands?” Frank yelled.

  He had no idea whether they would open and quite frankly he didn’t care. One way or another he and his men would get inside. If they were smart, they wouldn’t come out. But based on what he saw around him, he’d already concluded he wasn’t dealing with bright individuals. Frank didn’t bother shouting out the numbers, he wasn’t into theatrics. Silence was much more effective. It could eat away at a man. John looked at him again with an expression of concern before Frank gave the go-ahead for a second individual to be killed.

  Three people had to die before the door cracked open and the asshole in charge emerged.

  The man was an athletic-looking fella, with deep-set brown eyes, a full head of hair. Frank approached him and walked around him the way a lion might examine its prey before pouncing. “You in charge?”

  He nodded. “That’s right.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Ryan Hayes.”

  Frank squinted then shook his head.

  “You’re not in charge. Where is he?”

  Ryan shrugged. “I’m not sure what you’re on about. I’m responsible for those here.”

  “Then why were you never mentioned in the development?”

  “I was.”

  Frank ambled toward him and got eye-to-eye. “Don’t bullshit me.”

  “I’m not.”

  Without missing a beat, he grabbed the man by the back of the neck and thrust him down on the ground. He coughed hard as Frank backed up and raised his M4 at his head.

  “Come on out, Harlan Jacobs, or I will kill him,” Frank yelled.

  “Stop!” a voice cried out. “Enough killing.”

  From among the crowd that was beginning to stream out of the bunker an older man in his late fifties elbowed his way to the front. Frank waited until he was within arm’s reach then he backhanded him. “Sending out someone to act on your behalf.” He tutted. “That’s cowardly.” He breathed in deeply and his eyes washed over those inside. “Okay, so this is how it’s going to work. Everything you have is still yours. That’s right, except for one caveat. You are no longer in charge of it, we are. Do I make myself clear or do I need to provide a demonstration?”

  Harlan shook his head and wiped blood from his lip as Frank gazed down at him.

  “Good, well then how about you give us a tour of this place?”

  Chapter 1

  Saranac Lake

  Seven Days Later

  Elliot gritted his teeth as the Katana sword cut into his hand. Blood trickled down his wrist as he struggled to get the hefty man off him. The attack was lightning fast — he didn’t have a chance to escape — and the one exit in the Wild Outfitters store was now blocked by a toppled steel cabinet. Shutters covered windows, and the only daylight seeped in from a thin band around the edges of the metal.

  “Gary!” he shouted but got no response. He didn’t know if he was dead or just unconscious. One hour earlier, he, Gary, Damon and Jesse had arrived in the town located just twenty minutes northwest of Lake Placid. After six months of eating their way through supplies and struggling to find wildlife in the surrounding forest, they’d returned to scavenging. Every two days they would search homes locally or travel to surrounding towns in the county.

  It had been a crap shoot so far with minimal luck in finding anything. Raiders had already swept through the town’s grocery and pharmacies, leaving very little behind. Owners or gangs guarded the few remaining untouched stores. He and Gary spotted a store that sold items for folks looking to survive in the wilderness and figured they’d see what it might offer — big mistake. Unlike most of the valuable stores, hotels and restaurants guarded by groups of armed men, this one just had a warning sign out front.

  Drool dripped from the bearded man’s lips. His eyes were dark and wild, and his hair long and unruly. He sneered and was using all of his strength to push down the blade. There was no doubt in Elliot’s mind that if he released his grip, the Katana would slice through his neck. Fortunately the blade itself wasn’t as sharp as it should have been otherwise it would have cut through his hand like butter. Still, with blood dripping down his arm, it didn’t mean that it wouldn’t happen.

  “We didn’t know there was anyone in here,” Elliot cried out, hoping to reason with him — an utterly pointless attempt — he wasn’t having any of it. He was dressed in a thick plaid shirt, torn jeans and camo boots. He smelled like he hadn’t bathed in months. The stench alone was overwhelming.

  “Didn’t you see the sign?” he bellowed back.

  He would have responded, but he was using all his strength to hold him at bay. Elliot’s arms trembled, and he cried out as the blade cut deeper. Any further and it was liable to sever ligaments in his hand. He winced and shouted again for Gary.

  Right then a dark mass came into view off to his left. Within seconds it was over as Gary cracked the guy over the head with a baseball bat. His body slumped to one side and Elliot crawled out from underneath as Gary followed through with a few more strikes to make sure he wasn’t getting up again.

  Wood hitting bone was a horrid sound.

  “Gary, I think he’s dead,” Elliot said grabbing his arm to stop him from striking again. Having been inside that store for close to ten minutes, most of which had been spent fighting off their assailant, his eyes had now adjusted. Gary looked like he was in a state of shock and bewilderment. He nodded a few times and backed up giving Elliot a clear view of the bloody carnage. The man’s face had been reduced to pulp.

  Both of them were exhausted as they staggered back and Gary braced himself against the counter. It was hard to know if the guy was the owner or whether he was just squatting. There was a sleeping bag rolled out behind the counter with a book, a porno mag, a few red apples and a crank-up lamp.

  “Let’s grab what we can and get out of here.”

  “You were right, Elliot,” Gary said without even looking at him.

  “About?”

  “Everything. I was a fool to
think that I could have maintained order.”

  There was a pause.

  “You did what you thought was best,” Elliot replied.

  “So did you but you could see it, couldn’t you?”

  Elliot shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. All that matters is survival now.”

  “It does because I wasted all that time digging my heels into the ground wanting to believe that we were better than this — that we were more than savages but that’s what we are, aren’t we?”

  “Fight or flight, my friend. It’s the basic instinct we all have. Tear away the infrastructure that we rely on and people will revert back to what is hard-wired within them.”

  Elliot exhaled hard and scooped up the flashlight he’d dropped. He switched it on and a bright beam of white light bathed the room. He removed his baseball cap and wiped beads of sweat from his brow while eyeing what remained in the store. Surprisingly it hadn’t been looted. Six months. It was astonishing but then again… he glanced at the man. He had put up one hell of a fight. Perhaps that Katana sword wasn’t so sharp for a reason.

  “This place should have been empty by now.”

  Gary didn’t reply. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one. An old habit that he’d resumed a few months ago because of the stress he’d been under. Gary had become a very different man in six months. After multiple attacks on their lives, the death of Ted Murphy and the subsequent death of Mayor Hammond who lived another two months before being savagely beaten to death — Gary had thrown in the towel on attempting to protect the town. Many people were out of control and those that weren’t either had fled or no longer wanted to risk their neck for others.

  “We’re going to have to leave Lake Placid,” Gary blurted out as Elliot loaded up a black bag with a four-man tent, two sleeping bags and numerous camping tools.

  “What?”

  Gary turned and took a hard drag on his cigarette. It glowed a bright orange in the darkness. Elliot cast the light in his direction and shadows danced against his features.