“There is one thing,” he said, “but I wouldn’t make too much of it. The only reason I didn’t mention it is because I didn’t want your wife and daughter to worry. They need to feel safe in order to rest and recover.”
Shane’s heart sank. He hadn’t asked the question expecting to hear anything truly disturbing. Whatever it was, he wasn’t sure he was ready to hear it. James started to say something else then opened the front door and stepped out on the porch.
“What is it?” Shane asked, closing the door behind him.
“Pike did boast that his gang is part of some bigger ‘brotherhood,’ whatever that means,” the sheriff said. “He warned me that his brothers will come looking for him and break him out of jail. Now, I wouldn’t put much stock in it. Criminals make all sorts of empty boasts when I lock them up, but you still need to know…just in case.”
Shane felt a shudder of fear, but he checked himself. “Even if that’s true, how would his brothers find him? He’d have to be in radio contact.”
“I patted him down,” James said. “He doesn’t have a radio or anything else on him. I think it’s unlikely that crew was in contact with anyone.”
“What about the car they drove here in?” Mike said, leaning against a post at the edge of the porch. “Did we ever find it?”
“No, but I haven’t really looked for it,” James said. “They must’ve parked on another street. I’ll cruise around later and try to find it. He said it’s an old Ford Fairmont, so that should stick out like a sore thumb. In fact, I’ll make regular patrols of the neighborhood and keep my eye out for anything unusual. You guys take note of any strangers on your street. A little paranoia will serve us well in the days ahead.”
“We certainly will,” Shane said. “I’m at the point where anyone looking in this direction will rouse my suspicions.”
“Not a bad attitude,” James said.
He extended his hand, and Shane shook it. Then he turned and walked toward his cruiser. Shane followed and opened the gate so he could back out of the driveway. Once he was gone, Shane closed the gate and latched it. As he did, the windchimes made their distinctive music on the other side, a reminder of the dangers waiting on the other side of the fence in the crumbling world.
Shane couldn’t help pacing from the fireplace, where the candlelight flickered, to the table by the front window, where the wires from the solar panels were attached to a row of lithium batteries. They’d turned off the bright lamps to save power, so the whole living room had a dim, sleepy quality. Mike and Beth were on opposite ends of the couch, Mike slumped against the armrest, Beth anxiously fiddling with a loose thread on the edge of the couch cushion. Owen sat on the hearth, his head bowed. Only Corbin stood still, stiff as a soldier at attention near the doorway into the dining room, his arms crossed over his chest. Despite the knot on his head, he’d been unwilling—or unable—to rest.
Jodi, Violet, and Kaylee, along with both dogs, were sleeping in the back bedroom, so everyone in the living room spoke in hushed tones. The world seemed too quiet. Somehow, the silence was more threatening to Shane.
“Despite what our intrepid sheriff says, I’m not willing to ignore that scumbag’s threat,” Mike said. He looked like a ghost in the candlelight, his eyes hidden in wells of shadow, his sunken cheeks almost skeletal. “I think there’s a chance more of their gang will show up, and we need to be ready for them.”
“I agree with Uncle Mike,” Owen said. His hair hung in his face, revealing only his broad jawline. The kid needed a haircut, but how did one find a barber in a broken world? “I think he was telling the truth. More of this biker gang will be coming, and they’ll attack when we least expect it. We know what they’re like now: sickos, murderers, thieves. They’ll shoot at kids, they’ll steal anything they want, they’ll kidnap women.”
“That’s right, kid,” Mike said. He’d finally replaced the bandage on his neck, but it wasn’t placed quite right. Shane could see about half an inch of his surgical scar curling up toward his jaw. “I’m with you. They’d kill every single person in this household without batting an eye if they had a chance. That’s the kind of guys we’re talking about. Torture and rape and anything else they want to do. We have to anticipate the worst and be ready.”
Beth sat up now. She looked older than ever, a bent-backed old woman with too many cares and worries laid on her back. The skin of her face seemed to be sagging, the curls of her gray hair wilting.
“Shane, please fill us in on the work you’ve been doing with the boys to fortify the house,” she said.
Shane glanced at Corbin then at Owen. “Well, as you can see, we’ve fenced in the entire front yard, and we’ve put solar panels on the roof. There’s more I’d like to do, of course: bars on the windows, maybe strengthening the doors somehow, spikes on top of the fences. I’d like to make it very hard for anyone to get in here without permission.”
“What about a tall guard tower in the yard?” Corbin said. His acne had gotten worse for some reason, furious red all over his cheeks and chin, and his cropped hair had grown out just enough to look strange. “We can take turns up there with the AR-15, maybe install a spotlight.”
“I don’t know,” Shane said. The magnitude of the project was more than he could consider at the moment. “Let’s think about that and maybe discuss it tomorrow.” To change the subject, he turned to his mother-in-law. “Beth, what’s our food situation? Honestly, in your estimation, how long can we hold out here without looking for outside help?”
“We have plenty down below,” she said. “Plus, the garden is healthy. It should keep producing food for years. Combined with all the buckets and boxes you brought, plus the stuff that Mike and Owen brought, we should be fine for years.”
“Be more specific,” Shane said. “If you can.”
“Okay,” Beth tapped a finger against her chin. “I’d say…five years. We can be relatively comfortable for at least five years. Eventually, we’ll have to expand the garden, turn it into more of a farm, if we want to be self-sufficient indefinitely.”
“That’s good to know. Thanks.”
Corbin cleared his throat. “There’s just one problem. Neighbors know we have food. That weirdo across the street is already pestering us for handouts. We have to be ready to protect our food supplies.”
“We will be,” Shane said. “I want everyone in this house to be trained and ready to use the guns: the shotgun, the AR-15, and the Glock. Everyone should feel confident to grab any one of the weapons and use it against an intruder. Don’t waste anymore ammo on target practice, though. The bullets have to last.”
“Even Kaylee?” Owen said.
“I don’t know,” Shane said, waving off the comment. “Maybe. Whether it’s this biker gang coming to find Pike or hostile neighbors or some other threat we haven’t imagined yet, we have to be on our toes and ready to do anything necessary to protect ourselves, our home, and our food. Is that clear?”
Mike nodded, Corbin saluted, and Beth sighed.
“Dad, is it ever going to get better?” Owen said.
Shane didn’t want to answer. He didn’t want to think about what the future held. Worrying about tomorrow was enough, but Owen persisted.
“Do we have to live like this for the rest of our lives?”
“I don’t know,” Shane said, sitting down next to his son, “but we’d better be prepared to spend the next few years like this.”
Owen grimaced, but Shane pressed on. They needed to confront the truth, all of them.
“This might be the new world,” he said. “This might be how it is from now on. There’s no way to know for sure what the future holds. If it never goes back to the way it was, if it never gets any better, we have to be prepared to live in the world that is, not the world that was.”
He met his mother-in-law’s weary gaze, and she nodded, once, gravely.
“And we’re not,” Shane said. “We’re not prepared. Not yet. Not completely. But we will be. I swear to
God, we will be.”
End of Fallen World
Surviving the End Book Two
Crumbling World, 13 November 2019
Fallen World, 11 December 2019
New World, January 8 2020
PS: Do you love post-apocalyptic fiction? Then keep reading for exclusive extracts from New World and Survive the Chaos.
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About Grace Hamilton
Grace Hamilton is the prepper pen-name for a bad-ass, survivalist momma-bear of four kids, and wife to a wonderful husband. After being stuck in a mountain cabin for six days following a flash flood, she decided she never wanted to feel so powerless or have to send her kids to bed hungry again. Now she lives the prepper lifestyle and knows that if SHTF or TEOTWAWKI happens, she’ll be ready to help protect and provide for her family.
Combine this survivalist mentality with a vivid imagination (as well as a slightly unhealthy day dreaming habit) and you get a prepper fiction author. Grace spends her days thinking about the worst possible survival situations that a person could be thrown into, then throwing her characters into these nightmares while trying to figure out "What SHOULD you do in this situation?"
You will find Grace on:
BLURB
They’ll protect what’s theirs—or die trying.
The McDonald clan have learned their lessons the hard way these last months. Shane and Jodi finally realize they must keep their reunited family close and protect their own above all others to survive in this new post-apocalyptic reality. The repairs on the home are complete, solar panels installed, and the now operational pump means they won’t have to continue collecting rainwater for the foreseeable future.
But it’s no longer just outsiders wreaking havoc on the small Georgia town, as unprepared townsfolk learn of their hard-earned stores—and threaten to take their prepper supplies by force.
To stem the mayor’s confiscation plans and keep the angry hordes at bay, the McDonalds’ blind teenaged daughter spearheads a community garden project to teach the citizens how to survive the coming lean years. But word travels fast when there are too many hungry mouths to feed.
And the gang that has long menaced the McDonalds comes looking to exact their pound of flesh.
When loved ones get caught in the crossfire, Shane and company won’t hold back against an enemy that threatens to take everything they have left.
Or kill those they hold dear.
Get your copy of New World
Available January 8 2020
www.GraceHamiltonBooks.com
EXCERPT
Chapter One
The humidity was like a warm, wet blanket that hugged every inch of exposed skin. The kind of moisture that soaked into clothing and turned hair limp. In a strange way, Jodi didn’t mind the sweat running down her face, trickling down her back, dripping from her fingers, her elbows, stinging her eyes. Somehow, it felt like it was helping with the physical therapy, as if she had worked up the sweat through sheer effort. Despite the thin, white t-shirt and cotton shorts she was wearing, it felt like she’d put on a wool parka. The brutal Georgia heat had come early this year. It was only May, but it felt like the middle of August.
Jodi was still a mess. Her progress seemed minimal, and so many parts of her body still ached. The gunshot wounds on her right arm had mostly healed, but the arm still hurt. The muscles seemed weaker, and she wondered if they would ever fully recover. Her left arm was worse— broken from her motorcycle wreck and still firmly encased in a cast and sling. Worst of all was her aching back. It wasn’t the most serious injury, but her every movement seemed to aggravate it. There was no comfortable position to lie down in.
If she’d been a less driven person, it would have been an easy thing to become sedentary. Staring at the big diagram of physical therapy exercises that Dr. Yates had given her made her want to cry, and there were times when she was tempted to wad the damn thing up and toss it over the fence. But she was determined to get better, to become stronger, and to be ready the next time her family was in danger.
I’ve done it before, she reminded herself. I’ve defeated my enemy. Talon called me his “Treasure,” but I left him to die in his tent.
Her sense of satisfaction mingled with a sense of trembling darkness. Yes, she’d plunged a knife into his neck and listened to him bleed out. It was still hard to believe it had really happened.
But she knew what she was capable of now. I’ll do it again if I have to. I’ll do what I did to Talon to anyone who threatens me or my family.
“You’re not going to hurt a fly if you don’t get to the bottom of this exercise chart,” she muttered, scolding herself for getting lost in her own thoughts.
Fortunately, the next exercise allowed her to sit down. Gnashing her teeth at the stiffness in her back, she crossed the back porch and stepped through the open door into the dining room. The interior of the house wasn’t much cooler than the outside. God, she missed air conditioning more than anything else on the face of the earth. If gas hadn’t been in such short supply, she would have found endless reasons to ride in one of the vehicles. Mike’s big neon-green LTD had great air conditioning, like an icy wind blasting out of those old vents.
A can of Campbell’s tomato soup was waiting for her at the head of the table. She sat down on her mother’s padded chair, to the creaking protest of her aching spine. Unfolding the doctor’s therapy sheet, she studied the next exercise: a simple repetition of arm curls using the tomato can. The doctor was worried about the stiffness in her right arm—a valid concern.
She grabbed the tomato can and tested her grip. It was still hard to clamp down. The muscles in her forearm resisted. Gritting her teeth, Jodi tightened her grip as much as she could and set her elbow near the edge of the table, then she followed the diagram. The immediate results were discouraging.
I’ll never be strong enough to knock someone out with a single punch at this rate, she thought.
By the tenth arm curl, she had to stop and rest.
“Did the doctor specify the tomato soup?” Shane said.
Her husband approached the dining room table from the living room and sat down beside her. With a groan, Jodi set the can down and shook her hand, marveling at the magnitude of the ache moving all the way up to her shoulder. Shane picked up her exercise sheet and looked at it.
“Dr. Yates is merciless,” he said.
“I kind of feels that way,” Jodi replied.
Just then, Sheriff James Cooley entered the room. The poor man looked like he’d been run ragged. He was wearing his full sheriff’s uniform, with his badge pinned to the pocket and that silly, wide-brimmed hat on his head, but he was sunburned and bleary-eyed. He removed the hat and tossed it onto the table, revealing a head of unkempt gray hair, as he sat down across from Shane. For his age, he was a handsome man, and Jodi could see why her mother was fond of him.
“I don’t dare step away from the office for too long,” he said, “but I was in the area, so I figured I’d stop by and see how my favorite people are doing.”
“It’s good to see you, James,” Jodi said. He had helped Shane find and rescue her when she was lying unconscious in a ditch beside the highway. She’d heard the whole story multiple times, and she would feel a debt of gratitude to the man for the rest of her life.
“How’s it going out there in our fine community, Sheriff?” Shane asked.
“As bad as I feared,” he said with a sigh. “I’ve lost count of the theft reports. Our little community is overrun with desperate and ill-prepared people. I can’t keep up. I made the mistake of putting a crime report box in the reception area, and the damn thing gets jammed to overflowing every day.”
“Wh
at are people stealing?” Shane asked.
“Whatever they can get their hands on,” James replied. “Someone stole a garden hose this morning. Another lady is convinced her cat got stolen and used for food.”
“Oh, gosh,” Jodi replied. It seemed all too possible.
James went into a coughing fit.
“Let me get you a drink,” Jodi said, rising from her seat. “Would you like a cup of coffee? I’ll heat some water on the grill. It’ll only take a few minutes.”
“I’ll get it,” Shane said. “You take it easy.”
“My back hurts whether I stand or sit,” she replied. “It doesn’t make a difference. Let me do it.”
Fortunately, he relented. She appreciated his constant concern for her well-being, but it occasionally edged toward being too much.
“I would love a cup of coffee, thanks,” James said.
Jodi worked as fast as she could, which meant roughly a snail’s pace, gathering up the supplies she needed to make coffee: the old stainless-steel percolator, a bag of coffee, a gallon jug of water, some enamelware coffee cups. It took multiple trips to get them all to the propane grill on the back porch, and Shane finally got up and helped her. In the meantime, James regaled them with an exhausting array of petty crime stories from the surrounding community.
“Vandalism is a bigger problem than I expected,” he was saying, speaking loudly from the dining room. “Bands of listless teenagers with no school, no activities, no cell phones, no video games, and no shopping malls to haunt, they just wander around looking for something to do, and it doesn’t take long before they’re up to no good. I caught a group of boys smearing butter on a sidewalk. I guess they wanted to watch people slip and fall. I don’t know. I made them clean it up with scrub brushes and Pine-Sol. They were young enough that they cried.”
Surviving The End (Book 2): Fallen World Page 24
