The Survivors: Book One

Brief flares of light in the darkness had come sporadically, made her go still until they were gone. With NORAD being destroyed, Samantha saw no reason to keep looking for the government. She didn't know for sure what she would do yet, but if the surgery worked, she might be in Cheyenne by April Fools' Day.

Pain was on her in thick waves, stealing her breath and Sam thought of her Seattle office with longing. She had spent more time there than the small condo she'd been left in her parents will. She hadn't been an active member of the weather service, only a computer message they'd been told to listen to no matter what the data said, but she had been well-treated, her office full of luxuries designed to keep her close.

"Prize rat in a cushy run," she slurred, crying again, ashamed of her life. She'd been part of the problem.

Some of this was her fault. Miserable, exhausted, her eyes closed less than a minute later, the pain and drugs too much. Sam slumped back against the bed of cushions and pillows she'd made, as the darkness swallowed her. Outside, the snow began to fall.

2

Wwhhhoooo!

Sam was moaning in agony before her eyes were even open, hands automatically going to her wound. She screamed as clumsy fingers found the raw, angry flesh of her leg.

She jerked awake, groaning as the room spun, and her stomach lurched from the smells and mess. Taking shallow, rapid breaths, she gave herself the rest of the Morphine in the syringe without sitting up, slamming the needle into her other thigh.

Her empty stomach churned, and she gagged. Tears streamed from her eyes, and Sam concentrated only on holding her guts in, as the pain slowly sank back.

After a moment, she pried her eyes open. Cleanup had to be done. It had been an animal outside that had woken her. The mess was already drawing predators, even though she could hear the wind and snow beating against the cabin. Her dream flashed through her mind, the latest vision. A blizzard where places on the edge of the storm would see sudden temperature drops. The War's death count was about to climb.

As if to prove her point, the storm outside picked up, freezing rain slamming against the windows, and she jumped at a quick movement in the corner. Squinting, her blurry eyes told her it wasn't a threat. It was a mouse, and it looked normal. It was the first good thing she'd seen in weeks. Maybe she could find it something to eat.

Samantha forced herself to move, and to use the bedpan, leg crying the whole time, flaring up to shout at each jar and wobble. She gently cleaned herself with alcohol pads, relieved to see the dark red lines were lighter, and then forced herself to drink a cup of water and eat a pack of stale peanut butter crackers. She tossed one into the corner for the mouse to find later.