The Survivors: Book One

When the War came, Sam had been mostly alone but content. Her needs were met by her butler and servants, and then by the agency staff after she'd taken over her parents' work when they were killed trying to measure an Atlantic storm during the height of hurricane season. A year into that wild ride, she had predicted the Supercell in Nebraska during the DNC - had maybe even saved President Milton's miserable life - and that was how she'd ended up here.

Samantha was used to having her needs met, but thankfully she was also very strong, able to face her terror and still react. It made her a formidable opponent that she didn't really fear death, only the pain, and becoming a Storm Tracker like her parents had been as natural as breathing. She had guts and she would have to use them now.

The aching woman lit one of her "reward" cigarettes and watched the darkness through the dirty window. The rain splatters were turning to light gray sleet, covering the dead world around them, and she ignored her pains, calculating. The next eighteen hours would be hard, but if she was careful, if she picked just the right moment, this time tomorrow she would be free.

3

Samantha wasn't sure if it was the icy cold or the bands of pain low in her stomach that woke her to day eleven of captivity, but she came fully alert all at once, mind immediately returning to the plan she had fallen asleep working on.

She had decided she wouldn't head to the Essex (7) compound. On the chopper, the soldier had told them it was being evacuated. That was also the direction that most of the radiation victims she had seen since the War, were coming from. Plus, the brothers knew to follow her there. She couldn't take the chance that they would hunt her down, capture her again. If they did, she'd get no further opportunities to run. This was her last try, and she took another long minute, preparing herself to follow through, no matter how ugly it got.

Stomach shifting uncomfortably, Samantha stretched her arm over and started the van's engine. As she flipped on the heater, she told herself at least she wouldn't have a baby. She'd had a shot the day before the War, and it was good for three months.

"What...uh? What're you doing?" a groggy Melvin questioned, elbowing Henry.

Samantha struggled to breathe normally as the wipers cleared a vision into a wintery hell, surprised the weather had muffled so much of the sound. They had slept through it, she thought sickly, and hoped the gang had moved on in the night. Bonneville was in flames, the smoke was the only thing she saw moving, and it firmed her decision. Today had to be the day. She wasn't going in there. Anyone who ventured into that war-zone wouldn't come back out on the other side.