The Survivors: Book One

Debris crunched under her tires as she rolled past dark, reeking restaurants full of rotting food, and she winced at the sounds of glass breaking as she neared the library, where shadows moved inside, trying to learn to fend for themselves. If she got a flat tire, she would have to abandon her car for another. There was no way her body could manage to break the lug nuts loose. What she needed was a set of those new tires that would go an extra 50 miles even on a flat. Self-sealing or something, maybe even armor-plated if she could find it.

Her broken heart clenched at the thought, and she felt a tear slide down her cheek. What she needed most was to find the 14-year-old son she'd been apart from for the last months. It was killing her not to be with him, not to be able to hold him, and she wished with all her heart (along with almost everyone else on the planet) that the War had never come.

"Hold on, boy," she whispered roughly. "I will come for you!"

Angela tried to push the sadness away, flipping on the heater and defrost. She jumped as lightning forked wildly overhead, the glare almost blinding. She drove a little faster around the telephone poles, burnt-out cars, busted furniture, and rotting corpses, feeling awful that so many people would never have the peace of being laid to rest.

She jumped again, as the wind slammed against her car and a barrage of black hail pinged off the hood in nerve-wracking blasts, pulling her attention to the weather. The sky was a dim, grayish-brown, thick with layers of dust and smoke. The storm clouds racing towards her went through it easily, and fat drops of rain began to pelt her hood and windows.

Following her instincts, Angela took refuge under the concrete viaduct as the storm bore down on the riot-ravaged city. It released sheets of black flakes that covered the streets, and torrents of rain that slowly began to wash away another layer of the dirt and blood the end of the world had left behind.

Angela put it in park and lit a smoke as the nearby mill creek's reek of fishy-shit invaded the car. Her eyes were moving, constantly searching the crumbling, trashy buildings on either side of her, and her hand stayed near the gun in between the seats. Now that she was alone again, her courage had deserted her and she was glad she had disobeyed Kenny - gotten a weapon on the last trip out.

"You disobeyed Kenny? You're in trouble! You're in trouble!"