Afterburn: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller (Next Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page B

thing he most wanted to forget.
    He was weary of running, but hidden claws clicked on the pavement far behind him. So he fell into the meditative lull of his mantra, knowing he’d soon need to find a secure place to spend those scant, restless hours that passed as sleep.
    Mutants, monsters, murderers, oh my. Mutants, monsters, murderers, oh my.
    He likely would have missed the sign even if it had been daylight, but in the gloom the letters were invisible. In his days as a graphic designer, he would have smirked at the clumsy typography and the town’s feeble attempt at marketing whatever appealing attributes it offered the newcomer or traveler.
    Tonight, he ran right by it, but even if he had read the sign, he would have thought it a lie.
    It said: Welcome to Stonewall.

CHAPTER FOUR
     
     
     
    Capt. Mark Antonelli didn’t like this recon mission one damned bit.
    He knew it was necessary, but this wasn’t his call. He was following orders, and somebody up the chain of command had a better view of things. Never mind that his superiors were huddled around a sandbox in a secure bunker that was so large it could rightly be called a resort while he and his men slept in the mud with one eye open.
    This had been the lot of soldiers throughout history, from Sumerian spearmen to Roman legionnaires to Napolean’s grenadiers. He’d served tours in both Iraq and Afghanistan in the former world, and he knew the drill. The duty was to die. The only thing that changed was the face of the enemy. But no enemy had ever been as strange as the Zaps.
    As much as Antonelli wanted to charge whatever ramparts the Zaps had constructed in their city strongholds, he understood the patient wisdom of strategy. And that meant trusting those with the shoulder braids, chest medals, and brandy snifters in New Pentagon. Directive 17 had reorganized the remnants of the military into a single force. After years of skirmishes and probing and planning, the push would come soon enough.
    And it would be all or nothing.
    “Do you believe that kid?” his XO, Lt. Randall, said as he stirred a tin can of hash heated over a campfire just enough to make the grease ooze from whatever animal had supplied the contents.
    “Not sure it matters.” Antonelli drank from his canteen, swished the stale water around his mouth, and spat. “I doubt if he knows anything that can help us.”
    The fire cast long, flickering shadows against the boulders and trees surrounding them. The unit was bivouacked a hundred yards off the parkway in a hollow between two rocky knolls. From one granite promontory, Antonelli enjoyed a spectacular sunset view of the rolling ridges, and dusk brought the aurora above and not a single manmade light below. Now the troops were spread out in groups of four or five, establishing a protective perimeter with constant foot patrols.
    Thirty-eight soldiers in all, four of them women, and only ten of them from his Camp Lejeune division. The rest were Army, Navy, and even a jet mechanic, as well as a couple of raw recruits they’d found holed up in a farmhouse a week before.
    “Anybody that’s lived this long must know a thing or two,” Randall said.
    “Or else got really lucky.”
    “A good-luck charm wouldn’t hurt.” Randall smacked his shiny lips. “These mountains got monsters even Hollywood couldn’t dream up.”
    Antonelli was annoyed at Randall’s mention of past things. Nostalgia was worse than useless—it was dangerous. Those who fantasized about restoring the old world were unsuited for the grim task of carving out an entirely new society, one that would have no room for entertainment or idleness. For the rest of their lives, whether that turned out to be hours or decades, they would never know true security.
    Come to think of it, that’s pretty much the same state as the human race of the Terrorist Age. The only difference is the ragheads got blasted by the same God that burned the Christians.
    “We can handle the monsters,”