Avalon: The Retreat Read Online Free PDF Page A

out of the family car, ran over, and bit the other guy on the leg. A handgun came out and with a flash and loud pop, the dog was dead. The dog’s owner, horrified by this incredible cruelty, jumped the man and so did the dog owner’s wife. A few seconds later, they both were shot and lay dead in the road with their dog.
    Most of the crowd stood there and watched as the shooter pointed his handgun ominously at them, walked over to his 4x4 pickup, slid into the driver’s side, started the engine, and in one swift movement, shifted and floored it with a roar. The oversized truck rammed cars out of the way and eventually made a hole through the traffic. But as the driver moved around the cars blocking the highway, he too was stopped. The truck was stuck in place when he high-ended it in the dirt, merely tilting it back and forth because the vehicle had no traction.
    That’s when the crowd moved in.
    Some had guns in their hands and the driver of the 4x4 was dead in a handful of seconds. Bullets flew at him from seemingly every direction, and when it was obvious the deed was completed and they had satisfied their mob revenge, people began to yell and cheer as if it was some grand sporting event. It was a stark reminder that mob reactions were often spontaneous and sometimes deadly.
    Mike and his crew moved on.

    A few miles further down the road, they came to a narrow bridge where they found cars stopped in front, on, and well beyond it. The jam must have been there for quite some time and the vehicles continued to stack up. The group had to find a way around it, which forced them to ford the river because the bridge was too dangerous.
    There was a small town named Fitch another twenty miles ahead, so they turned at the green mileage indicator and circled back and away from the road to take an alternate route that paralleled the arterial road toward the northeast. They would need to cross the river ahead and in this particular spot, the water was deep and swift.
    Water fell from the mountains in the near distance, gathering rapidly with streams and the momentum of the fast-moving water grew with each foot of travel. There wasn’t much chance of getting over from this spot, so they grabbed a right at the river’s edge and moved through the brush until a crossing spot came into view another five miles downstream of the bridge.
    It took a few minutes of searching for the small group of survivalists to spot an area that was suitable for crossing. They poked at it with sticks to get an idea of the depth of the water and it appeared to be shallow enough to cross. Including the high water area on both sides, the river was about a hundred fifty feet wide here, but Mike recognized eddies and swirls toward the middle that would help them maneuver the bikes and supplies across to the other side.
    The sandbar had grown through the years as the sediment washed down from the river and wedged together, one piece after another, forming this crossing. Without the sandbar, the width of the river and the swiftness of the water would have made it impassable. They could easily drown or lose all they carried with just one slip.
    Mike went first. The water came up to his chain and he was traveling fast. In a couple of places the bike sank further, wetting him up past his knees. Once he made it to the sandbar, he motioned for them to stay back. He wanted to try to get all the way across before any of them followed to ensure the others could make it safely.
    Because he was an experienced swimmer, Mike felt that if he went down he would survive the accident whereas some of the others might not. That was one tragedy he was determined to prevent. His bike slid on the loose stones and he almost lost it once, but finally made it. He unstrapped the shooter from across his back and set his bike against a tree, then chambered a round and made sure the safety was off.
    He held one finger up and motioned for them to come across one at a time, emulating a