Greenhaus Part 1: A Storm Brews Read Online Free PDF Page A

target the way Jesslyn had.
    Her internal clock was telling her it was time to go, before the Rangers emerged like blue roaches from Glass City. She crawled from h er position, grabbed her rifle and used the butt end to drive the stakes that held her camo covering flush with the ground, to conceal the entrance. Ella did not mind moving her position around the hills if necessary, but the bunker provided more cover than the camo netting she used to cover her in other places, so she mostly spied from here and wanted to keep the location hidden from her enemies.
    After securing the bunker, she high tailed it to the other side of the hill, out of sight of any who could be w atching her from Glass City. She ran in a full sprint for as long as she could, vigorously pumping her arms and legs while she grasped her bullet-less rifle with a white knuckle grip. She ran until her breath was gone and she knew it was safe.
    Ella droppe d the rifle, doubled over, removed her mask and placed her hands on her knees, preparing herself to vomit. Thick saliva coated her mouth and the meager morning meal of grub worms crawled back up into her throat. She gasped for air; each breath stung her lungs as she inhaled. She felt the acid burning her esophagus and expected food to soon make its exit if she didn’t act fast.
    She removed her canteen from her backpack and hastily struggled to remove the cap. Finally the top was off and slightly tinged wate r rushed to her lips. A few quick gulps of the metallic water and a few more deep breaths of stinging air helped to catch her breath and stave off vomiting. After donning her mask and picking up her rifle, she resumed a light jog. As she regained her breathe, she added intermittent bursts of sprints, a pattern she maintained until returning to base camp just over an hour later.
    The fortress walls, formed by buses, cars, and whatever other scrap or debris the greasers could fashion into the exterior of the c omplex, appeared in her vision. Guards patrolled along the top of the makeshift wall, each one with a different style of weapon and uniquely decorated gas mask. An opening between two large buses served as a gate, which in truth was nothing more than random scrap welded, nailed, or otherwise thrown together, giving those who guarded it a small tower, and a wall walk with waist high cover above the gate.
    Some of those on guard were spotters, like her, while some were snipers. The snipers possessed fully fun ctional weapons and most had ammo, unlike Ella, who carried an empty rifle with a blade taped around the end of the barrel as her sole means of defense. The others were spotters, armed with a weapon more valuable than any gun, vision. Seeing things before they could see you was a powerful device in Ella’s world. She approached cautiously, so as not to alarm those guarding her home, which could make her the tragic victim of friendly fire. Their motto was shoot first and asked questions later, a policy Ella fully supported because it kept them all safe. Once the spotters identified her, they waved white cloths, indicating she had clearance to pass.
    The dark green canvas tent of the camp Elders towered over the walls of the fortress. The tattered flag at its p innacle whipped in the wind. She nodded and waved to the snipers and spotters that kept her safe as she passed the gate. Distant moaning, coming from the quarantined section of the fortress, asserted the pall of the ever present Sickness. The smells of grease and grime filled her nose and her pace moved back to a sprint.
    Ella passed the pile of salvaged charcoal, grabbing a fresh hunk to replace the old piece utilized as a filter in her gas mask, her increased difficulty in breathing through the mask signif ied the time for a change. Out of breath once again, she reached her destination, but the closed flaps told her a meeting was underway, the next move of the camp being plotted by the Elders. She entered anyway, to report her observations