Hell's Children: A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller Read Online Free PDF Page A

visible in the gloom. “Just some junk we found. No food.”
    Pete said, “Go on, leave us alone.”
    The boy issued a weird giggle. “Maybe I will and maybe I won’t.”
    Pete whispered, “The dude’s schizo. Let’s go.”
    Jack nodded, and together they started walking. When they looked back, the boy was gone.
    They continued into a less upscale neighborhood composed of duplex dwellings. On the bright side, it appeared the kid with the bat hadn’t progressed this far in his lonely rampage. Nothing looked smashed up. Sadly, none of the houses had chimneys. They passed through quickly and moved into a better neighborhood.
    The house they eventually chose was down a long, looping stretch of single-family houses that ended in a cul-de-sac. The front door had been pried open at some point, judging from the marks around the jamb and the missing doorknob.
    Pete sighed. “I bet everything good’s been taken.”
    Feeling like a scavenger and not liking it, Jack said, “Come on,” and pushed inside.
    Upon entering, the rank smell of putrefying flesh invaded from everywhere, causing him to cover his nose.
    “Jesus!” Pete said, and backed out of the house.
    A few seconds later, Jack followed him.
    “I’m … not … staying in there,” Pete said between retching sounds.
    Jack nodded. “I know what you mean.”
    Just as he decided to cross the street and try another house, there came a brightening in the distance followed by a flash off a stop sign.
    “Quick, back inside,” Jack said, prodding him.
    Pete started to argue, then gasped when a car appeared.
    Jack shoved in behind him and peeked out the peephole. Twenty seconds later, the street got brighter, then darker as the car passed in front of the house. There were two people in the front seat and two in the back. Light flared suddenly from the side window, blinding him briefly, and then they’d passed.
    There was a window next to the door with the curtains pulled shut. Jack nudged them aside and peeked out for a better look. The backseat passengers had a couple of those million-candle flashlights used by rescue teams and police. They were sweeping the huge beams here and there, as if searching for something.
    In time, they rounded the little cul-de-sac and started back. As the lights from the car passed over the house, Jack shut the curtain—then mentally swore. He held his breath, willing the car to continue up the street. It crept slowly along and stopped with its headlights angled toward the house. A long, steady car horn issued forth, causing them both to flinch. Then someone got out and came around to the front of the car.
    “What’s going on?” Pete said.
    “You know how to shoot?” Jack said, unslinging his dad’s rifle.
    “Just in video games. My mom said I’m a pacifist.”
    Before he could reply to the absurd statement, the boy outside shouted, “Who’s in there?”
    The AR was loaded, but not chambered. Jack drew his pistol—finger off the trigger like his mom had shown him, barrel safely pointed ahead of him and down.
    Cracking the door an inch, he yelled, “Who are you?”
    “Doesn’t matter,” the boy said. “How old are you?”
    Jack thought quickly. Too young and they’d probably storm the house. Too old and they wouldn’t believe him.
    “Fourteen—and three quarters.”
    He’d invented that last part.
    “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be at the school. Didn’t you hear?”
    Jack looked back at Pete and said, “You know what he’s talking about?”
    The boy nodded. “They went door to door telling people. I guess they skipped your house.”
    Or maybe they saw us outside with guns.
    To keep the conversation going, he shouted, “What school?”
    “The high school. Where you from, man?” Before Jack could reply, the boy added, “Come on out. We’re supposed to round up everyone and meet there. There’s food. We’ll drive you. Anyone’s with you, they can come too—except, no little kids. They gotta