IMPACT (Book 1): A Post-Apocalyptic Tale Read Online Free PDF

occupations – small farmers like Frank, as well as builders, plumbers, electricians, technicians of any kind – immediately proved to be indispensable. They knew where water pipes where located, how to repair engines (although few of them understood the finer workings of the LMMs – the liquid metal motors – which, although rare, were prized findings for anyone lucky enough to stumble upon one of them), and provided all sorts of services that helped fuel the smooth running of the town. The absolute protagonists, despite their only relative contribution, were kids like Sean. Paul glanced at the boy, who seemed ill at ease in his position as Outside Information Analyst for the Council, and only vaguely aware of the key role he occupied within Bately.
    In the meantime, the others, the ones who had lived a life of intellect, who had a hard time making use of a simple screwdriver, had plummeted to the depths of society. Paul felt his own seat on the Council had been assigned to him out of little other than a sluggish reluctance to abandon pre-impact social structures. He was the local priest and, since the Church of England minister, Father Theodore, had lost his life to Nero’s Affliction months ago, he was the only representative of the Christian faith and of the metaphysical architecture of old.
    “Good job, Frank,” said Bill with the stiff appreciation of an army officer. “Catherine, how are things on your end?” All eyes turned to her.
    Catherine sighed, and cleared her voice before speaking.
    “We’re running extremely short on supplies. I’m trying to limit the distribution of aspirin and Paracetamol, but the demand keeps growing–”
    “Especially with all those foreigners coming in,” said Ms. Brand, wrinkling her nose. Bill nodded quietly, in agreement, but said nothing. This was one of the more delicate topics, and Catherine felt both the urge to, and the fear of, discussing it with the rest of the Council members. Few things seemed to be as polarising as the issue of the infected from the continent.
    “Ms. Brand, they are sick . They have nowhere else to go. We have a moral obligation to help them out.”
    “I agree,” said Ms. Brand. “As long as that doesn’t interfere with our own business, here in Bately, Cathy.”
    “I know, but–”
    “Please, Catherine.” Catherine slumped back, crossing her arms on her chest. “Take me, for instance. I’ve been going around with my arthritis, and it’s killing me . Have I ever bothered you for some painkillers? No. I haven’t. I just put up with it. I think what we need is a wee bit of self-sacrifice around here.”
    “Well said,” uttered Bill.
    “But, what about these others,” continued Ms. Brand. “They swarm in, and expect us to provide them with medicine and food, don’t they? They turn up at our doorstep and wait for handouts, and what are they giving back , I wonder?” She was looking around, delivering her speech with an annoying combination of pedantic exposition, one you’d reserve for a bunch of eight-year-olds, and amateurish political propaganda.
    “Well, a few of them are helping me out, out on the fields, Marge,” muttered Frank, shyly.
    “Exactly, thank you , Frank,” said Catherine. “They do help out, Ms. Brand, believe me. And anyway, we’ve all had loved ones die of the Affliction, haven’t we?” Catherine didn’t wait for an answer. She knew it was true.
    “That has nothing to do with it,” said Ms. Brand, looking away. Her hand was clenching the hem of her skirt.
    “Of course it does, Ms. Brand. We can’t stop caring for the sick, simply because they’re not related or close to us.”
    “But–” began Ms Brand, before Catherine interrupted her with an authoritative index finger that no one would have dared challenge.
    “Wait. Most of them don’t help, it’s true.” Here Ms. Brand nodded in agreement. “ But that’s because they are literally dying , Ms. Brand. Dying. We’re not talking about