The 1000 Souls (Book 2): Generation Apocalypse Read Online Free PDF Page A

cafeteria, drunk and still drinking his harsh moonshine.
    Joyce nodded. “That’s the plan. I’ve got someone on it, and we’re going to be down there, too. We’ll make use of that basement.”
    Jeff raised an eyebrow. “Visitor recently?”
    “Let’s not talk about it here.”
    Joyce’s glance in her direction was not lost on Kayla. They had secrets, Joyce’s Raiders, and Kayla was reminded once again that she was the newbie, still not trusted.
    Martin nodded and pointed to Kayla. “She can come with us and give us a hand clearing the upper floors. How much time do you need to get in place?”
    “Give us half an hour and then head down. If you hear Jeff’s horn, get the hell back to the keep and tell Barry to batten down the hatches for an attack.” Joyce focused her attention on Kayla. “Martin is your commander now. You obey him as if he were me.”
    Kayla nodded, careful to hide her disappointment. Joyce had yet to accept her, and it was only because of Jeff that Kayla was here at all. She had overheard him the morning after the manor house had been lost. “She fights just like you—all angry but clearheaded,” he’d said. “That’s why she should join our ranks and that’s exactly why she bugs you.”
    Joyce and Jeff backed away from the ridge and turned south, followed by twenty-five of the raiders, leaving Kayla with Martin and his troops. He checked the angle of the sun, to ensure he wouldn’t be flashing signals at the college, before putting a set of binoculars to his eyes. “How many could be in your college?” he asked Kayla.
    “Could be lots. There were three big lecture halls that could hold maybe three hundred each. Profs had their offices on the floors from three up to six, but I doubt there are any up there since the windows are open to the sun. The big problem is the basement: there were labs on two floors below the ground. Then there’s the gym, cafeteria, and meeting place at the bottom of the stairs on the way to R-wing.
    “Where’s that wing?”
    Kayla pointed to a long, blackened heap beyond the college. “It was over there. It didn’t have concrete walls.”
    Martin, still bulky and strong despite middle age and graying hair, looked over from his binoculars and frowned. “Hey sorry, must be hard for you—to see this, I mean. Must bring back some good and bad memories.”
    Kayla nodded, wishing she was able to get more sleep last night. Her lower lip came close to quivering, but she turned it to anger. “Bastards.”
    Martin looked back through the binoculars. “That’s what I say about the rippers whenever I see the ruins of a McDonald’s. I ran one, you know, back in Chicago. It was a good life.”
    Kayla did know but saw no need to comment. She couldn’t imagine what he left behind and how he became such a legendary fighter from such normal, middle-class beginnings.
    For the next half hour, they watched the dead college in silence. Nothing stirred but the occasional bird. Finally, Martin gave a low whistle and started working his way down the easiest part of the rocky slope, his thirty troops following. When they reached the valley floor and moved out of the woods, Martin broke into a run. Kayla marveled that such an old guy, at least fifty, could sustain a run for so long. A cramp tore at her side before they were even halfway across the field, but there was no way she’d let them show her up. She did vow, however, to start running the old highway to the Mattagami Bridge and back to get in better shape.
    Martin’s troops understood his hand signs, and Kayla struggled to follow along, watching the results more than comprehending the motions. Troops spread north and south along the curve of the college, some with packs beside those who just carried guns. A shaggy man beside Kayla, an older Newfoundlander who she didn’t know well, slipped off his pack and pulled free a hammer and a chunk of C4.
    “Stay back there, girlie,” he said, his voice guttural but not