The Last Peak (Book 2): The Darwin Collapse Read Online Free PDF Page B

reminded everybody about the importance of hygiene. A small cut could quickly turn into something much worse with their stress-weakened immune systems.
    “We need to find more food,” Mason said.
    “And we need medical supplies,” Beth said, “specifically antibiotics. Mason finished his course yesterday and Elio will finish the last of it tonight. We need more. Clyde’s respiratory infection is getting worse. And who knows when the next time one of us will need help getting over an infection.”
    She swallowed hard and stared at her fork.
    Mason reached across the table and grasped her hand. “We’ll get more. Don’t worry.”
    She pursed her lips and nodded. “That’s not my biggest worry, Mason. What if you two get hurt?”
    “Beth, we discussed and settled this. We’ll be careful.”
    She shook her head and looked out the window. “I know you’ll try.”
    “Dad, where are we going tonight?”
    “We’ll check out the CVS by Whole Foods and the Rite-Aid by Ralphs. Looters have probably hit them by now, but we’ll see what we can find.”
    “Won’t that make us looters, too?”
    “Maybe. We wouldn’t take anything by force, but if there are supplies to be had, we’ll need them.”
    The people surrounding the table went quiet.
    And then the sound of a gunshot jolted them into action.
    Mason shoved the seat back and drew the holstered Glock 19 tucked inside his waistband in one fluid motion. He was headed for the front window before the others at the table had managed to stand. “Beth, you’re armed.”
    It was a statement, not a question. He’d convinced her of the necessity. The statement was more a reminder of the severity of the situation.
    “Get everyone in the kitchen.”
    A chair squealed across the wood floor as Beth dragged someone to their feet, probably Iridia. “Let’s go,” she said.
    Mason chamber-checked his pistol and verified it was hot as he edged up next to the large front window. He inched the heavy curtains open enough to get a view of the yard and beyond.
    Across the street, half a dozen armed men stood on Mr. Raybury’s porch. The front door was open and they all yelled over each other into the darkened interior. Mason had no doubts about what this ragged band was up to.
    Looters.
    A man with a thick beard appeared in the doorway dragging the elderly Mr. Raybury behind him and then shoved him onto the grass. Before Mason could formulate a plan to help, the bearded man drew a pistol from behind his back, placed the muzzle to Mr. Raybury’s forehead, and squeezed the trigger.
    A sick feeling slammed Mason in the gut.
    All the men circled around the body and laughed, pumping extra rounds into the corpse.
    Sons of bitches. Mason ached to hurt them. To make them feel what they made others feel. His mind warred with itself, the desire for action wrestling with the need to protect those in his charge.
    The bearded man screamed something lost in the hail of gunfire. He shouted again and the men stopped firing.  
    “Save your bullets, you idiots! They don’t grow on trees!” He pointed toward the house and three men disappeared inside. They returned a few minutes later with bags filled with whatever goods they’d deemed worth stealing. One of the bigger men grabbed for a bag and tried to yank it away from an exiting invader. The smaller man charged his assailant and both men ended up rolling around on the ground, throwing wild punches and swearing to kill each other.
    The other men that had surrounded Mr. Raybury’s body now circled around the fight in progress. They hooted and hollered and called out bets like it was a dog fight.
    CRACK.
    The leader shot a round into the air.
    “Enough! Get your asses up and stop messing around, or I’ll kill you both myself.” He aimed the pistol at the two fighters. They rolled apart and got to their feet in a hurry.
    “Sorry, boss.”
    A loud, screeching sound came from the hallway at Mason’s back.
    Clyde.
    His call for attention