Afterburn: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller (Next Book 1) by Scott Nicholson Page B
Authors: Scott Nicholson
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then destroyed as many mutants as they could. Scattered military units, like the one that had occupied the bunker Rachel and the others now possessed, wielded whatever armaments they could muster against the strange new enemy. Occasionally, those roving bands and the military fought each other or among themselves, so there was plenty of killing to go around on all fronts.
But as the population declined drastically and the Zaps congregated in the largest cities, the explosions and gunfire diminished. While a migratory hermit or small group might fire a weapon at one of the increasingly odd predatory animals that stalked the wild, Franklin couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard such a fight.
A civilian group likely wouldn’t own that much destructive power, anyway, especially this late in the game. Which promoted a less agreeable option: the military.
Franklin descended from the lookout post and returned to the cabin. Dropping a blanket over the window, he lit a lamp fueled by pig fat and connected the battery converter hooked to his solar array. He plugged in his short-wave radio, hoping Rachel and the others had stuck to established protocol.
He tracked the dial on his decades-old radio receiver until he had scanned all the bandwidths, picking up nothing but static. Most of the world’s communications devices were burned out, but the few that had been shielded from the sunspot activity were probably owned by the military and its surviving government. Franklin had made contact with a few paranoid hermits like himself, but they were as coy about their locations as Franklin himself, so he’d never established a wider network.
Still, the radio was a convenient way to contact the bunker when necessary, even though anyone within range and under the right atmospheric conditions could eavesdrop. His equipment was far too crude and dated for encryption.
Franklin figured he’d better risk it. No matter how many times he told Rachel, DeVontay, and the others, you couldn’t just instill sufficient paranoia. You either had the trait or you didn’t.
Besides, whoever was blowing up stuff and shooting guns on the other side of the mountain was far to busy to be squatting beside a speaker.
He triggered the mic. “Eagle One, this is Rhinestone Cowboy, you got your ears on? Eagle One, come in.”
Franklin waited. He couldn’t hear any more gunshots over the faint hiss. The party was over.
After thirty seconds, he tried again. “Eagle One, this is Rhinestone Copy. Talk to me.”
He heard Stephen on the receiver: “Eagle One in the nest, Cowboy. What’s happening?”
“Trying to get some sleep and heard some shitterhawks flapping around. Got me out of bed, so I figured I might as well jabber. What about you?”
“Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.”
“How’s the weather down in your neck of the woods?”
“Georgia’s hot year round.”
On air, they maintained a fiction that Eagle One was in Georgia and Franklin was in Alabama, although in truth only five miles separated them. “Well, come on down and cool off in the swamp. We can net one of those atomic gators and eat for days.”
“Hard to get the family together for a trip like that.”
Franklin wondered why he mentioned the family. He didn’t want to use Rachel’s and DeVontay ‘s names, so he said, “Is Mom and Pop home?”
“In the kitchen.”
That meant they were on a supply run. This wasn’t good. Franklin used the code for spotting a stranger. “Are the neighbors behaving?”
“ Negatory, Cowboy. Definitely disturbing the peace.”
So Stephen and the others were aware of the nearby shooting. Which was also odd, because the packed earth and rocks surrounding the bunker muted any outside noise. There were only two ways Stephen could’ve known about the battle—either he’d been outside, or he’d heard something on the radio.
That was easy enough to determine. “Do you have mud on your shoes?”
“No, Cowboy, I’m clean enough you
But as the population declined drastically and the Zaps congregated in the largest cities, the explosions and gunfire diminished. While a migratory hermit or small group might fire a weapon at one of the increasingly odd predatory animals that stalked the wild, Franklin couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard such a fight.
A civilian group likely wouldn’t own that much destructive power, anyway, especially this late in the game. Which promoted a less agreeable option: the military.
Franklin descended from the lookout post and returned to the cabin. Dropping a blanket over the window, he lit a lamp fueled by pig fat and connected the battery converter hooked to his solar array. He plugged in his short-wave radio, hoping Rachel and the others had stuck to established protocol.
He tracked the dial on his decades-old radio receiver until he had scanned all the bandwidths, picking up nothing but static. Most of the world’s communications devices were burned out, but the few that had been shielded from the sunspot activity were probably owned by the military and its surviving government. Franklin had made contact with a few paranoid hermits like himself, but they were as coy about their locations as Franklin himself, so he’d never established a wider network.
Still, the radio was a convenient way to contact the bunker when necessary, even though anyone within range and under the right atmospheric conditions could eavesdrop. His equipment was far too crude and dated for encryption.
Franklin figured he’d better risk it. No matter how many times he told Rachel, DeVontay, and the others, you couldn’t just instill sufficient paranoia. You either had the trait or you didn’t.
Besides, whoever was blowing up stuff and shooting guns on the other side of the mountain was far to busy to be squatting beside a speaker.
He triggered the mic. “Eagle One, this is Rhinestone Cowboy, you got your ears on? Eagle One, come in.”
Franklin waited. He couldn’t hear any more gunshots over the faint hiss. The party was over.
After thirty seconds, he tried again. “Eagle One, this is Rhinestone Copy. Talk to me.”
He heard Stephen on the receiver: “Eagle One in the nest, Cowboy. What’s happening?”
“Trying to get some sleep and heard some shitterhawks flapping around. Got me out of bed, so I figured I might as well jabber. What about you?”
“Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.”
“How’s the weather down in your neck of the woods?”
“Georgia’s hot year round.”
On air, they maintained a fiction that Eagle One was in Georgia and Franklin was in Alabama, although in truth only five miles separated them. “Well, come on down and cool off in the swamp. We can net one of those atomic gators and eat for days.”
“Hard to get the family together for a trip like that.”
Franklin wondered why he mentioned the family. He didn’t want to use Rachel’s and DeVontay ‘s names, so he said, “Is Mom and Pop home?”
“In the kitchen.”
That meant they were on a supply run. This wasn’t good. Franklin used the code for spotting a stranger. “Are the neighbors behaving?”
“ Negatory, Cowboy. Definitely disturbing the peace.”
So Stephen and the others were aware of the nearby shooting. Which was also odd, because the packed earth and rocks surrounding the bunker muted any outside noise. There were only two ways Stephen could’ve known about the battle—either he’d been outside, or he’d heard something on the radio.
That was easy enough to determine. “Do you have mud on your shoes?”
“No, Cowboy, I’m clean enough you
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