5 Years After

Richard Correll

Description

WE LIVE IN APOCALYPTIC TIMES

In Book two of the series, the 5 Years After universe expands.
Maggie battles her personal demons while fighting the gathering darkness.

Then, a new threat emerges.

Believing Maggie is dead, Brett travels through the American Northwest. He is a witness to the end of all things.

In abandoned New York City some survivors have chosen to stay for some very sinister reasons.

"The landscape this author paints feels so real. This is an apocalyptic treat."

Sujets

• Thrillers
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: eBookIt.com
• Date de parution: 02 septembre 2014
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781456623036
• Langue: English

Extrait

Five Years After
By
Richard Correll
 
Copyright 2016-2020
Richard Correll, All rights reserved.
Published in eBook format by eBookIt.com http://www.eBookIt.com
ISBN-13: 978-1-4566-2303-6
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
THIN LINES
CHAINS OF COMMAND
ARMAGEDDON
CHRYSALIS
REDZONE
MANIFESTO
THE BAD ONES
LINEAGE (Just Another Day)
REQUIEM
Maps, acknowledgements and authors’ notes available at www.5YearsAfter.com .
THIN LINES
Maggie’s mouth was a barely discernible line as she let her eyes look up to the clear blue sky. It was one of those days where the heat seemed to push down on the back of your neck and squeeze the life from your veins. The edges of buildings, rusting billboards and cars seemed to be so clearly defined under the unblinking eye of the sun. She swallowed as the heat subsided with a sudden cool breeze that passed as quickly as it came. Some objects shimmered slightly in the returning heat like they were being seen through cellophane. A trickle of sweat meandered down the side of her face. She erased it from her already moist skin with a dab of her fingertip.
The scene before her could almost have been a photograph in someone else’s life. If you think about it, she sighed. Maybe that’s the truth. This is someone else’s life or a dream. All the past five years somehow were compressed into a single night. How time can do that is unimportant. You’ll wake up in your parent’s house in Baltimore. Perhaps you’re asleep in the backseat of their car on a long road trip. Maybe you’ll blink your eyes at the rejuvenating sunshine through your window and reflect on what your mind had just created. The thought lingered for a moment as she tilted her head slightly to get the stiffness out of her neck. Maybe that was it. You’ll just wake up and drink in a new day. You, Maggie Hunter are just dreaming all of this. In reality, you’re just 11 years old and the world is right as rain.
Am I dreaming? Might as well find out, she tore her eyes from the blue canvas and reached for her knife. Maggie placed the blade on her lap and rolled up her right sleeve to expose her arm and four vertical scars, each cut between her forearm and elbow. She picked up the knife and inhaled as the line on her mouth rippled and came alive. Maggie could taste the anticipation of the next moment. The point of the blade dug into her skin and pierced it. She exhaled and grit her teeth. Thick, warm blood oozed from the track of the knife and flooded her skin. Her green eyes became electric from the pain. Do you feel it?
The blood followed an imperfect line and then dripped from her arm in thick droplets that spattered the floor of the bus. One more drop in a sea of blood won’t matter, she observed coldly. The knife had crossed the four equal lines to make a roman numeral five. I’m just marking time. She watched the blood trickle off her skin to the floor with the curious look of a child watching a captured creature in a glass jar. Do you feel it? Pain, this is real.
Sorry Alice, you’re not in Wonderland. This is the real world. The knife returned to her belt and Maggie glanced out the window. After a moment, she noticed part of the photograph had come alive. Maggie tapped her radio.
“This is 427 and Dundas.” Maggie kept her voice calm as her heart had just started beating faster. “I have three hostiles approaching my position.”
“Say again, 427 and Dundas?”
“Three hostiles,” Maggie felt her breathing pick up speed now. Easy, she tried to slow herself down as she repeated: “Confirmed, three hostiles approaching 427 and Dundas.”
“Very well,” The voice replied. “Implement standard procedure.”
“Yes sir, standard procedure.” She picked up her C7A2 and flicked off the safety. It was an assault rifle by design but one of the add-ons was a sniper scope that made for some very accurate targeting. Maggie poked the barrel of the rifle out of her bus. It was parked on the northbound lanes of the empty 427 on the bridge overlooking Dundas in Etobicoke.
Maggie took a deep breath and felt her heart thumping in her ear drums. What is wrong with you? She sighted the first slow moving mannequin-like figure. He wore some kind of orange carpenter’s bib with a hardware store logo on it. His jeans were well worn and frayed at the cuffs. The untied laces of his work boots splayed around his feet with each step. The left side of his face was tattered by three bite marks. One had ripped the flesh of his ear cleanly from his scalp. Another had torn away the puffy skin under his eye socket. You’ve seen this before, what’s the problem? Maggie could feel her exasperation growing along with her anxiety.
She slowly began the ritual of sighting and preparing to fire. It started with a careful control of breathing and letting the world decelerate around you. Maggie’s finger caressed the cool metal of the trigger ever so slightly. She always waited until they got to some concrete barricades lying in the middle of Dundas. They were knee-high, just enough to be an obstruction. They always paused, awaiting instinct to dictate the next move. All it took was a second. That would be long enough. Gently, she squeezed the trigger. That was the difference between a seasoned grunt and a newbie, she would tell the rookies. They pull the trigger. We squeeze. One way sprays bullets we can’t afford to waste all over the goddamn place. The way we do it launches a single, perfectly aimed piece of judgment day at the target.
The man’s head jerked backwards as if he were taking a punch. The back of the head ruptured and stained the highway for several feet behind the now collapsing body. She sighted the second. It was a kid who looked about sixteen with a skater boy hoodie and a ball cap. The brown skin was pocked with flecks and smears of blood. His upper neck had a large bite wound that exposed what might be his wind pipe. Maggie felt a quiver in her fingers. Stop it! She commanded and tried to ease her breathing again and slow the world down to a killing pace. He came to the barricade and paused just as the shaking in her fingers subsided. Maggie squeezed the trigger again. The shot penetrated his skull just above the right eye. The top of his head exploded, sending the ball cap flying off the boy’s head and landing several feet away.
He fell to the shimmering pavement as the wind picked up again. The ball cap rolled along the road as if it was trying to find cover, the gentle breeze urging it on.
A sense of panic welled up quickly as she searched for figure number three. It had already climbed over the barricade and was coming closer. You have plenty of time. Maggie inhaled slowly through her nose to calm down and refocused the C7A2. It was a girl of about fourteen and Asian. Her school pack was still slung over her back. A leftover prop form a previous existence. Her white pants and blouse were stained a dried river of crimson. The mouth hung open and then snapped shut every few paces as she staggered forward. The gaze was dreamlike but unwavering. Maybe these three were here because of an errant noise from one of the buses. Maybe the wind had blown the scent of the living in their direction.
It didn’t matter. This was as far as they’d go. Maggie’s finger compressed around the trigger for a third time, it clipped the girl’s shoulder and spun her around. She landed on her back and slowly looked around for a second. The girl’s head pivoted toward the bus and she hissed in anger at the silhouetted figure inside. With the backpack weighing her down, the girl slowly performed the careful, wooden procedure of standing up. Maggie’s lip did a sudden tremble as she re-sighted. The C7A2 was lowered for a second as she exhaled. Why am I feeling this way? She shouldered the rifle, sighted the target and squeezed the trigger. The bullet entered the right eye and blew out the back of her head like a grenade had exploded in her brain. The girl had been lifeless for some time. Now it was without movement.
“Hostiles terminated.” Maggie reported in a whisper as she scanned for further movement.
“Very well,” The voice on the other end replied. “Your relief is on the way.”
“Beg your pardon, sir?” Maggie cocked her head in a question mark. “I’m not off for a few more hours.”
“We’re sending Abramowisz over to cover your last two hours.” The voice was a tad more professional now. Like someone important had just entered the room on their side. “You have a visitor.”
For a moment she thought of Molly, her sister. The notion was quickly dismissed. Molly was busy preparing for her interview in the New Republic of West Virginia on 60 minutes. There’s a piece of genius. Maggie felt a smirk cross her face. While the world is ending, let’s make a new country. She double-checked her rifle for any errant shells in the chamber while slipping the safety on. Squealing brakes told her that Abramowisz had arrived. The idea of seeing Molly again would have been awesome. It would be so cool to catch up.
They were sisters who were a little over a year apart in age. Maggie’s parents had always said that sometimes a black child was born to white parents with Scottish heritage. It had something to do with Scotland’s past. Maggie didn’t buy the explanation and couldn’t have cared less. If it was a family secret or baggage, who cares? They were family and that was it.
Still, they got some odd looks at parent – teacher night. Molly had always said that was the way people were and you couldn’t change it. Her mom and dad always pretended not to notice. Molly loved her skin color. Being a Caribbean queen was a role she was meant to play as she strolled down the high school hallways making the boys look twice. For Maggie, she was the