Edge of Fear: An EMP Post-Apocalyptic Survival Prepper Series (American Fallout Book 3) by Alex Gunwick (rooftoppers .txt) 📕

rabbit fell, instantly dead. Its fellows surged into action and leapt about in circles as they forgot the way out in their panic. Kyle had plenty of time to pull back the bolt on his rifle and take aim again.

“Stop.” His mother’s voice was urgent, frantic, but Kyle was focused so totally on his objective that her words seemed a distant hum. He fired once more, and again a rabbit fell painlessly to the forest floor.

“Have you lost your mind?” Kyle’s mother rushed over to his side. Another bullet chambered, another squeeze of the trigger, and a third shot rang out to fell the remaining rabbit.

His mother grabbed the stock of his rifle, yanked it out of his hands, and tossed it onto the snowy ground. It made him cringe to see so fine a weapon mistreated.

“What the heck?” he asked.

“Didn’t you hear me tell you to stop?” She jabbed her finger at him, face contorted with anger. “When I tell you to stop, you stop. Understand?”

Kyle turned to point at the three rabbits. “But I got them. I got all three of them right in the head, so they didn’t suffer—”

“Don’t you talk back to me.” His mother put her hand over her eyes and sighed. When she spoke again her voice was a great deal calmer. “Look, I appreciate you’re trying to help the family, and to be honest, that was great marksmanship, but you need to think before you act.”

“I’m sorry.” Kyle picked up his rifle and wiped snow off the barrel. “I just kind of reacted, you know?”

“I know. But those shots can be heard for miles.”

Kyle’s heart sank as he realized the implications of her words. He’d broadcast to every COB cultist on the mountain that there was someone out there with a hunting rifle. If they’d had military training like his father and Derek, they might even be able to surmise what caliber the weapon was.

“Oh, geez.” Kyle frowned as he contemplated his mistake. “I’m sorry. But we need food. And this is food. We’ll have something for Sierra to eat when she comes back. Right?”

His mother’s eyes grew watery as if she were fighting back tears.

“She’s coming back, right, Mom?” he asked softly.

“Of course, she will.” There was a tremble in her voice Kyle didn’t like. “Of course, she will.”

Liz stared down at her son and wondered when he’d become so acclimated to violence. She’d tried to keep him away from the most violent TV shows, movies, and video games, but she couldn’t watch him all the time.

Kyle was a good kid overall. She and Luke weren’t completely incompetent as parents. But he’d always been a little too smitten with the idea of war and of being a soldier. Naturally, he wanted to be like his father. All boys wanted to be like their fathers at that age. But after the bombs fell, Kyle doubled down on his fantasies of the good fight. The way he attacked the cultist with the ax, going for the back because he knew that was where the man was most vulnerable, bespoke of a change in her child that Liz was uncomfortable with.

Kyle shifted from foot to foot as his gaze flicked between her and the fallen rabbits.

“Should we go ahead and get the rabbits and head for the cabin? I mean, I know you’re mad I shot them and all, but now that I did, we shouldn’t let them go to waste, right?”

Liz sighed before forcing a smile. “I’m a little angry with you. You need to think before you act, Kyle. But I’m proud of you as well. Those were amazing shots.”

She ruffled his hair. A grin broke out on his face. He’d inherited his father’s dimples. He wouldn’t hurt for a prom date when—

Liz smiled bitterly. Kyle wouldn’t be going to prom. Prom was a relic of the old world. The new post-bomb world would have different coming of age rituals, like swinging an ax into someone’s back.

“We should take the rabbits and head back to the cabin.” She surveyed the forest around them fearfully. “In case someone heard those shots and comes looking for us.”

“Hey, maybe Sierra got lost and heard those shots and will come back now?”

“Maybe.” Liz considered the fallen rabbits and shook her head. “How in the world are we going to get these back home?”

“I can carry them. They’re not real heavy.”

“I don’t want you crushing a dead thing against your body for a mile-long hike. No, we need to find an alternative.”

Kyle unshouldered his backpack and placed it on the ground. He started to unpack some of the things inside.

“Well, I can carry my canteen on my belt. The knife can go right here inside my boot, and—”

“You’re not putting dead things inside of your backpack. That’s disgusting.”

Her son straightened at her suddenly sharp tone. “How are we going to get them home, then? If we can’t carry them and we can’t put them in our backpacks, what then?”

He wasn’t wrong to be frustrated. Liz peered into his open pack. She reached inside and took out a bundle of twine used for pitching a tent.

“I have a solution.” She grinned at him. “Have you ever seen those old jungle movies?”

“What, like Jumanji?”

“That’s not an old—okay, maybe it is, but that’s not what I’m—” Liz sighed and rubbed her eyes. “Never mind. Go find a branch about six feet long or so.”

“Six feet?” He cocked his head to the side. “That’s as tall as Dad.”

“Then you have a good estimate. Go find one.”

“Sure thing.” He shouldered his rifle and eagerly went off in search of an appropriately sized fallen branch. Liz cut three lengths of twine from the roll, about four feet long each. She knelt next to the fallen rabbits and tied the hind legs of each one to a length of twine.

“Here.” Kyle crashed out of the underbrush with a slightly crooked branch about half as thick as her wrist.

“That’s the right length, but it