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

in our faces, and guys firing off blanks all around us. It was hell. But it was all worth it. In the time it’s taken you to fire one poorly placed arrow, I could have taken apart and refit this gun. Twice. What the hell are you doing, anyway, coming in here with a crossbow?”

The cult member cursed.

“You know, your biggest mistake was not finding some decent cover to fire from. It would’ve at least given you a chance to reload in peace.”

The man glanced over toward the large armchair to his right.

“Sorry. Too late.” Luke squeezed off three rounds in rapid succession. They hit the nervous guy in the center of his chest. As he fell onto his back, the still-unloaded crossbow fell to the floor.

The man who had rushed him with the hatchet was hauling himself across the floor toward the front door, his legs dragging behind him.

“Hey, buddy, where do you think you’re going?” Luke called.

The man looked behind him. Determination replaced the fear in his eyes. The guy wanted to live. He turned back toward the door. Despite his pathetically slow pace, he crawled forward with the desperation of a man about to die.

Luke strolled toward him.

“What happened? Did I bust up your spine? Damn, that’s too bad. It would be pretty hard to get your hands on a decent wheelchair out here, don’t you think?” Luke touched the wound on his stomach left by the man’s hatchet. His hand came away covered in fresh blood. “You know, I do believe you cut me pretty deep. So, at least you can feel good about that, I guess.”

The man glanced over his shoulder at Luke. The guy’s face was red and sweaty. He grunted as he labored to haul himself farther away.

Luke raised his pistol and fired two rounds into the center of the man’s back. The guy dropped to the floor with a loud thud.

With all the threats neutralized, Luke groaned and slumped down to the ground. He sat with his back against the couch and touched the wound on his stomach again. It was definitely a bleeder, but he still didn’t think any significant internal damage had been done. He touched the shaft of the arrow lodged in his shoulder. A jolt of pain shot through the right side of his body, making his fingertips tingle.

“That’s not good. Hopefully, there’s no nerve damage. Fuck, this is going to hurt like a bitch.”

He winced as he gripped the shaft as close to his shoulder as possible. He pulled on the arrow. Excruciating pain shot through him, blanking out his vision and causing him to growl in agony. The arrow barely moved.

“Fuck!”

He groaned and took several deep breaths to compose himself. Maybe he could find something in the kitchen to help him extract the arrow. As he attempted to stand, the front door of the cabin burst open. Splintered wood rained down on him. Luke raised his pistol.

Two figures came crashing in. One landed on top of the other at the base of the stairs. The man on top was screaming like a madman, raising his large hunting knife and plunging it into the other man’s chest over and over. Blood obscured the knife wielder’s face, which was contorted in a terrifying mask of rage. It took Luke a few moments to recognize Derek.

Once he did, his grip relaxed slightly. He moved his finger off the trigger but kept his pistol trained on them. He didn’t lower his gun until the man underneath Derek lay motionless. The guy’s shirt lay in tatters while his chest was a ruined mess of knife wounds.

“I think he’s dead,” Luke said.

Derek whirled round, his knife raised, and his eyes wild. He relaxed when he saw it was Luke. He looked down at the man beneath him.

“Yeah, I guess he is.” He turned his gaze back toward Luke, gesturing at the arrow with the tip of his knife. “What the fuck happened to you? Indians raid the place?”

Luke coughed out a harsh laugh. “Oh, shove it. Help a wounded soldier to his feet, would you?”

Derek laughed, smiling as he walked over and stooped to slide his arm under Luke’s good shoulder.

“Sure thing, old man.”

Liz stood outside the bunker entrance, chewing her lip and squinting into the dim light of dusk. It was chilly out but somewhat warmer than it had been. Dark clouds threatened overhead.

“You ought to come back in, honey. No point standing out here worrying yourself.” Sandy emerged from the bunker to stand beside her. The older woman placed a reassuring hand on Liz’s shoulder. “Those two can handle themselves. I’m sure they’ll be back any minute.”

“I know.” Liz sighed before turning to stare at the woods. “But it’s almost dark, and this place is hard to find in broad daylight.”

Off to the right, several bushes rustled. Liz aimed her rifle in the direction of the noise.

“Get back inside,” she hissed at Sandy.

The woman retreated into the entryway of the bunker.

“Who’s there?” Liz called out.

“It’s us. Luke and Derek.” Derek’s deep, familiar voice called back.

The tension in Liz’s shoulders eased as they came into view. She gasped when she saw their disheveled state. She set down her rifle down and rushed toward them.

“Oh my god, what happened? Is that an arrow?” She rushed to Luke’s side.

His right hand clutched his stomach where his shirt was torn and bloody. Derek was covered in blood. He half carried Luke, holding him up as they walked. Liz moved to help support him, but he waved her off.

“Too painful,” Luke said.

She nodded. She wanted to help but wasn’t sure what she could do. She hovered next to them as they made their way toward the bunker entrance.

Sandy gasped when they came into view. “Oh, Lord. What in the hell happened to you two?”

“Cult bastards stormed the cabin,” Derek said. “They put up a good fight, but they were no match for us. Isn’t that right, old man?”

Luke laughed weakly. “Guy shot me