Afterburn: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller (Next Book 1) by Scott Nicholson Page A
Authors: Scott Nicholson
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Stephen’s room. The floor was strewn with books, comics, dirty clothes, pieces of machinery he’d taken apart, and empty tin cans. His informal survey complete, Franklin turned to Stephen and said, “Let’s check those monitors.”
The video gear was in the radio room, along with the power conversion system for the solar panels. Even though the military had installed the best equipment that taxpayer money could buy, it was failing bit by bit, and both the ventilation system and the solar panels were weak links in their defensive capability. For that matter, someone could discover and destroy the water source, or poison the spring that fed it. Bunkers might be impregnable to most forms of armed assault, but ingenuity might succeed where firepower failed.
Marina carried Kokona after them, and as Franklin tested the equipment, he was sure the little mutant was watching and learning. The Zap baby probably already knew more than Franklin did about the bunker’s ops.
A chubby-cheeked little spy.
“This one’s going on the blink,” Stephen said, tapping a tiny gray monitor screen. “We keep it turned off so it doesn’t draw power.”
The three remaining monitors allowed for a nearly three-hundred-degree view of the bunker’s perimeter, so unless an intruder came from the north—the steep, rocky ridge from which Franklin had descended—then that person would be visible. Assuming someone was watching the screens at the time, that was.
“Batteries are down to about forty percent capacity,” Stephen said.
“Thirty-seven,” Kokona said.
“That’s ‘about forty,’” Stephen said.
“That margin of error is the equivalent of losing all electricity eight weeks sooner than expected,” Kokona said. “Accuracy matters when your life depends upon it.”
Franklin detected a dark rage in Stephen’s face, and he wondered how often the boy endured Kokona’s corrections and small sleights. Marina seemed perfectly at ease with the infant, even doting on it, and now she smiled contentedly as if she were the proud mother of an honor-roll student.
“I should’ve busted this radio a long time ago,” Franklin said.
“But we need it to connect with other humans,” Stephen said. “I don’t care what anybody says, we can’t just hide out here and wait for the world to finish ending. I’m glad I talked to the army. We need to get our shit together and go to war.”
Kokona pursed her pink little lips and said nothing about the antagonism directed toward her tribe. Franklin pointed at Stephen’s sidearm. “You been practicing with that thing?”
“A little. DeVontay doesn’t want us to waste ammo.”
“Marina’s a better shot than him,” Kokona said. Marina blushed slightly, darkening the burnt sienna color of her cheeks.
“What about you?” Franklin said to the baby. “How do you defend yourself?”
“By being vulnerable.” Kokona gave a grin that would have been endlessly adorable on a human baby, but matched with those coruscating eyes seemed more like an expression of utter disdain.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Rachel was dismayed by how close the Zaps came before she sensed them.
She and DeVontay fled from the yellow house and headed up the road toward the parkway, but Rachel was disoriented by what seemed to be multiple telepathic signals.
They weren’t trying to communicate with her—indeed, she wasn’t even sure they detected her presence. The tide of overlapping words gave her the impression that she was eavesdropping on a shared communal transmission.
She was unable to successfully sort out any coherent sentences, and the phrases themselves didn’t provide much useful information.
“… coordinate metastasis…vector three two…assimilation…retrieval operative…”
“What do you hear?” DeVontay said, pulling her into the concealment of an overturned farm truck.
“Technobabble,” Rachel said. “Some of the syllables don’t even sound like English. More like verbal
The video gear was in the radio room, along with the power conversion system for the solar panels. Even though the military had installed the best equipment that taxpayer money could buy, it was failing bit by bit, and both the ventilation system and the solar panels were weak links in their defensive capability. For that matter, someone could discover and destroy the water source, or poison the spring that fed it. Bunkers might be impregnable to most forms of armed assault, but ingenuity might succeed where firepower failed.
Marina carried Kokona after them, and as Franklin tested the equipment, he was sure the little mutant was watching and learning. The Zap baby probably already knew more than Franklin did about the bunker’s ops.
A chubby-cheeked little spy.
“This one’s going on the blink,” Stephen said, tapping a tiny gray monitor screen. “We keep it turned off so it doesn’t draw power.”
The three remaining monitors allowed for a nearly three-hundred-degree view of the bunker’s perimeter, so unless an intruder came from the north—the steep, rocky ridge from which Franklin had descended—then that person would be visible. Assuming someone was watching the screens at the time, that was.
“Batteries are down to about forty percent capacity,” Stephen said.
“Thirty-seven,” Kokona said.
“That’s ‘about forty,’” Stephen said.
“That margin of error is the equivalent of losing all electricity eight weeks sooner than expected,” Kokona said. “Accuracy matters when your life depends upon it.”
Franklin detected a dark rage in Stephen’s face, and he wondered how often the boy endured Kokona’s corrections and small sleights. Marina seemed perfectly at ease with the infant, even doting on it, and now she smiled contentedly as if she were the proud mother of an honor-roll student.
“I should’ve busted this radio a long time ago,” Franklin said.
“But we need it to connect with other humans,” Stephen said. “I don’t care what anybody says, we can’t just hide out here and wait for the world to finish ending. I’m glad I talked to the army. We need to get our shit together and go to war.”
Kokona pursed her pink little lips and said nothing about the antagonism directed toward her tribe. Franklin pointed at Stephen’s sidearm. “You been practicing with that thing?”
“A little. DeVontay doesn’t want us to waste ammo.”
“Marina’s a better shot than him,” Kokona said. Marina blushed slightly, darkening the burnt sienna color of her cheeks.
“What about you?” Franklin said to the baby. “How do you defend yourself?”
“By being vulnerable.” Kokona gave a grin that would have been endlessly adorable on a human baby, but matched with those coruscating eyes seemed more like an expression of utter disdain.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Rachel was dismayed by how close the Zaps came before she sensed them.
She and DeVontay fled from the yellow house and headed up the road toward the parkway, but Rachel was disoriented by what seemed to be multiple telepathic signals.
They weren’t trying to communicate with her—indeed, she wasn’t even sure they detected her presence. The tide of overlapping words gave her the impression that she was eavesdropping on a shared communal transmission.
She was unable to successfully sort out any coherent sentences, and the phrases themselves didn’t provide much useful information.
“… coordinate metastasis…vector three two…assimilation…retrieval operative…”
“What do you hear?” DeVontay said, pulling her into the concealment of an overturned farm truck.
“Technobabble,” Rachel said. “Some of the syllables don’t even sound like English. More like verbal
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