6th Horseman, Extremist Edge Series: Part 1 by Anderson Atlas Read Free Book Online Page B

the med aisle. Some shithead is stuffing his pack, clearing
the whole shelf. He’s got bloodshot eyes and snot dripping into his
goatee. I grab his beige shirt and slam him against the cooler
door. He coughs up goop and burbles something incoherent. I reach
into his bag. He struggles so I elbow him in the nose. That stops
him. I grab aspirin and acetaminophen and let go. He falls to his
knees. I got what I need. When I turn I see an old man sheltering
his wife from some thugs in do-rags. The old man hands them all his
shit. I push my way out.
    The street is still a flood of people heading
upstate. They don’t stop. The cars have long been abandoned and
people run around and over them. Dead bodies are already spotting
the ground like the sprinkles before the rain. Many have been
trampled.
    Hours later the sprinkles turn into showers.
People drop where they stand. They fall from buildings, roll down
steps, or simply cough, until all the breath has left their
lungs.
    And the shitty thing is, I’d just earned a
half a million dollars. If I wasn’t able to collect, I was gonna
bash someone’s face in, just to make me feel better.
    It gets dark and I’m hiding out on the roof
of my building. So are a dozen others. We see jet fighters overhead
drop bombs where the bridges are. They shake the ground with their
ordinance. I grit my teeth and close my eyes. It’s too dark to see
anything from the edge of my twenty-story building. The wind fuels
the chaos and whips up distant cries and screams. It’s nearly
midnight. The power is out all over, but fires keep the skyline
alive. Half of the group on the roof leaves when it’s clear that
everyone is getting sick.
    A large woman lumbers up to me. She’s dying.
I can tell. I step away from her. “Do you have any pain killers?”
She asks.
    I shake my head and decide to leave at first
light.
     

     
    Today is a new day and the quiet has become
more unnerving than the chaos. I had stayed awake all night,
listening as the cries from below had slowly silenced. I head down
the twisting flights of stairs, stop at my apartment and grab a
broom. I unscrew the top and toss it aside and continue to the road
below. The morning light has just started to grow. I’m the first on
the street. I quickly find a National Guard post. Sand bags
surround five dead guys. I grab a shotgun and two nine-millimeter
pistols. Now I’m set. Some body better fuck with me. Please.
    There are survivors, but they are few and far
between. Most of them cower in their apartments. I feel their eyes
on me. They look at me like I’m for sale, an item on some shelf. What does she got? Can I take her? They think.
    This guy bursts from a department store with
a handful of shit. He looks at me for a moment too long. Probably
sizing me up, thinkin’ ‘bout what I had that he wanted. I gave him
my cold stare and opened my arms. “C’mon fool!” I yell. I shake my
broomstick at him. He runs. “Get outta here,” I mumble. I think
I’ll call the stick my Beater.
    From the side street come two guys in tees
and shorts. They’re loaded up with M16s. They order my hands up. I
have to comply because the looter distracted me. That won’t fuckin’
happen again. Behind them comes a Bradley Fighting Vehicle.
    One guy grabs my bag and rips it open. “I got
your shit, bitch.” He laughs. He’s some bald buff guy. I know the
type. “She’s got guns and food!” he says, inspecting my stuff. I
grind my teeth, looking for a way to get at this guy’s throat.
    The other adds, “Hurry the fuck up! We don’t
have time for you to dip your dick!”
    “She’d rip it off for sure.” The third
bastard clocks me across the head. I go out.
    I wake up some time later, pissed as hell. I
walk north. I gotta get out and fast. Everyone is dead. I don’t
even see any more survivors. No one is staring out the windows. No
one is looting. It’s weird, but I’m not too sad about it. Most had
it comin’. People suck. Most of my family