Point Apocalypse by Alex Bobl Read Free Book Online Page A

the Continent's population, but by now a new generation had replaced it: young men and women who had grown up in their prison world without once setting foot on Earth.
    "I'm Mark," I said.
    "Wladas," the neurotech added.
    The captain had produced a flat water container, unscrewed the top and took a large swig.
    "I'm Trophym," h e wiped his mouth with his forearm. "Trophym Pavlovich Kuznetsov. But I'd rather you call me Grunt. I'm used to it."
    " Georgie needs water," I reminded as I put the disassembled machine gun aside. I showed the bolt to the captain.
    "I 'll keep it for the time being. Now get on with it!"
    I put the bolt into my breast pocket and glanced at Georgie as the captain splashed some water into his face. Apparently, Wong had overdone it. The crane operator didn't look as if he would recover any time soon. I ordered the Chinese to join the captain and row and told the others to be ready to replace them.
    At first we didn't do too badly. According to Grunt, we'd reach the inshore current at any time which could take us to the shore before the storm.
    But th e wind grew stronger, the waves bigger, and the swell heavier. Finally, I told the rowers to ship their oars for fear of one of them ending up overboard.
    "How far to the shore?" I asked panting.
    "Less than a mile," Grunt stood up looking to the east. There, the blackened sea hung over the blurred horizon. The white sun behind our backs turned crimson as it set, its light covering the rocky Cape Fang with blood-red spots.
    "It'll smash us against the rocks," Georgie pointed out.
    "How much time do we have?" I opened the survival kit and looked inside.
    A torn blanket, two flat water containers, some purification tablets, a signaling mirror... but no sign of a first aid kit. I lifted the blanket and pulled out a sheathed machete by its leather strap.
    "A bit more than an hour," the captain answered. "Provided we don't get flipped over."
    I tied the leat her strap around my waist and turned back to the bag. I handed Wladas and Jim a water flask each. Then I discovered a plastic container with a pair of field glasses inside, their ribbed case peeling with age.
    I was just going to train them on the rocks and the thunder clouds above them when Wong exclaimed and pointed his paddle toward the north. I focused the glasses.
    A truck drove along the shore.

 
    Cha pter Four
    The Raiders
     
     
    T he glasses turned out to be only four-power but enough to make out a rusty truck and some people in it.
    It looked as if the driver was pushing it to its limits. A cloud of dust trailed behind the vehicle as it traced the cliff edge flashing its lights.
    Someone in the truck launched a flare. Its blinding red light hit my eyes forcing me to lower the glasses.
    "Are they here to get us?" Grunt leaned against the board.
    A large wave hit the raft. The captain sprung back. Wong who straddled the float raised his paddle and nearly fell into the water. I grabbed his elbow and pulled him down.
    "Keep your heads down ," I told everyone. "Lean against the board."
    I stumbled to the middle of the raft , knelt and, grabbing at Wladas, lifted the glasses again.
    The truck braked and the p eople started jumping out. I counted four. Two more got out of the cab.
    "What are they doing?" Grunt yelled above the wind.
    A bolt of lightning flashed over the Fang, zigzagging across the sky. The clap of thunder crushed in our ears. The approaching storm showered us with a mixture of rain and brine.
    I waited for the next wave to pass and raised the glasses.
    The men had by then put up a tripod in front of their truck. It looked like a stand for a heavy machine gun.
    Grunt reached for the glasses. "Lemme have a look ."
    "Don't move," I said trying not to lose the truck. It wasn't easy in the rain and the swell. The lenses misted over.
    "What are they doing?" Georgie shouted.
    They'd already mounted a thick tube on the tripod. A non-recoil?
    I handed the glasses t o Wong and reached for the gun