Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27313 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27313 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Another potential huge score.
Most wouldn’t take note of the wooden cabinet against the wall, but the little brass plaque at the top with the crossed rifle emblem is a good sign.
I lower my backpack onto the desk and unzip the front, grabbing my prybar. Within a few seconds, with a grunt and gritted teeth, I pop open the lock and the door swings open.
Hell to the yes!
Inside are more guns than I’ve scored in months which is a relief as my stockpile was down to an old bb gun and a pink Mossy Oak handled 22. I jimmy open the drawer below the cabinet and hiss through my teeth as it pops open. What’s inside makes me double fist pump the air.
The ammo stockpile alone will fill my backpack. I give myself a symbolic pat on the back for stuffing the extra duffel inside before I left.
Guess all those visualization and manifesting books I stole last month are paying off.
I turn and pull out the old army bag, unrolling it on a long credenza under a window next to the cabinet. My night vision catches the flicker and glow of fires burning in the woods that line the old golf course behind the house which more than likely means an orc encampment. The back lawn is overgrown, weeds as tall as my chest block most of the view, but the distant flames are clear even in my goggles’ greenish hues.
But, then…
Shit.
Fuck.
Good luck is meeting bad.
I move double quick, turning back to my score, packing up as much as possible while keeping my breathing steady, chanting a calming mantra my parents taught me when I was a kid. Every few seconds, I glance out the window, but my positive thinking isn’t paying off.
Through a swath of lower grass and weeds, my line of sight is clear. There’s no doubt about what’s heading this way. He’s closer, bigger and Christ on a cracker…
He’s dragging a headless body. I stall in the window, the last of the day’s light streaming onto my face over the distant trees.
Shit, shit and more shit.
Move girl.
I’m stuck. The air squeezes in around me. My limbs are locked, my body turning to stone. Heat cascades from the part of my hair down into my toes.
He’s closer. Closer. Lumbering, dragging and heaving with blood splattered across his chest, smeared down his arms.
But, what’s worse is when he stops, a rumbling growl skittering across the space between us. Loud enough to vibrate through the window and hit me deep in my center.
He sees me. And he’s heading this way.
Chapter
Two
Raven
I struggle into the straps of the weighted backpack, grabbing the duffel then dart for the front entry, just in time to hear the roar of engines and one of those dumbass ‘a-RUUU-ga’ horns filtering through the silence.
I drop to a crouch, peeking through the window of the living room, but I already know what’s out there and it ain’t the tooth fairy.
Adrenaline pulses through my veins, my heart racing like a herd of wild mustangs.
There’s a line of four vehicles rolling up with shitty mufflers and bright search lights. I’m trapped. The orc is out the back and a gang of raiders from the Neo-Human Coalition—which is just a fancy name for a new sort of mafia style fascism—is out the front.
I launch myself down the hall, the weight of my backpack tugging on my shoulders while I grip the duffel. I dare to hope the coalition assholes will pass by.
An invisible rope tightens around my throat, my mouth dry as hope evaporates.
Revving engines and the high-pitched shouts meet with blinding lights cutting through the front windows. Sharp pain sticks in my eyeballs as I tug off my goggles and wait for my retinas to recover from the overexposure.
I inch on hands and knees toward the back of the house, my hope now focused on the orc being gone. He has little reason to come to the house, especially dragging a dead body, right?
I squeeze my eyes shut, the darkness behind my lids resetting my vision. When the lingering darts of pain subside, I open them and slide up the wall, shooting a look out the sliding door.
Straight ahead, nothing.
Left, then right. Nothing. Nothing.
No orc. Thank you, Jesus. I make prayer hands toward the ceiling, then grip the handle of the glass sliding door and tug.
Clunk.
I flip the lock and tug harder.
Clunk. I flip the latch the other way. Clunk. It’s stuck.
A deafening boom and the splintering of wood explodes from the front of the house, followed by laughter and gruff chatter.
“Fan out.” A gritty voice above the others speeds my heart and sweat breaks out over my forehead. “Go upstairs, downstairs, go through everything. Destroy it if it’s not valuable to us. We’ll have a nice bonfire when we’re done. Go!”