Survive the Panic (Nuclear Survival: Southern Grit Book 3) Read online

  As the glass shattered, Grant threw the first bottle.

  Screams and flames erupted in unison as the homemade bomb exploded on impact in a ball of flame. Grant lobbed the second bottle inside. Without even stopping to assess the damage, he took off at a run. He clambered over the side of the roof and almost fell down the ladder.

  I have to get to Leah.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  LEAH

  Unidentified Warehouse

  Location Unknown

  Wednesday, 3:00 a.m.

  Shattering glass roused Leah from an exhausted, pain-filled sleep. She jerked awake as the smell of burning gasoline assaulted her nose. What the—?

  Fire leapt across the upholstered chair where Rocky sat. He jumped up, screaming and waving his arms as flames spread across his body. Leah watched in horror as he ran in circles, fueling the fire with the rush of oxygen.

  Didn’t he know the childhood adage: stop, drop, and roll? She’d had it ingrained in her head since before she could remember, and training as a nurse only reinforced it. Fires craved oxygen. Smothering the flames was the best way to put them out.

  Rocky must have missed the memo. He ran straight for her and Susie, the fire consuming his clothes and crisping his hair.

  Susie screamed.

  Leah rolled onto her side and struggled up onto her knees before forcing her legs to stand. With her arms still pinned behind her back, she couldn’t do much more. She shouted at Susie. “Run!”

  The other woman stared at Rocky as he fell to the ground. He would never survive.

  Leah rushed toward Susie as Mr. Unicorn appeared in the heat of the flames. He almost growled in her direction and Leah staggered to a stop. “Susie! You have to run!”

  Still, Susie didn’t move. She just stood there, staring at Rocky’s body as he turned from man to ash. Leah backed up. Mr. Unicorn circled the flames, easing around the worst of the smoke with an arm up to shield his face. He couldn’t get through. The flames and smoke were too thick.

  Leah glanced around, searching for something to cut the ties binding her hands. A massive shard of glass lay on the floor by her feet and she bent awkwardly to pick it up. It sliced her finger and she dropped it with a cry.

  Mr. Unicorn tried again to reach her, circling around the flames closest to the wall, but they blocked his path, leaping across Rocky’s body to a stack of cardboard boxes.

  Leah spun in a circle, frantic for anything to help. A discarded sweatshirt was draped across a railing by the door and Leah ran for it, ignoring the shouts behind her. All she could focus on was getting free.

  With the sweatshirt in her hand, she raced back to the glass and picked it up, now protected from the worst of its edges. Using it like a saw, she stuck it between her wrists and rubbed.

  Pain shot across her skin. She couldn’t tell if she was cutting her own skin or the ties, but either way, it was working.

  Mr. Unicorn screamed at her. She kept sawing.

  At last, the ties gave and her arms sprang free. Blood poured into her aching shoulders and dripped off her fingers. If she nicked an artery, she’d bleed out. She had to stop the bleeding. Using the glass, Leah hacked off the arms of the sweatshirt and tied them around her wrists to slow the blood loss, jerking her head up every few seconds to check on her abductor.

  The flames still separated them. It hadn’t taken more than a handful of minutes, but the fire now consumed most of the building. The two chairs were infernos, the massive stacks of toilet paper blazed, and the plastic around the cases of drinks began to melt.

  She ran toward Susie. The woman still stood in the same place, almost catatonic. Leah reached for her as a section of flames broke between her and Mr. Unicorn. He rushed forward, gun in his hand.

  Leah grabbed Susie and yanked her back. Together, they stumbled toward the door.

  “You aren’t getting out of here alive!”

  Mr. Unicorn raised his gun. Leah dragged Susie faster toward the door. “Come on, we have to go!”

  The door flew open and a figure appeared in the doorway. Covered in blood and dirt with only half a shirt, Leah would recognize her husband anywhere. She shouted out a warning.

  A gun went off. The bullet pierced Susie in the stomach, traveled straight through her body, and into Leah’s side. It grazed her ribs and kept going, lodging in the concrete behind her.

  Susie sagged in her arms. “No!” She yanked on the other woman as Grant rushed into the room.

  Her husband screamed. “Get down!”

  Leah ducked as Grant opened fire. Mr. Unicorn ducked and ran, reaching safety behind flaming paper towels before Grant could kill him.

  No! He couldn’t get away.

  Leah refused to be a victim the rest of her life, always watching over her shoulder, waiting for a man in a unicorn mask to hunt her down. She eased Susie to the floor and shouted at her husband. “Go! Don’t let him get away!”

  It was all the encouragement Grant needed. He turned and ran back out the way he came in.

  Leah sucked in a breath, but inhaled mostly smoke. She gagged as she hunched over Susie’s body. The wound was vicious, tearing through her entire midsection at an angle and causing untold damage to her intestines and other vital organs. Leah reached for the woman’s neck to confirm what she already knew.

  Susie was gone.

  Leah cursed and ran a hand over the stubble across her scalp. All of their new friends. Every single person who stood up for her and Grant in the neighborhood. Dead. And for what? Leah sobbed out a breath and looked down at her own wound. Blood soaked her shirt and she lifted up the fabric with a wince.

  Burned skin edged a six-inch gash from her belly button to her side, but the bullet didn’t penetrate. She was lucky, unlike Susie.

  Leah looked up at the flames torching the rest of the building. She had to get out of there. With a grunt of effort, she stood. So many supplies. So much food and water and ammunition, wasted.

  The thought of leaving everything behind turned her stomach. There had to be a way to save something. She skirted the worst of the flames, holding the tied-off strips of sweatshirt up to her face.

  The chairs where the men were sitting were almost burned out, the flames no more than a foot or two tall. Leah edged their heat, easing past the piles of ash and soot and reached the armory.

  She grabbed a duffel bag from the far wall and filled it with everything she could reach: handguns and shotguns and cases and cases of rounds. She didn’t know if they matched up, but she didn’t have time to figure it out.

  Soon, even the guns would burn. She hoisted the heavy bag onto her shoulder and headed toward the rear door, stopping only once more for a bottle of liquor. With her hands full, she rushed outside.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  GRANT

  Unidentified Warehouse

  Marietta, Georgia

  Wednesday, 3:30 a.m.

  Grant tore after the only threat left. Mr. Unicorn wouldn’t get away. With his gun in one hand, Grant ran around the building, avoiding the heat of the flames that were now so tall, some even escaped through the broken glass roof.

  As he cleared the last corner of the building, a shot rang out. Grant skidded to a stop. As he dove for cover, three more shots followed.

  Grant didn’t know what kind of a weapon Mr. Unicorn had or how many rounds, but he couldn’t hide and let him get away. They would never have peace with him out there.

  Leading with his gun, Grant shot toward the direction of the incoming bullets. With two guns, he could waste some ammunition. He pulled the trigger over and over as he rushed forward. The Shield ran out of ammo and he shoved it in his holster before yanking the Glock from his waistband.

  Thanks to the flames, Grant could see the truck sitting alone in the parking lot. No sign of Mr. Unicorn anywhere near it.

  Damn it.

  Grant rushed for the truck, gun up and ready. Movement caught his eye. There! The man he was after crouched behind the rear wheel, hi
s knees poking out beneath the truck bed. Grant dropped to a crouch and fired.

  The bullet went wide.

  Mr. Unicorn ducked back, hidden by the truck.

  Grant closed the distance, keeping low and aiming for the space the man had been. Another series of shots rang out. Three, four, five.

  A searing pain caught Grant in the shoulder and he jerked backward. He stumbled to the ground five feet from the truck door. With one palm on the ground, he forced himself back up.

  Mr. Unicorn yanked open the driver’s-side door to the truck. Grant struggled forward. He reached the passenger side as the truck’s engine revved to life. As he grabbed the door handle, the truck lurched forward.

  Grant swung by his arm, slamming into the fender before swooping back around and crashing into the door. His feet hit the running board and he scrambled on while Mr. Unicorn punched the gas.

  Using his wounded arm, Grant forced his body up enough to clear the open window. Mr. Unicorn sat in the driver’s seat, pressing the gas pedal to the floor. Grant brought his gun into position.

  Mr. Unicorn jerked the wheel to the side.

  Grant lost the shot.

  As the truck took a corner way too fast, Mr. Unicorn brought up his gun. He fired. It clicked. He fired again. Nothing.

  Grant almost laughed in relief. He aimed again and opened it up, pressing the trigger over and over. Mr. Unicorn didn’t stand a chance.

  The truck slowed and Grant clambered into the seat. He yanked the driver’s-side door open and shoved Mr. Unicorn out before taking over behind the wheel.

  Grant turned the truck around and headed back to the warehouse, leaving the man’s corpse to bleed all over the middle of the street. He bounced over the curb and came to a stop ten feet away from the rear entrance.

  Leah stood outside, a bag over her shoulder and a bottle of alcohol in her hand. She smiled and Grant waved her over.

  “Is it done?”

  “It’s done. They’re all dead.”

  She nodded and climbed up into the cab. After fastening her seat belt, Leah unscrewed the bottle and took a long drink. She handed it over.

  Grant stared at it for a moment. “Since when do you drink gin?”

  Leah let out an exhausted laugh. “Let’s just say I’ve come to see an old woman’s point.”

  The liquor burned the back of Grant’s throat and he handed it back with a grimace.

  His wife capped the bottle and leaned back in the seat. “Take us back to the motel.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  LEAH

  Foothills Motel

  Marietta, Georgia

  Wednesday, 4:00 a.m.

  Leah eased out of the truck and tugged the massive duffel bag behind her. She was bruised, bleeding, concussed, and more. Every step felt like a marathon.

  Grant hustled up to her, his 9mm in his hand. Leah sagged beneath the weight of the duffel and their ordeal.

  “Do you think Dan—” One look at her husband’s blood-caked face and she didn’t need to finish.

  Together, they eased through the lobby, stepping over the dead body of a man who tried to kill them before finding Oliver where he died in the middle of the restaurant floor. Leah swallowed hard and kept walking.

  The bar area was destroyed. Glass littered the floor and covered the wood countertop. Grant’s flashlight reflected off the shards as Leah bent to open the cabinet where she’d stuffed Faith.

  It was empty.

  “No!” She stood up in a rush and a wave of nausea forced her to lean against the counter.

  “What is it?” Grant reached for her.

  How could she tell him? Her husband loved that dog. She licked her cracked lips. “I put Faith in there before those monsters—” She choked on the implication and Grant took her hand.

  “It’s okay. I know where she is.” He eased past her and pushed the door to the kitchen open.

  Leah followed. The lantern still sat on the countertop and beneath it, Dan’s lifeless body sprawled out on the floor. Even from a few feet away, Leah knew he was gone. His skin was ashen, his arms hung limp, and his whole body sagged in release.

  Tears pricked her eyes. Dead. Another friend, dead.

  Grant knelt beside Dan and reached for the wad of towels in the man’s lap. They growled.

  “Shhh. Faith, it’s me.”

  The bundle of towels rose up and shook and out came a little blood-stained dog.

  “Faith!” Leah fell to her knees in relief. Tears pricked hot and heavy in the back of her eyes and she let them fall. “You’re alive!”

  Grant ran a hand through her fur and she climbed over Dan’s cold leg to rub her head against his chest. He pressed a hand against his lips.

  Leah reached for her husband and he wrapped her up in his arms with Faith between them. Together, they sobbed.

  Tears streamed down her face and Leah let go of the adrenaline, fear, and rage that kept her going the past week and a half. Everything that happened, everything she endured, it all changed her.

  Gone was the woman who blindly trusted other people and rushed in to help no matter what. In her place was someone else. Leah didn’t know who she was now or what kind of person she would be a year down the road, but one thing held true: she was a survivor.

  No matter what life threw at her, from bombs to angry neighbors, to people hell-bent on taking what she had, she would make it out alive. She squeezed her husband’s hand. So would Grant.

  She leaned back and wiped her face. “Let’s get to the gear.” She looked down at the wound on her side with a grimace. “We need to clean and treat our injuries.”

  Grant exhaled. “I’ll bury Dan and Oliver in the morning.”

  Leah forced her exhausted body to stand and she tried to pick up the bag full of guns. She couldn’t lift it.

  Grant reached over to help. He grunted as he lifted the strap onto his shoulder. “What’s in this thing?” He unzipped the top and pulled the side apart before looking at his wife with wide eyes. “Leah Walton, you are the best wife a man could ever have.”

  She smiled and tugged him toward the motel rooms. “Don’t say that yet. I haven’t fixed your nose.”

  Half an hour later, Leah stood under the cold water of a motel shower. The water pressure left something to be desired, but as long as the water still ran, she was thankful. Blood and sweat and grime slipped from her body like a snake’s skin and she emerged from the shower reborn.

  Standing in front of the mirror, she held a lantern up in the air. Hacked-off hair. Stitches. Black eye. Bruise spreading across her cheek and down her neck.

  And that was just her head.

  Then came cuts and scrapes up and down her arms. The gashes on her wrists. The bullet graze across her middle.

  So many injuries. She frowned. They weren’t injuries; they were battle scars. She was a warrior in this new, changed American landscape and she would persevere.

  Leah eased on underwear and a bra before walking into the room. Her husband sat on the edge of the bed, clean, but beat like a piece of tough steak. She stared at his injuries.

  Bullet wound to the shoulder. Broken nose. Bruising across his stomach that probably meant broken ribs. Scrapes all over.

  She sat down beside him and laughed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “We look like a couple of cast-offs from Fight Club.”

  Grant chuckled. “No, we still have all our teeth. Hand me that bottle of gin.”

  She handed it over and her husband took a huge swig. “All right. Set my nose before I change my mind.”

  Leah nodded and stood up. “This is going to hurt.”

  Her husband raised one eyebrow and she bit back a grin.

  “Just warning you. Try not to move, okay?” Leah stood directly in front of him and assessed the damage. Her husband’s nose canted to the right a third of the way down the bridge. If she didn’t fix it, he’d never breathe right again.

  Leah climbed on the bed behind him a
nd planted her knees firmly against his back. She brought her hands around his front and steepled her fingers together above his nose.

  “Ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  Leah sucked in a breath, pressed her hands together as hard as she could and slid them down Grant’s nose. The cartilage and bones crunched and gritted as they realigned.

  Grant gripped the bed cover, almost ripping it in two, but he didn’t move his head. As Leah pulled away, he exhaled and sagged forward.

  She clambered off the bed and came around the front. “Let me see.”

  Grant blinked a few times, opening his mouth and closing it as he sat up. “I think that hurt worse than getting shot.”

  Leah squinted at his nose. Better. Not perfect, but better. “How’s the breathing?”

  Grant snuffed. “Improved.”

  “Good. Now don’t bump it or move it for a couple weeks.”

  Grant leaned back on the bed. “With our track record, I’m not sure that’s possible.”

  Leah opened up the trauma bag they’d brought with them from the house and set to work on herself, cleaning and treating the damaged skin from the gunshot before bandaging her wrists. There was nothing she could do for the bruises on her face or the concussion she most likely suffered.

  She twisted around to look at her lower back. “Do I have bruising down here?”

  Her husband peeled himself off the bed and brought the lantern over to look. “It’s just beginning. Looks like a fist.”

  Leah exhaled. “Right to the kidney. I have to keep an eye on the symptoms.”

  After she finished treating herself, she dressed and turned back to Grant. His wounds were mostly superficial, apart from the gunshot. The bullet went straight through the muscle of his shoulder.

  It would heal as long as they kept it clean.

  She fished out the Fish Mox and handed him a pill before taking one herself.