After the Blast Read online

  After the Blast

  Into the Dark Post-Apocalyptic EMP Thriller: Book Three

  Ryan Casey

  Contents

  Bonus Content

  After the Blast

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

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  After the Blast

  Into the Dark: Book Three

  Chapter One

  Stephen Barkley struggled against the handcuffs around his wrists and wondered how his world had fallen apart so drastically in the last seven days.

  It was dark, but he had no idea whether it was day or not. He was locked up inside some storeroom, tied to some pole. Again, he didn’t know where, not exactly. All he knew was that one second, he’d been walking down the road, doing whatever he could to survive. The next, he’d been surrounded by an armed group and bundled into the back of a van.

  And yeah. That’s a working van. A van that was up and running.

  Which was of course a mystery in itself, just one Stephen hadn’t got his head around just yet.

  And one that he knew he wouldn’t stand much of a chance of getting his head around at all if he didn’t get out of here. Fast.

  He looked around, but he couldn’t see anything in the darkness. There was a strong smell in this room. The smell of sweat. But also the rusty smell of blood; a tang that clung to the nostrils, so much so that he could almost taste it on his tongue.

  He wasn’t sure if it was his blood or not. Probably not, in all truth, even though he’d been shoved around a bit by this group. All he could think was that this group were from somewhere else. He didn’t know where. He couldn’t place their accents.

  But he knew one thing, now. Or at least, he suspected one thing very strongly.

  This group was a foreign army.

  Which meant the EMP that people speculated had struck the power from the streets of Britain wasn’t just a freak of nature. It was part of some kind of invasion.

  But none of that knowledge helped him right now, trapped in here, hands wrapped around his back, handcuffs tight around his wrists. All that mattered was finding a way out of this place. Because time would run out. And when it did… well.

  He’d seen what happened to people who didn’t comply.

  Because he wasn’t the only one who’d been captured.

  The family on the road. Man. Woman. Child. The little boy kept screaming. He saw what the leader of the group did. Saw the way he went over to that boy, grabbed him and threw him into the woods, leaving him behind.

  He saw the way those parents cried out for their son. Saw the way they fought and kicked and screamed.

  He saw the armed group put them down. Man. Then woman. Child still screaming in the woods.

  And at that moment, Stephen made a promise to himself that if he ever got out of this mess, he’d go back, he’d find that kid, and he’d make sure he knew exactly who took his parents’ lives.

  He tugged against the cuffs around his wrists. They were tight, and they were hard. Metal handcuffs, standard issue, no doubt about it. They weren’t the kind of handcuffs people just broke free of. They weren’t the kind that snapped under any force, under any pressure.

  But there had to be something. Stephen had to find a way out of these cuffs. There was no negotiating about it. He just had to find a way—or face whatever came next.

  He’d heard what’d happened to those who were in here with him originally. One by one, they were taken outside. Then there were shouts and screams.

  And then there was a gunshot, and nothing.

  His heart pounded as he pondered the possibilities. He pulled harder at his cuffs. He couldn’t think what else to do, even though he knew it was in vain. Everybody would tug at their cuffs. Everyone would try to get out that way, and it would never work. In the many, many years of people being imprisoned, just how many had actually managed to break free of cuffs like these?

  He struggled nonetheless. Even though it was wounding his wrists. Even though it was making the bones in his arms feel like they were going to break. He closed his eyes. Felt tears building up in them, sadness and desperation taking over him. Because he couldn’t see a way out of this. He couldn’t see a happy ending ahead.

  He thought about Lucy. He’d only met her six months ago, but they’d had some amazing times already. They met at a charity shop one day, when he’d just bobbed in to get some books. She was working behind the counter. One thing led to another, and bingo: six months later and they were even talking about moving in together, something Stephen never thought he’d consider after how badly his relationship with Stephanie ended.

  He wondered where Lucy was now. When the EMP struck, he’d been stuck in traffic on the motorway, on his way to see her.

  He hoped she had what it took to survive. She was strong… but he wasn’t sure if she was strong enough. Because it wasn’t just about being mentally or physically strong. It was about being morally fluid too, even in the face of all this horror, all this terror.

  Stephen wasn’t sure Lucy had it in her to be morally fluid enough to be willing to do the things this world required. To sink to the depths this world demanded.

  He just hoped she hadn’t ended up in the kind of mess he’d ended up in.

  He closed his eyes, took a deep breath. He couldn’t hear anything outside. In his mind, he pictured it was night, but that wasn’t really based on anything beyond a hunch.

  But if it was night, it surely meant there were fewer of his captors awake. It surely meant there were just three or two or even one of them on guard, so more of a chance to escape.

  He yanked his hands against the pipe he was tied to. And at that moment, he felt something.

  The pipe. It was loose. Wobbly. No doubt about it.

  Excitement picked up inside Stephen. If the pipe was loose, there was a chance he could raise his arms to the point where the weakness was. He could yank them through that weakness. And with a little luck… voila. He would be free.

  Easier said than done, sure. But if he didn’t try, he’d be dead in no time. Talk about pressure.

  He started to lift his arms, to raise them up. They were tied behind his back. But if he could find a way to lift them high enou
gh… just maybe there’d be a way to get himself out of this mess.

  He started to raise his arms, stretching his shoulders.

  He reached as high as he could.

  They seized up, right there.

  He stopped. Took a few deep breaths. Concentrated further. He could do this. He had this. He just had to find the weak point in the pipe, then he could get out of here.

  He pulled his arms higher. Lifted them further up. This time, he had to go further. Even if he dislocated his shoulders in the process, he’d have to do it. Because it was agony versus death. And regardless of what anybody told him, no amount of agony was worth giving up for non-existence.

  He bit into his lip, tasted blood. He kept on going, heart pounding. He sensed he was getting closer, felt excitement creeping up and through his body.

  But no. He had to stay calm. He had to stay measured. He couldn’t get ahead of himself.

  He pulled his arms higher. As he yanked against the pipe behind him, he could feel that weakness in it getting closer. If he could just get a little further. If he could just get a little higher…

  He reached the weakness.

  Pulled against it.

  But something happened.

  Right as he reached it, two things.

  First, a pop.

  His shoulder blades yanked out of place. Agonising dislocation.

  And then something else happened.

  Something uncontrollable. Something unavoidable.

  He let out a cry of agony.

  He fell forward, which made the pain even worse. He whimpered as he lay there on the floor, heart pounding, sweat pouring down his forehead. He was lost in the agony, lost in the pain…

  And then it struck him.

  A glimmer of light in the dark.

  He was free.

  He was free of the pipe.

  He struggled to his feet. His vision was blurred, but his focus was solid. He had to get through this door. He had to get out of here.

  And then he had to face whatever followed next.

  He went to stand up, his knees weak and wobbly, the pain in his shoulders unlike anything he’d ever experienced.

  Then he heard something.

  Saw something.

  Light.

  Light searing through the door ahead of him, burning his tired eyes.

  He looked up higher.

  And when he did, he saw someone standing there.

  Rifle in hand.

  Smiling.

  “Well, well,” the voice said, thick foreign accent. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  Chapter Two

  Mike opened his eyes.

  The sun shone down brightly from above. He could hear the birds singing in the trees, smell the freshness of the leaves. And at that moment, Mike couldn’t deny its beauty. He couldn’t deny how grateful he was to be experiencing it.

  Especially after what’d happened five days ago.

  He looked down at his chest. Saw the gunshot wound there. Really, the fact that he’d survived it in these circumstances was nothing short of a miracle.

  But in this world, sometimes you needed a miracle. He was going to need a lot of miracles, and so was Holly. They were both going to need miracles to survive.

  Mike leaned over, looked to his side, under the makeshift tent that he’d built out in the woods. It was a pretty simple design, really. He’d strung some paracord up between two trees, then balanced some old tarpaulin he’d found in a nearby village over it. There were downsides, of course—the tarp didn’t extend to create a floor, which meant he’d had to throw some sheeting down, not exactly ideal for keeping insects away. It also meant there was an opening on either side of the tent.

  But it was something. It was a shelter.

  That had to count.

  Holly was lying there, fast asleep. He watched her chest rise and fall with her breaths. And he felt so grateful that she was here. He felt so relieved that he’d been reunited with her. That he’d gone in pursuit of that group who captured her—the group who were clearly a part of some kind of foreign invasion—and he’d rescued her from that place.

  Except that wasn’t exactly how it went down.

  Holly had saved his life. She’d used her initiative. Then one of the people she and Mike had freed had taken out the bullet, stitched him up. Told him he needed a lot of rest, and that he was prone to infection.

  But also, that he was lucky.

  Lucky that the bullet hadn’t hit anywhere crucial.

  Lucky to still be alive.

  And sure, he had been lucky. He’d been able to stave off infection so far. The wound seemed to be healing already. But the way Mike saw it, it was only partly luck. Most of all it was that will to survive. That will to fight. That’s what had got him and Holly through.

  He stood up, left the tent slowly. Stepped outside. He stood there in the summer breeze, taking deep breaths of the warm air. He listened. Listened for any sign of presence. Any sign of life. Because as much as he trusted in his daughter and as much as he was grateful for the person who’d saved his life… he didn’t trust anybody out there.

  Not after what had happened. There was no room for blind trust anymore.

  He lifted the AK-12 rifle he’d taken from one of the troops. He didn’t have a lot of ammunition for it, and he knew ammunition for a foreign-made weapon wasn’t exactly going to be in abundance. Still, guns were an absolute luxury in this world. They were going to take him very far. Not many people could say they had them. Even without ammo, a gun could strike fear.

  But with it… well, it made hunting a hell of a lot easier.

  He crouched in the grass, shuffled forward. He could hear movement in the distance. Movement that no doubt belonged to some kind of animal.

  He shuffled forward. Edged further through the grass, getting closer and closer to this movement.

  When he brushed the next few plants aside, he saw the source of the movement.

  A deer was standing there. It was eating grass, not a care for the world around it. It looked so happy. So peaceful.

  Sadness filled Mike’s body. Because this deer, sure, it looked so happy, so peaceful.

  But at the same time, it looked like a good meal. A good few meals.

  And meals like this were hard to come by in this world.

  He moved the rifle. Steadied his grip. Held his breath. This was just a part of the sadness of the world. This was just a part of the detaching of morals he had to do—that everyone had to do—if they wanted to survive.

  He steadied his grip, eased his focus, and slowly tightened his grip on the trigger…

  And then the deer looked around.

  It looked at him. Looked right into his eyes.

  And at that moment, as it stared back at him, it was like it knew what he was doing. It was like it understood.

  He tightened his grip around the trigger.

  But it was already too late.

  The deer shot off into the distance.

  He released the trigger, namely because ammo was important, and conserving it was more important than anything.

  He stood up. Shot off in pursuit of the deer. Because he didn’t want to let this opportunity pass. He didn’t want to let it go.

  He rushed further into the trees, knowing damn well he was probably on a wild goose chase to say the least. He kept on going, keeping his hope, keeping his optimism. He didn’t see the deer as a living thing anymore. He just saw it as a source of food. As a way to help his daughter survive.

  He went to throw himself through the trees when he saw something else.

  There was a group of people up ahead. Camping, just like he had been.

  For a second, he thought he recognised them. He thought it was Alison, and he felt a spark of hope rise in his chest. She’d been lost. So too had Kumal, Gina, and Arya. Their paths had diverged—and it didn’t feel like they were ever going to meet again.

  But as he looked closer, he realised this wasn’t Aliso
n. It wasn’t anyone he knew.

  But whoever it was… they had the deer.

  The deer had run right into their trap. One of them was standing beside it, holding a knife. The deer was bleeding out.

  He looked at them. And he felt determination. He felt an urge. He lifted his rifle, almost instinctively. Because this was a meal. This was his meal. And it didn’t matter who these people were: they were getting in the way of his survival right now, and his daughter’s survival.

  But then he saw them.

  A little girl, standing in the background.

  She looked at him. Looked right into his eyes, just like the deer had looked at him before.

  He felt a knot in his stomach. A guilt for even considering what he’d been about to do.

  And at that moment, he lowered his rifle.

  At that moment, he turned around.

  At that moment, he disappeared into the woods, back towards the tent.

  The world had changed.

  He had changed.

  And he’d do anything he could to stay ahead of it.

  Just not today.

  Chapter Three

  Alison staggered through the grass, Arya by her side, and had never felt more alone.

  It was morning. Another scorcher by the looks of things. She used to love the weather like this. Used to enjoy getting up early, getting her weekend chores done as quickly as possible and spending the rest of the day out in the garden reading a book or something like that.