EMP Catastrophe , Hamilton, Grace [phonics readers txt] 📗

frozen off. I didn’t know anyone stupid enough to try. And I ran with some pretty damn stupid people.

“Ready, Doc?” a voice came over the comms. Taylor. He and Chicky would stay in the can while the rest of us got to play.

The name Doc came to me easy. In another life, before a jumpjet and a slinger, I had a stethoscope and a family.

“Ready.”

We each turned for the others to check gear. Our suits were CaliCorps Falcons. That means we had the wonderfully brilliant idiocy of the liquid O2 tank being both the fuel for the thrusters and our air supply. If you’re running low, you can breathe or you can fly. Pick one. But it did make it a lot easier for us to check each other’s packs with so little involved.

Chicky had gotten us nice and close, less than half a click. Unfortunately, that distance was filling with ticks. The Mayflower was a mid-sized cargo ship. Hundred heads on board, less if the body was full of wheat, ammo, gel or whatever the fuck brought them out here. Would have been nice for someone to tell us they were showing up. But we were the farmhouse cat. No one wanted to deal with us, just let us loose and grab whatever mice ran by. No one remembers to tell the cat when a new cow shows up. Especially when the farmhouse is in enemy territory.

There was a pneumatic whine as our cabin depressurized and the back of the can flopped open. The can was officially called the GSS Vedfolnir Five, but who the hell is going to ever say that? From the outside, it might as well have been an ammo box with wings. Not the sexiest piece of hardware, but it got us around. There was still some pressure in the cabin as it shitted us out. Being puked out the fore cabin would be Yaz, Hippo, and Jimenez. Collie would lower herself from the bottom. She was our commlink and fall back point, staying halfway between us and the can. She was a good dog, built her myself, but something she stumbled into on our last planetary touchdown gummed up her right rear servo, and once we got back to gravity, she’d be hobbling around like a toothless Coalition drunk, reminding me of Dad, until I got a chance to fix it.

The edges of my faceplate lit with the dots showing me where the rest of my squad was, a different color for each signal. Our suits were the usual rusty monkeys of any squad that had seen more than a few scraps, the original CaliCorps colors long since gone. HQ gave us barely any armor, but at least they cared enough to try and stop us from suffocating. Darwin, Deepspace, and I would form the forward triangle. I could trust Yaz that if we banked right, he’d bank his crew left. We’d done the two-prong attack enough times to go wordless. The ticks had a pretty rudimentary AI and were far more effective at dismantling ships than they were at figuring tactics against attacks from two directions.

“This is Allied Cargo Transit Mayflower Six. We are at P9. We are in need of assistance. Opteran drone contact. Requesting assistance.”

A searing yellow line of pencil thin reflection formed between us and the planet below and dissipated. Trail from a railgun that could turn our transport into more orbiting scrap. With the ticks starting to cut us off from the Mayflower, it was a reasonable shot to take.

“Mayflower Six, cease fire, cease fire,” I shouted. “This is Squad Commander Andrew Ritchie of the Coalition Marine Transport Vedfolnir Five, coming up your front now. You guys call for an exterminator?”

“Boy, are we glad to hear your voice, Marine,” they said through a laugh. “We will stand down. I’d wave, but there’s a few drones in the way. Would appreciate a little help, and try not to scratch the paint.”

“We’ll do our best, Mayflower.”

Get your copy of Undaunted

Available September 8th, 2021

(Available for pre-order now)

www.GraceHamiltonBooks.com

BLURB

When the lights go out, anarchy reigns supreme.

After journalist Austin Merryman’s wife died, he and his fourteen-year-old daughter left home to travel the country in an old RV. But the comfort and renewal they sought soon descends into chaos.

After a message from an old college buddy leads Austin to a bridge in the middle of nowhere, he finds his friend—now an NSA agent—waiting to give him a USB drive. Before the contents can be explained, machine gun fire strafes the bridge, killing Austin’s friend and forcing Austin into the raging river.

Rescued downstream by a beautiful veterinarian, Austin learns that EMP attacks have thrust the world into eternal darkness—and separated him from the only person he has left. Now, he’ll move heaven and earth to locate his daughter and make it to his brother’s prepper hideaway in Utah.

But the post-apocalyptic world is no longer a friendly place. Resources are growing scarce. Factions break out along ethnic and religious lines. Everyone is willing to do whatever it takes to survive in an increasingly hostile environment. And Austin’s daughter is caught right in the middle of this splintering society.

But an even deadlier foe stalks them as they struggle across the landscape. Someone who hasn’t forgotten about the USB drive Austin possesses.

And they’ll do anything to get it back.

Grab your copy of Survive the Chaos (Small Town EMP Book One) from

www.GraceHamiltonBooks.com

EXCERPT

Chapter One

Austin Merryman stored the last of the dinner dishes in the small cupboard of his thirty-two-foot fifth wheel. The RV wasn’t an ideal living space for a man and his fourteen-year-old daughter, but they’d been managing to make it work. As he and Savannah constantly reminded each other, it was both easy and difficult to keep the small living space clean. It only took a stray pair of shoes or a few dishes on the tiny kitchen counter to make things look untidy, and both of them were guilty of forgetting the fact on