Caleb’s shoulder still hurt, and it didn’t move the way it used to, but the pain wasn’t crippling anymore. It was as good a time as any to get going. If he used a stick to shift the weight, he could hike. He smiled at the man. “What are you gonna do here?”

  Washington’s lips pressed together a little more tightly. “Maybe set up some checkpoints between here and where people are coming in from the coast to direct them our way. Try and see what supplies we can scrounge up, maybe get a water purification system running.”

  He glanced down the hall. “We got an environmental engineer who thinks he might be able to get something working, and he’s willing to stick with us. There are still a lot of people moving west, but… not a lot of people looking out for them.”

  Caleb buckled the pack’s strap across his chest and slung his rifle over his good shoulder. There was nothing else for him to do except meet his family at the elevator. He limped forward and extended a hand. They shook, and he held Washington’s hand tight. “Be careful of kings and shiny crowns.”

  Washington shook his head. “Don’t think that’ll be a problem, Staff Sergeant.”

  He let the man’s hand go. “It’s just Machert, now. I think I’ll steer clear of all that from here on out.”

  They moved to the door and out to the corridor. Washington fell into step beside him. “When you get out west, if you do run across the military—the actual US military, that is—make sure and tell them we’re out here. It would be good to have some support.”

  “If I get the chance, I will. But… don’t you think if they were out there, we’d have seen them already?”

  Washington shrugged. “No telling what they’re dealing with. Gotta stay hopeful.”

  They turned a corner, and found Liz, Lana, and Derek waiting for them at the elevator door. It was open, and all three of them were geared up to go.

  “Just waiting on you, old man,” Lana said.

  Caleb smiled as he ushered them into the elevator. He turned to face Private Washington and took a last look at the corridor—at the base itself, and all the possibility he might be walking away from. It really was tempting.

  Not as tempting as finding real, long-term safety for his family, though. He waved. “Good luck here.”

  “Same to you, Machert.” The soldier swiped his key card over the pad by the door and the elevator closed before lurching upward. In another minute, they stood outside in the pale, chill morning. Caleb looked at his daughter, the side of her scalp shaved, the rest of her hair pinned tight to her head in a series of braids that ended in a tight knot at the base of her skull.

  Elizabeth took his hand. “West?”

  He looked past her to Derek. “Sure you wanna do this, son? Might not be possible to come back.”

  “I’m sure, sir.” Derek’s eyes moved to Lana, and Caleb figured he probably meant it.

  “Alright.” Caleb tugged Elizabeth’s hand. “Let’s see what’s out there for us.”

  EPILOGUE

  Cheyenne Mountain Complex

  Colorado Springs, CO

  Saturday, July 3rd, 11:02 am MST

  “Sir?”

  President Daniels looked up from his Bible to see his Chief of Staff at the door. He slipped his bookmark into the pages and closed the book over it. “Come in, Pete. What have you got?”

  Pete Camby came through the door fully and closed it behind him. He approached the desk like he was walking up to a casket at a funeral. He clutched a rolled paper in his hand, some report or another. A bad one, Daniels assumed.

  They were all bad these days, to be fair.

  “The… reports on the water table analysis.” Pete unrolled the paper as if his hands were arthritic and didn’t want to uncurl, and laid it on the President’s desk.

  “I take it the news is bad,” Daniels guessed.

  “There’s some variance,” Pete started, “but overall, the average pH of the rainfall that we’ve managed to sample across six states is around two point five.”

  Science had never been President Daniels favorite subject, but he knew that was low enough to be a problem. “Acid rain.”

  Pete nodded. “More acidic than we’ve recorded before, sir. According to the meteorological team, more than in recorded history.”

  “How long will it last?”

  “It’s already improving.” It seemed hopeful—until Pete stuffed his hands in his pockets and stared at the floor, the way he did when he had even worse news. “But the damage is done. Between the dropped temperature, the damage to crops and to the soil across about eighty percent of the arable land…”

  He trailed off.

  “Just tell me.”

  “There are some corn crops in the Midwest that may be hardy enough to survive the next few months and it looks like a large swath of Colorado might be arable. Thanks to the subsidies, it’s mostly a matter of volume, but the acidity in the water table means that fish are dying out, and livestock on the eastern half of the US—“

  “We’re going to run out of food,” Daniels finished for him.

  Pete stared at the report and nodded. “It will be over a decade before most of the land is arable again. Supply lines were already a problem. General Ainsworth has ordered a new inventory of the supplies here and is going to roll out a new rationing schedule.”

  As if already anticipating the tightening belt, President Daniel’s stomach growled loudly. He sighed. “Make sure you tell him to count me like anyone else. I haven’t seen Lieutenant Yaeger today—was he out sick? There’s a private filling in for him.”

  Pete’s lips thinned. “He… his wife passed away. Pneumonia. It was a persistent infection, came and went. She had respiratory failure last night, around two in the morning.”

  An ache wormed its way deep into President Daniels’s heart. He’d barely noticed the young Lieutenant’s absence until halfway through the day, and then hadn’t had time to inquire. “I see. Anything else, Pete?”

  “Not at the moment, Sir,” Pete said. “There’s an intelligence briefing in about one hour.”

  “That late already?” the President wondered. He waved Pete off. “I know, I know. I’ll be optimistic. But for now, I’d like a little time alone, please.”

  There’d been a time when a President of the United States could never have made such a request. Now, though, there was never a shortage of pressing matters, and not nearly the staff to attend them.

  Pete eyed him as if he might have something else to say, but only dipped his head and withdrew a few steps. “Of course, sir.”

  Daniels waited until Pete was gone to breathe again. He sat back in his chair and traced the embossed shape of the cross on the cover of his bible. Somehow, he’d thought that cracking it open and reading through it again after all these years would give him… peace, or wisdom, or at least some sense of surrender. A piety that would ease the burden on his spirit.

  But it hadn’t worked. Not yet, at any rate. Maybe it wasn’t going to.

  Stretched out before him, he could see the end of his country. The onslaught was just too much. Maybe they could have pulled through the storms and the sunless sky. They might have gathered their people together, made pockets of civilization under conditions that would be difficult, but not impossible.

  But without food, and without the ability to grow more in any kind of real volume, none of that would matter. People would starve. But before they did, hunger would drive them to madness. Whatever chaos they’d seen until now, it had been just the beginning. The first rumblings of what was coming.

  “God help us,” he whispered, and for the first time since he was a child, he really meant it as a genuine plea. Because nothing short of divine intervention could save them from what was coming.

  Subscribe to Harley’s newsletter to be notified when book three in Falling Skies is released.

  www.harleytate.com/subscribe

  In the meantime, if you are new to my work and are interested in more, check out my After the EMP series:

  If the power grid fails, how far will you go to survive?

  Madison spends her days tending plants as an agriculture student at the University of California, Davis. She plans to graduate and put those skills to work only a few hours from home in the Central Valley. The sun has always been her friend, until now.

  When catastrophe strikes, how prepared will you be?

  Tracy starts her morning like any other, kissing her husband Walter goodbye before heading off to work at the local public library. She never expects it to end fleeing for her life in a Suburban full of food and water. Tackling life’s daily struggles is one thing, preparing to survive when it all crashes down is another.

  The end of the world brings out the best and worst in all of us.

  With no communication and no word from the government, the Sloanes find themselves grappling with the end of the modern world all on their own. Will Madison and her friends have what it takes to make it back to Sacramento and her family? Can Tracy fend off looters and thieves and help her friends and neighbors survive?

  The EMP is only the beginning.

  ALSO BY HARLEY TATE

  NUCLEAR SURVIVAL

  First Strike (exclusive newsletter prequel)

  Southern Grit:

  Brace for Impact

  Escape the Fall

  Survive the Panic

  Northern Exposure:

  Take the Hit

  Duck for Cover

  Ride it Out

  Western Strength:

  Bear the Brunt

  Shelter in Place

  Make the Cut

  AFTER THE EMP

  Darkness Falls (exclusive newsletter prequel)

  Darkness Begins

  Darkness Grows

  Darkness Rises

  Chaos Comes

  Chaos Gains

  Chaos Evolves

  Hope Sparks

  Hope Stumbles

  Hope Survives

  NO ORDINARY DAY

  No Ordinary Escape

  No Ordinary Day

  No Ordinary Getaway

  No Ordinary Mission

  Find all of Harley’s releases on Amazon today: www.amazon.com/author/harleytate.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thank you for reading book two of the Falling Skies series. I hope you are enjoying reading the story as much as I enjoyed creating it.

  As I’ve mentioned before, a few liberties have been taken, especially with place names and other minor details in writing this novel. I hope you don’t hold it against me!

  If you enjoyed this book and have a moment, please consider leaving a review on Amazon. Every one helps new readers discover my work and helps me keep writing the stories you want to read.

  Until next time,

  Harley

  ABOUT HARLEY TATE

  When the world as we know it falls apart, how far will you go to survive?

  Harley Tate writes edge-of-your-seat post-apocalyptic fiction exploring what happens when ordinary people are faced with impossible choices.

  The apocalypse is only the beginning.

  Contact Harley directly at:

  www.harleytate.com

  harley@harleytate.com

 

 

  Harley Tate, Thunder and Acid: A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller

 

 

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