Collins Tipping Point

A Rogue's Gallery Tale
1. Auflage 2016
ISBN: 978-1-4835-8621-2
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 250 Seiten

Two groups of people-one tossed together by blood and circumstance; the other, organized and well supported-follow different paths to the same place in time. The first group chased by creatures they rarely see and don't understand, run and hide, then run some more. The second, methodically travel about the country, tactically attempting to eradicate a growing pandemic by severing the brain stem of the infected. In the midst of the mayhem, to further complicate things, vampires, fairies, even the monster under the bed become engaged in the struggle. Humanity teeters on the brink. Tipping Point is a pre-apocalyptic adventure horror tale with a cast of characters that include the living, dead, and other-world creatures. It is descriptive, dark, sometimes funny, and sometimes not.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Collins, Brian

Leseproben

“Stay frosty everyone. Do your business quick and let’s get out of here. The hair on the back of my neck is standing straight up.” Web spoke loud enough for everyone gathering on the sidewalk to hear. A quick head count confirmed full attendance for the rest rooms. He noted the physical discomfort that most of the travelers were presenting, various moves of the ‘I gotta pee dance,’ having been on the road for the past four hours. He was once again thankful that the motor home had a toilet. Dora and the girls, Mackenzie and Makayla, had been riding with him so they were in no hurry to use the facilities. The twins mentioned that using the tiny bath in the motor home was similar to the potties on airplanes, only cleaner. They would stay with the caravan and stand watch. The last attack had been easily avoided but had left everyone tense and in full tactical mode. It had been a long four hours since filling up their vehicles at an otherwise empty gas station. About an hour ago Dora’s cell had started ringing and with each “Hello” she had been told that the others were in need a pit stop. Scanning a map that had been purchased at the long distant gas station, they opted to stop at a rest area along the highway that they were currently traveling. Rolling up the soft curve of the exit drive, Web noted the rest area that had but two vehicles in the lot. One a tractor trailer rig looked to be hauling produce, the driver waving to them as he strolled out of the bathrooms, a small leather shaving kit bag gripped in one hand. They drove by him choosing a parking space close to the main building. The other vehicle, a non-descript sedan, was parked in the trailer lot, the glare from the street lights making it difficult to see anything inside. Web followed the group up wide concrete sidewalks that were bordered with well-tended seasonal plants, the foliage lush and much of it in bloom, to the central building of the rest stop. He carried matched 45 ACP autos loosely at his side, not exactly concealed but not flashing either. The women split from the men and walked briskly around the divider and moved into the ladies’ side of the building. Rachael took the lead into the restroom. Just before she slipped from sight, Web saw her thumb back the hammer on her Colt 1911 and move aggressively into the restroom, her weapon at a Chest Ready position. Gloria Hammacker, unarmed, followed close, one hand on Rachael’s shoulder. Barb King, a petite athletic woman, moved in behind the other women, her weapon at the low ready. She scanned below the stall doors as she advanced into the restroom out of Web’s line of sight. The guys, on the other hand, strolled nonchalantly towards the opposite side and were joking as they rounded the curved privacy wall of the men’s room and vanished from Web’s sight. He did notice a stainless flash of metal from Jeremy’s revolver in the palm of his hand. Web shook his head, his exasperation visible to Dora who watched from a lawn chair that had been ingeniously mounted on the top of the motor home as a look out. He walked slowly through the welcome center taking note of possible hiding places. A service door at the rear of the building had been blocked open with a wedge of wood. He felt the hackles on his neck come to attention once more. The door a full glass framed unit reflected the inside of the rest area preventing any sight outside. Web kicked the block out and pulled the door shut. He was rewarded with a satisfying click when it latched. He backed away still struggling to see past the glaring reflections of interior brick walls, matte finished floor tile and chrome pamphlet holders in the glass of the doors. Satisfied nothing was going to come careening through the glass he turned retraced his steps to the entry door and took up a position that offered a view of the parking lot and the interior of the building. He could see Dora watching from the top of the motor home her slim figure illuminated in the blaze of the parking lot lights. Still just the tractor rig and the four door sedan occupied the otherwise empty lot. His group parked together directly in front of the restroom building were the only other cars in sight. Web thought it a little odd the truck was still in the lot, but maybe the driver was planning on getting some shuteye before heading out on the road again. His eyes drifted to the sedan. Parked with the grill facing the rest area building and directly under a street light Web couldn’t determine if the car was occupied. It occurred to him that a maintenance person would be driving a Park service truck. He pushed through the doors and walked briskly towards the car signaling to Dora an “eyes on” motion with his fingers. She stood and scanned the lot her eyes darting towards the shadows. Her grip on the rifle she carried tensed as she lifted it to her shoulder. She stamped hard on the roof of the coach to alert the girls inside; three solid thumps that sounded like muffled gun shots. Web approached the car cautiously, circling so he could approach it from the rear. Any attempt at concealment gone, both weapons pointed intentionally at the vehicle, he moved to the trunk leaned over its expansive lid and peered into the back, one hand still holding one of the pistols awkwardly shielded his eyes. He squatted quickly and made his way to the driver’s door in a crouch keeping tight to the cold steel skin of the car. He took a glance into the front seats and ducked back down. He shoved one of the automatics into his waistband reached for the door handle and lifted. The door swung open smoothly; a man’s body, its weight leaning against the door tumbled lifelessly to the ground. His head smacked the asphalt with a crack that Dora could hear from the roof of the motor home. Web jumped away from the car keeping the business end of the gun barrel pointed inside the vehicle. He scanned the parking lot again. The shadows seemed much darker making it harder to discern if anything was hiding there. He quickly moved to the passenger side, yanked open the door and shoved his head inside to look for other occupants. Dora watched as her husband leaned into the car. From her vantage point she couldn’t see him; the car body blocked her view. In the glare of the street light that illuminated the corpse that rolled out of the vehicle, she assessed that the throat and chest had been mauled. Her stomach churned and bile rose into her throat. She swallowed forcefully, her Adam’s apple a solid mass wedged in her throat, and sucked air loudly in through flared nostrils, the hiss blocking out the sounds of night. The relief was intense as she watched her husband’s head pop back up and the grim set of his jaw sharpened her own awareness of possible danger. She scanned the parking lot rapidly, raising the rifle scope to her eye when looking into the multiplying shadows that crept across the lot. The guys returning from the men’s room were laughing at some joke when they pushed their way out of the building. Jeremy spied Dora and immediately raised his weapon the stainless steel glinting brightly in the glare of the street lights. The men’s laughter ceased as if choked from them. They spread out and in a crouch drew weapons taking up shooting positions along the concrete walk. Large urns exploding with colorful flowers and overgrown greenery provided cover as Jeremy, Terrence, Brad and Ken took up positions to guard the women as they exited the restrooms. The women, spying the men just outside in full battle mode, hesitated at the door to the welcome center, each grim faced. Rachael stood with one hand on the door, looking at Jeremy who crouched only a few feet away scanning the dark. “Gloria, you’re unarmed, you go first the guys will cover you. Run to the Motor home since I am sure Terrence has the keys. I’ll follow. Barb, you last. Wait until we reach the end of the side walk then you haul ass. Make sure you slap Ken on the shoulder as you pass so he knows we are all out. OK?” “You got it Rache’, I‘m right behind you.” Barb slid a long very dangerous looking blade from a sheath concealed under her loose fitting T-Shirt. “Hello baby, momma needs some action.” She flicked the edge of the blade with her thumb. She grinned at Rachael her face stretched in a maddening sneer and shook the tension from her shoulders. “Go,” she whispered hoarsely. They went. Gloria sprinted down the walkway, arms and legs pumping furiously. Her eyes focused on the large side of the motor home and made a bee line for it. Out of breath by the end of the side walk, she staggered, her breath rasping from her chest. Rachael catching up grabbed her fleshy arm just below the shoulder. “Come on Gee. No time to smell the roses,” she spat. Slowing slightly for the larger woman a grin similar to Barb’s creased her face. They crossed the yellow stripes of the first row of parking places, the driving lane next and then the next row of stripes. Rachael veered to cover the back corner of the Winnebago. One of the twins watching the evacuation unfold pushed the door open and light flooded out of the motor home. She waved frantically at the two women. Gloria reached the open door stumbled on the steps and fell into the plush interior of the coach. A string of profanities filtered back through the door. Racheal, Dora and the girls grinned humorlessly at the sound of it. Missus Hammacker, while usually quiet and reserved, had a substantial vocabulary and when riled it often spilled out. Mackenzie and Makayla helped her into a seat and resumed...