Life After War: The Survivor's

By Angela White

Life After War is a series of books about a group of people who live through a nuclear war and come together in the awful aftermath to help rebuild. Let me introduce a few of them.
Adrian Mitchel is a lifelong Marine with a huge secret, one that might have stopped the war. Full of guilt he can never be free of, Adrian is driven, obsessed with gathering enough refugee's to restart his broken country.
Samantha Moore is a Stormtracker. Gifted with a predictive ability that allows her to avoid bad weather, Sam led a sheltered life before the bombs fell and her road to Adrian's camp is full of pain and horror as she struggles to adjust.
Angela White is many things. Doctor, battered wife, mother, and also, a Witch. Born with 'gifts' of the mind, Angela hid them away to keep her man from using them for his own gain but the war broke the locks she used to cage her abilities and now her power is her best defense as she tries to cross a dangerous land in search of her missing son.
Lt. Kenn Harrison is a soldier adrift when he joins Adrian's refugee camp, an angry man with secrets, and though months of trials at Adrian's patriotic side have begun to change him, what will happen to all the progress he's made when Angela finally comes for her son?
Kendle Roberts is a famous tv star but the survival godess wasn't prepared for the tidal wave that rolled the cruise ship she and her twin were vacationing on. Adrift on the restless ocean, Kendle will have to use all she's learned to stay alive.
Come see what happens to them and the rest of America. 12/21/12. It's coming. Is this what it will look like?

This is a firsr edition copy of Life After War. It has never been edited and does not contain the free first chapter of book four, Adrian's Eagles.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: May 12, 2010
• ISBN: 9781438968780

Angela White

Who is Angela White?I published my first book in elementary school--Mystery of the Missing Tabby. The school library still has it, as far as I know. That was my first real work, where writing became solace for me.In Jr. High, a teacher told our class none of us could match the classic authors we would be studying; we weren’t good enough. I took that to heart and turned in an A- paper with a rookie mistake that prevented me from getting the respect I wanted from that lady. I hated it that she was right. I still do.I also adore her for waking my brain to the possibility that someday I might be as good as one of the iconic writers who frame the world of literature. I’ll never know if she did it intentionally, but it worked for me. I’ve never wanted to do anything else.Thanks to that drive, the fire she finished waking, I live off my writing and run my own publishing company. I have twenty novels out, and thousands of fans. It's a long way to go before children study my work in schools, but I’m still just as hot for it now as I was in that musty classroom in 7th grade.So, that’s who I am. I am building, and living, the American dream.Who are you and what have you done?That’s a hard question to answer if you’re still trying to get there. I understand. Here’s some free advice: Follow your dreams, even when the world says it’s crazy. Sometimes, you’ll find a life that satisfies you more than you ever thought was possible. Chase that, starting right now, and the next time someone asks who you are, tell them you’re an immovable force, a wild dreamer, a hopeful comet shooting toward the goals that orbit your existence. And then lift your chin. There aren’t many of us left who want to be good at what we do. Everyone else just seems to want that green shit.I now write full time and live on a small ranch with my family and our clowder of barn cats. You haven’t laughed until you’ve seen newborn kittens playing in the weeds. It’s an amazing way to begin the day. Thank you to everyone who gave me a try. I wouldn’t have this life if not for all of you. Self-sufficiency is an indescribable gift, especially when you grow up poor. May someone help each of you the way you’ve helped me.Contact Angela WhiteFacebook:https://www.facebook.com/authorangelawhiteEmail:[e-mail]

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© 2010. Angela White All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 05/07/2010

ISBN: 978-1-4389-6876-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4389-6877-3 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4389-6878-0 (e)

ISBN: 978-1-4389-6878-0 (ebk)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2010906396

Printed in the United States of America

Bloomington, Indiana

Contents

Prologue

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

33

34

35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Word from Author

NUCLEAR and other WARs

Prologue

The sound of the ocean haunts me. It’s powerful surf and tiny, angry whirlpools warn me, threaten, and fear weighs heavily in my heart. My name is Angela White. I’m a Mother, Doctor, Soldier, and now, in the year 2017, I’ve become a leader of men. Because of the War, I’m now the Guardian of an American Refugee Camp named Safe Haven.

Surrounded by carefully watching guards, I sit beside the immense Pacific ocean as my people work and play nearby, confident my Army will look after them while I tell you about the War of 2012 and how we were forced to leave our beloved Country behind in order to survive. It was a nightmare we couldn’t wake from. Some of us still haven’t and soon, we’ll be at the water’s mercy again. In less than two months, we’re going home. America waits for us to reclaim and to rebuild, but mostly, simply, for us to return. Before we undertake that perilous journey, I have to get the 357 souls here ready for the trip and I only know one way it can be done. Adrian has to come back and lead us home like he promised.

He’s the reason so many of us survived and now that incredibly patriotic man has been exiled, his secret all the excuse the camp needed to turn on him, but I won’t. I can’t. I swore myself to him the same as the rest of his Council and like them, I still believe.

I’ve gotten way ahead of myself, far beyond the beginning, when our future didn’t look as good is it does now. Most people here in New America won’t talk about the War or the long, ugly journey we made together. They say the memories have faded but I know a lie when I hear one. Some horrors you never forget. Like our final battle with Cezar and his large band of ruthless Mexican Guerilla’s.

It’s been five years and I can still see the deep red streams of blood running down rain soaked tree trunks and I can still smell men burning alive in their metal coffins. I dream of it sometimes, of the cold, wet night I was the bait, and I’m sure Adrian does too. It was the moment we knew our people would live. Because we had found the strength to eliminate the threats to our survival before those threats could eliminate us. Because of Adrian. He kept us alive, gave us everything he had, and always did what was best for the camp, no matter what it cost him personally. He taught us to be stronger than we thought we could be, to look out for each other and ourselves, and through it all, he lied by omission, knowing these scared, hurting survivors would never have trusted him, would never have given him a chance, if they’d known who he really was.

We came a very long way together in the year after the War, over thousands of miles of heartbreaking ugliness, and it hurts those of us who remain loyal to see him accept their unfair judgement without a fight. It makes all we went through seem less important than it was, weakens the magic somehow, and I can’t allow that. I’ve been seeing open doors again, and that sly ocean cautions me, says the return trip will be just as hard as the one we undertook to get here. If there’s a storm headed our way, it’s our Shepherd we’ll need to see us through it. So, for Adrian and for those of us standing by him, still ready to die for him, and for the dreams he made me believe in from almost the first minute I set foot in his Refugee camp, I will tell our story and leave nothing out. Maybe then these people will realize what he did for us, accept how much we owe, and allow him to reclaim what’s rightfully his. Us.

Before I tell you about our harsh, ugly journey, let me show you what happened on that day, what they did to us and what we did to each other. This is how America’s story of survival began.

THE END OF THE WORLD

Image277.JPG

1

Bombs & Betrayals

I did it for my country, because my country would not do it for herself. A President of these United States, just minutes before dying of a self inflicted gunshot wound.

This is a joke, right? One of Clancey’s gags? When no one spoke, the President dropped his eyes back to the paper he’d been given to read, suddenly wishing he’d surrounded himself with more experienced people. He really had no idea what came now. It just wasn’t something he’d planned for during his time in office. Where do I give the speech? The garden? Carter had discovered a love of talking to his people but Ben Seiling, Deputy Chief of Staff, gestured to the radio he used for the weekly addresses. In here. It’s not safe in public. The rioting started an hour ago in most places and it’s spreading faster than we can keep up with. No camera’s? Press? Ben’s scowl was huge as he shook his head. No. We already have two security tapes missing. No reporters, no questions. Too many will already suspect the truth. Carter gave a jerky nod, the usually confident man almost speechless, unable to imagine how his country would react, and he slid behind the impressive desk for once without reminding himself that it was his. Dark hand hesitating, he looked up.

We’re sure? Ben’s curt nod confirmed it but the sheer number of Secret Service Agents roving the halls of the West Wing, filling his Oval Office, was what drove it in. As he had the thought, three more men came in from the doors that led outside, eyes full of excitement and a touch of fear that wasn’t comforting.

Yes. They’ll take you and your family out as soon as you’re done. The Vice President and Joint Chiefs will be in the air shortly, headed for the Essix’s.

Bang! Pop! A gunshot rang out, then another, making the President finch. His quick mind added it up. Those were sentries being punished for watching Lilly’s resignation instead of guarding their posts. The Swine flu had taken its toll on his entire administration but the Secretary of State had been blamed more than others because she’d fought strongly for more open trade with Mexico, where the deadly disease had originated. Her husband had claimed it would be good for the economy. One more scape goat in a long line. How did they find out? He asked, gesturing to the Newspaper on the desk. Tomorrow’s edition, he was positive he didn’t want to know how it had been obtained.

We’re not sure. An old manuscript was discovered in last month. They think that started it. A local station is set to run the story tomorrow morning. Not anymore.

Exactly. The first term President stared at the Seal, the desk, the walls. These things had been his and he had done justice to them where he could, but this? It was beyond his control. He hadn’t quite believed it when he’d first been read-in on the file known only as ‘DOC’ but it hadn’t taken him long to understand how much the world would change if the public even suspected the huge secret the Freemasons had been keeping all these years. The days of government rule would be long…

Mr. President, please. Breaking out into a sweat and uncaring that he was ruining a very expensive suit, Carter stared at the small sea of white faces, now hearing heavy stomps above them that could only be agents in the Residence, and Ben, maybe reading some of his thoughts on his face, shook his head.

These men have no families to rescue, have been paid well in gold and passes, and all of them voted for you. No deserters here. You’ll make it to NORAD, safe and sound. Only slightly reassured, America’s beloved black President looked over what might be his last address with worry burning brightly in his heart. You’ll start the sirens? Ben nodded again, both of them looking up as the ceiling lights changed to a pale red.

Yes, as soon as you’re on your way, now please, you have to go. D.C. is a direct target. We have to get you out of here. Carter still delayed, knowing this would kill tens of thousands of innocent citizens,

and he hated it that he was being rushed, wasn’t being told everything.

What about air traffic and vital services? The Deputy’s lined face went blank, expressionless, and the President felt his heart leap at the tone that implied it didn’t matter.

They’ve been instructed to land them any where they can so Star Wars doesn’t shoot anymore down by mistake. Last report said four confirmed crashes, two more suspected. Mr. President, we have to… What about the vitals? Evacuations? Ben sighed, knowing the President would have his report before he did anything. The black man could be pushed but it had to be gently. He was one of the few politicians of this generation that actually cared about his people. The Net is locked down, only our military has the codes needed to access it. As for Evac.’s, those on the lists are 35% recovered at this point. Ahead of schedule.

And vitals? Carter insisted, knowing it was ugly, and in the answer, he heard the same terror and excitement he felt in his own gut. We have reports of massive abandonment of posts already. Media stations in France and China are on it. Daycares, schools, hospitals, radar and traffic towers, police, utility workers. It’s all going to shut down. They’ll have nothing to depend on, no way to survive after the first year. The Deputy’s voice lowered. The Draft convoys started out half an hour ago. Waves of refugees in the hundreds have been spotted hitting towns ahead of the trucks. Some of those places are attempting to barricade themselves in. The men will follow orders. The President nodded. He’d been briefed but he hadn’t really thought they would do this to their own…

Carter. It was the first time the Deputy Chief of Staff had ever called him by his first name and to do it here, in this hallowed place, was such a transgression of protocol that it got his full attention, made him nod in response. This was the strategy that smarter men than him had agreed on and after, when it was time to come back up, he would still be in charge, the US presidency not allowed to be handed over in a time of war, except in cases of death.

We’re using the rest of our arsenal? Retaliating, even though we started it all? Ben nodded, face not betraying his own doubts, and he motioned for one of the impatient, heavily armed agents to grab the tapes and hidden microphone from the desk. It’s all under way. Carter’s dark finger pushed the button, not asking how that was possible without him. He’d learned a lot about leadership in the last few years and one of the biggest things was that

you didn’t ask questions unless you could take the answers. Stomach churning, voice stunned, he began.

My fellow Americans, this is your President, Carter Heins, and I have grave news. Let me start by asking each of you to care for and comfort each other in this time of crisis, and we’ll get through it. Together. He lied, ignoring the man waving at him to skip what didn’t matter, heart breaking as he told his people that their world was about to change violently and forever.

At 10:30 this morning, a Terrorist was able to gain access to our nuclear arsenal by hacking into the system and introducing a virus that shut down our firewalls. By the time they were working again, we had been breached and control of over half our defensive warheads had been compromised. The terrorists initiated launches and the Warheads are not responding to our abort codes. Ten minutes ago, they began reaching their targets, and other countries have retaliated, thinking we’ve declared War. He paused, couldn’t believe he was saying this, and heard a silent city holding its breath, listening, looking for comfort that he couldn’t give.

We predict that the United States will take at least five hits. Cities expected to be destroyed include Washington D.C., Houston, Texas, Lansing, Michigan, New York City, and Los Angeles. Noise levels went up throughout the building and outside, more gunshots rang out. Loud and rapid, they should have drawn immediate attention and he understood then that it was really happening, was suddenly positive he’d be the last man to sit here. Gunfire in the capital and the agents in the room hadn’t even blinked. It wasn’t a tasteless joke. The world really was ending.

I’m declaring Martial Law, nation wide, effective immediately. The curfew is dark and looters will be dealt with harshly. Our southern boarder has been closed, all air traffic grounded, and prices are frozen across the board. He hesitated, drew in a deep breath. I’m also reinstating the Draft, effective immediately. All males, ages 16-45, will surrender to the convoys of trucks on their way from bases across the country. People who refuse, fee, or follow, will be considered treasonous and dealt with accordingly. Stay in your homes, do what the soldiers tell you, and pray for your country. God bless you and God bless the United… He was jerked out of the seat at a nod from Ben and Carter stopped struggling as they rushed him outside, hearing panic in the streets.

Warning! Incoming! The lawn speakers blared behind them and Carter couldn’t take his eyes from the red and orange blur that he

could just make out against the glare of the December sun. Too late. They weren’t going to make it.

The agents literally threw him onto the chopper and the President huddled with his pale, scared wife and twin boys as Marine One quickly rose into the air, huge blades assaulted by rocks, shoes, briefcases, and cell phones that doomed citizens were throwing. The guards opened ire suddenly as the mob overwhelmed the iron gates and rushed across the White House lawn toward the chopper. Blood splattered, bodies fell, and then they were lying through the beautiful, sunny sky, watching out the windows as the warhead barreled toward the American capitol, leaving a trail of fiery smoke. Look, Daddy! Fireworks! The explosion was huge, blinding, and the President kissed his wife’s tear stained lips one last time as the shock wave caught up to them and brought the chopper down. There were no survivors to search for.

The two lost security tapes had been stolen by a reporter with the reputation of a shark, and they were what most of us turned to when the President’s voice disappeared so abruptly, horrifying the world that saw a much loved figure committing an act of unspeakable sabotage.

Robert Milton slid the disk into the White House computer with a look of hatred that few from his double term in office would have recognized, and while he wrote on the wall in red marker, a loud alarm in the background began to bray, red lights fashing.

The second tape was much shorter, giving only 4 seconds. The same gray, broken man now had the shiny, black barrel of a 9 mm in his mouth, blood already smeared across his face and hands. There was a fash, a violent spray of deep red, and then the former President slumped to the floor, leaving only his message on the wall. I did it for my country…

These two clips circulated for only a few minutes after the President’s address, television stations airing it suddenly going to static, never to return, but it was enough. America knew the truth. We were betrayed.

Stunned, Pat Micheals sat in the back of the large, crowded room that was embedded under a dank maze of tunnels half a mile beneath the Military base now being over run with terrified citizens demanding the protection they knew the Essix’s Compound could,(but wouldn’t) provide. The limestone command center was thick with smoke and people, some of them in on the original testing of these weapons, and Pat hoped his own punishment wouldn’t be as drastic as theirs. After all, they’d known first hand what a horrible thing had been created. It was so powerful, so unstoppable, that America was about to be destroyed above them and a new, hostile environment would take its place.

Once the greatest Presidential Defender since Nixon’s well used man, the former Press Secretary was now useless, forgotten in the chaos, not even sure he should be here. His family had been in New Jersey when the capitol was destroyed and though someone had been with him when he got the news, had brought him along when they’d evacuated, he wasn’t sure who it had been, was just too stunned. Amanda, the kids. How would he go on? How would anyone?

Panic was rampant. Voices yelled, people scrambled to get information, papers floated through the smoggy air, and satellite phones rang continuously, annoyingly. Thanks to an EMP and a lucky shot from a disgruntled citizen with a grenade launcher, the Speaker of the House was now the legal owner of the highest seat in the land, but she wasn’t here, neither was the new Secretary of State, and no one knew where they’d been evacuated to. Their job was no longer in demand now that it was all about to end and the result was chaos, with no one in control. Maybe that would change later. If they survived the Missile headed for Montana. Deep and sturdy, this complex had been built secretly during the 1990’s and was not only untested, it was less than 100 miles from what was about to be a direct hit. Pat shuddered. They would probably feel it.

The Press Secretary broke out into a light sweat as one of the remaining clocks on the cold, sterile walls around him neared and then passed the 5 minute mark. Washington, New York, and most of the East Coast had already been destroyed, and out of the 7 warheads that the long denied StarWars program hadn’t been able to shoot down, 3 were definitely going to find more U.S. targets and maybe 2 others that they had lost radar on as well. Their own warheads had devastated countries around the globe and now, America was going to finish paying the price.

The huge, multi-picture screen in the front of the crowded room changed when the next clock hit 4 minutes, fashing to a satellite view of the incoming missile now barreling ass for the Sunshine State, and

Pat found he couldn’t look away. Why in God’s name had the President done this? Million were going to die in only:

03:45

03:44

03:43

The computer went to red alert, alarms all over the huge compound warning of the impending arrival, and the Press Secretary’s stomach churned as the ceiling lights began to ficker a hazy red. America was in the same panicky state as this room, convoys of soldiers taking all males, ages 10-60, told to get a full truck of warm bodies any way they had to and be back within eight hours. Gunfire was filling town after town and they had reports of riots in nearly every major city across the country despite a very strict enforcement of Martial Law. The end was close and everyone felt it. 02:50 02:49 02:48

Sweating heavily now, Pat sucked in a ragged breath, able to hear his own voice telling the man who had sentenced the entire world to death, that he had done the right thing, that it would have only gotten worse. Less than five minutes after it began, Pat had comforted the worlds worst mass murderer, not knowing then that his wife’s widely covered resignation speech had nothing to do with the horror lurking in those cold blue eyes. Men had been shot in the hallowed halls of the White House for leaving their posts to watch the resignation, the empty Football and bloody body of the Navy Commander guarding it found in a lower level bathroom, and then, there was Robbie’s note on the wall. ‘I did it for my country because my country could not do it for herself." His confession. America’s death sentence.

02:00

01:59

01:58

Would humankind survive? Had they really blown themselves up? How much of this new hell was he personally responsible for? Millions of lives were already gone, so many cultures, their history. Because of the American’s, who’d pointed fingers for decades at everyone else, many, many more would perish in only…

01:20

01:19

01:18

Cringing at a fresh, braying siren from the front of the loud, crowded, tactical room, he wondered who had pulled the smoking gun from the broken, ex-Presidents mouth. Pat raised his shaking hands. Had he? Was that the red stain that wouldn’t come off?

00:40

00:39

00:38

When was my last blow job? He wondered suddenly, too scared to remember what it had felt like or what the intern’s name had been. Greg? Gary?

00:25

00:24

00:23

When was my last confession? Pat struggled to remember, heart thumping wildly as his stomach lurched. Did I mean it? Is it too late?

00:15

00:14

00:13

The man closed his eyes and began the familiar, comforting, useless litany, still unable to bring himself to get on his knees even though the true hour of judgement had come. Please forgive me, Father, for I have sinned…

00:02

00:01

00:00

I did it for my country.

At 11:11 a.m., on 12/21/12, the emergency sirens began to wail and our lives changed forever. New York, Washington, Michigan, Florida, Montana, California, Texas. Gone, destroyed, along with power grids, fresh water supplies, military assistance, and over one hundred million American lives.

The unstoppable weapons were unlike anything my generation had ever experienced and we watched in horror as they hit, the television coverage on every channel. The explosions were almost indescribable, creating instant, gaping, fifty mile wide craters around the point of impact, blasting all those buildings, cars, and people into the sky to form gigantic, billowing, toxic black mushroom clouds that

immediately began to spread with the gusting wind, dropping highly radioactive debris for hundreds of miles.

Instantly following the explosions, huge rushes of thermal heat and light shot out in every direction, peeling skin away from bones and blinding every living creature facing in that direction, even those with their eyes shut tight. The temperatures were in the hundreds of degrees and those in the path had no chance of escaping as our world began to crash down.

In Florida, the 5 megaton ICBM caused the swampy shelf to begin cracking like window glass, and the blinding fash was felt as far away as the Virginia’s, where feeing citizens were stuck in crammed lanes of traffic on Interstate 81 with no way to avoid the danger or the huge convoy of Draft trucks that were battering their way through the wrecks and vehicles in the grassy median, following orders with no exceptions.

All males will surrender to the Draft! If you resist or run, you will be shot! The faint bullhorn woke those who’d been dozing in the uncomfortable seats of the drafty Greyhound bus and a ripple of unease went through the armed man sitting against the frosty window. People were standing to look, muttering among themselves, but the well trained assassin remained still, listening, waiting to see how he should react. Hey!

He hit an old guy with his gun! They can’t do that! They just shot a woman! Murder! Call 911! Everybody out! Make room!

The Sniper used his career voice to be heard over the din and the others stuffed into the cold bus shifted toward the doors at the clear order, but they were panicked, shoving and yelling, and the man hefted himself up onto a vinyl seat and dove for the open window, wishing he had worn his vest as more gunshots and screams exploded from the stuck traffic behind them.

People were pouring from their cars now, running for the nearby homes and businesses of Wytheville, and the Hummers of heavily armed soldiers followed, firing without mercy at the citizens who refused to turn themselves over. Backdropped by thick, black smoke and an angry, red sky, the soldiers remorselessly hit feeing males and anyone else who happened to get too close to their intended targets, only a few of the military men bothering with the bullhorns or their aim.

The tall, darkly dressed man rolled through the slush as he hit the snowy ground, moving under the bus, and he stayed there as the chaos got closer, arms and ankles locked tight around the greyhound’s icy frame as fecks of rust fell into his dark hair. The War had cancelled his leave but he had to get home and he was going, a decision these Draft soldiers would shoot him for. Gun in hand, the AWOL Marine stayed still as the trucks rolled by and the citizens he was sworn to protect were gunned down.

A second later, the air shifted, thickened, and Marc instinctively shut his eyes and buried his head against his arm as the sky lit up and the sun fell on them.

Immediately following the heat and light blast, came a wave of radiation that few people noticed. Later, these exposed survivors threw up, suffered horrible rashes, and lost their hair in clumps while enduring an unquenchable thirst. Just when they thought they’d beaten it, their skin peeled off and most of them died. Yet another effect of the high dose of radiation they received and paid no attention to at the time. Not that they could have done anything to protect themselves from it. When something is 97% fatal, you either make it or you don’t, but that was a worry for later as the devastation continued to reach places hundreds of miles away and not just on land.

While we watched, stunned, the Eastern and Western Seaboards were wiped off the map, bombs ripping into the coastal lands like the hand of God, and in Florida, the fractured shelf of the sunshine state broke off completely from the tremors, sinking below the angry waves and taking nearly 24 million screaming souls to a watery grave. Ocean levels rose 10 feet globally, nearly instantly, drowning and submerging hundreds of towns, and huge tidal waves rushed over open water with little to slow them down but people.

Let me go! The dark headed females struggled against each other, showing long, bare legs beneath blue and yellow bikini wraps, but they went mostly unnoticed in the mayhem that had taken control of the huge cruise ship.

Keep going! We have to get below! Kendle ducked the arms of a group of Crewmen who were running full-out down the crowded deck, grabbing wildly at unsuspecting women, and she shoved the younger girl out of their reach. Everything was OC now.

Stop! Kendle shoved the girl again as she came forward, one mesmerized eye on the huge Tidal Wave eating up the ocean as it raced towards them, and one terrified eye on the much younger sister in front of her who was bleeding heavily from her nose and ears. We gotta help dad! Dawn screamed, skin on ire, and Kendle shook her head, noises buzzing together unpleasantly as they moved along the debris-covered deck, being jostled by other panicked holiday passengers, many of them also bleeding, having to stop and vomit. Tears blurred her vision and she wiped a hand across her face, wasn’t surprised to see a red smear. Move!

Fall back! Dawn took a swing at her famous, survivalist sister for the first time in her life, missing, and Kendle’s thin control over her own emotions snapped, her terror,(The first she’d felt in many years) flying out uncensored as the roar of the ocean grew louder and the screams became more frantic.

He’s dead, Dawn! His goddamn eyes exploded! The girl screamed in horrified denial and Kendle shoved her again, nodding in satisfaction when the rebellious teenager tripped and rolled down the dark stairwell, grunting in pain. Ready to mix it up to keep her alive, Kendle quickly followed, wishing for her film crew. She hated to be without backup, and she yanked the dazed girl up by her arm. Hang on to this rail. Supposed to be unsinkable but if it flips, we’ll just have to hope…

Flips? Kendle locked her arms around the suddenly gutless teenager and the banister, and the already damaged wooden planks under their bare feet began to groan and protest as the ocean under them swelled, roared. Hang ooonnn!!

The 7 story high wall of water slammed into the side of the Carnival Cruise Liner like it wasn’t even there, not just lipping it, but rolling it repeatedly like dead wood as it few passed, the 80 foot wave heading across the open ocean toward the coast of Africa.

Less than half a minute had passed when a third wave of destruction rushed out, one of pressure and wind at levels not even buildings, let alone people, could withstand. Even those who had time to get below ground were not as safe as they thought, especially in California where the ‘Big One’ came and went almost unnoticed, people already busy dying.

Is it true? Are you his son?

Adrian opened his mouth to confirm the huge secret he’d just been confronted with by his fellow Greenpeace members and snapped it shut as the neighborhood sirens began to wail again, overwhelming, just for a few brief seconds, the horrible noises of the struggle for survival going on outside the small, San Bernardino ranch home and across the riot ravaged country. His heart was stunned, bleeding for people he didn’t know, and the huge, powerful secret he’d lived with all his life suddenly seemed tiny in comparison. But it wasn’t. It was the sum of all secrets, likely the reason their world was ending.

The radio on the basement steps wailed suddenly, mirroring previous sounds of impending arrival and the tall, well built blond man wearing the heavy camoufage coat instinctively stepped under the thick planks next to the Christmas tree as the dozen men surrounded him, shock and outrage on their faces. He had a brief moment to think he was glad that most of those here for the secret meeting had already fed at the reports of a bomb destroying the West Coast but even this dozen was too many to fight unarmed if things got ugly. Good thing he wasn’t. How had they found out? Answer the question! The men were moving closer, eager to teach the middle aged traitor a lesson, and the plastic tree and presents went fying when he tried to use them for a shield. He would really have to work his bolt to get out of this one. We’ll beat it out of ya! Their eyes and tones were full of hate, demanding honesty, and again, the longtime soldier started to answer and was cut off, this time by a huge, vicious rumbling under their feet. It came hard and fast, sawdust from the stairs falling over them as it pounded closer through the rock and stone, and Adrian, who had been in enough hot landing zones to recognize the danger, threw himself to the tiled foor, putting a hand on the 9 mm in his pocket as some off the men followed his lead and others lunged his way, thinking he was trying to escape.

Incoming! Get down! The walls above them exploded an instant later, blown away like brittle leaves in the fall, and then the small, neat house above them was falling, crumbling, burying them under tons of wreckage and debris as men grunted in pain, death.

The EMP blasted out last. The Electro Magnetic Pulse covered the same areas the radiation and pressure blasts did, and then continued on, the wave moving through the air and over the land, traveling like electricity. Carried by train tracks, electric lines, and low band communication equipment, the power surge short circuited everything it touched, sparking ires and explosions, making pacemakers stop, causing engines to stall, and planes to fall from the smoke-filled skies.

Please, can’t you just tell us where we’re going? Samantha’s pretty blue eyes and calm demeanor allowed the grim faced young soldier to answer her when he hadn’t any of the others crammed into the chopper around them, but the rife in his hands never lowered, never wavered as the loud chopper blades churned, struggling a bit to cut through the smoky haze.

We’ve been diverted to NORAD. The Essix’s compound is now under evacuation. She gave him a sickly smile of thanks, vaguely thinking her tan skirt and fats were not the right gear for surviving a Nuclear War.

The chopper suddenly lurched sideways and Sam stifled her scream but not a low groan as they were hit by an invisible wave of force, and her noise of near panic was echoed by the other Seattle civilians aboard the loud aircraft. Taken together, they’d been ‘removed’ from the Washington State Environmental Protection Agency just as they came back from an early lunch by big Marines with clipboards, government passes, and guns, and after seeing a co-worker get shot in the back when he tried to run, none of them had rocked the boat despite obviously being kidnapped by their own government. The need to fight back warred with her survival instinct and Sam brushed only a quick glance over the other well dressed, ‘lucky’ few onboard with her, seeing in their faces the same dismay and slowly dawning alarm and yet, she could have been alone, didn’t feel a connection with them. She was different.

Samantha fingered the pass around her neck, wishing she didn’t have it. If her alarm hadn’t worked, Lilly and her traitorous husband would have died four years ago in Nebraska, and none of this would be happening now. Did her saving their lives make some of it her fault?

She nervously slid her hood over her long blond hair as the wind gusted into the partially open door, smothering her with smoke and other ugly smells, and she stared in stunned amazement at the unnatural layers of black and orange in the sky from the ires burning unchecked on the ground. They were lying low to avoid StarWars, she assumed, and she stifled another noise of misery as the cities rolled passed, unable to believe that was her country down there tearing itself apart. Shooting, burning, assaults, murder. Bodies everywhere! In cars, the streets, even on playgrounds! And no one was coming to remove them! Sam swallowed the bile, forced her eyes to move up to the darkening skies. This wasn’t happening. Just a horrible nightma…

Her sharp eye caught movement below them and she watched in horror, forgetting to breathe as an unending line of destruction rushed over the land, eating everything in its path. Power lines lit up, sparking violently, gas lines ruptured, exploded, and homes and cars disappeared under the rapidly advancing brown and gray avalanche of death that was now drawing even with the military transport chopper. They were out of range, weren’t they? Get higher!

Even as she finished the shout, her terrified blue eyes saw the blades stop spinning, her ears registering the sudden, deafening silence, and then they were plummeting to the earth in a sickening blur of screams. The Government Bird slammed into the rocky, northern Wyoming ground at a hard angle and few back up, fipping and twisting into new shapes as it slammed through a thick tree and began to roll, scattering awful debris as huge fames and thick smoke blanketed the crash site.

Her hurting body checked in as bruised and ready to hide but not really injured and Samantha groaned, not opening her eyes. However, the lack of noise, (Not even a whimper or scream) told her the rest of her traveling companions hadn’t been so lucky, and she moaned again, dazed. Forgetting for a second about all that had happened, she hoped someone had already called 911. See! Told ya it’s a woman! The male voice released her tears of relief. Help was here.

I’ll hold her down ‘n you can go first this time, but let’s pull her away from all that metal and ire. As hands closed like iron bands around her slender ankles, Sam began to scream again.

And, still the hits kept coming.

In Michigan, the destruction zone was 175 square miles, well above larger cities like Toledo and Detroit, but the blast sent a huge rush of Great Salt Lakes straight through them, into Indiana and Illinois, where the levies began to crack under the pressure even before the biggest part of the water hit.

The Chicago barrier gave way instantly and millions of gallons of toxic, debris-filled water barreled downstream, overwhelming towns and cities for 40 miles before joining the Wabash River and swelling even more. It poured down every stream, sewer, creek, and river it touched, sweeping away thousands in each state as it tore through. This merciless torrent split briefly between the Wabash and the mighty Mississippi, widening the damage path even more, and then merged again in Louisiana, where it finally punched a hole through the city of Baton Rouge and emptied into the already flooded Gulf.

The pounding pressure of the bombs and then the raging water overhead triggered the ancient, New Madrid fault line under St. Louis, causing a 7.7 earthquake that leveled untouched areas, and was felt as far away as Kansas City and Louisville. Places like Humbold and Jonesboro simply collapsed like dominoes, already weakened by the surges of debris-filled waves.

These were the first and most direct effects of the War on American soil but as horrible as they were, it was only the beginning of a hard new world where all authority and safety disappeared. Overnight. The rioting that gripped the country did as much to isolate people as the huge warheads ripping into the land, and almost immediately, no one was in control and everyone was in fear. In less than one day, calm, arrogant safety vanished and took with it, the rest of societies perceived protections that had been taken for granted. Like calling 911.

He didn’t say Ft. Defiance. He didn’t. The very pale woman let go of the stained hospital scrubs she’d just changed out of and gripped the back of the kitchen chair, oblivious to the gunshots and screams outside, and to the pains tearing through her slightly rounded stomach as she watched the CNN report on the plasma T.V., listening to them tell of an impact over 1200 miles from her Cincinnati home. .. latest word is 5 million dead, another 2 million injured or falling ill, and the cloud is moving west, northwest towards the Alabama State line at 37 mph. Camp David is gone, Houston, all the coastal oil refineries…

Charlie? The woman slid to her knees on the plush blue carpet of the two bedroom apartment, the agony in her chest outweighing the bands of pressure clamping around her stomach, pushing down.

Footsteps thudded in the halls outside her door, followed by more shouts. Both went unnoticed.

It can’t be. The cell phone slid out of her hand, liquid suddenly oozing down her thighs and swollen legs as Christmas light fashed mockingly in place of emergency blinkers. I would know! She cried suddenly, doubling over. I would know! The door in her mind rattled and she grunted in pain, long black braid falling over her face as she drew on a gift,(curse) she’d locked away over a decade ago, but she was weak and the doors in her mind remained closed. Her forehead thumped on the carpet as pain, raw and sharp tore through her body and darkness fooded her mind.

Now unheard, an emotionless voice echoed calmly. Please hold and the next available operator will assist you. 911 one estimated wait time:… Two hours, 14 minutes…The system is under heavy usage right now. If this is not an emergency, please hang up and try your call again later. Outages of service can be expected in some areas. Please continue to hold and the.

By midnight, all communication lines were down. No internet, no phones, no cables, and almost none of the country was able to hold against the rioting, electrical and gas ires, murders, and assaults. We were hit with violent, supercell storms that began racing across the globe, dropping F-4 tornado like coins, lightening that set thousands of small brushfires, and hurricane force winds that collapsed, blew away, and impaled. Then the thin, early winter sun began to be choked out by not only dispersing radioactive clouds but also by the thick, black pillars of smoke rising from thousands of blazes that burned in every state across the country, FEMA and the Government gone below ground, leaving us defenseless.

Because of that, it was open season on those in any uniform as the American public took its anger out them instead of those who had run without paying for the crimes they’d committed. Once again a target for the government they represent, the military was an especially hard hit area, and most soldiers who survived later denied they were ever a part of any armed force.

Damn!

Lt. Harrison ducked the gunfire, very glad he had his vest on under his thick gloves and coat, and he hit the gas, pushing the muddy Hummer as fast as it would go. The Base was under siege, furious and terrified citizens trying to get over and through the ten foot,

electrified fences that surrounded the 17 mile compound. It sounded like a huge bug zapper was being invaded as poles, cars, furniture, and even people were used to try to break the live wires but so far, the strong magnetic force had held. Not that it kept out the bullets, and the soldier pulled his kevlar onto his head as the popping grew steadier, almost rhythmic. Someone out there was firing an assault rife.

Kenn’s grip on the wheel was harsh, knuckles white, and the Marine hated the feeling of near panic that lurked just under the surface. If the boy was gone, he held no power over her. She would be free.

Choppers were swarming over the grounds of Ft. Defiance, trying to evacuate the soldiers and ‘Draftee’s’, but the violent winds gusting from the direction of Houston made landing hard. In the past, the weather was the worst challenge the pilots had to face here. Now however, it really was the least of their worries as arriving Birds were being blown out the smoky skies before they could drop to safety. Crashing and exploding, twisted metal debris few into the screaming mob of hundreds. Some aircraft were only damaged and would crash later in remote locations, but many fell on the scene from ambush, telephone poles and grenade launchers hard for the overloaded choppers to avoid. In short, it was mayhem.

Finally! Kenn muttered, the Cadets Barracks coming into view through the thickets of trees. He has to be here! I can’t keep her without him! " Soldiers shouted, the hungry rioters screamed, guns fired, and gust after violent gust of stomach churning wind pushed against the hummer, slowing it down. The sky above the base rolled with thick red clouds that fashed angrily as black fakes fell, coating everything with a heavy layer of soot that looked like ash from a volcano, and Kenn looked up suddenly, the shadow of the chopper passing overhead not what drew his attention but the sudden silence of the helicopter’s engines, and he stared in shock as the big Bird began to free fall, spiraling toward him.

Not realizing the hummer’s engine had died too, Kenn mashed the pedal and ducked as the chopper spun by, meeting the eyes of the horrified pilot for a brief second, and then it hit the Officer’s Dorm and exploded through it, debris and twisted metal flying through the air. Huge orange fames and thick black smoke billowed up and Kenn’s heart froze as the cheers and screams of those outside the fences grew louder, hungrier. If the boy had been in there, he was dead now. No one could have survived that.

The wind currents carried the radiation into unspoiled areas like Maine, Nebraska, Oklahoma, and Ohio, causing millions more to sicken and begin dying as the rain, rivers, and oceans spread the contamination globally, effecting every living thing on the planet. With our average, boring, petty lives suddenly blown away, the stunned survivors had no idea what to do. We were split between broken States that had only small areas capable of sustaining life and most people began trying to get out, searching for safety, unaware that safety no longer existed. At dawn, we were happy, healthy, and confidant, arrogant in our future, and by 4P.M., we were crushed, shocked, our faith not only shaken, but mortally wounded.

Less than a week after the War, all authority was gone, vanished. The death toll stood at 250 million in the United States alone, and still hasn’t stopped counting victims all these years later. Twenty of the 100 Million who survived were seriously injured or blinded, and another 7 million had the radiation sickness. Most of those didn’t live to see the new year come. The numbers were staggering, inconceivable, and yet, real. It happened. Our worst fears, proven true. The horribly high cost of freedom came due in full and was settled in the blood of our people, as debts like these, in the end, always are. Over two thirds of America’s population. Gone, like erasing a blackboard.

We should have been prepared, ready, and instead, the government we expected to protect us, hurt us as much as the actual bombs. The Draft took tens of thousands of desperately needed doctors, scientists, nurses and engineers, and the soldiers stripped farm and factories alike of their crops, seed, inventory, and livestock, leaving their owners bodies rotting where they fell.

Some people fed before the President’s broadcast began airing, tipped off by internet sources before the government locked it down, and a few of those very quick thinking souls survived, but feeing wasn’t an option for most American’s. There were loved ones and supplies to be gathered first, and by then the roads were crammed with traffic and accidents and were impassable, forcing people to either wait in their cars for the convoys of Draft trucks and bombs, or set out on foot to find someplace to hide. Those were the ones who fed too late and got caught out in the open with all those who’d already been on the road for the holiday. The rest of us just hunkered down where we were and hoped our town or city wasn’t a direct target or close to one. Only 2 out of every 9 American’s survived.

In just a single day, we lost it all. Panic and riots ravaged nearly every town and city across the country, even in isolated areas, police stations and jails a popular target for the Mob, the gangs, and the races of people they’d spent the last century try to keep control of. Some officers kept their uniforms on in proud defiance but they were the few, the hunted. 911 calls went unanswered, let alone responded to, and America’s freedom paved streets ran red with the blood of her citizens as detention centers and maximum security prisons were overwhelmed by sheer numbers, stormed, their dark inmates released. Children across the country were taken by non custodial parents and pedophiles who had longed for such a world of chaos and lawlessness, never to be seen again, and the Draft took the needed protectors out of our homes, ripping apart nearly five hundred thousand American families.

The dead and dying were uncountable, bodies everywhere we looked, and the hospitals never stood a chance at keeping up. Abandoned schools became the morgues, crematories blowing out the ashes of the dead 24 hours a day until the power, our lifeline, grid by grid, shut down, vanished, leaving us in the dark. Except for the ires.

Awful blazes burned unchecked for a long time, months in some places, and it thickened the layer of toxic haze in the sky, blocking out the sun. The thick, brown clouds circled the globe and the seven astronauts stranded on the International Space Station watched it in sickly horror as they ran out of food and air, knowing they could never return home.

Our leaders abandoned us and almost instantly, civilization vanished. Those not in the bomb zones held out as long as they could, hoping their elected government would re-surface and rescue them, but in the end, extinction nearly took America. Because we’d forgotten how to live without power, authority, society.

This is how our world ended. Do you see what they did to keep the secret? Not from the plague or global warming, but from betrayal. They had someone do it that wasn’t even on our radar as a ‘terrorist’. Robbie Milton had been a two term, Democratic President with a high approval rating and a lot of support. When he entered the White House where he’d served for eight years, no one watched him. Most would say we couldn’t have known, that he’d played too good a role, but there were signs. We just didn’t pay attention to them. At the very least, some should have wondered if something might be wrong with him after his affairs and then his oddness during his wife’s campaign, but this? No. We never saw it coming. Never in our worst dreams would Robbie Milton, most popular President of the Unites States in a century, turn traitor and try to kill the entire world. It was a betrayal so deep, so complete, that even the mention of his name, after all these years, still draws curses, hatred. We were betrayed. We overlooked what was wrong and let those in charge destroy us. We denied the truth about God, helped hide it, killed over it, and after the War erased our petty lives, there was no hope left. The beloved, former President and his fellow Freemasons stripped us of everything, destroyed the lives we had, taught us harsh, painful lessons, and gave us a huge fear of those in leadership. Any leadership. Even that of a small refugee camp of survivors just trying to stay alive. Keeping a tight leash on those in charge became automatic and it makes it easy for the survivors here in New America to turn on our Shepherd now that we have the lights back on to keep the darkness at bay and the Slave Traders no longer stalk us. They’ve forgotten how he was the only hope we had and how hard that burden was to carry alone. They’ve forgotten that we were broken, scattered, terrified, blown back in time to the dark ages. We needed something we could believe in again, something to take hope from. We needed a leader to help us come together and start over but it would take someone stronger than the rest of us combined. Someone special. Adrian.

By Fate or luck, some of those persecuted descendants that we scoffed about made it through the War and they came together just when they were needed most. These lost children of America had no idea of their value but Adrian did. He knew them for what they were. He taught them, guided them, and we survived. Because we’d found a Guardian with the strength to give us back the most important part of all we’d lost. Hope.

Adrian had a lot of help near the end of our journey but in the beginning, it was just him, pulling survivors in and keeping them together, one of his many gifts. He looked out for us, showed us where we belonged, why we’d been spared, what our purpose was. We were supposed to rebuild our country and he knew that together, we were strong enough to do it. Adrian believes in America more than anyone I’ve ever known and nothing is more important to him than our

survival. Nothing. Even when the camp asked why he lied, his answer, (I did it for my country.) was a haunting reminder of the War that tipped the vote against him but it was right too, because of everything he did for us, because he’s not responsible. There were so many lives he touched, healed. I plan to spend mine telling you about the ones I know of, dream of still, and you’ll have to judge for yourself of our, (Adrian’s) guilt or innocence. Don’t be surprised to find both in each of us. He wasn’t.

Right after the War is where I’ll start, but not with Adrian, though it’s his story. You need to see who we were before he changed us, before he made us whole again despite all we had lost. He found talents we didn’t even know existed and when shit hit the fan,(again, and again) we came through, some of us more than others.

Like Kenn. That Marine might have ended his life in prison but Adrian saw his strength and unwavering commitment, and drew him in closer than the rest of us. Adrian made him right-hand man from almost day one and even now, here in New America, Kenn is still second in command. He has no ambitions to go any higher, (at least not anymore) and I’m sure when he retires,(is forced out) he will join something like the defense committee, and be their second in command until he dies. Kenn is the perfect backup now but it wasn’t always so. It was something he grew into with Adrian.

Kenn was a necessary if sometimes heartless authority figure that we often loved and loathed at the same time. The Marine did things for the camp, for Adrian, that the rest of his council could never have done, like when he shot one little girl to save our entire camp of refugee’s. The rest of the council would have turned ourselves over first but Kenn never even questioned the order. He and Adrian were peas & carrots, bread & butter, hop & scotch, and though people say things are just as good now, I know a lie when I hear one. Adrian, I am not.

We all had a role to play but our blond shepherd was the lead. The rest of us were just secondary characters and to our credit, we knew it. He offered each of us more than we’d ever had, most of us being outcasts and misfits, miserable despite being successful at our careers, and once we were a part of his circle, we never looked back. Adrian drew us like moths to a fame, sure we could help him save our country, and though the flaws will glare out, look deeper. There’s more to us than that. Some of history’s most brilliant thinkers and saviors were outcasts, criminals, and egomaniacs. Why should that have changed?

It didn’t come easily though, adjusting to a new life while mourning our old ones and as a nation, we were horribly unprepared. No training, no shelters, or stockpiles of supplies. No real chance at survival. Heaven and Hell should both be full. It was a hard, new world, awful and with little hope for anyone, but from my view, the worst was what it did to the women. Females everywhere were thrust back centuries in time, remade into slaves and whores, and each one of these refugee’s I helped,(set free) allowed me to heal and carry on, knowing that for all the wrong I’d done,(and was going to do) something good had come of it. Because of Adrian.

The War took everything from us in the blink of an eye. One event all those years ago causing a reaction in the future that no average man could have foretold and yet, someone had. Nostradamous and the Mayan Indians both left us warnings that it was coming, even gave us the date. This is what we get for not listening, for not taking them seriously.

We don’t know everything and those of us who survived understand that now. Life is a learning process from birth to death, and the War was no different. Some of us learned first hand about dying and some of us were taught to continue on despite unspeakable tragedy. Because of our teacher, because in the bloody aftermath, we found, (or were found by) the one man left on American soil with enough strength, with enough hope, to give us the chance to rebuild our broken lives. Thank you, Adrian. We owe this second chance to you and I have forgotten nothing.

A.

A. Survival Instincts

New Years to the Super Bowl

2

The Stormchaser

January 1st, 2013

Samantha

11 Days After War(DsAW)

Wyoming Basin

There’s a storm coming. Samantha’s tone was low, she hadn’t forgotten who she was talking to, and she tensed for the feared, angry response, holding her torn, dirty white shirt together to shield her from the cold as her captor’s hard voice lashed out in the dark, Wyoming wind.

Tell me something I don’t know! It’s rained every day since you fucking geniuses blew us up!

Flinching, Sam ducked her head, eyes and cheeks burning, dirty blond curls hiding a pale, bruised face full of hate. Hating the creepy darkness of the highway overpass around them, she poked at the reluctant ire with her once expensive shoe, but the clinking echo of the heavy chain around her ankle made her quit before Melvin could tell her to. Now was a bad time to draw attention.

Her stomach was a constant ball of dread and she loathed the two drunken men sprawled carelessly in lawn chairs just behind her, warm in their paint stained overalls and long johns, while she shivered miserably in the same worn, reeking office clothes she’d been taken in. She wanted to be alone inside their rusty Chevy van, out of the wind and searching for something she could use as a weapon, but the two males wouldn’t let her, liked to wait until she was nearing frostbite before ordering her inside, climbing in behind her to take what they wanted.

The wind blew harder, bringing sounds of dogs yapping incessantly in hunger, thunder, distant screams, and loud bangs

Reviews for Life After War

[wearylibrarian · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I love this series. The characters are strong and brave. I am able to relate to most of their personalities and, in my mind, they look just like friends or family members. Couldn't put it down. World War III has begun, and ended. Now the few survivors must do what it takes to survive, including running from those left in the government.

[mshooker · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

What would you do if you government started a nuclear war that destroyed all you knew? The characters in [Angela White's] first book in the [Life After War] series just try to survive.In [The Survivors] we are introduced to characters who will immediately draw you in. Some you cheer for, some you wish would get eaten by wild animals. This is a very character driven story and [White] creates some personalities that keep you wanting to know more.

[sunnydrk · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Another apocolyptic story that just needs a little work on the direction of the plot before I can say it's a good read. I did like it enough to want to read the additional books in the series.

[katlb82 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

When I purchased The Survivors, I obviously didn’t read the full summary. I love post-apocalyptic novels, but I didn’t realize that there was also a fantasy element in this book.Having said that, the book started well, straight into the action with the nuclear war of 2012 devastating America and the inevitable nuclear winter, and continues with the survival stories of the characters which are introduced gradually throughout the first part of the book.There are also some minor characters introduced through the book that are only heard of once, presumably to be reintroduced in the next book/s in the series, although for me that was slightly disappointing as I wanted to have their stories fleshed out a little more to make them more memorable.As the action slowed down in middle parts of the book, I did find my attention wavering, and started to enjoy the book less and less, however it picked up again towards the end when characters started to develop more.The fantasy theme I found to be unnecessary at times and added to the story at others, but I think without this element I would have enjoyed this book more.The Kindle formatting is distracting and I found myself slightly irritated by the breaks between paragraphs where there is no break in the story.One thing that I also found strange was the description of some characters not by name but as ‘the blond’, ‘the dirty blond’, ‘the Marine’ etc. I knew who was being described most of the time, but sometimes (as there is more than one blond character!) it really confused me.I do have the second and third books in this series, which I will read.