The ashes of the fallen world have settled on the broken remnants of humanity. The survivors work to carve out some semblance of a life in what remains.
James awakens to a group of new faces. Their friendly demeanor and collective skills convince him to bring them home to his friends. He soon finds that new people mean new complications.
Charlotte rises from the brink of death and faces a whole new set of challenges. She fights through one obstacle after the next, all while doing the best she can for those who have chosen to follow her--old and new.
These survivors struggle to find a safe haven in the natural world, away from the crumbling civilization where terrible and desperate people run rampant. They learn, however, that nature can be far deadlier than the terrors they have fled. As winter draws near, forces beyond their control pit them against a danger beyond any they have faced.
Old ways disintegrate as this group adapts to what life has become after the Fall and rise together from the ashes of what once was.
The ashes of the fallen world have settled on the broken remnants of humanity. The survivors work to carve out some semblance of a life in what remains.
James awakens to a group of new faces. Their friendly demeanor and collective skills convince him to bring them home to his friends. He soon finds that new people mean new complications.
Charlotte rises from the brink of death and faces a whole new set of challenges. She fights through one obstacle after the next, all while doing the best she can for those who have chosen to follow her--old and new.
These survivors struggle to find a safe haven in the natural world, away from the crumbling civilization where terrible and desperate people run rampant. They learn, however, that nature can be far deadlier than the terrors they have fled. As winter draws near, forces beyond their control pit them against a danger beyond any they have faced.
Old ways disintegrate as this group adapts to what life has become after the Fall and rise together from the ashes of what once was.
Melissa walked through the ashes of what had been central Birchfield, picking her way through the rubble. She was near the edge of the fireâs damage, where the rain had extinguished the flames before they could spread farther, and directly ahead of her lay a large hospital complex, which seemed mostly intact. The large central building had been only partially burned, so hopefully she could find some undamaged medication inside.
As she walked up the short drive toward the broken windows and glass doors that led into the lobby, she saw three men sitting around the waiting area and she paused, her feet crunching in the glass. The largest of the three turned toward the sound, stood from his chair, and smiled.
âWell, hello there, little lady,â he said as he stepped through the broken window. âHow can we help you?â
Melissa pulled her fatherâs knife from its sheath and continued forward. The short-bladed hunting knife was the only weapon she had brought, favoring speed over armament. While she did not regret that decision, she was glad she had, at least, brought some weapon. She had already been attacked twice since entering Birchfield before sunrise, and judging by the look on this manâs face, the third attack was coming.
He stepped in front of her as she tried to walk into the lobby and said, âI asked you a question, sweetheart.â
âMove,â she said.
âYouâd like to see the way I move, wouldnât you?â he asked and licked his lips as his eyes searched her over.
Melissa stood unmoved and unafraid. She had faced too much for this man to frighten her.
âYouâre a shy one, huh?â he asked and reached his hand out toward her face.
She brought her blade up and sliced open his wrist.
He jerked his hand back with a hiss and said, âYou little bitch!â
As he spoke, Melissa took a step back out of his range and watched him carefully. He was holding his wrist with his other hand, but the blood had begun to seep through his fingers and drip onto the paving stones. He looked up at her, hatred in his eyes, and she braced a foot behind her.
He lunged for her, both arms outstretched. Melissa darted into his range and buried her fatherâs knife into his throat. His arms wrapped tightly around her for just a moment before he realized what had happened and his eyes went wide. As he released his grip on her and stumbled back, Melissa pulled her knife free.
He fell to his knees and began gasping for air. She took a few steps back to clean her blade on a strip of cloth she had tucked into her belt after her first encounter that morning. As her attacker fell to his back, grasping his throat and sucking at the air in panic, she sheathed her knife and walked into the hospital.
The two smaller menâboys reallyâwho had stood and watched the entire thing unfold, backed against the reception desk as she entered.
âW-we donât want any trouble!â one of them said.
Melissa ignored them and walked farther into the building, searching for the pharmacy. She was far from familiar with hospitals, but she knew enough to know that their medication came from somewhere within the building.
It took her the better part of an hour, by her estimation, to find the room she sought. She had checked every room, down dozens of halls until she had finally come to a large pharmacy window that let out into the hallway. As she inspected the thick glass of the window, she noticed the two boys from the front lobby peering around the corner. They had followed her the entire time she had worked her way through the hospital, but she felt no real threat from them. They were clearly scavengers, not predators.
Around the corner from the large window, she found a doorâwhich had long since been pried openâleading into the pharmacy. When she stepped inside, she found several of the shelves empty, but by some miracle, over half were still mostly full. She looked across hundreds of small white bottles, boxes of varying colors, and liquid-filled bags. Unfortunately, there was no shelf labeled antibiotics so Melissa filled her empty backpack with everything that looked remotely useful, focusing on emptying the shelves of any bottles or liquid-filled bags with names ending in -cillin.
She took another moment to locate the needles and tubing she assumed would be necessary to use the bags, then stuffed them into her pack, zipped it up, and slung it over her shoulders. When she left the room, she noticed the two boys waiting nearby outside the door. She spared them no more than a sidelong glance as she passed by. As soon as she had moved away from the room, they bolted inside and closed the door.
Melissa tightened the straps on her backpack and set off down the hallway at a jog. She would leave the hospital through a side entrance she had found while searching, as she did not want to go back the way she came, in case the dying manâs grunts or wheezing had attracted any other unwanted company. She would have killed any others she needed to, but she just didnât have time to fool with that.
Charlotte needed her now.
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***
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Greg walked across the deck of the houseboat, carefully escorting Lindsey out ahead of him. She continually cast frightened glances at him over her shoulder, but what was he supposed to do? He was backed into a corner. He would do what he could for herâand for the rest of the womenâbut he couldnât put his wife and daughters in danger in order to do so. Lacy was down below, in the hold, where the other women were being kept. His wife kept a close eye, and an even closer grip, on Joanna and Samantha, but she did what she could for the other women as well. Greg would have been keeping a close eye on them as well, had he not been kept so busy by Bert and his men.
Bert was a cruel, evil man. Greg often fantasized about ways he could kill him while he was sleeping, but so far none of his fantasies had any chance of becoming reality. There was too much danger in the plans. If he failed, Lacy would⌠And he didnât even want to consider Jo and SamâŚ
He picked up his pace a little, pushing Lindsey along ahead of him. She was strong, she really was, but she was showing signs of a broken spirit after her few short days on this boat. She had beenâŚused by several of the Collectors so far, but the true horror still lay ahead.
As he pushed Lindsey along, he passed by Dannyâthe young boy who had traveled with Greg, Tommy, and Clark from Langford. Danny looked away from him with shame clear on his face. The boy had been inducted into Bertâs âCollectorsâ a little differently than Greg. He was only twelve, but Bert had forced him to take a woman from the hold belowdecks and use her while several of the other Collectors watched. It had still sickened Greg to the point that he had left Bertâs cabin and retched over the side of the boat. He was thankful only that Danny had not been forced to take Lindsey, Sara, or Rebecca.
Two days later, as Bert found another group on the riverbank, he had taken all his men to the shore and had forced Danny to shoot the unofficial leader of that group in the head while his wife and children watched. Bert had then gifted Danny with that manâs wife as his prize. He had also given Danny the rifle that he had used to do the deed. The boy now carried the carbine around his shoulder at all times. He seemed afraid of the weapon, but far more afraid to take it off.
Greg was pulled from his thoughts as he and Lindsey reached the main cabin.
She turned to Greg, grasped at his lapel, and whispered frantically, âGreg, we can get out of here. Donât make me go in there. Please. I know you know what will happen.â
âLindseyâŚâ he whispered, then hesitated, lost for words. âWe have to do what we can to stay alive; just focus on that. Do as Bert says and stay alive.â
Lindsey shook her head frantically. âPlease, just get Lacy and the girls and letâs swim for it.â
âThey will kill us,â he said angrily. âDid you not see what happened to the last ones who tried to run?â
âGood. Iâd rather die,â she said, and tears began forming in her eyes. âIâd rather you kill me right now than give that son of a bitch the satisfaction.â
Greg eyed her for a few moments, glad only for the fact that Lindseyâs intense ferocity seemed to have died down in the face of her fear. That was for the better. RebeccaâTommyâs wifeâhad shown anger and strong will on her first night on the boat, clawing a Collectorâs eye out as the man had been abusing her. She had died screaming, a sound that still reverberated through Gregâs mind late at night when he lay his head down.
âPlease, Greg,â Lindsey said, tears forming in her eyes.
Greg swallowed hard, but remained silent. Lacy, Jo, and Sam.
âAll right, get in here,â he heard Bert call from inside. Greg avoided looking at Lindsey and opened the door. Lacy, Jo, and Sam. Lacy, Jo, and Sam.
âYeaaaah, thatâs the redhead,â Bert said, taking a long swig of rum and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. âGood work, Greggy-boy.â
Greg averted his eyes from Bert, who was naked from the waist down, his white shirt unbuttoned and dangling loose, covered in stains from blood, sweat, and God knew what else.
As Greg was turning to leave, he caught a glimpse of Sara lying still in the corner, and froze, feeling his heart rip in two. Sara had been Gregâs neighbor for years. She was a good woman and had lost her husband in the explosions. She hadnât deserved this. She had only been twenty-four years old. She had barely begun living, and now she lay still on the floor of Bertâs cabin, yellowed bruises clear on her face around her open, lifeless eyes.
âAh yeah,â Bert said drunkenly, âShe tapped out. Do me a favor, Greg, and toss her over the side.â
Lacy, Jo, and Sam.
âYes, sir,â Greg said, trying to keep the tears from forming in his eyes. Bert would surely see them as a sign of weakness. Then what would become of Gregâs family? Bert seemed to abhor weakness in his men.
Greg was struggling to lift Saraâs body from the floor when Bert rose to his feet, saying, âOh, Miss Redhead. Youâre another one of those crying bitches, huh? I hate the ones that cry.â
 Greg wasnât watching, but he heard the meaty smack of Bertâs fist hitting Lindsey, followed by her crying out in pain.
âPlease,â Lindsey whispered, whether a plea to Bert, or to Greg, he did not know. He hefted Saraâs body into his arms and made his way out of the cabin with as much haste as he could muster.
When he reached the bow, he tossed Sara overboard and heard her splash into the river unceremoniouslyâjust as he had done with Rebecca a few nights before. It was then that the tears began falling from his eyes and, soon after, the vomit left his stomach. He retched for several minutes, until it felt like there was nothing left within him.
As he was dry heaving over the rail, a small rivercraft pulled up toward them. That was likely Larry and his men returning from scouting the riverbanks for survivors.
Lacy, Jo, and Sam.
Greg stood straight and wiped his mouth and eyes.
The boat pulled closer and Larry squinted up, trying to make Greg out through the late afternoon darkness. Kevin walked up next to him and Greg glanced over. He was unsure what to think of this wiry little vulture, with his stringy blond hair and jutting chin, but he was careful around him, as he was closer to Bert than anybody on the boat.
âYou gonna toss me a rope?â Larry called up angrily.
âYeah,â Greg yelled down, then found the rope used to lash Larryâs boat to Bertâs and tossed it to him.
âGreg, youâre a useless piece of shit, arenât you?â Andre called down the deck and Greg looked up to see the man laughing at him.
Greg remained silent and helped pull Larryâs boat in closer.
âThe new ones are always worthless, ainât that right, Kev?â Andre asked as he walked closer and pulled the rope from Gregâs hand.
Kevin sneered at Greg and said, âThatâs right. I donât like new people.â
Behind them, the door burst open and Bert came out of his cabin, still wearing only the white button-down shirt. âLarry, my boy, welcome back.â
âGodâs sakes, Bert, put some pants on. Nobody wants to see your dick,â Kevin said, and Bert laughed.
âGreggy-boy,â Bert said, and Greg looked over at him, âTake that cunt back to the hold. I have more important business right now. Iâll want her again later.â He turned to Larry. âReport.â
Greg nodded and entered Bertâs cabin as Larry was telling of yet another camp he had found. Lindsey looked up at him as he entered, her cheeks wet with tears and the right side of her face red where Bert had hit her. Her breasts spilled out of her shirt, which had been ripped down the middle.
Greg averted his eyes, walked over, and helped her gather her shirt over herself once again. âBe still,â he whispered, âItâs going to be okay.â
âNo, Greg,â she said through tears and gritted teeth, âitâs not.â
He sighed and gently lifted her to her feet. She stood and walked along with him in some semblance of acquiescence, sparing a glare for Bertâs back as they walked past.
When they had reached the holdâa narrow, damp, and dark place barely big enough for the twelve women already crammed in thereâhe set Lindsey down gently by his wife and children.
âListen,â he said, âI know this isnât easy, but you have to stay strong.â
Lindsey looked at him with a fierce heat in her gaze, but stayed silent as Lacy began fixing her T-shirt, stitching it together with other pieces of cloth she had pulled from a moldy suitcase in the hold.
âWhen you go see him next, just remember to do as he says,â Greg continued. âDonât fight back or it will be worse for you. I know that will be hard, but you can do this. You can make it.â
He placed a hand on her shoulder reassuringly and she looked away from him, her expression growing blank and her eyes glossing over in the dimly lit space.
Greg sighed, nodded to his wife, and returned to the deck.
As he reached his position by Bertâs door, he could see nothing but Saraâs dead body and Lindseyâs heated glare. He dispelled those images and began daydreaming again about every feasible way to kill Bert Cook.
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***
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Sandra was going to kill Melissa. Or maybe James? Both of them. She would take Jamesâs sword and gut them both for leaving her alone with this mess.
âGood morning, Dale!â Sandra called sweetly, asking after the man to be sure he was getting enough food.
She had made her rounds two or three times a day since the storms, trying to emulate the way she had seen Charlotte talk to the peopleâtrying to keep their spirits up. Luckily, everyone seemed to be so worried over Charlotte that nobody seemed to care that Sandra was absolutely terrible at this.
She wanted to scream. Charlotte lay unconscious in her hut and it was Sandraâs fault. She had spent almost every day around her. How did she not notice sooner that Charlotte was feeling ill. She could have gotten Melissa to chew up some flowers and rub them in her wound or whatever the hell Melissa did with cuts, then all would have been well. But no, she had been blind and hadnât realized the womanâs danger until it was too late. She knew she was being too hard on herself and that anybody would have missed the nearly microscopic cut on the womanâs ankle. In fact, literally everybody else did miss it, including Melissa. Sandra just didnât know where to place the blame, so she blamed herself. It was easier that way.
She growled and kicked a nearby rock down the villageâs high hill.
Luckily Tyler had gotten decent at hunting and trapping before Melissa had gone, or they would have been munching on river reeds and sorrel until she came back. If she came back. Sandra nearly growled.
Not for the first time, she considered that James and Melissa were probably dead. Freaking idiots ran off into the cities where everything was on fire and people like the ones who had attacked at the river were probably everywhere. Hopefully tomorrow Dale, Tyler, and anybody else useful would take off too. Oh, how adventurous it would be.
âGood morning, Cara!â she said in her sweetest voice.
Cara looked at her like she had three heads. Okay, maybe that had not exactly been her sweetest voice. The people would just have to deal with it, though. An unconscious womanânot to mention the pregnant one!âwas depending on them all to keep their heads up and keep going.
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***
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Laura woke to the sound of someone brushing past the door flap of Charlotteâs hut and lifted her head to see Darren stepping through with a pot of boiling water in his hand. He met her eyes, then stepped forward and set the pot down next to her. She sat up from where she had dozed off on the dirt floor beside Charlotteâs bed.
âDid you find any?â she asked.
He shook his head. âI donât even know what to look for.â
âIsnât it a purple flower?â
âThere are about seven different purple flowers in that valley,â Darren said, then flexed his fist in frustration. âDamn girl just ran off. She was the one who knew about this kind of thing.â
 âShe is doing what she thinks best for Charlotte,â Laura said calmly.
He sighed. âI know. What are we going to do?â
Laura dipped a clean section of cloth into the hot water and waited a moment for it to cool in the brisk morning air, watching Charlotteâs face contorting as she dreamed. When the rag had cooled sufficiently, she tenderly wiped the pus away from the cut, cleaning it as best she could. Darren had suggested burning it with a coal, searing away the infection, but nobody in the village truly knew whether that would kill an existing infection, or if it was only effective in prevention.
âIâll go look some more,â Darren said tiredly. âTyler thinks he would recognize one of the antiseptic plants she showed him.â
âYou should get some rest,â she said.
âYouâre not resting,â he said, his voice a little heated. âTyler is constantly getting food for us. Quentin, Cara, and Dale have been rebuilding and fortifying these huts for days. Why should I rest?â
When Laura did not reply, he turned and stomped outside. She sighed. She knew his anger was not aimed toward her. Like the rest of the village, he felt helpless to save Charlotte and that fact was eating him up inside. Laura could not have said exactly when Darren had grown so fond of Charlotte, but she was glad to see that it had happened. No more whisperings in the night about how she was too young to lead, or questioning her every decision. From the way he was reacting to her having fallen sick, Laura suspected that Darren was now Charlotteâs staunchest supporter.
That position had once belonged to James, but if he had even survived his trip into the city, she wasnât sure if the wounds he and Charlotte had inflicted on one another would ever heal. She could hope for the best in both cases, but hope was all she had.
This story takes a dark twist into the murky depths from its predecessor, Within the Flame, where leads James and Charlotte first met after a cataclysm shattered their reality. Turning Earth into a dark, dystopian nightmare where friends become enemies and enemies turn into enigmas, we are lead deeper into the shadows in this second installment of the After the Fall Saga.
The quote with which author Crestwood opens this second book had a Mandalorian feel to it and I could almost see The Armorer standing in the ruddy glow of heated embers. Our lead James has established a small family of survivors who struggle to cope with their new world, but they...and we the readers...are in for more than a few surprises as the story builds.
Civilization has crumbled into little more than a feeble shadow of its former self. Strangers become allies as the unit James has gathered around him fights against a foe that is nearly beyond reckoning; yet it's one they've all known every day of their lives.
When Nature becomes the enemy, how will humanity adapt to survive? Can James and his new family learn to understand each other well enough to comprehend the nearly incomprehensible, or will the forces beyond anyone's control overrule them all?