Page 2 of The Orc Outcast's Conquest

But she wasn’t. And she wouldn’t. She would not give up.

God, she was thirsty.

Miranda gave into the urge to dig through her pack again even though she knew there was nothing left. She’d drank all the bottled water and eaten her last bite of granola bar the day before.

Still, she swung the pack to her front, not breaking her stride. She had to outrun the radiation. Fallout from By-Pass nuclear bombs would be spreading behind her. She had to keep moving. Stay ahead of it.

Miranda looked down at her arm. Fingered the little pricks where she’d given herself the radiation boosters. She’d found them tucked away under the front seat of the first car she’d raided with crisp clear instructions on how to use them printed along the side of the canister. Not that she didn’t remember. Almost every American had these boosters tucked away in their homes and cars. She still remembered most of the “Fallout preparedness” videos they’d watched almost weekly in high school.

Humans had been preparing for this eventuality for her entire lifetime, but she never thought she would actually have to live through it. That she would be the lone survivor.

She wasn’t the only survivor. She couldn’t be. They would be at the ocean.

Miranda went back to searching her bag. The drawstring pack was flimsy. The kind that people gave out for free at fairs. It displayed the logo for a company in crisp white on the blue front, three lines with a stylized mountain in the background. Or maybe it was supposed to be a treadmill? She found it with the gym clothes she was wearing.

It didn’t matter. She’d found it, and it was hers. Just like the workout clothes and the shoes and the water bottle and the granola bars. She had to leave everything behind, and now she wore a stranger’s trim black gym shorts, sports bra, and tank top. Because it was clean, and it fit, and her own clothes were irradiated.

Her clothes had been at the epicenter of the bombs. She had been at the epicenter of the bombs.She’d heard them go off above her. Seen the charred remains of New Seattle. Nothing could have survived.

She shouldn’t have either. She should be irradiated too. Might still be. The boosters might not be enough.

Miranda’s fingers clenched around the empty water bottle. The cheap plastic crinkled under her fingers, giving way with little pops. Such an odd sound in the eerie silence.

Nothing made any sense. Everything else was destroyed. Everything.

Keep going.

Miranda shook her head, cleared her mind, listened for threats, the scampering of feet, the fluttering of birds taking flight. Her ears were ringing in the deadly silence. She wanted to say something aloud just to rid herself of the pain, but her throat throbbed, and her teeth were sticky.

And was it worth the risk that the dogs might find her again?

Those damn dogs. She’d only seen them once on that first day, but it had been more than enough.

They’d chased her for what felt like an eternity. Driving her to move even when all she wanted to do was collapse. Forcing her to forget everything she had lost. Making her put the city she’d been born and raised in behind her and look only forward. Toward the road signs.

The road signs that shouldn’t be working.

Her head blazed with agony as she raked through her thoughts.

How had she survived the blast? How had she escaped the rubble? How had she made it this far?

How was any of this possible?

Don’t think about it.

Miranda breathed deep as her heart raced, and her palms sweat, and her mind began to fracture under the weight of those horrific first moments after the bombs hit. When she was trapped underground. The crunching of metal. The horrible heat.

Stop. There’s no time.

She didn’t have time to fall apart here.

She had to get to the ocean.

There would be people at the ocean. Why would they bother lighting up the mile marker signs if they weren’t gathering at the ocean? And a bunch of people would surely be there, right? There would be boats and planes and emergency services.

Right?

Someone was lighting up these signs.

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