The Omega Protocol Chronicles (Book 1): Exodus by Courtney McPhail

He wanted out of here and this was enough to light a fire underneath him. Still the idea of tagging along with the Coles and anyone else Ian had rounded up didn’t sit well. He’d learned a long time ago to never rely on anyone but himself. He didn’t do social circles or group activities and he didn’t think that would change, even at the end of the world.
    Jackson forced a smile. “I ‘ppreciate the offer, Ian, but I’m best on my own.”
    Ian hesitated. “You sure?”
    Jackson nodded. “Ya be sure to keep a good eye on your wife and kids. Take care of ‘em.” He held out a hand and Ian shook it firmly.
    “You take care of yourself too,” he said before turning and heading in the direction of his trailer.
    Jackson looked back to the well and noticed that while the others were engaged in fighting each other, the pump was clear. He picked his way around the pandemonium and filled his water jug quickly before jogging back to his trailer.
    Winston had obviously spread the news far and wide as Jackson saw more people running around, shouting at each other to grab this or that as they packed up. There was going to be a mass exodus soon enough and he had to get moving if he didn’t want to have to fight his way out of the park.
    When he was inside his trailer, he went immediately for his rucksack and began to load it up. Some clothes, all the canned food in the kitchen, flashlight, blanket, soap and toothbrush. It wasn’t much but it was enough for now.
    He went into the living room, zeroing in on the end table next to the recliner Gran had loved. She had always been in it, watching her stories, knitting, playing solitaire. He pulled out the drawer in the end table, moving aside Gran’s old crossword books to find the little Smith & Wesson she kept stashed there.
    It had been a long time since he’d held a gun and the weight felt strange in his hand. It reminded him of the last time he’d held one and the downward spiral it had started.
    He shook his head, not wanting to think about it. He stuffed the gun under the waistband of his jeans, putting the damn thing out of his mind.
    The framed photo on the end table caught his attention and he picked it up, studying the slightly faded image. It had been taken when he was twelve, during the year he had come to live with Gran at the insistence of CPS. He was next to Gran, already taller than her, arm around her narrow shoulders and he was smiling.
    He remembered how happy he had been then. That year had been the best year of his life and it showed in the open and honest grin of the boy in the photo. But it didn’t last, nothing ever did.
    His mother had eventually shown up, sober and sad, talking about making it up to him. He hadn’t believed her but she had snowed social services and next thing he’d known, he was back on the road with her and he forgot how to be happy.
    He stuffed the photo into his rucksack and took one last look around the trailer. There was a twinge of regret for abandoning the place that was so much of his grandma but he pushed it back. He was a survivor and he knew that he could not stay here just because he had an attachment to the place.
    He didn’t look back after he locked the door and went around back to his motorcycle, his most prized possession. He had spent all his spare time restoring the thing, putting his blood and sweat into bringing it back from the sad state he had found it in. He strapped the water to the back and hopped on.
    He drove through the park, careful to avoid the people that were still scrambling to pack themselves up. As he neared the main entrance of the park, he found several vehicles all bunched together. He carefully steered the bike around the cluster, figuring on finding a couple hyped-up idiots yelling at each other over who would be the first to get to leave, while stalling everybody else in the process.
    He came to a stop when the screams started up ahead and the gunshots that followed had him jumping off