Edge of Survival
Box Set One (Books 1-3)
William Oday
Contents
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Readers Are Saying
Edge of Survival Series
The Last Day Cover
The Last Day - Book 1
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
The Final Collapse Cover
The Final Collapse - Book 2
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
The Fragile Hope cover
The Fragile Hope - Book 3
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Sole Survivor Cover
Sole Survivor
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
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Edge of Survival Series
THE LAST DAY, Book 1
THE FINAL COLLAPSE, Book 2
THE FRAGILE HOPE, Book 3
THE DESPERATE FIGHT, Book 4
The Last Day - Book 1
1
One Month Ago
Washington, D.C.
DR. ANTON RESHENKO realized they resembled nothing so much as monkeys, preening and picking at each other to ease tensions and confirm social status.
He stood at the back of the small conference room, quietly waiting to be recognized. The most powerful men and women in the United States government packed the tight space in a conspicuous ordered hierarchy. The senior members each occupied a high-backed, black leather chair at the long rectangular table. The chair at the far end was empty due to the notable absence of the president.
Would that legally cover plausible deniability?
Proximity to that vacant chair reflected the relative power of those seated at the table. The next level removed were the subordinates and staff that stood along the walls behind the chairs of their respective superiors. They stood stiffly at attention, whether obviously military or otherwise, exuding the reflected glory of their seated masters.
And the furthest removed were those, like him, standing at the opposite end of the room, near the door. As if the exit behind served to remind them that they barely warranted inclusion. That their presence might end at any moment with the wave of a hand or a displeased nod.
Unlike him, they were all insiders. Instinctually aware of the invisible web of power and procedure that governed their artificial realities.
The cloying stink of over-used aftershave wrinkled Anton’s nose. The latest slide of the lengthy PowerPoint presentation had caused on uproar amongst the room’s occupants. The hum of feverish conversation buzzed in his ears. Subordinates scribbled on notepads as they recorded their superior’s directives.
The incessant babbling made it hard to think.
Anton’s hand slipped into his left pocket and found the familiar disc deposited there. Minted nearly a thousand years ago, the silver Dirham of Genghis Khan was an invaluable reminder of what one man might achieve.
He rubbed it between thumb and pointer finger. The worn edges of the ancient script almost as familiar as the lines of his own palms. One side read “The Just. The Great.” Many might argue the former, but none could diminish the latter.
Holding history in his fingertips focused his mind. The small movement was a daily meditation during the development of MT-1.
Anton’s shoulders held no stars. The front of his dark, rumpled suit coat displayed no ribbon rack, no medals. Nothing to proclaim a record of service to the world.
That would change.
One day, history would venerate him. Whereas these self-important imbeciles wouldn’t merit so much as a footnote. They would be forgotten. In many ways, they were already relegated to oblivion.
Anton looked around the room and caught the eyes of one man seated at the far end of the table, Senator Charles Rawlings, Chairman of the Senate Armed Services Committee. The bespectacled elderly man held Anton’s gaze for a moment then turned away.
The senator was the reason for the meeting. The reason for Anton’s attendance. Rawlings was twice as smart as the others and yet half as smart as he believed himself to be.
None of them were on Anton’s level. He was different, in ways both evident and not. The size of the sideburns that carpeted both sides of his face only hinted at the differences.
The white-haired man giving the seemingly endless presentation leaned on his cane while waiting for the buzz to die down. He’d introduced himself hours ago at the beginning of the presentation. The Director of the Office of Net Assessment, the Department of Defense’s internal think tank. The old goat had held the position for over forty years, since the office’s inception under the Nixon administration. His title didn’t officially hold the weight of many of those seated around the table.
But power often came from unexpected places.
Anton himself was proof of that.
The white-haired man cleared his throat a few times until he had everyone’s attention. “Which brings us to the final slide.” He flicked a remote and the enormous display on the wall behind him showed a new slide.
It was astonishing how PowerPoint could dull even the most vital of topics. He pointed at the monitor. He shuffled closer and touched the screen, leaving an oily mark. The smudge highlighted large red numbers.
His voice came out brittle but confident, like a bible printed on antique parchment. Like a revelation.
“We’ve run the sim with every variation we could think of. The result is the same. Under the most optimistic set of conditions, only one thing changes. The timing. And that by no more than a handful of months.”
A dead silence descended on the room. Half the people in it turned to Senator Rawlings. He, of course, already understood the predicament as his office had coordinated with the Office of Net Assessment in directing the study.
The other half turned to yet another gray-haired man seated adjacent to the empty seat. The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Four gold stars clung to each shoulder. The general’s cold eyes narrowed as he digested the information on the screen. He finally looked back to the ancient presenter. “What exactly are you saying?”
The old man pushed thick bifocals back up the bridge of his nose. His rumpled form straightened for an instant. “I am not saying anything.” He pointed to the large, red numbers on the screen. “The data, however, is shouting that we’re running out of time.”
The general squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. He resembled a child closing his eyes, hoping the bad things would disappear. He finally opened them again and blew out a slow exhale. The colorful assortment of ribbons, medals, pins, and stars on his jacket settled. “How can this be?”
“General, your people have run war games that concluded we’re headed for large-scale, persistent conflict over dwindling natural resources.”
“Yes, but if what you’re showing us is true, you’re talking about the end of the United States of America.”
The old man nodded. “Our simulation accounted for a far larger set of initial conditions than anything previously run. Depletion of the fresh water supply. Diminished biodiversity. Climate destabilization. Exploding sovereign debt. The end of cheap oil. We accounted for these and a thousand other pressing issues.”
“Are you saying we’re doomed?”
“The data is saying that we are approaching a peak of many correlated and undesirable trends.”
The old man tapped the red numbers.
“And this is the destination.”
The general chopped a knife hand at the screen. “This is the land of the free?”