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Survival 2000

Renegade War

Written By:James McPhee - 1991

  • Renegade War - James McPhee cover


Welcome to the future but the future welcomes no one

The day the sky fell in was like any other...

But in one brief instant... the impact of asteroids transformed the earth into a hellish shockscape of fiery skies and frozen ground, a new dark age of plague, famine, barbarism and madness.

David Rand had been living the American Dream. Now, with his teenage son, he has begun a harrowing journey to find the surviving members of his family. Their search takes them to the badlands of Montana—a churning nightmare of molten rock and bitter cold—tracking the ruthless band of army deserters who have stolen his young daughters.

David Rand is taking lessons in survival the way modern man never dreamed; he's not only learning to hunt, but to steal and kill... all just to stay alive in the nightmare world of his future. He is mastering the secrets of... Survival 2000

The future is now. Tomorrow is only a nightmare away.


The man was quick

There was a whisper of steel slicing through cloth, and Dave Rand felt a flash of fire along his left arm. He instinctively took a pace back along the corridor, finger tight on the trigger of the Linebaugh, knowing that if he squeezed it he was likely to break his own wrist.

"Joe, out here!" the man yelled, grinning wolfishly. The knife darted again, and Dave retreated once more. Warm blood trickled down his arm and over the fingers of his left hand.

The dancing steel kept him going backward, level with the empty doorway of Room Five. Then a second man appeared in the passage, holding a machine pistol in his hands. Dave leapt sideways into the room. The moment he was out of sight, he dropped into a shooter's crouch, bracing his right wrist with his bloodied left hand. He waited.

"What's he got?" came a high-pitched voice.

"Big Magnum. But he hasn't used it. Means the skinny bastard won't."

The speaker immediately jumped into the doorway, a thin murderous smile pasted on to the unshaven cheeks.

"Wrong," Dave said, feeling the smooth action of the trigger and the familiar brutal kick that jarred clear to the shoulder.




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