Ready Set Chaos: A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller, page 1
READY SET CHAOS
A POST-APOCALYPTIC SURVIVAL THRILLER
THE READY SET CHAOS SERIES
BOOK 1
HARLEY TATE
Copyright © 2025 by Harley Tate. Cover and internal design © by Harley Tate. Cover image copyright © Deposit Photos, 2025.
All rights reserved.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The use of stock photo images in this e-book in no way imply that the models depicted personally endorse, condone, or engage in the fictional conduct depicted herein, expressly or by implication. The person(s) depicted are models and are used for illustrative purposes only.
CONTENTS
Ready Set Chaos
1. Ava
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
4. Willa
5. Ava
Chapter 6
7. Willa
8. Ava
9. Nic
10. Ava
11. Nic
12. Treacher
13. Ava
14. Willa
15. Nic
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
18. Nic
19. Willa
20. Nic
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
24. Willa
25. Ava
26. Nic
Chapter 27
28. Ava
29. Willa
30. Nic
Also by Harley Tate
Acknowledgments
About Harley Tate
READY SET CHAOS
BOOK ONE
A colossal solar storm. The collapse of the power grid. A sister trapped in the worst place imaginable.
Fiercely determined law student Willa Rane has sacrificed everything to prove her younger sister’s innocence. When the lights across the East Coast fail, she’ll risk life and limb to reach the prison before the chaos spirals out of control. With each mile, the world grows darker and so do the lengths she’ll go to save her family.
Fellow law student Nic has his own mission—save his ailing father from a care facility on the brink of failure. But a promise is a promise, and he won’t abandon Willa. Caught between duty and desperation, he relies on discipline and faith to navigate crippled roads, volatile crowds, and the shadows of a broken civilization—one that’s turning more ruthless by the hour.
Inside prison, Ava is just trying to survive. With the guards in disarray and a riot breaking loose, every corridor brims with danger. Armed inmates roam free, violent score-settling is a heartbeat away, and the only solace is a slim hope that her sister will come for her. But will that hope be enough when the outside world descends into chaos of its own?
As dawn edges closer, each of them must decide how far they’ll go—and what they’ll sacrifice—to protect the ones they love.
Ready Set Chaos is book one of an apocalyptic disaster thriller series following ordinary people struggling to survive when an EMP plunges the United States into chaos.
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CHAPTER ONE
AVA
Four years earlier…
Her nose twitched as she slept curled up in a ball against the far wall of her room. The shabby blanket did nothing to ward off the chill, but Ava wasn’t cold. Droplets of sweat pricked across her brow and matted the baby hairs framing her face.
She called out in her dreams, seeking comfort in an imaginary world against the danger building on the other side of her bedroom door. A stuffed animal, faded and missing an eye, snuggled against her chest. She might be sixteen, but Ava still held onto the hope of childhood.
Too bad hope wouldn’t protect her today.
Her nose tickled again and she snorted, a thick wave of smoke permeating her sinuses and her consciousness. The safety of her dream faded, replaced by fumes and fear. She blinked her eyes open. A sharp stinging slammed them shut.
What the heck?
She sat up, groggy and confused, as the real world came back in all its mediocre glory. It had to be the middle of the night. Where was that smell coming from? “Dad?” the word croaked past cracked lips. She ran her tongue across the puckered skin and tasted ash.
A cough rumbled up her throat, and a dry hack came out. No spit. No saliva. She needed a gallon of water and a bucket of ice. She pushed her hair off her face and her hand came away drenched in sweat.
When had it gotten so hot?
It was winter. The middle of January in Atlanta could easily dip below freezing at night. She’d fallen asleep shivering in the corner of her room tucked away in the back of the house with no insulation and a cheap cast-off blanket around her shoulders. She wasn’t shivering now.
Ava shoved off the threadbare flannel and struggled to reach the edge of the bed. Every time she opened her eyes, they burned. She sucked in a breath and smoke clogged her lungs. Dad. Visions of her father smoking as he stretched across the couch filled her mind. Oh, no.
“Dad!” She screamed for her father and surged forward, forcing her eyes open despite the pain. A faint glow edged beneath her bedroom door. Ava raced for it and grabbed the handle, too young and inexperienced to understand.
As her fingers wrapped around the metal, a searing pain raced across her skin. She shrieked and pulled away, but the damage had been done. All five fingers and her palm screamed in agony as the burn set in.
Ava crumpled to the floor. Smoke billowed beneath the door, followed by laps of flames and bursts of sparks. She clutched her wounded hand as tears streamed down her face. She had to get out there. Had to find her father and wake him up. Beg him to leave the burning house. She couldn’t leave him there. He was the only one who hadn’t walked out on her. The only one who stayed behind while Ava finished growing up.
Don’t worry, Dad. I’m coming.
She hurried to her closet and flung the door open with her one good hand. Rifling through her clothes, she found a scarf from her aunt in Ohio, the one who never visited after her mom disappeared. She’d thought about throwing it away. Giving it to some other kid at school, but she hadn’t done it. It wasn’t from her mom, but it was from her mom’s sister. Part of her couldn’t quite give it up even though her mom had done way worse to her.
Ava grabbed the scarf and looped it around her face to cover her nose and mouth. She grabbed a thick sweatshirt from a heap on the floor and rushed back to the door. Using the sweatshirt as a shield, Ava grabbed the handle and twisted.
A blast of heat slammed her back as she opened the door. Flames crackled and popped as they surged up the open doorway four steps down the hall. What remained of her father’s bedroom burned with a heat and intensity no man could survive, but Ava didn’t despair. Her father hadn’t slept in that room for as long as she could remember.
With the scarf pressed against her face and her injured hand throbbing by her side, Ava eased into the hall. The faded wallpaper, hung by her mother when her sister was still in diapers, curled and crinkled as it fell like sooty snow to the floor.
A chunk of drywall broke loose from the ceiling and crashed three steps ahead, throwing sparks and blackened bits of carpet fibers in every direction. Ava held her breath. I can do this. I can save my father. She steeled her nerves and ignored the pain as she crept closer to the flames.
The hall opened to the living room where her father slept on the ratty old couch. Every night and most of each day, he flicked his cigarette ash into an overflowing ashtray and coated his throat in booze and regret.
It didn’t matter that he blew off her basketball games at school or failed to show up to a single parent-teacher conference. He hadn’t left. He hadn’t abandoned her like her mother when Ava was so young, she couldn’t even remember her mother’s face. Not like her sister who took the chance to get out, go to college, and never look back.
Her dad might not have won an award for parent of the year, but he was all she had. Ava wasn’t going to let him die. Not like this. She stepped forward, trying to skirt the menacing fire, but it was no use. Sweat dripped in her eyes and off her lashes and as she neared the flames, the heat pushed her back. A wall of fire stood between her and the open living room, teasing and taunting with snarls and cracks. Another step and she would become a living barbecue.
There has to be another way.
Ava spun around and raced back to the only other door in the hall. The bathroom. She ducked inside and the cool expanse of tile calmed her jittery nerves. She rushed to the small window perched above the toilet. A stream of cold night air seeped in from the gap left open and forgotten as the day turned into night. Ava clambered on top of the toilet and grabbed one handle of the window sash.
She tugged. It didn’t budge. She clenched her jaw and reached for the other handle with her wounded hand, gritting her teeth against the pain as the metal dug into burned flesh. The room spun and a ringing sound eclipsed the crackles of the fire, but Ava wrenched the window open.
Ducking beneath the sash, she stuck her head out into the darkness. Cold night air unsullied by smoke poured into her lungs and Ava coughed as she tumbled out onto the weedy gravel beneath the window. Her shoulder hit the g round first, followed by her hip and finally her feet. Ava stood on shaky legs and caught her breath.
The smart thing to do would be to run for help, find a neighbor, and call 911.
But the cops hated coming to this part of town and the fire department took their sweet time, blaming the delay on the lack of main arteries and clogged streets. If Ava wanted to save her father, she had to do it herself. She hurried around the edge of the house to the rear patio and the sliding glass door leading to the living room.
One step into the backyard and she knew it was too late.
The fire lit up the sliding door like a big screen TV in a sports bar, showcasing the beauty and destruction of the flames. Ava walked toward it, drawn in like a winged insect to a porch light at night.
Heat coursed through the glass and radiated toward her. Ava lifted her injured palm and held it out, pain mixing with heat and anguish. Flames engulfed the couch where her father slept and between the undulating masses of red and orange and bright yellow, she could make out the shriveled figure of a man, blackened into charred skin and bones.
His arm stretched out into the open space, reaching for the little glass dish buried beneath piles and piles of ash. A sob escaped Ava’s lips as she stared. A sob not for what was lost, but what might have been. All the hope and promises she still held in her heart for a life shown every day on TV. One where her father sought help, where he gave up the booze and the drugs, and finally became the man she so desperately wanted him to be.
All the dreams of her childhood. The fantasy what-ifs borne of an empty belly and a too-thin frame were burning in the flames consuming her father’s remains. He would never watch her graduate high school or college. He would never walk her down the aisle. He’d gone and left her too, even though his body stayed behind.
Ava eased down to the concrete patio cracked from years of neglect and abuse and wrapped her good hand around her knees. Tears streaked down her face but she didn’t feel them, didn’t wipe them away when they soaked into the cotton of her sweatshirt.
The wail of a siren sounded in the distance, and Ava reached into her pocket. She pulled out the lighter and flicked the lid open before spinning the wheel and sparking a small flame. The fire glowed in her hand, white hot at the center, and Ava held her burned hand up to it, daring the little flame to ruin the skin already blistering in anger.
What was the point of sitting there and waiting for the fire department to tell her what she already knew? If fire took her father, maybe it should take her, too.
CHAPTER TWO
TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 18TH 7:37 P.M. EST
“Alert: a flare has been detected. Alert: a flare has been detected.” The automated voice, sounding like an updated speaking clock ratting off a new version of, “At the tone, the time will be…” filtered across the windowless forecasting room.
Dean Ladd finished filling his water bottle and slow-walked back to his desk. Forty hours a week for the past three decades, he’d stared at the bank of computer screens filled with various images of the sun. Every time the sun emitted a solar flare—ranging from a baby class A to a monster class X—the computer let him know. This was, according to the board on the wall behind him, the eighth alert of the day.
“Hey, Dean?” Paula Wen, another space weather forecaster called across the room. “Have you checked this one out?”
“Working on it.” He picked up the pace, sliding into his worn desk chair as Paula turned back to her screen.
Twice a day, Dean issued space weather reports, forecasting the day and night ahead. He’d already issued the one for this evening:
Summary For February 11-17:
R1 (Minor) solar radiation storms were observed on 11-13 Feb , R2 (Moderate) on 14-15 Feb and R3 (Strong) on 16 Feb.
No other significant space weather storms were observed.
Outlook For February 18-24:
G1 (Minor) to G3 (Strong) geomagnetic storms are possible.
No other significant space weather is expected during the outlook period.
He’d anticipated additional flares. The sun had been frisky this week, with a large, complex sun spot whirling near the equator releasing three M class flares and one X1.2 flare a few days earlier. The Earth still dealt with the effects and they anticipated additional geomagnetic storms in the week ahead. It’s what happened during a solar maximum—the every-eleven-year-peak of sun activity. Luckily, ever since he’d taken the job, nothing catastrophic had come of the flares or resulting coronal mass ejections—CME for short. Each worrisome one pointed away from Earth, spewing solar radiation out into space. Sure, there might be radio problems, especially with AM stations and HAMs, and maybe GPS would be a bit wonky for a few hours, but that was the worst of it.
As he brought his water to his lips, another alert sounded. “Alert: a CME has been detected. Alert: a CME has been detected.”
Dean watched the video and accidentally swallowed too large a gulp of water. He gagged. Setting the bottle down in a rush, Dean turned, oblivious to the spilled water now pooling on the desk. “Paula?”
“Yeah?”
“Is this?”
“I don’t know.”
Dean clicked a few buttons and replayed the visual of the sun. He watched as the computer played the video of the solar flare eruption—a huge flash of light bursting in all directions—from the complex sunspot they had been monitoring all week. Almost thirty seconds later, a different eruption occurred. This time, a massive ball of what looked like plasma from the sun burst from the spot of the solar flare and erupted into space. A CME. A colossal, fast-moving CME.
He pulled up another window and ran a series of calculations. He tried to keep his voice steady. “Do we have any data on size of the flare?”
“Initial estimates are—” Paula cut off.
“What?”
Her voice shook. “Greater than X9. Dean—”
“Okay. Give me a moment.”
His fingers flew across the keyboard as he ran additional forecasts and potential scenarios. What? This can’t be. Warmth fled his cheeks as he reran the projections. Unlike all the other times in his thirty-year history at NOAA, this solar flare wasn’t minor, and it wasn’t pointed into harmless space at all. Based on extremely preliminary data, it appeared the solar radiation released by the CME was headed directly toward Earth.
He glanced at the ceiling, running calculations in his head. If the solar flare really was greater than an X9, the largest number NOAA reliably measured, then the resulting CME would be massive. It would trigger one of the largest geomagnetic storms the world had ever seen. It would make the Carrington Event look like a dry run.
Standing on shaky legs, he turned toward the rest of the room. The day he’d hoped to never experience had arrived. “All right everyone.” Paula, the other lead researcher, along with two interns, Matt and Jacob, and Bill Montaigne, NOAA’s space weather liaison, sat waiting. “I’ll send out the initial alert. Based on the data, it’s looking like an R5 maximum radio blackout, which is probably already here, followed by a large solar radiation storm in the next fifteen to twenty minutes, with a possibly catastrophic geomagnetic storm coming sometime in the next 18-36 hours.”
He turned toward Bill. “Focus for now on alerting everyone reliant on GPS and radio communications. Bill, obviously you’ve got the White House and the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Paula, can you help with airports, cell phone providers, and emergency services?”
She nodded.
“I’ll try to push info to financial markets, see if we can’t delay the opening of any stock exchanges tomorrow.” He swallowed. “Whatever we have going on in our lives for the next 12 hours, they’re over. Instead, you’re all here with me, modeling, predicting, and getting the word out. No one is ready for this. If the CME’s magnetic orientation is southward—” He couldn’t finish.
Paula covered her throat with her hand.
The interns glanced at each other before Matt spoke up. “What does that mean?”
