Their America is gone forever   After the United States suffers a major socio-economic meltdown, a power vacuum sweeps the globe. A newly-radicalized Islamic government has risen in Indonesia and—after invading the Philippines, East Timor, and Papua New Guinea—sets its sights on Australia. No longer protected by American military interests, Australia must repel an invasion alone. In the thick of it all, Peter and Rhiannon Jeffords, American Christian missionaries in the Philippines, and Chuck Nolan, a Texan petroleum engineer in Australia, find themselves adrift in a world in flux. Chronicling the Jeffords’ and Nolan’s fight against Indonesia’s merciless advances, Expatriates is a riveting thriller and a powerful depiction of the authentic skills and techniques needed to survive the collapse of modern civilization. Praise for EXPATRIATES : "A wonderful work of fiction" - Alphecca " Expatriates doesn't disappoint in the technical nor page-turning sense" - Survivor Jane “Rawles’ latest novel, set during a future global collapse, features characters in different parts of the world coping with life stripped of modern conveniences and technology... readers [can] jump into the beginning of the end at any point. For dystopia and action fans.” -- Booklist “Meticulously researched with a wealth of local and technical details.” -- Formilog “As with all of Rawles’ books, you get a lot of knowledge of survival stuff and [ Expatriates ] is no different.  He tells you why, how, and what product they used which is very helpful to other survivalists.” --Space Coast Preppers “ Expatriates is a very entertaining read, especially in perilous times like these.” -- Western Courier Praise for James Wesley, Rawles: “Rawles is an amazingly gifted author who has singlehandedly reignited the postapocalyptic thriller. Survivors is an instant classic.” – Brad Thor, #1 New York Times bestselling author “Rawles' Survivors is well worth reading. . . well-written and informative, and speaks with an honesty and bluntness often missing from the policy prognotications of the political elite.” – The New American James Wesley, Rawles, lives in an undisclosed location west of the Rockies. 1 A Glimpse “Don’t look like a Snicker’s bar if you don’t want to get eaten.” —Clint Smith, founder of the Thunder Ranch shooting school Tavares, Florida— June, Four Years Before the Crunch They came into the store so quickly that Janelle Altmiller didn’t have time to react. There were three of them, all men in their early twenties wearing hoodie sweatshirts. As they ran up to the counter, two of them pulled out handguns. Janelle was petrified. In a flash, she realized that she was unarmed, and that her husband, Jacob— who was armed—was out of sight in the back of the store, running the panel saw. He was cutting up a piece of plywood for a customer. The noise of the saw would drown out her voice, even if she were to shout for help. The shortest of the three men tossed a pillowcase to Janelle and ordered, “Fill it! Dump the cash tray and the cash under the tray in, too.” She quickly opened the cash register and complied. As she handed the sack back to the man, one of the others, with an acne-scarred complexion, hissed, “You pick up the phone in less than five minutes and I’ll come back here next week and empty this gun into you.” The three men fled just as Janelle heard the sound of the vertically mounted Skilsaw winding down. She ran toward her husband in a panicked dash. “We’ve just been robbed,” she shouted over the noise. Jake hesitated only for a moment before unholstering his SIG pistol. He started walking toward the front of the store, cautiously. Behind him, Janelle said, “Three young black guys, all wearing hoodies. Two of them have guns.” Jake glanced at the open cash register and the register’s empty cash tray sitting at an odd angle. They heard tires screeching outside the store. Jake picked up his pace and jogged to the hardware store’s front entrance. As he ran out the door, he caught just a glimpse of an older Ford Taurus racing down the street. He stopped and lowered his pistol. Then he noticed that his hands were shaking. “Call 911! Black Ford Taurus sedan. Tell ’em they’re headed south on State Road 19!” he shouted to Janelle. Then muttering to himself, he added, “And they’ll be lost in the traffic and down in Orlando before the cops even get out of the donut shop.” Their store had been burglarized the year before, so they’d added bars to the windows and beefed up the back door. But they hadn’t expected an armed robbery during the day. To Janelle, robberies had seemed like something that happened only to jewelry shops, liquor stores, and gas stations—and then mainly in Jacksonville or Orlando. The robbery made the Altmillers seriously reconsider security for their small hardware store. The store had been established by Jake’s grandfather, who had bought the 2.5-acre lot for just twelve hundred dol