by Lucin, David
Desolation: A Post-Nuclear Survival Series
Copyright © 2019 David Lucin
www.authordavidlucin.com
All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission from the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, bands, and/or restaurants referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
ISBN (ebook): 978-1-9991458-1-1
ISBN (print): 978-1-9991458-2-8
Cover design by Aero Gallerie (www.aerogallerie.com)
Interior formatting by BD Book Design (www.bdbookdesign.com)
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Mailing List
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
Desolation 2 Teaser
The Science of Desolation
Acknowledgments
About the Author
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1
The lights flickered and went out.
Jenn Jansen stopped scrubbing and set the pan in the sink. The windows let in enough morning sunlight so she could see, but she needed the white of the LEDs to get the dishes spotless like she wanted.
“SmartHome, lights.”
No response.
“SmartHome,” she repeated, this time emphasizing both syllables to make sure the SmartHome heard, “turn the lights on.”
It didn’t acknowledge her. If the light bulb had burned out, the SmartHome would have said so. In fact, it would have told Jenn if the bulb was close to burning out. Maybe this was another blackout. They weren’t uncommon in Arizona, especially during the blistering heat of spring and summer, but they never affected the SmartHome system. Its backup battery lasted for at least a day. Plus, if the power were off, Maria’s oxygen compressor would have been screaming the high-pitched wail that made Jenn’s head explode. It was quiet, too.
“Gary!” Jenn said.
“Yeah?” Gary Ruiz’s voice came from the office down the hall.
“The lights went out and the SmartHome’s not answering. Should we check on Maria?”
Jenn tapped her foot while she waited for Gary’s response. She swore he was going deaf, likely from spending his whole life around guns. If she didn’t look him straight in the face, he hardly heard a thing she said. He never admitted it, of course. Instead, he claimed she and Maria were always whispering near him.
Jenn muttered to herself and dried her hands on a dishtowel. She went to call out a second time, but Gary cut in. “Jenn, I think the power’s out! Can you bring me a tank? We’re in the office.”
Had he heard her or not? Probably not. It didn’t really matter. What mattered was Maria’s oxygen. Because the compressor ran for twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, it required a constant supply of electricity, so whenever the power went out, Jenn and Gary needed to hook up one of Maria’s portable tanks. Usually the compressor screeched a warning so shrill even Gary could hear it. Its silence gave Jenn goosebumps.
She snatched an oxygen tank from beside the fridge. The thing was half Jenn’s height and weighed a ton, but she had plenty of practice hauling it around. For two years she’d billeted with Gary and Maria Ruiz while she studied robotics engineering at Northern Arizona University in Flagstaff. Jenn’s parents in Phoenix couldn’t afford to house her on campus or pay for her own apartment, so the Ruiz family acted as a sort of charity that offered her a free place to stay and paid for her meals. As far as Jenn knew, Gary and Maria liked having her here. Because of her COPD, Maria couldn’t exert herself much anymore, so Gary appreciated when Jenn pitched in. Gary and Maria’s daughter, Camila, probably used to help with the oxygen tanks, but she enlisted in the U.S. Army when the war started and had been gone ever since.
America never took its enemies’ saber-rattling very seriously, even when China occupied Myanmar and Bangladesh, the so-called Second Brazilian Empire marched troops into Venezuela and Colombia, and Russia annexed Belarus and both Ukraines. Not until the People’s Republic landed boots on Taiwan and invaded India, the world’s largest democracy, did the United States and NATO finally declare war. Ostensibly, China was fighting to restore its ancient hegemony. In reality, Gary always said, the Chinese communist party went to war for self-preservation. The depression—brought on by skyrocketing costs of living, declining wages, climate refugees, and widespread unemployment—was especially bad in China, where automation and artificial intelligences had put hundreds of millions out of work, threatening the government’s control of the country. China’s solution to the crisis? Throw uniforms on the unemployed and give them guns, then whip up nationalist fervor with a war against the West. Russia and later Brazil were more than happy to follow China’s lead.
Gary and Maria were waiting for Jenn in the office. Maria’s purple housecoat concealed her bony frame, and her straight, silvery hair hung over the arms of her thick-rimmed glasses. Gary was only a few inches taller than Jenn. His hairline had withdrawn to the sides and back of his head, and his gray mustache was a little longer on the right side of his face than on the left. As always, he wore a polo shirt that fit tight in the midsection. Jenn joked that he ate too many donuts when he was a cop. He didn’t much care for that.
“Thanks,” Gary said as Jenn set the tank down. He opened the valve and handed Maria the plastic hose, the prongs of which she tucked into her nose before wrapping the slack behind her ears. “How’s that?”
Maria sucked in two breaths, her shoulders rising and falling in turn. “It’s good,” she said.
“I’ll keep the flow rate low,” Gary said, “so our tanks last longer. Just in case.”
Maria laid a hand on his shoulder. “Thanks. Strange how it didn’t beep this time. Thanks for being so quick.”
Gary loaded the tank onto the two-wheeled cart. “The battery isn’t kicking in, either.”
“It’s weird,” Jenn said. “The SmartHome’s not even answering.”
“Hopefully the power comes on soon,” Maria said. “It’s a bit dark, so don’t worry about the pan right now.” She forced a smile. Her hand trembled as she readjusted the hose.
“No,” Jenn said. “I can still do it.”
Maria eased herself into Gary’s black swivel chair. “Okay then. Have fun.”
Jenn turned on her heel and left the office. Scrubbing pans wasn’t her ideal Friday morning, but nobody else did a half-decent job of cleaning them. Gary never used the brush or the steel wool, so he always missed those caked-on specks of food. After having to redo them too many times, Jenn took charge of the kitchen clean-up. That way, she’d do it right and save everyone some time. Plus, she hoped the dishes would distract her from the pit forming in her stomach. No lights, no SmartHome, and no screaming oxygen compressor. Something was off. Maybe the Internet knew what.
She pulled her phone from her pocket and let it recognize her face. “Why is the power out?” she asked it.
“I’m sorry, Jenn,” the phone’s female voice answered. “I’m not connected to a cellular network.”
“Then connect to one,” Jenn commanded as if the phone should have already tried.
“I’m sorry, Jenn. I can’t find any cellular networks in this area.”
The pit in Jenn’s stomach grew. If there wasn’t any cell service, that might mean the power was out all over town. “Can you connect me to Wi-Fi?”
“Okay, Jenn. I’ll search for a wireless Internet network.”
The fact that Jenn’s phone had to search at all wasn’t a good sign. Although she didn’t expect it to connect to Wi-Fi during a blackout, she couldn’t help but hold her breath and hope.
“I’m sorry, Jenn. I can’t find a wireless Internet signal.”
Jenn exhaled. No surprise there. Even so, the soy bacon and potatoes she had for breakfast bubbled in her stomach.
She tucked the phone into her pocket and went to the office. Maria was still sitting in the chair while Gary leaned against the desk and inspected his bookshelf filled with military history. “You can’t be finished with those dishes already,” Maria joked.
“They won’t run off anywhere,” Jenn tossed back. “Hey, Gary, do you have cell service?”
“I haven’t checked. My phone’s charging in the bedroom.”
“Can I have a look?”
“Sure. Here, I’ll come with you.” He pushed himself up from the desk and squeezed Maria’s shoulder. “You okay, dear?”
“Oh, I’m fine. Thanks for getting me set up. You guys do your thing.”
“All right, let’s go.” Gary stepped past Jenn and into his room, where he made for the nightstand. On it, his phone lay on its black charging pad. He tapped the screen twice and scrunched up his face, then flipped it over and examined it more closely. “Odd,” he said.
“Let me see that.” Jenn plucked the phone from Gary’s grip. The thing weighed almost as much as Maria’s oxygen tanks and had rigid glass—something Jenn had never seen before moving in with the Ruiz family. “Wow, Gary. Planning on joining us in 2062 anytime soon?”
“Hey, it gets the job done,” he said. “It’s not worth getting a new one. They’re so expensive these days.”
“I know, I know. I’m just joking.” Jenn pressed her finger to the glass, but nothing happened. “Is there an on-off switch to this bad boy? How about a lever? Or do I have to wind it up?”
“No, it should be fine,” Gary said, ignoring Jenn’s joke.
“Is your charging pad plugged in? Maybe it died.”
“I’ll have a look.” Gary crouched and reached behind the nightstand. After a few seconds of awkward twisting and leaning, he stood. “Everything’s all hooked up.”
“The hell?”
Gary took the phone.
“Where’s Maria’s phone?” Jenn asked.
“The office.”
“Why don’t you check that and I’ll check the TV?”
Gary nodded and left the bedroom. His phone was a piece of garbage by any measure, but the batteries on those old models lasted forever. Plus, it was on the charger, so why was it dead?
In the living room, Jenn made eye contact with the camera on the wall-mounted TV. It also had a backup battery, so even if the power went down, it should work for a few hours. “On,” she commanded.
Nothing.
Thinking the camera might not have recognized her face, she stepped a bit closer.
“On.”
It didn’t flinch. Like the SmartHome, the TV ignored her.
Jenn made for the rectangular coffee table in search of the remote control. Not on top. She opened a drawer. A few cords, a couple of cat toys, but no remote.
“Any luck with the TV?” Gary said from the hallway.
“No, it’s not recognizing me. You have a remote anywhere?”
He scratched his scalp and panned the room. “Somewhere. I don’t think I’ve used it since I bought the TV.”
“Whatever,” Jenn said. “If the SmartHome’s down, I didn’t think the TV’d be working, either. How about Maria’s phone?”
“It turns on but can’t find a signal.”
“Yeah, same as mine,” Jenn said.
Ajax, the Ruiz family pet, announced his presence with a lengthy meow. A scruffy tuxedo, Ajax was a behemoth by house cat standards, and he lived up to his namesake as he stomped across the room. Behind him came Maria, her oxygen tank in tow. “Everything all right, guys?”
Jenn didn’t know what to say. Everything was not all right. No way three phones, the SmartHome, the TV, and the lights all went down at the same time. If that was the kind of day they were having, Jenn was making Gary buy a lottery ticket.
Gary let out a sigh. “I don’t think so, hon.”
2
“What do you mean?” Maria said. “What’s wrong?” With each breath, her oxygen hissed, and the hissing grew faster and more frequent as she waited for Jenn or Gary to answer.
Gary stirred and shifted his weight. Jenn assumed he was thinking of a way to keep Maria from becoming anxious. He probably regretted saying anything was wrong in the first place. “I’m sure it’s fine,” he sputtered. “But we can’t get online to see what’s going on.”
Maria tightened the belt of her housecoat. “Okay, well, you guys should go ask around.”
Jenn started for the front door. “Let’s go check if your neighbor Liam’s home. He’s a cop. Maybe he knows what the deal is.”
Gary hesitated for a moment while his eyes wandered to Maria. “Good chance he’ll be at work. If he was on the night shift, he’s probably sleeping. I don’t want to wake him up.”
“I’m sure Erin would have woken him up if the power went out. Let’s just go check. I don’t know them very well and it’d be weird and creepy if I showed up at their front door without you, so you should come, too.”
Gary put a hand on his wife’s arm. “You’ll be all right by yourself for a bit, dear?”
Maria offered him a wooden smile. “Of course. Ajax can protect me.”
“Okay,” he said reluctantly. “We’ll make it quick.”
“See you guys soon.” Maria walked over to the couch but stopped and turned to Jenn. “Those dishes will be waiting for you when you’re done at Liam’s.”
“I never doubted that.”
Jenn led Gary outside. As she opened the door, she breathed deep. The air in Flagstaff was crisp and clean and reminded her of wood chips, not melting asphalt and putrid garbage as it did at home in Phoenix. The tall Ponderosas looked nothing like the bushy acacia trees down south and provided plenty of shade from the Arizona sun. Only two hours up the road, Flagstaff felt like a completely different world than the desert hellscape Phoenix was turning into.
A light breeze rustled the pine tree in Gary’s front yard, and barking echoed in the distance. “You hear that?” Jenn asked at the end of the driveway.
“Hear what?”
“It’s quiet.”
“What do you mean?”
The junction of I-40 and I-17 wasn’t far from Gary’s. Jenn hadn’t realized it before, but the whooshing of cars on the road always carried to this neighborhood. “I mean it’s quiet. I can’t hear any traffic.”
Gary brushed his mustache with a finger. “Strange, especially for this time of day.”
T
he knot in Jenn’s stomach returned. She pointed at Gary’s car in the driveway. “What about yours?”
“What about it?”
“Think it works?”
“I don’t see why it wouldn’t.”
“Try it.” Jenn stepped over to the driver’s side. A sleek blue ’51 Kia, it had full autodrive mode, though from what Jenn saw, Gary only drove it on manual.
He pressed his thumb to the fingerprint pad beside the handle. Jenn clenched her teeth but let her jaw relax when she heard the click of the locks.
“Looks okay,” Gary said.
“Try turning it on.”
Gary pulled open the door, and Jenn rested her elbow on top of the window as he sat in the driver’s seat. With one leg hanging outside, he started the ignition.
The engine buzzed to life and vibrations ran through Jenn’s arm. She let it down and leaned inside. “Well why the hell’s the highway so quiet?” she asked.
“Don’t know,” Gary said. “Everything looks fine.”
“Try the radio.”
Gary tapped at the screen on the dash. Jenn watched the FM channels rise: 107.5, 107.7, 107.9 . . .
She cursed and smacked the door panel.
Gary pressed the ignition button again to shut off the car. “Local stations never work if there’s a major blackout.”
Jenn nearly asked him to try the satellite radio, but she didn’t bother. Soon after the war broke out, both sides shot down almost every civilian and military satellite in orbit. Good thing Internet cables ran beneath the ocean and cell phones used land-based towers. Otherwise, worldwide communications might have collapsed.
Gary shut the door and put his keys into his pocket. “Let’s go see if Liam’s home.”
He and Jenn turned left at the end of the driveway. As they walked, beads of sweat collected on her forehead, and a few rolled down her cheeks. She tied her hair up with an elastic band from her wrist. It was hot, sure, way hotter than normal for the end of April, but her armpits shouldn’t have been this soaked. Her guts did somersaults as she scanned the single-story houses on either side of the street. Many of them sat empty, even though developers were throwing up modular housing complexes all over Phoenix. The seven-figure price tags attached to Flagstaff homes had only appealed to wealthy people seeking investment properties, not families struggling to find enough work and stay above the poverty line. By the time the real estate market crashed after years of being kept afloat by nothing but speculation, Flagstaff’s population had already more than halved, leaving much of the town vacant.
