Atomic Threat (Book 2): Get Out Alive

by Bowman, Dave

  Despite all the worries, Brody was at least thankful that his daughter was unharmed. And he knew that his concerns over the fallout exposure would probably turn out to be unfounded.

  But the next day, he woke, stumbled groggily to the bathroom mirror, and jumped when he saw himself. His face had taken on a subtle gray cast. The whites of his eyes were a little darker. His heart pounded as he studied his reflection. Was this from the fallout?

  He shook his head. No, it couldn't be. It was just stress. He was getting worked up over nothing.

  You're beginning to sound like a hypochondriac, he told himself.

  When Katie didn't seem to notice any changes in his appearance that morning, Brody all but forgot about it. But that evening, an intense headache began. It wasn't like him to get headaches, but again, he could just chalk it up to stress.

  But the second day, it was harder to ignore the changes. He felt like he had the flu. His muscles were achy, and he felt nauseous. Plus, the headache had never gone away.

  Katie told him it looked like he had a cold. She walked to the pantry, withdrew a can of chicken soup, and plunked it down on the table.

  “Here, eat this,” she said. “This is what you always make me eat when I'm sick, right?”

  Brody smiled and nodded. He didn't tell his daughter that he had no appetite at all.

  That afternoon, he looked in the mirror and could hardly recognize himself. His skin was taking on a definite shade of gray. His pupils were dilated, and his eyes just looked plain strange. The weakness in his body was becoming worse. Then the vomiting began.

  That night, he decided he had to get Katie to his parents' house. He knew he was probably being ridiculous, but he didn't want to take any chances. If it turned out it was just the flu, then no harm done.

  And if it wasn't the flu, she needed to be with someone to take care of her.

  But how long to wait before it was safe to go outside? He would have to look that up.

  As his confusion and disorientation increased, he caught himself twice sitting at the computer, moving the mouse in frustration. He was trying to get the machine to work.

  “Um, Dad?” Katie asked with one eyebrow raised. “You know we still don't have power, right?”

  Brody forced a laugh. “Right. Old habits die hard, I guess.”

  Finally, he remembered their old set of encyclopedias. They were ancient – older even than he was – but apparently written after the development of the nuclear bomb. The encyclopedia said that forty-eight hours was the minimum amount of time to wait for fallout to end. One week was preferable, but the risk of radiation exposure was pretty small after two days.

  That evening was forty-eight hours since the explosion. He decided that if he hadn't improved by the morning, he would be forced to take action. He and Katie would have to ride their bicycles the thirty miles to his parents' house. If he waited any longer, he might not be able to manage the trip. And then Katie would be left all alone. No, he couldn't have that.

  He would have to find a way to ride the bike all those miles.

  The next morning, he felt worse than ever. Like he had been run over by a truck. If he didn't make the trip today, he might not ever be able to make it.

  Katie didn't want to go. She had become even more stubborn and skeptical about the whole thing. She was insisting that the power would be restored soon, and that the phones and cars would be working again, and most of all, that her father would get over his “flu.”

  But Brody could no longer deny reality. He knew he was terribly ill. He had to get them out of there.

  As he pedaled his bike on that hilly road, he pushed himself harder and harder. He struggled to keep up with Katie.

  He kept a mental count of the miles he reckoned they were covering. Brody fought for each mile, just to stay upright and keep pedaling.

  He had to get to his parents' house before his body collapsed.

  11

  Naomi had been following Jack and Brent through the suburbs east of LA for what felt like a couple of hours. The sliver of a waning crescent moon had finally risen, casting a little light on the streets.

  They had gotten on a state highway heading east out of town a while back. And finally, it seemed like they were reaching the outskirts of the urban area.

  She was leaving the city behind. And with it, everything she knew.

  Including her mother.

  Her heart ached for her mom. She had been everything to Naomi. And they weren't even able to bury her body. She was still back there, no doubt, in her bed where she had been murdered by her ex-husband.

  Naomi wiped away a tear. She didn't want the others to see her crying. She knew how lucky she was to find them – or for them to find her. Even if she had somehow made it home to her apartment that day, it was too close to downtown to survive the bomb, or the fallout.

  She didn't want to be a burden on them. But she was struggling to push herself forward. Traveling was difficult. At least in their hideout, she had been able to sleep the hours away.

  Suddenly, she saw her mother.

  Her mother's face and arm, hanging off the side of the bed, covered in blood.

  She jumped. But this time, she didn't scream.

  Because she knew it was just her mind playing tricks on her. It was just something on the side of the road – some garbage someone had thrown out among the weeds.

  But she was seeing her mother everywhere she looked.

  She had to keep this new development to herself. The others would think she was crazy. She didn't feel like she was losing her mind, but she did feel despondent.

  Naomi never said so out loud, but she didn't think they had much of a chance of making it to Texas. Jack was tough and all, but already they had been attacked several times. Sooner or later, they would meet their match. And then it would all be over.

  Or they would run out of food and water. Dehydration and starvation didn't sound like pleasant ways to die.

  Maybe she should have just stayed back at her apartment with her mother. Then it would have been over more quickly.

  She just didn't see the point in fighting to live. Her mother had died, and so many others. Why should the three of them get to go on living? No doubt the monsters responsible for this whole thing – whoever had attacked the country – were still living. The injustice enraged her.

  As they pressed on, Naomi grew more and more weary. Jack seemed to think that their only hope was to find a car that still ran. But that seemed about as likely as them making it to Texas on foot. Just about impossible.

  The world was so full of cruel, heartless people. People who had no regard for life. What was the point of trying so hard to make it in this world?

  Ahead, Jack came to a halt. He motioned for them to follow him into the shadows on the side of the road. Then he pointed.

  Down below the highway and off to the side, there was a junkyard.

  The three of them stood from their vantage point, staring at the large yard. It was full of mostly wrecked vehicles. There were a few that were in better shape than the others. Mostly, it was a bunch of junk.

  She could tell that Jack and Brent were hopeful as they scanned the property with their eyes. But she wasn't.

  Jack was studying the area. His eyes darted back and forth, straining in the darkness. Naomi knew he was hatching a plan.

  “There are a couple older vehicles down there that aren't totaled,” Jack whispered, so quiet Naomi could barely hear him. “I think it's worth checking out. But we have to be careful. I think there are people down there.”

  Naomi felt a sinking sensation.

  Here we go again.

  There were definitely people down there, Naomi assumed. And they wouldn't just let them drive off with one of their vehicles.

  Naomi could see it already. There would be a confrontation, and either the people in the junkyard would be shot, or Jack, Naomi, and Brent would be.

  Naomi walked over to a low concrete wall on the edge of
the highway. She lowered herself to the ground and leaned against the wall.

  Jack and Brent exchanged a look, then walked over to her.

  “I'm sorry, you guys,” she whispered as she brushed back tears. “I just can't go on anymore. I can't keep walking. I can't keep fighting.”

  Jack knelt down beside her. “I know how hard this is for you, Naomi. But if we can pull this off, we have a much better shot at making it to Texas. I know it's not your home, but it's safe where we're going. Well, safer, at least.”

  Naomi buried her face in her hands. “Jack, thank you for everything you've done for me. And you too, Brent. But I just can't keep going. I – I give up.”

  “So you want us to just leave you here?” Jack asked, skeptical.

  Naomi nodded. “I'm a liability for you two, anyway. It's better this way.”

  Jack sat down beside her, and Brent followed his example.

  “Naomi, if you think we're going to just leave you here to die on the side of the road, think again,” Jack said. “I know you're grieving for your mother. The only thing I know that helps grief is time. Just remember it won't always feel this bad.”

  Naomi didn't answer, but her tears slowed down.

  Brent put his hand lightly on Naomi's shoulder. “And remember what Jack said the other day? Your mom would want you to keep going. She would want you to survive.”

  “Tell you what,” Jack said. “I'll go down there and try to get a better look at the junkyard. You two stay here to rest.” He stood up.

  “But it's not safe for you to go alone,” Brent said. “I'll go with you.”

  Jack held his hand out to stop Brent. “I won't get too close. I'm not going to try to break in or anything. Not yet. This is just to scout it out. I need you to stay here with Naomi and keep her safe.”

  Brent settled back down in his spot next to Naomi. “Okay, but be careful down there.”

  Jack gave a quick nod, then he started to walk down the hill toward the junkyard.

  Brent didn't have much to say to Naomi. They mostly sat in silence.

  Naomi thought of what they'd told her. She didn't believe that she would ever get over the death of her mother, but she did know they were right about one thing. Her mom would want her to keep living.

  She glanced over at Brent, and he looked back at her with a little smile.

  “Everything will be all right,” he said quietly. “You'll see.”

  Naomi nodded, then leaned back against the wall.

  Jack had disappeared from sight. They waited silently for him to return.

  She hoped for the best as they sat in the dark, still night.

  12

  Charlotte got the car started again, from what Annie could hear.

  And this time, she let the clutch out more slowly. The Porsche lurched forward jerkily, but it didn't die. The engine revved, and the car took off down the road.

  Annie didn't wait to see what happened next. She was already running down the stairs as she heard the Porsche drive away.

  Her heart thundered in her chest as she ran down the stairs. Any second now, the squatters in her house would come back inside. She braced herself for running into them. They would probably shoot her on site.

  Or what if there were still people in the house? It might've been a bigger group than she thought. Maybe some ran out, and some stayed inside.

  But as she bounded down the last stair and into the living room, she took a quick look around. Empty.

  She didn't stop as she ran across the living room and into the kitchen.

  Outside, she heard voices. They were getting closer.

  “I told you someone was out there.”

  “If you hadn't been wasting all that time, we could've gotten out there faster.”

  “Oh, so now it's my fault?”

  They were at the front door now. Annie could see their shadows moving out of the corner of her eye.

  Annie reached for the side door. Behind her, the front door was opening.

  She held her breath as she opened the side door swiftly and slipped outside. She could hear them entering the front door.

  She wasted no time. Taking off through the path along the side of the house, she ran as fast as she could.

  She didn't turn around. But she could hear them still arguing inside.

  Annie got to the road in front of the house and rounded the corner. She ran in the direction Charlotte had gone.

  She didn't have much hope of catching up to her. But she didn't know what else to do.

  Where was Charlotte?

  Hopefully, she was managing the car. Annie's chest tightened as she imagined Charlotte stalling the engine again. What if the next time she wasn't so lucky?

  And how was Annie going to find her? She figured Charlotte would drive back down the road sooner or later.

  Annie slowed down after a couple of blocks. The two men that had been after the Porsche had turned back the other way. And the people in Annie's house hadn't seemed to discover her leaving.

  When she felt safe, she came to a stop and sat on a brick planter to catch her breath.

  The sound of gunfire echoed through the hills. Individual shots at first, then automatic rifle fire.

  Annie gulped.

  They're not shooting at Charlotte. Charlotte's okay.

  Annie closed her eyes and concentrated, listening closely for the revving of the Porsche somewhere in the neighborhood.

  But all she could hear were more gunshots.

  13

  Jack walked away from the highway, leaving Brent and Naomi behind. He avoided the access road, not wanting to draw any attention to himself in case anyone was watching. He eased down a steep hillside that led down to the junkyard.

  It was a large, gravel lot. Cars were scattered randomly, parked any which way in the yard. Some of them were wrecked, some were rusted over and on blocks. But a few of them looked like they might still run.

  He passed a couple of small, rundown houses in neighboring lots. They looked like they might be vacant. Then he arrived at the fence that encircled the big lot of cars.

  He was careful. He kept to the shadows and made no noise as he walked along the tall, chain-link fence topped with barbed wire. There was only one way to approach the entrance to the junkyard, and it was along that fence.

  Jack took a few steps forward, then stopped to survey his surroundings.

  A short, stocky man sat perched on a chair on the far side of the junkyard. He was stationed outside a small, shabby building, the main office for the yard. It looked like there were some candles lit inside the office.

  A revolver was tucked into the guy's waistband. He sat, bored, in the chair, obviously fighting drowsiness. But every now and then he'd perk up and scan the lot, on the lookout for movement. He was on watch.

  Parked right beside the office was an early 1990s Nissan Pathfinder. The way it was parked so close to the office, and with more care than the other vehicles, made Jack think that it might still be running.

  Jack felt a glimmer of hope.

  If he played his cards right, that could be his ride to Texas.

  Jack decided to get closer to the building. He wanted to see if there was any way he could get at the truck.

  If the guy guarding the place was the only person there, Jack might have a chance. He crept along the fence, slowly but efficiently. Maybe he could figure out a way to pull this off.

  Keeping low, Jack moved through a stand of trees growing along the fence. When he got to the edge of the trees, he came to a more exposed area. There was no cover after the trees.

  Jack stopped. The guard would see Jack crossing that stretch.

  He waited patiently. His palms grew sweaty. He stayed motionless behind the last tree, watching the guy yawn and shift in his seat. If Jack could have just a couple of seconds with the guy distracted and looking away, he could dash across the moonlit stretch in front of him, then hide behind the short expanse of a concrete wall on the corner of the lot. />
  As Jack waited, he got a better look at the Pathfinder. It definitely looked like it was still in good shape. It didn't seem to be one of the junk cars. It looked like the owners of this junkyard – or the people who had taken it over – were using it as their personal vehicle.

  Finally, after several minutes, Jack saw the guy's head bob. The guy caught himself and woke up. He shifted in his seat once more.

  A moment later, his chin fell toward his chest. And this time, he didn't wake up. When Jack didn't see the guy move for a good minute, he made a break for it.

  He dashed across the exposed area silently, then came to a stop behind the concrete wall. He waited and listened for any movement on the other side of the wall. Nothing.

  The rest of the way was easy. The wall ran for the remaining length of that side of the fence. When he rounded the corner, he was at the outside edge of the office.

  Again, he waited and listened. There was movement inside the office, then a loud crash. Then more voices. There were at least two men, Jack realized as he listened.

  Damn.

  That almost put an end to any hope he had of taking the Pathfinder. But still, he thought, he might as well stick around a minute more just to be thorough. If there was a hope in hell of getting that car, he'd take the risk.

  He moved closer to the window. Warm light from candles filtered through the glass, but Jack was careful not to stand in the light.

  He got the quickest glimpse of part of the room as he approached. A desk was against the far wall, and a board next to it was filled with sets of keys on hooks.

  The keys to that Pathfinder were possibly on one of those hooks, or on the desk. Somewhere, Jack knew there were keys to a car that ran on that property.

  For a moment, it was quiet inside. At first, Jack was afraid they had heard him. Maybe they were listening inside.

  His mouth turned dry.

  But then a man inside the office began to make a noise. He was groaning in agony. There was a swift, sudden movement, then the man yelled out in pain. He muttered something Jack couldn't hear.