Nuclear Winter Whiteout

by Bobby Akart

  Their questions were answered with gunfire from the attackers. The bullets ripped through the palm fronds and embedded in the trunks.

  “Stay low and take cover!” Hank yelled instructions to them.

  The tires of the pickup truck began to squeal as the driver forced it into reverse. The man it pinned groaned over the racket as he was released from the front fender’s grip. The smell of burnt rubber filled the air and reached Hank’s nostrils, giving him an idea.

  “Shoot out the tires. Now!”

  Jessica and Sonny joined him in immersing the pickup in a variety of bullets ranging from Sonny’s shotgun pellets to Jessica’s .45-caliber hollow points from her Kimber 1911. The truck was being pelted by the shotgun blasts, but it was the expert shooting of Jessica that took out the front two tires. Each time a bullet penetrated the outer wall, the tires exploded from the sudden release of air pressure. Now it sat in the middle of the bridge, a disabled hunk of steel unable to breach the gate but providing excellent cover for the attackers.

  A gun battle ensued that could be heard for miles, as the unusually quiet conditions coupled with the low cloud ceiling kept the sound confined near the ground.

  Hank and Sonny took up positions behind the granite blocks holding the gate in place. Jessica crouched to keep a low profile and rushed to Hank’s side. She patted him on the back.

  “Trade guns with me,” she whispered with an urgent tone in her voice. Hank didn’t hesitate as he took her handgun, a weapon he was far more familiar with. “How many rounds have you fired?”

  “Ten or twelve, I think.”

  She reached into the back pocket of her jeans and handed him a full magazine. “Don’t waste these. I need you to give me some cover. Try to skip the bullets under the bed of the pickup truck. This will distract them and maybe even find a leg or two. With a little luck, you’ll breach the gas tank.”

  Hank muttered, “Okay.” He raised the weapon and rested it on the granite block to keep his aim steady. “Ready.”

  Jessica tapped him on the back and whispered, “Now.”

  Hank fired. She raced off to his left as the .45-caliber rounds careened off the pavement, creating sparks underneath the truck. A man screamed in agony as one of the bullets found his shinbone, shattering it as the hollow-point bullet expanded.

  Jessica moved away from the gate to get a different angle at their attackers. As Hank’s bullet hit the man’s leg, she was able to get her bearings. Then she got some help.

  There was a reason criminal conspiracy laws had become so effective in taking down any form of crooked enterprise. Most criminals will roll over and snitch on the others to reduce their own punishment. Or, as they say, there’s no honor among thieves.

  On the bridge, the attackers in the second pickup truck decided to cut their losses and flee. Jessica heard the truck’s doors slam. A second later, the driver threw the truck in reverse and turned on his headlights so he could have a better view as he drove off the bridge. As a result, he left his partners in crime lit up and dumbfounded.

  Jessica didn’t hesitate; she took aim and unleashed a salvo toward two men who’d broken their cover. She didn’t miss. The men were riddled with bullets and thrown to the pavement. She gritted her teeth in anger and stood. With the barrel of her rifle seeking any movement from the men still alive, she patiently waited.

  Then she got her chance. The man Hank shot in the leg tried to run-hobble away. He turned his body sideways and continued to fire wildly toward the gate, missing his targets. Jessica, however, did not. Her first shot struck him in the good leg, and the second ripped through his neck, killing him instantly.

  She ran toward the gate, where both Sonny and Hank were standing. Her eyes grew wide as she darted between the two men toward the disabled pickup.

  “Get back down,” she growled at them. “This may not be over.”

  Both men rushed back to their protective cover. Switching the rifle to her left hand, Jessica jumped on top of Hank’s granite block, swung her right arm through the post, and hurled her body around until she landed at the front side of the gate just feet from the water’s edge.

  Using the concrete railing for cover, she caught her breath and readied her rifle. She crouched as low as she could and began to ease around the barrier, focusing her eyes on the concrete surface of the bridge.

  Although she’d arrived late to the party, she believed there was still one attacker unaccounted for. If the driver of the truck was dead, then the only attacker left was the man pinned against the guardrail, who might still be alive. A wounded animal was a dangerous animal with nothing to lose, she thought as she walked heel to toe, studying the undercarriage of the pickup for movement.

  She took several steps closer until the large rear tires provided some clearance to see the other side. She could discern the shape of a man’s legs spread apart as if he was leaning against the guardrail. She squinted her eyes to search for any movement. She had to be sure he was dead, and there was only one way to do it without exposing herself.

  Jessica lowered her body to a prone position on the bridge. She aimed at the man’s foot and gently squeezed the trigger. The powerful NATO 5.56 round entered the sole of the man’s shoe and tore a hole through his foot.

  No scream. Not even a twitch of his already dead body.

  She jumped to her feet and raced for the back of the pickup, swinging her rifle’s barrel from side to side as she swept the bridge in search of targets. There were only two, and they’d already been eliminated.

  After a long moment during which she stared at the darkness on the other end of the bridge, serenity had returned to Driftwood Key as Jessica gave the all clear.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Saturday, November 2

  Arkansas Valley Regional Medical Center

  La Junta, Colorado

  Lacey’s mind had taken a respite, an unconscious sleepy slumber, during which time she had minimal brain activity and showed no signs of awareness of her surroundings. Her eyes had been closed, but not clenched shut. No sound, no pain, no external stimulus triggered any form of response from her. Even basic reflexes such as coughing and swallowing were greatly reduced.

  A coma was the body’s way of healing itself following a traumatic injury. It had been two days, and it was time to wake up. Slowly, at first. Lacey began to hear things around her. Shuffling of feet. Whispered conversations. The occasional words of encouragement from what she thought was an angel, but it was actually one of the ICU nurses.

  Then she heard Tucker’s voice. Oddly, he was retelling her stories of family outings. Backpacking through the Redwood National Forest. Camping at Wild Willy Hot Springs. Hiking to Burney Falls. Standing atop the Cone Peak at Big Sur.

  His voice was comforting. Familiar. Yet something was wrong. Owen was missing from the storytelling sessions. Tucker mentioned his dad as he spoke, but Owen wasn’t present. His smell. His touch. His loving voice whispering in her ear.

  Inside, Lacey was becoming agitated and apprehensive. Where was her husband? Why couldn’t she hear him joining in the conversation reminiscent of their evenings around the dinner table at night? It was all so confusing.

  Then, in an instant, as if a thousand roosters had crowed at once, Lacey awoke with a start. Her body lurched as if it had been shocked with an overcharged defibrillator. She took in a deep exhale, filling her lungs through her mouth, but seemingly unable to expel it. Lacey McDowell was awake, and she choked out a scream to let the world know it.

  Tucker rushed out of the room to the nurse’s station to let them know his mom was waking up.

  “Find Dr. Brady! Stat!” a nurse shouted from just outside her room. She turned to Tucker who was headed back into the room. She firmly grasped his arm. “Young man. Please wait here until the doctor examines your mom.”

  Within seconds, three nurses had rushed to Lacey’s side, checking the machinery around her and feeling her neck and wrist. Her eyes were forced wide open and wild with p
erplexity as she tried to process her surroundings.

  “Mrs. McDowell, my name is Donna Ruiz. Everything’s okay. Please calm down while we check you over.”

  “Where?” Lacey tried to ask, but it came out as a whispered breath of air. Her intubation tube had stolen her ability to speak.

  Nurse Ruiz seemed to sense what she was saying. The long-term ICU and emergency room nurse had seen people come back from the brink of death before.

  “Honey, you’re fine. You’re at the hospital. The doctor will be here in a—”

  As if on cue, Dr. Brady rushed into the room, penlight in hand. “Did she just come out?”

  “Yes, Doctor,” replied Ruiz. “Her vitals went through the roof, but she’s calming quickly. Only her pulse is elevated.”

  “Good, very good,” said Dr. Brady, who leaned over Lacey and performed his own examination. He tested her eye, motor and verbal response. He studied her arms and legs for evidence of unusual spasms.

  He flashed his penlight across the front of her face. “Follow my light with your eyes.” She did.

  Then he removed her covers and grasped her hand. “Squeeze my hand, please.” She gave him a firm grip.

  As he checked her heart and lungs, he spoke to her in a casual tone. He took a personal approach to keep her calm. “Lacey, welcome back. As you can see, we have you in the hospital. There’s a lot to discuss, but I need you to remain calm. Your heart rate is slightly elevated, and we’re gonna give you some medicine to slow it down. You’re breathing remarkably well. I’m gonna have Nurse Ruiz remove your breathing tube so you can speak with us. How does that sound?”

  Lacey stared at Dr. Brady’s face and nodded. She had a thousand questions she wanted to ask, the first of which was simple—where’s my family?

  Ruiz leaned over Lacey and gently removed the tube. “Lacey, you’re gonna feel a little discomfort.” She expertly slid it out, which immediately opened Lacey’s throat.

  She began coughing violently, so Ruiz lovingly touched her face to comfort her. Seconds later, the nurses adjusted Lacey in her bed, propping her up slightly so she could get a better view of her surroundings.

  Lacey conducted her own self-assessment, carefully testing her limbs to see if they functioned. She wiggled her toes and fingers. She tensed her muscles in her legs and arms. She slowly turned her head side to side. Other than the normal stiffness associated with lying perfectly still for days, she felt fine.

  “Doctor,” Nurse Ruiz whispered into his ear. “Her son is very anxious to see his mom. Can we let him in?”

  Dr. Brady furrowed his brow. “Give me a moment to test her mental acuity.”

  He turned to Lacey. “Do you feel like you can talk? I know your throat is sore. We’ll fix that in a moment.”

  She nodded and whispered yes. This resulted in another coughing fit, from which she quickly recovered. Nurse Ruiz allowed her a brief sip of water.

  “Okay. Do you know what state you’re in?”

  “Colorado,” she whispered.

  “Good. And what year is it?”

  Lacey scowled, which caused Dr. Brady some concern. He thought she was struggling to find an answer.

  “Lacey?”

  “It depends. How long have I been out?”

  Dr. Brady stepped back from her bed and stuffed the penlight into his pocket with a smile. “I’d have to research where sense of humor falls on the Glasgow Coma Scale, but I think that means you’re fine.”

  The Glasgow Coma Scale was a clinical tool used to measure a patient’s level of consciousness after a brain injury. Physicians focus on eye opening response, verbal interaction, and motor skills.

  Nonetheless, he wanted to go through the rest of the procedures.

  Lacey forced a smile and looked toward the door. “Owen? Tucker?”

  Dr. Brady raised his index finger in the air. “Just a moment.” He left her room and spoke briefly with Tucker before letting him in.

  “Can I see her now?” Tucker asked before Dr. Brady was able to close the door behind him.

  “She is doing very well, young man, but it’s important that we not allow her to become agitated. Her brain is still recovering from a very traumatic event, just like yours did. She needs some time to process what is happening before she takes in any unsettling news.”

  Tucker sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “How do I hide Dad’s surgery from her?”

  Overnight, Dr. Forrest had performed the transtibial amputation on Owen’s lower legs. It was one of the most frequent forms of amputation due to the rate of diabetes in America. Dr. Forrest was successful in leaving Owen with two well-padded residual limbs that could easily tolerate prosthetic replacements. He was still in recovery and remained in a coma of his own.

  “I’ll be with you the entire time,” Dr. Brady responded. “Let’s just stay positive and tell her that your dad is still fighting the good fight. Okay?”

  Tucker forced a smile and nodded. He was fully dressed now. Sheriff Mobley had retrieved the family’s Bronco and pulled it into the local auto repair garage across the street from the sheriff’s office. He’d secured the McDowells’ belongings at the station and delivered clothing for Tucker early that morning. His appearance would never suggest to his mother that he had been in the same medical condition she was just a day ago.

  He eased into the room first, and his face beamed with the broadest smile of his life. “Hi, Mom.”

  Tucker tried to remain calm as the doctor had suggested, but he couldn’t control his emotions. Tears flowed out of his eyes, and he rushed to her side. Lacey gingerly raised her arms to accept his embrace, allowing his warm salty tears to pour off his cheeks and join hers. For a minute, the two held one another without speaking, not that words were necessary.

  When they finally let go of one another, Lacey’s piercing eyes looked into Tucker’s soul as only a mother could. Tucker felt it immediately and tried to look away, seeking Dr. Brady for moral support. His mom suddenly found her strength and squeezed her son’s hand before he could bolt out of the room. He’d never been able to lie to his mom, and now was no different.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Saturday, November 2

  Arkansas Valley Regional Medical Center

  La Junta, Colorado

  Lacey and Tucker spent the next hour talking with Dr. Brady. The family’s attending physician was also no match for the strong-willed Lacey McDowell. Her reaction to the news was expected, but her sadness extended to both her husband and Tucker. She felt guilty for not being there to help her teenage son make such a difficult decision. She assured him that she would’ve supported his choice, and she meant it. After the shock of what had been required to provide Owen a chance at living was over, she swelled with pride as she realized her son had become a man.

  She’d first become impressed with Tucker’s survival instincts when they sought shelter as the threat of the nuclear attacks materialized. Under the high-pressure conditions inside the fallout shelter, Tucker had kept a cool head and did everything to help his parents stay safe. Then, after they began their trek east, he had been so nonchalant with dealing with the dead bodies on the highway overpass that she became concerned. His acceptance of death, especially at the hands of two gunmen, had shocked her at first.

  It was during those few minutes alone in the Bronco before the flash freeze overtook him that Tucker had assuaged her fears. He’d explained to her that he was never one to stir up drama, much less fabricate it, as many of his teenage friends did. In a very adult way, he’d stated there were enough challenges growing up without making up any.

  He’d talked about drug use by his friends. Teenage pregnancies that parents were unaware of. Cheating on exams and term papers that went undiscovered. He’d been completely honest with her in those few minutes before they nearly froze to death.

  As they talked in the hospital room alone, she realized Tucker had handled the freeze anomaly better than she had. It was her concern for Owen and the impulsi
ve decision to charge out into the frigid air that had put them in peril. Tucker saved her, and now, with his ability to make a very heart-wrenching decision, he’d given Owen a better chance of survival as well.

  On Dr. Brady’s orders, without objection from Lacey, she took some time to sleep. She was feeling much stronger and even took in some solid food, if you could call lime Jell-O and a cup of applesauce solid.

  While she napped, Tucker donned his jacket and took a fifteen minute walk down the street to speak with Sheriff Mobley. He hadn’t stopped by the hospital that morning, and Tucker wasn’t sure if he was aware of his mom waking up.

  To his surprise, Tucker learned that Sheriff Mobley had spent the entire morning making arrangements on behalf of the McDowell family. He was aware of Lacey’s condition, but he chose to give Tucker time alone with his mom before he stopped by to introduce himself. In the meantime, he’d done several things to benefit their anticipated travels.

  First, he encouraged Tucker to keep his family in La Junta for as long as they wanted. One of the locals offered up a fully furnished rental property down the street from the hospital to be used for as long as the McDowells wanted it. Families prepared foods for them. The city manager gathered up packaged MREs to feed them on their journey once they chose to leave. Sheriff Mobley filled their gas containers and topped off the tank to their truck. And, with the help of several townspeople, they found a radiator hose to repair Black & Blue.

  Except, Sheriff Mobley had a conversation with Tucker about the pristine condition of the vintage Ford. As they traveled southeast toward Florida and out of the Rocky Mountain region, they’d eventually come into only slightly more hospitable weather conditions. Also, based on reports, the EMP effect dissipated near Texas. Nonetheless, an operating vehicle like the classic Bronco would be a prize possession of anyone with criminal intent.

  His solution? Make it ugly. It needed to be painted to appear run-down. A primer-gray fender here and some poorly spray-painted camouflage there. Even the gas cans should be painted to blend in with the truck. Then, to top it off, a nondescript tarp was recommended to hide one of the most valuable assets in America, gasoline.