Shelter

by C A Bird

  “Jason, wait honey, slow down, okay? Let’s make it last. I want it to be the best ever.” That plan lasted only minutes as they explored each other’s body with fingers and tongues.

  Despite her best intentions she became inflamed under his caresses, pressing against him, breathing harder, making it obvious to him she had no desire to take it slow.

  They’d waited so long and all she could think of, was they were going to have a baby. Almost blind with need she pulled him onto her, as their bodies joined. She moaned and started to move with him, slowly at first, then with increasing tempo. “Slow down, Honey, give me a minute.” She whispered.

  He knew what she needed, pushed hard and held it, letting her take the lead, as she moved against him, looking for that right spot.

  She found it.

  As she felt that unmistakable internal flutter signaling orgasm was imminent she slid her hand down his back and pressed. They’d been married long enough for him to know her signals and he began to move again, in that perfect primal rhythm that makes two people one. The flutter grew into a pulse as each stroke took it higher, then became a throb, then went higher, and she gasped as the orgasm engulfed her entire body, and she and Jason cried out together in ecstasy.

  At the peak of the greatest orgasm she had ever experienced, the room lit up with a brilliance that penetrated the very walls, and she and Jason were vaporized by the blast of a thermonuclear explosion at ground zero.

  August 21, 1:50 p.m.

  Las Vegas, NV

  Las Vegas, Nevada was sweltering, with the temperature over one hundred degrees and the air unusually humid. Gray cumulonimbus, or thunderclouds rose to a height of greater than two miles looking like giant anvils, billowing northeast of the city and threatening to release torrents of hot summertime rain. The storm clouds lent an eerie glow to the oppressive atmosphere, darkening the skies and creating a backdrop for the ever-blazing lights of this unique desert city.

  Billy Gale and his new girlfriend Tawny cruised along Interstate Fifteen at a sedate eighty miles per hour, being passed, on both sides, by vehicles traveling much faster, vehicles filled with dreamers barreling their way to sin city to gamble away their hard-earned cash; at Blackjack tables, Roulette wheels or the Mega-Bucks slot machines. The license plates on Billy’s Mustang convertible were Nevada plates. He was going home after spending three interminable days “meeting the family.”

  The traffic traveling south on Interstate Fifteen, away from Vegas, was unusually heavy for a weekday and he could see a wreck that appeared to have just happened and was obstructing the heavy flow. Cars were beginning to actually enter the median to get around the obstruction. He smiled. It was usually the northbound traffic that was in such a hurry.

  Billy was a twenty nine year old croupier at the Golden Nugget. He’d only known Tawny for three weeks and already she was beginning to smother him. He was baffled that he’d agreed to this L.A. trip, but somehow her showgirl body and abundant blonde hair had convinced him it was the right thing to do.

  He passed the Sloan turn-off, and a couple minutes later a small, view-obstructing hill on the right, and, as he came around the hill, there it was! He caught sight of the city he loved, to him, the world’s most beautiful and exciting city. He caught his breath at the beauty of it, the colored lights against the angry dark clouds giving it the appearance of a scintillating jewel in the afternoon sky. The Mandalay Bay dwarfed the hotels behind it. The green light from the Luxor shone straight up toward the heavens through an increasingly misty atmosphere, moisture diffused the lavender glow from the Rio, and there was a brighter light farther to the left of that. Confused, he did a classic double take.

  “What the hell is that?” He looked over at Tawny and she was looking at it also. Similar to the thundercloud ahead but in a state of motion, churning and growing, it climbed to a height as great as the anvil before them.

  “I don’t know, baby.” Her voice was like that of a little girl. Billy always expected her to go, “boop… boop… a do.”

  “You don’t think they’re doing more of that testing do you? It looks like it’s up at the Nevada Test Site.”

  Billy slowed, pulling over through the slow lane, and coasted to the freeway shoulder. A few other vehicles finally began to slow down when their drivers noticed the new and unusual cloud, but several of them dangerously careened into the median and, making U-turns, headed back out of town, even though they had seen the colossal traffic jam.

  “What the hell’s going on? Shit, if that’s another storm we’re going to get drenched.” He pushed the button to raise the canvas roof and latched it shut. He pulled back into traffic and accelerated to match velocity with the flow, only a few miles from the beginning of the Strip and the behemoth hotels and casinos that line both sides for miles.

  “I don’t think it’s a storm, Billy. It looks like an A bomb explosion. My boss says she used to live in Vegas when they tested bombs and she has a photograph with Las Vegas in the foreground and a mushroom cloud behind it. That’s what it looks like to me.”

  “They’re not supposed to be testing anymore. Besides, it looks a lot closer than the test site,” he told her.

  “Unless it’s not a test.”

  He quickly looked at her and then back at the cloud. The top had begun to spread eastward taking on the same anvil shape as the thundercloud. He looked back at Vegas. “Oh shit.”

  Billy watched with growing comprehension and dread as a wall of dust burst through the gap in the low western mountain range where the freeway led to Reno. He couldn’t drag his eyes away from the spectacle as the dust front initially swept across the desert, and then over the tracts of suburban homes that had sprouted up on the periphery of the city. The strange shimmering wall reached the giant edifices along the Strip and he saw the Mandalay Bay topple and the glass walls of the Luxor shatter and blow out toward the east, as Cleopatra’s needle toppled over into the street. The towers and minarets of Excaliber tilted and collapsed like slow motion bowling pins and the MGM Grand and Tropicana Hotels literally exploded before his eyes.

  He grasped the steering wheel and barreled straight ahead down the freeway. Other cars ran off the road or collided with one another. He was unable to speak as he watched his beautiful city disintegrate before his eyes. The strange wall appeared before him, snatched up the car, and heaved it hundreds of yards across the landscape to the far side of Las Vegas Boulevard, bouncing it end for end across the desert like a child’s plaything.

  August 21, 2:56 p.m.

  Sangre de Cristo Mountains, NM

  The chopper, traveling in a northeasterly direction, skimmed low over the trees, the landscape rushing by beneath them. More mountains loomed ahead. Ten minutes ago, Will had received an ominous radio message - missiles were on target for the United States. Until that very moment Mark had held out hope the U.S would be spared, the war confined to countries overseas. Until then, he had planned to deliver Will’s family to the shelter and go back for Jill, or wait for Steve. Until ten minutes ago.

  Up ahead the trees thinned out as they approached a large grass covered clearing filled with cars haphazardly parked. He swung the bird around, coming down to the meadow through towering trees on all sides, looking for an empty place to set down. It wasn’t difficult to find since the meadow had been cleared with the intention of holding many more automobiles than were now located there.

  People scurried away from the nearer cars as rocks were flung from the chopper. As the rotors slowed to a halt, the four men and two women climbed down and Will headed off in the direction of the towering cliff that bordered the meadow on the west. Some people were still in their cars and more were in small groups standing around, children staying close to their parents as though sensing their parent’s fear. Many of the adults looked dazed, many had been or were crying, and all of them looked very, very tired and frightened. As the group from the chopper headed across the meadow they were met on all sides with questions.

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nbsp; “Please follow me and your questions will be answered,” Hargraves told them raising his arms to quiet them. By the time they reached the rocks the majority of the people had gathered around them. Will climbed onto a large rock and faced a crowd he estimated to be approximately two or three hundred people. He didn’t have to ask for their attention, no one made a sound except for a baby crying in the background.

  “Ladies and Gentleman, my name is Will Hargraves. A few minutes ago I received a message that the U.S. is under attack. Missiles are on the way from China and possibly Russia. We have no idea yet what the extent of the damage will be, but I can tell you that it’s liable to be extreme. You are here at my request. I’m the one who sent you the messages and devices to warn you of the impending attack. Inside this mountain at my back is a shelter with sufficient equipment and supplies to keep us going until it’s safe to leave. Nobody has to go down but if you do you must agree to follow my instructions and to help us all to come through this terrible ordeal. Now the first thing we must do is to get under cover as quickly as we can. The elevator holds approximately fifty people at a time. It’s a large freight elevator.”

  With this he turned and, climbing down from the rock, went to a smaller rock beside the cliff. He lifted a cover in the rock to reveal a phone. Pressing a button on the side he spoke into it, “Alright Glen, let us in.”

  There was a sound of rock scraping on rock and a portion of what had appeared to be the side of the cliff slid back and opened before them.

  “Open sesame,” Mark whispered. He could see a large cave inside with an elevator door at the rear.

  “Please enter the elevator and when you get into the shelter, follow the instructions of the people inside. Don’t push, please, there’s still time.”

  As though the words were a signal, the sky lit up like a billion flashbulbs all going off at once. Everyone quickly glanced to the south and then just as quickly turned away as the light stabbed their eyes like white-hot knives. Arms were thrown up as everyone tried to shield their eyes. Someone screamed and the crowd surged forward toward the elevator door. Many people began to push to the front. Will pulled his forty-five and fired once into the air.

  “I will shoot the first person that pushes or shoves another to get to the elevator! Do you hear me?” and he lowered the weapon and pointed it straight at the crowd. “The blast can’t reach us here and it will be hours or longer before any radiation does. The prevailing wind is out of the north. Now keep calm.” He lowered the gun and people began to move forward in a more orderly fashion.

  When most of the refugees had gone below, Mark heard the sound of a car. It raced up the road, turned into the lot and parked at the end of a line of vehicles. A woman quickly jumped out and helped two small children unfasten their seat belts. One of the other men went over and assisted her with their suitcases. The woman kept looking to the south where the mushrooms were now unrecognizable as high-altitude winds blew the effects of the blasts southward. Mark knew other refugees would soon be arriving, having seen from the chopper, a line of cars winding up the mountainous road.

  August 21, 9:55 p.m.

  Sangre de Cristo Mountains, NM

  Aaron drifted in and out of consciousness. He shifted position and pain shot up his arm into his shoulder. His arm was splinted and wrapped with duct tape. What was with that? He managed to sit up and tried to recall additional details of his ordeal.

  Using back roads and going in the general direction of Taos he’d managed to get around Santa Fe and by 2:45 p.m. was back on the main road. He wondered if there would be bombs and when. How far away did he have to be to survive? He had better than a half tank of gas but was now in unfamiliar territory having never been north of Santa Fe. He flew through the town of Espanola at 75 miles per hour, curves permitting, but the road was becoming increasingly mountainous and he reduced velocity to prevent crashing. His destination was another thirty-five miles beyond Taos in the highest mountains in New Mexico.

  Traffic increased slightly as he approached Taos. He was unsure how to get around the town the way he had skirted Santa Fe. He decided to drive directly through and take his chances. He entered the outskirts and pulled over at a small convenience store. Looking quickly around he exited the vehicle and ran through the front door. Finding no one there, he went to the cold case and picked out two sandwiches and a six-pack of Coke. Finding it difficult to completely slough off the trappings of civilization, he called out, “Anybody here?”

  No answer.

  Where had everybody gone? He expected more traffic but there’d been very few cars since he’d circumvented Santa Fe. Of course, the traffic jams out of the city would prevent many cars from getting this far and most of the inhabitants of these northern cities seemed to be fleeing to the east. What were they running from?

  Then he remembered Los Alamos. It was probably going to be a target and he was twenty miles away from it! He scooped up the items and glancing fearfully around, he raced out the front door.

  As he pushed into the light he suddenly felt dizzy, the daylight becoming much brighter. He looked to the south and threw up his arm to shield his eyes from the blinding glare. Alamogordo, White Sands, Kirtland Air Force Base, all were probable targets of those miniature suns, but apparently not Los Alamos, at least not yet. He ran to the car, a sense of doom overtaking him, how long before Los Alamos was hit? When it was he knew he wouldn’t have any time to worry about it since he’d probably be vaporized immediately. He wondered how long it would be before the radiation got this far north. The sound of the explosion reached him just as he jumped in the car; a deep, bone-jarring rumble, then two more, blending together like a devil’s requiem. He revved up the engine, trying to drown out the noise, but he could still hear the sound in his imagination, blending with the screams of humankind.

  He drove through town, recklessly now, seeing people on the street looking south. A few tried to flag him down and he was forced to swerve when someone jumped in front of his vehicle trying to force him to stop. He wished now that he’d tried to find an alternate route. Unfortunately, in these mountains there weren’t too many options.

  All of a sudden a group of men ran out of a garage directly into his path. Carrying tools in their hands, they chucked them at the Cavalier as Aaron swerved and accelerated in an attempt to avoid them. A wrench struck the hood and bounced into the windshield cracking it into a spider web of opacity. Instinctively, he stomped the brake as the windshield shattered completely, and a hydraulic jack came crashing through, showering him with dull shards of safety glass. The jack struck him solidly on the right shoulder, causing him to lose control of the car, which careened right and smashed into the brick garage front. His head smacked the steering wheel with a sickening crunch, temporarily dazing him, but he managed to unfasten his seat belt and groped for his bag, which he’d moved to the front seat, and pulled out his pocketknife. He fumbled with the large blade trying to get it open with numb fingers. Just as he managed to get it open someone threw the door open and rough hands grabbed his shirt, jerking him from the car.

  “We needed that fucking car, asshole! Why’d you crash it?”

  The man, a hulking six feet plus, slammed Aaron against the side of the car, holding him with his left hand as he struck him a vicious blow to the stomach. Aaron’s breath whooshed out and he would have collapsed but the man held him up, drawing his fist back for another blow. Dazed, and trying to protect himself, Aaron brought up his hand with the knife. As the man lunged forward the knife sunk into a yielding body, something warm and slippery suddenly covering Aaron’s hand. The knife, catching the man just below the bottom rib, penetrated upward through the diaphragm and he stumbled back, stupidly staring down at the blood soaking his blue flannel shirt. He gave Aaron a surprised look and dropped to his knees. Then he looked down at his hand covered with blood and slowly toppled over face first into the street. Aaron moved away from the vehicle into the street and whirled toward the other men.

 
“Son-of-a-bitch knifed Ron!” A tall, bearded man rushed at Aaron but he stopped when Aaron waved the knife in his direction.

  Another of the men jumped in the car, which had stalled, and hit the starter.

  “It still runs, come on you guys!” The Cavalier, with the front end crumpled, backed out of the hole, bricks cascading to the sidewalk. The others hesitated for only an instant, and then jumped into the car, which accelerated away toward the north.

  Aaron stood swaying for a moment. He shook his head to clear it, staring down at the man’s body. His first instinct was to see if he could help him, but although this morning he woke up as a skilled surgeon, this afternoon he was a scared survivor, he hoped, of a nuclear war. Nothing would ever be the same again.

  He noticed other men down the street taking too much interest in him, but he had lost his main attraction, the car. He’d also lost his backpack and the sandwiches. Still clutching the knife, he stumbled forward into the garage. Looking around in the cluttered interior he spotted a grease covered sink behind a stack of tires. Washing the blood off his knife and hands he folded the knife and put it in his jeans. Some of the blood was his own; from numerous cuts on his face and arms that he’d received from the exploding glass. Lifting his hand to his forehead, with his shoulder screaming in protest, he felt a huge goose bump already forming there.