by Bobby Akart
“They’re hell-raisers,” quipped Palmer. “Did you hear all that talk about setting up their own roadblocks? They have no use for FEMA either.”
Riley leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head. With a shrug, he responded, “Look, the president ordered martial law, which includes things like confiscating guns and excess food. If FEMA guys came to Momma’s door demanding her guns and food, she’d fill their backsides with buckshot.”
Palmer continued to raise concerns about the Montana militia group. “The guy doing the broadcast talked like they have groups all over the country, including Texas. Doesn’t the government have enough to deal with already without these guys getting in the way?”
Riley disagreed. “I think they’re just tryin’ to protect our rights. We’re not the bad guys in all this, the North Koreans are.”
“That part was weird, too,” Palmer shot back. “He said there are North Korean soldiers on American soil. C’mon, Riley, that’s nuts. We probably just blasted them to high heaven. They’d be idiots to try to attack America.”
“Sis, they have eyewitnesses, and they saw—” started Riley before his older brother calmed the conversation down.
Cooper intervened. “Listen, y’all. Don’t make too much of all that talk. They’re just tryin’ to get their guys fired up. It sounds like the guys who patrolled the border when we were in high school. Duncan didn’t like them too much ’cause he said it wasn’t their job and they were too over the top. This group is no different.”
“Well,” interrupted Palmer, after giving Riley another look, “back then, he was a rule follower. Dallas’s dyin’ changed all of that. Duncan is, um, hardened. It’s almost like he’s too serious.”
“He feels guilty, I think,” said Cooper, who hung his head. “I sure as heck didn’t make it any easier on him. It’s crazy, y’all, but I’ve thought about him a lot since this whole thing happened. Where do you reckon he is?”
Riley turned off the radio and pushed it into the middle of the table. “I sure hope it’s a long ways from here. Did you hear the list of cities that got hit? They nuked G-Town.”
“Yeah, Coop,” started Palmer. “Why would North Korea wanna send a bomb to Galveston?”
Cooper shrugged but provided his best guess. “I bet the target was Houston. They were probably trying to take out the refineries and overshot their target.”
“Whatever, no loss,” mumbled Riley. “Place is overrated anyway. Whadya think about Denver gettin’ hit?”
“Colorado Springs, but same thing,” replied Cooper. “Well, besides the fact our military is run from there right now, that ain’t good. For us, we just need to steer clear of Denver. It’s probably a nuclear wasteland.”
Palmer leaned in to whisper, “It’s right on our route home. Maybe we should wait for the smoke to clear?”
“Radiation, you mean, but I get it,” said Cooper. “Here’s the problem. The other route we have as an option takes us straight through the heart of the Rockies. While I appreciate the use of Red Rover, that old truck can’t climb the steep inclines through Butte, Idaho Falls, and Salt Lake City. Albuquerque, too. Stayin’ on the eastern side of the Rockies is relatively flat.”
“What about the radiation?” asked Palmer.
Cooper had considered the risks. He wished he knew more about the fallout and how long it lingered. He thought the winds helped move the stuff out, and from what he recalled from the times they’d attended rodeos in Denver, the wind screamed off the eastern slope of the Rockies like a banshee, especially in the winter.
“We have the RAD stickers and the IOSAT tablets,” he replied. “I hate to put it this way, but Denver was the city that concerned me the most between here and home. Big cities equate to big chaos. Those folks got a lot of problems to deal with now, which means they might leave us alone as we drive by.”
“What if we drive a little farther east than we planned, like when we were gonna be on horseback?” asked Riley. “The car saves us all this time. We can afford to be safe and avoid gettin’ fried by radiation.”
“Or we could wait another couple of days,” added Palmer.
“I don’t know, sis,” said Riley. “I’m with Coop on this one. Let’s get rollin’ while the bad guys are distracted.”
“Riley, I thought we were gonna sleep on it,” said Cooper.
“Nah. I say let’s go first thing unless more bombs come flyin’ by.”
“Okay, then,” said Palmer. “It’s settled. Off to bed, boys. I’ll stay up with Fiorella for a while.”
Riley and Cooper pushed their chairs away and headed for the living room.
“I call first shift on drivin’,” Riley whispered as they headed for the couch. The Rodeo Kids were ready to head home.
Chapter 16
December 1
Raven Rock Mountain Complex
Liberty Township, Pennsylvania
Fights typically begin with an aggressor. Aggression could be a social or physical behavior that intended to harm another individual or nation. The aggressor would identify a target and was not only willing to harm the target, but also undertake actions that the target dislikes. In most instances, no matter how hateful the aggressor acts, it has no impact on the other party unless it was deemed to be hurtful.
President Harman sat alone in the conference room as she considered human behavior and how it related to the advent of this nuclear war. Her mind wandered to her younger days when she’d attended an outdoor rock concert with a girlfriend.
During a break in between bands, she and her friend acknowledged an inherent problem with large crowds at an event such as the one they were attending—a lack of bathrooms. Add excessive use of alcohol and a potential chaotic situation was in the making.
They made their way through a crowd toward a row of forty port-o-potties, which had dozens of people lined up in front of each. She and her friend each chose a line and hoped one would reach the front sooner than the other, at which time they’d join up.
Twenty minutes later, she recalled, she’d reached near the front of the line when suddenly three women appeared and forced their way in line with their boyfriends. Like several others in line, she’d grumbled about the new arrivals.
Were they really cutting in line? Everyone was holding it, as they say, and these women had no right to jump in front of those who’d been patient.
Soon, the crowd began chanting, “Back of the line. Back of the line.”
Undeterred, the three women laughed, tossed their hair about, and hung on their boyfriends as they inched closer.
This reaction infuriated the crowd. In a flash, a drunk man rushed past her and began to urinate on one of the women. The woman’s boyfriend reacted by shoving the man to the ground, where he continued to urinate, except on himself.
Now at a fever pitch, those in line behind her, fueled by alcohol and anger, rushed forward, knocking those in line to the ground in some cases. A fistfight ensued, and police moved in to tamp down the hostilities by using pepper spray and threats of arrest. In the end, everyone in line was delayed, and the stench of people urinating at will filled the air.
President Harman had learned about aggression and societal collapse on that day. She learned that tense situations could get out of control, resulting in a breakdown of morals and values.
On this first day of December 2022, a date which would be remembered for centuries, she learned that the war of words could raise tensions between nations to a fever pitch, one that could result in aggressive behavior that couldn’t be tamped down.
Secretary of Defense Evans had just left her with the good news that the war was over. The so-called good news was the annihilation of North Korea’s nuclear capabilities and much of its infrastructure. The good news was that they could no longer attack the U.S., and America could breathe a sigh of relief.
A sigh of relief? She repeated the names of the cities of America that would not be able to breathe a sigh of relief, much less brea
the. Washington, New York, Philadelphia, Pittsburgh, Toledo, Omaha, Galveston, Shreveport, Colorado Springs, San Diego, San Francisco, and Los Angeles.
A dozen American cities. Already gone, in a span of hours. The bulk of the nation was without power. Anarchy in the streets made her experience at a rock concert decades ago look like a birthday party for a bunch of not-yet-potty-trained two-year-olds.
The President of the United States buried her head in her hands. She was at a loss as to where she should start first. She took a deep breath and exhaled, but it wasn’t a sigh of relief that the Twelve-Hour War was over. It was more of a gasp for air as she tried to avoid suffocating from despair.
PART TWO
Road Trips
Chapter 17
December 2
Kingsbury Colony, Montana
The Rodeo Kids learned early on that having an operating vehicle in a grid-down scenario was both a blessing and a curse. In America, the average age of a passenger vehicle was twelve years. Out of two hundred seventy million cars, only about twenty thousand were a 1972-model year or older. Having the ability to travel long distance was a valuable asset; however, a moving vehicle was not only a rare sight, but a much-coveted commodity. One that was worth killing for in a world without rule of law.
“Ma’am, God blessed us when He introduced us to you,” started Cooper. “I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done to protect me and my family, not to mention what you’re doing for them boys.” Pacheco had already said his goodbyes and returned to his post at Morales’s side.
“Don’t you say another word about it, young man,” said Fiorella as she gave Cooper one last hug. “It’s been my pleasure to help you young folks.”
Palmer, who was standing next to them, reached out to hug Fiorella again. “Are you sure you won’t take a packet of these potassium iodide tablets? We calculated our drive home and are pretty sure we don’t need them all.”
The night before, Palmer stayed up and talked with Fiorella for an hour while they watched the Brazilian boys sleep. Palmer felt a sense of guilt over how helpful Fiorella had been, and the Armstrong kids had done nothing in return. After providing Fiorella with a RAD sticker, she offered her a fourteen-day pack of IOSAT. Palmer calculated the three of them had enough in the remaining two packets to make it back to Texas.
Fiorella smiled and patted Palmer on the back. “Honey, I’ve got two bottles of Lugol’s Oil. It works for everything from wound treatment to upset stomachs to disinfecting drinking water. But most importantly, for our present circumstances, I can use it to protect from the radiation poisoning. With the Lugol’s Oil in our bodies, the radioactive fallout has nowhere to bind as it travels to the thyroid. If the time comes, we can ingest it and I can apply it to our skin around the lymph nodes. We’ll be just fine.”
Palmer gave her one last hug, as did Riley, while they loaded up.
“Ma’am,” started Riley, “my momma would thank you for what you’ve done for us. In fact, when this is all over, we’ll come back to see y’all. I promise.”
“Oh, dear, that would be nice, but we know how these things go. You three just be safe, and I hope the food I packed will help you along the way.”
“Are you kiddin’?” said Riley with a laugh. “It’s all the fuel I need to make it clear to the ranch. And thank you for those old maps too. We plan on avoiding the cities. The maps of Montana, Wyoming, and Colorado show all the small county roads, so we can try to avoid trouble.”
“Well, you’re welcome,” Fiorella replied with a smile. “My husband and I loved to sightsee. You can’t see this beautiful country sailing down an interstate at seventy miles an hour. You need to travel the back roads. I know the maps are old, but last time I checked, they haven’t been digging up any of the country roads and hauling them away.”
She laughed along with the group, and Riley gave her yet another hug goodbye. Cooper reached into the back of Red Rover and pulled out his rifle. He was riding shotgun, and in a post-apocalyptic world, that title meant something.
After warming up the diesel engine, Red Rover made its way down the driveway toward the highway, full of hope for a safe trip.
Chapter 18
December 2
Peach Springs, Arizona
Duncan and Sook rode in the front seat of an M35 as it made its way from the airport to the small town of Peach Springs. The town’s one thousand residents consisted almost entirely of members of the Hualapai Tribe. It had no historic landmarks, claims to fame, or well-known dignitaries associated with it. Located on Route 66, which ran from east to west across the desert southwest, Peach Springs was the tribal capital of the Hualapai Tribe.
The territory had been settled by their ancestors in the 1860s following fierce battles with Americans moving toward California, as well as with the Mojave Indians. For decades, they were attacked by miners and settlers, and responded in kind. The war, however, was short, as the Americans carried diseases unknown to the Hualapai. Weakened by sickness and dysentery, they eventually surrendered and retreated into the mountains surrounding the Grand Canyon.
Finally, by an executive order issued by President Chester Arthur in 1883, the tribal lands were restored, and the Hualapai eked out an existence until Highway 66 and the airport were constructed, bringing a modicum of wealth to the community.
Unlike their more modern counterparts of Indian nations, which relied upon casino hotels for their existence, the Hualapai lived a simple, throwback lifestyle reminiscent of their ancestors’. When the power grid collapsed, they hardly noticed.
What they did notice, however, was when the military rolled up loaded with troops and assault vehicles to commandeer their airport. By the executive order of 1883, the Hualapai Tribe was declared to be a sovereign nation and governed by an executive and judicial branch, plus a tribal council made up of seasoned, knowledgeable elders.
The passage of time had not erased the memories of the elders, who’d been told of the American invasion of their lands in the late nineteenth century. When the military had arrived three days prior, the tribal leaders closed their eyes and harkened back to the 1860s, when men with similar attitudes had arrived on horseback and wagons rather than in M35s and Humvees.
As the convoy arrived from the airport, the passengers were told to disembark at the entrance to the Peach Springs School directly across the street from the Hualapai Tribe government building.
Dr. Clay Bravo, a council member, and Deputy Chief John Banda of the Hualapai Police Department stood on the sidewalk of the government building, watching the vehicles unload.
“The plane arrived last night,” said Dr. Bravo.
“Looks like more soldiers and a couple of civilians,” Banda commented. “Where are they from?”
“I don’t know. They tell us nothing. But I have a better question. Just where do they think they’re going? We can’t let them stay here.”
Banda began to walk across the parking lot to get a better look. He adjusted his belt and made sure his service weapon was readily available. He didn’t expect trouble, but a group of a hundred plus had just descended upon Peach Springs with little more than the clothes on their back and a knapsack.
Dr. Bravo arrived by the police officer’s side when shouting broke out between two soldiers and one of the civilians. The civilian was being pushed by the men as he shielded a young Asian woman behind his arms. Dr. Bravo and Banda slowly crossed the street to get a better look.
“You shouldn’t have brought her here, pal!” shouted one of the men, who suddenly dropped his duffle bag to the gravel parking lot. “She and her people just nuked the hell out of us. We ought to take our revenge on her, right here, right now!”
The man dressed as a civilian was showing remarkable restraint, in Banda’s mind. Rather than fighting back, the young man tried to diffuse the situation. Now, however, a crowd was gathering around, which led to an escalation of the argument.
“Listen up, buddy,” the civilian shouted. “A lo
t has happened, but it’s not this girl’s fault. You and your buddy need to back off!”
“No, buddy,” the soldier said sarcastically. “You should never have brought her on our plane to begin with. She could be a spy or somethin’. Why don’t you be a good boy and get out of our way so we can deal with this?”
“I’m from South Korea,” the young woman shouted, which only served to make matters worse.
“Big f’n deal!” the other man shouted. “You’re all the same. You’re probably in cahoots with them anyway. I think it’s time to teach a few lessons, what do you guys think?”
A few shouts of yeah could be heard while others egged the two bullies on. The crowd was angry over what they’d witnessed and were ready to lash out at the first available target.
Out of habit, Banda reached for the microphone attached to his vest, intending to call the Hualapai PD dispatch and ask for backup. Then he remembered their electronics were fried.
When the man continued taunting the civilian and poked his finger in the man’s chest, Banda knew his hopes for a peaceful resolution were dashed.
In a lightning-fast maneuver, the civilian grabbed the man’s arm and forcibly pulled him towards his body. He yanked the soldier’s arm behind his back until a loud snap occurred, dislocating the man’s shoulder. The soldier groaned in pain as he fell to his knees.
Banda ran to where the men were fighting but not before the other man bum-rushed the civilian in an attempt to tackle the man to the ground. It was a bad decision. The civilian got into a fighting stance and kicked his front foot forward, catching the man in the chin, forcing his face upward.
Unfortunately, this did not end the fight, as one of the soldiers grabbed at the young woman from behind. She quickly swung around on one leg, with her raised leg kicking the man in the ribs. As he doubled over in pain, she jumped and kicked him with both legs in the side, sending him tumbling into the crowd. Just as Banda was about to pull his sidearm and fire a warning shot into the sky, the fight was over, as three men lay on the ground battered from the defensive tactics of the two civilians.
