Radioactive and The Decay Dystopian Super Boxset- A Dirty Bomb and Nuclear Blast Prepper Tale of Survival

by James Hunt

  Everything was effectively directed back on track by county police wearing white hospital masks over their faces.

  “We’re looking for the nearest route off the main road. The quickest route to Maker’s Street,” Paul said.

  Julie looked up from the map, surprised. Maker’s street was their road.

  “We’re going to the house?” she asked.

  “Very briefly, but yes, we’ll grab some stuff then find the best way out of town.”

  Julie’s excitement showed and Paul took notice.

  “See, I know how to listen every now and then. You made a good point about getting supplies.”

  As a result, Julie felt a little better about them working together. She looked at the map and tried to make sense of its layout.

  “Did you find us on the map yet?” Paul asked.

  “Um. Okay. I.”

  “Just remember what we went over. Contour lines, the legend, magnetic north, true north. Any of this ring a bell?”

  “Kind of, I’m trying to remember,” Julie said. She looked up and noticed a red and white water tower in the forest miles away. Her finger trailed down the map to the icon of a water tower. She then moved her finger to a nearby road, the main road they were on, Route 150. “There we are,” she said with a satisfied smile.

  Greg smoked nervously at the wheel with the windows rolled up. They were finally moving, but there were also several police cars everywhere. The exit out of town was in range, two miles up the road. Greg had received the same radiation alerts on his phone as Paul. If they had to evacuate the town, then that’s what he was going to do. He’d deal with Edwin later. At least they were moving now, so it seemed. He looked over to Edwin, whose face was hidden underneath his hat. The traffic strolled along at five miles an hour, towards the main exit out of town. Greg couldn’t wait to get out of Beech Creek for good. If he could just see his kids again, he’d never spend another day working for Mr. Bennett. He looked to a flashing traffic sign. Its news was less than encouraging.

  Heavy Congestion: Expect Major Delays

  With the exit out of town in sight, Greg was enraged when traffic went from a crawl to a halt. Again, all four lanes, gridlocked. A fleet of helicopters stormed overhead. Their presence caused increased panic and paranoia within Greg. He looked at Edwin in amazement that anyone could sleep through all the noise. The cause of congestion was due to the arrival of several Homeland Security vans parked miles ahead, cordoning off the area. Their actions appeared hastily planned. Greg watched as specialists donning biohazard suits--white synthetic garbs, boots, and protective gas masks--exited their vans while holding detection equipment. Their appearance was startling to any casual observer. They operated fast, instructing local law enforcement--themselves unprotected with the exception of white breathing masks on their face--to place road blocks in certain areas, including the exit out of town. Federal and county officials alike worked together to devise an alternate route for the exhausted drivers that awaited their guidance. The traffic sign suddenly changed.

  Main Route Closed Due to Radiological Contamination: Take alternate detour to evacuation shelter

  Greg rubbed his eyes and read the sign again. He turned the dial switch of the radio, but heard nothing but static. “Eddie,” he said. “Eddie, wake up.”

  Edwin moved his head slightly, but the hat remained over his face. “What?” he murmured.

  “You should really see this,” Greg said.

  Edwin didn’t respond. Greg looked behind him and saw nothing but more traffic. There was no turning back. Some people were out of their cars, disregarding the radiation alerts. The path ahead was the only thing slightly moving. For Greg, their car was beginning to feel like a tomb. He studied the people standing outside their cars, and noticed that they were okay. He was no expert on radiation, but he felt that to remain trapped in the Lincoln spelt doom.

  Greg swung open the driver’s side door and stepped out. The sirens were much louder outside the car. Despite all the commotion, and route diversion, they hadn’t moved much, if at all. Greg peered into the car. Edwin was still resting. Greg grabbed his phone and cigarettes and carefully shut the door, leaving the car running. By car or by foot, Greg planned to get somewhere. He walked away from the Lincoln towards the woods, hopeful that it would lead him out of the town.

  Chapter Seven

  Escape

  “We’re not moving,” Paul said. “Something has happened.”’

  Julie examined the map the best she could, looking for any route they could try. Several cars on the road attempted to drive off road and onto the mushy grass.

  “I’m showing a back road on the map here in about a mile,” Julie said.

  “A mile? Are you sure?” Paul asked.

  “I think. I mean. It’s starting to come back to me,” Julie.

  Paul took the map from Julie.

  “Here, let me see it.”

  He was careful in how he addressed Julie’s abilities as a way not to discourage her.

  “We’re going to find a way out.”

  “The back road?” Julie asked.

  “That would be a start.”

  He gently pressed the gas pedal. The car moved a few feet and stopped. Such was the routine. A beeping sound emerged from inside the car. It was enough to startle Julie.

  “What was that?” she asked.

  Paul stared down at the dashboard and was greeted by a flashing yellow light next to the fuel gauge.

  “It’s the fuel,” Paul said. “We’re getting low.”

  Julie felt a rush of panic. It was one thing to be stuck in traffic, but at least they had a car. What would they do without one? She leaned over to get a closer reading of the gauge.

  “Don’t worry,” Paul said. “We should have enough to get us out of here.”

  She worried anyway, nearly biting her fingers to the bone.

  “Julie, stop that,” Paul demanded.

  She pulled her fingers away from her teeth, like a reflex, but knew she would be back to biting them in no time.

  Edwin jerked his head up at the sound of a car horn from behind. Traffic had started moving again and the parked Lincoln was holding things up. Edwin removed the hat from his head and looked over to the empty driver’s seat.

  “Greg?” he asked. “Greg, where the hell did you go?”

  He took his sunglasses off and looked in the backseat. No sign of Greg. He opened his side door and stepped out. Lanes of cars slowly inched their way forward in front of him. Edwin looked behind him, then all around. Greg was nowhere in sight.

  “Greg, you dumb bastard. Get your ass back in the car,” he called out.

  He looked to the nearby woods, believing that Greg was “taking a piss” or something. He still didn’t see him, as if he’d disappeared. The car behind Edwin's Lincoln sounded their horn, startling him. He felt a repeat of the entire episode earlier where he shot the man in the parking lot.

  “Damn,” Edwin said. “Two in one day?”

  The man berated Edwin from the confines of his shiny Mercedes. A business man of sorts, he had slicked-back hair and wore a dress shirt and suspenders. In one hand, he held his cell phone; the other was at the wheel. Though Edwin couldn’t hear a word the man was saying, he grabbed his hat and sunglasses from inside the car and strolled over to the Mercedes. The closer Edwin got, the better he could hear the man.

  “What are you walking over here for? Just move your car, moron! Are you deaf?”

  Edwin got closer, worrying the man. His anger had vanished with Edwin’s approach. The Mercedes man attempted to look for ways he could get around Edwin, but found no such luck. No other car would let him in. In an act of frustration, he laid on the car horn, hoping to scare Edwin away. From outside, Edwin’s Beretta came into view, once again, as he opened his jacket and revealed on his left hip. Mercedes man removed his hand from the horn immediately.

  “Oh?” Edwin asked. “Where’s that spunk? Already done?”

  He sl
inked to the driver’s side causing the Mercedes man to quickly activate his automatic locks and windows. He was sweating and nearly hyperventilating. Edwin tapped on the glass with his pistol.

  “You all out of steam now?” he asked.

  Mercedes man nervously moved his head around in all directions. Sweat continued to pour from his head down to his business shirt. Edwin pulled a pocket knife from his jacket and exposed the blade.

  “Please don’t hurt me,” the man said.

  Edwin paced around his car and rammed the knife blade into each tire. A hiss of air followed from the punctured holes. When he finished with the final tire, Edwin tucked the knife back into his jacket and walked back to his car. Mercedes man was frozen with fear. He said nothing. Edwin strolled back to the Lincoln and climbed back into the driver’s seat. There was still no sign of Greg. He slammed onto the gas pedal and screeched ahead, leaving the terrified man in the dust.

  “Greg, oh Greg. Where art thou, Greg?” Edwin asked. “Very foolish of you, now you’re a dead man.”

  Edwin wasn’t the most trusting of individuals. He assumed Greg got cold feet and abandoned him. Though anything could explain his absence, this time Edwin was on the money.

  Having traveled a mile up the road, at a snail’s pace, there was no back road in sight for Paul and Julie. Paul estimated that they had enough gas to travel at least a couple of more miles. Perhaps they undershot the location of the back road. There was railing on the right, preventing anyone from driving off-road. Behind the railing was thick forest, with no conceivable entry or exit point for a vehicle.

  “Are we going to make it?” Julie asked. “We should,” Paul said.

  Traffic stopped again. Paul slammed his fists onto the steering wheel. His patience had come to an end, but he tried to control his road rage tendencies with Julie in the car. He looked ahead and saw no end in sight. The idea of leaving the car and traveling on foot seemed tempting, but farfetched. They inched forward slightly, every couple of minutes. They rounded a curve in the road, and with that, a possible window into what lay ahead. Paul stared at the fuel gauge. It was hard to keep his eyes off it. He looked for an indication of any movement in the needle. It didn’t look like it was any closer to the E mark than before, he just wasn’t sure.

  Julie rose up from her seat, trying to see where the congestion ended. She could see the main exit out of town a few miles ahead. The exit was blocked, and several men were diverting traffic away from the interstate exit. Cars rippled like waves on and off the road. Julie searched left and right for the back road listed on their map.

  “We should turn around,” she said.

  Paul glanced in his rearview mirror seeing nothing but other cars. “I’m pretty sure we’re stuck,” he said.

  “I don’t see any back road. And it looks like the exit out of town is blocked.”

  “What?” Paul asked in a loud voice that shook Julie. He hunched over the wheel to get a better look. She was right. The blocking of the exit had tripled road congestion to a near halt. Why would they call for evacuation and then subsequently block the exit? It made no sense to Paul.

  “The sign says that they want everyone to seek shelter,” Julie said reading the flashing traffic update board up the road.

  Paul was impressed with her ability to read what looked like a blur to him. She obviously had much better eye sight than him. Then again, he wasn’t twelve anymore. Federal HAZMAT teams, with the aid of local law enforcement, had placed cones along the road to merge the lanes. Their efforts effectively turned the congestion into a living nightmare to any driver on the road. Large orange plastic barriers blocked all exits, including the back road Paul and Julie were looking for. Though the barriers looked penetrable, they were filled to their weight with water, making them solid as concrete.

  “What is up there?” Paul asked. “Where are they funneling traffic?”

  Julie studied the map. “I think it leads to a hospital. At least that’s what I see on the map.”

  Paul thought it curious. Why a hospital? Was that their refuge? Would they be safe there? Were they truly in danger from radioactive fallout in the air? If only someone would tell him exactly what was going on, Paul felt like he could make a decision. If there was radiation in the air, it meant that someplace nearby had been struck with a nuclear weapon. But why? And by whom? It would also mean that they were at war with someone. Another nation? A terrorist group? Whoever it was remained nameless and faceless.

  “There could be danger out there that we don’t know about yet. Maybe we’ll be safer at the hospital.”

  “All these people are not going to fit in that building,” Julie remarked.

  “True, but looks like we have no choice but to follow the herd.”

  “Do we have enough gas?” Julie asked with a worried tone.

  Julie looked ahead and noticed the back road on their right, and close by. It was slightly concealed by looming trees that encompassed it. Ironically the large orange plastic barriers that blocked its path made it noticeable to the passing eye.

  “The back road is right up there,” she said, pointing to the side.

  Most troubling to Paul, however, were the individuals directing traffic up the road. It was discomforting to see HAZMAT teams in full uniform. They made the situation seem deadly serious as they waved instruments in the air, measuring the air levels. They were indifferent to the drivers stuck on the road as they walked in groups acquiring data. Paul picked up his cell phone to try Samantha. Again, there was no answer. Again, he sent a text and received no reply. They had no choice than to follow the traffic to its inevitable destination. Julie tried the radio again. Not a single station had anything beyond the monotonous pitch of the emergency broadcast tone. Paul turned up the air conditioner to its max level, he felt hot and uncomfortable.

  Not a half mile from the barricaded exit, Paul noticed that their car was coasting. He was certain that he could get at least ten miles out of any empty tank. The actuality of the Passat stopping in the middle of traffic seemed a distant concern, partly because of the emergency reserve tank the car claimed. Paul pressed on the gas pedal to assure himself that everything was fine. His foot was dead weight. It did nothing to accelerate the car. They glided forward as the car slowed to a halt. Once stopped, Paul turned the engine key in denial. The car choked and sputtered.

  “We ran out of gas, didn’t we?” Julie asked.

  “What makes you think that?” Paul asked in return.

  The engine rattled, but wouldn’t start. It was dead. The fuel reserve had been tapped and then some. As traffic ahead of them started to move, cars behind them grew impatient. A rhythm of impatient horns steadily grew. Paul turned around and realized they were honking at him to move. He hit the steering wheel repeatedly with a string of profanity to follow. Julie watched him with pity.

  “Maybe someone has some fuel they can give us,” Julie said.

  Paul shook his head then stared into nothing. Suddenly, he snapped his fingers. “We need to push the car off the road,” he said.

  “Just you and me? Are you crazy?” Julie asked.

  “I’m sure we can get someone to help,” Paul said.

  “Good luck with that,” Julie said, opening her door.

  “And you’re going to help,” Paul said.

  Julie rolled her eyes. The car horns didn’t cease, as Paul stepped out of the car, they only grew. He could no longer hold in his frustration.

  “I’m out of gas!” he shouted. “Anyone want to give me some fuel or help me push this thing out of the way?”

  Julie looked at Paul with disapproval as he paced around the car. “No one is going to help us if you act like a crazy person,” she said.

  After slamming the door shut, Paul calmed himself at Julie’s behest. Julie reluctantly walked to a green pick-up truck behind them. A fifty-something year old man sat at the wheel, looking tired and agitated, with a young boy in the passenger seat. He took his hand off the horn as Julie approach
ed. She peered through his window.

  “Excuse me. Can you give us a hand? We ran out of gas and now we’re stuck. Do you have any fuel or could you help us push the car out of the road?” she asked.

  The man shifted his eyes in her direction. He displayed a slight sense of discomfort by Julie’s request. “We ain’t got no fuel. Only what’s in the tank, but my boy here, he can give you a hand.”

  The man got his son’s quick attention.

  “Give the young lady a hand, will ya?” the man asked the boy.

  The boy shook his head in agreement and took a step out of the truck.

  “Our car is over there, do you see it?” Julie asked, pointing to Paul.

  The boy observed Paul--who looked weary and defeated--leaning against the front of the Passat. “Him?” the boy asked.

  “Don’t worry, he’s just a little frustrated. Just go talk to him. I’m going to ask other people if they have any gas.

  The boy nodded and went to Paul. Julie went to another car to her right, a family of four, and asked if they had any fuel. They politely said no. She went to another car, then another. Each person said no. Julie began to wonder if she was asking for too much.

  After a long line of cars, she was about to give up. She was hungry, thirsty, and growing impatient with the lack of care people showed. She decided to ask one more person and approached a blue Lincoln ahead. At the wheel was a sharply-dressed man with a silver goatee. Julie didn’t know any better, but Edwin was immediately suspicious to her presence.