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

by James Hunt

  A cavalry of police vehicles sped around the bend heading towards the look-out point. They were at least a mile or two away, Paul's mind raced with options. The helicopters were close upon them, circling overhead. There were little options left.

  "I want you to take Julie and hide. I'll lead them away from you. With any luck I might be able to make it to Arthur before they get me."

  Samantha flashed Paul a disapproving glare. The police vehicles were closer, slowing only to handle the abrupt curves in the road.

  "Have you lost your mind? We're not going to do that. We'll stay together," she said.

  "They said that we're terrorists. That laptop is the only hope we have, but as soon as they catch us, we'll never see it again. I have to get it to Arthur."

  "Him again. You'll never make it. Don't you see the helicopters?"

  "Please, Samantha, it's the only way."

  Julie remained still and quiet, unsure of her parent's heated conversation and what they were talking about. She didn't understand being afraid of the police like they were. Police weren't perfect, but weren't they supposed to help people? Paul put the car into drive, ready to make a break for it. He looked at Samantha beckoning her to get out of the car.

  "No!" Samantha shouted. "We're not splitting up. What are Julie and I supposed to do out here? What if you don't come back?"

  "Take Julie and hide. There's a cavern right over the ridge. Just run down the hill from the lookout spot and find it."

  Paul grabbed his backpack and handed it to her with conviction in his eyes. "There's supplies in here. Snacks, water, water tablets, a pistol, first aid kit, and a flashlight. This should help."

  Samantha remained stubbornly resistant to Paul's urging. She shook her head back-and-forth as tears ran from her shut eyelids.

  "I can't do this, Paul. Don't ask me to do this," she said.

  "You have to. What do you think is going to happen when they catch us? They'll lock us up away from each other forever."

  "No, we'll get a good lawyer, we can fight this," Samantha cried.

  "Maybe in another time, but not now. It's not that kind of world anymore."

  "I don't give a shit what kind of world it is, we're not leaving this car!" she shouted.

  The sirens were a half mile away. There was little time to react. Paul looked into his rear-view mirror and watched as a line of flashing sirens made their way up the hill. He quickly noticed an advantage he had if he were to turn the car around. He could shoot right down the mountain just as they were coming up. It might buy him a little time while also taking the police by surprise. They'd have to find a way to turn around. Paul's mind shifted back to Samantha. He was surprised to see her still in the car. She was really fighting him on the plan.

  "Sam. Go. Now!" he said. "If we have any chance, this is it."

  Julie tugged on her mother's arm. Samantha looked down. "He's right. It's our only chance," she said.

  Though Julie didn't know all the details, she was convinced that staying in the car and getting arrested was foolish, even if police were supposed to be the good guys. Samantha said little else. She grabbed the backpack and opened the car door. Julie climbed out first.

  "Bye, Paul, good luck," she said.

  "Thank you, Julie," Paul responded.

  Samantha remained in the car with her face soaked in tears. She could barely breathe through the jerkiness of her rapid sobbing.

  "I--just, I don't want you to do this. I just want us to be together," she said.

  "I love you," Paul said as he leaned towards her with a kiss. Their arms wrapped around each other as they pulled each other tightly.

  "I love you too," Samantha said.

  "I'll be back soon," Paul promised, though Samantha didn't see how it was possible.

  "Okay," she said with a faint and nervous laugh. "Don't be long."

  Samantha smiled amidst her fractured state. If anything, she hoped it would inspire confidence in Paul. She slowly stepped out of the car and held onto the door.

  "Bye," Paul said. "Now hurry and run to the cavern before it's too late."

  Samantha closed the door, and placed her palm over the window, leaving a hand print. As they walked away, Paul jammed the Malibu into reverse and turned it around. The police cars were right on him, closing in like sharks.

  "Okay, you bastards. Come and get me," Paul said. He glanced over to see Samantha and Julie hop the railing and run down the hill. He hoped and prayed for their safety. His plan was risky, and he very well may have put them at a greater risk, but he didn't see any other way.

  He could feel the roar of the police cavalry the closer they got. It was as though the mere sight of the Malibu excited their pursuit. Paul put the car in drive and floored it. The Malibu skid ahead, from zero to sixty, in no time, past the line of police cars and down the mountain road. A long cloud of smoke trailed from behind, leaving the authorities confused as they reached the look-out spot, only to find their suspect fleeing the opposite direction.

  The line of ten police cars quickly tried to turn around, but nearly crashed into each other like dominoes. Paul had gained some needed ground. As soon as his unexpected escape became known, the two helicopters changed course and followed him overhead. The police cars turned around after much calamity and drove back down the road after Paul.Though he maintained his speed, Paul steered carefully around each turn as to not fly off the railing. He was close to the Rocky National Park exit, and soon the Denver city limits.

  On the right side of the road, a black SUV sat parked in a small concave. The Malibu zoomed past, startling the passengers. At the wheel was Tyson, the bunker security guard, and in the passenger seat sat none other than Senator Bryant. He clutched a hand-held radio in one hand and a pair of binoculars in the other.

  "The fuck was that?" Bryant asked his driver.

  "That was no police car, looked like a Chevy Malibu," Tyson responded.

  Bryant turned the knob on his hand-held radio up to listen in on the police chatter.

  "Suspect is fleeing. I repeat suspect is fleeing. Driving a blue 1994 Chevy Malibu headed towards the National Park exit."

  "That was him?" Bryant shouted. "Fuck, Tyson. Put the pedal to the metal and let's chase this scumbag."

  "We shouldn't be here, Mr. Bryant. I told you it would be too dangerous. We should get you back in the bunker with the others before it's too late."

  "Nonsense, although I appreciate your concern. This is my problem and I'm going to fix it. Follow the prick."

  Tyson hesitated. His hand hovered on the shifting lever on the steering wheel.

  "Move!" Bryant shouted.

  Tyson reluctantly put the SUV in drive and raced after Paul. The police still had some ground to cover to catch up. The inside of the SUV shook violently as Tyson took sharp turns as to gain on the fleeing car. Above them the helicopters raced along, keeping watch of the chase. Bryant clicked the side of the handheld radio and spoke into it.

  "I've got the vehicle in sight, he's not getting anywhere. Just get your team ready to apprehend him," Bryant said.

  He opened the glove compartment and pulled out a Desert Eagle pistol.

  "What are you going to do with that?" Tyson asked.

  They were only a few car lengths behind their suspect. Bryant locked and loaded.

  "I'm going to get what they stole from me. They could be armed too. Who knows, they might even try to fire at us, you know? Maybe they fired at us before the police even arrived."

  Tyson could see what Bryant was getting at.

  "Got it," he said.

  Paul looked into his rear-view mirror while trying to watch the unpredictable road. He noticed an unfamiliar SUV gaining on him. He neared the bottom of the mountain and would soon steer for the highway exit. One last curve aside a deep chasm and he would be home free. There was, however, no getting rid of the helicopters overhead. Even if he made it to Arthur in Denver, the likelihood of making it back to Samantha grew slimmer by the minute. The fuel
gauge shook just above the empty mark.

  Bryant raised the binoculars to his eyes. He saw only one silhouette at the wheel. Perhaps Samantha and the girl were crouched down and hiding. He watched and watched and saw no indication of anyone else in the car. The binoculars lowered as he grabbed his hand-held. "I see only one person in the vehicle, where are the other two?" he demanded.

  "We've since only identified one white male at the wheel. No other passengers have been identified."

  Bryant threw the radio to the floor.

  "Son-of-a-bitch!" he shouted.

  Tyson remained silent, trying his best to keep up with Paul. Bryant pressed a button on his door to roll down the window as mountain furiously air rushed in.

  "What are you doing, Sir?" Tyson asked.

  Bryant held the Desert Eagle outside the window, steadying it.

  "I'm going to take his tires out. Or maybe I'll just aim it at his head."

  "Senator, Sir, We should really let the police handle this. He may have the laptop, even worse he may have given it to the woman."

  The mention of Samantha fueled Bryant into a moment of inner rage. He fired a shot at the rear tire of the Malibu, just missing it. The sudden blast of the gun startled Tyson and caused him to swerve.

  "Stay on the road!" Bryant shouted.

  Tyson fumbled with the steering wheel and got it back on track. The police had caught up and were directly behind the SUV with their lights flashing and sirens blaring.

  "Maybe we should get out of their way," Tyson suggested.

  Bryant ignored him and raised the pistol out of the window again. This time, he had a clear shot to the back of Paul's head. He squeezed one eye shut and held his aim steady.

  A sign ahead warned of sharp curves, and with that, Paul thought of a plan, though it was risky. He accelerated to his fastest speed yet reaching upwards of sixty miles per hour. As predicted, the SUV accelerated to stay on Paul's tail. At the last possible second, Paul slowed and jerked the steering wheel to the right, nearly coasting off the road.

  Tyson was unprepared for the Malibu's sudden movement, and tried to do his best to slow down and stay on the road. Bryant missed his opportunity and was thrown back into his seat. Before he could even react, the SUV skidded to the left, unable to maintain its grounding through the tight curve. Tyson could see it coming, but couldn't believe it. The SUV smashed into the guard rail and went over the side of the mountain into the chasm below. Their screams lasted only seconds before the vehicle burst into a fiery ball at the bottom of jagged rocks and stone.

  The police cavalry slowed to a halt at the sharp curve right after the break in the guard rail. The helicopters also switched position and flew overhead the explosion.

  "The Senator's vehicle has descended; I repeat the Senator's vehicle has descended. Need emergency rescue teams deployed immediately," one of the officers said into their radio.

  For a moment they weren't sure what to do, and had momentarily forgot about Paul.

  "Suspect is still at large, headed towards the highway. Air support is advised to stay with suspect."

  One the helicopters moved away from the explosion site and flew towards the highway just as Paul was merging on. He saw no vehicles in his mirror. Perhaps his car trick had shaken them off. He might make it to the city after all. Just as his confidence started build, he heard the nauseating sound of the helicopter pursuing him from above. He hadn't escaped them after all. It was going to be one long high-speed chase all the way to the city as his fuel gauge bottomed out, closer to the empty line.

  Chapter Twelve

  Aftermath

  After Day One, Sacha had been on the road with the "Brotherhood of Men" for weeks. They had managed to evade the authorities so far in that they were always on the move. On the outside, Sacha played the nervous, meek, and submissive role, never saying much, but always listening and observing. He wanted to know of their plans. He wanted to know where they were going with the bomb and when they were planning to detonate it. Ammon and his "brothers" talked enthusiastically of their success and the amazing unprecedented capacity of the bomb they had acquired. The journey seemed to lead south.

  Sacha later concluded that they were definitely headed south. Sacha rode in the van with Hasan, Omar, Ammon, Rashad, and the quiet driver named Razar who always smoked. Another van followed with some of the guerrilla militants who had gunned down the American conspirators in the blink of the eye. Two men, whom Sacha hadn't been introduced to yet, drove the tractor trailer that housed the bomb. With such a large entourage, it was surprising that they hadn't drawn attention to themselves yet. But they were careful not draw attention to themselves, and they were always on the move.

  They would stop along the way for additional food and supplies--and considering the size of their vehicles--fuel was always an issue. Many of the states they went through--from Ohio to Kentucky; Tennessee to Mississippi--were in the throes of massive power outages and grid failures. They avoided urbanized areas and stuck to the main highway, often hitting major congestion where people were evacuating neighboring states along the East Coast that had been hit.

  "Do you see it?" Ammon called out while staring out the front of the van into the massive ocean of cars on the highway. "It's beautiful. The very breakdown of western society that we'd been hoping for. If only they knew that, in the end, there is no escape."

  Ammon frequently spoke in cryptic language, so much that Sacha couldn't figure out what was useful information and what wasn't. The only one who truly engaged in conversation with him was Ammon. He once told Sacha that he would see to it that Sacha was converted to their religion before the day of reckoning. It was a day that Sacha was confident he was going to prevent. One rainy night they stopped alongside a hidden dirt road in a Louisiana forest to get some rest. Ammon took Sacha to the back of the semi-trailer, opened the secure doors and showed him the bomb. At first all Sacha could see was the massive circular bottom. It was shaped as a giant missile, forty-feet long, resting horizontally in the back of the trailer. It looked like a rocket ship, something deemed for space travel. It was an intricate wonder of design, intimidating in its sheer mass. Ammon turned on his flashlight and beckoned Sacha ahead. They climbed into the back of the truck and walked along the side of the bomb as Ammon boasted of its sheer scope and power.

  "This bomb can take out up to five American states alone. If you think what you saw earlier this month was big, you're in for quite a surprise. Once detonated we will cause an avalanche throughout this country like none seen in all of human history. America will sink. America will be destroyed. The Brotherhood of Men will take credit for everything and will go down in martyrdom as those who destroyed the evil of the world. Those who wiped it out forever."

  Their footsteps echoed within the seemingly endless trailer. Sacha tried to take everything in. Ammon was giving him details on the plan. Grandiose details, for sure, but details nonetheless. Perhaps he could probe him further and get more information. One issue stuck out in his mind, however, and that was the Ammon's use of the term "martyrdom." He was genuinely curious about this and forewent his covert operation to prompt Ammon.

  "So you see us as martyrs? Does this mean--does this mean you don't plan to survive this mission?"

  Ammon smiled, placed an arm around Sacha, and pulled him closer.

  "The range of the control module is twenty feet. None of us will be far enough away from the bomb to survive its detonation."

  Ammon noticed the pale look of concern across Sacha's face.

  "Relax, brother, death is nothing to fear. Once we convert you, you shall join us in paradise."

  Knowing that this was indeed a suicide mission, Sacha became surprisingly direct. "Where and when are you going to detonate the bomb?" he asked.

  Sacha got a hearty laugh in return. Ammon stopped and rubbed his eyes. "Ah, Sacha, my inquisitive friend, no one knows the answers to those questions but Rashad. This is his operation and we can't risk it being compromised by an
yone, no matter how earnest they may seem."

  "But you must have some general idea," Sacha probed.

  His arm left Sacha as he gently rubbed the surface of the massive bomb resting inches within their faces.

  "This is what I know. The Americans who employed us were traitors to their own country."

  Ammon broke into laughter once again, then regained himself.

  "But it wasn't just Americans. A worldwide network of powerful men had sought a way to change the world so that they could control it completely. So who do they come looking for? They went to us. They call us terrorists, as they bomb our countries and kill our people. We do not seek terror, we seek change throughout the Middle East and within the rest of the world. They made us a lucrative offer to transport and detonate a series of nuclear bombs throughout the country. If we did these acts, they promised to see our goals of regional domination in the Middle East a reality. This bomb was given to us under the pretenses that it would be recovered in time and peace declared after the start of a global order that would render America as just another country among a one world government. It was a ridiculous plan, one that our leader, Rashad, saw opportunity in. We would take the bomb for ourselves and take their plan one step further. We would launch an assault upon America so great that it could never recover. And never will."

  Sacha was speechless. He knew Ammon to be homicidal, but what Ammon had told him was beyond the scope of what he believed even him to be capable of. Even at his most fanatical, Ammon showed glimpses of reason, so Sacha gave it his best shot.

  "Is there any way you might reconsider this plan?" he asked.

  Ammon's face dropped in near contempt for the question.