Desolation

by M. L. Banner

  “What’s going on out there?” Sally asked.

  “A bunch of thugs are out there. I think they’re with Clyde and they’re demanding the food and supplies. They already burnt down our house and they’re probably going to do that to this one too. We’re leaving Rocky Point.” Bill spoke rapidly. He tried with much difficulty to find the door latch on the metal bookshelf Max had shown him not that many days ago; his broken arm and the time limitations on them stressed him.

  “Mr. Clydeston burnt down our house?” Sally’s voice rose in disbelief.

  “Yes,” Bill grunted in pain. “Where is the damned thing?”

  Sally reached up and the gun she forgot she was holding clanged against one of the shelves. Her whole body reacted as if she had been slapped, everything completely tense. Switching the firearm to her other hand, she reached up again and pulled on an unseen lever. It released with a click. “Here.” Snapping back to reality, she ran to Max’s computer.

  Bill swung the bookshelf to reveal another door, but kept an eye on his daughter.

  “If we’re leaving, we need to bring some things with us,” Sally added as she grabbed Max’s satchel.

  “Yes, of course. Hey, Miguel and Lisa, can you get two more rifles, two more pistols and extra ammo for all of us? Sally will show you where.” Bill turned back to the steel door and pressed the button where a handle would be, expecting to hear it release and partially open.

  Nothing happened.

  Then, the muffled sounds of automatic gunfire burst all around them.

  ~~~

  They let loose their automatic weapons fire on Max’s house from all sides, spraying hundreds of rounds into the house. After nearly a minute, enough time to kill everyone inside but not destroy the food they were after, El Diablo led several of his men through the door.

  In Spanish, he commanded them to find the bodies first and then the food. For several minutes, they searched through every room, some rooms twice, puzzled.

  El Diablo knew there had to be a secret hiding area, so they looked everywhere for the doorway until he found it. A giant book case had hinges discreetly hidden on the kitchen side.

  He tore into the shelves, knocking everything off: the new Cubs ball cap Bill had given to Max, a glass vase Max had brought back from Iraq, the Bible he had carried with him in the theatre of war, a signed copy of a local author’s book, and so many other reminders of one man’s life. All were tossed to the floor, useless remnants of a past that served no purpose in this present. When the shelves were bare as the day they were installed—the six bullet holes were new additions—El Diablo found the latches.

  The bookshelf swung open, revealing the steel door.

  El Diablo commanded his men to get all the C-4 they had from a bag left outside.

  ~~~

  Clyde needed a drink. He slunk into his house and poured the remainder of his treasured Tres Generaciones into a shot glass and knocked it back. It was $100 per bottle before the Event, or what the natives called Los Diablos Verdes. Now it was priceless. He grabbed a bottle of Jose Cuervo that he hadn’t turned into a Molotov cocktail, and opened it, pouring it directly onto his arm which was red and angry from burns.

  “Son-of-a-biiiiiiitch,” he yelled at the top of his lungs from pain and anger. This whole thing was not going down like he planned it. First that idiot kid Smith disappeared. Then, that idiot pervert Judas leaving the bottles so close to where Clyde was throwing the cocktails. “Ha! You get too close to the fire, you’re going to get burned,” he chuckled, picturing that fat tub of shit flailing around on fire.

  He took a swig of the Cuervo, immediately spitting it out on his dining room floor. “Uggh. Shit! This is shit. You’re such an asshole, King. Ha, and now you have no house, and probably no life.”

  He paced around his living room. “Too bad about your daughter though, she was a hottie. I’ll give you and Lisa that.”

  His thoughts turned to the asshole drug dealers looting the food next door at Thompson’s place. That should’ve been his food. “Fuuuuck!” he yelled. “It’s bullshit, you greasy Mexican cholos.” He stalked to his guest bedroom, remembering the two RPGs Judas and he had found at one of the beach houses they had raided. Obviously they had been owned by some local druggies, as he doubted they would have passed inspection at the border.

  He opened the door and looked in. There were so many supplies, stacked floor to ceiling, covering all the walls except above and below the window, the room’s only source of light. On one side were all the weapons. He had at first been surprised by all the weapons they had found, knowing how damned spastic the Mexicans were about bringing a gun or ammo across the border–a sure long-term pass to a Mexican prison. Then, he realized that some of the nicest beach houses they’d raided were owned or rented by cartels. Rocky Point didn’t seem to have much of a drug presence, because you never heard of people getting shot, but that was because this was where they all vacationed with their families. It must have been some sort of gentleman’s agreement.

  Clyde chuckled at the absurdity of that thought.

  He reached down and grabbed what he was looking for: one of the RPGs. One of—

  “Where the hell is the other one?”

  ~~~

  Judas hobbled around the side of Max’s house before collapsing in the shade for a breather. The afternoon sun was tucked behind the walls, preparing itself for its daily slumber in the west, granting the far side of Clyde’s house a brief respite from the battering. Judas’s whole body felt like it was still on fire. He didn’t want to look at himself, but he looked anyway. His arm was a scrambled mess of red and black flesh. He followed his chest to his waist and legs, seeing that he was mostly naked except for shreds of burnt material that must have been his pants, partially melted into his skin. His stomach spasmed and he heaved the remaining contents of yesterday’s meal. Those bastards are going to pay for what they did to me. He was going to destroy the warehouse with the RPG he’d taken from Clyde’s. He pushed against the rocket part of the RPG, using it as a cane to elevate himself. In his other hand he had an AK-47 that he pushed into the ground to support his other side.

  ~~~

  Bill was frantic. If they couldn’t get the door open, they would all die.

  The supplies Sally, Lisa, and Miguel had assembled were already waiting beside them as they tried to figure what had gone wrong and how they were going to open it.

  “Hmm.” Sally was trying to connect the dots. “I got it,” she said triumphantly. “It’s the other circuit. Max had the door on another circuit.” She walked away from the group, back to the computer area. To the left of Max’s computer console and desk, in the floor-to-ceiling shelving unit was a three-by-five foot gray door she opened to reveal circuits and a row of batteries. She grabbed two flashlights on a shelf above this and turned both on. One she slid along the floor, its beam spinning like some sort of fun-house light effect. “I’m turning off the light so that we can use the power from the batteries. Ready?” She looked to the group.

  Miguel grabbed the flashlight she’d slid to them and pointed its beam at the door’s release button.

  “Ready,” Bill answered, finger twitching, ready to depress it.

  Sally unscrewed the terminal on the closest battery, glad that Max had replaced the normal automotive battery contacts with ones that could be loosened by hand. She pulled this one off and the lights went out. “You see, Max wanted to make sure that there was enough power for everything so he partitioned several parts of his workshop into different circuits. I found out when I tried to turn on some of his tools.” She continued to talk and work in the dark, almost invisible except for her hands and face illuminated by the flashlight pointed toward the wall. “I knew about the hidden door, because I saw it, but I never tried pushing the button, knowing it probably wouldn’t work for this same reason. But, with a little juice…” She picked up the flashlight and shone it their way. “Okay, try it.”

  Bill pushed the button. Someth
ing clanked behind the door and it opened about an inch, just far enough for them to reach in and pull.

  42.

  Damage Assessment

  Laramie, Wyoming

  Frank Patton lay over Jeff Rohrbach, covered by a pile of wood and bricks that earlier made up the doorway and on top, one Bible, in perfect condition. If anyone were to pass by, they would assume anyone amongst the rubble was certainly dead. The pile moved, as Frank pushed himself up and off Rohrbach, knowing that his work was not done. He’d felt the man’s shallow breathing as they lay there. They’d both made it out, just in time, for which Frank was truly thankful even if he had no idea how.

  He stood where he’d fallen in the pile and surveyed the world around him, more dazed by the destruction than by his injuries, which anyone else would have considered substantial. People around him were running and screaming. An old man he recognized stumbled past, his hand mangled and bloody. He was holding it up carefully, his face masked in shock.

  Frank stepped over the debris, pulled Jeff out of it, and left him on top. Finally, he had let go of his beloved horn as it was nowhere to be seen. But, his wounds actually didn’t look as bad as he had expected; the blood flow had slowed to a trickle. So, he left him there, head propped up, and turned to run to the capacitor bank to see if it was functioning and throw the switch, assuming Melanie had been incapacitated and unable to do the job.

  His left leg didn’t work very well. Looking at it, he realized it was probably broken from the falling debris.

  “Don’t be a wussy,” he told himself, and hobbled forward as fast as he could: first a slow walk, then faster. A few more steps and he was running. He had to get there in time, or they were all dead.

  ~~~

  Melanie was a block over from the capacitor bank when the earthquake hit, trying to get a glimpse of the troops coming from the west. When the northern gate fell, and they took out the tower with Frank and Jeff in it, she stopped getting reports. Unable to wait, she ran north up 3rd Street and looked for the approaching men. That’s when the earthquake hit, knocking her and everyone around her to the ground.

  When it stopped, she jumped up and ran back toward the capacitor bank, this time not caring so much about the advancing army’s location, but fearing the damage done by the earthquake. On the way she saw some townies pulling debris away from one of their own. She assisted. They were too late.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, before she turned and ran the rest of the way to the capacitor bank. It looked fine, in fact it looked great. She turned to the street, the other crucial element of their weapon if it was to work, and was shocked at what she saw.

  “We’re screwed.”

  43.

  You Can See China From Here

  Wright Ranch, Illinois

  Although well shielded from CMEs—unlike coal-burning power stations—both the La Salle County and Dresden nuclear power plants were still ticking time bombs. Like all of the hundred-plus nuclear reactors in the US, they required power to maintain coolant pressure and flow. Without it, the radioactive fuel rods would eventually overheat and melt. Even with all their protective containment measures, at some point a total meltdown would occur. The results would be radioactive clouds, which would spread out and gradually kill every living thing in their path.

  This was sure to happen to all nuclear plants without power, but a meltdown usually took longer than most people realized. The rare earthquake sped up this process by cracking the containment domes in both plants. Other flammable materials and the excessive heat released by the melting rods caused massive explosions, almost simultaneously. The billowing clouds of fire, smoke, and radioactive material exploded into the sky.

  Wilber, shaken from his grief by two blasts in the distance, arose and trotted back toward his house. He passed a woman wearing an olive-green shirt and GA armband, who in her terror and confusion was barely aware of her sworn enemy running by her. Wilber paid no attention to her or the two or three others, who had been effectively stripped of their desire to fight. Unsure of why they were even there, they’d dropped their weapons or let them dangle like useless pieces of clothing or ornamentation.

  He hopped over his pit of fire, now emitting just wisps of smoke, bounded over the barbed wire fence—a skill honed with much practice—and finally scaled the hill and rock wall in almost as much time as it took him to come down. This time he was not fueled by rage and the insatiable need for revenge. He was fueled by alarm and the insatiable need for knowledge. He stood on top of the rock wall, gasping for air, completely disassociated from the war that had been taking place around him mere moments ago. His face fell.

  In the distance, he could see two thick black plumes of billowing smoke rising fast to the atmosphere. In that instant he knew where they were from, and what destruction they contained. Even though the fallout would mostly blow north-east, like bacteria its radioactivity would eventually seep their way. Their home was as good as gone.

  He jumped off the wall, his lungs still craving air, and ran around his house toward the ridge. He dreaded what he knew he would find, but he had to confirm it with his own eyes. As he ran he scanned the grounds, not worrying about the defeated enemy, but searching for his wife, Olivia. As he approached the base of the ridge, he could see the tangled aluminum poles that had been the tower and the massive fiberglass blades of the wind turbine. Their scattered pieces littered the grounds of his family ranch. In the middle of a pile of the tower’s debris, he could see his wife, hunched over another form: their son, Buck. She heard Wilber, stepped away from their son’s broken body, and sought Wilber’s solace within his loving open arms. They wept together, for now, unconcerned about the next tribulation that approached.

  ~~~

  Fossil Ridge, Illinois

  The Teacher’s prayers were not answered. Thinking that God had slammed down the celestial receiver, Paul noted that the earth no longer shook. He heard nothing more. His Heavenly Father had thrashed him violently, though He didn’t cause as much injury as his step-father used to. But, there was no message, vision, or sign afterward. “What am I doing wrong?” he begged God. “Please tell me your plans for me and for my followers.” He said this with his face thrust to the sky, a face bloodied by the falling fragments of glass and debris. He lay prone again, his face and hands buried in the carpet, ignoring the new bites from the sharp surfaces held by the soft carpet bristles. Then he heard it.

  Two explosions, in the distance. He rose from his supplication to find God’s answer. Was it the Wright Ranch, or something else? he wondered as he pulled a sliver of glass from his cheek. Rivulets of blood oozed out of the new cut. Stepping over a large piece of the ceiling, through the broken doorway, he walked briskly to the middle of the street, joining several of his followers and a few of Fossil Ridge’s residents. All were staring either north or southeast at two billowing clouds on the horizon. Both looked like mushroom clouds. He wondered out loud, “What the hell?”

  “It’s from the nuclear power plants. It looks like they’re experiencing meltdowns,” said an old professorial-looking man, who stroked his beard as he spoke in a tone of scientific detachment, not fear. “I suspect this will kill us all.”

  “You mean, like in the China Syndrome?” the Teacher asked.

  “Yes, just like that,” the old man answered.

  God had spoken!

  Thompson Journal Entry

  Continued…

  The Final Solution

  I tried to think of every contingency plan with the beach house and beach warehouse, always knowing that this wasn’t our final place, this was just temporary: a transitional place until you were ready and it was the right time. Likewise, I knew that my ranch was a transitional place; although it is certainly more defensible than the beach house, it still is just transitional and not the place we will all go to, which I’ll get into in the next few pages.

  If by chance, you are trapped, I have set up a final solution. My beach house is rigged with explosiv
es. As a diversion, or to take out the enemy if they are in the house, or if you just want to blow it up so that no one can have access to its secrets, you’ll find a button right inside the passage way. When you press this, you will have exactly five minutes to close the passageway door, exit to the beach warehouse, and lock the warehouse door. You must be on the opposite side of that beach warehouse door to be safely protected from the blast that will come.

  Note: The warehouse will be fine, because the explosives are focused inward and toward the ocean. However, I wouldn’t suggest that you stand in the street when it goes off.

  Remember, 5 minutes is all you have. Make it count.

  44.

  Fireball

  Rocky Point, Mexico

  “Así, perfecto,” El Diablo praised his men as they set the charges around the outside of the door. They all proceeded to the kitchen, so that the door and its blast would be pointed away from them toward the ocean.

  Most, including El Diablo, were ducking behind the kitchen’s island; his explosives man was in front of him, twisting the wires onto the battery-operated switch. Once that was done, he held the knob that, when twisted, would send current to the blasting caps in the C-4, causing the chain reaction. He looked at El Diablo awaiting the order.

  From outside came a couple of AK-47 bursts. Perhaps his men had found the other crazy Americans.

  Satisfied, El Diablo gave the signal.

  ~~~

  Clyde had just taken out two of the druggies on post, waiting near the back door. It was easy since they were not paying attention.