Brace for Impact

by Harley Tate

She stuck out a hand. In it, the hundred dollar bill he’d given her the day before flapped in the wind. “Take it.”

  “No. I paid you that fair and square.”

  “But the car didn’t work and you probably saved my life. Matthew’s, too. Take it.” She shoved it at him again.

  Grant took the money. “Thanks.”

  “I hope you find your wife.”

  “Me, too.” He glanced up at the window. Matthew stood between the curtain and the glass, watching. “When the bomb hits—”

  “Go to the basement. I know.”

  Grant flashed a tight smile and put the car in reverse. Darlene stepped back and he backed out of her driveway. He glanced at the fuel gauge as he put it in drive. First stop: gas.

  Chapter Twelve

  LEAH

  Midtown Atlanta

  Saturday, 10:00 a.m.

  Flames leapt from the shattered window across the street and Leah grabbed Andy’s arm. “We can’t leave. There could be survivors.”

  “So?”

  “We need to help them.”

  “Are you crazy?”

  “No. You’re a doctor.”

  “I’m not a miracle worker. You see the size of those flames? Whoever’s in there is a human barbecue at this point.”

  Leah’s eyes bugged. “Are you telling me that you’re willing to turn your back on injured people because they might not survive?”

  Andy ran a hand through his hair. “I’m making an educated guess and reminding you we need to get home. Stopping to help doesn’t accomplish that.”

  “But it’s the right thing to do.”

  “No, it’s not.” Andy slung his bag over his shoulder and walked out of the restaurant.

  Leah followed. She palmed her hips. “Do you want me to tell that stingy guy in the restaurant that you stole an extra bag of chips?”

  Andy spun around. “You wouldn’t!”

  Leah fixed him with a stare and Andy threw up his hands. “You’re as bad as my wife.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “Don’t.” Andy stalked back to her. “What are you waiting for? Let’s go help these people.”

  Leah nodded and took off across the street.

  The female police officer held up her hand. “Stay back!”

  Leah stuck her hospital ID in the air. “We’re from Georgia Memorial. I’m an RN and he’s a doctor. We can help.”

  The cop eyed Leah’s ID and asked for Andy’s as well. After inspecting them for a moment, she nodded. “All right. But you follow orders. I can’t have more injuries on my hands.”

  “Coming out with a bleeder!” The male cop clambered out of the door to the building and smoke billowed in his wake. He set a man with burn marks tracking down his left side on the ground.

  As soon as the cop stood up, he doubled back over and coughed. Andy rushed up to him. “I’m a doctor. You need to take slow, measured breaths. That will calm your lungs and open your airway.”

  The cop nodded.

  Leah crouched beside the burned man. The burns were worse than she feared. His shirt was melted to his skin in several places and his thigh was seared to the bone. The camouflage pattern of his pants matched the pattern of the burn. It was gruesome and Leah struggled not to be sick.

  He would never survive.

  She forced herself to smile. “Hi, I’m Leah and I’ll be taking care of you.”

  The man reached up with his non-burned hand, scrabbling for her arm.

  “Can you tell me what happened, sir?”

  His eyes glazed over and spit dribbled from his chin.

  Andy kneeled beside him. He jerked back when got a look at the injuries.

  “How’s the cop?”

  “He’ll live.” Andy glanced up at Leah. The meaning of his words was plain.

  Leah nodded. She knew the man lying on the sidewalk was a goner. She only wanted to make him comfortable for his final moments. She smiled at him again. “Sir? Can you hear me?”

  The man’s mouth worked open and shut.

  “He’s gone, Leah.”

  “No, he’s not.” She leaned closer. “Sir, is there someone you want me to contact? Some family member?”

  The man moaned. “Bombs!”

  Leah frowned. “Sir? I can’t understand you.”

  He focused on Leah, his pupils contracting as he brought her into focus. “You need to save yourself.”

  “From what?”

  “The bombs. They’re coming!”

  She glanced up at the cops. They were talking into their radios and not paying any attention. She turned back to the victim. “I don’t understand. What bombs? You mean the blackout?”

  “No! That was just the beginning. A first strike intended to hamper our defenses.” He reached up again and found her arm. His fingers gripped it tight. “The real attack is coming.”

  Leah swallowed. “What attack? What is it?”

  His voice grew quiet. “Nuclear bombs.”

  “How do you know? Where did you hear this? Sir?”

  “Get out.” He coughed and blood dribbled down his chin. “Get out before it’s too late.” His hand slipped from Leah’s arm and she felt the non-charred portion of his neck for a pulse. He was gone.

  Leah leaned back on her heels and looked up as the male police officer stepped over.

  “Did he tell you anything?”

  Leah stood up. “He said we were under attack. That the blackout was just the beginning.”

  “What did he say was next?”

  “A nuclear bomb.”

  The cop snorted. “Yeah, right. And I’m the president’s uncle.” He pointed at the building. “Idiot was trying to rig up a generator in an enclosed room. A bunker-type thing made of concrete block. Blew himself up instead.”

  Leah stared at the man’s body. “I’m sorry we couldn’t save him.”

  “It’s okay. You did the best you could.”

  The cop stepped away and Andy pulled Leah to the side. “Are you crazy? Why are you telling the cop about that man’s delusions?”

  “He asked.”

  “Next time, don’t say a word unless you want to get stuck at a crime scene for hours.”

  Leah yanked her arm away. “What are you talking about?”

  “Any time you tell a cop anything, they have to file a report. If you’re a witness, it can take forever. Never, ever tell them anything. Never make yourself a target.”

  “I’m not a target. I’m a nurse and that man needed help. I only told the truth.”

  “Sometimes the truth is all it takes to turn a good day into the worst day of your life.”

  Leah stared at Andy as he stalked over to his bag and slung it over his shoulder. Had he lost his mind? She picked up her bag and walked over to the police officers. “I’m sorry we couldn’t be of more help. Do you need us to stay?”

  The male cop shook his head. “Naw. You go on. We’ll handle it.”

  Leah smiled and hurried over to Andy. “See? We didn’t have to stay.”

  “Lucky us.” He pulled his pack of cigarettes from his bag and shook it, muttering beneath his breath.

  “Do you really think those were delusions?”

  He fished a cigarette from the pack and tapped it on his palm before putting it in his mouth. “Of course. Don’t you?”

  Leah waited for Andy to light the cigarette and stash the almost-empty pack and lighter before she responded. “The more I think about it, the more I think it might be true.”

  He took a drag and puffed the smoke into the air. “Did you hit your head yesterday?”

  “No.” Leah scowled. “But between my husband’s messages, what the cell phone guy said, and now the burn victim, it’s all adding up.”

  “It’s a blackout. A really big blackout.”

  “What about the man in the hospital who claimed it was a high-altitude nuclear weapon? What if that was only what the dead guy called it… A first strike?”

  “Nonsense. Who would g
o to all the trouble to blackout half the United States only to drop a bomb on us a few hours later?”

  Andy had a point. Maybe it was overkill. Maybe she was reading too much into everything because Grant wasn’t there and she couldn’t reach him. Leah pulled out her phone and tried to call. She screamed when the busy signal sounded in her ear.

  “Guess you aren’t lucky after all.”

  Leah exhaled and shoved the phone back in her pocket. “What do you know about nuclear bombs?”

  “Not much. We learned how to respond back in med school.”

  “Tell me.”

  Andy sucked down some more smoke and nicotine and exhaled. “If you’re in the blast radius, forget it, you’re incinerated. The bombs are super strong and they displace a ton of energy, so buildings will be blown apart at the site of the explosion.”

  “What about farther out?”

  “How big a bomb are we talking about?”

  Leah shook her head. “How about what was dropped on Japan?”

  “In World War II?”

  She nodded.

  “Then once you’re outside the immediate vicinity, there’s a fifty-fifty chance of survival for about a two-mile radius. Think the biggest hurricane you’ve ever seen blasting scorching-hot wind in every direction.”

  Andy paused to smoke. “If a building doesn’t fall on you and you’re not outside and burned to a crisp when it explodes, you might live through the initial blast. Beyond the first two miles, you would survive, maybe have some injuries from debris. But that’s not the worst.”

  “It’s not?”

  Andy finished his cigarette and put it out in the gutter. “No. Within about an hour of the blast, all the radiation released into the atmosphere will start falling back to earth.”

  “Radiation sickness.”

  “Exactly. If you don’t get underground or in a secure building that’s completely closed to the outside, you’ll be exposed to enough radiation to kill you. It might take days or weeks, but eventually, you’ll succumb to the sickness.”

  Leah blew out a breath. “How long does the radiation last?”

  “Not as long as you think. Within two weeks, it would be practically gone.”

  Leah gave a start. “Everyone has to shelter in place for two weeks?”

  “That’s for the radiation to be virtually eliminated. After seventy hours, with the right gear, you could go outside.”

  “A hazmat suit.”

  “At a minimum.”

  Leah ran a hand over her head. It couldn’t be real. But what if? She thought about her husband’s messages begging her to get out of the city and go to her sister’s place. Hampton was forty miles from the hospital.

  There would be no radiation there. She would be safe.

  Leah stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. Did Grant know? Did he know about the bombs and try to warn her?

  Andy stopped a few paces ahead. And cocked his head. “Do you hear that?”

  Leah rushed forward. “What?”

  He held up a hand to shush her and strained to listen.

  The faintest sound of someone talking found Leah’s ear.

  Andy nodded. “I know that sound anywhere. It’s a television. Someone’s watching Seinfeld.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  GRANT

  Suburbs of Charlotte, North Carolina

  Saturday, 10:30 a.m.

  It took Grant an hour to find an open gas station. Every one he drove past was either dark and closed up or sported a makeshift sign stating Closed Until Further Notice.

  He eased the Cutlass up to a pump and killed the engine. The car clinked and groaned as it cooled and Grant listened, waiting. The downside to not having keys was the lack of security. He couldn’t lock the car and anyone with half a brain could touch the starter wires together and rev it up.

  When it appeared no one would come outside to check on him, Grant exited the vehicle. He hoped the hundred dollars Darlene returned would be enough. The Cutlass guzzled gas like a parched man drank water. It was always thirsty.

  He walked toward the gas station’s convenience store with his hands in his pockets and his wife on his mind. Was she still at the hospital? Would he make it home in time? It wasn’t until he reached for the door handle that Grant heard the shouts.

  Flattening his body against the wall, he sucked in a breath and listened.

  “Gimme the money, man!”

  A low voice responded and Grant couldn’t make out the words.

  “Do it! Or I’ll drop you!”

  Grant swallowed. He showed up in time for a robbery. Just my luck. He ran a hand down his face as the same low voice responded.

  The military man inside Grant ached to join the tussle, but it had been years since he served and he wasn’t armed. He scanned the area for a weapon. The outside of the gas station sported an ice machine with water leaking from the corner, a stack of firewood for sale, and an air machine. Nothing helpful.

  “I’m not playin’! Give it to me!”

  If the man offering the threats had a gun, Grant couldn’t disarm him easily. If the guy was quick with the trigger finger, all bets were off. Hell.

  He couldn’t turn around and leave. Filling his tank was too important. Grant needed gas.

  The robber’s voice edged up a notch as he yelled a string of obscenities. Frustration could be good; it meant he either wasn’t armed or didn’t want to shoot.

  Grant’s gaze settled on the ice machine. Distraction would be key. He stripped out of his sweatshirt and hustled over to the leaking machine. As fast as possible, he scooped up the melted ice water and dumped it down the front of his shirt and into his hair.

  The cold shocked him, but he jumped to get the blood flowing and smacked his cheeks a few times. Adrenaline did the rest.

  He shook himself off and yanked open the door. “Man, it’s hot for January. Hey, you got some cold Gatorade up in this joint?”

  A single man with a shotgun spun around and pointed it at Grant. He couldn’t have been older than twenty, with a half-grown goatee and a sparkly earring in his ear. From the way he held the gun at his waist and not tight to his shoulder, Grant knew the kid didn’t have a clue how to shoot it.

  Thank God for small favors. Grant held up his hands. “Whoa, easy there.” He scanned the room as he begged off. “I just need to rehydrate before I dehydrate, know what I mean?” He staggered a few steps into the store and paused by a display of golf umbrellas. Those will do.

  “Stop or I’ll shoot!” The gunman waved the shotgun at Grant and scowled.

  “Naw, man you don’t wanna shoot me. I’m just in need of electrolytes.” Grant bobbed in front of the umbrella stand and wiped his wet forehead with his sleeve. He made eye contact with the clerk, an older man of about fifty with a stern face and thick neck.

  “Sports drinks are on the back wall.”

  Grant grinned like he’d won the lottery. He pointed his fingers in the shape of a gun at the clerk while he pulled an umbrella from the stand with his free hand. It hung loose in his fingers. Solid handle. Metal shaft. Good choice.

  He spun around. “Now there is a man who knows his store. Can’t get service like that just anywhere.”

  The gunman stood frozen, still pointing his gun at Grant, but not knowing what to do. It was rule number one: always be unpredictable. Inexperienced attackers expected people to stand still or drop to the ground, not act a fool and cause a scene.

  It wouldn’t work with a seasoned guy who knew his way around a crime, but Grant was lucky. He’d thrown the kid off-balance. He fluffed his shirt and dropped his knee in a fake swagger as he walked by, but it was all a ploy. As he bent down, he swung the umbrella. A hard, quick chop to the gunman’s left knee and he buckled.

  With the shotgun at the kid’s waist and pain radiating up his leg, he didn’t have the strength required to pull the trigger. The kid struggled with the gun as he hopped on his good leg. Grant grabbed the barrel with his left hand and wrenched it fre
e.

  Whipping around, Grant checked to confirm the gun was loaded, and brought the butt tight to his shoulder. He pointed it at the kid now clutching his busted knee.

  Grant directed his words at the clerk, all pretense and fake swagger gone. “What do you want to do with him?”

  The clerk came out from around the counter, a shotgun of his own in his hands. “Kick him out.” He grabbed the guy by the scruff of the neck. “If you ever come in here again, I’ll shoot first.” He threw him out of the store and pulled the door shut before locking it.

  “Damn kids. The power goes out and they think they own the place.” The clerk moved his shotgun to his left hand and stuck out a meaty paw. “Billy Orson, owner and manager. Nice to meet you.”

  Grant shook the man’s hand. “Grant Walton. Same here. Sorry if I interrupted your plans.” He pointed at the clerk’s gun. “Looks like you had it under control.”

  “No worries. I’m glad you took out his knee. Then I didn’t have to mop up his blood.”

  Grant raised his eyebrows as Billy walked back around the counter. He was pretty sure the man meant every word.

  “So what can I do for you, Mr. Walton?”

  Grant smoothed back his hair. “I’ve got a gas guzzler and I’m running on fumes. I’m hoping I can fill up.”

  Billy nodded, impressed. “You’ve got a working car?”

  “A ’77 Cutlass Supreme.”

  Billy’s face contorted into a grin. “You don’t say! Mind if I take a look?”

  Grant held out his hand. “Be my guest.” He grabbed his sweatshirt where he dropped it by the front door and followed Billy to the car.

  The bigger man laughed and it shook his belly. “I haven’t seen one of these since I was a teenager. Used to tinker with my friend’s on the weekends.” He bent to check out the wheels. “It’s even got the spokes!”

  Grant smiled. A man after his own heart. Chatting with Billy about the past would be a good way to spend an afternoon. Too bad he couldn’t stay. “About that gas.”

  Billy nodded. “I’ve got a generator. It’ll take a minute to get running, but I can do it.”