by Harley Tate
“Did I pass?”
The man’s lips thinned. “Yes. Where are you headed?”
“Atlanta. My wife is there. I need to find her.”
He stared at Grant for a long time, but at last he conceded. “Fine. I’ve got some cement mix around back. You move it to the barn and I’ll give you enough gas to get home.”
“And directions?”
“You do a decent enough job and we’ll talk.”
“Thank you.” Grant nodded and stepped forward, but the man held up a hand.
“Don’t do anything stupid. I don’t want to clean up the mess when I shoot you.”
Grant swallowed and glanced at the sun. Time was precious, but at least now he had a chance.
The man turned around with the dog at his side and headed back toward the house. He stopped at the porch. “You coming or what?”
Grant bent to pick up his shotgun.
“Leave it.”
He complied and hurried to catch up. Following the man around the side of the house, they entered the working portion of the farm complete with three outbuildings, a mass of farm equipment, and a brand-new Ford F-150 that probably would never run again.
The man lowered the tailgate to the truck. There had to be twenty bags of cement mix inside, each one weighing fifty pounds.
Grant swallowed down a groan. “Where do you want them?”
“In the far barn along the east wall. You’ll see the place.”
Grant shrugged out of his jacket and set to work, picking up the first dust-covered bag and hoisting it up to his shoulder. He ran-walked the hundred yards to the far barn and eased inside.
A space sat cleared and ready along the wall between hay bales and a locking metal cabinet. Grant dropped the first bag and hustled back to the truck. The man didn’t say a word. He stood beside the truck with a clear view of Grant the entire way, shotgun resting on his forearm. The dog stayed by his side.
Thirty minutes later, Grant dumped the last bag inside the barn and almost collapsed from exhaustion. Sweat ran down his face and dribbled off his nose and he leaned against a support beam to catch his breath.
“You all right?”
Grant nodded. “Tired and thirsty, that’s all.”
“Hungry, too?”
“Sure am.”
The man jerked his head toward the house. “You can come in and shower off if you like. I can grab you something to eat.” He stuck out his hand. “Logan Sullivan.”
Grant pushed off the post and gave Logan’s hand a shake. “Grant Walton. Thank you for your kindness.”
“Don’t see how asking you to move a thousand pounds of cement mix is kind, but whatever tickles your fancy.” He pointed toward the house. “Shower’s down the main hall. Second door on the left.”
Grant blinked. “Aren’t you coming?”
“After I clean up out here.”
Grant nodded and hurried to the house, taking the back stairs two at a time. He pushed the back door open and stepped inside. The place was even bigger on the inside with soaring ceilings and a kitchen that took up the entire back wall. Grant slipped off his dirty shoes and crossed a living room big enough for ten people before finding the bathroom.
After a quick shower, he toweled off, dragged his sweaty clothes back on with a grimace and headed to the kitchen.
Logan stood at the counter putting the top on a sandwich piled with meat and cheese and lettuce. He glanced up as Grant came in. “Sandwich?”
Grant checked his watch. He needed to go, but his stomach practically leapt out of his throat. He’d be no good to Leah if he passed out. “That would be great, thanks.”
Logan offered a seat at the kitchen table and Grant wolfed the sandwich and a bag of chips down before guzzling a glass of water.
“Thank you again.” He leaned back in the chair. “You’ve got an impressive setup here. Is it all off the grid?”
“One hundred percent. I’ve been self-sufficient for three years now.”
Grant swallowed. “Have you heard what’s happened?”
“The EMP?” Logan nodded. “High-altitude ballistic missile launched off the East Coast. Probably from a cargo ship.”
Grant sat up with a start. “Are you getting the news? TV channels?”
“Nope. Got that all from the ham.”
Grant raised an eyebrow. “Your pigs are reporters?”
Logan chuckled and pushed off the counter. “No. The ham radio. Come on, I’ll show you, then we can fill up your car.”
Grant followed Logan to an office tucked in the corner of the house. A bank of radio equipment sat between two windows looking out on the front of the property. “Even with an EMP, radios still work. Ham radio culture has dwindled over the last forty years, but there’s still a good number of truckers who use it.”
“And you can communicate with them?”
Logan nodded. “With a big enough antenna and the right atmospheric conditions, I can reach California.”
Grant’s mouth fell open. “What have you heard?”
“The whole East Coast is dark. Cars are stalled out all over the roads. The cities are in chaos, but without transportation, there’s not a lot people can do.”
Grant ran a hand down his face. “Have you heard about any more threats?”
“The bombs?”
“Nuclear bombs. Twenty-five of them targeting the largest cities.”
Logan nodded again. “That’s what I’ve heard. But no one knows if it’s true.”
“Are you going to do anything? Take any precautions?”
“The way I figure it, I’ve done all that already. I’m here, a hundred miles from any target, with enough food and water to keep me going. What else do I need?”
“Are you all alone?”
Logan smiled. “That’s where my hospitality ends.” He walked to the door. “Let’s see to that gas.”
Grant respected the hell out of a man who took care of himself and whatever family he was protecting. A pang of jealousy hit him low, but he shoved it down and followed Logan to a tank filled with gasoline.
Logan pulled a red portable gas can from the closest barn and filled it up. He handed it over to Grant. “You’ll want to follow Route 81 south. It’ll seem like you aren’t going anywhere, but eventually, you’ll hit Highway 72. Turn west and you’ll cross the water into Georgia. There’s a town not too far across the border.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Grant wanted to say more, but the pull of his wife kept his mouth shut. He turned to hurry back to his car when the dog from his arrival appeared. She scampered up and licked the back of his hand.
Logan chuckled. “Guess she really does like you.”
Grant smiled and hurried off, stopping only to grab his jacket, bag, and shotgun. He loped down the gravel drive, careful not to slosh the gas inside the tank. It took him over half an hour to retrace his steps back to the Cutlass. He filled the tank, put the empty can in the trunk, and fell into the driver’s seat.
He pumped the gas pedal and touched the starter wires together. The car protested. He fought back the urge to break something and tried again. The Cutlass started on the third attempt.
Grant exhaled and put the car in drive. Hang on, Leah. I’m coming.
Chapter Eighteen
LEAH
Midtown Atlanta
Saturday, 4:00 p.m.
Marley Phillips hadn’t stopped screaming since they pulled into the driveway five minutes before.
“You think it’s safe to get out yet?”
Andy shook his head. “Not until she stops gesticulating. If she’s still got the energy to point, she’s dangerous.”
Leah laughed despite the scene. “You do love each other, right?”
“Madly. Can’t you tell?”
Andy’s wife paused on the lawn, her chest heaving and cheeks flaming to match her hair. When she started in again, she kept her hands on her hips. Andy clapped and reached for the
door handle. “There we go. She’s tired herself out.”
Leah stopped him. “What’s she like to be called?”
“What?”
“Your wife. You said don’t call her Marley. So what should I call her?”
Andy grinned. “I’ll let her tell you.” He stepped out of the car, a huge smile on his face. “Babe, it’s okay.” He threw his arms wide and his wife stared at him like he’d offered her a gastric bypass.
She nodded at Leah still sitting in the car.
Andy motioned for her to come out and Leah obliged, sliding out of the driver’s seat on shaky legs. The stress of driving the ancient Buick through miles of abandoned vehicles and prying eyes tapped her strength. She wobbled over to Andy and his wife.
“This is Leah Walton. She’s a nurse at Georgia Memorial. If it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t be here.”
Andy’s wife stared at Leah, scrutinizing her from head to toe. At last, she stuck out her hand. “Mimi Phillips.”
Leah shook her hand. “Hi.”
“I suppose he wants me to thank you.”
Leah tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I was headed this way anyway.”
Mimi tilted her head. “You live around here?”
“No.” Leah chewed on her lip. “My sister lives in Hampton. My husband is meeting me there.”
At the mention of her husband, Mimi’s gaze landed on Leah’s wedding band. She softened. “Have you talked to him?”
“No. Grant left me a ton of messages, but with the phones down, I can’t return the call.”
Mimi nodded and turned to her husband. “That’s how I felt these past two days. Not able to reach you, no calls, no texts. I’ve been going out of my mind.”
The two fluffy white dogs at Andy’s feet barked in agreement.
“So have Tinker and Bell.”
Leah glanced down at the little dogs before looking back up. She mouthed their names to Andy.
He shrugged and turned to his wife. “You know I tried to call, but with everything down, it was impossible. We even talked to a guy from the phone company.”
“You did? For me?”
Leah didn’t bother to correct Mimi’s assumption. She bent down to pet the dogs instead.
Andy broke the silence. “Hon, I think we need to go inside. There’s some things we need to talk about.”
“Like why our car won’t work or the lights aren’t on? Or how you ate the last of the granola bars and left the empty box in the pantry?”
Andy leaned in to give his wife a kiss. She pushed him away. “You stink like an ashtray! Have you been smoking?” Mimi turned to Leah. “Has he been smoking?”
Leah swallowed. “The last day’s been really stressful.”
Mimi threw up her hands and stalked into the house, shouting obscenities to no one in particular.
Andy stuck his nose in his shirt and inhaled. “Do I really smell that bad?”
“Depends on how much you like smoke, I guess.”
He motioned toward the house. “Come on in and rest for a while. Get something to eat. It’s going to be dark soon. You’ll need your wits about you.”
Leah looked back at the Buick. “I have a long way to go.”
Andy reached for her. “I need your help telling Mimi the rest. She’s not going to take the news well.”
“The bomb threat?”
Andy nodded. “Please, Leah. You’ll help keep her calm.”
Leah stood on the edge of the driveway, staring up at Andy’s house. She needed to leave. Thoughts of her husband and her sister and the worry that must be consuming them dominated her thoughts. But Andy needed help, too.
If his wife didn’t come to terms with what might be coming, they wouldn’t be ready. The threat of a nuclear attack could be hanging over their heads for days, weeks, even. Or it could happen in an instant. The sooner Mimi prepared, the better.
“Okay. But I’m leaving within the hour, so talk fast.”
Andy agreed and ushered her into the house. Tinker and Bell scurried in with them, yipping at Leah’s heels.
They found Mimi in the kitchen, practically gulping a glass of wine. Andy didn’t hold back. “The blackout wasn’t caused by a freak storm or a malfunction at the power plant.”
Mimi set her glass down. “Seeing as the cars are all stalled, except for the one you magically showed up in, I figured as much.”
“It was a nuclear bomb.”
Mimi paled. “What? Where?”
“Detonated high in the atmosphere. It caused an EMP.”
Andy let Leah explain what she knew thanks to the crazy patient in the ER. When she finished, he waved at her to keep talking. Leah tucked her hair behind her ear even though none was out of place. “The same patient claimed it was only the first strike. That more bombs would follow.”
“More high-altitude ones?”
“No. This time on the ground.”
Andy’s wife shook her head. “I don’t follow. Are you telling me we’re at risk for nuclear war?”
“Basically, yes.” Andy stepped forward. “We found the car thanks to a man who rigged up a boat battery to his TV. He let us watch a few minutes of a news broadcast out of Los Angeles.”
Andy faltered and Leah stepped in, finishing the story. “The reporter corroborated what my patient said and what I could parse out from my husband’s messages. There are twenty-five nuclear bombs in play targeting the top cities in the United States.”
“Including here?”
Leah nodded. “Atlanta is one of the targets, yes.”
Mimi eased down to a kitchen stool. “So that’s it? We get hit with an EMP and the government can’t protect us? What about the military or the police? Where are they? Why aren’t they evacuating?”
Andy reached for his wife’s hand. “I’m not sure local police departments know. We ran into a pair of city cops and they didn’t believe us.”
Leah shook her head in dismay, remembering the dead man and the cop’s dismissal. “Not one bit.”
“But the federal government… The FBI… CIA… someone has to know.”
“Doesn’t mean they can stop it.” Leah plucked at her sleeve. “I’m sure they’ve at least heard the rumors. They probably knew about it days ago. But what if they can’t find the source? What if they don’t know where the bombs are or who’s setting them off?”
Mimi ran a hand over her hair. “How big a bomb are we talking about? Can it fit in a suitcase or does it have to be carted in on a tractor-trailer?”
Andy glanced up at the ceiling, trying to remember. “I think I’ve got it in a book in the office. Hold on.” He scrambled out of the room, reappearing a second later. He flipped the pages on a large paperback until he found the right section.
“This says the bomb dropped on Hiroshima would fit in the back of a small delivery truck or maybe even a van.”
Leah swallowed. “You mean one of those white delivery vans we see on every street downtown?”
Andy closed the book and nodded.
“Trying to track down twenty-five vans in cities teeming with millions of people would be impossible.” Leah ran a hand over her forehead. “We don’t know how long this has been planned or who’s responsible. For all we know, the bombs could have been here for years, waiting.”
Andy opened the book again and rifled through the pages. “This says that decommissioned nuclear weapons are held in various levels of security. The US keeps the best track, but Russia is the worst.”
He looked up with wide eyes. “There are some facilities in northern Russia that don’t have security at all.”
“What? Give me that.” Andy’s wife snatched the book and read the two open pages. When she looked up, her face confirmed Andy’s words. “It’s hopeless. We’re all going to die.”
“No, that’s not true.” Leah leaned across the counter. “Even if a bomb goes off, we can survive.”
Andy agreed. “We’re far enough out of the blast radius here that the ini
tial impact won’t kill us.”
“But what about radiation?”
“We’ll need to find shelter. Preferably somewhere with a basement.”
Mimi took another gulp of wine. “For how long?”
Andy glanced at Leah. “Up to two weeks.”
His wife snorted out a laugh. “Yeah, right. Where are we going to find a basement we can crash in for two weeks?”
Leah spoke up. “Isn’t there anywhere in the neighborhood?”
Andy scratched his head. “Doesn’t the community building have something?”
Mimi’s brows knitted. “I think you’re right. When we first moved in, they planned to make it two stories with an exit from the bottom to the pool.”
Andy brightened. “You’re right. When the plans for the pool were redrawn, the developer filled that area in to make a playground.” He spun to Leah with hope on his face for the first time in hours. “The basement’s got to be there. We just need to find a way in.”
Mimi stood up. “I’ll go find Becky. She’s on the homeowners’ association. She’ll know.”
Leah turned to Andy. “While she’s figuring it out, you need to pack.”
“What for?”
“Your impromptu trip to basement paradise. All of you need to find that basement and get in it. Those bombs could go off any minute.”
“What about you?”
“I need to find my sister.”
Andy reached out and rested his hand on Leah’s shoulder. “Thank you for bringing me home.”
She smiled. “You’re welcome.”
As Leah turned to leave, shouts erupted outside. She glanced at Andy. “Now what?”
Chapter Nineteen
LEAH
Midtown Atlanta
Saturday, 4:30 p.m.
Andy rushed outside and Leah followed.
A man stood on Andy’s driveway, gesticulating at the car. “I don’t know, Mimi, you tell me. How the hell did you get a working car?”
“It’s not my car!” Mimi shouted back as Andy rushed to stand between them.
He held up his hands. “Hi, Tom. What’s the trouble?”
