“You knew this was going to happen?”
“Basic rule of planning, consider how long something should take then multiply it by the human factor, also known as four, and then pray everything works out.” She dumped eight pills into her palm then popped one into her mouth. Bitterness and saliva flooded her mouth but soon the fire in her throat was doused. Blessed relief. Thank God the corpsmen had known that little trick. She scraped the residue off with her tongue and waited for the medicine to kick in. The rest she’d take with water.
Lister took the bottle from her hand and measured out his own dose then capped it. “The human factor is four?”
He tossed them in his mouth and chewed.
Yuck! She shivered. Either the guy needed more hair on his chest or he was trying to prove something. Like she had something to prove. She’d take hers with water and be damn proud of it. She scanned the seat, leaned forward and checked the floor. Now to find her water bottle. There. By the door. Dumping the pills into a pile on her tongue, she retrieved her drink, opened it and took a gulp. Warm water washed down the tiny tablets.
“Most doom-and-gloom predictors prefer eight, but I like being optimistic.”
And practical.
The Palo Verde nuclear power plant lying eighty miles to the west was days away from melting down and spewing radioactive waste. With a storm heading for them, they would be directly in the fallout’s path. And that held only three of the thousand reactors on the planet.
They had a thirty-percent chance of surviving the anthrax.
None of them would escape cancer if they didn’t find a place to duck and cover within the timetable.
And God help them if they received a lethal dose.
There wasn’t enough cyanide to spike everyone’s punch.
“Doc?”
Mavis pushed aside the thoughts and blinked until the screen of her tablet came into focus. A map had replaced her earlier graph. Blips of light arched across the green matrix. “What’s this?”
“Wide view radar.” Lister held his screen next to hers. “It looks like we’re being invaded.”
She glanced at her water bottle then sniffed it. It smelled like water not vodka. “I really need some sleep. I thought you just said invaded.”
“I did.” He set a finger on her screen, shifted the view then tapped it. The image zoomed in on one glowing circle until silver wings appeared.
“That’s a plane.” Please, God, don’t let China have followed up their biological attack with a more conventional one. She tilted the tablet to get a side view of the plane’s logo. Doh! Embarrassment heated her cheeks. Maybe he hadn’t noticed.
“It’s a commercial airliner.” Chuckling, he tapped the screen again and the view widened. Hundreds of dots studded Japanese air space until they merged into one giant splotch as America’s west coast appeared.
The Japanese were invading the US? “What can they be thinking?”
“They’re directly in China and India’s fallout path. The Japs know better than anyone, except the Reds, the shit sandwich they’re about to be served.”
She scrubbed her hands down her face. Why hadn’t she considered this? She’d only gotten sick a couple of days ago. Good Lord, what’s going on in Europe?
Lister shoved his face in hers and breathed stale coffee on her. “Now’s the time to get that big brain of yours working, Doc.”
“I don’t—”
“You do. And you can.” Lister eased away. “What did you do before the war?”
The war. Her brain slipped gears until it found a groove and turned. Funny how she didn’t think of either the influenza pandemic or the germ attack by China as war. Yet it was.
Humanity teetered on the precipice of extinction.
The nuclear meltdown threatened to push them over the edge.
And she’d been on the front lines serving in the Weapons of Mass Destruction program, trying to prevent selfish nations and self-serving despots and tyrants from bringing humanity to the verge of extinction in the first place.
She reached into her jacket pocket, searching for another cough drop. “I worked for the United Nations.”
“Exactly. You were a known spy. You know what WMDs can do, you understand their tactics. But more than that, you’ve been behind enemy lines, had guns shoved in your face, and been taken hostage by rogue governments.”
Shot, stabbed, nearly raped. All those things and more. Sweat misted her skin. But she hadn’t been alone. Others had her back.
“You, Doc, are the epitome of cool. You talk about bugging out, nuclear meltdown and extinction level events without so much as batting an eyelash.”
Her teeth clicked together. She wasn’t cool. She’d washed plenty of crabgrass out of her undies. Still…knowing her enemies meant she knew their weaknesses and how to thread the needle just right so humanity could come out the other side.
“What’s the answer? I know you have it.” Hope blazed in his eyes. “It’s people like you that’ll give us the edge.”
He needed to believe she had the answers just like his men needed to believe the officers knew what needed to be done. Just like the citizens needed to believe in the soldiers. So why did she picture herself as the nail keeping the kingdom from being lost?
On the other side of the window, David helped an elderly woman into the waiting arms of a soldier.
Well, hell, if everyone around her was delusional, didn’t that make crazy the new sane? She picked up her tablet and refocused. She could solve this problem. It was just one problem. The satellite zeroed in on the flock of silver birds. “Not all of them are heading this way. Some look like they’re heading toward Australia.”
He picked up a headset and adjusted the mouthpiece. “Give me a status on the Rising Sun Birds.”
White caught her eye. She shifted the screen and tightened the image on the slash under the plane’s wings. For a moment, blue waves filled her screen then the familiar bow-shape appeared. “There are ships under the planes.”
Lister eyed her screen. “That one’s a sailboat.”
The Japanese citizens hadn’t been thinking; they’d been following a primitive instinct to flee as if their lives depended on it. And they did. Unfortunately, they couldn’t outrun the radiation. In months, the American west coast would be awash in ghost ships ferrying corpses.
She set her hand over her mouth to stifle a scream. Every problem had several solutions. I just need to find the solution. Find it. “Where are our boys?”
“Australia is mum on accepting the birds.”
Probably because there, too, everyone in charge had been wiped out by China’s anthrax stuffed animals. Which made landing a squadron of planes a rather tricky maneuver. But desperate people did suicidal things. She switched screens to her list of military assets. “Give me locations on the pacific fleet.”
The ships too far out of port to be safely recalled had been ordered to set sail for Antarctica. Those in Europe, Asia and the Middle East had evacuated as many personnel and their families as they could handle and headed for the same destination.
Lister changed screens. Blips popped up with unreadable names.
Mavis resisted the urge to slap herself for her shortsightedness. Zeroing in on the naval ships near Okinawa, she tapped them. “These guys need to save the insane from suicide and escort the other ocean going vessels to Australia. I want all airplanes routed to San Francisco, San Diego and Seattle.”
After relaying the order, he glanced at her. “I thought radiation will cross the equator and sterilize Africa, South America and Australia.”
“It will, but it will take a lot longer to reach and the exposure will be reasonably low.” At least that was the theory. How it played out in real life was anyone’s guess. She eyed the swirling weather fronts over the Indian Ocean. Nothing like playing chicken with Mother Nature.
But she would have to tackle the Southern hemisphere’s problem in the future.
For now, she had to help
as many people into the future. “These submarines, why are they dry docked?”
Lister’s display showed the planes rerouting toward American shores. “Are you expecting another attack?”
“Nope, just thinking outside the box.” She double checked the class of subs. All were nuclear. Hot damn. She’d just won the lottery. “Do we have enough people to staff them?”
“Not fully, but operationally probably. Why?”
“Nuclear subs have years of power and can provide unlimited oxygen and fresh water to their inhabitants. And as a bonus, they could hunker down under the water safe from the radiation.”
“How long will our people need to stay under?”
God only knew, and He wasn’t talking. “Three months minimum.”
Probably longer. She still had to research how long it took for the atmospheric radiation to normalize after Chernobyl and Fukushima. All she knew was that it took less than seven days to sweep around the globe multiple times.
Multiply that by a thousand and their future was so bright it practically glowed.
She pushed the thought aside. Now was not the time for pessimism.
He adjusted his glasses. “I’ll have the supplies loaded.”
“Good. And have the sailors with families take them too.”
“Uh, Doc, I don’t think that’s such a good idea. There could be knife fights in the sardine can.”
She pushed her bangs out of her eyes. “I know that under normal circumstances that is to be avoided at all cost. However, this is not normal. And Joe Squid might miss the reactor going from screwed to fucked because he’s worrying about his wife and kiddies somewhere on shore.”
His jaw thrust forward. “A phone call will set that straight.”
“Don’t count on phones or any technology working after the meltdown. Nothing but the green robots worked at Chernobyl. Nothing.” Men in uniform had saved the planet in the end. With only one tenth of one percent of the population predicted to survive, she couldn’t afford to throw anyone into the breach.
Doubt beetled his clipped eyebrows and he sighed. “Yes, Ma’am.”
She smiled at his acquiescence. Sometimes it was good to be the nail holding the kingdom together. Hiding her gloating, she turned her attention back to her tablet. What other assets had she overlooked?
The door opened ushering in a whiff of smoke. David set his weapon across his lap before closing it. He started the engine just as the passenger door opened next to Lister.
A Marine with Ladykiller stenciled on the side of his helmet leaned inside. “Everyone’s nipped and tucked, Sir. The menu is being prepared.”
Referring to the survivors as dishes to be served up was a little crass, but dark humor was a survival mechanism just like fight or flight. Mavis opened her email, waiting for the new data attachment. Maybe they’d get lucky and this bunch would have stayed home instead of visiting Burgers in a Basket, or living near one, or breathing anthrax-laden air.
Lister glanced up from his laptop. “Excellent. I hope this one was a bumper crop.”
David started the engine.
The Marine stepped back then paused. “Sir, Meals-on-wheels are reporting hostiles east of our position. Or north, they’re a bit confused. Our chefs haven’t reported anything, but they’re—”
Bullets thunked against the side of the Humvee. One shattered the front passenger window with radiating fractures. Ladykiller’s forehead opened up like the splatter of an overripe melon.
“Get down!”
Clasping her hands over her head, Mavis dove for the floorboards. Heat stretched across her back and warm blobs rained down on her.
Chapter Four
“I think I see a miracle at eleven o’clock.” Using the face of a clock to define position, Papa Rose spoke into the mic dangling in front of his mouth like an overfed blowfly. Easing up on the gas, he swerved the Harley Davidson around the corpse sitting next to an abandoned Honda. Lucky bastard. Imagine just sitting down and dying like that.
Some people had all the luck.
“Roger that Papa Rose.” On the motorcycle next to him, Falcon nodded. Lightning glinted on the ex-Ranger’s ebony helmet. Instead of covering his mouth, his yellow bandana fluttered against his black neck. “Looks like Santa came early.”
On the seat behind Falcon, Brainiac lowered his face mask and adjusted his mic. “A tanker should keep Palo Verde running until we can join Doc and the others in the safety of the mountains.”
More than enough. Unfortunately, Papa Rose had hoped to buy a one way ticket to ground zero. God needed to stop fucking with his plans.
He hopped the curb and drove down the sidewalk. The semi’s cab tilted down the entrance to a gas station several blocks away. The hoods of cars, vans and trucks aimed at it. The stubble on his bald head stood on end.
Brainiac’s panting came over the wire. He raised the M-4 off his lap, ready to aim left or right. “Anyone else’s ‘oh shit’ meter pinging?”
Papa Rose scanned the area. Right to left. Left to right. Smoke crept between the open spaces, not thick enough to hide anything. Rats waddled along the debris trimming the storefronts. Car doors remained shut. Windows were rolled up. Interiors were empty. “Where are the black and tans?”
He scanned for the corpses—black where the blood pooled and tan where the flesh rotted. Bodies decomposed on every corner and street. Every one but this one. That just wasn’t natural.
“Fuck,” Falcon swore softly as they wove through the congestion. “Should we abort?”
Abort? They taken this mission to ensure they died. But…shit. What had been the point of his surviving his wife and kids if he died in an ambush. “Hell no!”
“We need that gas to keep the generators running for four more days.” Brainiac eyed the rooftops, the muzzle of his weapon tracked his progress. “Doc just needs four days.”
Doc. A woman who they’d met once, right before they’d volunteered for this mission. She’d given the survivors hope, and now she counted on them to keep it alive. Today was not a good day to die. “I’ll take point.”
Papa Rose added enough gas to dart in the front. The extended front wheel ate up the distance and the throbbing of the engine echoed off the store fronts lining the street. Vertical blinds rattled in the empty window panes. Papers rustled in the gutter. A cool breeze carried the scent of smoky water.
His gaze shifted right then left. Back and forth, to and fro. There had to be some evidence of what had gone down here, of where the people went. His attention dropped to the asphalt. No blood puddled under the trunks. Was it possible they had simply walked away?
A hundred feet from the corner, he eased between a Dodge caravan and a Ford pick-up. He took his hand from the handlebar and skimmed the hood as he passed. “It’s cool.”
“The others were as well,” Falcon confirmed.
The information was paltry and could be lethally misleading if they put too much stock in it. They didn’t know in what order the cars had arrived. Papa Rose zig-zagged around the nose of a sedan then a coupe. One more lane of traffic to go. The wind kicked up, tugged at his denim jacket.
“Still looks clear,” Brainiac whispered.
“This has to be the end of the world. We have a squid for lookout,” Falcon muttered. “You’re not looking for rocks, are you Brainiac?”
“Or icebergs.” He joined in the hazing as his front wheel cleared the cars. His heart raced and his palms sweated against the handlebars. The dark glass face of the convenience store stared back at him. What lurked in the interior?
“Actually I was looking at how high the swells are,” Brainiac shot back sarcastically.
His tire bumped over the curve. He quickly glanced up at the awning over the pumps. No one peered back. He pulled alongside the tanker and stopped. The engine throbbed between his thighs. His reflection stared back from the shiny tank.
Gravel crunched as Falcon parked behind him.
He killed the engine. After nearly two ho
urs of the hog drumming in his head, the silence nearly knocked his legs out from under him. A breeze stirred the grand opening banner draped from the red and yellow eaves. His nose twitched at the stench of death and the hair on his arms stood up.
He knew what black and tans smelled like long before the Redaction hit.
“I think I know where the people are.” Hooking the kickstand with his boot, he set it down and lowered the bike’s weight onto it. He tugged the Glock from his waistband and nodded toward the double glass doors at the front of the store.
Brainiac hopped off the bike. His finger settled next to the trigger. “I think there’s only black and tans sunning themselves.” He jerked his chin in the direction of the north-bound lane. One lane had been cleared—enough for a stream of cars to get through.
Falcon’s eyes narrowed. He dismounted and fingered the weapons hanging on his belt. Bypassing the knives and machete, he removed a Sig-Sauer. “Give me a status on the tanker, B.”
“Aye.” Brainiac spun on his heel. Keeping alert, he approached the semi.
Keeping the tank at his back, Falcon inched toward the fence. The white wall of the building next to the gas station covered their flank—provided no one was on the roof.
But would they risk blowing up the precious fuel to get to them?
Maybe they’d emptied it and stored the barrels inside. Papa Rose stepped toward the convenience store.
“Negative, Papa.” Falcon’s voice swirled inside his ear. “Hang tight.”
He retreated and watched the action from his peripheral vision.
“I”m going up.” Brainiac hitched his weapon over his shoulder, set one foot on the bumper and grabbed the rungs welded to the back of the tank. Metal creaked as it adjusted to his full weight.
“That can’t be good.” A full load would be heavy, certainly heavier than Brainiac who could be carrying a fifty pound sack of flour and still weigh nearly nothing. Damn. This pit stop could be a waste of precious time
“Yeah, I think she’s empty.” Brainiac balanced on top of the cylinder and hunched over as he walked toward the cab. “Notice how hollow my footsteps sound.”
Redaction: The Meltdown Part II Page 4
