by C A Bird
Mark hoped Will wasn’t being premature in activating the outside sensors. If additional bombs exploded close by, the sensors could be damaged and they would be blind. But twenty-four hours had passed since the Los Alamos blast and the instruments hadn’t detected any other explosions within their range, so with everyone badgering him to determine what the conditions were on the outside, Will decided to take the chance.
The monitors blinked to life and the room took on a ruddy hue as images began to be transmitted to the monitors.
Red-orange . . . the world was dominated by a pervasive, dull orange radiance. The sun, directly above, was a molten fireball shimmering through the thick dust that appeared to cover the world, its image thrown on the large screen by a camera panning the sky. Two days had passed but the dust still dominated, reminding any creature fortunate enough to be alive that the effects of the nuclear holocaust still lingered.
A light breeze swirled the dust around, wouldn’t let it lie as dust devils danced across the landscape. Digital readouts flashed on, revealing a sweltering temperature of one hundred-two degrees, heat seldom experienced at this altitude. The hi-lo thermometer indicated that it had been above normal since the bombs, but was beginning to drop rapidly as warming sunlight had trouble penetrating the thick haze. There was no way to determine whether any rain had fallen but now that the instruments were live, they would be monitoring for that as well.
The Earth had been torn and battered.
She hadn’t known such torment since her youth. Oceans, blasted by errant missiles, overflowed and flooded the land that had kept them at bay for eons. The land, pummeled by giant fists of thermonuclear energy would be forever scarred by the massive explosions. Few areas had escaped.
Over a period of approximately twenty years the United States had detonated a grand total of three hundred thirty one atmospheric nuclear bombs, the largest around fifteen megatons. The Soviet Union had tested one or two that were larger. In the last two days literally thousands of warheads had shattered the earth, a huge number of them the sixty to one hundred megaton monster bombs and an equal number carrying their deadly cargoes of Red Mercury primed Neutron bombs.
Presidents and Prime Ministers ordered the buttons pushed, beginning a retaliatory response even before the other side struck the first blows. Intercontinental ballistic missiles had passed in mid-air; hurtling unmolested toward their targets as MIRVs, independently targeted re-entry vehicles with multiple warheads had spread the rain of death across vast areas. Each of the United States’ forty nuclear powered submarines carried enough firepower to destroy one or more of the larger Chinese cities. Even the older subs, back when they carried the now obsolete Polaris missiles, had the power to destroy entire cities. Today, with their newer cargo of two parallel rows of eight, solid-fuel Poseidon Missiles they could inflict more damage than ever. The newer Ohio-class subs carried twenty four Trident missiles apiece, missiles targeted for Beijing and, just south of it, Tianjin. Others targeted Shanghai and Guangjhou on the coast, Kunming in the south, and Changchun, Harbin and Shenyang in the northern portion of the country. Additional warheads hit Lanzhou and Chengdu at China’s heart, Wujan on the Yangtze River, and even the far west cities of Kashi, Shache, and Yumen.
It was determined by U.S. satellite surveillance, although the residents of the shelter were unaware of it, that Russia had launched a retaliatory response, including targets in the U.S. as well as China, on both days of the two-day Third World War. Not taking any chances, and although the U.S. didn’t believe the war was instigated by Russia, the U.S. bombed many Russian cities, as well as Baghdad, Tehran, and Tripoli. Great Britain, France and Israel all launched in knee-jerk response. North Korea used their nuclear warheads on South Korea, blowing Seoul off the face of the earth, and missiles from the U.S. and China blasted Pyongyang in return. Bombers carried tactical warheads on a mission of revenge, and U.S. land-based missile silos disgorged their rockets toward previously selected targets. The United States had an arsenal of over twelve thousand warheads, enough to ensure complete destruction of all countries worldwide that could possibly be deemed a threat to reconstruction. That is, if anyone or anything survived the initial onslaught.
Humanity died - secure in the knowledge that the enemy was being taken with them.
Then came the deadly radiation . . . seeping into the soil, the air and the water and eventually into the very bones of exposed organisms. Genes, during the delicate process of reproducing lined up differently and mutation proceeded at a highly accelerated pace, the Red Mercury causing previously unknown and unanticipated types of mutations. Species reproducing the fastest would exhibit the effects soonest. No exposed organism had escaped the initial radiation that assaulted the Earth. Only those completely sheltered were free of the deadly effects.
Man wasn’t the only casualty. Other forms of life on the planet were in a precarious ecological situation. Whole species became extinct overnight
Other digital readouts in the control tower flashed to life as they began to receive data from the sensors. Temperature, 102.6 degrees Fahrenheit; humidity, 78%; barometric pressure, 749 mm of mercury and fluctuating wildly; wind velocity, 17 knots from the northwest; radiation level, over 600 rads, more than enough to guarantee genetic and teratogenic consequences.
The wall directly across from the stairwell had an array of nine monitors attached to video cameras in various external locations. Only one had previously been turned on, the camera covering the parking lot. The other monitors were now coming to life.
Mark noticed one of the cameras showed the intersection of the shelter’s access road with the main highway. Several cars had collided, bodies sprawled on the ground in grotesque positions.
“God, I wonder if there’s any way to check on those people?” Chris said.
Dr. Jim shook his head. “They’ve been there for two days in this radiation soaked atmosphere. We can’t do anything for them.”
Another camera, aimed toward the southeast, was unable to penetrate the dust, and the visibility was barely beyond the edge of the parking lot. A third and fourth camera showed views south and north of the mountains, also blocked by dust. The western view was much better, showing portions of the protected valley Will had told them about. Mark noticed Will paying special attention to this monitor and the associated digital readouts. One camera panned the sky and two others appeared to be transmitting from remote locations. Again, the ever-present dust obscured the views from these cameras. Darryl had complete control of these myriad images and could send any of them to whichever monitor he chose including the large sixty-inch.
The data generated by the sensors and cameras was recorded, analyzed and evaluated by the computer. Changes over time would be measured, and the rate of radioactive decay would be calculated and extrapolated to predict when it would be safe to leave.
But the radios remained mute, picking up only pattern-less white noise.
Mark and the others became silent as the readouts and video pictures combined with the lack of communication hit them hard, like the thermonuclear blasts outside, and they realized that they could be the last humans on Earth.
August 23, 6:00 p.m.
A warm rain had started to fall, carrying lethal particles to earth from the radioactive, dust-laden atmosphere. Something was definitely wrong. Arby’s group had become frightened by the sky’s strange color. They had no idea what was happening, but the weird weather, the heat, the earthquake, and the rain falling in huge heavy drops, filled them with apprehension.
And they were starving.
Arby sat beside a stream that cascaded into a lake, thinking about the immediate past events and wondering what the hell was happening. They’d spent two days wandering aimlessly through the endless canyon they’d descended in their search for the couple they’d seen earlier. The first morning they were all jolted awake by a tremendous earthquake that shook the canyon, sending rocks and debris cascading down the sides of the cliffs and scatter
ing the men from their sleeping places as they scurried to cover. The quake was followed by a strange blast of wind that roared up canyon and then just as quickly subsided. Arby had no trouble rousing them that morning as they all wanted nothing more than to get out of the deathtrap they’d been lost in since descending the day before. But the quake had partially covered and hidden the trail and, missing it, they had hiked miles up the river before realizing their mistake. Disgustedly refusing to go farther and, after spending all afternoon catching another fish, they decided to sleep right where they were.
The following morning they went back down river, fortuitously stumbled upon the trail, and made the long, very hot climb out of what they considered the depths of Hell, in search of the two people they’d seen from across the abyss two days before. They came to a fork in the trail and bore right, in the direction they had seen the couple travel. They had been in the bottom of the canyon when Pete and Sandi returned along this trail and had no idea the young couple had raced back in the opposite direction.
A small river flowed parallel to the trail until, a mile later, it emptied into a lake. Bennett, leading the group at the time, cried out and leaped forward. In the middle of the trail ahead lay a backpack. Several of the men grabbed at the pack and a scuffle ensued.
Arby waded in to the melee, flinging men aside and bellowing to get their attention. “Give the damned thing to me.” He reached out and grabbed the pack. It contained three Powerbars, a bag of dried apricots, two packs of beef jerky, and a few Fig Newtons. Arby divided the food and distributed it to the men, who wolfed it down, barely chewing. The raw fish and these meager rations were all they’d consumed since the bus crashed three days before. Miller, a two hundred fifty pound serial killer, slumped to the ground and started to whimper. Several of the other ex-prisoners wandered over to drink from the river.
“This is bullshit!” Miller whined. “We better get out of these mountains fast or I’m going to eat one of these fuckers.”
“How far can it be?” Arby asked. “We saw the hikers, so there has to be a road somewhere.”
Arby sat down beside Miller and stared up at the polluted sky, rain hitting his face, falling harder than before. How had they managed to get in this predicament?
The first time Arby Clark was arrested he had only been fourteen. He was huge even at that age and had an unnatural hatred of all authority. Born in poverty to alcoholic parents he found himself, from a very early age, coveting the fruits of other men’s labor. He drew an arbitrary line between himself and those he thought of as “men of privilege”, feeling they unfairly possessed, by birth, something he didn’t, and that it was his right and his destiny to take it from them. He raped and murdered his girlfriend’s mother, after his girlfriend had refused his advances. His implausible story was that he tried to fight off her attackers but forensic evidence, blood and skin under his nails, had convicted him. Because of his age they put him in juvenile hall for rehabilitation, releasing him only two years later and sealing his records.
At the age of eighteen, Arby was sent to County Jail for armed robbery, serving another two years, during which time he learned the tricks of the trade from other inmates. Subsequently he had managed to pull off several robberies without being caught. His probation officer was convinced Arby was a significant risk to the public and tried to watch him, but with an overwhelming caseload, he couldn’t keep tabs on him as closely as was necessary.
In an attempted robbery of a small market an alarm unexpectedly went off and Arby, in a fit of rage, killed three men and a teenage girl. This time they put him away for good. He was sentenced to death and had resided on Death Row for ten years.
In prison they called him trigger. He loved guns with a passion and during the years when he’d committed his series of armed robberies he’d twice mowed down witnesses, but had never been connected to those murders. The night the alarm was accidentally activated, he became so furious he opened fire on everyone in sight and was so proficient with his favorite toy that not a single person survived. They arrested him immediately outside the store where he threw down his weapon and surrendered without a fight. Arby had an unnatural fear of dying and knew he could live for years, through several appeals, before his execution. That would give him time. Anything could happen if the process took long enough.
Now he was stuck in these mountains, and he was more worried about dying than he had ever been before in his life.
After they rested, the band of killers moved on, skirting the lake, passing a small dam and continuing down river. The mountains sloped away to the south, but the unusual atmosphere, thick with dust, limited visibility in that direction. The rain had become a steady downpour with streaks of lightning flashing in the darkening sky. The trail continued in a southeasterly direction, the vegetation thickening, and the trail entered another pine forest growing on the south slope of the mountain. Arby noticed there appeared to be a lot of newly downed trees in the area, older vegetation that had, perhaps, been destroyed by the freak weather, fresh soil still clinging to their root balls and fractured branches littering the ground and even spread on top of the ground cover. The sun squatted low on the horizon behind them when he spotted a flash of bright light directly ahead. He thought he was hallucinating; it appeared to be a reflection on glass. There it was again! He pointed it out to the others and they hurried along the path with renewed energy.
The trail emerged from the southern edge of the forest and directly ahead was a large two-story cabin with the forest looming closely at its back. A porch ran around three sides providing a magnificent view to the south. Even in their weakened condition they slowed and approached the cabin with caution. Arby motioned with his arm and the men fanned out, circling in from two sides, where they crouched, hiding in the forest, observing the cabin for a few minutes before making any advances. Arby picked up a thick branch for use as a club and stealthily worked his way forward using the trees and vegetation for cover.
The heavens opened and deluged them with buckets of the strange warm rain. Soaked, tired and hungry, and emboldened after seeing no signs of activity, they worked their way around to the eastern facing front of the building. There were no cars or other signs of inhabitants. Arby crept stealthily onto the porch and peeked in through a broken window. He tried the door, which was locked, and finally losing his patience he smashed through the remainder of the window glass with his makeshift club and climbed through into the darkened interior.
The others followed quickly, interested only in gaining protection from the rain and the fierce lightning which was now flashing steadily. The thunder was almost continual, crashing around them as they quickly entered the building. They stood poised in the cabin’s interior, listening for evidence their forced entry had been noticed. There was none. Furniture was overturned and all the other windows had been broken.
“What the hell happened here?” Bennett asked.
“It was that earthquake we felt yesterday.” Arby told him. “Everyone spread out and find some goddam food. There’s no one here.”
They began searching, Jaime calling out to the others when he’d found the kitchen. They stumbled over one another in their haste, spilling into the kitchen in seconds, to find the cupboards packed with food.
Insane with hunger, they tore open packages and stuffed crackers and cereal into their mouths. They pulled drawers onto the floor, located a can opener and ate cold beans directly from the cans. The refrigerator was full of cold cuts and beer. They gorged themselves until they were in a stupor of satiety.
Arby guzzled a beer and vaguely wondered about the whereabouts of the inhabitants since it was obvious the cabin was currently occupied. But he was too tired to worry about it. After all, who stood a chance against thirteen evil giants?
August 28, 4:00 p.m.
Sweat ran down Lori’s cheeks and soaked her T-shirt as she furiously worked out, pumping her hands and feet in opposite directions on the mountain climber. She’d been going full b
last for twenty-seven minutes, only three more to go. Her gym towel was slung over the bar but she couldn’t retrieve it, being unwilling to let go of the handles. Chris Hargraves and Jean Barnes worked out on the other sections of the triangular climber, Chris grinning and pumping quickly, obviously loving every minute of it while Jean looked like she was dying, gasping for breath with every tiny step.
Most of the equipment in the gym was being used. Several men and two women walked or ran on treadmills, a half dozen Lifecycles had riders and most of the Nautilus equipment had someone pushing, pulling, pumping or pressing. The population of the shelter was determined to get in shape or stay that way and exercise helped relieve the stresses of the last week.
Mark looked around in amazement when he entered the room.
“Wow, this is a popular joint,” he complained to Chris and Lori as he stood to wait for the mountain climber.
The timer dinged and Lori stepped down, wiping her forehead with the towel. “I came at three this morning and it was empty. Might be a good idea to skip the afternoons.”
“What in the world were you doing here in the middle of the night?” He climbed up on the stepper and set the timer for thirty minutes.
“I haven’t been able to sleep very well since we got here. My room’s located beside the elevator, directly above the gym, so I wasn’t worried about the kids. It’s a quiet time of the day.”
Mark called over to Chris. “Chris, how about meeting me for dinner? Say, in the main cafe at six?”
She answered through exhalations as she continued to pump, “Sorry, Mark but I’m meeting with Samuel this evening. We’ve done our research, and we’re ready to make the nutrient broths for the hydroponics banks.”