Escape the Fall (Nuclear Survival: Southern Grit Book 2)

by Harley Tate

  She rolled her lips over her teeth and picked out a sturdy needle.

  What I’d give for a sterile suture kit right now. At less than a dollar a pop, they were something she kept in her expanded medical kit at home, but she’d given Grant her travel bag when he started commuting longer distances to work and she never had time to make a second bag for herself.

  Add it to the list of things she failed to do before the end of the world: no pre-determined rendezvous point, no packed bag ready to get her home, no spare battery charger lurking in the bottom of her duffel. All of her failures in preparation paraded through her head as she threaded the needle with the clear polyester thread.

  She should have made a get-home bag like FEMA suggested. Then she would be prepared to handle anything that came her way with good shoes and spare clothes and emergency rations. Instead, she was leaning on the charity of a woman twice her age and a sewing kit assembled before she was born.

  Leah knotted the end of the thread and gave it a yank. It stretched more than suture thread, but held. She’d have to make the stitches neat and tight.

  With a calming breath, she doused the needle in the gin and brought it up to her scalp. The first is always the worst. She thought back to the little girl in the hospital thrashing around on the bed at the sight of a needle. Was she alive now? Did she make it out of the blast zone in time?

  The needle pierced her scalp and Leah let out a cry. Pain shot through her skin and deep into the connecting muscle. She pushed her wound together and whipped the first stitch.

  “That’s it, honey. You’re doing just fine.”

  Leah glanced at Tilly over the mirror. “If I pass out, can you tie off the suture wherever I leave off?”

  The old woman nodded and Leah brought her attention back to the mirror and her own pale face. A wave of nausea roiled her stomach, but she fought it back. I can do this. She inhaled through her nose and ground her teeth together before diving back in for the second stitch. It hurt as bad as the first, if not more.

  On and on she worked, no longer taking a break between stitches, but pushing on through the never-ending pain until the last bit of the wound closed. She tied the thread off and clipped it with the scissors before falling back in the chair.

  Sweat beaded on her brow and Leah shivered. The job was done, but she would need medicine to prevent infection.

  “Have another drink. It’ll bring the color back to your cheeks.”

  Leah nodded as Tilly poured a shaky shot. “Is this how you got used to gin?” She downed the liquor as Tilly smiled.

  “It happened to be the cheapest liquor in the little bodega around the corner from our apartment when my husband and I were first married. When you’re scrimping on a custodian’s salary in Brooklyn, you drink whatever’s shoved down on the bottom shelf.”

  “You’re from Brooklyn?”

  “Born and raised. Didn’t come down here until my husband retired. We were sick of the snow.”

  Leah turned toward the hall where family photos lined the wall. “Any other family?”

  Tilly glanced at the table as she recapped the gin. “My son is in Manhattan. He’s a banker. Or… At least he was. I can’t imagine he survived the blast.”

  “So you heard?”

  “My neighbor was closer to town when the bomb went off. He came over and told me all about it.”

  “I’m sorry about your son.”

  “It’s okay, dear. We all have to go sometime.”

  Leah stared at the old woman. “How are you going to get by here all alone?”

  Tilly waved her off. “I might not be as mobile as I used to be, but I’ve got a full pantry, plenty of toilet paper, and a double barrel shotgun under the bed.” The fluffy white cat from the garage interrupted with a soft meow and Tilly bent down to pat its head. “And Snowball here’s a good judge of character.”

  Staying to help Tilly wasn’t possible; neither was bringing her along to Hampton. But Leah hated the thought of using her supplies, accepting her sanctuary, and offering nothing in return.

  “How about you? Do you have someone waiting on you somewhere?”

  Leah nodded. “My husband and sister are up in Hampton. I need to get there as soon as possible. I just have to find a way to get there without a car or a good sense of direction. I’m not the most reliable judge of which way to go.”

  She rubbed her lips as she thought of the time she drove all the way to Macon before she realized she went the wrong way on I-75. Grant didn’t let her live that down for years.

  Grant.

  The thought of her husband sent a pang of longing through her. She needed to get home.

  Tilly stood with a grunt and motioned toward the living room. “Take your things and make yourself comfortable on the couch. I can bring you a blanket.”

  “No, I should be going. I don’t want to take any more of your time.”

  “Nonsense. You need sleep. If you set off now, all you’ll do is run into some more trouble. It’s better to rest and make a fresh start in the morning.”

  Leah’s brow pinched. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

  “Not one bit.”

  She exhaled. Tilly was right. No matter how much she wanted to set off now, how would she even pick the right direction in the night? If she collapsed on the street, Howie could find her. She needed to sleep and rebuild her strength.

  While Tilly plodded down the hall, Leah focused on the present, cleaning up her mess in the kitchen. Now she owed the older woman even more for her troubles. There would have to be a way she could return the favor.

  “Here we go.” Tilly set a pillow and a blanket on the couch and turned off the oil lamp. Darkness flooded the bungalow, but after a few moments, the light from the moon and stars cast enough of a glow to see.

  “Thank you again. I don’t know how I can ever repay you for this kindness.”

  “Just enjoying your company is enough for me. Goodnight, dear.”

  “Goodnight.” Leah watched Tilly’s bent form disappear down the hall before easing down to the couch. Exhaustion tugged at her eyelids and she could barely mange to slip off her shoes before falling over onto the cushions. A few hours of sleep and she would leave. Hampton was still a long way away and without a car, Leah had no idea how long it would take to get there.

  She drifted out of consciousness with a frown creasing her healing scratches.

  An incessant banging filtered through Leah’s skull and at first she thought it was her throbbing wound.

  “Hold your dang horses. I’m coming.”

  As Tilly’s voice pierced the fog, Leah blinked into the morning.

  A fist whammed on the front door and Leah sat up. The whole room spun. Had Howie from the night before found her? Was he there to finish what he started?

  She smacked her dry lips together and managed to speak. “Who is it?”

  Tilly eased up to the door and peered through the peep hole. She pulled away with a frown. “Neil from next door and he looks like hell.”

  Leah exhaled. “Is he dangerous?”

  “Only to mosquitos. He’s a pest-control technician.” Tilly unlocked the door. “Now what on earth has you all up in a tizzy, Neil?”

  A man with bloodshot eyes and hair sticking up in all directions rushed into the house. “It’s Mary. She’s sick. I don’t know what to do.”

  Leah perked up. Finally something she could handle. “I’m a nurse. Can I help?”

  Chapter Eleven

  GRANT

  Neighborhood Clubhouse

  Smyrna, Georgia

  Thursday, 8:00 p.m.

  Oliver walked over to the clubhouse door and peered out through the top glass. “Everyone sure left in a hurry.”

  “A lot of people were in denial these last few days.” Susie perched on the arm of the sofa and tightened the bun at the base of her neck. Grant pegged her for late forties or early fifties. Wearing a pair of Merrell sandals and hiking pants, she already had the perfect wardrobe t
o survive the end of the world.

  Susie dropped her hands and turned toward the window, peering out at the darkness of the street. “I hope the meeting woke a few of them up.”

  “How many houses are in the neighborhood?” Dan scratched at his graying hair above his ear. “Eighty? A hundred?”

  “Eighty-seven, if I remember right. I still have the brochure on the neighborhood somewhere from when I bought my house.” Oliver rejoined the group with a frown.

  Combined, they were four out of eighty-seven households. If the rest weren’t willing to stick it out and figure out how to get by, they didn’t have great odds. “What happened around here after the attack?”

  “At first?” Dan glanced up at the ceiling, trying to remember. “Everyone just thought it was a power outage. I sure did.”

  “I was still at work. Friday nights, the campus bookstore is open late.” Susie tucked a stray strand of brown hair behind her ear. From the Georgia Tech shirt she wore, Grant guessed she worked at the two-story bookstore in midtown. “My car didn’t start when I tried to leave, so that was my first clue. I snagged a ride from a coworker who drives a classic Mustang and it took us ten hours to get here.” She snorted and shook her head. “He told me to never ask him for a ride again.”

  Grant nodded. Reaching Atlanta from Charlotte wasn’t a walk in the park. “What about Saturday before the blast?”

  “Everyone was business as usual. People were running errands. A few gas stations had working generators and the Publix up the road was open for cash purchases.”

  “They were even taking checks.” Dan flashed a rueful smile. “Don’t carry much spare change on me these days.”

  Oliver spoke up. “I caught a lot of news coverage from the West Coast Friday night. Even then, people were saying it was a terrorist attack and that more might be coming. There were some rumors about bombs, but no one believed them. They thought it was ISIS or some other group blowing smoke.”

  Dan perked up. “Did anyone say who did it?”

  “No.” Oliver shook his head. “It was all conjecture.”

  “Any chance you can pick up some news stations now?”

  “I doubt it. Even if I get eight solid hours of sunshine tomorrow to charge my solar panels, it’s been harder and harder to get a connection every day.” Oliver pushed his glasses higher up his nose. “Satellite internet is all I’ve been able to access, but even then it’s hit or miss.”

  “What about DSL?” Dan lifted his eyebrows in hope. “That’s over the phone line. Does it even need power?”

  “It’s down. I’m pretty sure the EMP torched the central offices. I think they have backup batteries for a while, but we’re at almost a week. Nothing can stay online that long without power.”

  Dan sank down to rest his large frame on the arm of the couch. “So it’s hopeless?”

  Oliver hedged. “The satellite connection isn’t great, but I was able to access a few websites earlier in the week. It really depends on where the satellite company’s connections are routed and their congestion. The EMP might have thrown them off track, too.”

  Grant exhaled. They couldn’t sit around and do nothing waiting for confirmation of what they already knew. America was in chaos. Cities would be in turmoil, with looting and fires and people dying from radiation sickness. Country towns would be grappling with a future without power.

  Not many people were as resourceful as Oliver. Grant never thought to keep a solar charger at home or have a means to access the internet if his Wi-Fi didn’t work.

  He’d checked his internet connection in between cleaning the mess in the kitchen, but he’d known it would be hopeless. Without the electrical grid, he’d never get cable internet or cell service. He hadn’t thought to check the regular phone line. “Even the copper phone line needs the grid?”

  Oliver nodded. “The central offices are giant switchboards. It’s the same as it used to be with operators answering the phone and plugging lines in on a grid in front of them, it’s just a computer doing the heavy lifting.”

  “Without power, that means we’re cut off.”

  “Essentially, yes.”

  Grant straightened up as he remembered the truck stop. “Not entirely. If we can get access to a ham radio, we can connect with some folks. I waited out the radiation plume at a truck stop on the state line. They’ve got a network of radio operators all across the country. If we rig one up, we can communicate.”

  “That’s a fine idea.” Excitement lifted Dan’s voice. “I used to tinker with a ham when I was a kid. There’s a local store not far from here that sells radio equipment. If it’s open, we can see what we can pick up.”

  Grant nodded. If the shop hadn’t been looted, they might have a chance. He didn’t know how to set up a ham, but with Dan and Oliver they could figure it out. Information wouldn’t change their day-to-day predicament, but it would help reality set in for the rest of the neighborhood. Hearing about the bombs would bring home the gravity of their position.

  He glanced at each of his three neighbors in turn. “Do you all have any supplies to tide you over? Food, water, weapons?”

  Dan hoisted up his belt and faded jeans. “I don’t have much food, but I’ve got a couple of hunting rifles and a bunch of ammo.”

  Susie covered her neck with her hand. “Do you really think weapons are necessary?”

  Grant nodded. “If not now, then soon. Even if our neighborhood stays peaceful, outsiders will come and we can’t guarantee they’ll be friendly.”

  “You mean thieves?”

  “You’ve seen riots on the news.”

  Dan let out a breath. “What about Hurricane Katrina? Without necessities, desperation sets in quick. It makes people do crazy things.”

  Susie balked. “It hasn’t even been a week. No one’s desperate yet.”

  “Give it a month.” Oliver ran a hand through his short black hair. “I spent a summer helping local farmers in South America. A major coffee supplier convinced them all to convert their subsistence farms to coffee plantations.”

  He swallowed and glanced at the floor. “They cut down shade trees and wrecked the natural habitat to install full-sun coffee orchards. It killed the soil and the ecosystem they’d relied on for decades for their basic food needs. When they didn’t get the yield the corporation wanted, it pulled out and left the farmers to fend for themselves.”

  “That’s terrible.” Susie frowned at Oliver’s story. “What happened to the farmers?”

  “Nothing good. When you’re hungry, you’ll do things you never thought possible.” Oliver looked up with cold sincerity. “Don’t discount what’s coming.”

  Susie tore her gaze away. “If we need supplies, how do we get them? Nothing is open.”

  Grant spoke up. “We’ll need to scout. Start with the surrounding area. Sometimes places don’t look open, but there’s still an owner inside willing to work with good people. I gassed up the Cutlass at a closed gas station thanks to just such a situation.”

  He left out the part about disarming a would-be robber.

  “Then we should start first thing in the morning.” Dan straightened up. “I can dust off my hunting gear and hand out some rifles. I haven’t used them in years, but it’s like riding a bike, ain’t it?”

  “I don’t know the first thing about guns.” Susie worked her hands back and forth in her lap. “I probably can’t shoot the siding off a barn.”

  “I don’t, either.” Oliver shrugged. “Never had the opportunity living in the city.”

  Grant pressed his lips together. Of the four of them, he was the only reliable shot. Not the best odds. “In all likelihood, we won’t have to use them. Just having a weapon and making it known should be enough to ward off any trouble.”

  “Where should we go?”

  “Gas stations first. I need gas for the Cutlass in case we can’t find anywhere local for supplies.”

  “There’s a sporting goods store about a mile down the road. I say we go the
re after we get gas.”

  Dan nodded. “The radio shop is on the way. We could hit it on the return.”

  Grant flashed a tight smile. “Sounds like a plan. How about we meet up outside my house at nine tomorrow morning? It’ll give us plenty of daylight so we know what’s coming.”

  Everyone nodded and the group broke up.

  Oliver opened the front door and they filed out one at a time. Almost every house sat black and quiet. Here and there, small candles flickered in windows.

  Susie broke the silence. “What do you think everyone else is doing right now?”

  Grant sucked in a breath. “Waiting.”

  “For what?”

  “Someone to help them.” Grant parted ways with the group and headed toward his house. Halfway there, a barking dog quickened his steps. He might not have named her yet, but he could tell her voice apart from the other dogs in the neighborhood.

  Grant hurried up the driveway and unlocked the door. The little dog darted out and rushed to the Cutlass. She ran around it, whining and sniffing. Grant bent to inspect the car and let out a curse.

  The car sagged against the ground, its whitewall tires deflated and empty. Someone slashed all four. The dog stopped circling and stood beside him, ears pricked and alert.

  “Guess I struck a nerve, huh?” He reached out and scratched the dog beneath the chin and she didn’t back away. “Not much I can do about it now. Let’s go in and rustle up something to eat.”

  She scampered inside and turned back to wait for him. Grant smiled. He really needed to come up with a name.

  Chapter Twelve

  GRANT

  2078 Rose Valley Lane

  Smyrna, Georgia

  Friday, 7:00 a.m.

  Grant hauled the ripped-up plywood down from the attic before the sun made a dent on the darkness. While the dog curled up on the couch in the living room, he boarded up the remaining windows in the back of the house and fashioned another door bar out of two strips of plywood nailed together.