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

by Harley Tate

  All that remained were the two exposed sidelights on either side of the front door. He couldn’t leave them open. Anyone could walk up to the window and get a full view of the inside of his house. But he couldn’t slap plywood on them either. Then everyone would know he’d at least prepared for the worst even if he hoped for better.

  He palmed his hips and exhaled. A bed sheet with plywood backing would have to do. Taking the stairs two at a time, he hustled to the linen closet and pulled out a spare pair of sheets for his bed. Leah had picked them out a year ago and made sure Grant never washed them on too hot a setting so the fibers didn’t break down.

  With a snip of his scissors and a hefty pull, Grant ripped the top sheet into strips. Leah would have to understand. If the neighborhood deteriorated as quickly as Grant feared, she’d be thankful for the privacy. Grant tacked up the sheets like curtains in the windows before measuring the last plywood board.

  He cut it down to size with a hand saw and a fair share of sweat before nailing the strips on top of the windows. When he finished, Grant stood back to assess. Every window was covered. Every exterior door sported a bar beneath it to prevent kick-ins.

  Assuming the dog stayed alert and on patrol, the house was as safe at it could be without being obvious.

  A knock on the door startled him and Grant loped up to the peephole. He pulled it open with a smile. “Hey, Dan.”

  “Morning.” The older man stepped inside and wrinkled his nose. “Doing some early-morning carpentry?”

  Grant shrugged. “Can’t be too careful.”

  Dan glanced at the plywood on the windows. “Last I checked, nuclear bombs don’t create zombies.”

  “No, but they do make for a bunch of hungry neighbors.” Oliver’s stomach rumbled as he two-timed it inside. “Spoke to Susie this morning. She’s not coming.”

  “Is she sick?”

  “Afraid, mostly. Can’t wrap her head around the guns, I think.”

  Grant nodded. He could understand the fear. People who didn’t know how to shoot or understand firearm safety had a tendency to overreact. “How about you? Does the thought of holding a gun freak you out?”

  Oliver pushed his glasses up his nose. “Not really. I can’t say I know what I’m doing, but I’ve played my fair share of first-person shooter games. Can’t be all that different.”

  Dan snorted out a laugh. “If you say so.” He held up two rifles. “I could only clean two of them to the point where I think they’re a sure thing. I’ve got two more at home, but they’re a bit rusty. I was afraid they’d jam.”

  “Then two it is.” Grant used the hem of his shirt to wipe off his forehead and ushered the men into the kitchen. His 9mm and the shotgun sat on the counter. “I was going to give Susie the shotgun, but since she’s not here, I’ll leave it. I’m a better shot with the Shield.”

  “What’s our plan?”

  Grant washed his hands and holstered his handgun. “Thanks to some charming neighbor last night, my car is out of commission.”

  Oliver’s face fell. “What happened?”

  “Slashed all the tires. Took me the better part of an hour to wheel it into the garage and out of sight. That thing’s a beast.”

  “Any idea who did it?”

  “None.” Grant glanced at the dog still sleeping on the couch. “But she’ll probably let me know if they come around again.”

  Dan leaned over to catch a glimpse. “Since when did you get a dog?”

  “She hopped in the Cutlass when I was on the way home.”

  “Does she have a name?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Looks like a Stormy to me.”

  Grant thought it over. Good, but not quite right. “I’ll think of something.” He turned his attention to the trip ahead. “Now that we’re on foot, we’ll have to be strategic. We can’t carry too many supplies. So I think we shift our focus to a sporting goods store as the priority. We can buy some packs and other supplies and huff them back home.”

  “What about food or weapons?”

  “We’ll have to see what they have.”

  “What if they aren’t open?”

  Grant shrugged. “We’ll bridge that gap when we come to it.”

  Dan nodded. “Let’s get on with it. We should aim to get back before dark.”

  Grant took one last look at the dog on the couch. “We’ll be back in a few hours. Keep the peace.”

  She looked up at him as if in confirmation, watching as the three men walked toward the door.

  An hour later, Grant eased down behind a half-height concrete wall. Dan scooted behind him and Oliver wedged in to his left. Fifty yards ahead, the road opened into a four-way intersection with a gas station on the closest corner.

  They had made an agreement to head straight to the sporting goods store, but something about the area ahead gave Grant pause. He squinted into the distance. From their vantage point, he could make out plywood covering the windows and a spray-painted scrawl across the front door of the gas station’s mini-mart.

  “Can either of you read that?”

  Oliver leaned closer. “No Gas. No Food.”

  “Why are we stopping?”

  Grant held out a hand. “Can I borrow your rifle?”

  Dan handed over the rifle with the scope and Grant perched it on top of the wall. He adjusted the view and scanned the gas station. He pulled it down with a ragged exhale. “Something about this station didn’t feel right. Then I saw that lump. It’s not trash.”

  “What is it?” Oliver rose up to look, but Grant held out his other arm.

  Dan took the rifle and exclaimed a moment later. “I’ll be damned. It’s a dead body.”

  “Are you serious? Let me see.” Oliver took the rifle and looked through the scope. A minute later, he set it in his lap and turned a pale face toward Grant. “He’s been shot. There’s a pool of blood all around him.”

  Grant nodded. “Looks that way.”

  “We have to go home. If there’s someone out here shooting, we’re easy targets.”

  Grant held up a hand. “Don’t panic yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “We don’t know the circumstances. It could be the guy tried to break in. Maybe someone who works there is inside, guarding the place.”

  “And maybe there’s a sniper on the roof waiting to pick the next group of idiots off.”

  Dan nodded. “The kid’s right. If we’re going to reach the sporting goods store, we need to keep a lower profile. Stick to the side streets or the backs of the buildings.”

  “It’ll make the trek a lot longer.”

  “Do you want to get yourself killed?”

  Grant exhaled. He hated to admit it, but his companions were right. The last thing they needed was a run-in before they even reached their destination. He pointed toward the closest side street. “If we head that way, it’s mostly residential. We can skirt the main drag, using backyards or quiet streets and make it in an hour.”

  Oliver stood up and hustled down the alley, skirting a closed nail salon on one side and a photo studio on the other. Grant and Dan followed a handful of steps behind. They emerged into a neighborhood of twenty-year-old homes, built with large two-story walk-ups and postage stamp front yards.

  Grant puffed out his chest. “Let’s walk like we’re patrolling the neighborhood.”

  “What if someone confronts us?”

  “We tell them the truth: we’re headed into town to check things out.”

  “But we don’t live here.”

  “Doesn’t mean we can’t give them a little security.”

  Oliver chewed on his lip. “I say we do what you said before and sneak through yards.”

  “And give someone a reason to shoot us out their back window?” Dan shook his head. “No way. Grant’s right. Let’s own this.”

  Oliver grumbled under his breath, but kept stride with Grant and Dan as they paraded down the middle of the quiet street. Three blocks in, a woman tended to weeds in her
front flower bed.

  Grant nodded her way. “Ma’am.”

  She nodded back, eyebrows raised.

  Oliver leaned over once they passed out of earshot. “She’s still staring at us.”

  “But she’s not shooting. Keep walking.”

  Forty-five minutes later, they emerged at the back of a strip mall. The sporting goods store sat sandwiched between a pet store and an office supply store right in the heart of the business district.

  Grant jogged to the corner of the building and took at quick a look at the front parking lot. Half a dozen stalled cars littered the lot, but he didn’t spot a single person. He hustled back to Dan and Oliver. “It’s a ghost town. No one’s here.”

  Oliver deflated. “This was all a waste of time.”

  Grant pinched the back of his neck and looked over at Dan. The older man stared back, echoing Grant’s internal dilemma.

  “Seems a shame to go home empty-handed.”

  “But we can’t get in. They’re closed.”

  “We can get in if we want to.” Grant glanced at the loading dock sitting quiet and empty twenty feet away.

  “You mean break in? Like a bunch of thieves?”

  Dan chuckled. “I was thinking more like men on a mission, but, yeah.”

  Grant added his own thoughts. “We can pay for everything we take.”

  Oliver shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  “You can wait out here.”

  After a moment, Oliver shook his head. “No. You’re right. We need supplies.”

  “Then we’re breaking in?”

  Oliver offered a pained smile. “More like inviting ourselves, but yeah.”

  Grant nodded and walked toward the back door.

  Chapter Thirteen

  LEAH

  57 Parrot Lane

  North of Atlanta, Georgia

  Friday, 8:00 a.m.

  Leah stood up and stuck out her hand. “Leah Walton. Pleased to meet you.”

  Tilly’s neighbor stood in the doorway, unease pulling his bushy eyebrows together. He managed a brief nod. “Neil Unders.”

  Leah dropped her hand.

  Neil scowled at Tilly. “Who is she?”

  “Just what she said. She’s a nurse.”

  Neil dropped his voice and leaned closer to Tilly. “But how do you know her?”

  Leah spoke up. “She doesn’t. I was in a car accident yesterday and Tilly graciously offered to let me stay here while I patched myself back up.”

  Neil motioned to her head wound. “That’s how you got that?”

  “It is. I stitched it up here last night, thanks to your neighbor’s kindness.”

  He frowned. “I just came looking for some aspirin. Mary can’t keep anything down and her head is killing her. I thought maybe if she could get rid of the headache, she’d be able to eat.”

  “How long has she been sick?”

  Neil glanced at Tilly before answering. “Four days.”

  “Was she exposed to the blast?”

  He ran a hand over his stuck-up hair and puffed out a breath. “Really, now. I appreciate your interest, but I don’t have any idea who you are.”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake, Neil.” Tilly used her cane as a giant pointer and waved it in Leah’s direction. “She’s a nurse. What does it matter that I can’t announce her full pedigree? Let the woman take a look at Mary. If she’s sick, Leah can help.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “I can’t promise I can help, but I can at least offer some ideas as to what’s causing the sickness.” Leah tried to maintain an open and honest expression. It wasn’t the first time she’d talked to a reluctant family member. “I know I must look a bit frightening, but I’m lucid and good at my job.”

  Neil ran his tongue over his lips. “You stitched up your head all by yourself?”

  “With nothing but my handheld mirror and sewing kit, Neil.” Tilly leaned on her cane with a smile. “She’s the real deal.”

  His shoulders sagged in defeat. “All right. You can come.”

  “Good man.” Tilly nodded at them both. “I’ll be here waiting.”

  Leah followed Neil out the front door and across the driveway to the house on the right. Like Tilly’s, it occupied a small footprint on the lot, with a planter box running the length of the front porch and a picture window in front of the driveway.

  Neil opened the door and ushered Leah into a cozy living room with barely enough room for a couch and a TV. He eased the door shut and locked it before turning around. “My son is still sleeping, so if we could be quiet, I would appreciate it.”

  “Of course.” Leah followed him down a hall to a half-open bedroom door.

  Neil pushed it open and Leah caught sight of a woman almost in a fetal position on a queen-sized bed. “Honey? I’ve got someone here to see you.”

  The woman shifted, lifting her head off the pillow and scanning the doorway with clouded eyes.

  Leah stepped forward. “Ma’am? I’m Leah Walton. I’m a nurse and your husband gave me the okay to check you out.”

  The woman smacked her cracked lips together. “Mary Unders.” She eased a hand underneath her side in an effort to sit up, but Leah waved her off.

  “Don’t go to any trouble. I can check you out lying down.” Leah stepped closer to the bed as Mary sagged back onto the mattress.

  From the smell of dried sweat and stale vomit, Leah could tell she had been bedridden for a while. “When did your symptoms start?”

  “A few days ago. They’ve been getting worse every day.”

  “Your husband said you have a headache and nausea? Trouble eating?”

  Mary tried to swallow and coughed on her own spit. “Every time I move my head, it’s like a thousand hammers set to work on my skull.”

  Leah leaned closer. Faint traces of pink skin on the woman’s scalp showed signs of exposure to radiation. A scab on her arm could have been a burn. “Have you had any spontaneous bleeding? From the nose or eyes?”

  “No.”

  “What about diarrhea?”

  “Just vomiting.”

  “Have you been able to keep anything down?”

  “Not for a day, at least.”

  Leah eased down into a perch on the edge of the bed. “What about fevers? Any chills or shakes?”

  “No.”

  She exhaled. “I’m going to need you to think back a few days.” Leah glanced at Neil, who stood with his arms crossed in the doorway. “If you can add any details, please.”

  He nodded.

  “Do you all know about the bomb?”

  Neil nodded again. “Mary saw the blast.”

  Leah figured as much. She turned back to the sick woman. “Where were you?”

  “On the east side of the city. I work part-time at a private school teaching an advanced composition class. I was in my office that day trying to figure out how to lesson plan without power when the blast lit up the sky.”

  “How did you get home?”

  She smiled until her cracked lips caused a split. “I bike to work every day. It’s my only real exercise.”

  “Mary used to be a long-distance competition cyclist. She could have done the Tour de France.”

  “Could not.”

  “Could, too.”

  Leah smiled at the pair of them arguing. She could feel the love radiating between them. It made her job all that much harder. She turned back to Mary. “I believe you’re suffering from radiation sickness. The plume of radiation must have tracked eastward as it fell back to earth.”

  “Am I going to die?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Neil huffed behind her, but Leah plowed on. “But a few things can help. An IV for starters. Since you can’t keep anything down, you’re dehydrated. If we can get some fluids in you, then your body will be better equipped to ride out the sickness.”

  “Where are we going to get an IV?” Neil’s voice rose despite his sleeping kid. “You couldn’t even go to the hospital for
stitches. How can we ever hope for an IV?”

  Mary struggled to pull herself off the pillow. “Neil, can I talk to Leah for a moment? Alone?”

  He frowned. “I don’t see why.”

  “Please.”

  “I’ll be in the living room.” He turned on his heel and almost stormed down the hall.

  Mary fell back onto the bed and sloughed off a breath. “So how bad is it, really?”

  Leah swallowed. “Since I don’t know how much radiation you were exposed to, I honestly don’t know. But you know you’re sick and I think you’re worse than you’ve been letting on.”

  “I left as soon as the blast faded. I had to be out there for two hours, breathing hard and really exerting myself. I wanted to get home.”

  Leah didn’t say anything.

  Mary struggled to swallow. “Every day is worse than the last. I can tell by the way Neil looks at me that it’s awful.” Her eyelids fluttered. “I’m going to die.”

  “No, don’t say that.” Leah leaned forward. “You need to have hope. We get some fluids in you and get your stomach to the point where you can eat and you’ll recover.”

  Mary reached out and grabbed Leah’s arm with surprising force. “You need to make sure Neil and Aiden are all right.”

  “You’ll pull through this.”

  “But if I don’t, promise me you’ll help them.”

  Leah looked down at her arm where Mary clutched it. The skin around Mary’s broken fingernails turned white from the pressure. “Do you have any supplies? A stocked pantry? Any weapons?”

  Mary lost her grip on Leah’s arm. “No.”

  “Anywhere your family can go?”

  She shook her head. “We’re from Texas.”

  Leah glanced up at the wall behind Mary’s bed. A vinyl decal took up most of the wall, proclaiming: I have found the one my soul loves. Leah thought about what Grant’s death would do to her. If she made it home to find him clinging to the last moments of life, would she fall apart?

  She turned back to Mary. “You’re not going to die. We’re going to get you the help you need.”

  Mary didn’t say a word. She merely closed her eyes and twisted on the bed to face the closed window.