Mad City: Book One of the Sean Walsh Post Apocalyptic Series
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Mad City
Book One of The Sean Walsh Post Apocalyptic Series
Patrick O’Donnell
Mad City: Book One of the Sean Walsh Post Apocalyptic Series
Copyright © 2016 by Patrick O’Donnell
Edited and formatted by Zara Hoffman
All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental. Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written consent from the author is strictly prohibited.
I greatly appreciate you taking the time to read my work. Please consider leaving a review wherever you bought the book.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1: Waking Up in the Basement
Chapter 2: How the War Started
Chapter 3: Another Short Term for a Johnson
Chapter 4: Post-War America
Chapter 5: Father Tim
Chapter 6: Cambridge
Chapter 7: Damn Pirates … Argh!
Chapter 8: Madison Part 1
Chapter 9: Madison Part 2
Chapter 10: Heading Home
Chapter 11: A New Old Friend
Chapter 12: Job Offer
Chapter 13: It’s Official
Chapter 14: Everything Is Changing
Chapter 15: Road Block
Chapter 16: Meeting X
Chapter 17: In The Club
Chapter 18: Cold Man Hands
Chapter 19: Bubbles and Bullets
Chapter 20: She Deserves Better
Chapter 21: Guns, Camels, and Coffee
Chapter 22: Tears, Black Eyes, and Deception
Chapter 23: The Guests Have Arrived
Chapter 24: Showdown on State Street
Chapter 25: Revelations
Chapter 26: Hope
Chapter 27: Angel
Chapter 28: Revenge
Author’s Note
1 Waking Up in the Basement
The branches mercilessly pelted my face and body. I was lost in a dark forest that had absolutely no vegetation. Nothing green here, just black unforgiving branches. I was running towards two voices that I faintly recognized, but couldn’t quite make out. They were younger male voices that were in distress and I had to find them. They were in danger and I was their only hope for survival. I hated running, was never good at it. I had to run when I was in the academy and boot camp. It was my least favorite thing to do. My mouth was so dry like when I woke up with a king-sized hangover on a regular basis when I was going through my divorce. I knew I had to find these boys from whatever was chasing them or it was lights out for the both of them. My ankle that I had broken years ago was starting to fail and my lungs were heaving in misery. Come on Sean, you can make it! I kept telling myself. You just have to find these kids and get them the fuck out of here.
I sprang up from my mattress and grabbed my M&P .40 caliber pistol that was on my nightstand on instinct. This was all some shitty dream. I fell back down and on my back and felt the pool of sweat my body had left in my bed. “For God’s sake!” These nightmares had to end soon. I instinctively checked my pistol to make sure there was brass in the chamber and the magazine was properly seeded. I gently put it back on its perch next to my head. A couple of pictures of my boys and I that were taken in my parents’ backyard were also on the nightstand. I looked at those pictures about a hundred times a day.
I realized being lost in the dark forest was symbolic of the fucked-up life I had been living for some time now. I felt stuck and there was no way out. The voices crying out for help were my two sons, Sean and Collin, whom I hadn’t seen since before the war. My only purpose now was to find my kids and make sure they were okay.
My bed was in the basement of my modest three-bedroom ranch house in a nice quiet neighborhood. A couple of months ago the government deemed it safe enough to go outside for more than eight hours at a time. Power was restored about two months ago and the plumbing was working as of about 3 months ago. Nothing would ever be “normal,” but these were all steps in the right direction.
I still slept in the basement. The government said air quality outside was improving exponentially, but I felt safer here. Besides, I really didn’t trust the government all that much. My food and weapons were mostly in the basement.
I didn’t consider myself somebody who was ready for the end of the world. But I did do some preparation when war broke out in the Middle East and China. My basement had lots of bottled water and filtration devices for water purification. I had a couple of portable toilets and plenty of toilet paper. I did stock up on canned goods and portable heating devices for cooking and warmth. When I was in the army I “acquired” a good supply of MREs (Meal Ready to Eat). I especially enjoyed the corned beef hash. My ex-wife thought I was crazy for hoarding these little pouched dinners, but I told her they might come in handy for the apocalypse. I was joking about the Armageddon, but things in the world were getting crazy and I didn’t want to get caught unprepared. I also had a well-supplied medical kit. I had learned advanced combat medicine when I was in the service. I had a good supply of pain killers, antibiotics, bandages, quick-clot, tourniquets and IVs. These were all the things a good medic needed in the field. I was glad I had them and was trained in how to use them. There was also a stash of Irish whiskey that I considered medicinal.
I didn’t consider myself a gun nut, but I did collect a good number of firearms through the years. I also had ample ammunition to go along with them. I had two AR-15s (Assault rifles), a Ruger 10-22 (a great rifle to hunt for small game and ammo was cheap), an old double barreled 12 gage coach shotgun (for up close and personal events), a Walther PP-K .380 cal (if it was good enough for James Bond), my brother’s Colt Python .357 cal (always have a good wheel gun, they never jam), my old Glock .40 cal (I kept it for sentimental reasons; it was my first pistol issued to me when I was a cop), a Beretta model 92F 9mm (this was my sidearm in the service and it was a 9mm—always good to have a few different calibers around), and my Smith and Wesson M&P .40 cal (this was my duty sidearm when I was a cop, very accurate and reliable).
Most of these weapons and ammo were in my basement. Any self-respecting survival dude should also have some bladed weapons in the house and I was no different. I had picked up a variety of “Rambo” type knives through the years. My favorite was old faithful, my trusty Ka-Bar. It spent most of its time on my hip or boot. There were also some katanas placed in strategic parts of the house. I was not a trained Samurai by any means, but could handle myself with a sword pretty well. When I was a teenager a good friend of mine who was trained in Kendo helped me with my sword fighting skills. I think I was more comic relief for him, but he was a good guy for showing me a thing or two. I had plenty of welts on my body where he “showed” me how to be a good sword fighter.
I had spent a lot of time down in my basement when the nukes started to go off. It was during this time I thought of my kids and my family. Wondering if they were okay. I started to second-guess my divorce. If I hadn’t split from my wife, they would be with me when the fireworks kicked off. I could have taken care of them. Shit like that will drive you nuts. I was down in the basement for what felt like an eternity. It still smells like sweat and must. I guess you get used to it. I did have some candles that smelled like the beach. They also crackled like having a bonfire on a beach. You have to use your imagination when you’re locked up in a confined room for an extended period of time.
I knew my parents were gone. They lived
in Chicago and that was hit hard. I could picture the both of them on their front steps looking to the sky as it turned color and the temperature shot up to an unbearable inferno. They were the type of folks that would want to go watch when tornado sirens were blaring. “To hell with the basement, I want to see what’s going to kill me. I’m not afraid to die!” I heard that coming from my 4’10” mom with a thick Irish accent more than one time in my life. I could picture the both of them watching as the inevitable hit. I could see them in my mind’s eye with a drink in one hand and their free hands holding on to each other tight. Warriors to the end!
2 How the War Started
While in my basement I pondered how all this mess started. I had lots of time to do that. Our country grew weak through the years. We had elected an extremely liberal president whom was not a natural born citizen of the United States, President Jean Pierre. He was the first president to be elected since we lifted Article II, Section 1 of the Constitution. That was our first mistake. His vice president was a female named Alexandria Johnson. Ms. Johnson was in her late 50’s and stood almost six foot tall. She was thin and sickly looking. She had a very, manly hair design, if that’s what you would call it. When she smiled it almost looked painful for her to give that expression. Most of the time she had a scowl and if you gave her a pointy hat and black dress you would be looking for the broom. Ms. Johnson had a good run for president, but was mired down in controversy. Jean Pierre saw her as a way of getting the feminist vote and it worked. Ms. Johnson’s husband was the president two terms earlier. He thoroughly enjoyed all the special treatment that was afforded to him as the vice president’s husband. Mr. Johnson had a habit for getting into trouble with his shenanigans. The root of his troubles were female interns and employees at the White House.
Things were getting ugly around the world and the middle east was at a boiling point. There was rumor that Iran had nukes that were getting ready to wipe Israel off the map. China’s resources were starting to dry up and its economy was collapsing. They invaded North and South Korea and were knocking on Japan’s door reaping the rewards. Our allies in those parts of the world were getting very nervous, for good reasons. Jean Pierre believed any problem could get solved through diplomacy, he was dead wrong. Our enemies perceived him as weak and started attacking our embassies throughout the world. Jean Pierre was a devote pacifist and could not bring himself to order any type of retaliatory strikes. As a result of his policies, our service men and women were coming home in body bags at an alarming rate.
Iraq bulldozed over Saudi Arabia and we did nothing about it. Now extreme Arab factions had their sights on mainland America. Behind closed doors there were many heated arguments between leaders of the military and Jean Pierre. The President of the United States tied the military’s hands behind their backs. Sleeper cells were flourishing in the United States as a direct result of this president’s apathy. Jean Pierre did nothing, except condemn the intelligence community for violating the privacy of American’s.
There was an underground group in the military forming that saw the writing on the wall. From the grunts to the generals, they knew this president’s failed policies were leading to catastrophic consequences. They had contingency plans in case of worst case scenarios. Unfortunately, these plans would have to be put into place sooner than they anticipated.
On Monday afternoon at 5:00 p.m. the first attack was in the heart of New York City. A suicide bomber with a hybrid dirty bomb detonated it in front of the Empire State building. The CIA had warned Jean Pierre that an event like this was going to happen and he needed to take action. Taking action was not Jean Pierre’s strong suit. The reports of mass casualties started pouring in and the militaries top officers gave the President a look of, “We told you so!” It was time for action! The president’s advisors and the secret service were getting ready to evacuate the White House and head to a safe location.
Jean Pierre cleared the oval office and took his last drag of a Treasurer cigarette and ended it all. Ms. Johnson discovered the president lifeless at his desk 15 minutes later. He had died from an apparent heart attack. Jean Pierre had ordered his personal physician to give him an ample dose of Cyanide which he kept on him at all times. Jean Pierre’s last act as president was to take the capsule. He kept the poison on a chain in a locket in the shape of a dove around his neck. He no longer had to worry about doing anything, except dying.
Alexandria Johnson saw this as her golden opportunity to have real power. She wanted to be remembered as the first woman to become president and the president who saved the day! Her advisors insisted it was time to leave the White House and she refused. She told her aides to get the camera’s ready. She wanted to address the nation from the Oval Office. Jean Pierre’s body wasn’t even cold yet and she was moving in. Top military advisors and the Secret Service strenuously objected amid reports of the White House being one of the next targets. “That is poppycock!” barked the new president. “No one would dare attack the impenetrable White House when I’m in charge.”
The CIA received credible information that more small nuclear attacks were imminent. They did not have specifics due to their limited resources. President Johnson refused to listen to the intelligence community. She was not shy in showing her detestation of the intelligence community. When her husband was president he gutted the CIA and made his hatred of this and other intelligence branches public. He often called them “bullies” and condemned them whenever the opportunity arose.
Most thought the president felt this way because of his liberal politics. What the American public didn’t know was this president was extremely corrupt. He was scared the intelligence community would discover his many secrets. These secrets, which included him ordering the murder of his adversaries would have ruined him and landed him in prison.
Key members of the Military and Calvin Johnson, the current president’s husband, were more than happy to get airlifted away from the White House to an undisclosed SAC base in Montana. Calvin Johnson was the first person on the first round of helicopters that started ferrying key White House personnel to safety. He pushed his way past women and children because he thought of himself as way too important to get killed. He ordered the crew to lift off before they were full. He wasn’t going to wait for anybody, including his wife, the president.
At the same time the underground members of the military activated their emergency plan Alpha. The key members of this group also sought refuge at safe installations. They already anticipated the demise of what we considered our government and set up their own hierarchy.
The speaker of the house and all the key cabinet officials were on sight at the White House during this time. Most wanted to get airlifted to safety, but Ms. Johnson ordered them to show their allegiance to her and the new presidency by being at her side.
Alexandria Johnson decided to lead a candle light vigil before she addressed the nation. She made sure this was on television and wanted the cameras to zoom in on the Arab-American’s who were showing their solidarity. Unfortunately, she did not heed the warnings of the Secret Service and allowed some of these “peace” demonstrators past the safe zones. She didn’t let them complete the needed security checks of the vigil participants. During the candlelight vigil, a lone Iranian female screamed something in Farsi and pushed the plunger that detonated the hybrid dirty bomb that was strapped to her chest.
Just like that, Madam President was incinerated along with thousands more and the White House was reduced to ash. She made history all right, the shortest term of any American President. Unfortunately, most of the key members that would keep the government running were also incinerated.
More targets in the United States and abroad were hit hard by similar terrorist attacks. This day in history would be known forever as “Black Monday.” Not to be confused with stock market crashes or other economic events in our history. There was no other day in American history where so many Americans lost their lives in a war.
3 Another Short Term for a Johnson
President Johnson relied heavily on his military advisors in the days after the initial attacks on America. Little did he know these military advisors were the leaders in the underground group known as “Alpha.” They were waiting for this president’s demise so they could have complete power. They thought they would have to encourage his demise soon, but this president didn’t need any help in being self-destructive.
President Johnson had a well-earned reputation for being a skirt chaser. He spoke with a slight southern drawl and had an irresistible charm. Even though he was well into his 60’s, he was a handsome fellow at 6 feet tall, trim and had most of his hair left. He had to keep his affairs a secret when he was in office. Now that his wife was out of the picture, he had very little shame when it came to his liaisons with the ladies.
The late night escapades of President Johnson with multiple bimbos, lots of booze, and sometimes illegal narcotics were legendary. He had high cholesterol and hypertension, and stopped watching his diet and taking his medicine that was supposed to have kept his conditions in check. No nagging wife around to keep on him.
Alpha started taking control without the president noticing. He was too busy having the time of his life while the country was crumbling. While in bed with two semi-attractive interns, President Johnson had a massive coronary. Medics did their best to revive him, but his heart gave out from the combination of Viagra, cocaine, alcohol, and strenuous sexual activity. One intern probably would have killed him that night, let alone two.