Radioactive and The Decay Dystopian Super Boxset- A Dirty Bomb and Nuclear Blast Prepper Tale of Survival

by James Hunt

  What they saw of Ohio was similar to what awaited them in Missouri. Movement was everywhere, stores were emptied, and gas stations ransacked. People weren’t going to work; rather, they were afraid to leave their homes. Hospitals were overburdened and understaffed. Overcrowded government camps awaited “nuclear evacuees,” and so on. Things had escalated quickly. Paul asked Jordan where the government was in all of this.

  “They’re scrambling,” Jordan replied. “Some of our officials, no doubt the president and his staff, are secured in bunkers somewhere. I wouldn’t expect anything from Washington anymore.”

  “Why not?” Paul asked.

  “Because it isn’t there anymore,” Jordan replied.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Paul asked.

  “Before communications went out, we were on a teleconference with some higher-ups. They informed us of a dozen major areas that had been attacked. Philadelphia, as you know, was one, the District of Columbia was another.”

  Desperation grew on Paul’s face. “Then what?” he asked.

  “That was all I heard before the line went out,” Jordan said.

  “And you’re just telling me this now?”

  “I’ve told you what you needed know, what’s the point of speculating?”

  “What other areas have been attacked?” Paul demanded.

  Jordan said nothing as he slowed down and pulled to the side of the highway. He came to a stop and pointed ahead. “Read the sign,” he said. Ahead of them was a giant billboard with information printed over a white surface.

  Estimated number of cities struck in nuclear attack: Twelve

  Estimated casualties: Undetermined

  All branches of active-duty, reservist, and National Guard military immediately report to your nearest duty station for further instructions

  All civilians are encouraged to evacuate large cities along the eastern coast

  All evacuees are advised to find the nearest emergency shelter available.Fixed ALERT AM station: 530

  An official message from the Missouri Emergency Response Department

  News reports were scattered. They had no radio in the Humvee, but that didn’t stop Paul from looking.

  “Nice try, but most Humvees don’t usually come equipped with car stereos,” Jordan said.

  “We need to find a radio or a television as soon as possible,” Paul replied.

  “I wouldn’t get within ten feet of a Wal-Mart right now.”

  “Why not?” Paul argued. “I want to find out what’s going on. There has to be news reports. Round the clock coverage. There’s no reason that we should be left in the dark with this.”

  “You got a good look at the sign, right?” Jordan asked.

  Paul nodded as Jordan merged back onto Highway I-70. Cars zoomed past them at a frenzied pace.

  “So there you go. What else do you need to know?”

  “We don’t know a damn thing about these attacks,” Paul said.

  “Not me. Not you. Not the stupid sign.”

  Paul looked back to Julie. She was sleeping with her head against the window. He turned back to Jordan to further grill him.

  “Who put the sign up there? And when?” Paul asked.

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” Jordan answered.

  “So we know that they’re calling all military personnel for duty. There’s our answer. We go to a military base and find out exactly what’s going on,” Paul said.

  “Paul,” Jordan said, clearing his throat. “We can’t figure out everything just this moment. I’m staying on course here. I’m going to find my family first.”

  “But the military can help us find our loved ones. They can protect us—”

  “Don’t be so naive,” Jordan interrupted.

  “They weren’t so willing to help people in Beech Creek. Everyone I know got the hell out of there as soon as things got hot.”

  “That’s bullshit,” Paul said. “For a former soldier or whatever you were, you don’t sound at all like you know what you’re talking about.”

  “We’re not stopping anywhere until I find my family,” Jordan said staring at the road.

  Paul didn’t want to escalate the argument any further, but he found Jordan’s resistance perplexing. Finding a military base seemed the most sensible thing to do. Paul glanced over at the fuel gauge. It was well below half a tank. “We’re going to need to stop and get gas soon,” he said.

  “I know,” Jordan said. “I’ll get off the next exit; keep your fingers crossed for fuel.”

  After a brief period of silence, Paul spoke. “Nothing is more important to me than finding my wife, but we can’t do this all on our own,” Paul said, trying to talk over the engine.

  “We have an hour until we reach Kansas City, that’s where my family is. After that, we’ll see,” Jordan said.

  Jordan veered the Humvee to Exit 34, which promised gas and lodging. They were in a rural area of open fields, local shops, and a disconcerting quietness, as if the area had been evacuated. They had faced endless traffic at every turn, only to find themselves the lone car on empty road. They pulled into the first station on their right, an old Hess station, and parked the Humvee next to the diesel pump.

  “Good thing they have diesel,” Jordan said.

  The limited-availability of diesel was all the more reason they wanted a different vehicle, but for Jordan, everything was about getting home first. Paul examined the small parking lot, looking for any signs of life. A single fading red station wagon was parked in the gravel near the front. A cigarette butt-can held the entrance to the store open. If the store was opened, business was far from booming.

  “Let’s give it a shot,” Jordan said.

  Paul looked back to see Julie still sleeping. Both Jordan and Paul exited the Humvee and stretched.

  “Let’s hope these pumps work or we’re in trouble,” Jordan said.

  “Agreed,” Paul said.

  As they walked toward the store, they were uncertain of what they would find. Paul looked up into the sky. A storm was overhead, and a cool breeze passed through the air. It had looked like the same for days, as if a massive gray cloud had been following them. Clouds blanketed the sky like unraveling ripples. The sun was hidden by heavy overcast that brought strange comfort to Paul. They slipped inside the store hoping to be met with bright aisles, country music, and a friendly associate eagerly awaiting their business behind the register. Their hope vanished once they entered the quiet and darkened store with empty shelves before them. Paul thought the store had been deserted, and jumped at the sound of a man's voice.

  “What can I help you gentlemen with?” the man asked to their side.

  Jordan and Paul turned to the counter. An elderly man wearing a buttoned-up flannel and a camouflaged hat sat on a stool behind the cash register. He brandished a pump-action shotgun.

  “Sorry we didn’t see you there,” Jordan said.

  “That’s alright, we ain’t got much left, and I can only accept cash.”

  “Do you have any gas?” Paul asked.

  “Sorry, we’re all out. I’ve been telling people that all day.”

  Paul tried to resist punching the wall in frustration. He looked at Jordan clearly upset.

  “What the hell are we going to do now?”

  Jordan rose up his hand to calm Paul down.

  “We’ll think of something, don’t worry.”

  Paul wanted to tell Jordan that they were doomed, that their trip and all of society was doomed, but he withheld on account of the old man’s presence.

  “We have cash,” Jordan said approaching the counter.

  The old man studied.

  “How much?”

  “That depends. Do you know anywhere we can get any diesel?”

  “The hell with the diesel, ask him if he wants to sell that station wagon outside,” Paul said.

  “To be honest with you boys, I’ve got some fuel cans in the back, sort of like my reserve stash in times of emerge
ncy. But there’s not a can of diesel in the bunch.”

  Paul looked around the empty store and walked over to a newspaper and magazine rack. Jordan placed his arms on the register counter. “Sir, I hope you don’t mind, but I’d like to make an assertion.”

  The old man looked at Jordan curiously then moved one hand from his shotgun to adjust his hat. “Go ahead.”

  “I’m thinking that you probably have plenty of better places to be than a gas station with no gas and empty shelves.”

  “What’s your point?”

  Jordan reached into his shoulder bag. “My point is that you must have something you want to sell other than fuel cans and old magazines.”

  Paul examined the newspaper rack, finding only one paper remaining. It was a paper from the Friday before, the morning of the Wall Street bombing. He flipped through its thick newsprint, trying to find something of value, and then tossed it to the side. The magazine rack was just as useless. All the magazines were dated from the past week or older. He hungered for knowledge, something that would let him know that Samantha was still alive and if he had a country left. There had been no official report of casualties or the overall destruction beyond the anonymous sign they saw on the road. Paul walked back over to the counter where Jordan was haggling with the shop owner.

  “Let’s just say we wanted to make a vehicle trade. Our Humvee for your station wagon,” Jordan said.

  “Not interested. What the hell am I going to do with it? It only takes diesel.”

  “Yes, but you probably have other vehicles at home, am I correct? And that Humvee can pull anything.”

  “I could do without it, thanks,” the old man said.

  Jordan pulled out a stack of cash from his shoulder bag.

  “We’ll even throw in eight-hundred dollars.”

  The old man showed interest. He scratched his scruffy chin and thought long and hard.

  “Jordan, what are you doing?” Paul whispered.

  Jordan waved Paul off and stared at the old man, waiting for a reaction.

  “You got more than that?” the man asked.

  Jordan had a total of three thousand dollars on him, cash that he took from the Military Criminal Investigation Command’s evidence room. In light of the day’s events, he knew that he would need cash, and managed to get the money after the building had cleared. However, he didn’t want to spend it all in one place. He would have to play the game.

  Jordan thought hard for the right answer. “Fifteen hundred,” he said. The old man thought again, rubbing his chin. Jordan saw a glimmer in the man’s eye. Jordan waited.

  The old man pointed to them and spoke slowly. “I’ll take two grand and the Humvee. Then we got a deal.”

  “Jordan, are you out of your mind?” Paul asked.

  Jordan quieted him. Perhaps Paul was playing along, making it seem like a foolish decision on Jordan’s part. Jordan turned to take the rest of the money out from his shoulder bag. He opened the Ziploc bag containing the money and counted two thousand dollars’ worth of cash.

  Paul turned to the old man. “Do you have some type of transistor radio or something?”

  “Yeah, I got one under the counter,” the man replied.

  “How about you throw in one of those, plus some batteries?”

  The old man nodded. Jordan handed him the cash.

  “Now let’s go inspect that station wagon of yours,” he said.

  Chapter Four

  Making Friends and Enemies

  So now we have a different car. Well a different vehicle, whatever. I was sleeping when Paul woke me up and told me we were leaving the Humvee and taking the station wagon. I guess they bought it from this old man who worked at the gas station. The car is old, just like him. They spent an hour inspecting it or whatever they were doing to it. We loaded it up and then we were on the road. I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this only to say that it’s weird. Don’t get me wrong, the station wagon is a lot more comfortable than that Humvee, but everything has changed now.

  I asked Paul why we can’t just fly to Colorado to get my mom, he told me that there aren’t any flights. I asked him how he knew. He said that all I had to do was look into the sky and see. But when I look into the sky, all I see is gray. Looks like clouds, but they’re not. Jordan says it’s nuclear ash. I’ve never heard anything so stupid in my life.

  I was so out of it when we switched vehicles. I had this dream that I was at my old house, not the one in Beech Creek, but the one I grew up in, and my mom was there. It was Saturday morning and she was making me breakfast, pancakes, I think. Then she left the room for a minute and never came back. She disappeared. I called for her again and again. Then I searched the house for my dad, my real dad, not Paul, and he was gone too. Then I went ahead and called for Paul, but he was gone to. Then I noticed that it was really bright outside. Like I couldn’t even see out the window it was so bright. Then I opened the front door and everything outside had been destroyed. All the buildings and homes were lying in pieces. It was like a bomb had been dropped on everything. I screamed and I screamed but no one was around. Then Paul woke me up.

  Jessica, I wish you were in my dream. If you were in that dream then that would mean that you’re probably still alive. I don’t think I’ve ever dreamed about a dead person. We’re in Kansas City now. Jordan is trying to find his family. It’s a big city, there’s traffic everywhere. We’re stuck in traffic right now. Paul keeps going on about finding a TV so we can find out what’s going on. The station wagon is so old that it doesn’t even have a place to charge cell phones. But I lost my phone anyway, so it doesn’t even matter. I just want to scream! I asked Paul why he doesn’t just ask the million people around us what’s going on. He says that no one knows. I hope Jordan finds his family soon so we can find my mom and then go back home. If that’s even possible.

  The ’76 Buick Curbside Classic was in decent condition, given its age. Curiously enough, it had only 223,000 miles on it, not much for a car so old. The old man at the gas station said that many of the parts had been replaced over the years, including the engine. When asked why he held on to the car as long as he did, the old man replied that he had planned to give the car to his grandson as a hand-me-down. He had promised his grandson that the car would be his when he got back from Afghanistan. It had been five years, and even though his grandson had been killed in action, the old man maintained the car in hopes that the boy would be coming home to get it.

  Paul had reservations about taking a car of such sentimental value, but in an age where the fate of everyone’s loved ones was in question, they had to do what they could to stay on the road and keep moving. The old man even threw in a few five-gallon fuel jugs, which they placed in the back of the wagon.

  “The fumes are making me dizzy,” Julie protested from her back seat.

  Paul agreed to change seats with her, but the fumes were inescapable, even with the windows down.

  “I don’t know how much longer we can ride around with this gas back here,” Paul said rubbing his head.

  “We’re going to have to get used to it,” Jordan replied. “You want to ride or you want to walk?”

  It had been a while since they had eaten. Julie could feel the hunger pains in her stomach. The MRE cases in the back were of no comfort. She had pieced together enough meals from several different packages and didn’t want to think about another MRE again. They pulled into a suburban neighborhood where Jordan’s family lived.

  “Are we finally there?” Julie asked.

  “Yes, we are,” Jordan answered. Julie jumped in her seat, excited as she could be.

  “So we can sleep there? Take showers? Cook some meals?”

  Questions spit out of her like the rapid fire of a machine gun. Jordan nodded along. Paul was excited at the prospect of some hint of normalcy where Internet and television possibly awaited. Jordan couldn’t believe they had made it. His home was only a few blocks away. The neighborhood looked the same as it did a ye
ar ago when he left it to move to Pennsylvania. Most importantly, Jordan was relieved to see that the neighborhood was still there. It was an unlikely target for an attack, but he could have said the same thing about Beech Creek.

  “Where is everyone?” Julie asked, while looking outside the window.

  True, the homes were intact, but there was an eerie quietness similar to what they had seen at the deserted gas stations. Home after home looked vacant, their lawns overgrown and in need of maintenance. Most of the driveways were empty. The oddest thing they noticed was the startling absence of other people. Only moments ago they were in the middle of bumper-to-bumper traffic on the interstate, now they were in a ghost town. Paul tried the car radio repeatedly, but couldn’t get any signal over the FM/AM tuner. The transistor radio wasn't much help either.

  Paul was going to say that he didn’t have a good feeling about their situation, but stopped. What was the point of being negative? How would he have felt if Jordan downplayed finding Samantha? Jordan said nothing as they approached the empty driveway of his quaint and traditional two-story house. The garage door was closed along with the blinds, as if the family was on vacation.

  It was late afternoon, almost evening, but the streetlights weren’t on, nor the light post in the front yard. Jordan put the car in park and turned off the ignition. His heart was racing with anxiety. He wanted to believe that his wife and two sons were waiting inside for him. Maybe they were scared and, as a result, made it seem like no one was home. There were so many possibilities, though Jordan desired only one outcome and it frightened him to think of his family not at home. Paul noticed Jordan’s hesitance to get out of the car.