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

by James Hunt

  Call me back.

  Where are you?

  Are you guys okay?

  After each text, she waited, and received no reply. As requested, people marched out of the convention center in a semi-orderly fashion. No real panic had taken over yet, it was a power failure, and hopefully nothing else. They felt that the Wall Street bombing, though concerning, was in no way related to the unusual power outage. They looked forward to leaving the convention center and getting to their hotel rooms. They could call their families, watch the news, and hopefully get on the Internet. Screw the convention center.

  They shuffled out with the light of their phones shinning onto their faces. Every single person was immersed in their cell phone worlds, trying desperately to contact loved ones and read about what was going on.

  "Anyone getting a signal?" an especially frustrated man called out in the crowd.

  Only grumbles followed, everyone seemed to have the same problem, but were in complete denial about it.

  "Almost got something," a woman said to herself, relived.

  She then hit her phone in anger as its signal went out. The slow-moving crowd nearly tripped and tumbled over each other due to their collective smartphone distractions, though they managed to exit the doors outside where a whole new world of problems awaited.

  "Where is everyone?" Samantha asked red-haired Amy, the youngest of the team members as she finally arrived.

  "I think I saw Javier and Nick coming over here. They're shutting the place down." Amy laughed. "Guess we get out of work early today."

  "I know," Samantha said. "I need to make sure we have everyone so we can go back to our hotel rooms. Phones signals are down, but we can call our families through the hotel landline."

  "What happened? Why do we need to call our families?" Amy asked, perplexed.

  Samantha was entirely confused. How could Amy be so out-of-the-loop?

  "Sorry, I was in the restroom when the lights went out. Scared the crap out of me," Amy added.

  "Amy, honey, they reported a terrorist attack in New York City. They're calling it the Wall Street Bombing," Samantha said.

  Amy covered her mouth in shock.

  "Oh my God. How did it happen?"

  "Do you have any family in the city?" Samantha asked.

  "No. My family lives here in Denver."

  "Okay, great. Well we all need to call our families at the hotel room. They've raised the terror alert to its highest level."

  "Which is?" Amy asked.

  "Bat shit crazy," Derrick added, walking up with Javier and Nick.

  Commotion surrounded them on all sides as other vendors flocked to their booth and attempted to get everything packed up and secure under the low-visibility of artificial lights from phones and tablets. A few men ran past Samantha, almost knocking her over. She regained her composure and moved to address her group.

  "We're two people short. Where're Brooke and Tony?"

  The team looked around to the black sea of uncertainty that was before them. There was no telling.

  "If anyone has their numbers, please call them," Samantha added.

  "No signal on mine," Derrick said, holding his phone in the air.

  "Me neither," Amy said. "This really fucking blows."

  "In the meantime, help me pack up so we can go," Samantha said.

  Her team complied and tried their best to close the booth and secure the Motorola products while not succumbing to the growing sense of unease brewing within the center.

  Samantha finally made it outside with her Motorola team tagging along behind her. The city streets outside the convention center were typically chaotic.

  "Must be rush hour," Samantha thought while looking at the stagnant flow of traffic in both directions.

  The crowds from the convention center littered out onto the streets, aimless in their pursuit back to safety. For Samantha and her team, the Marriott Hotel was within walking distance. They were fortunate to have booked the rooms when they did, only a few blocks away. She turned around, and tried to find a spot outside where they weren't blocking anyone else. She waved the group over to the side, under a small planted redwood.

  "We're going to head back to the Marriott. I want everyone to call their families, okay?"

  They acknowledged her request with head nods and assurances. "Then we meet at the lobby at about," Samantha stopped looked at the time on her phone, then looked back up, "three." It felt like they were on a field trip, and she the teacher, though, at twenty-eight, she only aged them by four or six years.

  "Okay, Sam," Derrick said. Brooke and Tony arrived last. They glanced at each other with guilty looks then back to Samantha. They had been making out in a backroom for the past thirty minutes and had no idea what was going on. They were shook up by all the pandemonium happening outside.

  "Hey," Samantha said, trying to get their full attention, "everything is going to be okay."

  The hotel lobby was a welcomed sight even in its own chaotic condition. Swarms of expo attendees flooded its doors, trying to get back to their rooms. Apparently Samantha wasn't the only one who had considered the hotel's landline phones. The most significant aspect of the hotel was that it still had power. To see the lampshades, registers, air conditioning, and other amenities functioning normally was a hugely relieving sight.

  The Motorola group dispersed and made their way back to their rooms. Samantha ran into her room and tried her cell phone again. There was no answer from Paul or any responses text messages.

  "Mother fucker!" Samantha shouted, tossing the phone on the bed.

  She went for the remote and turned on the television. As the screen lit up, she retrieved her phone and scrolled its contacts. First she tried Paul again. There was no answer. She tried Julie's phone. No answer. She tried her parents who lived in Vermont. No answer. She tried Paul's father who lived in Florida. There was no answer. Samantha dropped her cell phone as the hotel receiver slid from her grip. A single tear rolled down her cheek.

  She squinted her eyes shut and wiped the tear away. The frustration was borderline overwhelming. The television volume was all the way down, but the images were unmistakable. The screen glowed with the red fires of an inferno. Samantha took notice and tried to keep up with the banner moving rapidly on the bottom of the screen.

  There was a title above the news banner that read: War World III?

  Samantha stood up and walked closer to the television while holding the remote in one hand. She flipped to the next station and saw the exact same image. An entire city on fire. She flipped to the next channel and was greeted with several aerial images of a charred landscape. Her thumb pressed hard onto the volume button as a reporter's voice grew louder, narrating the images with torn emotion.

  The news caption read: Nuclear Attack Devastates East Coast.

  It seemed like footage from movie. It had to be a movie. Who had ever heard of such a thing? The reporter's words differed:

  "Tremendous shock and awe as history takes a cataclysmic turn following the presumed deaths of hundreds of thousands of innocent Americans. Reports are scattered and unverifiable at the moment, but what we know so far is that several key targets were attacked with nuclear devices. Several states within a close proximity of each other have reported to have been hit, including Florida, Virginia, Maryland, Pennsylvania, and Maine."

  Pennsylvania was all the only word Samantha needed to hear.

  "Oh God, no!" she shouted at the top of her lungs.

  The reporter's voice continued over images of smoke clouds, craters, and massive destruction on a global scale.

  "No one is sure who is behind the attacks. There has been no word from the President or any government officials concerning the attacks that occurred in succession with each other shortly after Five P.M. Eastern Time."

  His voice became choked up as he attempted to continue. Samantha's face poured with tears the minute her state was named.

  "There are literally no words to describe the...literally
no words to describe what has happened. Rumors of an attack in Washington D.C. have surfaced as well. All of this after a bombing inside the New York Stock Exchange around 3:30 P.M. Eastern Time. A great shock horror has been inflicted on our nation that we're only beginning to truly understand."

  Samantha looked at the clock in the hotel room. It was shortly after three. She ran back to the landline phone dialed Paul and Julie again. She picked up her cell phone and sent Paul another text, her longest one yet:

  Been trying to reach you guys for hours. I'm so scared. Please God, I hope you're okay. Attacks everywhere. Call me back. I love you both.

  She stuck the phone in her pocket and wiped her eyes again. Her smartphone was a pointless endeavor. She had been cut off. How many others were facing the same fate? Tears flowed like rain water, turning her mascara into sopping rings around her bloodshot eyes.

  "Residents on the West Coast are urged to seek cover immediately as no identifiable targets have been hit anywhere from California to Ohio. Every state, every landmark, every place imaginable could very well be the next target. The President was addressing reporters in the White House Rose Garden shortly before the attacks. His current location or status has not been confirmed.

  Nuclear fallout and radiological contamination have deterred further investigation. The status of Washington D.C., at the time, is uncertain. Reports are mixed. I repeat, all residents in Central and Eastern Time zones are strongly advised to avoid any major landmarks or cities and find safe cover immediately."

  A deep feeling of sickness came over Samantha. She moved to the window of the second floor and looked out to the city below. Word was spreading quickly. People weren't walking anymore, they were running. The congested roads turned into bedlam as commuters--who most likely heard the reports of the nuclear strikes--tried to best each other by driving on the sides of the road, sidewalks, and median.

  Where was she to go? What was she to do? She then remembered the number she had in her pocket book, the number to a United States Senator. Clearly, he would have some answers in her time of need. What did she have to lose? She fished the card from her pocket book and dialed his number that he had written on the back while trying to control her frequent sobs. The line rang and rang, when suddenly she heard a voice at the end.

  "Hello?" the voice said.

  "Hi is this Senator Bryant?" Samantha asked.

  "Yes it is, who am I speaking to?"

  "Mr. Bryant, I'm Samantha Thompson, we meet briefly today at the technology expo. You had given me your card."

  A silence came over the other line. Then he continued. "Yes, Samantha. My goodness, are you okay?" He was very direct in his line of questioning, as if had some awareness to what was happening.

  "No, I'm afraid I'm not. I need help. I heard the news, I just. I think I'm going into shock. My family lives in Beech Creek, Pennsylvania. The nuclear attacks. What is happening?" The more Samantha spoke, the more her breathing became rapid and uncontrollable.

  Senator Bryant took notice of her state. "Samantha, are you still there? Listen, we have to take cover. Take a breath. Calm down. Just stay with me now, everything is going to be fine."

  Samantha began to hyperventilate; her face grew pale to accompany her cold sweats. She gripped onto the phone to continue her conversation.

  "I--think--I'm going--into--some--type--shock," she said.

  "Tell me where you are and I'll send a car to come get you. I can keep you safe. I'm not going to lose you again."

  Samantha looked back at the television. Several reporters sat around a news desk with stoic, horrified expressions on their faces. Samantha spoke back into the phone.

  "Feeling--lightheaded."

  "Where are you at?" Bryant demanded.

  "At the Marriott." She stopped and tried to breathe in, but her throat tightened. Her air passage felt blocked. She wheezed into the phone, as if dying.

  "The Marriott? The one by the Convention Center?" Bryant shouted.

  "Yes..." Samantha managed to get through.

  "What room?"

  "Two thirty six," Samantha belted out. "No, wait, two thirty seven."

  "Two thirty seven, got it. I'll send a car over for you immediately."

  Just as Bryant finished his words, the power went out, and with that, the phone line. Samantha dropped the phone and fell to her bed clutching her sides. She couldn't breathe and with each restrictive gasp she grew more lightheaded. The horrific images on the television disappeared from sight in an instant. She hit her pillow softly, in the new silence of her room, then passed out.

  Ten minutes later her door burst open revealing two burly men in beige suits. They stumbled in with haste and exhaustion. The first man had black sideburns and brandished a crowbar, while the other, displaying a trimmed flattop, followed.

  "There she is!" sideburns exclaimed.

  Samantha was out cold, lying face-first into her pillow. Sideburns turned her over and patted her face.

  "Samantha," he said with a Bostonian accent. "Wake up, girl. Come on, come back to us."

  "Who is this chick?" Flattop asked.

  "I don't know but the Senator sure as shit wants us to bring her back." Sideburns forewent further coddling and lifted Samantha up, cradling her.

  "Let's go. Grab her suitcase or something," he told flattop.

  "Sure thing," flattop responded. He grabbed Samantha's small travel suitcase, extended its handles and rolled out the door. They shut the door behind them, even in its tarnished state.

  The hotel lobby was a hot spot of frantic activity. Without power, guests ran through the floors, trying to get their belongings and charge into the great abyss outside the hotel walls. Where anyone would go, no one was sure. Official channels had been lost. Communication, nonexistent. Most of everyone had heard of the East Coast attacks, and the threat of following a similar fate loomed over every man, woman, and child. Sideburns carried Samantha outside the hotel doors as flattop ran ahead to their black Ford Explorer SUV parked on the curb. He carefully placed her in the back and shut the doors. As they started the engine, others ran up to the windows begging for a ride.

  "You have to help me get out of here!" a terrified and desperate forty-something woman pleaded. "There'll be nothing of Denver left by the time the terrorists get us!"

  Sideburns put the SUV in drive and floored it out into the highway. They were privy to some shortcuts that could assist them to their final destination. Someplace safe and far from reach from any crazed person currently roaming the streets.

  Samantha slowly opened her eyes. She didn't know where she was. She could barely see, beyond some very dim lighting and blurred images before her.

  "Welcome back, Samantha. So glad you're back with us. You really gave us a scare there," a comforting voice said.

  Full consciousness swept over and she was able to focus on her surroundings. A familiar looking man sat over her as she lied on a small bunk bed. She looked up and saw the flat coil webbing of the top bunk above. Her attention went back to the man, she felt she could recognize him, but a sense of delirium wasn't far off from her current state.

  "You had a very serious breathing episode there. We've been monitoring you for over an hour and it seems like you'll be okay."

  She could feel the wetness of a warm washcloth covering her forehead. She raised an arm to remove the cloth.

  "You were very dehydrated, which I think caused you to hyperventilate and pass out. But don't worry, everything is going to be okay."

  "Where am I?" Samantha asked with a tired whispered. Her sore throat had only gotten worse.

  The man leaned in closer into the light, his face was visible. It was Senator Bryant, in the flesh. His collar was a bit loosened, and his tie removed, but she could recognize his blue sapphire eyes anywhere.

  "Senator Bryant?" Samantha asked.

  "Yes, Samantha, I'm here. You have absolutely nothing to be afraid. You are safe among us."

  He paused briefly, marveling over Saman
tha, the continued. "Welcome to our bunker."

  Chapter Five

  The Impossibility of a City-Wide Evacuation

  Sacha's bus of misfits came to a deadening stop a mile from the Brooklyn Bridge. The city was alive in ways Sacha had never seen. All lanes of traffic completely full, an endless ocean of taxi cabs, police cars, garbage trucks, fire trucks, motorcycles, and personal vehicles. Mel, the prison bus driver, received his instructions from the higher-ups over his transmitter radio. He was instructed to travel to a detention facility in Syracuse, the furthest place away from the city within reason. The prisoners would then be further detained in a temporary security facility.

  The main subjects of interest were those apprehended following the Wall Street Bombing. Though the Homeland Security Department--and the entire United States government--had its hands full with the outbreak of nuclear war, there were still some officials looking for the answers to the day's tragic events. They believed that many of the answers started with the Wall Street Bombing and the suspects they had apprehended.

  "Hey! I want off this bus. Why are we here? Where are we going? This is an injustice!" a man in a grease-stained blue jumpsuit shouted from the back of the bus.

  Sacha recognized him from earlier. It was the mechanic, who wore the patch that read: Roy. He had smiled at Sacha when they were placed in the back of the police van outside the New York Stock Exchange following the Wall Street Bombing. Like Sacha, he was most likely a terrorist suspect. He had an air of authority to him that the other prisoners seemed to follow.

  "Quiet down back there!" Sergeant Davis shouted.

  A young, aggressive white gangsta-wannabe, seemingly American, with a face of hundred bar fights decided to chime in as well. "This is bullshit. Fucking cops got no right to do this. I'll sue the shit out of the NYPD for this."