How to Survive a Nuclear War

by Miles Baldwin

  Emma listened intently.

  “The same thing happened in the media with newspapers and radio and television. For the most part they were taken over by liberals after the Vietnam War and they’ve been that way ever since. This country changed in the sixties and seventies, and not for the better. That’s how we got to where we are today, with generations of people thinking that America is bad and that we are big bad bullies.”

  “Wow,” she said. “You know a lot about history and stuff.”

  I smiled.

  Emma asked, “If America is not the bad guy, then why does bad stuff keep happening to us? Why did Iran do the EMP attack? Why did the terrorists try to kill us with the zombie virus? Why did North Korea nuke us?”

  I thought for a minute. “Emma, it’s like this. You probably have some girls at school who are jealous of you. You are a very pretty girl, and some people might treat you badly because of it. Is that true?”

  “Yeah,” she said, with a bit of an attitude. She could have appended that statement with ‘duh’ and it would have fit right in.

  “Okay. Well, it’s the same way with countries. For a long time America has been the best country on earth, a beacon of light for freedom and prosperity. Meanwhile the rest of the world see themselves as less fortunate. They’re jealous. They want to have what we have. They want to be like us and be the world’s leader. They want to be admired and respected by the rest of the world. So they attack us and try to destroy us.

  “Part of it is our own fault. We invite attack when we show weakness and inconsistency. Every four years we elect a new president. Sometimes we go from having a strong leader like Ronald Reagan or George W. Bush, to having a weak president like Jimmy Carter or Barack Obama. When we have a weak leader, our enemies smell blood in the water and they come after us.”

  She stopped and looked at me. “How did you get to be so smart?”

  I shrugged.

  She said, “I don’t even know what you are. Are you like a history professor or something?”

  I laughed. “No, I’m an accountant.”

  “Oh. That’s cool. Hey, can you hang for a sec? I have to pee.”

  Chapter 22

  I surveyed the desolate landscape while I waited for Emma. There was no hustle and bustle of everyday life. No moms taking their kids to soccer practice. No businessmen on their way to the office. Just empty streets peppered with abandoned cars. Windows were smashed in, there was trash everywhere, and buildings bore the scars of recent fires.

  I tried to ignore the emptiness that surrounded me and focus instead on my talk with Emma. When she reemerged, I asked, “Do you ever watch the news?”

  We resumed walking. Emma answered, “Not much. Sometimes I watch Larry Wilmore.”

  I chuckled. “That’s not news. People your age don’t watch the news. Or if you do, it’s something like that or The Daily Show. You know that’s not really news, right?”

  “Well, duh. It’s Comedy Central.”

  Such a bratty girl. I felt like turning her over my knee and giving her a good hard spanking. Just smacking that big, round, soft, white fleshy ass of hers and watching it jiggle. Whoa, where did that come from? I shook my head. I said, “Even the real news isn’t the news anymore. It’s news that’s been perverted and skewed to fit the liberal agenda. If it’s something that makes democrats look good or the republicans look bad, then it leads. If it’s something that makes the democrats look bad or the republicans look good, then it gets buried. When Bush was president the media went crazy trying to make a huge scandal out of every little thing he did. On the other hand, during Obama’s presidency they rarely asked him a tough question and they barely mentioned it when there really were scandals.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like the IRS targeting conservative groups. People believe that the Obama administration used the IRS to prevent conservative Tea Party groups from gaining legal status ahead of his reelection. Like Benghazi. There’s evidence that the president couldn’t make up his mind in time to order a military response after the U.S. Libyan consulate came under attack by terrorists. People including the U.S. Ambassador languished there for hours with no help until they were killed by Islamic extremists. Like the VA scandal. Some veterans died waiting months to see a doctor while VA administrators lied about it and even got bonuses for doing such a ‘great job.’ Like illegal immigration. Obama ignored the laws and welcomed illegals across border so he could woo Latino voters already here while importing the next wave of democratic voters. You want more?”

  “I never heard of any of that stuff.”

  “No, and you wouldn’t. Thanks for making my point. You wouldn’t hear about any of that from the mainstream media. They buried those stories because the storylines didn’t fit their agenda. While news was breaking on those stories, the mainstream media was busy with stories about storms or wildfires or some green energy bullshit. You have to watch Fox News to see what’s really going on. They’re the only ones who don’t toe the line for the liberals.” I shook my head. “Anyway, we live in a crazy world. America has been in decline for years – decades really. The way things are going now, we may not be around much longer. Our country is rotting from the inside out and our enemies know it. They’re standing at the door just waiting to finish us off.”

  “That’s depressing,” Emma said.

  “Well, it is. And it doesn’t have to be that way. If our country had remained true to our core values we would be every bit as strong today as we were when we first started. But we’ve pandered to these liberal weanies for so long and given them way too much latitude. They promise a great society but they never deliver. All they’ve managed to do is gut our military, run up the deficient, and create an underclass of government dependants. The point is, show your enemies an ounce of weakness and they will extract a pound of flesh. Back when I was in school—”

  Suddenly a shot rang out.

  “Hit the fucking deck!” I yelled. I landed in the weeds and Emma came crashing down beside me. “You okay?” I asked breathlessly.

  She nodded and swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

  “Could you tell which way that was coming from?”

  “I have no idea. Why do people keep shooting at us?”

  “Scavengers,” I said. “They want my guns, whatever’s in my bag, you.”

  “Great,” she said sarcastically.

  I unclipped the rifle. I scanned the horizon with the scope but it was no use, I could barely get anything to show up in the scope when I knew exactly what I was looking for. Otherwise, I could just as well forget it. I was beginning to question my choice of sights. Maybe I should have gone with the holographic sight, EMP be damned.

  Across the road sat an old brick building which drew my attention. I pointed. “I think it came from there. I don’t see anything else around.”

  Emma looked frightened.

  “Just stay down. Let’s wait here for a minute and see what happens.”

  “Wait for what? To get shot at again?”

  “Just stay close to me and you’ll be fine.”

  Always the coach, always the cheerleader. I wondered where that came from. It certainly wasn’t how I felt. Sometimes I wanted to say fuck it, we’re doomed. Just shoot me and get it over with. There wasn’t much to live for anyway. I was wearing all this survival gear in this godforsaken heat. I was perpetually running low on supplies. I was sunburned, ass-whipped, bug-bitten, morally bankrupt, mentally fatigued, and physically exhausted. I had just witnessed countless brutal torture-deaths at the hands of the craziest mother fucker I have ever had the misfortune to meet. There’s no telling how many years of therapy it was going to take to get that out of my head. And now here I was getting shot at again by some derelict who wanted to steal my backpack.

  I looked at Emma. I sometimes wondered about myself, why I took on stragglers like her and Otis. Could it be that I needed them as much as they needed me? Maybe I was afraid that
if I didn’t have someone to protect, I might become my own worst enemy. I might just give up and put a bullet in my brain.

  “Well?” Emma asked anxiously.

  “Well, what?”

  “Well, are you going to do something or are you just going to lay there and wait for him to kill us?”

  “Let’s go see what’s in that building.” I got to my feet.

  Emma remained on the ground. “I’m not going, right?”

  “Yes, you are. Come on.”

  “But I’m not wearing a helmet or anything.”

  “You don’t need that. Just stay behind me and you’ll be fine. Come on.” I held out a hand. Reluctantly, she took it and I pulled her to her feet.

  Together we made our way over to the building. As I got closer I studied the windows. No sign of movement. When we got to the front door I put my back against the wall and Emma did the same. I shaded my eyes and searched the horizon.

  “You see anything?” I whispered.

  “No.”

  “Me neither. Alright, take this.” I checked the safety on the rifle and handed it to her.

  “No!” she protested. “I don’t know how to use that thing!”

  “You don’t have to. Just hold it for me.” I pushed it into her hands. “Please.”

  She took the rifle, regarding it as if it were a snake. I pulled the 9mm and pushed on the door. It was partially open and it appeared to be jammed.

  “Stay behind me,” I said as I pushed again on the door. It didn’t budge. With the pistol leading the way, I turned sideways and slipped through the doorway.

  “I’m not going in there,” Emma said.

  “Yes you are.” I grabbed her arm and pulled her through.

  “Godammit—!” she protested.

  “Stay with me,” I hissed. “I’m not leaving you out there by yourself.”

  I took a few steps and crouched low, taking in my new surroundings. The dirty windows blocked most of the daylight. It took me a second for my eyes to adjust. The building had been abandoned and whatever used to occupy the space had cleared out long before the bomb. There was a counter with some display cases beneath it and not much else. The display cases were empty save for bits of broken glass. It was quiet inside and a musty odor filled the air. I wondered if someone had been living there. I inched forward keeping a watchful eye on the counter. I broke the silence and said, “Come on out. We know you’re in here.”

  I heard a sound from behind the counter. Emma clung to me tightly.

  I said, “Come out, whoever you are.”

  Nothing. I crept to the edge of the counter, readying the pistol. Then in one quick motion I hurled myself to the other side and saw something moving down low. Instinctively I fired a shot. Fur flew everywhere and the little body launched into the air and slammed against the wall. It was a skinny yellow cat.

  Emma felt me relax and ventured a look from behind me. “Ah, it’s a kitty! Poor baby. Steen! You killed it.” She knelt over the body.

  I said, “I’m sorry.”

  Emma shot me a hard look.

  I said, “Here, hand me the rifle please.”

  I holstered the pistol and took the rifle. My pistol is better in tight quarters but I needed the rifle light. I crossed the room to a door opposite the counter. I slowly turned the knob and pulled. It was dark inside. I squeezed the pad on the rifle and lit up the room. The instant I did I heard a shot. Reeling backwards, I landed on my ass. It felt as if I’d been punched in the stomach.

  “Fuck!” I shouted.

  Emma screamed, “Steen! Steen! Are you alright?” She rushed to my side.

  “I’m alright. Stay back.”

  The pain got worse and more intense. “God damn!” I inspected the vest. The material was frayed in the lower corner right where I hurt. The vest had done its job, I would live. I pulled myself together and stumbled to the counter. Emma was trembling and crying.

  “Sonofabitch,” I hissed.

  “Steen? Are you alright?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be fine. It hurts but it didn’t penetrate the vest.”

  “Thank God.”

  The backroom door had shut by itself. I stared at it for a minute and I got an idea. I had something special in mind for whoever was in there. I pulled the bag off my back and rifled through it. My hand closed around a pipe bomb. Not legal by any stretch of the imagination, but oh so useful in these kinds of situations.

  Emma’s eyes grew wide. “What are you going to do?”

  “Just stay back. This could get a little dangerous.”

  I lit the fuse, opened the door and tossed the bomb inside. As it clanged across the floor I dove for cover and yelled, “Eat shit mother fucker!”

  The explosion ripped through the building. It blew the backroom door off its hinges, blew out all the windows, and slammed the front door shut. I fought to get to my feet and watched as black smoke billowed out of the backroom. Emma had her fingers in her ears. I hadn’t been so lucky. I could see Emma’s lips moving but I couldn’t hear what she was saying.

  Incredibly, a man staggered out of the backroom. Unfuckingbelievable. He was a big man, bigger than me. His clothes and face were covered with soot and smoke rolled off his body. He looked dazed and confused. He took a few feeble steps and then he collapsed. Face down, he continued moving his arms and legs as if he were swimming. I grabbed my hatchet and raced to him. I raised the ax and came down with a crushing blow that landed squarely on the back of his neck. He stopped moving. Blood and fluid flowed from the fatal wound.

  I still couldn’t hear anything and wondered if I had permanently damaged my hearing. I rocked the ax back and forth until it dislodged.

  I turned and saw Emma screaming. Then I realized I could actually hear her, although just barely. I took that as a good sign. I went to her and held her. She was trembling and shaking. I took her by the hand and led her out the front door.

  Chapter 23

  Emma and I continued our trek through the post-nuclear countryside, remaining ever vigilant of the danger around us. This far from ground zero, there were no blast effects and the threat from fallout was significantly diminished. The biggest threat came from scavengers and fellow survivalists. In their wake they left an ever-widening circle of desolation. With no new supplies or aid coming in, it was a zero sum game. Anything consumed by someone else left that much less for us. As usual, I was running low on supplies. The heat caused us to go through the bottled water very quickly.

  The tiny piece of brass I’d dug from my vest said the shooter probably used a .22. Not much in terms of firepower and no match for my Kevlar vest, but potentially lethal just the same. In this environment with no healthcare and little sanitation, any bullet wound could prove fatal. I had a bottle of antibiotics in my bag, but there were no guarantees. A few hours after I’d unleashed the pipe bomb the ringing in my ears subsided and my hearing returned to normal.

  As nightfall approached, we searched through a neighborhood and found an abandoned house. It was a three bedroom ranch with two baths and all of the furniture intact. There was no food in the pantry and the patio door had been broken into. Emma and I dined in the kitchen on MREs by the fading evening light.

  “We were pretty lucky to find this place,” Emma said.

  I said, “The owners probably got in their car and left.” I poked at the remainder of my turkey and stuffing.

  “Where do you think they went?”

  “Probably headed west, away from the city. They packed their food in the car and went somewhere out in the country, away from all of the scavengers and crazies. That’s what I would have done.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “I was in the middle of everything when it happened.” I gave her a brief summary of the fallout shelter and my truck getting ruined.

  She said, “Wow, you’ve been through a lot.” She pushed her empty tray aside and finished off her water.

  I looked out
the window.

  A minute later Emma snapped me out of a thousand yard stare. “Steen? Steen!”

  “Yes? Yes. I have. I have been through a lot.”

  Emma raised her arms and stretched. As she did her cutoff tee rose with her and partially exposed her breasts. The shirt had developed a couple of new rips over the course of the day and it barely contained her chest. She realized what had happened and tugged her shirt back down. Then she smiled and asked, “So, now what do we do?”

  “Well, we need to bunk down for the night while there’s still a little bit of light.”

  “Bunk down?”

  I nodded, finishing my water. “Yeah, pack it in for the night.”

  “Sounds interesting.”

  I gave her a look, then I went into the living room and sat on the sofa. I said, “I could use a drink. I don’t think I can sleep the way I’m feeling right now. Could you see if there’s a glass in one of the cabinets?” I pulled the bottle of whiskey out of my bag.

  Emma emerged from the kitchen with two glasses and sat down beside me.

  “You want some?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” she said, again with that ‘duh’ attitude.

  I poured a finger of whiskey for each of us and added a splash of water. As I handed her a glass I said, “I know you’re not old enough to drink this, but—”