Devastation

by Paul Kirk

  “They were waiting at the escalators? That's unusual. For what reason? That’s not their normal protocol.”

  “I know. But, they were. Not sure why. But, Starkes is an overly cautious bitch.”

  “She is that.”

  Larry Reed ventured a thought on the subject.

  “Starkes was probably just protecting her ass. And I wouldn’t put it past that fuckin’ major, to dispatch men to run cover at the front entrance simply as a precaution given the dates we overheard. You know, assuming that we might have heard something about why the hell they kept waiting here these weeks with the deadline approaching.”

  Enraged, Phoenix threw his empty glass toward the door, watching it shatter into several pieces.

  “Find them! Find them all! I want that Bitch of a president. I want that other woman’s dead body. I want this fuckin’ Connor MacMillen. I want all of them. You find them. You hear me?”

  Larry stood scared, shaking. Phoenix's eyes were blazing hot.

  “Sure, Phoenix.”

  “You find them bastards, uncle. Do it before I do something stupid in the process.”

  “Okay. We’re on it.”

  “Go on, then. Get the hell outta here.”

  Phoenix moved to the bar and picked up the Judge. Waving it gently, he dismissed Larry Reed and made his way to the windows to stare off into the city. A bright and breaking dawn approached. Quickly, Reed exited the penthouse carrying the last dregs of his Jack. He gulped the remainder at the door, handing the empty glass to the guard. He hustled fast to the elevator, but could not help but shiver at the fire-crazed look in his young nephew’s eyes.

  CHAPTER 7.3-The NRC

  “McLeod told me we got the last of ’em trackers hounding us, Mac,” said Roger.

  Rhonda stood next to him, waiting.

  “How many?” asked Connor.

  “The last three of the squad following us. All decent trackers. One was excellent. Another one was practically a kid. No more than fifteen or sixteen.”

  “Hmm. I must admit, those last few crotch sniffers were pretty good following us this far from that Cleveland firefight.”

  “Yeah, BB says we shoulda tried to sign a few of ‘em up they were that good.”

  “That right? Who took ‘em down?”

  “BB and Marty.”

  “The dynamic duo. No surprise.”

  “McLeod says BB told ‘im a straggler hanging back might've slipped away, though they weren’t certain. Said he thought he saw a little guy with some kinda red hair cut short, maybe a Mohawk.”

  “I see. Well, we can’t worry about that little piece of shit Mohawk running away, now, can we?”

  “No. I guess not, Mac.”

  “Glad Jude, Jackson and Jason got back here with us yesterday. We might’ve missed those trackers.”

  “Yep.”

  “Tell everyone to keep an eye out for that Mohawk guy.”

  “Okay.”

  Hidden near the busted out windows on the fourth floor of an old department store in Youngstown, Connor patiently studied the old steel mill sitting on the eastern outskirts. Binoculars in hand, he examined the mill he’d suggested as the rendezvous point. It certainly looked abandoned from a half mile out. Roger slid close beside him, waiting. Connor turned, handing the binoculars to Roger.

  “We'll set up at the #1 Furnace, near the east side of the mill. See it? That huge rusted green and blue overhang.”

  “Yep,” said Roger.

  “Have BB, Jason, Marty and Jackson set up a 200 yard perimeter once we’re in. Have John and Cody help set it up. In the meantime, let’s start everyone rolling.”

  “Alright.”

  “You and Jude stick with me and Rhonda after.”

  “Yes, sir. Okay.”

  Two hours later, settled in at the mill, the team searched for useful items. So far, no signs of recent human activity were noted; it was not a place likely to garner much interest. The enormous rat population seen everywhere during their travels ignored the confines of the mill. Available food sources would be limited and water not clearly in evidence. Indeed, potable water was only found by a dedicated search that, luckily, located a small three-inch deep pool captured on a section of floor in a collapsed silo. Glancing around, it was clear the silo housed key ingredients for creating specialty steels. Huge bins with labels etched in their sides, carried chemical names such as chromium 4140 or stainless 416; arranged in an orderly fashion near the main furnace doors. After Rhonda’s assessment, the water was drinkable, though the taste had a higher than normal iron content from sitting stagnant atop steel flooring.

  “What have we got into here?” thought Connor. He scanned the mill, watching his team conduct their search. Finding a food source was unlikely. The Youngstown mill sat on at least 140 acres of desolate and barren land, long battered, and used for creating high-end steel for more than sixty years before the H5N1 collapse. Clearly, the acreage hadn’t seen any edible plant life while the steel mill was in operation, and now, very few weeds were growing back. Discarded machines sat everywhere in various states of rust and decay. Huge steel billet batches sat stacked neatly in row after row near the train rails. Coated deep orange in rust, they were still waiting for the next shipment to manufacturers; a few slim rats scattered about.

  “Wow, there it is. The heart of the mill,” thought Connor. He stood fifty feet from the doors to the #1 Furnace. The big metal sign near the electric arc-fired furnace made it hard to miss. Moving to the main furnace doors and taking a quick look inside, he marveled at the huge, ceramic-lined space built for molten steel. Looking downward, he followed the massive electric rod that would fire up the furnace when it was running twenty-four hours a day and seven days a week.

  “Probably never see steel ingot made ever again.” Connor said aloud. He closed his eyes, recalling the last time he was here, back when he was very young and it was in operation. His eyes snapped open when he heard quiet movement on the ground to his left. A plump rattlesnake slithered near the rusting steel billet. Smiling, Connor made a mental note to kill the fat reptile for dinner during the next few days. Rattlesnake was a favorite delicacy of his and this snake was at least a full four pounds. Ever since his time spent in Dallas back in the early 2000s, he’d always made it a point to have rattlesnake once or twice a year. He strolled to the main camp.

  “Where’s McLeod, Rog?”

  “He's with Marty searching the office trailers.”

  “Okay.”

  Connor stood with Roger and watched the team take ownership, making the mill their home for the next few days.

  “Rog?”

  “Yeah, Mac?”

  “Send Jason, BB and Judy out for some fresh meat. Tell ‘em to go south. Head out now towards that pond we spotted a half-mile back. Take the geese if they can, we’ll need ‘em. Dog or cat if they can. Tell ‘em we need a stockpile for at least five days, so they need to make it count. They have until dusk to kill what we need ‘cause six hours should be plenty for any decent hunters.”

  “Yep, Understood, sir.”

  “Here, give BB this to carry.”

  Connor reached into his backpack and pulled out a yellow, handheld device. Ignoring Roger’s questions for the moment, he switched it on.

  “Good. The batteries still work. They’re draining faster than I'd like. Need to find some replacements.”

  “I’ve seen you use that several times. Is that what I think it is, Mac?”

  “Probably.”

  “We worried about radiation here?”

  “No, don’t think so. Not based on the nuclear fallout map in my pack from the NRC.”

  “NRC?”

  “Nuclear Regulatory Commission. Helped keep me safe in my travels.”

  “That the blue map?”

  “Yep.”

  “The one with those big blue circles and green ovals?”

  “A huh.”

  “Can I take a closer look?”

  “Sure.”

/>   Connor dug into his pack, pulling out the Ziploc bag that held the map. Well used, he carefully opened and set it on the ground, placing a few pebbles on the ends.

  “Damn, there’s a lot of them nuclear plants—”

  “That's for sure. 104 nuclear plants in the U.S. from what I recall, more than six million people lived within ten miles of ‘em. And most plants went bye-bye and offline right after the back up generators died out. Particularly the BWCs, that’s ‘Boiling Water Reactors’ to you and me.”

  “Wow.”

  “I know, right? And this map shows that Shippingsport, PA was a nuclear plant nearby and that's not too terribly far from here.”

  “Oh.”

  “Some nukes had decent containment protocols, so they’ll be good for awhile, I guess. Anyway, I wanna keep an eye on things here—”

  “I see.”

  Roger studied the map while Connor pointed to a few spots across the country. His hand skirted several blue circles.

  “This map probably saved my ass on this little excursion at least seven or eight times.”

  “And you say Shippingsport's near here?”

  “It is. Not sure of the status of the plant—so, I'm making sure the winds haven’t sent any bad crap this way we need to worry ‘bout.”

  Roger was deep in thought, visibly disturbed.

  “How come me, Rhonda, Cody and all the others never got exposed? Sure, we avoided the obvious dead areas, but I’m thinking we had to have taken a hit at some point. Breathed in some bad air.”

  “I don’t think so, Rog. Look at the map. Figure out where you’ve traveled. Personally, from what I know of your travels, you’ve had some serious luck on your side. All of you. If not, you’d be dead by now.”

  “Wow. I never even thought about using one of them Geigers or a map like that for that matter…things were so hectic.”

  “Yeah, well, I grabbed mine compliments of the Australian government before I left. Figured with people dropping like flies and me wanting to return to the States, worse case scenario might put the nuke plants going offline and bubbling.”

  “Hmm…”

  “Personally, I’ve always had a deep-seated fear of radiation, Rog. I don’t like what I can’t see and kill. Buddy of mine was exposed on an op in Africa. We didn’t expect it. He was dead within the year.”

  “Damn.”

  “Yeah, it’s kinda an obsession, now. I’ll die. I know that. But not by radiation if I can help it.”

  “Now, I’m just thinking how clueless I’ve been.”

  “Lady luck was with you and your family, Rog. Count your blessings.”

  “Yeah, but still…”

  “So, when I say we’re not eating anything that blips that yellow box, you’d agree?”

  “Hell ya!”

  “Sometimes, I’ve not eaten for weeks, traveling until I was damn sure any food I ate wasn’t contaminated.”

  “Wow. I’m so there with you on that.”

  “Good to know. By they way, John was aware of some nuke plants based on a map he remembered seeing on TV once. Told me he took steps to avoid what he remembered during his travels. Lady Luck was on his side, too.”

  “Where can I find one?”

  “We’ll keep an eye out, Rog. Might find one in a fire station. Though, nowadays, chances are a bit slim.”

  “True.”

  “I usually check for ‘em when I’m out and about. Copy the map if you want, Roger. Put Cody on it as a project, he can draw pretty well, right? We’ll find us some paper or something.”

  “Good idea.”

  “I’d love to have a second map of it.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And, since we left Cleveland, I've found no real need to check too much.”

  “Wait a second! Cleveland’s between two blue circles!”

  “It is that. The Chicago plant to the west and one east of it. Wind dispersal fallout patterns kept it safe. You know, I wouldn’t put it past Phoenix to have had somebody tracking the radiation winds or placing someone onsite to directly monitor them.”

  Connor briefly flashed to the loss of Amanda and the pain coursing across his face was easy to see. Quickly, he pushed the pain into the deep hole he kept for such purposes.

  "Sorry, Mac. It seems I've upset you."

  “Nah, no problem. Anyway, there’s been no need to use this for the past week, Rog. No nuke plants nearby until now. Used it quite a bit this year though, used it a good bit in Japan, too. I've had some damn near crazy route changes at times. But the potential exposure has calmed down some after those first years. Rain pushed the contaminants into the ground. Now we just eat the shit if we're not careful.”

  “Damn.”

  “I hear ya. I remember that I had to come in high into California to avoid the two nuke plants there. They were still pretty hot. But, San Fran was okay. Clean.”

  “Where else?”

  “Well, not much running through the southwest. Kansas was a bit of a surprise, though. Dispersal fallout was wider than that blue circle. Had to head north of Burlington and Topeka this year. Lit up that box almost into the red before I hauled ass backwards and north. After that, I threaded a needle getting through Missouri and Illinois up into Indiana. It was strange. Like there was only one corridor of clean. John and his men stuck close to the Ohio River on his way out west, by the way, so that kept him away from most. Lady Luck did the rest for 'em.”

  “Oh.”

  “Hey, after you give this to BB, have Rhonda set up chow in the Steel Cooling Room. It’s near the back away from the main entrance. See where I’m talkin?”

  “I think so—”

  “See that stacked steel sittin’ under the overhang like it’s waiting for the next train?”

  “Okay, I see it. Yeah.”

  “Good. Have Cody gather up some wood and tell ‘im to dig a deep fire pit for Rhonda. That way we can hide the light. Fifteen pallets are sitting back near that old red crane. Those outta be good firewood for now.”

  “Okay.”

  “Rhonda will need it, so put Cody on it quick and have him set it up under the main conveyor lines coming off #1 Furnace. See there?”

  “Yep.”

  “We do this, we should stay relatively unseen from outside. Smoke should dissipate nicely through the conveyers, struts and roof to make it unnoticeable.

  “Good deal...anything else?”

  “Nah, but have Jackson stick by Rhonda and keep a secure eye out on her and help her out. Tell Surf Boy and John to come see me if you get a chance.”

  “Will do.”

  “Thanks, Rog.”

  “No problem.”

  Connor returned again to the furnace, settling on his haunches near the open main hearth door. Swiftly, his thoughts turned to Amanda before he quelled the upsurge of intense pain. Not an overly optimistic man, he truly hoped she was alive, making her way to the rendezvous with the president in tow. Thinking of any other alternative right now would turn him to mush.

  CHAPTER 7.4-The Green Light of Speculation

  “She’s still out cold, ma’am,” said Scott. Resting in a sleeping bag, he was propped on his right arm next to the door outside of an old college classroom. The sign out front of the building they had entered four days before had alerted them to the fact that they were entering Rockwell Hall.

  “She gonna be okay?”

  “Too soon to tell, ma’am.”

  The cold marble of the third floor shined like it was freshly waxed and with the remnants of several meals discarded nearby, Scott had not voluntarily left the side of the injured woman in the adjacent room for very much time, if at all.

  “Okay. Simply checking in, Scott.”

  “There’s no need to go in there, ma’am. Cassie’s sittin’ with her and taking good care.”

  “I know, but she's been unconscious for four days.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I guess, well, we can just hope for the best.” Glancing into the glass window
of the door, Colonel Starkes caught a glimpse of Amanda lying comfortably in a makeshift bed constructed from a gurney. Cassie flittered about checking this and that, not noticing the attention at the door. Before the Sickness, the building housed the graduate nursing school department of Allegheny College in Meadville, PA. As it stood, Major O’Malley had selected the college campus as the most defensible terrain given their current situation.

  “Cassie’s real good at what she does, ma’am.”

  “I see that.”

  Conveniently, the college was only a few minutes from the small Sperling Airport once they landed in Meadville seeking suitable fuel. That is, after some minor modifications made to the fuel in the storage tanks near the hanger. The chemical additive developed by GT took two hours this time to fully stabilize the fuel and raise it in octane. They had more than they needed to refuel.

  “The young woman seems comfortable.”

  “As best we can, ma’am.”

  Settling in, their perimeter defenses met a college campus, housing a small, survival-minded group. With hard-won experience in learning to deal with new strangers, Major O’Malley had enlisted their help. Granted, Dr. Wilfred Schwartz, the gray-haired professor of Economics was not that useful to them specifically, but he had created a small community of forty well-fed men and eighteen women who effectively used the campus as their main base of operations for the past five years. Twelve of the men were ex-military and quickly agreed to cooperate. In fact, the deference shown Colonel Starkes made him optimistic that a new United States might still be built out of the ashes of the H5N1 devastation. And, as luck would have it, one woman, Cassie, was a certified nurse practitioner who, once engaged, forcefully relieved Scott from his twenty-four-hour and day-by-day vigil of the young woman they’d saved from the firefight at the Hall of Fame.

  “I know you're taking good care of her, Scott.”

  The Superhawk sat parked on a makeshift heliport atop the building roof. Five men guarded the rooftop around the clock. Fresh from surveying the perimeter and helicopter, the colonel was becoming a bit impatient.

  “Scott?”

  “Yeah?”