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FOREWORD

Page 34

by Ten To Midnight--Free(Lit)


  Presently, she sat upon her kitchen table, naked as the day she was born, and parted her legs temptingly, a mischievous smile inviting Luke to seize upon the moment. This would be the third time today. Neither Estelle nor Luke had any particular desire to stop just yet.

  He moved slowly towards her, already erect. Then he sunk himself into the glistening, thick black mound of pubic hair. She threw her head back and gasped as he pushed himself inside her, resting her shapely legs against his smooth chest, affording him maximum penetration.

  As he began to ease into a slow, rhythmic thrust, drawing all the way out and pushing deep back inside, almost touching her cervix, Estelle suddenly became very rigid. She pushed Luke away from her. He looked hurt, his brow creasing in puzzlement.

  “What is it?”

  Estelle placed a finger to her lips. “Shhh,” she whispered. “Can you hear that?”

  He could, but he didn’t know what it was. A rising and falling moan, echoing through the streets outside. “Some kind of police siren, that’s all.” He went to carry on where he’d left off, but Estelle stopped him.

  “Wait a minute,” she snapped, pausing to listen to the sound some more. “That’s an air raid siren.” Her jaw slackened. It can’t be that.

  “Air raid?” Luke laughed. “No way, man. Must be a mistake.”

  She climbed down from the table, heading off towards the front room. “I’m going to find out.”

  Luke didn’t understand what she was so worried about. She had been enjoying the sex, hadn’t she? What else mattered? He stood there in the kitchen for a moment, naked, shaking his head in bafflement. Then he followed her into the front room, where he found her watching a blank red screen with the message ‘EMERGENCY ALERTING SYSTEM’ emblazoned across it in white letters. He arrived just in time to see her turn up the volume.

  The EAS message became audible as it looped. A shrill hum followed by the dispassionate prerecorded announcement:

  “An air-raid is in progress. Citizens are advised to remain in their homes or proceed to the nearest convenient place of shelter.”

  “What the hell…?” Luke muttered. Who would launch an air raid? Where the hell is the nearest shelter? I knew I should’ve paid more attention to that stuff. Estelle was older than him. She would know what to do. Another advantage of being with older women, he figured. They were good in a crisis. “What does this mean?”

  He was amazed to see that Estelle hadn’t bothered to move from the armchair into which she’d sunk herself. Her eyes were fixed on the screen, her expression one of resignation. Perhaps, Luke thought, that was because she was older. She’d had a good life and had no fear of death. “I hope I was a good lay,” she mused, “because I’m probably the last you’re ever going to have.”

  His voice rose an octave nearer to panic. “I don’t understand. We’ve got to get to a shelter. There has to be one near here, doesn’t there?”

  Estelle looked up at him. “Even if there were, I doubt we’d make it in time.”

  He was shaking his head in bewilderment. Estelle’s casualness frightened him. He was seventeen years old, and he wasn’t ready to die. Dying was something old people did, not young men like Luke Masterton. There was still too much he wanted to do with his life, so much he needed to experience. His throat tightened with fear, and for the first time in his life he wanted to cry.

  “Why is this happening?” he asked her, a scared little boy seeking reassurance.

  “I don’t know,” Estelle said. “I honestly don’t know. Perhaps somebody hit the wrong button somewhere. Who knows how these things start.”

  “I’ve got to call my Dad.” Luke’s mother had died when he was five-years-old. But his Dad was a smart guy. He’d know what to do. Luke reached for the telephone, but there was no dialing tone. He tried punching the buttons at random. Nothing. “Phones are down,” he reported, placing the receiver back in its cradle.

  “That makes sense,” Estelle nodded. “Communications was probably the first thing to be hit. Either that or our benevolent Government have deliberately shut down the lines.”

  Actually, Estelle was half right on both counts. Commercial telephone networks had literally been overloaded as millions of Americans called friends and relatives to either find out what the hell was going on or to say a final goodbye. Under the burden of such demand, many networks had simply failed.

  “How come you know so much about this stuff?”

  “I read a lot,” Estelle remarked. She switched off the television and turned on the CD player, selecting a Rolling Stones track to drown out the horrible wail of the air raid sirens. “You know,” she added, “we’re probably in the best place right now. Seattle should be a primary target. One millisecond of brilliant light, and we’re dust. We won’t feel a thing.”

  ‘Ev'rywhere I hear the sound of marching, charging feet, oh, boy.’

  Estelle’s composure began to make sense to Luke. She was divorced from her husband - a man she had truly loved, but who had betrayed her love by taking a mistress - and she’d had a good life. She’d traveled the world, experienced things far beyond Luke’s scope of comprehension, and now she was quite ready to diein a millisecond of bright light rather than grow old and die a normal, possibly painful, death.

  But he wasn’t ready. “How long do you figure we’ve got?”

  ‘But what can a poor boy do except to sing for a Rock 'N' Roll Band, 'cause in sleepy London town, there's just no place for street fighting man! No! Hey!’

  Estelle lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply and exhaled with a bitter laugh. “Fifteen minutes, give or take a few. Enough time for a drink, I guess. Want one?”

  ‘Said my name is called Disturbance, I'll shout and scream, I'll kill the king, I'll rail at all his servants.’

  Luke calculated that even if he was to steal a car and jump every light, fifteen minutes wasn’t enough time to get back to his house on the other side of town. He wondered what his father was doing right now. Probably alone in his favorite armchair or possibly in the local bar with all the other old crusties. Luke didn’t know much about the physics involved in a nuclear explosion - he’d never paid much attention to that stuff - but he did know that the destructive potential of such weapons was more or less total, and that was all that mattered really, wasn’t it?

  “Or,” Estelle leered, noting the fear etched on her young lover’s features, “we could go out with a bang, so to speak. Would you prefer that?”

  He nodded with some uncertainty. For once in his life, sex was the last thing on his mind. Totally helpless, he thought to himself.

  ‘Well, what can a poor boy do except to sing for a Rock 'N' Roll Band…’

  She knelt before Luke and took his thick penis into her mouth, teasing its head with her enthusiastic tongue -

  - but it just wasn’t happening. Impotence was a new experience for Luke, and one that he could have lived without. When Estelle looked up at him, he was whimpering, his pained expression that of a little boy miscomprehending of the terrible ways of the adult world. He was being forced to grow up faster than he had ever dreamed would be necessary. He was facing the most terrible of realities. There had been no warning, no indication that his world might end so suddenly, and now he regretted having wasted so much of his short life. He’d never learned another language, never read works of classic literature, never been overseas.

  He’d never learned to swim.

  Because there had always been all the time in the world. But now there was no more time, and soon, no more world.

  He found sanctuary in Estelle’s arms, and in a rare moment of insight came to realize why he’d always been attracted to older women. They offered the warm, affectionate reassurance of the mother who fate had so cruelly stolen from him. In the arms of an older woman, he could fool himself that everything in the world was just as it should be. He lost himself in Estelle’s warmth, the scent of her perfume, and for just a moment imagined that he was back in his late mother’s embrac
e.

  When the apartment filled with effulgent nuclear light, Estelle and Luke were still holding each other. Before either of them could register the fact, they had been incinerated; reduced to their component atoms of organic vapor.

  Luke Masterton would never reach his hundredth conquest.

  ABOVE VIRGINIA

  As the Bell 412 helo lifted off from the CIA Headquarters at Langley, DDO John Huth looked down at the building for what he imagined might very well be the last time. Over 3,000 men and women were still working down there, toiling away their last minutes on Earth. All for their country, or whatever would soon be left of it. Huth’s JEEP-2 status afforded him a place at Mount Weather, the relative safety of which would allow him to observe the play-by-play of World War Three. Those who he’d left behind at Langley were not important enough to spare, no matter how devotedly they’d served their country.

  And Cleo… in Washington, helpless, scared and alone. The Secret Service hadn’t been able to track her down. God only knew where she was. Their two boys were on a camping trip in the Appalachians, probably far enough away from the major cities to afford them some protection, although not from the deadly fallout that would descend in the wake of the bombs.

  And it’s all my fault, he kept thinking. If only I’d stoppedOverlord sooner, the Ukrainians would never have been able to launch those damned missiles. I should have told Cleo about Helen. My selfishness caused this… He didn’t know if he’d ever be able to live with his conscience. Perhaps it would be better if he never made it to Mount Weather. Then he’d only have to answer to his maker, not whatever remained of the American people. How could he justify what he’d done? Not only had it been illegal, immoral and unconstitutional, but it had triggered a global catastrophe. Of course, there were only three people alive who knew that; Huth, Nielsen andFalcon - whereverhe was. Nielsen’s excuse for a conscience would not compelhim to come clean. AndFalcon - if he was still alive - was too much of a pro to break his silence. He had been handpicked for the mission firstly for his language skills, but also because ultra-sensitive operations were nothing new to him.

  Huth didn’t know if he was ready to convict himself by revealing the story ofOverlord . It was probably too late anyway, he reckoned. Within two hours, there might not be anybody left to care, never mind convict him. And then he’d be left to rot in his own guilt for all eternity.

  He hoped that his life ended before he was forced to make that decision.

  BROOKLAND, WASHINGTON D.C.

  Donald and Mary Patterson held each other tightly on their living room sofa, thankful that the chaos outside hadn’t woken the kids. The EAS message on the TV had been replaced by patriotic music playing over sentimental footage of everyday life. A line of cheerleaders. Farmers plowing their fields. Children playing hopscotch. A baseball game. A homecoming parade. Mickey Mouse. A little girl eating cotton candy at a funfair. Factory workers on a car production line.

  Donald found himself mesmerized by the sequence, unable to believe that what he saw - all that characterized America and everything for which it stood - was about to be destroyed for all time.

  Mary’s grief was much more personal. She grieved for her children, who would never be allowed the opportunity to become fully grown adults. A faceless, nameless Russian who had never met her beautiful children, much less known their names, had denied them life. She understood that he was probably only doing his duty, but she offered a silent prayer for his eternal damnation all the same.

  The power died, plunging the house into darkness for the last time.

  UNDERGROUND COMMAND POST, THE KREMLIN

  General Yazov --- Has Svetlana figured out a recipe for chocolate cheesecake brownies yet?

  Yazov’s jaw dropped when he read the new message. I’ll be damned.

  Kalushin eyed him with puzzlement. “What the hell does that mean?”

  Yazov smiled crookedly. “It means that we have a friend in America. Someone we can trust.”

  ABOARD KNEECAP

  Dr Stein --- She gave up cooking after that night. Incidentally, Yuri apologises for drinking you under the table.

  “Would somebody tell me what the hell this is all about?” the President barked, growing impatient. Millions were dead or dying, and his National Security Advisor was exchanging cryptic messages with the man responsible.

  “Is this some sort of code, Lewis?” Margaret inquired.

  Lewis allowed himself a quiet chuckle, laced with bitterness. “That’s Yazov over there all right. You see, I’ve got a weakness for chocolate cheesecake brownies, and the first time I met Yazov and his wife, she made some for me. But they had the texture of rubber and made me ill. The second time I met him, his brother Yuri offered me some homemade vodka. That made me even more ill than the brownies. Nobody else could know about that.” He looked up at the President. “Sir. There’s a steady head in charge over there. He doesn’t want this war any more than we do. We should trust him.”

  Nielsen’s disdain was evident on his face and in his voice. “Mr. President, I can’t believe you’re taking this seriously. Chocolate brownies, for Chrissakes?”

  The President stared deep into Lewis’s eyes for several seconds, taking his measure. Lewis stared back, unblinking, anxiously waiting to see whether the President trusted him. It seemed like an Eternity before Mitchell finally made his decision.

  “Okay, Dr. Stein, you’ve just bought Yazov his two hours.”

  Lewis emptied his lungs in what looked like a massive sigh of relief. In fact, he’d been holding his breath while awaiting the President’s decision. Perhaps there was some hope of turning this thing off after all.

  That was the moment when an Air Force captain came running into the room, clearly shaken. He stood to attention in the doorway, pale faced and panting. Everybody turned to look at him, the air cloyed with an almost tangible smell of fear.

  “Sir,” he wheezed. “We’re detecting multiple nuclear impacts on CONUS, sir.”

  X

  MULTIPLE IMPACTS

  Turning and turning in the widening gyre;

  The falcon cannot hear the falconer;

  Things fall apart; the center cannot hold;

  Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,

  The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere

  The ceremony of innocence is drowned;

  The best lack all conviction, while the worst

  Are full of passionate intensity....

  (WB Yeats)

  WASHINGTON D.C.

  As it made its final descent, the SS-11 warhead’s internal altimeter triggered a small nuclear fission explosive. The atomic charge - in itself not large enough even to seriously damage a single building - acted as a trigger for the chain of events that would inevitably result in a thermonuclear explosion.

  The bomb was essentially a fusion device, unlike the massive three stage thermonuclear bombs whose yields can be measured in terms of megatons. Even so, its explosive potential was far greater than that of a fission bomb, such as the 20KT device exploded over Hiroshima many decades earlier. This was because nuclear fusion works by using the energy liberated in the fusion of light elements, rather than utilizing the energy released by a chain reaction in fissile material. Fusion, therefore, is diametric to fission, since it involves fusing together the isotopes of light atoms such as hydrogen.

  The first internal reaction to the explosive charge was the fusion of small amounts of deuterium and tritium - both hydrogen derivatives - to form a quantity of helium. Although the net energy release of this process was less than it would have been in a fission device, the heavier material used in a fission device would have contained many more atoms. Accordingly, the hydrogen isotopes liberated almost three times as much energy as their equivalent weight of Uranium.

  Nevertheless, a fusion reaction can only occur at temperatures of several million degrees, the rate of fusion increasing exponentially with each rise in temperature. This is what is known as a thermonucle
ar (i.e. heat-induced) explosion.

  In reality, this meant that the nuclei involved in the fusion process adopted a range of energies proportionate to the temperature generated by the fission trigger. The fission charge was engineered in such a way as to concentrate its energy towards the atoms liberated by the energy release.

  At this point, barely two millionths of a second after the trigger had been detonated, the only tangible effect was that the Uranium-238 bomb casing glowed red as high-speed neutrons generated by the hydrogen-heat reaction bombarded it. The U-238 atoms effectively fused with the lighter hydrogen atoms, adding to the explosive yield.

  This process had the secondary effect of releasing energy waves, which fanned out from the warhead faster than the speed of light, overloading electrical components across a five mile radius and blacking out most of Washington D.C.. This pre-blast phenomenon is commonly known as Electro Magnetic Pulse.

  Mercifully, the 50,000 or so people within that five-mile radius barely had time to register any of this.

  Three millionths of a second into the fusion process, the heavy and light atoms within the bomb had released their full potential of energy, yet they still continued to bombard each other.

  Critical mass.

  The accumulated energy of this entire reaction was released simultaneously in the form of light, gamma radiation and heat. Night turned to day. Anybody looking directly at the brilliant white flash suffered chlorioretinal burns. Those caught in the open within five miles of the epicenter were instantaneously vaporized by the tremendous discharge of heat and radiation. Even those who weren’t vaporized suffered horrific burns that would more than likely prove fatal.

  And the worst effects of the blast hadn’t yet begun.

 

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