PART III Day ten, Sunday, October 27

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Sunday, October 27

Fairfax, Virginia


It was just after midnight that Sunday as Peter stood in the middle of the living room of the woman’s apartment. Candles were burning on the kitchen counters and on a small dinette table nearby. On the sofa, three young faces looked up at him, full of curiosity and fear. To his right, in an overstuffed recliner that had seen better days, an overweight woman stared him down with a pistol sitting on her lap. It was pointed at Peter’s midsection.

“Did you hurt my granddaughter, mister?” she said in an eerily calm voice. She never raised the gun at Peter, but one squeeze of the trigger would put a hole in his stomach.

Peter slowly lowered his bags to the ground and allowed the backpacks to slide off his shoulder on top of them. He was relieved to be rid of the excess weight, but he didn’t dare relax with a gun pointed at him.

“No, Mamaw,” said the young woman, who glanced at Peter. It was the first time she’d taken a good look at the man who’d crashed her head into the wall. “It was an accident. He helped me get away.”

“Get away from who, child?” the grandmother asked.

Peter’s eyes darted from the woman to her injured granddaughter, who’d taken a towel off the kitchen table and pressed it against her head wound, which continued to ooze blood.

“There’s people at the mall, Mamaw. Bad people.”

For the first time, the woman raised the gun and pointed it in Peter’s direction. He instinctively stepped backwards a pace or two.

“He one of ’em?” she asked.

“No.” The young girl sensed her grandmother’s hostility toward the stranger in their apartment. “We just kinda bumped into each other. His name is, um …” Her voice trailed off, so Peter spoke up.

“Peter, ma’am. Peter Albright. I live. Well, I lived in Falls Church. I’m not sure it’s there anymore.”

“There ain’t nothin’ left over that way,” she said, waving the gun like she was a teacher using a pointer during a lecture. Peter really wished she’d put the gun down. He tried to take her attention away from him being a threat.

“We really need to look after her wound. I have some medicine in this duffel bag right here.” He pointed toward the one full of medical supplies and energy bars.

“I’m okay,” the girl said. She walked around the kitchen bar and entered the galley-style kitchen. Peter made eye contact with the three younger children, who sat nervously on the sofa, side by side.

“Hi, I’m Peter,” he said to them with a smile. Their icy, emotionless stare spoke volumes. They didn’t trust him.

“My name’s Asia on account my daddy was from Thailand,” said the woman, who finally lowered the gun. “He wasn’t no good and left me and my momma alone. Just like Jackie’s daddy and my daughter did.”

Jackie, the young woman Peter injured, returned from the kitchen. “They didn’t leave us, Mamaw. The government took them.” She glanced over at her three siblings, a boy and two girls. “My father’s in prison. Our momma is too. Mamaw takes care of us, and I’m an assistant manager of the Cinnabon at the mall.”

“That group moved in yesterday and began threatening people,” said Peter. “They shot at least one person, maybe more. I wanted to get out of there, and that’s when we, you know, ran into each other in the hallway.”

She removed the blood-soaked towel from her forehead and dabbed the wound with another towel. She smiled when she saw that the bleeding had stopped.

Relieved that her wound wasn’t more serious, Peter asked, “Were you looking for food?”.

Jackie laughed, as did her little brother and sisters. She playfully waggled her finger at them. “They said they’re tired of the cinnamon rolls. We didn’t have much in the cupboard because Mamaw’s check is deposited on Friday, but, you know …” Her voice trailed off as a sadness swept over her.

Peter nodded. They weren’t the only Americans living paycheck to paycheck or on some form of government assistance.

Despite his concern for Jackie and her family, Peter was ready to get on the road. He was concerned that the longer he stayed in the area, the more likely it was that he’d be exposed to radiation. Plus, people would become more and more desperate. He was anxious to get out into the countryside.

He turned his attention back to the grandmother. “Well, um, Asia, it was nice to meet you, even under these circumstances. You have a very nice granddaughter.”

“I’m gonna die.”

Asia blurted out the words without emotion. She said them in such a way that the statement stunned Peter.

“We all are at some point, ma’am. Help is on the way, I’m sure of it.” He lied. Peter was sure of one thing. Help would not be on the way anytime soon.

“Mamaw, I wish you wouldn’t talk like that. I’ll try again to find your medicine.”

Peter realized there was something more to the grandmother’s statement. “What kind of medicine?”

“I have the diabetes. I only get a week’s supply of insulin at a time. Friday was my refill day. My insulin pump quit working when the bomb hit. I had a couple doses to inject but I used ‘em. I can’t keep it cold nohow.”

“Ma’am, I’m no expert, but I think I heard once that people with Type 2 diabetes can go without insulin for many months. Maybe even a year.”

“She has regular Type 1, right, Mamaw?”

The woman closed her eyes and nodded.

“Aren’t there some kind of drugs you can take besides injections?” asked Peter.

“She keeps glucose tablets around for low blood sugar. They’re not prescription but she ran out of those, too. I was supposed to buy them yesterday.” Jackie hung her head down in despair.

Asia explained what they were for. “I use them to prevent low blood sugar from the insulin. They don’t matter now.”

Peter sighed. If she was out of insulin, the last thing she needed to be eating was Cinnabon sugar-infused buns.

“Do you have anything to eat that is low carb?” asked Peter. “Cans of chicken, tuna, or meat?”

“No, not really,” replied Jackie. “Like I said, we both get paid on Fridays. Saturdays, I go to the store and get her meds. That’s when it all happened.” She hung her head and took a deep breath. She seemed emotionally overwhelmed.

Peter knew nothing about caring for a diabetic. The woman was probably correct in her assessment. He just didn’t know if her death would come quickly and if it was painful. All he knew was that she was going to die and leave Jackie, who was in her late teens or early twenties, with three kids ranging in age from eight to twelve.

Asia explained, “I know what’s gonna happen to me. They tell me in all those classes I go to every year to get my government supplements. I’m gonna start being really thirsty. It’s gonna be hard to breathe, and then I’ll be spending all my time on the toilet. I just don’t know what to do, but Jackie thought there might be something at the store that sells vitamins in the mall.”

Peter addressed her granddaughter. “Were you going to the Vitamin Shoppe?”

She nodded.

He imagined the place would be looted at this point, but likely they were looking for anything edible, not vitamins or supplements.

“What were you going to look for?” he asked, glancing over at the three children on the sofa, who continued to remain quiet and aloof. He was surprised the family was discussing this life-and-death matter so openly in front of them.

She shrugged. “Anything I could find that was high protein without carbs.”

“Jackie wants to starve me.”

Peter’s eyes grew wide, and he once again studied the young kids for a reaction. None of them moved. He suspected they’d live through a lot of heartache in their short time on earth.

“I don’t think she wants to—” began Peter before he was cut off by Jackie.

“It’s the only way to bide time. We’ve had two days to talk about this. I’ve even knocked on our neighbors’ doors to see if anyone is diabetic and would be willing to share.”

“Child, I told you. Ain’t nobody comin’ to answer their door.”

“I know, Mamaw. I had to try.” Jackie began to well up in tears. The young woman was carrying the burden of the world on her shoulders.

Peter faced a crossroads. He needed to leave, but he felt terrible for the predicament this family was in. The grandmother was most likely going to die if she couldn’t get medical attention soon. Even if a hospital was open, he doubted she had the strength and stamina to get there. She had to weigh three hundred pounds.

“Where is the nearest pharmacy?” he finally asked.

Jackie pointed to their north, away from the mall. “Her meds are at the Safeway Pharmacy across the street from the apartments. She rides in her electric scooter, and the rest of us walk with her.”

Peter had noticed the mobility scooter outside the apartment. It had a heavy-duty chain wrapped around its seat support and a porch support post. Maybe the hospital was an option?

“Have you tried the scooter?”

“Battery’s dead,” replied Jackie. “I can’t even get the screen on the handlebars to light up.”

“Have you been over to the Safeway since, you know, everything happened?”

“It’s boarded up, and there were some guys watching over it. They said they were security, but I think they’re lyin’.”

“Is it in a shopping center or by itself?”

“Strip center. There’s a hair salon on both sides of it. Other stores, too. T-Mobile. TJ Maxx. Mattress store.”

Peter paced the floor for a moment, running his hands through his hair as he thought. This would be too difficult. He stopped and turned to Jackie. “What about CVS? Walgreens?”

Asia responded, “There’s a CVS about a mile from here on Fair Lake Parkway. It sits by itself next to the Sunoco.”

“It’s a new store,” offered Jackie.

“Shopping center?”

“Nope. By itself.”

Peter smiled. That meant he knew the floor plan.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Sunday, October 27

Placerville, California


Owen drove his family south along California State Route 49, backtracking along the Golden Chain Highway toward Placerville, which was located southeast of Auburn. Cars were stalled periodically along the way, but traffic would’ve been light at the time of the nuclear explosions near San Francisco. They reached the outskirts of Placerville right about the time the sun was rising over the mountains. Except there was a murky, gray smoke hanging over the valley like gauze wrapped over a wound. And the wound was oozing all around them.

“Look at all of these people wandering around, Dad,” said Tucker, who’d managed to arrange all the gear so he could sit on the edge of the back seat with his arms resting on the backs of the front bucket seats.

More deceased vehicles had filled the narrow two-lane highway as they entered town. Groups of people were huddled on the front lawn of the Calvary Faith Pentecostal Church as parishioners handed out boxes of food. Others stood in wonderment as the Bronco slowly drove past them. Thus far, the McDowells had not seen any sign of electricity much less another operating vehicle.

As Owen approached Highway 50, which they’d driven on just two days prior, his eyes searched out the Shell station where they’d last filled up the Expedition. Other than a few cars parked haphazardly in the parking lot, there was no sign of life. The Bronco’s fuel mileage wasn’t the best, and Owen had mentally calculated he could barely make the ninety-mile drive to South Lake Tahoe on a full tank. However, as he suspected, the gas stations were closed because it required electricity to pump gas, and the town of ten thousand didn’t have power. If the same was true as far east as Nevada, it would be a challenge to find gas.

They continued on their escape from the coming wildfires on the eastbound lanes of Highway 50. Full of stalled cars, Owen also had to drive slowly to avoid all the evacuees from the Bay Area who’d abandoned their vehicles and walked toward the east. Some climbed over the decorative fencing that separated the town’s business district from the once busy six-lane highway. Others stopped to follow the progress of the McDowells’ Bronco.

“I don’t like the way they look at us,” observed Lacey. “Some seem confused, but honestly, others look pissed.”

“I noticed that, too,” said Tucker. “A few of them actually turned and began jogging toward us. I think we need to get out of here.”

Owen eased the truck into the left-turn lane at the center of the highway. He nervously gripped the wheel and sped up until he was driving on the wrong side of the highway. There was only a fraction of the stalled cars in the westbound lane, so he was able to drive faster. Although he mentally prepared to avoid any oncoming vehicles, none ever materialized.

They were able to get out of Placerville without incident. However, seeing the hungry and desperate refugees was a wake-up call for them. Their tense silence eventually gave way to a conversation about the task at hand.

“We’ve gotta avoid the cities,” began Owen. “Heck, even the towns if possible. If this power outage is the same all over, there are gonna be people who will want our truck.”

“You’re right, Dad. We’ve got maps. We can even find state maps along the way.”

“I agree,” added Lacey. “We’re used to driving back roads on our trips anyway. We just need to plan ahead.”

“What about gas?” asked Tucker, who’d noticed his father glancing at the gauge often.

“At some point, we’re gonna need to keep an eye out for a place that might have a gas can.”

“Everything’s closed,” said Lacey.

Owen furrowed his brow and nervously fiddled with the gear shift knob. “I know. I’m talking about, um, on a farm or in someone’s garage or something.”

“Steal it?” asked Lacey.

“It won’t be of any use to them, honey,” said Owen matter-of-factly. “We’re also gonna need a siphon hose of some kind. If the gas pumps don’t work, then we’ll have to suck it out of other cars or even lawn equipment.”

“Do you know how to do that, Dad?”

“Um, well, no. We’ll have to figure it out. We’re kinda learning as we go, right?”

Tucker shrugged.

Lacey stared out the windows as they passed several farms. She wondered at what point they’d need to pull down a driveway and look for fuel. She was struck by the appearance of the sky. Naturally, she’d seen cloudy skies before, but this was different. It was if the sun wanted to fight through the smoky blanket thrown over them, but it couldn’t. Suddenly, a chill came over her body, and she unconsciously wrapped her arms around her midsection for protection.

“There’s another thing,” continued Owen. “We need to think about when it’s safe to drive. By that, I mean day or night.”

“Don’t you think most people will still sleep at night?” asked Tucker.

His dad nodded. “Yes. If we can make ourselves sleep during the day, I really do believe traveling at night will be a good idea.”

Lacey continued to look outside. Off in the distance, a man was slowly riding his horse from a barn to his house. He either wasn’t interested or hadn’t noticed them driving up the highway toward Nevada.

She decided to weigh in. “I don’t know, guys. We can’t control what people hear, but we can control what they see. Think about how dark it was in Auburn and on the highway to Placerville. Our headlights could’ve been seen for miles. In the daytime, unless they heard us coming, or happened to be close enough to see us like in town, we could travel undetected.”

Owen jutted his chin out and nodded. “The headlights are like a beacon.”

“Exactly,” said Lacey, who then explained her thought further. “Also, I hope nothing like this happens, but if somebody really wanted to take our truck, they could set up a roadblock if they saw us coming from a distance. That’s more likely to happen at night than during the day.”

“During the day, we can see them, too,” Tucker added.

Owen glanced over at the South Fork of the American River, a pristine blue stream that ran from the peaks of the Sierra Nevada Mountains until it found its way to the Sacramento River. He thought about the fact that all of their water had been stolen.

Up ahead, he noticed the sign for the Sand Flat Campground that was on the lower side of the highway adjacent to the river. They’d stopped by there once before to check out the river. However, they’d never stayed at roadside campgrounds, which were typically frequented by bikers and motor homes. Owen certainly didn’t plan on doing it during the apocalypse.

Nonetheless, it would give them a chance to regroup and fill their water bottles. He eased off the highway and slowly drove down the slope toward the river. He was relieved to see that the parking lot was empty, and there weren’t any campsites in use.

“Let’s catch our breath and repack the truck. Also, we need to fill our water bottles.”

As he pulled to the bottom of the access road, Lacey asked, “Is the water safe to drink? I mean, it came from the mountains, but what if it’s contaminated?”

Lacey and Owen exited the truck, but Tucker remained behind. He stretched his arm down to the floorboard of the back seat and retrieved one of the medical kits he’d taken from the bunker’s closet. He had a hunch, so he opened it for the first time to explore its contents.

He leaned forward in the seat and hollered for his parents. “Mom! Dad! I have something that might help.”

Because he was wedged in by their duffel bags, Tucker crawled through the seats and exited the passenger-side door. He held the medical kit in one hand and a flat package labeled Health Metric in the other.

“What is it?” asked Owen as he twisted and stretched his back. Lacey had raised her right foot behind her, and she grabbed it to stretch her thigh muscles. Both of the adults were still recovering from the cramped quarters in the bunker.

“It’s a water-testing kit,” responded Tucker as he handed it to his dad.

“We’ve got something similar,” said Lacey. “I keep a TDS water-quality tester in my backpack. I don’t know if it works, though.”

“Do you mean the one in the sewing tin?” asked Owen.

Lacey took her job seriously and studied every aspect of outdoor survival. The only part she’d never covered was the aftermath of a nuclear war. This was on-the-job training at its worst.

“Yes. That tin holds all of those small tools we might need while camping but gets lost in the bottom of the pack sometimes. I can get it.” She started back toward the Bronco, but Owen stopped her.

“It’s electronic, so it might not work. Plus, it probably doesn’t test for radiation. This package indicates these test strips do.”

He opened the Health Metric package and pulled out the test strips together with the laminate card containing test results. He made his way to the creek’s edge and dipped the strip into the water. The family huddled around him, sitting on the rounded, boulder-sized river rocks, as the strip dried and the colors began to appear. After a minute, Owen held the strip next to the chart and compared the results.

“Well, assuming this thing is accurate, we’re good to go. It looks like pure Sierra Nevada spring water to me.”

Tucker knelt down to scoop some into his hands, but Lacey stopped him.

“Not so fast, mister. Let me get our Sawyers. There may not be radiation in it, but there’s other crap that can make us sick. Better safe than sorry.”

Lacey jogged back to the truck and retrieved their Sawyer MINI water filtration system consisting of a drinking straw, a sixteen-ounce reusable pouch, and a cleaning plunger. Small and lightweight, it performed the same function as a LifeStraw commonly used by survivalists. It removed all bacteria like salmonella, cholera, and E. coli. She liked the Sawyer because it could filter up to a hundred thousand gallons each.

The family thirstily took in the cold, fresh water and then worked together to fill their containers. Tucker passed out an MRE bar to each, and they choked it down, commenting the stale form of nourishment tasted like unflavored toothpaste slathered on cardboard.

After repacking the truck to provide Tucker a place to sit more comfortably, they continued toward South Lake Tahoe just as snow flurries mixed with ash began to fall around them.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Sunday, October 27

Fairfax, Virginia


“Jackie, you’re not going with me.” Peter was being polite but firm as the two argued in the hallway leading to the apartment’s bedrooms. “You’ve got your family to take care of, and I don’t wanna be responsible for you getting hurt.”

She stood tall, fists firmly planted on her hips, adopting a defiant stance that was as strong as the granite on Mount Rushmore.

“You’re not gonna risk your life for my grandmother by yourself. Besides, I know the neighborhood and the store.”

“Every CVS is the same,” Peter shot back. “Nice try, though.”

“You need somebody to have your back. I’ll have Mamaw’s gun and—”

Peter burst out laughing. “No way. No freakin’ way!”

Jackie scowled, her expression barely discernible in the dimly lit hallway. “What? I can handle myself.”

“Have you ever shot somebody? Hell, have you even fired that thing?” Peter walked toward the living room and then turned around and spoke in a loud whisper. “Not gonna happen.”

“You’re right, I haven’t. But they won’t know that. You know, the gangbangers runnin’ around lookin’ to empty the store.”

“They’ll know, trust me. Do you even know how to hold it?”

“Yes! I know how to hold it.”

Out of frustration, Peter pulled his 1911-style, nine-millimeter pistol from the paddle holster inserted into the waistband of his pants. He took it by the barrel and thrust it toward Jackie.

“Show me!”

She took it by the grip, placed her finger on the trigger, and pointed it at him.

“Jesus!” exclaimed Peter as he grabbed her by the wrist and pointed her arm upward.

“You keep His name out of your argument!” shouted Asia from the living room.

“Jackie, this is what I’m talking about. Never put your finger on the trigger until you’re ready to shoot. You’ve got to have a better grip on the pistol. The first shot may come close, but the next couple are gonna fly over their heads.”

“Then show me how, frat boy,” demanded Jackie as she relinquished the gun to Peter. “It’ll take us twenty minutes to walk over there. I can learn all I need to know.”

Peter holstered his weapon and stormed back into the living room, leaving Jackie alone in the hallway. He looked at Asia, who seemed to be enjoying the exchange.

“Is she always like this?” he asked.

The answer came from a different direction. “You ain’t seen nothin’, mister.” It was the oldest of the three young children.

“That’s the truth,” added Asia. “I pity the boyfriends she unloads on. She don’t take crap from anybody.”

“Especially a frat boy,” Jackie added, who’d appeared behind Peter without him realizing it.

Asia picked up her gun and offered it to Jackie. The young woman took it and shoved it in the waistband of her jeans. Then Asia addressed Peter.

“You can tell her no, but no sooner than you walk out that door, she’s gonna be right behind you. You might as well take her along.”

“Geez,” mumbled Peter. Asia raised her finger to him as a form of warning. He grimaced and then asked, “Do you have a car? We need a pry bar or a lug wrench with a flat side.”

Asia replied, “We’ve got a Ford Taurus. Jackie said it doesn’t work.”

Her granddaughter nodded and retrieved the keys off a foyer table. “I pushed the button on the key thing, and it wouldn’t unlock.”

The Taurus was an older model that still used a key to unlock the doors and turn on the ignition. Despite the fact the electronics were likely fried from the EMP, the trunk should open with the car’s key.

He shoved the keys in his pocket and ran his right hand through his shaggy hair. He had been overdue for a haircut when he went to Abu Dhabi more than a week ago. Sitting in a barber’s chair had been the last thing on his mind. He furrowed his brow and knelt down in front of Asia.

“I wanna be honest with you before you give permission to let your granddaughter walk through that door. Even if the CVS isn’t already looted and I can get us into the store, there’s no guarantee I can break into the pharmacy. If—and this is a very big if—if I can, then I have to hope they have insulin in their refrigerators and it hasn’t been ruined by the loss of power.

“But, Asia, this may only last a few days or a week at best. I don’t know. Is it worth the risk to send Jackie out there?”

Peter didn’t want to dishearten the diabetic grandmother. He wanted her to understand the risk to Jackie. If something went wrong, Asia would likely die anyway, and Jackie could be lost in the process, leaving the three young kids completely alone.

Jackie walked closer and knelt next to Peter. “Mamaw, I don’t know this man, but I trust him. Please. Let me try.”

For the first time, the stoic grandmother showed a vulnerable side. Tears flowed down her cheeks as she nodded her approval. She looked Peter in the eye.

“Please bring this child of God home to me. Promise me.”

Peter nodded his head, but he couldn’t say the words.

A few moments later, Jackie was leading them to the Taurus. Peter opened the trunk and rummaged through some pillows, blankets and boxes to locate the tire-changing tools. They’d been used once before and thrown in the bottom of the trunk. He managed a smile when he discovered the tire iron was flat on one end with the socket to loosen the lugs on the other.

They walked briskly through the apartment complex until they reached an office building. All of the glass windows of the building’s entrance had been broken out. Peter paused, stuck his head inside, and illuminated his flashlight to scan the interior. He did it out of curiosity, but it was also a reminder. Desperate people were doing desperate things in order to survive. Many understood that help wasn’t coming anytime soon. They were willing to loot, steal, or forage, pick your description, in order to live one more day.

Jackie knew the sidewalks and pathways of the apartment complex like Peter knew the mangroves around Driftwood Key. As a child, he would play with Jimmy Free all over the twenty-plus acres of the island. They had hiding spots and built makeshift forts for fun. Jackie’s playground consisted of apartment complexes and parking lots. Their two worlds couldn’t have been more different growing up.

She held her hand up across the street from the CVS Pharmacy. “Let’s wait here for a minute and see what’s going on before we cross out into the open.”

At that moment, Peter was glad he’d brought Jackie along. He was on her turf.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Sunday, October 27

CVS Pharmacy

Fairfax, Virginia


Peter raised the compact binoculars he’d taken from Dick’s Sporting Goods. He studied the entrance as they waited. The signature entry door found at the front corner of the building had been pried open, and its glass was shattered. Even in the darkened conditions, he could see merchandise thrown onto the sidewalk and just inside the store.

“See anybody?” Jackie asked.

He lowered the binoculars and sighed. “Not so far. What I don’t know is whether somebody is still inside.”

“I think we’ve gotta go for it, Peter. The longer we wait, the more likely it is that someone else comes along.”

Peter gave the store one last look, and then he put the field glasses away. He turned to Jackie. “From here on out you have to follow my lead, okay?”

She nodded. “Just tell me what to do.”

Peter sensed her serious mood and willingness to cooperate with him. The words he’d said to Asia had been meant for Jackie, too. She was headstrong and confident. Both admirable traits. However, she needed to remember there were young kids relying on her, too. Getting injured or even killed might very well sentence them to death.

“Okay,” he began. “Most likely, the people inside are just as afraid as we are. They’re trying to find things to help themselves or their families. Just like us. We don’t have a quarrel with them, and they have nothing against us.”

“Makes sense,” she interjected.

“I hope I’m right.” He glanced around and then stood, holding his hand out for Jackie to take it. It was a personal gesture that helped the two form a bond. They needed to trust one another. “When we get to the entrance, I need you to give me a minute to clear the store. I’m gonna check the aisles and places to hide to make sure we don’t get ambushed.”

“We don’t have anything worth stealing,” she said.

Peter patted his holster. “Yes, we do. These are our most important assets right now.”

“What do I do?”

“Wait just inside the door,” he responded. “You know, in the shadows so nobody on the outside can see you, and close enough so you can run out if necessary. If something goes wrong inside, run back here, and we’ll regroup. If you see people coming, don’t hesitate. Give me a heads-up. Got it?”

They dashed across Fair Lakes Parkway, a four-lane boulevard separated by strips of grass and mature oak trees. Using the shrubs and trees for cover, they paused to look around one more time before racing through the CVS parking lot to the front door.

Once inside, Jackie readied her weapon as Peter had taught her on the way to the pharmacy. She pressed her back against the wall next to the entrance, constantly looking through the busted-up entrance for any signs of movement.

Peter drew his weapon and walked through the store in a low crouch. Because it was so dark, he had to use his tactical flashlight. He held it backwards in his left hand as if he were prepared to stab someone with it. Then he placed his right arm over his left wrist. This allowed both hands to act as one as his light pointed the way, and the barrel of the gun could lock on to any target he illuminated.

In this case, it took only seconds to locate a target. He made his way to the left side of the store toward the refrigerated coolers and the food aisles. To the right were things like makeup and sundries. By the time he reached the second aisle, he found several children sitting cross-legged on the floor, shoveling chips and candy into their mouths. Their eyes grew wide as they saw the gun pointed at them, but it didn’t deter them from continuing their snack.

Peter approached them cautiously. “Is there anybody else in here?”

“No, mister. Just us,” the oldest of the kids replied.

Peter studied his face to assess his trustworthiness. Kids don’t lie, usually, he thought to himself. It made him feel better, but he exercised caution nonetheless as he quickly moved through the aisles. Less than two minutes later, he was satisfied he was alone.

He was also pleased to discover the steel cage doors rolled down from ceiling to countertop at the pharmacy were still intact. While access would be more difficult, his chance of finding insulin for Asia that hadn’t been rummaged through was better.

“Clear!” he shouted to Jackie.

“Nothing going on out here, either!” she yelled back.

“Stay there for now. There are a few kids in the food aisle, but they’re cool.”

Peter holstered his weapon and gripped the tire iron. He’d been in a CVS pharmacy dozens of times before. He thought the roll-up doors would be too difficult for one person to open. However, he had another plan.

He made his way to the pharmacy windows. As expected, the counters identified as drop off and pick up were secured with a mechanical, cagelike door that locked in place. He walked past the pickup counter to the small room adjacent to the pharmacy, marked Consultation. This space could be accessed by both patient and pharmacist to discuss the medications being dispensed.

Peter took a deep breath and reared back and hit the glass insert on the door as hard as he could. All he accomplished was a jarring jolt to his shoulder, as the glass easily repelled the tire iron and knocked it from his hands.

“Dammit!” he shouted as pain shot through his upper body. He was still sore from the multiple tumbles he’d endured after his car stalled.

Peter stomped around out of frustration. He was certain this would be an access point into the pharmacy. He used his flashlight to inspect the surrounds of the pharmacy. His mind hearkened back to the Vitamin Shoppe at the mall.

He shined the light onto the ceiling. The front of the pharmacy was identified by a red, curved fascia clearly identifying the space to shoppers. After all, CVS was supposed to be a pharmacy and not the variety store it had become over the years. The fluorescent light fixtures were spread equidistant throughout the drop-ceiling panels. The panels ran through the entire pharmacy area, past the secured counters and outward toward the fascia.

He shouted to Jackie, “Are we still good?”

“So far!”

Peter pulled himself onto the drop-off counter by using an adjacent shelf full of cold remedies as a step. Once on the counter, he held onto the steel-grate screen to keep his balance. His head pressed against the drop ceiling. With his right hand, he pressed upward on the ceiling tile. With a little effort, it broke free of the grid and pushed upward.

Peter stepped onto the top of the elevated section of shelf that contained the cold and allergy medications. His upper body was now into the ceiling. He used his flashlight to light up the space.

“This is too easy,” he mumbled to himself. The steel-grate dividers acted as a deterrent to most. However, for the experienced burglar Peter had become, they were just window dressing.

He took a deep breath and pulled himself into the ceiling by grasping an iron water pipe that ran along the space. He pulled upward, and with a kick of both legs, he was able to wrap his arms around the pipe.

Peter didn’t have to go far to drop into the pharmacy. In less than a minute, he’d pulled himself above the ceiling tiles and kicked his way through into the pharmacy. He dropped his body inside, inadvertently kicking the flat-panel monitor off the countertop.

“Oops, sorry about that,” he said with a stifled laugh. Peter was full of himself. His overconfidence would prove to be a mistake that almost got him killed.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Sunday, October 27

Mount Weather Operations Center

Northern Virginia


“Why the hell can’t we do something!” the president shouted at the representatives of half a dozen agencies charged with the responsibility of rescuing and assisting Americans in their time of need. Between his lack of sleep and frustrations caused by an increasingly dire situation, President Helton was viewed as becoming unhinged.

“Sir,” the secretary of Homeland Security began to respond. He’d borne the brunt of the president’s tirades, as he oversaw so many agencies designed to meet the needs of those impacted the most during a catastrophic event. “The fact of the matter is nobody ever thought this would happen. Until the Cold War ended during the Reagan administration, nuclear Armageddon was on the forefront of everyone’s mind. Since then, we’ve allocated our resources elsewhere.”

The president lashed out, not at those in the room but at his predecessors. “And we’re paying a hefty price for that shortsightedness.”

“Mr. President, have you given any more thought to the power grid situation?” asked the FEMA administrator.

His reply was sarcastic, reflecting his mood. “Yeah, great idea. Kick the entire Western United States in the teeth while they kneel on the ground with their arms outstretched, praying for help and mercy. I may go down in history for a lot of things, but that isn’t going to be one of them.”

“I understand it’s coldhearted, Mr. President.” The FEMA administrator bravely pressed the subject. He was a native New Yorker, so he might have a bias in favor of the East Coast. “Sometimes, we have to consider unpopular decisions to serve the greater good. I can make an argument that our rebuilding effort will be more effective if at least half the nation is fully functioning.”

The president bristled, and he was about to give the FEMA head an earful when his chief of staff stepped in to diffuse the situation. “Sir, I don’t think it’s a decision that needs to be made at this particular moment. As I understand it, the rolling brownouts orchestrated by the power companies have proven to be effective at marshalling that asset, so to speak. May I suggest that each agency head continue to monitor how their sphere of influence is impacted by the issue?”

President Helton jutted out his chin and glared at the man from FEMA he’d inherited from the prior administration and never got around to replacing. Without saying a word, the conversation turned to the environmental impact. Representatives from the National Weather Service and NOAA, the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, were present for the first time in the afternoon briefing.

“Mr. President, I’d like to bring your attention to the monitors at the far end of the room,” began the woman from NOAA.

He stood from his chair and approached the forty-eight-inch screen.

“You’re looking at an animated GIF generated from a series of images captured by NOAA’s Suomi NPP satellite.”

The Suomi National Polar-orbiting Partnership, or Suomi NPP, was designed to collect data on climate change and unusual weather patterns. Launched in 2011, it had been instrumental in studying the effect of Western United States wildfires on long-term climate-change models.

The NOAA scientist continued. “As you can see, this is time-lapse imagery of normal cloud cover being driven by the prevailing winds toward the West Coast. The bright flashes—here, here and here—represent the nuclear warheads detonating in SoCal, San Francisco, and Seattle.”

She paused while everyone took in the images before continuing. “After the mushroom clouds rose skyward, brown smoke began to billow and cascade into the Pacific Ocean. This smoke cloud has already traveled in a westward direction for approximately thirteen hundred miles, forcing the moist air contained in the clouds away from the U.S. mainland.

“As this continues over the coming weeks, this will create extreme drought conditions in some parts of the country, namely the Midwest and Southwestern states. These extreme conditions coupled with the fallout circumnavigating the Northern Hemisphere following the Indian-Pakistani nuclear conflict could result in an extended drought across America’s breadbasket.”

The president stared ahead, emotionless, his face appearing to be devoid of comprehension.

Chandler noticed his lack of response to the NOAA scientist’s statement and immediately jumped in with a question. “How long will this condition persist?”

“Which one, sir? The wind reversal or the heavy haze commonly referred to as nuclear winter?”

Chandler shrugged. “Both.”

“Mr. Chandler, because the moist air is driven back into the Pacific Ocean, the Santa Ana winds are not tempered. In other words, these strong, extremely dry downslope winds that originate inland will remain in place until the Pacific moisture displaces it. What we’re looking at is a massive Arctic high pressure in Canada generating cold, dry air masses for months on end. Coupled with the remnants of all three regional nuclear exchanges, we’re facing an event unimagined by all of our nuclear aftermath models.”

“Well, hell’s bells!” shouted the president as he slammed both fists on the table. “Aren’t you people a bundle of joy. You know what? Misery loves company, and I’ve had enough of all the misery brought into these briefings. You’ll know where to find me.”

President Helton abruptly stood and stormed out of the room.

Throughout the briefings that day, Chief of Staff Chandler had taken a more active role in controlling the discussions. He knew President Helton better than anyone other than the man’s wife. He was starting to see the signs of his old friend having a nervous breakdown.

Earlier, Chandler had had a private conversation with the White House physician who accompanied the president everywhere. It was natural, under the circumstances, for the president’s mind and body to be subjected to extreme mental and emotional distress. However, Chandler was starting to notice the president’s inability to cope.

His recent uncontrolled outbursts and angry fits were just one of the many signs both Chandler and the president’s physician had observed. The president was suffering from insomnia. His doctor had suggested an Ambien before bedtime, but the president refused. He insisted upon being coherent in the event China or Russia decided to attack the U.S.

The president wasn’t eating, and when he did, he complained about stomach cramps and constipation. The stresses he endured had triggered a flare-up of irritable bowel syndrome, which contributed to the president’s refusal to eat.

With each passing day, his condition seemed to worsen. Discussions were held in private between cabinet members, leading to the suggestions the vice president might need to step in to lead the country. Just that afternoon, a staffer loyal to Chandler overheard a conversation about the Twenty-Fifth Amendment, a provision in the Constitution that allowed the president to step down, temporarily when appropriate, if he was deemed incapacitated.

The vice president, who was at Raven Rock in Pennsylvania with the military leaders, balked at the thought of invoking the Twenty-Fifth Amendment to force the president to step aside until he got well. Chandler believed the VP might think otherwise if he actually observed President Helton’s actions.

Fortunately, America hadn’t been attacked again. With nuclear missiles, anyway. The threat was now floating above her in the form of nuclear winter—a continuous cloud of gloomy gray that blocked the sun’s rays, effectively starving the living on Earth. Reality was setting in for everyone, especially the president.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Monday, October 28

Near South Lake Tahoe, California


“Dirty snow,” muttered Owen as they got on the road again. “I can’t believe the fires have thrown out this much ash so quickly.”

Lacey repositioned her fanny in her seat. Ford had come a long way in making a comfortable riding spot for passengers since 1967. “You know, Peter said the war between India and Pakistan could cause what he called nuclear winter. That may be part of it.”

“That wasn’t even a week ago, Mom,” added Tucker.

“Your uncle said it was possible,” said Lacey, who turned sideways to address her son. “What else was in that medical kit?”

Tucker searched under their jackets and found one of the two-inch-thick, flat boxes. He poured the contents into his lap, where he examined them one by one.

“Well, here’s a first aid book, sort of. It’s really a booklet stapled together.”

“What’s it called?” Owen asked.

“Where there is no doctor,” Tucker replied. “It looks like instructions on first aid stuff to do on your own.”

His mom reached into the back seat, and Tucker gave her the booklet. “What else?”

“Here are four packets of tablets called IOSAT.” He turned the package slightly so the small amount of sunlight that filtered through the sky helped him read the fine print. “Potassium iodide. Thyroid blocking in a radiation emergency.”

Owen glanced at Lacey and then back at Tucker. He tried to maintain his composure while inside, he was cursing himself for not going through the supplies sooner. Of course, he thought to himself, the contents of the kit would be directly related to radiation exposure.

“Will you pass those up to your mom so we can decide if we should be taking them?”

“It might be too—” Lacey began before Owen abruptly cut her off.

“We’ve been out less than twenty-four hours.”

“They expired last year, Dad,” said Tucker as he handed them forward.

Owen sighed. “That doesn’t mean they’re bad. Maybe just a little less potent.”

While Lacey examined the packaging, Tucker reported on his next find. “This thing is called a RADTriage radiation detector. It’s like a credit card only it somehow detects radiation. Crap. It expires two years after it’s made.”

“What’s the date on it?” asked Lacey.

Tucker handed it forward. “Ten years ago.”

“That fallout shelter was worthless!” complained Owen. “We had a better chance of dying from being trampled or smoke inhalation than nuclear fallout. I wish we had a Geiger counter or something.”

Lacey shrugged. “They wouldn’t have worked anyway after the nukes hit.”

“Then we have these things,” added Tucker. “Blue surgical masks.”

He handed them to his mom, who shook her head side to side. “Now this is something we needed from the start. If the damn lights hadn’t gone out, we would’ve known about these masks and worn them as we left.”

“Hold on!” yelled Owen.

Without warning, their Bronco was sliding sideways out of control. He’d rounded a curve and suddenly found himself on an icy overpass crossing over a small stream. There were several cars piled together on top of the bridge, blocking their path. Owen, distracted by their conversation, overreacted somewhat and sent Black & Blue into a hard slide toward the guardrail.

He turned into the slide by maneuvering the steering wheel so the front wheels were pointed in the same direction that the rear of the truck was sliding. He’d exaggerated the slide because he forgot to take his foot off the accelerator. When he finally did, the vehicle was sailing sideways toward the pileup.

Suddenly, the front tires grabbed less icy pavement, causing the back to turn completely around. They were now moving backwards toward the pileup. Owen slammed on the brakes, which slowed the Bronco somewhat, but it didn’t prevent it from backing into the side of a red Kia Soul compact.

The impact threw everyone against their seats. The lightweight compact car was too small to damage the steel bumper of the Bronco. However, it did serve to slow their progress toward the pileup. Seconds later, they came to a halt, pointed in the opposite direction, but part of the seven-car wreck.

“Is everyone okay?” asked Owen.

Lacey nodded that she was, and Tucker didn’t reply, as he’d already begun to move the duffel bags around so he could get out.

“Tucker?” asked Lacey.

“Yeah, I’m fine. We gotta get out there. I saw bodies lying in the road.”

Both Lacey and Owen exited the truck simultaneously. After Tucker shuffled bags around, he was out, too. The first thing the three noticed was how cold it was.

“How did it get this cold in just a couple of hours?” asked Lacey.

“We’ve seen it before when we’ve been up this way,” replied Owen.

“Not in October,” she countered.

Tucker handed his parents their jackets, and he walked past them, sliding on his coat as he walked gingerly on the icy overpass. He glanced inside the Kia to confirm it was empty, and then he squeezed past the fender of a pickup truck that had run into the rear of a Chevy Camaro. The Camaro’s trunk lid had been forced upward by the impact.

Next to the pickup’s front bumper lay a dead man with a pistol by his side. A bullet-riddled body hung half in and half out of the Camaro. Both men were bloodied from what appeared to be a gun battle between them.

“Wait, Tucker! It may not be safe.” Owen attempted to catch up with his son, but Tucker wanted to see what had happened. By the time his parents had caught up to him, he’d picked up the pickup driver’s handgun and was examining it.

“Tucker, put that down,” his mother ordered. “The police will want to photograph and print that.”

“Mom, there are no police,” said Tucker. He handed the weapon to his father and walked to the other dead body. There was a handgun lying under his shoulder. Tucker didn’t hesitate to reach for it, apparently unaffected by the two dead men, who were covered in blood and snow.

“Where is everybody else?” asked Owen. “I count six other cars, but there are only these two drivers.”

Tucker was remarkably calm under the circumstances. “Maybe they ran off when the bullets started flying? If their cars didn’t run, what would be the point of sticking around and getting shot.” He studied the semiautomatic pistol and knelt down to wipe the blood off on a clean part of the dead man’s shirt. He stood and handed it to his father, who was now holding a weapon in each hand as if they were sunny-side-up eggs poised to run off his palms if he didn’t hold them just right.

“How are we gonna get through this?” asked Lacey.

Owen stepped forward with his palms up, guns in hand. “I think we could ease by the Camaro here and nudge our way over that way. If we hug the guardrail, we can force our way past those last couple of cars.”

Lacey looked around as the snow began to fall in heavy, thick flakes. The weather would only make their task more difficult if they hesitated.

“Okay, that’s all we’ve got.”

Tucker grabbed the Camaro driver by the arms and dragged him out of the front seat. He slid the corpse out of the way next to the car’s rear wheels.

Owen looked down at the guns, and he finally had the courage to grip them by the handles. It was a symbolic gesture as he took ownership of the two weapons, something he never thought he’d do. Then he made another suggestion that was a first.

“I think we should go through these cars and see if there is anything we could use. I know, I know, it’s like stealing. But really, is it? This has all been abandoned. And certainly, these two dead guys won’t know.”

“Dad’s right. We already know that we might have to steal gas to keep going. We might as well see if there’s anything we need. We can always leave the rest for somebody else.”

Both guys looked forward toward the pileup as they contemplated their first attempt at looting, or foraging, depending on how they looked at it. They were surprised when Lacey spoke up.

“Are you talking about stuff like this?” she asked as she reached into the pickup truck bed and lifted one of two red five-gallon gas cans onto the fender. For Lacey, there was no doubt. She considered their actions to be foraging and necessary for her family’s survival.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Monday, October 28

CVS Pharmacy

Fairfax, Virginia


There was an old saying in the American Midwest. Pigs get fat, and hogs get slaughtered. It was an idiom applied to any number of things that meant a person should be satisfied at some point because when they become too greedy, they may lose it all.

Peter and Jackie had gone to great risk to break into the CVS Pharmacy. Evidence of looting was everywhere in that part of Fairfax, Virginia. The mall had been taken over by an armed gang. Vehicles were burning around them. Soot-filled air threatened to kill people with compromised respiratory systems.

He had one job, which was to locate insulin for the diabetic grandmother. However, the opportunity arose to pillage an actual drugstore and its prescription medications. Peter suspected that those who followed him would seek out opioids, narcotics and all kinds of mind-altering drugs. He took a different approach.

First, he secured Asia’s insulin. He knew nothing about it. The brands varied, and their uses did as well. Rapid acting. Short acting. Long acting. It didn’t matter. He shoveled it all into a CVS Pharmacy shopping tote and set it next to his point of entry. Then he went shopping.

He prioritized finding pharmaceutical-grade potassium iodide, a task that took ten minutes as he searched for a needle in the haystack. Periodically, he shouted to Jackie to confirm they were still safe. Her response was always the same. Nothing.

So Peter continued rummaging around. This time, he was in search of antibiotics. Lacey had impressed upon him the importance of a basic first aid kit with antibiotic ointments when they camped in the wilderness. An infected injury could spread rapidly before the camper could see a doctor. Peter had never taken antibiotics, but he recognized the generic names—amoxicillin, doxycycline, sulfa drugs and cipro that was often used for respiratory infections. He thought that would be especially valuable with all the nuclear fallout in the air.

He filled up another sack with the antibiotics and set it on the countertop. Lastly, he thought about the most sought-after drugs on an abuser’s wish list. Could he use them as a bargaining chip? What could he trade fentanyl for? It was a pain medication a hundred times more potent than morphine.

With his flashlight leading the way, he studied the pharmacy shelves, looking for the opioids, stimulants, and even the depressants. He smiled to himself as he mumbled, “Take ’em up. Bring ’em down. Keep ’em stoned in between.”

“Peter!” said Jackie in a loud whisper. She was just outside the pharmacy. “I didn’t see them coming.”

“What?” he asked nervously as he dropped the bag half full of downers. “Who?”

“Shhh!” she implored him to keep his voice down. “They came running from around the corner. I didn’t know whether I should shoot them.”

“Come on, man!” a deep voice bellowed from the front of the store.

Peter pointed toward the left where the shampoos and hair care products were located. He felt certain that wasn’t what the men were interested in. “Hide over there. If they start shooting, I’ll yell fire. You’ll have to help but not until you hear my voice.”

“You kids get the hell out of here!” ordered another man.

“Go! Go! Go!” ordered Peter in a loud whisper.

Suddenly flashlights were darting across the ceiling and the floor. The illumination from one barely missed Jackie as she darted in front of the approaching men seeking a place to hide.

“It’s locked down!” One of the men shouted. His partner quickly rebuked him.

“We got this, man. Stand aside.”

Peter moved the totes of insulin and antibiotics across the counter to the side of the computer register. He wasn’t sure how this was going to play out, but he certainly wanted to stay alive first and protect the drugs second. He crouched down and moved as far back into the dark recesses of the pharmacy as he could yet still be able to watch their movements.

The four men huddled in front of the drop-off window. Thus far, none of them had the presence of mind to look up to notice the missing ceiling tiles.

Peter readied his weapon. He had to remain disciplined.

SMACK! SMACK!

The sound of the countertop being broken apart with a sledgehammer filled the air. The kids from the food aisle apparently hadn’t left yet, by their shrieks and screams. They raced out the front door, leaving their snacks behind.

“Put your back into it! Gimme that thing!”

The intruders changed positions.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

This man was stronger, and soon debris was flying inward as the countertop succumbed to the pummeling of the sledgehammer. With smaller, precision blows, a hole was quickly opened up, and the men began to crawl through.

Peter was not a murderer, but he was a killer. He’d taken another’s life in an effort to survive a terrorist attack. An hour after the shooting in Abu Dhabi, he’d vomited all over the interrogation table at the Abu Dhabi police headquarters. The realization had set in as to what he’d done. He wasn’t guilty or remorseful. He’d done what he had to. Yet that first kill still ran through his mind.

He wondered if the second, third or even fifth would stick with him as well.

Peter moved slowly to the far end of the pharmacy near the consultation room. He kept his gun pointed toward the counter, where the men were on their hands and knees. They crawled gingerly over the splinters without a sense of urgency. One after another, they made their way inside, helping the next man to his feet. Peter’s mind raced as he considered his options.

Should he hold them at gunpoint, demanding they move to the back of the store while he escaped through the hole they’d made? Should he demand to see their weapons? Would they comply or open fire? Could he take them all in a gunfight? These guys looked streetwise. Real killers, unlike him.

Until now.

Once the four men were inside, Peter begged God’s forgiveness and began shooting. He fired four shots in rapid succession, striking each man in some part of their upper body. Two fell to their knees, and the other two attempted to dive for cover.

Peter moved quickly toward them. He shot the two men in front of him again in the chest. They were the most vulnerable and easy to kill.

A shot rang out and sailed past him, ricocheting off the steel grate. Peter instantly broke out into a sweat as he fell to his knees. He fired back wildly as he sent three rounds through the shelves of pharmaceuticals. One of the men groaned in pain.

Peter lost track of how many shots he’d fired. In his nervous state of mind, he couldn’t remember how many rounds his nine-millimeter magazines held. He knew he only had a couple left. Peter had trained with his uncle on how to shoot his Springfield 1911. But he hadn’t learned how to act in a gunfight. He’d learned the hard way how to survive through his reactions in Abu Dhabi, but he’d not thought about things like ammo discipline and having multiple magazines with him to reload.

He decided to bluff.

“You’re next, buddy! You can live through this and have all the drugs you want. I don’t want the shit you’re after. But you gotta slide your gun out and hold your hands high.”

“No way, asshole!”

“I know you’re hit!” Peter shouted back. “I’ve already killed these two. You’re the only thing that stands between me and the door. I’m not gonna mess with you, understand?”

The man didn’t say anything in response.

Peter heard the sound of feet shuffling. He thought the man might be scooting along the floor. He lowered his body and crawled toward the two dead men.

Neither had a gun in their hands because Peter had shot them before they could draw. He reached under the bloodied shirt of the first man, hoping to find the man’s weapon tucked in his waistband. He was apparently unarmed.

Now you’re a murderer, Peter, he thought to himself.

Peter slowly retreated to his original position. He heard the shuffling sound toward the back of the pharmacy. The man was wounded and acting like a trapped animal. He wasn’t to be trifled with, especially since Peter was down to a couple of bullets. He decided to take a chance.

He rose to his knees and blindly felt around the counter where he’d stashed the insulin and antibiotics. He found the handles to both bags and transferred them to his left hand. Then, with his gun trained on the sound of the movement at the back of the pharmacy, he slowly retreated backwards through the opening created by the looters.

As soon as he was beyond the counter, he rolled over toward Jackie’s position and breathed for the first time in more than a minute. Peter’s chest was heaving as he tried to calm himself and listen for his adversary to emerge from the pharmacy. Once he’d regained his composure, and satisfied the man wasn’t pursuing him, Peter rose to his feet and made his way into the hair products section.

“Jackie! Let’s go!”

There was no answer.

Peter dropped the bags to the carpeted floor and gripped his pistol with both hands. He let the barrel lead the way toward the far wall of the store. He didn’t want to call out her name again in case the men had someone else with them.

Aisle by aisle, Peter inched up to the end cap of the display shelves and then revealed himself, ready to shoot. Each time, nobody materialized. At the last aisle, he glanced to his left at a tall L’Oreal display and then down the aisle.

Still nothing.

He took a chance. “Jackie!”

He sensed movement. He swung around and pointed his weapon at the display. It moved slightly, so Peter crouched into a shooting position.

“Peter, here I am.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Sunday, October 27

Driftwood Key


“Everything seems odd, doesn’t it?” asked Hank as Mike and Jessica joined him for a breakfast of eggs and fish. Phoebe had warned everyone that their meals would begin to become unexciting and simple. There were plenty of fish in the sea, she’d quipped. Then she reminded them that their regular fish diet would be coupled with perishables in case the power went out permanently.

“That’s an understatement, Hank,” said Mike, laughing. “What was your first clue?”

“No, you know what I mean. I had a routine that I’d lived by for years and years. Guests came and went. There were regular chores to do, and then sometimes, we’d have something out of the ordinary to break up the monotony.”

“I’ll say this,” said Jessica with a mouthful of food. She pointed her fork toward the main highway. “Out there, those partying fools haven’t missed a beat. It’s the darndest thing. They all agree it’s the end of the world as we know it. What they disagree on is what to do about it.”

Mike shook his head and finished his meal. “We’ve really got our hands full, Hank. I told Jess that we’re surrounded by four different groups. There are the locals, like us, who’re kinda adopting a hunker-down-and-see-what-happens-next approach.

“Then you got the inbound tourists, who, by the way, babe, we’re gonna shut out starting this afternoon.”

Jessica leaned back in her chair. “They’re cutting off the island?”

Mike nodded. “Outbound only unless they can provide proof of residency such as a driver’s license or a deed.”

“Wow, that’s big,” said Jessica.

“The Conch Republic rises from the ashes,” added Hank with a smile.

Mike explained, “Well, we’ve caught bits and pieces on the news of things Hank’s already learned from the Ag secretary and Peter. Hell, we can see and feel it for ourselves. It’s getting colder. A little bit at a time, but noticeable.”

Jessica nodded in agreement. “The haze started before the bombs dropped here. It’s a lot worse than Thursday.”

“People in the southeast who weren’t impacted by the EMP or the blackouts began to drive south as the news media frightened everyone with this nuclear winter thing,” said Mike. “The consensus seems to be that the best place to be in America is the southernmost point—Key West.”

“Just where the hell do they expect to stay?” asked Hank.

“Wherever, apparently,” Mike replied. “If they run out of gas, they take up residency off the side of the road and use their car as a temporary shelter. They’re offering outrageous sums of money to hotel owners to let them stay there. All cash transactions. If they don’t have money, they’re breaking into any structure they can find. Hell, the owner of the Marathon boatyard ran off several families who pried open yachts and settled in for the night.”

Hank asked a logical question. “Okay, so we’ve all got our passports from the Conch Republic and have sworn allegiance and all of that. Big deal. But can Monroe County legally cut itself off from the rest of the state? The whole country for that matter.”

“I guess we’ll find out,” replied Mike. “The sheriff radioed me this morning and told us to report to the Key Largo Fire Department at Reef Drive. We’re gonna close off the access and send people back up north.”

“What if they refuse?” asked Jessica. “We let nonviolents out of jail yesterday.”

Mike shrugged. “Again, I don’t know, but I will say this. It’s absolutely necessary. The other tourists who remained in the Keys are causing a helluva problem. They’re almost lawless. They stay drunk. They tear shit up. They know there aren’t enough cops to stop them. It’s just a matter of time before the locals start taking the law into their own hands.”

“Where are the hotspots?” asked Hank.

“Key West and Key Largo,” replied Jessica.

Mike added, “I’m speculating now, but if it were me, I’d close off the Keys and stop the bleeding, so to speak. Then we’d systematically throw out everyone who doesn’t belong here.”

Hank scowled. “That’s kinda harsh, isn’t it?”

“Not really,” Mike shot back. “It’s not that different from what you had to do here.”

“I was giving those people a head start based upon a hunch,” argued Hank. “If they got stuck here, we wouldn’t be able to feed them.”

“Same thing out there,” countered Mike. “The grocery stores are closed, not because of the brownouts, but because they’re empty. When I say empty, I’m talking about everything. Publix maintained its normal pricing, and they were emptied first. The C-Stores and mom-and-pops jacked their prices up, and they still sold virtually everything in sight. Hell, twenty-pound bags of ice were goin’ for a hundred bucks.”

Hank didn’t respond. He was pensive as he thought about the fate of those he’d sent home. He hoped he did the right thing.

“We need to get going,” said Jessica, taking advantage of the pause in the conversation. It wasn’t heated between the two brothers, but it certainly could’ve headed that way if their difference of opinion became an argument.

Hank cleared the table as the two sheriff’s department employees headed out for the day. Jimmy and Sonny were tending to the hydroponics and greenhouses. Hank intended to cover any of the machinery used on Driftwood Key with a tarp or at least plastic sheeting to shield it from the smoky air.

When he entered the kitchen, Phoebe was in the middle of a project.

“You look like a chemist,” he said with a chuckle. “What are you up to?”

“While I have power, I’m working up several batches of essential oils that we might need.”

“Does it have to do with one of your conch concoctions?” asked Hank jokingly. Phoebe had been infusing conch, supposedly a natural aphrodisiac, into Hank’s morning power shakes. Especially when there were lady guests staying at the inn.

“No, but I think you’ve forgotten that your ancestors were big believers in its natural benefits, like iron, calcium, and vitamins E and B12.”

“Yeah, yeah. So what are you working on?”

“Mr. Hank, sometimes you have to do things that you never imagined you’d need to do, much less use,” she replied. She placed her hand on a book with recipes for using essential oils and spun it around for Hank to see. “I’m making this recipe for radiation exposure damage. Did you know many cancer patients who are required to have radiation therapy use antioxidants and essential oils to minimize the damage to their skin and organs?”

Hank flinched at the mention of the C-word, cancer. His wife, Megan, had died of breast cancer eight years prior. He didn’t respond, and Phoebe noticed his reaction, so she continued.

“She didn’t want you to know about how much pain she was in, Mr. Hank. I helped her through it the best I could using this recipe.” She paused to pick up a bronze glass medicine dropper bottle and handed it to Hank. It was labeled QuadShield.

“What is QuadShield?” he asked.

“It’s a brand of essential oils that I can recreate on my own with this recipe. It has a blend of Melrose and citrus oils like lemon and orange. When you take it with vitamin C, which we bought before, you know, the bombs, plus a medicine like Megan’s thyroid capsules, your body can fight off the effects of the radiation.”

“I’m sure none of her medicine is still around,” said Hank.

“True, but there are natural alternatives like bananas, which are rich in potassium, and this.” She reached for a four-pound box of Morton iodized table salt. She refilled the salt shakers in the bar and dining room with it.

“Will that work?” Hank asked. “I mean, to block radiation or whatever.”

“I hope we’ll never have to find out, but for now, it’s all we’ve got.”

Hank nodded his approval. He began to wander around the kitchen, randomly picking up dropper bottles and reading the labels. Lavender, lemon, peppermint, rosemary, and chamomile were some of the ingredients he saw used the most often. Each label also had the oil’s proposed use, including antibacterial, pain, headache, and stress.

“I’ll take a bottle of this,” he said before adding, “Make it a double.”

It was lavender, the most effective essential oil for stress.

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