Nuclear Winter Armageddon by Bobby Akart (best large ereader .txt) 📕

need to stay in here for two weeks,” another man chimed in.

“Well, that may be true if Sacramento was the target,” countered the coach. “I personally don’t think it was high on any of our enemies’ lists. The more likely scenario is the Bay Area. That’s two hours from here.”

“What does that mean for us?” a man next to the McDowells asked.

“Two days,” the coach replied.

The chorus of experts began to dominate the discussion.

“No way! Fourteen days at a minimum!”

“You’re nuts! Even in the movies, seven days is the max!”

“I don’t want to stay in here another minute!”

“Same here. If it hit the coast, we’re safe.”

“Didn’t you feel the ground shake?”

“That doesn’t mean shit!”

The officer began to blow the whistle again, and he held the canister of pepper spray high over his head. He lit it up with his flashlight to show the group he meant business. He weighed in with his opinion.

“Our department has trained for this scenario in the past, and the coach is right. Forty-eight hours is the bare minimum. We can handle that.”

The crowd turned in unison to address the officer.

“What about the food and water?”

“Are there sleeping bags?”

“How about pillows?”

“There’s no room to lie down, morons!”

The officer blew the whistle again. Tucker covered his ears and shook his head in disgust. His ears were starting to ring.

The officer ignored their questions and shouted, “Make way in the middle to allow the coach to get through! He and I will divvy up what we have. First, we need to take inventory, and to do that, everyone who grabbed something earlier needs to bring it back.”

Lacey and Owen shared a glance before surreptitiously hiding their packages behind their backs against the wall. Tucker noticed what they’d done, so he stood in front of them to give them cover.

Reluctantly, the people who’d carried off drums of water and cases of food brought them back. The crowd cooperated and made way for the coach to join the police officer at the back of the shelter. Together, they took a quick inventory. With the help of some of the more cooperative refugees, they reorganized the three storage rooms.

The first room, located farthest away from the McDowells, was used as a latrine. Several toilet-height barrels marked SK III Sanitation Kits were lined up along the back wall.

The coach tried to use a Coleman lantern to provide some light for the users of the latrine, but the batteries’ useful life had expired. The man who had been near Tucker earlier volunteered his flashlight for the toilet users, who would roll down the door for privacy.

The middle storage room was used for food and water distribution. The cases of freeze-dried food were divided into groups of six or seven. Because the shelter held twice as many occupants as its capacity, each person was allocated one meal per day. The meal was supplemented with a sleeve of saltine crackers that seemed to be in abundance.

Finally, the third storage room nearest Lacey and her family held a variety of supplies, including the items they’d already retrieved. Lacey was confident they’d packed everything they needed into the Expedition and their vintage 1967 Ford Bronco. If there was something useful, they’d take backups from what the fallout shelter offered.

It was nearing three in the morning on the west coast, and exhaustion had set in for most of the refugees. Tucker was hyped up, so he suggested his parents sleep. He’d take the first shift, as he called it. Using their lightweight jackets rolled up around the small boxes Tucker had obtained, they stretched out against the wall while their son made sure nobody stepped on them.

It was gonna be a long, uncomfortable forty-eight hours until the doors reopened.

Chapter Five

Friday, October 25

Driftwood Key

Marathon, Florida

Hank Albright pushed his way past his brother, Mike, and slowly approached the television mounted behind the bar. Normally at this hour, CNN would be replaying one of their Special Report segments from the night before. Now, CNN International anchor Michael Holmes had taken over the network’s regular broadcasting. The Aussie was visibly shaken and fought back tears as he reported on the events.

“I want to remind our viewers that we are receiving secondhand reports of the events taking place in the United States. We have lost all contact with our newsrooms on the West Coast, New York, and Washington. Our colleagues. Our friends. Their loved ones. We have no way of knowing …” His voice trailed off as the tears began to flow down his cheeks. He gathered himself and continued.

“The images we have been repeating on your screens are from archived streaming footage via our security cameras outside CNN studios in Washington and New York. They depict the horrific effects of a nuclear attack at the moment of detonation.”

Holmes paused and held his hand to his right ear to adjust his earpiece before continuing.

“We are receiving information from our sources within the Ministry of Defense. This is not official; however, it is deemed reliable. A dozen, maybe more, nuclear bombs were delivered by North Korea toward the United States. There were at least five massive impacts. Washington, DC, and New York on the east coast. Seattle, Washington, in the Pacific Northwest. In California, the first strikes took place in San Diego in Southern California. Simultaneously, San Francisco in the northern part of that state was hit. I must caution—”

His words were muted by the wails of despair and agony coming from Hank. He gripped the bar with both hands and dropped his head to the shiny, lacquered teak wood that was covered in bubbles of tears.

“Nooo! No! No! Nooo! God, no! Not both of my children. You can’t do this to us!”

Mike and Phoebe rushed to his side. Everyone was sobbing as they tried to comfort one another.

Hank fell to his knees and collapsed into a fetal position between two barstools. He began to shake and gasp for air as he cried