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

that hour, they looked like any other couple headed for a hotel room to hook up.

Patricia led him to the front of the bank. In the dark, the young man squinted his eyes to take in the magnificent house turned community bank that had graced the cover of many issues of Key West tourist publications.

“You live here?” He slurred his words.

“Yes, I do,” Patricia replied in a deep, raspy voice. “You wanna come in for, you know?”

He wobbled on his feet and grabbed the handrail next to him. “Only if you’ll marry me tomorrow.”

He began to laugh uproariously at his joking proposal. Patricia played along.

“Of course, but after we spend the night together, you may not like me anymore.”

“I doubt that, baby. Let’s do this.”

The drunk man pulled his way up the railing and stumbled into the front door. Patricia hustled up behind him and unlocked it. The man’s momentum caused him to stumble forward and land face first on the area rug adorned with palm trees and monkeys.

“Let me help you up,” she said as she lifted him by the right arm.

As the man stood, he noticed the bank vault door directly in front of him. “Hey, baby. Is that the vault? You know, full of money?”

“Of course it is. Wanna see it?”

He nodded and stumbled toward the large polished steel door. Patricia moved ahead of him and grasped the handle to pull it open. It was heavy and took considerable effort, but it soon opened.

“Hey, it’s dark in there.” The man was again slurring his words. “Somebody turn on the lights.”

Patricia nudged him forward, and then she waved her arm just inside the vault. A battery-operated puck light sensed the motion of her arm. The man became confused.

“Wait. What’s all this stuff?”

More puck lights lit up, causing him to become disoriented.

Patricia crouched down, very ladylike, and picked up a pipe wrench. Then she dealt him a crushing blow to the back of his head, but not enough to kill him. Just enough to render him unconscious. The man’s knees buckled, and he slumped to the floor.

Twenty minutes later, Patrick hovered over the man’s body, sipping a glass of Beaujolais. His nude body was strapped to a stainless-steel table, with his wrists and ankles bound by leather straps to the four table legs. A gag was wrapped around his head and into his mouth.

As he awoke, he quickly sobered up. His eyes were wild out of fear as he writhed back and forth on the table. His body was twisting and squirming in an attempt to free himself from bondage.

Patrick moved slowly to a silver serving tray set atop a stool. He picked up a knife and carefully sliced off the gag.

“Help! Somebody! Help!” The man was screaming at the top of his lungs, his voice reverberating off the steel walls and metal safe-deposit boxes.

“Whaaaaa!” Patrick joined in the screaming. “Whaaa! Help him!” Then he let out an evil, guttural cackle.

The man lifted his head to look at his naked body. His eyes grew wide as he viewed the interior of the bank vault.

“Please, mister. Please don’t hurt me. I mean. I won’t tell anyone. I swear!” He shouted the last words at the top of his lungs to the point they were barely discernible.

Patrick shouted back, “Scream all you want! Nobody can hear you!”

He closed the switchblade and set it on the tray. He took another long gulp of wine before grabbing the bottle to refill the glass.

The man didn’t say a word as his eyes followed Patrick’s every movement. He walked around the table, studying every inch of his victim. Then he stopped and reached underneath the table. He pulled out a DeWalt cordless Sawzall. He held it upright and goosed the trigger, causing the reciprocating saw blade to rapidly move in and out of the tool.

“Noooo! Puhleeze!” The man screamed for mercy.

Patrick responded calmly, “Let’s get started, shall we? You’re not gonna need this anymore.”

The sound of the reciprocating saw cutting through flesh was drowned out by the shrieks of agony. Patrick and Patricia had stepped up their game.

Part V

Day twelve, Tuesday, October 29

Chapter Thirty-One

Tuesday, October 29

Mount Weather Operations Center

Northern Virginia

“Erin, thank you for making the trip to Mount Weather. I understand your bird’s-eye view of the devastation was gut-wrenching.” Chief of Staff Chandler was cordial to Secretary of Agriculture Erin Bergman as she entered the briefing that morning. In fact, the stress level of all the attendees was considerably less than the prior sessions.

The White House physician had ordered a sedative and bed rest for the president. President Helton was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. The decision was made both for his physical and mental well-being but also for the morale of those who’d witnessed his tirades. The president was losing the confidence of his cabinet and military leaders. There were already whispers to the effect he should step down in favor of the vice president taking the helm. Before that happened, his doctor insisted he take some time off to clear his head.

Besides, Chandler ran most of his briefings anyway. Rarely did the president make a decision without discussing it at length with his longtime friend and confidant. The president wanted to turn his attention to the recovery effort, and Chandler assured him more meetings would be held with that in mind.

Within the president’s cabinet, Erin was considered the most knowledgeable on the concept of nuclear winter and how it would impact the nation’s agriculture and food supply. Although she was well-versed on the topic of electromagnetic pulse energy and its effect on transportation, she deferred that issue to her counterpart at the Department of Transportation.

“It’s sickening, Harrison,” replied Erin, who was on a first-name basis with the president’s chief of staff. The president understood the need for formality, but within his immediate circle of advisors, such as the chief of staff and the cabinet, he instructed them to address one another on