Radioactive and The Decay Dystopian Super Boxset- A Dirty Bomb and Nuclear Blast Prepper Tale of Survival (19 page)

Chase put the tip of his barrel under Samantha’s chin and raised it so he could look into her eyes. “It’s a shame you won’t be able to see your daughter die.” His face turned blood red while spit flew through his clenched teeth. “It looks like that honor will fall to your brother.”

Jim fumbled his fingers into the pocket under his leg where he felt the blade. He couldn’t lift his leg to make it easier to grab the blade without exposing to Chase what he was trying to do.

When Samantha’s head went limp and didn’t come back up, Chase turned his attention to Jim, whose fingers almost had hold of the blade.

“You’ve failed again, Jim,” Chase said, walking closer to him. “You failed to save your country. You failed to save your brother-in-law from himself. You failed to save your friends. You failed to save your sister.”

Chase knelt down, eye to eye with Jim, “And now you’ve failed to save your niece.”

Jim frantically grabbed at the blade and worked it up into his fingertips. Chase put the pistol to Jim’s forehead and pressed the barrel down hard.

“Do you think I should hurt her before I kill her?” Chase asked. “Or should I make it quick and painless?”

The blade slowly moved into Jim’s hand. Chase pressed the gun further into Jim’s skull. In one swift motion Jim lifted his leg, bringing the blade into the side of Chase’s neck. Blood spurted as Jim dug the blade in deeper and Chase gasped, coughing up blood before collapsing.

Jim grasped his right shoulder as he stood and hobbled over to his sister, checking her pulse. He felt a slight beat. She was still alive. Jim whipped around and went into the room Chase had exited from to look for Annie. He saw her curled up in the corner. Jim’s whole body shook as Annie ran toward him. He knelt down, scooping her up.

“I love you,” he whispered in her ear.

“I love you too,” she responded.

Jim lowered Annie back down. “Stay right by my side, okay? I have to go and take care of your mom.” Annie nodded and grabbed hold of Jim’s leg. He pulled the girl outside, and Jim scooped his sister up with all the strength he could muster and threw her over his shoulder. 

“Coyle,” Jim yelled into the radio. “I’ve got the girls. What’s your six?”

Coyle placed the last charge on the wall and clicked his radio on. “All set, Jim.”

“Twink,” Jim said, keeping an eye out for guards as he navigated the hallways, “Get the chopper and meet us on the roof.”

Dozens of empty shells surrounded Twink as he got up with his rifle. “Roger that.”

“Brett, meet us at the flight deck,” Jim said. He waited for a response, but nothing came. “Brett, do you copy?” Jim waited a bit longer. “Brett?” When no answer came Jim knew he was gone. “Twink, we need that chopper now. Like, ten minutes ago now.”

“Copy,” Twink said, “Inbound in three minutes.”

Jim managed to make it to the stairwell, but each flight of stairs he climbed shot daggers into his shoulder. Annie stayed right at his side, step by step.

They made it onto the flight deck and saw the chopper heading towards them. When Twink landed, Coyle appeared to help with Samantha. Jim rushed to the medical bag and grabbed as much gauze as he could to help staunch her bleeding. He strapped Annie in.
              “Twink, get us to the nearest medical base. Tell them we have a priority. Gunshot wound to the abdomen with critical blood loss,” Jim ordered.

Twink complied, radioing the hospital to alert them. Once they were airborne and clear of the plant, Jim looked at Twink. “Blow it!” Jim ordered.

The charges lined the walls of the plant. Small red lights flashed on each of them. When Twink squeezed the trigger on the detonator, the charges went off one by one. Fiery explosions lit up the darkening sky. The pallets and storage tanks of VX gas incinerated into nothing.

The blasts took out more than just the warehouse. Jeeps, guards, surrounding structures, anything within a one hundred yard radius were leveled. Smoke rose into the air as the chopper increased its distance destruction behind it.

CHAPTER 10

Jim’s arm was in a sling as he sat in the waiting room of the hospital. Annie was on the floor playing with Tigs, oblivious to the stares that she received. A hospital wasn’t the typical place to see a cat, but Coyle convinced the nurse that Tigs was a therapy cat, then disappeared into the break room with said nurse.

The doctor came out of the operating room with blood on his scrubs, smiling. “She’s gonna be fine.”

“Can we talk to her?” Jim asked.

“She’s sleeping right now, but you can go and see her,” he responded.

Samantha was hooked up to a breathing machine, heart monitors, and IV bags. Annie climbed in bed with her and curled up next to her side. Jim put his hand on his sister’s forehead, breathing a sigh of relief.

***

Samantha was finally discharged from the hospital a week later, and the doctor told that she could go home as long as she didn’t do any heavy lifting. She and Annie stayed with Jim at his home in San Diego. Jim never thought he’d see that house again, let alone have his sister and niece’s laughter filling it.

Brett’s funeral was held a few days after Samantha was released. He received full military honors for his service and was also awarded the Navy Cross. Each of them tossed an item into the ground with Brett’s coffin.

Jim gave him his Purple Heart, Samantha dropped in a rose, Annie drew him a picture of the two of them, Coyle tossed in a Playboy magazine, and Twink dropped his dog tags in the hole with his friend. Once it was over, Twink headed back to his Naval base in Arizona and Coyle decided to take a little furlough since Jim still couldn’t get back to his marine mechanics business with his arm in a sling.

“We can talk about my raise when I get back,” Coyle smirked.

When Jim and Samantha returned home from the funeral, there was a car parked on the street in front of his house. Jim opened the glove box, removing his pistol. His shoulder was still in a sling, but he was pretty good with his left arm. “Stay in the truck.”

As Jim moved closer to his home, he noticed that the front door was ajar. He slowly pushed the door open and went in, pistol first. A man in the chair in his living room put his hands in the air.

“Don’t shoot.” Captain Terry Streak, Fleet Commander of the San Diego Naval base, sat in Jim’s living room chair.

A smile spread across both men’s faces as the captain walked over and they embraced each other. Jim leaned out the door and waved for the girls to come in.

“What are you doing here? I didn’t even know you were alive!” exclaimed Jim.

“Yeah well, after the attacks on the base five months ago, I was in a coma for about a month,” he said. “I just got out of rehab a few days ago. I’ll start command duty again in a couple of weeks after they catch me up on what I’ve missed.”

Jim placed his hand over the captain’s shoulder and smiled. “It’s good to see you, Terry, but what are you doing here? I’m not exactly in shape to fix any of your boats right now.”

Jim had seen the look the captain was giving him plenty of times before. It was the same look General Locke had when he asked him to come back and work missions for the military.

“No,” Jim said flatly.

“You don’t even know what I’m going to say!” Terry replied.

“I’ve given enough service to my country for a dozen soldiers. I’m out,” said Jim.

“We’ll be out back,” Samantha added. She pushed Annie and Tigs out the back door and left Jim and Terry alone.

“Jim, what you’ve been able to do has been incredible. I’m just here on behalf of the Defense Department as a messenger. I’m not here to have you sign any papers. They do want you back though. They’re willing to meet whatever demands you have.”

All of a sudden, Jim’s shoulder started to ache a little more than it had over the past few days. After a moment of silence, Terry continued.

“Just think about it. If you change your mind, phone me at the base.”

After Captain Streak left, Jim wandered toward the back of the house, stopping at the screen door. Annie chased butterflies as Tigs chased after her. Samantha sat in a chair, laughing as her daughter ran around the backyard with her net. The sun was shining outside and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Jim wasn’t sure how long this would last, but with the view he was looking at right now, he didn’t want to fill his mind with ‘what ifs.’

Streak could wait.

Chapter One

The blank walls of the interrogation room stared back at Sacha with cold indifference. He repositioned himself within the uncomfortable steel chair he had been instructed to sit on for the past hour. The room was empty, as Sacha waited patiently for the two detectives to return. Across from him were two empty chairs. A crumpled Styrofoam cup with the residue of black coffee rested on the metal table. Sacha didn’t care for coffee. In fact, he had never had a cup his entire life. Maybe he was missing out. He probably could have used one, but had declined. He’d seen enough American detective shows to know that the two men were trying to determine whether or not he could be implicated in some kind of terrorist plot. The techniques they used to press him seemed as if they’d already come to the conclusion that he was guilty of something.

“This is not good,” Sacha thought sardonically. “They could kick me out of the country for this.”

He knew that he was being watched. He could feel it. There was a hidden camera somewhere within the confines of the miserable room. Sacha scanned the walls and ceiling, and at first, saw nothing. White walls. Gray carpet. One of those paneled ceilings with overhead lights. His eye caught a slight flicker adjacent to the incessantly buzzing florescent bulbs. He looked up again and saw a small white plastic bubble at the corner of the ceiling tile.

“Yes,” he surmised, “There it is.”

He was all too familiar with Soviet surveillance, at least in his native Poland. In the last century alone, Poland had survived Nazi invasion and over 30 years of Communist control. He was a small child when the big bear relinquished its hold on Poland and gave sovereignty back to her people.  It was a significant moment in his life. Then, he’d always dreamed of coming to America, especially during those pre-democracy days. New York City was the ultimate vision. But now he was being held as a suspect in a terrorist act of a magnitude he could only imagine.

Suddenly, the door opened and the two detectives re-entered, appearing as clueless as before.  Their crest fallen faces could only mean one of two things. They either had no further reason to hold him or expected him to capitulate in some unexpected fashion. The older of the two approached him first.  His towering height, mammoth frame, and crew cut made him a daunting figure as he tossed a stack of files onto the table.  Both men smelled of stale cigarette smoke. Sacha wondered if their recent absence had been little more than a cigarette break. The other man, shorter and stockier with a red, puffy face, spoke with a heavy New York accent. But Crew Cut’s monotone droll sounded like it could have come from anywhere but the city.

“Mr. Kaminski, Lieutenant Harris and I appreciate your patience,” Crew Cut said, while pulling Sacha’s passport out of the file and waving it in the air. “Everything you’ve said so far checks out, and we have found nothing in your history to indicate suspicious activity of any kind.” 

“Well, that’s a relief,” Sacha said, in a feeble attempt to sound casual and relaxed. 

“But we’re not entirely done here,” Lieutenant Harris, Red-Face, quipped, as he took a seat across from Sacha. “The only thing we do know is that we can’t be certain about anything.” 

As if on cue, Captain Banks took a seat next to Red Face, carefully opened the file, and leisurely thumbed through its pages.  Sacha’s anxiety and frustration grew with each passing second as he countered.

“I don’t understand. I thought you were going to release me. Why was I picked up in the first place?” 

Lieutenant Harris held up his hand for silence. “That will do, Mr. Kaminski. For the record, yes, you haven’t been charged with anything, but you must understand, your proximity to an attack of this magnitude is cause for immediate concern.  Standard protocol states, and by that we mean federal protocol, in the event of a catastrophic event, those taken into custody are detained indefinitely, or until federal officials complete a thorough investigation.” 

“Yes, but—” responded Sacha.

“Look, there’s nothing we can do but follow protocol,” Banks replied. “We have our rules, and they have theirs.  Do yourself a favor, Mr. Kaminski, and tell us what you know, what you saw, and why you happened to be in close proximity of the attack.” 

“Tell you
what
?” Sacha asked in exasperation. 

“We need to know what you saw, what you heard, and who you spoke to before you are free to go,” Harris said. He pulled out a mini tape-recorder and carefully placed it on the table.

Sacha looked perplexed but suddenly turned to the men. “I will tell you everything, because I have nothing to hide. You will see. I can speak freely.” 

“Nothing would please us more,” Banks said. 

“As we’ve stated before, you are not charged with anything. However, we need a statement, if you don’t mind, to speed up the process,” Harris added.

Captain Banks opened Sacha’s passport and examined it. He turned to Sacha, then to his partner.

“I highly doubt you have anything to worry about, Mr. Kaminski. There aren’t too many Polish terrorists out there who blame the U.S. for their lot in life,” he said with a derisive laugh. 

“What about the marathon bombing?” Harris asked. 

“They were Chechen or Russian,” Banks answered. 
“You sure?” Lieutenant Harris asked. 

“Yeah, I’m sure.  And that puts the three of us supposedly on

the same side.”

The two men abruptly turned to face Sacha. 

“So, Sacha, if you don’t mind me calling you by your first name, tell us what you know,” Banks said as he pressed the record button. 

Sacha took a deep breath, ran his fingers through his thick, black hair, and leaned into the table. 

“As I said before, I don’t know anything. I mean, all I was doing was walking on the sidewalk, getting my camera ready to take some pictures. I always wanted to see Wall Street, you know.  It was my dream, to get a picture of the New York Stock Exchange.”

Sacha paused.

“Then I heard the explosion,” he added.

“How close would you say you were to the explosion?” Harris asked. 

“Not very close. I felt it, the impact, slightly, and the intense heat. I heard screaming and saw smoke. Everyone was running in every direction and bumping into each other. I, too, began to run. That was pretty much it. Then there were police on the scene, fire and rescue.  I was not injured, so the police took me in, and now I sit.” 

The two officers waited for him to continue, but soon realized that he was finished. Harris leaned down towards Sacha, inches from his face in the manner of a confidant.

“So that’s it, nothing else?” he asked. 

“What do you mean?” Sacha questioned. 

“I mean, that’s all you know? You didn’t see anything or anyone unusual? Someone who may have run out of the building just before the explosion?”

“I only know all that I’ve told you. I’m sorry, what else can I say?”

Harris and Banks looked at each other again. Banks nodded to Harris who then stood up and began to pace around the room, holding the file. “Let’s go over that afternoon piece-by-piece. Maybe something will jog your memory,” he said.

Sacha’s eyes followed Harris with abject curiosity.

“What we know is that at or around 3:30 p.m. there was an explosion on the trading floor of the New York Stock Exchange. The blast was sudden and unexpected. It was also coordinated to coincide with the closing bell used to indicate the end of trading. This was the time the attackers carefully planned to ensure maximum damage, to inflict as much carnage as possible.” 

“Reprehensible,” Banks added.

“Yes, yes it was,” Harris said. “But what we now know is the attack could have been worse.” 

He turned to face Sacha.

“But something spooked the attackers, and the bomb malfunctioned, detonating sooner than expected. I believe the attackers meant to detonate the bomb to coincide with the closing bell, but because the attack was premature, they took fifteen lives as opposed to hundreds more.” 

“Don’t forget about the eighty-eight injured,” Banks added. 

“Yes, thank you, Sir. This leads us to another possible strategy: the bomb was designed solely to maim.  In that case, the attackers were not taken off guard, but intended to launch the attack at a specific time
before
the closing bell. That could mean we’re looking at multiple attacks in the manner of some post 9/11 scenario.”

“It could've been one of those Occupy Wall Street nuts, Al Qaeda, Neo Nazis, or some other extremist,” added Banks. 

“Or it was a Polish tourist with an ax to grind,” retorted Harris.

Sacha cleared his throat. “I told you gentlemen all I know, what I saw, and what I did.  I cannot be of any further service to you. Can’t you be satisfied with that?”

“Regardless,” Banks said, “This country is in a state of the highest terror alert since 2001. We’re either looking at a national lockdown of unprecedented levels or simply a lone terrorist attack.  Until we determine that, I wouldn’t count on going anywhere for a while, Mr. Kaminski.”

“This is all we know so far,” Harris said with a confident saunter back-and-forth between the confines of the small room. “It’s roughly thirty minutes before the closing bell at The New York Stock Exchange. Brokers and traders are going at it, left and right. Suddenly an electronic glitch disables the ticker boards and the means to conduct electronic transfers. The tablets go out, communication is cut, and business appears to be at a sudden halt. The glitch occurs within thirty seconds before the blast, which effectively takes down Wall Street, for good. First responders to the scene are met with a cloud of black smoke and the moans of the wounded and dying, crawling around the floor.” 

“A horrific sight,” Banks said. 

“Indeed. Police immediately cordoned off the area and apprehended several people in the vicinity, including you, Mr. Kaminski, and brought them in for questioning.”

Harris walked over to Sacha, tossed the file on the table, and placed his arms on the hard, cold surface.

“Now, Mr. Kaminski,” he said, “do you understand why we have to detain you indefinitely until the investigation is over?” 

Sacha slowly nodded in agreement.  He was finally getting the picture, loud and clear.