Radioactive and The Decay Dystopian Super Boxset- A Dirty Bomb and Nuclear Blast Prepper Tale of Survival (38 page)

The Sheriff thought to himself for a moment. “Is something wrong? Did those people give you any problems?” he asked.

“No, no, it’s nothing like that. It’s just something I wanted to talk with you about and it won’t take more than a minute.”

“Very well,” the Sheriff said. He looked at the council group and tipped his hat. “If you’ll excuse me for one moment, we’ll continue this conversation later.”

They walked off together with the Sheriff following Paul. Paul and the Sheriff took their seats on an empty bench.

“Looks like your friend Jordan is getting a little close with our town nurse,” the Sheriff said with a smile.

Paul could still see them laughing and talking. “I wouldn’t worry about him. He’s just had one beer too many.”

“I’m sure he’s harmless, but he may want to be careful, Margie there is married.”

The casual revelation stunned Paul. “She—she is?” he asked.

“Yeah, well, was married, her husband was killed in Iraq all them years ago.”

“Oh my God, how?” Paul asked.

“Killed in action with the Marines, probably by some bastard terrorist. Such a shame. It was his third tour. He was going to get out after that. But sometimes, you know how these things go. Saddest thing I ever seen is when the Marines came here to present her with the flag.”

“I had no idea,” Paul said.

“Well… now you know.” The Sheriff slapped his leg. “So anyway, what can I help you with?”

Paul took a deep breath to clear his head.

“I think you guys have a great thing going on here. It’s safe and secluded. Everyone works well together, and you seem to have what you need. I can’t say how much I appreciate you taking us in. You told me that we would talk later, so I’ve been waiting. I need to know about the vehicle situation. Is there anything you can do to help me get back on the road so I can find my wife?”

The Sheriff waved his hat in the air in a fanning motion.

“You need a car; we’ll get you a car, Paul. It’s not a problem.”

“I know it sounds ridiculous, but I didn’t know if you had, like, an extra vehicle or something on-hand. I know it’s an odd request.”

“It’s nothing really. I want to help you get to your wife. I know how important it is. All I ask is three days.”

“Three days?”

“There’s a lot going on right now, so I can’t guarantee that it’ll happen overnight, but give me at least three days and I’ll have a vehicle with supplies loaded up and ready to go for you.”

Paul was ready to hit the road by the next morning, but he wasn’t going to push it. It was the Sheriff’s way or nothing. He could handle three days. He hoped.

“That sounds excellent,” Paul said. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Now, I’m going to ask something of you in return,” the Sheriff said.

“Go for it,” Paul answered, slightly concerned.

“I’ll help you if you help out around here. Put in some effort the next couple of days and we’ll be square. Help us with the bunkers, the gates, planting the food, anything.”

“Whatever I can do.”

“Then we have a deal,” the Sheriff said.

They shook hands and Paul felt satisfied. However, there was a question nagging him.

“Can I ask you just one question, Sheriff?”

“Suppose you want to know my name,” the Sheriff replied.

“What I want to know is why. Why do you want to help people out so much? I mean it makes sense, but we’re talking about a nuclear war out there, and in here, you wouldn’t even know it. I’m just trying to understand it.”

Paul hoped that he was able to articulate the question correctly without screwing himself out of their arrangement. The Sheriff thought hard then spoke.

“It goes like this; the only thing that’s going to get us through this is benevolence toward one another. If that fails, then everything has failed. I’m not naive, but I’m not ready to give up on people just yet.”

Chapter Nine

Love Thy Neighbor

Two days later, on the morning of Day Twelve, another group of people from the church camp were at the gate. Walter, again, led the pack. They stood outside the gate patiently waiting.

“You’re back,” David the gate guard said. He recognized Walter from a few days before.

“Yes, some of the guys here didn’t believe me when I told them about this place. We’re out on another supply run, and I just had to bring them by.”

Three different men from before stood next to Walter, varying in age from twenty to forty, dressed in camouflage hunting gear. They wore hats and were carrying hunting rifles. It seemed strange to David because on their last visit they seemed so careful about not being armed. Walter noticed David examining his group from the other side of the gate’s green bars.

“Don’t worry; we don’t need another tour or anything. I wanted to know if I could talk with the Sheriff.”

“The Sheriff?” David asked. “I’m afraid he’s sleeping right now. It’s still a little early and they were working on that bunker--I mean they were working pretty late into the night.”

“I apologize for showing up unannounced like this. Our leader, Sister Bonnie, really wants to meet the Sheriff. We had nothing but good things to say about all of you guys,” Walter said.

“Where is she?” David asked, looking around.

“Oh,” Walter laughed. “Sister Bonnie doesn’t leave the camp.”

“So I’m guessing she wants the Sheriff to go to her camp?”

“Well, not just the Sheriff. His council and any other influential members of the town.”

“How about me? I’m a pretty influential guy,” David said jokingly.

“Of course, we’d love to have you visit as well.”

David looked around; everyone was sleeping soundly within the town. The sun barely rose and not much could be seen of it in the gray sky. David moved inches within the fence and made direct eye contact with Walter.

“I’m starting to think that you didn’t just happen to be in the neighborhood.”

“We’re always in the neighborhood,” Walter said.

David looked at the group closely, thinking to himself. He wished there was someone else to man the gate with him, but the sooner he got the Sheriff, the sooner the outsiders would leave.

“Wait here,” David said. “I’ll get the Sheriff and be back in five minutes.”

Twenty minutes later, the Sheriff was up and ready for another day. His bedroom was minimal in appearance with a simple twin bed and dresser. Before he left the room, he took a framed picture of his wife, Emily, out from a dresser drawer.

“Just wanted to say hi,” he said, then placed it back in the drawer.

The smiling woman in the picture wore a dark red sundress and oval sunglasses. Her graying hair blew in the wind. She held a hand to her forehead to keep the hair from hitting her face. The Sheriff had taken the picture when they visited the Golden Gate Bridge during a vacation, three years before. Emily had died a year before, after a sudden and unexpected stroke at the age of sixty. Her death destroyed him and a rough year of alcoholism followed.

When he was a real sheriff, he almost lost his job with the police department as a result. He was demoted after driving a squad car under the influence. It had taken him twenty years to make sheriff, and only two days to go down to deputy following the incident. It was the lowest rank in the department. It was either face the disciplinary action, or leave the force altogether and lose his retirement pension. The demotion was humiliating, but the Sheriff knew that he only had to hold out a few more years until retirement. Then the world changed and rank didn’t matter so much anymore.

The townspeople called him “Sheriff” because they hadn’t forgotten his rank with the local police department. It was an act of kindness that caught on in the town a few days after Day One. He wore his sheriff’s badge with proud embrace. What other choice did he have? He approached the front gate as David paced back and forth along the sealed entrance. David hadn't expected the Sheriff to take so long, but was relieved upon his arrival. Small talk with the outsiders had run its course. Walter moved toward the gate as he saw the Sheriff. His three other men stood nearby.

“Morning, Sheriff,” Walter said.

“Morning… Walter, how can we help you?” he asked.

“Yes, sir, it’s good to see you again,” Walter replied.

The Sheriff nodded back.

“I wanted to thank you for your extreme hospitality the other night. You’re already a sort of local legend back at our camp,” Walter continued.

The Sheriff laughed. “Nothing worse than being overrated, even in today’s uncertain times,” he said.

“Nonsense,” Walter said. “Sister Bonnie is very impressed with how helpful and genuine you and your people are. I'll get to the point; we’d like to make a pact with your town.”

David stood near the gate listening to the conversation and examining the outsiders suspiciously.

“A pact?” the Sheriff asked.

“Yes, a cooperative relationship. Seeing as all the institutions we once looked to have failed us, it’s obvious that we have to work together to survive this thing.”

“I can’t argue with you there, but I’m curious, where is Sister Bonnie?”

“She’s currently struggling with some physical issues and can’t leave the camp, but she would like to meet you and your people.”

“Are you suggesting that we go to your camp?” the Sheriff asked.

“It would mean the world to us. If you have an hour or so to spare.”

The Sheriff looked at David then back to the group.

“I’m guessing you guys don’t have a vehicle,” he said.

Walter smiled.

“It’s rather embarrassing to admit, but no we don’t.”

“That can certainly be a problem,” the Sheriff said as he looked up into the sky.

“So how about it, Sheriff? Think you can pay us a visit?” Walter asked.

“Here’s the thing,” the Sheriff said, looking back to Walter. “We’re in the middle of a very important construction project. Can we maybe do this later in the week?”

Walter’s smile dropped as he tried to hide his disappointment. “I guess we could take another trip out here in a few days. Walk another seven miles or so to meet up with you.”

Walter’s guilt trip seemed to have an effect. The Sheriff rubbed the white scruff below his chin. “Let me talk to the other council members and see if we can’t get a small group out there today.”

David looked at the Sheriff in disbelief. Something about Walter gave him a bad vibe. He stared at you when he talked, and his bright, greenish eyes never seemed to blink. His red beard also was alarming. Walter spoke with a sort of conviction that David found disingenuous. David followed the Sheriff back to the townhouse, expressing his opinion on the group.

“I just don’t trust them, and I don’t think you should either.” The Sheriff stopped and looked at him. “I don’t trust them or

distrust them. They do have a point though. We have to work together with other communities if we want to get through this. We can’t just live within these walls and not make contact with any outsiders. Now, if you don’t mind, I don’t want to leave them out there hanging. Please keep them company until I get back.”

David couldn’t have been more irritated by the Sheriff’s request, though he complied. He placed one hand on the Sheriff’s shoulder. “Just promise me that you’ll take me out there with you. I want to keep an eye on this bunch.”

“If it means that much to you, sure,” the Sheriff said.

He walked away from David with a light slap on his back. David looked to the gate to see the outsider group standing in a circle, casually conversing or plotting. He couldn’t tell, but he believed it to be the latter.

Paul woke up to a knock at his door. He looked over and saw Jordan sleeping on the other side of the room. Paul counted the days in his head. The Sheriff said three days and he would help him with a vehicle. It had been one day since then, making it day two. Paul racked his brain to think of what day it had been since the nuclear strikes. It was Day Twelve. Twelve days too many that he had not heard from Samantha. The questions her absence left were agonizing. Was she alive? Was she dead? Was she in any way harmed whatsoever? Or was she, like him, relatively safe for the time being?

He dreamed that he was in their home in Beech Creek. He strolled down the hallway calling her name, but no one responded. The house was undisturbed and there was no trace of her in sight. He heard her car pull into the driveway and ran outside to embrace her. Just as she was getting out of the car, he woke to the knocking.

“Paul,” the Sheriff’s voice said. “Hey, get dressed, I need your help.”

Paul covered his face with a pillow then threw it across the room. He got up and hobbled to the door wearing boxers and a white T-shirt. As he opened the door, the Sheriff had already started walking away. “What is it?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.

“Meet me outside in five minutes. I’m assembling a group of us to go to that other camp.”

“Where?” Paul asked.