Radioactive and The Decay Dystopian Super Boxset- A Dirty Bomb and Nuclear Blast Prepper Tale of Survival (56 page)

"They don't look like they're opened," Julie said in a disappointed tone.

"Let's not jump to any conclusions just yet," Paul replied, trying to sound optimistic.

"There's no one here, what other
conclusion
can I make?" Julie asked.

Paul ignored her and circled the lot. There were eight pumps total, each one of them wearing a yellow bag around the nozzle, indicating no fuel. Paul slammed the brakes and hit steering wheel in frustration. Julie knew it was hopeless before they even pulled in, but she tried to keep the sentiment to herself. Paul didn't need any help getting angry.

"Great. What
are we going to do now?" he shouted out.

To Julie, at that moment, he was like a different person. She had seen him overreact before, several times as of lately, but she just wished that for once, he would stay calm. She needed it. Paul parked next to the nearest pump out of defiance and jammed the car into park with a thrust of the gear shifter.

"We're getting gas and I don't care how. I'll drill into the ground myself and get every last drop if I have to."

Paul stopped for a moment and took a deep breath. As silence came over them, Julie noticed headlights from far down the road coming towards them.

"Look!" she said pointing. Paul took immediate notice. He opened his door and took a step outside.

"Stay in the car," he said as his boot hit the pavement. Julie did as she was told.

"What are you going to do?" she asked.

"Just, hold on," Paul said with an arm outstretched in her direction.

His eyes were transfixed on the vehicle approaching them. As it grew closer, Paul could hear its engine rumbling. It was something large, a truck of some sort. Maybe a garbage truck? It was barreling down the road in high gear. It was the only car on the road, in fact, the only vehicle they had seen in nearly twenty miles. Paul walked from the gas pumps to the side of the road, hoping to flag the vehicle down. No matter what they had faced in the past, he felt it was worth the chance. They were desperate.

Julie waited in the car as the familiar feeling of uncertainty grew from within. Her attention went to the front of the gas station as she noticed a man walk outside. It was surreal. Was he a figment of her imagination, or was the short and stocky silhouette she saw before her actually walking towards Paul?

The truck was in sight. It was a large military cargo truck, similar to the one at New Haven, though twice its size. The headlights were blinding and the loud, startling roar of the engine was inescapable. Whoever was driving clearly showed no intention of slowly down.

It was Paul's moment to act. He stood carefully to the side of the road and waved his arms in the air. The short man from the gas took notice of the truck. His stubby legs hustled as he ran towards Paul like a miniature linebacker. Julie threw her door open to warn Paul, but her cries didn't reach him over the rattle of the unstoppable cargo truck moving down the road.

"Hey!" Paul shouted while waving his arms. "We need help!"

Paul felt that the truck was undoubtedly military.

"Help at last," he thought.

The truck was within inches when the short man launched himself at Paul, tackling him to the ground.

Julie was too late. She ran out of the car trying to help. Paul hit the ground in complete confusion. Once he realized that he was being held down by another man, his defense mechanisms kicked in with all the rage he could muster. He pushed back at the man, but felt only resistance in return.

"Stay down!" the short man commanded.

Paul looked up just as the truck flew by. The back of the truck wasn't covered and he could make out the cargo in a blur. People, from front to back, stood clinging to the side railing shoulder to shoulder. They were packed in the truck like cattle.

"Get the fuck off me!" Paul grunted.

With his free leg he kicked the short man in his side, sending him toppling off to the ground. Julie ran to the skirmish with her knife drawn. The man remained on the ground in a fetal position.

"Are you okay?" Julie asked.

Paul lifted himself up from the ground. "Stay back, Julie," he said as he went to her and clutched her arms. "Just take it easy, okay?" he reiterated.

"Ohhhh," the short man groaned from his vulnerable position.

Paul turned to examine the man, still incapacitated and in pain. Paul slowly took the knife from Julie's grip and walked over to him. Upon closer inspection, he could see that the man who tackled him was no hulking beast. He was no larger than a child. His ball cap sat on the ground next to him. His red speckled and shaggy hair grew just over his ears. His bangs swayed into his eyes as he attempted to lift himself up. Paul smelled gasoline on the man, which immediately intrigued him. The short man wasn't dressed as an attendant, his dirty jean jacket and corduroy pants looked like he'd been wearing them for a week.

"Who the hell are you?" Paul asked, standing over him.

The short man raised his arm in the air for Paul's assistance.

"Little help?" he asked.

Paul ignored the man's request.

"Why did you attack me?"

The short man laughed and used both his arms to lift himself off the ground. As he stood, he patted the dirt and gravel from his clothes.

"I didn't attack you, ya' damn ingrate, I was trying to help ya'."

Paul stared at the man with utter contempt.

"That truck was military. Thanks to you my daughter and I are stranded out here now with no fuel--"

The short man shot Paul an accusatory finger as anger grew in his voice. "Ya' should be on your hands and knees thanking me. Did ya' see that truck? Well, did ya'? People packed in there like sardines on their way to a government camp. It's happened, don't ya' see? Everyone's all but given up. They got nowhere else to go so the government comes, picks them up, and takes them somewhere. That's that."

His words sounded nonsensical. He was a paranoid weirdo, though Paul took comfort that the man was so short that he physically posed little threat.

"Do you work here?" Paul asked, signaling to the gas station.

"Maybe I do, maybe I don't. What's it to ya'?" the man asked defiantly.

"We need gas. That's what it is to me. Can you help us or not?" Paul asked pulling some cash out from his wallet.

The man looked at the money and laughed. "What am I supposed to do with that, buy me some dirt cakes? Cos that's all that's around here."

"Enough bullshit," Paul interjected. "We're trying to get to Denver, if there's any way you can help us out, I'll give you whatever I can within reason."

"Well, I guess I do owe you an apology after all, mister," the man said as his eyes shifted looking at the ground.

"What are you talking about?" Paul asked.

"That truck that passed you was bound for Denver; guess you missed your ticket."

"You son-of-a-bitch, why the hell did you--"

"Listen to me! You don't want to get on that truck. I seen 'em come and I seen 'em go. The whole damn town. We got no resources left; the trucks come up and get everyone, but then what?"

"They're probably trying to provide emergency aid and assistance. You know, like a government is
supposed
to do," Paul said.

"Tell yourself that all you want. Everyone who left town, I don't hear from again. They're packing them in the convention center. Ask yourself, how long can you keep that many people--"

Paul's eyes widened. He ran to the short man and jerked him by the collar. "That's where we're trying to go. My wife is at that convention center! You had no right to prevent us from going there."

Julie ran to Paul and pulled on his jacket. "Paul, stop!" she shouted. Perhaps the man’s size made her feel sorry for him. Paul looked like a bully swinging him around like he was.

"Stay out of this, Julie," he snapped.

The man calmly placed his hands on Paul's arm for resistance.

“Okay, sir. Just--just calm down now. Everyone, and I mean everyone, has left, even my family. Military comes around, a man wonders if he even has a choice in the matter. I'm just telling you what I know."

Paul loosened his grip on the man, lowering him to the ground.               "And what do you know?" he asked.

"I don't trust 'em. It just ain't right. I've been hiding, watching the trucks. Things aren't like they used to be. Peoples are desperate. You couldn't pay me enough to be taken to that convention center. I'll take my chances out here."

"What's your name?" Paul asked, removing his hands from the man.

"Andy," the man answered.

"Andy, do you have any fuel we can get?" Paul asked in his most calm voice.

"Been looking for fuel myself. I found the key to the gas pumps. Whole store is cleaned out but I found the key. We unlock them pumps and we get the gas out however we can. You give me some food and supplies, we'll call it even," Andy said. "I hope there's no hard feelings about missing your boat."

Paul had to admit that he felt somewhat ashamed, behaving like an ogre, as he attempted to make amends with Andy. "I'm sorry for the uh..."

"I understand, guess I would be mad too if it were my wife. You better find her before the shit
really
hits the fan."

Chapter Three

They tapped what they could out of the old-fashioned pumps. Perhaps the bags were a diversion, either way Andy knew what he was talking about. Paul gave him a few days supplies--food and water--in exchange for his help. They were back on the road with close to a full tank of gas. It was a miracle, Paul felt, their first real miracle he could recall, though they
had
been very lucky in the past.

"I think we're going to be alright," Paul said to Julie as they sped along the highway with Denver less than two hundred miles away.

Julie hadn't said much since they hit the road. Paul knew she had disapproved of some of his actions, but which ones he wasn't sure. He had lost count by now. As soon as he helped them, Andy went off with his supplies before they even started the engine. He warned Paul again, telling him that if Paul knew what was good for him and his daughter they would stay as far away from Denver as possible. His warnings were disregarded, no matter how severe. He could have shown them pictures of a Denver lying in ruins and Paul would have still ventured forward. They had come this far and there was no turning back.

Julie stared out the window as Paul fidgeted with the car radio. The mountain tops reached into the night sky as if yearning to touch the stars. The wide chasms below were bereft of civilization. They were the one lone car on the road, providing illumination to the surrounding blackness. The typical static consumed the radio signals as Paul moved the dial from one end to the other. Suddenly, he heard a muffled voice come through, then it was gone. He moved the knob back to where he had it and the voice continued. He turned the volume up as loud as it could go. Julie turned her attention from the dark vastness outside the window to the sound of the radio.

"What is it?" she asked. Paul waved at her to be quiet as he held the knob in position, not wanting to lose the signal.

"I repeat…all citizens, evacuees, and those without the proper resources in the area are encouraged to travel to Denver so that they may find proper assistance. The RTD light rail transit system into and around Denver is fully functional and operating, despite massive power outages throughout the state. The Colorado National Guard is working to transport citizens to Denver where they will find food and assistance. The convention center is currently overcapacity and authorities are looking for possible places to re-locate and house citizens."          

"That’s where she is! She's at the convention center. We're actually going to find her. I can't believe it," Julie said with brightened eyes.

"I'd say that there's a pretty damn good chance," Paul said, smiling.

The announcer continued.

"Denver authorities are maintaining records on all evacuees who are currently staying at the convention center, so that loved ones may be found."

Paul and Julie looked at each other with sheer excitement.

"There is also a state-mandated nightly curfew in the Denver area as to keep the proper amount of law and order. Officials have taken all precautions to ensure the safety of all Denver inhabitants. Citizens are advised to follow specific instructions of police and military personnel. Disorderly conduct will not be tolerated."

Paul gave Julie another glance. "Will not be tolerated? By whom?"

Julie shrugged. The message had given them a jolt of motivation. The announcement continued to broadcast in a loop. Paul turned the volume down, still listening for updates. He felt more determined than ever to reach Denver.

"A sanctuary," he thought. "I've heard those words before. But this time, it seems real."

Maybe there were other places, other cities, just like Denver. Paul felt hope, real genuine hope, despite the reported obliteration of the states along the east, and the unknown whereabouts of his friends and family. Despite all of this, Paul realized that he was, at heart, an optimist. How could one not be in such times? Denver was a place for refuge, a place to reunite with the love of his life. It was a chance at a new beginning, so Paul thought.

Two hours later, they approached the first line of traffic in over a hundred miles. Denver was in sight. Julie had dozed off again despite her promise to herself that she wouldn't sleep until they found her mother. When she awoke it felt like ten hours had passed.

"Where are we?" she muttered instantly.

"Julie, my dear child, we are in Denver now," Paul replied.

She looked ahead as traffic came to a halt. "Other cars? Is this possible?"

"It certainly looks so. I'm not surprised. If they're directing everyone to Denver, I imagined there would be traffic," Paul replied. 

The Malibu slowed, rolled, and stopped as they approached four lanes of gridlock highway traffic. It was early morning, by Paul's estimate, and soon they would be at the convention center. He had no illusions about immediately finding Samantha; he figured it would take some time and that there would be hordes of people to contend with. After getting her, they could then go to a safer place. "Maybe New Haven?" he thought. Thinking of the bloodshed there, Paul then pushed the idea far from his mind. Being away from New Haven had given him a clear perspective. That was no place to bring his family, especially if other places offered food, aid, and assistance.

Large military trucks filled with civilian passengers in the back zoomed past the line of the traffic from the side of the road.

"How come they get to cut in front of us?" Julie asked.

"Because they're transporting people and helping people," Paul answered.

"Still doesn't make sense," Julie said.

They moved a foot every five minutes. Paul rolled down the windows and was met with a brisk air that sent chills down his spine. Into the city, he could see the surrounding tracks of the light rail system in full force.  The distance the trains covered had grown vastly over the years, as it branched out into areas outside of Denver. Now it looked as though the train had become a valuable asset in the transportation of stranded residents.

The sheer scope and size of the city of Denver loomed overhead. They saw skyscrapers as big as any Julie remembered seeing in Philadelphia when she was a child. It was a big city, but still had plenty of mountains and rural surroundings around it. Paul looked hastily for signs of power, but he found none beyond the spotlights that waved in the air. The tall buildings had no lights, nor did the city streets. They were still miles away from the main exit into town, but it was clear that Denver was no more fortuitous than the other places they had come across in Colorado.  

He searched the radio for updates. He came across the emergency broadcast channel just as the announcer was giving instructions.

"There are checkpoints all throughout the city as to be in compliance with national terror alerts. The state of Colorado has not been struck with any type of nuclear device or weapon, but all residents and evacuees are to stay alert and vigilant at all times. Officials ask for full compliance in all matters as resources shrink and more people take refuge in the city. It has been weeks since the United States was attacked with seven nuclear weapons taking out major cities along the East Coast."

"Seven?" Paul asked. "Did he say seven? I thought it was twelve."

The man's voice continued.

"Reports have been scattered and no real estimate and accurate of the damage is yet known because of dismantled power grids throughout the country. What is left and who is still alive remains largely unknown. States are hereby advised to take matters into their own hands and use all the power at their disposal to enforce law and order. Citizens are encouraged to disregard talk of the so called "megabomb" that is allegedly supposed to engulf the entire U.S. Such rumors have caused massive pandemonium and will not be tolerated by officials. All residents, evacuees, and refugees are encouraged to travel to Denver immediately where they will be given food, aid, and assistance. There are checkpoints all over the city..."

"Don't know if we're going to make that curfew," Paul said sarcastically.

"It's nothing to worry about, look," Julie said, pointing to the sky. In the low horizon, the molten orange hue of the sun was rising.

"I haven't seen the sun that bright in ages," she exclaimed.

Perhaps with sunlight overhead, a lack of power wouldn't be such an inconvenience. Despite their rosy outlook, traffic was moving at a snail's pace. Paul was getting anxious to the point of irritation. A police check point in full operation sat a mile ahead. There was no way around it.

"Can't they just let us in the fucking city?" Paul asked under his breath.

"What?" Julie asked back.

"Nothing," Paul answered.

They eventually reached the checkpoint as a wary and exhausted police officer asked them for identification. Paul handed the officer his driver's license along with Julie's student ID.

"Purpose of your travels?" the officer asked.

"Just following the broadcast instructions over the radio," Paul said.

The officer shined his flashlight into the vehicle, temporarily blinding Paul and Julie. He examined them closely, then handed back their identification.

"You're a long ways away from home Mr. Thompson," he said. "How's it holding up in Pennsylvania?"

Paul couldn't believe what he was being asked. Did the man not know?

"Not well," he answered. "That's why we're here."

The police officer nodded his head and patted the side of the Malibu for them to proceed. Paul attempted to probe the officer further.

"I'm looking for my wife. She was at an expo in the convention center when the attacks first occurred. Can you help me?" he asked.

The officer gave him a cocked look that said
why are you bothering me with this?

"All I suggest is that you go to the convention center and see if they have her name registered. If so, it shouldn't be too hard to find her." 

The officer waved them on not wanting to prolong the conversation.

Paul drove forward as traffic began to pan out. All types of vehicles: station wagons, trucks, sports cars, vans, motorcycles, and SUVs, cluttered the road in every direction. A majority of them had out-of-state plates. Evidently, Paul and Julie weren't the only ones. The Malibu crawled among the fleeing droves looking for sanctuary. Manned checkpoints were astonishing in their ubiquitous nature. It was hard to tell where to move and how to get to the convention center. Once in the city, it looked less like a sanctuary and more like a carefully designed powder keg, destined to explode. Those on foot were fortunate. To be in a car was to be stuck with no end in sight. Paul considered abandoning the car and walking, but when he suggested it, Julie's scowl told him otherwise.

Military and Red Cross trucks pushed their way through. Helicopters flew overhead, the never-ending whirl of chopper blades grated Paul's nerves, though he was encouraged to see active military, police, and emergency teams in motion. Stationary spot lights rotated, their beams shot endlessly into the morning sky. The multiple sounds of horns, sirens, car engines, and nearby shuttle trains formed a cacophony that made Paul nauseous. He recalled memories of Beech Creek and the massive traffic gridlock both him and Julie had succumbed to before running out of gas. He hoped they wouldn't face a similar scenario in Denver.

"There's nowhere to go," Julie said. "How are we going to find the convention center?"

Their Malibu inched forward every couple of minutes in the heavy downtown congestion. Paul had no better answers to give Julie than the police officer had offered them at the checkpoint.

"Just keep your eyes open. It's a big place, and I'm sure we can't miss it."

On a normal day, finding the convention center would be a matter of following signs or using GPS. Without GPS and no real sense of direction such navigation proved difficult.

"Take a look at the map, maybe we can find a street to turn off of."

Julie sighed and opened the glove compartment. As she fished out the map, Paul heeded her to wait. Up ahead, police were directing cars to merge into a single lane as traffic cones blocked all other paths.

A makeshift sign ahead read:
To Convention Center

It felt to be another amazing stroke of luck. Paul looked at Julie, satisfied and proud. "We did it," he said. "All we have to do now is follow the traffic."

Julie shot back a suspicious look then pointed ahead further. "That's not the convention center. It's just a big parking lot." she said.

Paul squinted ahead to where the traffic line ended. Police directed drivers not towards the convention center, but to a massive fenced-in lot. Once past the gate, drivers were motioned to park in an orderly fashion. As they exited their vehicles, families formed single file lines at the behest of several civilian-clothed state bureaucrats holding clip boards. There were scores of Red Cross stations set up throughout the lot.

Even with the militaristic feel, Paul shook off Julie's suspicions. "Obviously they're not going to direct us to the front door of the convention center. They have to set up some type of outside parking."  

Julie remained apprehensive and doubtful of their current path. "There's no way out once you go in. Don't you see that?" she said.