Dark Days Read online

  Books by Dr. Arthur T. Bradley

  Handbook to Practical Disaster Preparedness for the Family

  The Prepper's Instruction Manual

  Disaster Preparedness for EMP Attacks and Solar Storms

  Process of Elimination: A Thriller

  The Survivalist (Frontier Justice)

  The Survivalist (Anarchy Rising)

  The Survivalist (Judgment Day)

  The Survivalist (Madness Rules)

  The Survivalist (Battle Lines)

  The Survivalist (Finest Hour)

  The Survivalist (Last Stand)

  The Survivalist (Dark Days)

  The Survivalist (Freedom Lost)

  Available in print, ebook, and audiobook at all major resellers or at: http://disasterpreparer.com

  The Survivalist

  (Dark Days)

  Author: Arthur T. Bradley, Ph.D.

  Email: [email protected]

  Website: http://disasterpreparer.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission from the author.

  Illustrations used throughout the book are privately owned and copyright protected. Special thanks are extended to Siobhan Gallagher for editing, Marites Bautista for print layout, and Nikola Nevenov for illustrations and cover design. Special thanks to Benjamin Copeland for providing guidance on boar hunting.

  © Copyright 2016 by Arthur T. Bradley

  ISBN 10: 1534938125

  ISBN 13: 978-1534938120

  Printed in the United States of America

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events is purely coincidental.

  “The enemy is anybody who’s going to get you killed, no matter which side he is on.”

  Joseph Heller

  1923–1999

  Foreword

  The United States currently has one hundred operational nuclear power reactors, each faithfully providing “clean energy” to homes and businesses all across the country. While many hold up nuclear energy as the holy grail of electrical power generation, catastrophes such as those at Three-Mile Island, Chernobyl, and most recently, Fukushima’s Daiichi Nuclear Power Plant beg the question as to whether the risks are truly worth the rewards.

  Unlike conventional coal-burning plants, nuclear power facilities are not fail-safe. Instead, they require careful, continued servicing for years to prevent the release of dangerous radioactive contaminants. The Nuclear Regulatory Commission ensures that numerous safeguards are in place to prevent such releases, but those safeguards assume that a mechanism for cooling the nuclear materials remains available—typically through the use of large pumps to circulate water around the fuel rods in the reactor and spent rods pools.

  Those cooling pumps require electricity, either from the grid, batteries, or onsite diesel generators. But what would happen if that electricity became unavailable? The simple answer is that, within hours, the surrounding water would boil off, uncovering the nuclear fuel rods. If the rods had not yet cooled to an acceptable level, their claddings could melt or oxidize, leading to fires, explosions, and the release of radioactive steam and particulates into the atmosphere. Now imagine hundreds of nuclear power plants all over the world experiencing problems at the same time.

  It’s easy to discount such a scenario as simple fear mongering. After all, it would require the sustained loss of electricity and a failure of the onsite diesel generators (likely due to fuel becoming unavailable). How likely are both of these to occur? If history is our teacher, the answer is not very. Consider also that a nuclear meltdown is a global concern. Governments around the world would quickly render aid to maintain nuclear power plants if the host country were unable.

  For that reason, nuclear Armageddon would likely require an unprecedented global event, such as a pandemic, asteroid strike, or supervolcano eruption—the kind of thing that would shake the foundational infrastructures of nations all over the world. Should that happen, however, the greatest threat to mankind’s survival might not be the event itself but rather the subsequent release of radioactive contamination all across the globe.

  Chapter 1

  Deputy Marshal Mason Raines stood completely naked, staring out the sliding glass door of his apartment as the sun slowly rose over the Chesapeake Bay. The deep blue water broke with frothy white caps, churning as restlessly as he had the night before.

  He closed his eyes and let the sky’s fiery glow wash over him.

  It had been six long, hard months since leaving his family’s cabin, and in that time much had happened. Not only did he now find himself living in Norfolk’s New Colony, he also had a new job.

  For the past several months, Mason had been working alongside the colony’s Security Force, helping to maintain order and generally keep the small bastion of civilization alive. The position had come about through a personal invitation from General Carr, the man now responsible for the New Colony’s safety and security. The two had fought alongside one another at The Greenbrier, and that battlefield bond remained intact despite the untimely death of President Glass.

  Understanding that Mason was first and foremost a lawman, Carr had initially asked that he lead missions to track down criminals and other aspiring disruptors of the peace. Necessity eventually required that his role be broadened to include the gathering of much-needed supplies.

  Still feeling the pangs of guilt over his failure at The Greenbrier, Mason had readily accepted, but with two conditions. First, he would take orders only from Carr. And second, Bowie would be welcome to come along on every operation.

  Both had been accepted without reservation.

  Mason had been brought in as a private contractor touted to have extensive experience in law enforcement and military operations. And while he had not yet fully overcome the stigma of being an outsider, most who worked under his command quickly realized that anyone who could help keep them alive was worthy of their respect.

  He reported directly to General Carr, and Carr to former vice-president Andrew Stinson, now governor of the New Colony. The death of President Pike and subsequent collapse of the federal government had left Stinson as the senior-most representative in what semblance of government remained.

  While Mason found Stinson to be indecisive, the politician had to his credit, addressed this shortcoming by surrounding himself with capable people. That single decision helped the New Colony survive its first winter with only nine thousand deaths, a mere twelve percent mortality rate. While that was far better than history’s other first colonies, life had certainly not been without its hardships.

  Outbreaks of cholera and dysentery had plagued the inhabitants, affecting thousands with diarrhea, vomiting, and dehydration. Food, water, heating oil, and other basic necessities had to be scrounged or stolen, making daily life a never-ending quest for survival. After a winter of limited food and even less heat, many of the colony’s survivors were left weak and malnourished, praying for warmer weather and the crops that spring promised to bring.

  Had it not been for a private agribusiness known only as “The Farm,” the death toll would surely have been much higher. Like most successful entrepreneurs, their CEO, Oliver Locke, had identified a need and pulled together the necessary resources to fill it. With the support and backing of the New Colony, The Farm had managed to produce and deliver more than two million emergency rations throughout the fall and winter.

  The rations, affectionately known as ERs because eating too many could ostensibly lead to a visit to the emergency room for gastrointestinal blockage,
came vacuum-sealed in dull aluminum-colored wrappers and had the consistency of moist granola bars. The list of ingredients included wheat flour, dehydrated fruits and vegetables, shortening, sugar, meat and meat by-products, vitamins, and artificial flavors and colors. Each block measured six inches square and two inches thick, and purportedly provided everything a human body needed for a full day.

  What the rations offered in nutrition, however, was offset by a distinct acrid taste. Even Bowie refused to nibble on the sticky brown blocks, convincing Mason to seek his sustenance elsewhere. Fortunately, spending many of his waking hours finding food and water for the colony meant that there was almost always something left over for him and Bowie at the end of the day.

  A soft voice pulled Mason from his thoughts.

  “Come back to bed, love.”

  He took one last moment to bask in the warm sunlight before turning to face Brooke.

  She lay on the bed, a silky white sheet wrapped tightly around her slender body. Soft unblemished skin, short curly brown hair, and eyes as intriguing as the Mogul Emerald caused the breath to catch in his throat. Before the pandemic, such natural beauty would surely have landed Brooke the finest things in life. As it was, she had managed to put it to work well enough to land her a position at The Farm.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  Mason offered a slight smile. “I’m good.”

  At the sound of his master’s voice, Bowie raised his head. He lay curled up on a rug barely large enough to fit his one-hundred-and-forty-pound frame. When Mason didn’t say anything more, the dog slowly settled back to the floor.

  Brooke slipped a hand out from beneath the covers.

  “Come warm me. I’m cold.”

  As was the case with many of the women with whom he had come to share a bed, their relationship had begun with a cry for help. In Brooke’s case, she had been confronted by a band of violent men intent on partaking of her beauty, with or without her consent. It was only pure happenstance that put Mason in their way.

  To hear her tell it, he was her guardian angel, the hero who had miraculously appeared to frighten off a gang of would-be rapists. And since that rescue, they had developed a special kind of relationship. What had begun as something carnal had grown into something more. Now, more often than not, they would spend as much time talking about their regrets from the past or their hopes for the future, as they would in the throes of passion. In Mason’s case, there were a lot more regrets than there were hopes.

  Despite enjoying what had become a regular weekly rendezvous, Mason laid no claim to Brooke. Between Ava’s death and Leila’s betrayal, he was reluctant to become emotionally involved with anyone, at least not until his wounds had had more time to heal.

  She cleared her throat softly. “I’ve never had to ask a man twice to come to bed.”

  Mason grinned. “I’m sure you haven’t.” He swaggered over and slipped under the sheets.

  Brooke slid next to him, nuzzling her warm body against his. Resting her head on his chest, she said, “Today’s the big day.”

  “What day is that?”

  She raised her head and looked up at him. Mason was smiling.

  “Don’t make light of this. It’s a big opportunity, and you really need to make a good impression.”

  “Like I did with you?”

  She settled back onto his chest.

  “You don’t need to go so far as to save Locke’s life, but you do need to show him that you’re more than a gunslinger. You’re a leader.”

  “Is that what I am?”

  “That’s part of what you are, don’t you think?”

  “I suppose.” It was a conversation they’d had a half-dozen times before, and he was being difficult only to keep it interesting.

  “And please don’t tell anyone about us. Not yet, anyway. I don’t want Locke or any of his men thinking that I recommended you because you’re my… well, you know.”

  “Secret lover?”

  “Exactly.”

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were married, or worse, ashamed of me.”

  She rose up again to look into his eyes.

  “Being ashamed of you is worse than my being married?”

  “Sure it is.”

  “And why’s that?”

  “One can be changed. The other can’t.”

  She nodded thoughtfully. “Well, I’m not married. And by God, I could never be ashamed of you. You’re the man of every woman’s dreams.”

  “Says the Victoria’s Secret model.”

  She smiled and settled back onto his chest.

  “What kind of supplies will you be carrying today?”

  “Fuel. We’re heading over to the NASA center to drain one of their tanks.”

  “I didn’t know the center had been cleared.”

  “It hasn’t. We’re going in assuming there are hostiles.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but stopped and let out a worried sigh instead.

  “Just be careful. You know how dangerous it is outside the colony.”

  “We’ll be fine. Bowie and I will have a crew with us.”

  “Have you worked with them before?”

  “Many times. They’re okay.”

  “Even so, watch for signs of the Craze,” she warned, using the term that colonists had adopted to describe an unexplained psychosis that was spreading throughout the colony.

  “They’re okay,” he repeated.

  She lay quietly for a moment, gently tracing his navel with the tip of her index finger.

  “You had another nightmare last night.”

  Mason said nothing as he gently stroked her hair.

  “Was it Ava again?”

  “It’s always Ava.”

  “Because she was your one true love?” Brooke’s voice was laced with both sadness and jealousy. She was not used to playing second fiddle, even if it was to a dead woman.

  “No,” he murmured. “Because she was the one I couldn’t save.”

  She rolled on top of him, so that they were lying face to face.

  “You saved me. Isn’t that enough?”

  Feeling the warm press of her body, he wondered why it wasn’t. He leaned forward and kissed her.

  “You’re gorgeous. You know that, right?”

  “Why is it that men think a compliment can be used to answer any question?”

  “Did I mention you’re a great kisser too?”

  She grinned. “I am that.” Before he could say anything more, she sat up, straddling him. The covers fell away to reveal supple breasts and a tight stomach. “You’re lucky to have me like this. You know that, right?”

  “I do.”

  She leaned down and kissed him, her nipples grazing his chest.

  “If you asked me, I’d be yours, and yours alone.” It was the first time she had said such a thing, and it surprised him. “I wouldn’t expect a proposal or anything, just a promise that you’d take care of me.”

  He stared at her, uncertain of how to reply.

  “I know you’re not ready yet,” she said. “I can see that in your eyes. But you’re healing. I can see that too. So when you are ready, tell me.”

  He offered a slight nod. “All right.”

  She let her tongue trace his ear before sucking the lobe into her warm, wet mouth.

  “Until then,” she whispered, “we have this.”

  Mason said nothing, his voice once again caught in his throat. Her kisses slowly made their way down his chest and stomach, and he closed his eyes, thinking that the day was off to one hell of a good start.

  Chapter 2

  Samantha looked up from her book in time to see Carver stick out his foot and trip young Flynn. The five-year-old stumbled and fell, scraping his hands on the stone walkway. A few of the kids standing in front of the Church of the Fallen Saints giggled, but most looked away. Carver was big for fourteen, and no one wanted to be the target of his attention. It had occurred to Samantha more than once that
he was probably better suited to working the fields than attending Boone’s only school.

  Flynn’s teenage sister, Annie, raced over and helped him to his feet. She glared at Carver and the two boys standing beside him.

  “Leave him alone!”

  Carver shrugged. “I didn’t do nothing. Your clumsy little brother needs to watch where he’s going, that’s all.”

  “Bully.”

  Carver smoothed back his long black hair.

  “Listen, gorgeous, it doesn’t have to be like this. I’ve been telling you ever since you got here that you and I could be friends. Real good friends, if you know what I mean.” He looked over at his cohorts, and they chuckled the way teenage boys invariably do when sex is the topic of conversation.

  “Not in a million years.”

  “Suit yourself. But I have a feeling that your little brother’s troubles are only just beginning.”

  Annie squinted at him. “You leave him alone, or so help me…”

  “So help you what?” he said, straightening up.

  She swallowed.

  Carver grinned. “That’s what I thought.”

  Samantha glanced down at the small rubber band on her wrist. It had been a gift from Father Paul, the letters WWJD printed conspicuously on its face. The priest had given a band to every student, hoping that it would act as a simple reminder to always ask “What would Jesus do?” In Samantha’s case, however, the J had partially rubbed off, so that it now looked like a T. And no matter how hard she tried not to, every time she looked at the band, she couldn’t help but ask herself, “What would Tanner do?”

  She slammed her book shut a little harder than she had intended, and everyone’s gaze turned to her.

  Carver gave her an ugly grin. “You got something to say, Sa-MAN-tha?”