Long Road to Survival: The Prepper Series (Book 2) Read online

  Long Road to Survival:

  Book 2

  Copyright © 2015 Lee Bradford, William H. Weber

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. Any material resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  eISBN: 978-1-926456-09-6

  Long Road to Survival:

  Book 2

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Dedication

  A special thank you to H. Rossi, Craig and Leslie for the time you spent reading through and commenting on early versions of the manuscript. I’d also like to thank my editor RJ for helping to add that mirror finish to the final draft. And finally a word of gratitude to fans of the series. Without you, none of this would be possible.

  Long Road to Survival (Book 2)

  America continues to teeter on the brink of collapse after terrorists detonate black-market nukes from container ships.

  With deadly clouds of radiation swooping in from the wasteland of American port cities, Paul Edwards and his father-in-law Buck seek shelter in a spectacular government bunker, the likes of which has never been seen.

  They’ve succeeded in finding safety from the threats outside, but in a world without rules, trust can be a dangerous thing.

  Recap of book one:

  After a devastating terrorist attack, former rock star Paul Edwards and his cranky father-in-law Buck Baker put aside their differences and journey a thousand miles to Atlanta in the hopes of saving their loved ones. What should have been a long drive becomes a life-or-death struggle when the two men are set upon by a gang of recently escaped criminals. But reaching Paul’s wife Susan and his daughter Autumn is only half the battle. With deadly radiation about to envelop Atlanta, they take the only viable option open to them—an invitation to a government bunker. There they will wait for the radiation to pass. It’s a safe place, populated with fellow Americans. What could possibly go wrong?

  Chapter 1

  Three days ago

  The traffic along I-95 between Baltimore and Washington, DC ground to a standstill and Speaker of the House Edmund Perkins wondered if he’d ever make it back to Capitol Hill. The weather outside the protected confines of his Mercedes S600 armoured limousine was well on its way to becoming a typical southeastern summer day, which was to say that it was hot, muggy and made Perkins thankful for the breeze from the air conditioning brushing his face.

  The stifling heat outside reminded him of the story they used to tell new interns—that Washington had been built on a swamp—an analogy that seemed particularly relevant to many nowadays who had grown tired of the current political climate in Washington. Unfortunately, the story wasn’t true. Only about two percent of the city was swamp land, and yet for years the story had persisted. Perkins supposed it spoke to an observation made by Mark Twain more than a hundred years before that one should never let the truth get in the way of a good story.

  Sitting next to him, Mark Thomson, his thin and meticulous assistant, thumbed through a daily planner. If Perkins was the helm, then Thomson was the rudder that kept the ship pointed in the right direction.

  “We’re not gonna make the meeting,” Thomson said, tapping his brown loafer.

  Perkins pushed a button on the side console, lowering the tinted window which sealed off the limo’s back seat. A pair of gunmetal-black eyes stared back at him through the rear view.

  “What can I do for you, sir?” Johnson asked. At well over two hundred pounds, the man might just as well have also been Perkins’ bodyguard. It certainly would have eliminated the need for the black SUV behind them, carrying the two Secret Service agents tasked with his protection.

  “When do you expect we’ll arrive?” Perkins asked. “I’ve got an important meeting with Senator Janice Grotz at…” He looked at Thomson, who mouthed the time.

  “Three.”

  Johnson’s right hand went into the air. “If I could turn this here limo into a chopper, I’d say no more time than it takes to drain a Scotch on the rocks.”

  Perkins grinned. That was Johnson’s way of telling him to have a drink and enjoy the ride. If Johnson only knew. There was more on Perkins’ plate right now than his driver could ever understand. Besides, Perkins didn’t drink, not anymore. He’d been dry for close to twenty years now. Ever since coming under the wing of Victor Van Buren, the man who had made all of this possible.

  The thought of Van Buren prompted Perkins to check his phone. The old man was supposed to call. It wasn’t like him to break his word.

  Just then a blinding flash washed over everything. Cars ahead of them slowed, some swerved and crashed into the cement median. On the other side of the highway, all traffic had come to a complete stop. Afterward, Perkins would remember the look of horror on their faces, as though the Rapture had begun.

  Then he saw it for himself, reflected in the windshield of an oncoming eighteen-wheeler, and Perkins understood their fear. They were watching a mushroom cloud rising from what had once been Baltimore, a city that now likely resembled something out of the Old Testament itself, Sodom and Gomorrah. Pulsing out from the city, the shockwave swept over the traffic, bursting windows and tossing cars aside like children’s toys. A single thought had time to flash through Perkins’ mind before it hit: the attack had come too early.

  The limo was lying with its belly to the darkening sky when Perkins came to, a stinging pain at his temple. He touched the area with his hand and it came away red. The bulletproof windows had resisted the blast wave, but the car had been tossed around like a leaf in the wind. On top of that, shards of glass from the shattered divider had sprayed him in the face. Next to him Thomson, his eyes open, stared blankly into space. Reaching over with shaky fingers, Perkins felt for a pulse, knowing full well he wouldn’t find one.

  A moan from the front seat drew his attention.

  “Johnson, you okay?”

  “I hope you got the license plate of the truck that hit us.”

  Johnson was being held upside down by his seatbelt. Perkins, on the other hand, was lying on the
ceiling next to Thomson’s dead body.

  After opening the limo door, the Speaker of the House pushed his way out of the vehicle and into a hellish landscape. The highway was strewn with wrecked cars and dead Americans. It seemed unimaginable that anyone could live through such a disaster and yet, amidst the clouds of smoke and the smell of burning rubber, the vague shapes of human figures stumbled around. Most of them were moving slowly—as if out on a leisurely Sunday stroll—and he recognized right away that they were in shock. A handful of others had sprung into action, wrestling against twisted car doors in order to free those trapped in the chaos.

  That made him think of Johnson and he made his way to the driver’s side door. Grasping the metal handle, Perkins glanced behind him for just a moment and his pulse quickened at the sight of the mushroom cloud, a towering column rising high into the atmosphere, already beginning to lose its shape. It was growing fatter and starting to look more like a swollen finger. Soon the fallout—radioactive debris sucked high into the air with the initial detonation—would begin descending back to earth. In another thirty minutes, these people were as good as dead.

  He wrestled with the car door, his nostrils filled with smoke and his arms as heavy as lead pipes. His Brioni suit was shredded, giving him the appearance of a character from Looney Tunes who’d lit a trick cigar.

  Finally the door swung open to reveal Johnson still suspended upside down. The driver’s arms were touching the ceiling, his head moving back and forth as he spoke. Perkins ducked in to undo the seatbelt and swore it sounded as though the man were praying. For reasons he wasn’t free to explain, Perkins felt responsible and reassured the driver that he’d be just fine. But the latch on the seatbelt wasn’t releasing. The weight of Johnson’s robust body was putting too much pressure on the mechanism. He would need to find a knife and cut the belt to have any hope of saving the man. Right about that time, a helicopter approached.

  It was an unmarked black chopper and it circled twice before setting down in a field beside the highway. A door slid open and three men in suits wielding MP5 submachine guns emerged. The sight brought to mind his own security detail and Perkins scanned the devastation before spotting their black SUV. Or what was left of it.

  The men in suits arrived a minute later.

  “Mr. Speaker, we need you to come with us.”

  They were Secret Service, he could tell from the suits they wore as well as the calm, emotionless way they addressed him.

  “Not without Johnson,” Perkins said, motioning to his trapped driver. “And there are two more of your men in that crumpled SUV over there.”

  They glanced over their shoulders and then back at him. “No one else but you, sir,” the first one said. The man behind him had swapped his weapon for a Geiger counter which was clicking away.

  “Then I won’t go.”

  The head agent took Perkins by the arm. “Our orders were clear. Now either you come willingly or we can hogtie and carry you off.”

  The blood drained from Perkins’ face. He stared for a moment at the survivors around him, struggling to help one another. None of them knew it would all be in vain. It wasn’t supposed to happen, not like this.

  The Secret Service agent tightened his grip and began pulling Perkins away as the Speaker gave in and agreed to go.

  Johnson was reaching for him. “Don’t leave me, please don’t leave me.”

  But like much of life these last few years, Perkins didn’t have a choice. Already he knew Van Buren would hear about his refusal to leave. His benefactor would be displeased but Perkins wasn’t sure if he cared anymore. He had allowed the man to cross the Rubicon and Perkins was beginning to wonder if they hadn’t made a terrible mistake.

  The Secret Service chopper flew over the capital on its way to one of a half-dozen bunkers that ringed Washington, DC. Carryovers from the Cold War, many of the bunkers had either been put on the chopping block or dismantled over the years. But no more than six months ago, all that had changed. With secret black-budget funding, the underground installations had been hurriedly brought back online.

  As they’d approached the city from a distance, Perkins was amazed at how calm and intact the capital was. Especially considering the mushroom cloud behind them, long since distorted by the wind into a misshapen column of smoke and ash.

  It was only as they reached the Potomac that Perkins spotted the first signs of trouble. The freeways leaving the city were jammed with the vehicles of those trying to flee. By far the largest line stretched from I-66 toward the interior of the country and presumably away from the coastal cities, several of which had been reduced to radioactive wastelands.

  Not long after the chopper touched down outside of an ageing factory. In its entire history, Discount Auto Parts hadn’t produced a single fuel filter or brake pad. Even though transport trucks could be seen coming and going on a regular basis, the structure was nothing more than a cover for Continuity of Government Bunker Five, an underground structure designed to house a portion of the legislative branch of the government in the event of a serious threat. Other strong points outside the city would house other government agencies—one the Pentagon, another Homeland Security and a third the FBI, CIA and NSA.

  A group of men in dark suits approached the helicopter, bent slightly at the waist, avoiding the blades still rotating overhead.

  Without saying a word, the men led Perkins from the chopper toward a nondescript door. On the wall next to the factory entrance was a sign which read: 1856 days accident-free.

  “What a track record,” Perkins observed. “Even if she isn’t real.”

  The Secret Service agent next to him grinned as he punched a code into a keypad and pulled open the door. “You should see our benefits package.”

  No sooner had they entered than a voice rang out. “Oh, God, Edmund, your face. What happened?”

  “Had a little car trouble,” he replied, reaching for cuts on his left cheek where glass from the divider had struck his face.

  The voice belonged to Senator Janice Grotz from Connecticut. In her late fifties and skinny as a pole, Janice was as smart as they came. With five ex-husbands behind her, she was also known around the Hill as the Black Widow.

  “Those bastards really got us this time, didn’t they?” Her tiny hands were balled into fists.

  “I guess I don’t need to tell you I won’t make our meeting today,” Perkins quipped as he and his entourage of Secret Service agents pushed past her.

  She ignored his ill-timed joke, calling after him instead. “Have you heard about the president?”

  Perkins stopped and spun on his heels, hopeful. “No, I haven’t.”

  Her eyes fell. “We only just found out ourselves. He’s dead, Edmund. Was in New York addressing the United Nations when the city was destroyed.” She was visibly shaken and fighting back the tears.

  “What about the vice president?” Perkins asked her, feigning grief.

  “Alive,” Janice replied, “but barely. He was in Los Angeles. He’s unconscious, maybe even in a coma. But we haven’t heard anything else.” She paused, her features becoming set. “I guess as Speaker of the House that makes you acting president.”

  Senator Grotz’s words were still ringing in Perkins’ ears as the elevator descended to sublevel two, opening onto the situation room. A bank of monitors on the far wall showed maps of the United States and the cities along both coasts that had been destroyed. Agents and analysts scrambled to organize rescue teams tasked with helping the wounded and searching for survivors. So much needed to be done. Portable mortuaries needed setting up. The Emergency Alert System needed to begin broadcasting messages to Americans on how to stay safe from the fallout. The list was never-ending.

  The faces of representatives from government agencies headquartered in other secret bunkers around the Capitol appeared on each of the screens. They were waiting for direction, for a leader who could help them find a way out of this mess. If the president or vice president were arou
nd, this was where they would be. It wasn’t long before all of the screens were filled.

  An analyst wearing a headset swivelled to face Perkins. “We’re ready to begin.”

  “Not just yet,” Perkins replied. “First, get me an encrypted line to Sugarloaf Mountain.”

  Victor Van Buren sounded euphoric as he answered the line. “I would normally be cross you took so long to report in, but under the circumstances I find myself in a rather forgiving mood. Are you alone?”

  “For now,” Perkins told him, trying to calm the rising panic in his voice. “There’s a room full of people next door waiting for me to act presidential.”

  “Then all is unfolding as we intended.”

  “Not exactly.”

  Van Buren’s smooth voice became icy. “What do you mean?”

  “Vice President Trindle. He’s still alive.”

  “Really? He must’ve been right at the edge of the blast radius,” Van Buren said almost to himself.

  “But he may be in a coma,” Perkins assured him. “At least that’s what I’ve heard so far.”

  Van Buren paused, presumably to savor the Earl Grey he was always drinking. “Then you’ll need to make sure that he never wakes up.”

  Perkins went to respond, but the line was already dead.

  Chapter 2

  Present

  Paul Edwards opened his sleepy eyes as the strangely shaped mountain came into view. From its flattened crest rose a crop of tightly packed trees and his first impression was that it resembled a stumpy loaf of bread. Rubbing at his eyes, he couldn’t help wondering whether he was still asleep.

  “Looks kinda like an old man wearing a bad toupee,” Susan observed from behind the wheel of Buck’s Hummer. The convoy leaving Atlanta had pulled over somewhere outside of Memphis and they’d swapped places. During their race south to rescue Susan and Autumn, the two men hadn’t slept more than a handful of hours and before long the exhaustion had started catching up with them.