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

  When he was a few feet away, Paul dropped to one knee and ended with a grand finale. A small crowd had gathered around and they applauded. Susan shook her head.

  “You’re such a showoff,” she chided him, as he set the guitar down and plopped into the seat next to her.

  “That’s why you love me.”

  Slowly the audience evaporated once they realized there wasn’t going to be an encore.

  “What’s her name?” Paul asked, decidedly uncomfortable.

  Susan dug out the cat’s nametag. “Simba.”

  “Cute.”

  “You’re allergic, I know,” she said. “But it says here she’s hypoallergenic.”

  Paul laughed. “I didn’t know they were making cats the way they made pillows.”

  “Go on, pet her. See what you’ve been missing.”

  With some reluctance, Paul reached out and stroked the animal’s back.

  “Oh, come on, don’t be a wuss. You don’t pet a cat like it was a dog.” She took his hand and used it to really massage Simba’s back. Purring, the animal rolled over and exposed her belly.

  “See, she likes you.”

  And much to Paul’s surprise, he liked her too. The sensation of running his fingers through the cat’s orange coat was more pleasant than he’d imagined. There was something almost relaxing about it. Staring at her belly, Paul noticed something strange.

  “You said this was a female.”

  “That’s what the collar says. Why, were you going to ask her on a date?”

  “It’s just, I don’t see any nipples.”

  Susan looked. “Yeah, you’re right. That’s weird.”

  “I met a woman in the airlock on the way in,” Paul told her. “She worked in the science facility and said they had botanists and geneticists who’d made everything in the park.”

  “Made? It sounds so strange when you say it that way.”

  He nodded, pausing as he ran his fingers through the cat’s fur. “I felt the same way. Growing life in a test tube just feels unnatural.” He trailed off, deciding there was no sense telling her about the rest of his conversation with Victoria, least not before he could make sense of it for himself. “The rad levels got higher today,” he said instead.

  “That’s the scariest part,” she said. “If you were outside, you’d never know there was anything wrong. Radiation isn’t something you can smell, taste or see. Not before your skin starts to bubble and your hair falls out.” She was petting the cat faster now.

  “It’ll pass, honey. I promise, sooner or later it’ll pass and we’ll head back to Nebraska and everything will be okay.” The lie rolled off his tongue with such ease, he was tempted to believe it himself.

  It was frightening to consider just how much things had changed in such a short amount of time. And what about all those people who didn’t have bunkers to hide away in? Would the drive home be littered with millions of the dead and dying? Nagasaki and Hiroshima were the only nuclear detonations over a major city and that had been decades ago, with weapons probably far less powerful. They were the lucky ones and Paul hoped his family, including Buck, remembered that.

  “Have you seen Autumn?” he asked.

  “She left first thing this morning, right after you.”

  “To do what?” Paul asked.

  Susan scratched the top of Simba’s head and the cat lifted her chin in appreciation. “I’m not certain, but I bet I could guess.”

  “Brett again, eh? Seems she’s spending nearly every second she can with that young man. Doesn’t he have a job to do?”

  “That’s what I told her. If a girl looks too desperate boys will lose interest.”

  That wasn’t exactly where Paul was going. “I won’t lie, I’m not exactly rooting for this love connection,” he told her. “And I’m not sure either of us should be encouraging it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because she should be doing something more constructive with her time.”

  “Oh, come on, Paul, you’re being a little too protective. You need to start trusting your daughter. She isn’t a child anymore.”

  That was easy for Susan to say. Sometimes it wasn’t easy for women to understand the protectiveness a father felt for his daughter. One never set out to win the Overbearing Father of the Year award. You tried to be cool, let them stumble and make their own mistakes, but when something bad happened you could spend a lifetime blaming yourself for not being there when they needed you.

  Susan didn’t need to plead her case any further. There was no doubt that Brett had done so much for them already, but a debt of gratitude didn’t equate to carte blanche. Given what had happened with Chet, Paul would keep a close eye on things and make sure nothing got out of hand.

  Those very thoughts were coursing through Paul’s head when Craig approached Susan and him.

  “Mr. Edwards.”

  Paul looked up, shielding his eyes from the glare of the artificial sun. His chest tightened painfully. “What is it, Craig?”

  “Ms Monroe asked to speak with you right away. She said it was urgent.”

  Chapter 11

  The woman at the reception desk in the Ark Three administrative complex looked about as friendly as a black mamba. Impossibly skinny, with narrow facial features and a permanent frown, she probably hadn’t laughed in a decade or two.

  The atrium of Ark Three was bright, with high ceilings. Men and women in suits were coming and going. It might have passed for the ground floor of a Manhattan skyscraper.

  “I’m here to see Ava Monroe, my name is…”

  “Yes, we know who you are, Mr. Edwards. She’s expecting you. Top floor, first office on your right.”

  A bank of elevators were behind her and Paul began heading in that direction.

  “Not so fast, Mr. Edwards.” She handed him a pin which read ‘visitor’. “PFC Sanchez will escort you up.”

  A soldier with tightly cropped dark hair stepped forward. “Shall we?”

  The receptionist buzzed them through a turnstile. Once in the elevator, Sanchez used a white keycard to unlock the control panel. Paul’s stomach churned as they shot into the air. He couldn’t shake the sensation he was being sent to the principal’s office.

  The whole way here he had run through what he might have done wrong. He’d been on the tram when he’d finally figured it out. They’d discovered one of the guitars was missing from the music room and figured out he’d been the one who took it. A high-tech place like the Ark surely had cameras all over the place.

  The elevator doors swished open and Sanchez motioned him forward. Ava’s office door was open. The décor was simple enough. A desk, computer and two chairs. It was more what was missing that struck him. Plants, pictures of family or beloved pets, the sort of things most people kept close at hand.

  “Thank you,” she told the soldier who stood by the entrance. “Close the door behind you.” Her voice sounded cold and a touch dismissive and Paul couldn’t help but notice how that frigid demeanor tempered her stunning good looks.

  “Grab a seat, please, Mr. Edwards.” She indicated a chair on the other side of the desk.

  Paul did as he was told. “You can call me Paul.”

  She smiled weakly.

  “Am I in trouble or something? I mean, I didn’t see a sign-out sheet for the guitar. It needed a little tuning up and I had every intention of bringing it back when I was done.” He was babbling and the confusion on her face told him it was best to shut up and let her do the talking.

  “This isn’t about a guitar,” she told him. “This is regarding a disturbing event which occurred in the mess hall.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “Your father-in-law—his name is Buck, I believe.”

  “Yeah, what about him?”

  She leaned forward and laced her fingers together. Her nails were short and devoid of polish, and Paul didn’t notice a ring. Not that he was looking for one.

  “He was heard spreading false informat
ion and frightening several of the other residents.”

  “The rumors of a coup,” Paul said, the pieces clicking into place.

  “Yes, that’s exactly what they are, dangerous rumors and he needs to stop. I shouldn’t have to explain to you how grave the country’s predicament is at the moment.”

  “No, trust me, you don’t.”

  “You may see them as harmless, but that kind of talk is a poison. A single careless comment could easily distort the delicate equilibrium inside the Ark, Mr. Edwards…”

  “Paul,” he interrupted.

  “A poison that eats away at the morale,” she went on without taking a breath. “Losing that is akin to pulling a thread on a sweater. Before long the whole thing begins to unravel.”

  “And Buck’s right to free speech?”

  She smiled condescendingly. “We want Buck to exercise his better judgment, just as you’ve chosen to exercise your physique.”

  Paul’s eyes went wide. “How on earth did you know about that?”

  “Craig told us about your conversation earlier and we commend you for keeping yourself busy in a responsible fashion. That’s the point I’m trying to make. Buck has time on his hands and you know what they say about idle hands.”

  “Yeah, they’re the devil’s workshop.”

  A grin formed on Ava’s glossy lips. “That’s right.”

  “But why are you telling me this? Shouldn’t Buck be the one in the hot seat?”

  “I’m appealing to cooler heads,” she replied. “Buck is more likely to listen to a family member when it comes to matters like this.”

  “You don’t know Buck.”

  Her face grew serious. “And you don’t know us. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that your wife, your daughter and father-in-law are all here as our guests.”

  “We’re United States citizens,” he protested.

  “A cute line from the movies we’ve heard often lately. You are citizens and as such your responsibility is to maintain the collective peace. If that means a bit of self-censorship and common sense, then so be it. I would hate to be forced to eject you all from the facility. As you know, the conditions outside are getting worse by the day. Without the proper protection, the cells in your body would begin to break down almost at once. Radiation poisoning is a horrible way to go, let me assure you.” She grinned again, opened a drawer and produced a piece of cake. “Do you like cheesecake, Mr. Edwards?”

  “Uh, no, thanks. I just lost my appetite.”

  The last thing he saw was her look of disappointment as he walked out, making sure to close the door behind him.

  Chapter 12

  Still in the COG bunker on the outskirts of Washington, President Edmund Perkins entered the cramped office, closed the door and took a deep breath. His body felt weak and his throat was killing him. In the last several days, he’d been in meeting after meeting, trying to pull the country away from the brink. It wasn’t a surprise that everyone wanted a piece of him. The Joint Chiefs of Staff, the heads of the FBI, CIA, NSA, DHS… the acronyms went on and on and on.

  He’d expected the loss of life to be dramatic, but he hadn’t anticipated the toll it would take on him. In the days after the attack, sleep had evaded him. Whenever he closed his eyes, millions of dead Americans were staring back at him, their expressions filled with condemnation. He was a male version of Lady Macbeth, his hands soaked with blood he couldn’t wash away.

  But they sure as hell hadn’t died in vain. That was a mantra he’d taken to repeating whenever the thumping headaches became too much. Not unlike soldiers in past wars, these heroes had given up their lives to help forge a better America. A stronger America. It didn’t matter that the recent dead hadn’t volunteered or even known a battle was coming.

  Perkins settled into the plush leather chair and lifted the receiver of the red encrypted phone on his desk. The line led straight to the Department of Defense. A soft female voice answered.

  “Please authenticate.”

  “President Edmund Perkins.”

  “Analyzing, please hold.”

  Perkins waited, tapping a pen against the desk.

  Then another woman’s voice came on the line. “Yes, Mr. President?”

  “Get me a line to the Ark.”

  “Right away, sir.”

  A click and then a quick series of rings, the way phones rang in London and parts of Europe. A man answered.

  “I was wondering when you would call.” It was Van Buren and he sounded cross.

  “It’s a lot worse than we thought,” Perkins explained. “I’m at my wits’ end here.”

  “Toughen up, you’re the leader of the free world now.”

  “The DHS is estimating five million dead already with plenty more to follow.”

  “That’s a start at least. Have you ever tended a garden, Edmund?”

  “No, I can’t say that I have.”

  Van Buren let out a hollow laugh. “You had people who did that for you, didn’t you?”

  Perkins didn’t answer.

  “Sometimes to save a plant you need to trim some leaves. You’re doing the right thing. Do not despair.”

  He sounded so sure of himself. Perkins wished his faith was as strong. If the old man only knew the half of it. The true nature of their relationship.

  “Listen, Edmund, there’s something I need to talk to you about. Rumors of a coup have started trickling through the complex. Talk that the president’s been overthrown.”

  The breath caught in Perkins’ throat. “I don’t see how that’s possible. Those Secret Service men assured me they would use the utmost discretion.”

  “Well, they didn’t,” Van Buren barked. “And now I’m sitting in a bunker beneath a million tons of rock, reading reports about riffraff agitating an already precarious situation. Part of our strategy involved a seamless transition of power. That’s why we made you Speaker of the House, remember?”

  “I’ll have those Secret Service men taken care of,” Perkins suggested, stumbling over his words.

  “Don’t bother. The damage is done. How soon can you get here?”

  “I need another few days.”

  “You have seventy-two hours. After that, phase two of Project Genesis will begin.”

  Chapter 13

  It was fascinating the way a mess hall took on the dignified auspices of a grand dining room simply because a different meal was being served. Sure, the lights were dimmed and candles placed on each of the tables, but otherwise there was no real difference. One was still required to line up clutching a plastic tray like they had all those years in high school.

  Without a doubt, the military personnel as well as Ark employees seemed a little cleaner and more comfortable, some even wearing casual clothes like jeans and t-shirts. Civilians, on the other hand, didn’t have that option anymore since their clothes had been torn from their backs and incinerated during processing. All civvies were dressed in the same dull earth-toned tunics and loose-fitting pants.

  On a lighter note, it did seem that Craig’s prophecy about Paul’s new shorts starting a trend was coming true. As early as mid-morning, Paul had noticed more than a few slacks cropped at the knee. Most of them, he guessed, were unaware that Paul had only mangled his reserve pair. Either way, the trend was catching on and the sight offered Susan and him a nice moment of levity.

  Unlike breakfast and lunch, which were governed by the first-come, first-serve rule, dinnertime was a different beast altogether. This was Paul’s second such experience and each time the rules changed. Day one had seen a single sitting, which had quickly become a disaster since everyone showed up at once. On day two there were two sittings, one at 1800 and another at 1845. On day three there were three sittings, the last marked for 1930. The warm lighting and candles were a nice touch.

  Susan and Buck had gone early in the morning to reserve a table for the first sitting only to discover yet another change had been made. Civilians were to eat at one end of the room while mi
litary and Ark personnel ate at the other. A distinct class system was beginning to emerge and its appearance did nothing to settle Paul’s nerves, still frayed after his conversation with Ava earlier in the day. She’d threatened to have Paul and his family—Buck included—ejected from the bunker and left to die in the cloud of radiation sweeping over them at this very moment. The digital rad readouts dotting every other wall made it clear that the levels outside regularly exceeded six thousand mSv, well within the zone of lethality.

  Since the meeting, Paul had struggled with whether or not to tell his wife about the rather unveiled threat Ava had delivered—keep Buck quiet or else. Paul knew he’d have an easier time convincing the Columbia River to flow in the opposite direction than he would telling Buck to watch what he said. And when he’d attempted to protest on constitutional grounds, Ava had practically laughed in his face. He’d been under the mistaken impression that free speech, even during a national disaster, was a right worth fighting for. But to what authority would he appeal to enforce his inalienable rights? If the director’s assistant would have none of it, then how could he expect to find a sympathetic ear with Van Buren himself?

  As they shuffled through the growing dinnertime crowd to their designated table, the anxiety in Paul’s gut became downright painful. With every step it was becoming increasingly clear what he must do. Pull Buck aside after dinner and try to talk some sense into him. If the crotchety old bugger could be made to see the bigger picture, they might all get through this in one piece.

  The first sign Paul’s plan was destined to blow up in his face reared its ugly head the minute they took their seats. The tables sat ten apiece. Paul, Susan, Autumn and Buck settled in, followed quickly by Earl Mullins, his wife Cindy and their two children, little Earl Junior and Colton, a little boy with a prosthetic left arm. The last to join were the two men Paul had seen Buck arguing with earlier, Jeb Wilks and Allan Womack.