S Ison - Russian Doomsday

Going to the rabbit hutch, he disengaged the cabinet from the stand and took it to the truck. Putting the tailgate down, he shoved the box toward the back. The chickens took a bit to catch – they’d gone to roost, but when he entered the coop they sensed something was wrong and started flying around.

He finally shoved them in a medium-sized kennel, grabbed a hand full of straw and threw it in. Made it easier to clean later. He looked around to see if there was anything else they needed.

He was surprised to find he was hyperventilating, the panic nearly choking him. He took some deep breaths, trying to calm down. He needed to be calm for Joy. She was depending on him.

The goats remained on their bellies, shaking and bleating. He turned and went back to get the other hutches. As he did, Joy came out of the house, tears spilling down her ashen cheeks. She put the two heavy backpacks in the front seat, then turned back to the house. Once the hutches were loaded, Sayer got as many bags of feed as he could and stuffed them into the back of the truck. He placed them over the rabbit hutches to hold them down.

He then went and got the five-gallon cans of fuel. They’d have enough for a short while, but then there would be no more unless they went looking for it. He took a last look around the barn, then went into the house to retrieve his weapons.

Joy put the suitcases in the back of the truck, then climbed into the passenger seat. She watched as Sayer brought his guns out of the house: a shot gun, an AR15, his own Glock, and her Glock 26. He put them in the cab behind the driver’s seat and climbed in. She looked over at him. He smiled at her, but his smile trembled.

Putting his hand to the key in the ignition, he turned it. Nothing happened. He tried again. The truck would not start. He then thought that perhaps, because the 100-megaton yield of POSEIDON was greater than other nukes, it had killed everything.

Dalton and Peggy were busy eating dinner. They planned on going to see a movie afterward.

“We haven’t done this in a long time,” Peggy grinned.

“Yeah, it’s been busy on the ranch. But it is nice to get out. I’m glad you could make it.” He grinned, taking a bite.

Suddenly the dishes on the table rattled. Dalton looked up at Peggy, a black brow raised.

“Earthquake?” Peggy asked, her voice calm.

“Feels like it,” Dalton said, and took a bite of his steak. He chewed as he looked out the window. Their vehicles rocked.

A bright light flashed in the distance, beyond the clouds, and Dalton blinked. Then the power pole across the street exploded and the lights of the diner went out. Screeches of tires and the squeal of tortured metal echoed around as the vehicles on the road stopped working, taking their passengers along on a final, uncontrolled ride.

He sat as though in a trance, then stood, took Peggy’s hand and pulled her up.

“Let’s get out of here now.”

“Why? What’s going on?” To his relief she didn’t resist him and they walked calmly out of the restaurant. He took out his smartphone and pressed the on button. It didn’t work.

“See if your phone works, Peg,” Dalton said softly, increasing his pace away from the diner.

She took out her phone and tried to turn it on. When she looked up to him, fear shone in her eyes. “What’s going on, Dalton?”

“I saw a flash of light in the distance,” he told her, keeping his voice low. “It wasn’t lightning. I think it was an EMP, an electromagnetic pulse. That means that someone, either North Korea, China, Iran, or Russia, has dropped a bomb on us. Everything electrical is dead. We’re going to be in a world of hurt in a couple days.”

As he crossed the street to go to his car, he saw the man, the one who’d been preaching near the hospital. He was watching Dalton, and once more the hair on Dalton’s arms rose. He quickly looked away. He didn’t have time for the man or his doom-laden prophecies.

Dalton walked to his car and unlocked it with his key. He reached in and handed Peggy the four bottles of water that had been sitting in the back seat. “Put this water in your purse.”

He also grabbed a sports drink that was half full. He found a plastic grocery bag and put the sports drink in it, two energy bars, and an opened bag of beef jerky, nearly empty. He felt around under the seat but found nothing else.

Then he opened the trunk and got out the tire iron. He stuck it down the back of his jeans. It was cold and awkward, but a weapon of sorts if they needed it. He also found an old flashlight and clicked it. It flickered, then came on. A dirty poncho was discarded on the floor and he pulled it out and shook it. Then he folded it up and pushed it down into the plastic bag.

He looked around, but no one was watching them. Everyone was just standing around. The preacher man had disappeared. He was glad. He didn’t want to see him.

He closed up the car and began to walk.

“Aren’t we going to drive?” Peggy asked.

“It won’t work. Look around, Peggy. None of the cars or trucks are moving. They’re all dead. It might take everyone a bit to figure it out, but we need to get back to the farm. We’ll swing by your place on our way and pick up some things.”

“But that’s nearly five miles! We’re going to walk?” she asked, her voice beginning to rise hysterically.

He stopped, spun around and grabbed her by the shoulders. “We have no choice,” he hissed, keeping his voice low. “Things are going to go bad fast, and I mean really fast. There will be no more food deliveries, no water. People will starve to death or kill those who have food. We need to get out of here and to the farm, to my family’s farm. We need to warn them.” He searched her face, trying to gauge if she could comprehend the danger they were in.

Tears began to fall down her cheeks and she nodded. To his relief, she kept her silence and let him lead her along at a fast pace.

His heart was beating rapidly. He might be a farmer, but he’d got straight As in physics and science. He also kept abreast of the news. He knew the United States had just taken a hit from someone and he needed to get to his family. People from Topeka and the surrounding towns would be on the move in a few days, a week or two at most, and they would be like locusts, looking for food.

Hamish sat with his feet propped up on his desk, smoking. He rarely smoked, but today he needed one James Kilian was on the other end of the line. He pulled his foot in and rubbed a smudge off his shoe.

“James, you should head home. It’s late and we aren’t getting anywhere fast. Our asset has been quiet, and with Orlov due here in a couple days, I think that, at least for now, it will be quiet.”

“One can only hope. I’m looking at a split screen; looks like you have a storm coming up the coast. Will you be in on that meeting?” James asked. Hamish heard a match being struck. The man was trying to relight his pipe again.

“You’re looking at the live satellite feed?”

“Yes, of course. It’s coming up just past North Carolina. I’m also watching the live feed off Spain; looks nice. Maybe I should take a short holiday and go there. It is raining here, and cold. I’m ready for a little warmth.” James laughed.

“I was thinking about going to Scotland for a vacation this summer,” Hamish said.

“You’re a glutton for punishment, lad. It’s damp there more than it is here. I hope you take an umbrella or two,” James sniggered.

“Of course, I… I…” Hamish paused, and his eyes bulged. He watched as the window flexed. He choked out a strangled gasp and adrenaline shot into his brain. A split second before he was obliterated, he thought of Mark. His heart broke.