Paul Kirk - Devastation Point

“Yeah, BB says we shoulda tried to sign a few of ’em up they were that good.”

“That right? Who took ’em down?”

“BB and Marty.”

“The dynamic duo. No surprise.”

“McLeod says BB told ’im a straggler hanging back might’ve slipped away, though they weren’t certain. Said he thought he saw a little guy with some kinda red hair cut short, maybe a Mohawk.”

“I see. Well, we can’t worry about that little piece of shit Mohawk running away, now, can we?”

“No. I guess not, Mac.”

“Glad Jude, Jackson and Jason got back here with us yesterday. We might’ve missed those trackers.”

“Yep.”

“Tell everyone to keep an eye out for that Mohawk guy.”

“Okay.”

Hidden near the busted out windows on the fourth floor of an old department store in Youngstown, Connor patiently studied the old steel mill sitting on the eastern outskirts. Binoculars in hand, he examined the mill he’d suggested as the rendezvous point. It certainly looked abandoned from a half mile out. Roger slid close beside him, waiting. Connor turned, handing the binoculars to Roger.

“We’ll set up at the #1 Furnace, near the east side of the mill. See it? That huge rusted green and blue overhang.”

“Yep,” said Roger.

“Have BB, Jason, Marty and Jackson set up a 200 yard perimeter once we’re in. Have John and Cody help set it up. In the meantime, let’s start everyone rolling.”

“Alright.”

“You and Jude stick with me and Rhonda after.”

“Yes, sir. Okay.”

Two hours later, settled in at the mill, the team searched for useful items. So far, no signs of recent human activity were noted; it was not a place likely to garner much interest. The enormous rat population seen everywhere during their travels ignored the confines of the mill. Available food sources would be limited and water not clearly in evidence. Indeed, potable water was only found by a dedicated search that, luckily, located a small three-inch deep pool captured on a section of floor in a collapsed silo. Glancing around, it was clear the silo housed key ingredients for creating specialty steels. Huge bins with labels etched in their sides, carried chemical names such as chromium 4140 or stainless 416; arranged in an orderly fashion near the main furnace doors. After Rhonda’s assessment, the water was drinkable, though the taste had a higher than normal iron content from sitting stagnant atop steel flooring.

“What have we got into here?” thought Connor. He scanned the mill, watching his team conduct their search. Finding a food source was unlikely. The Youngstown mill sat on at least 140 acres of desolate and barren land, long battered, and used for creating high-end steel for more than sixty years before the H5N1 collapse. Clearly, the acreage hadn’t seen any edible plant life while the steel mill was in operation, and now, very few weeds were growing back. Discarded machines sat everywhere in various states of rust and decay. Huge steel billet batches sat stacked neatly in row after row near the train rails. Coated deep orange in rust, they were still waiting for the next shipment to manufacturers; a few slim rats scattered about.

“Wow, there it is. The heart of the mill,” thought Connor. He stood fifty feet from the doors to the #1 Furnace. The big metal sign near the electric arc-fired furnace made it hard to miss. Moving to the main furnace doors and taking a quick look inside, he marveled at the huge, ceramic-lined space built for molten steel. Looking downward, he followed the massive electric rod that would fire up the furnace when it was running twenty-four hours a day and seven days a week.

“Probably never see steel ingot made ever again.” Connor said aloud. He closed his eyes, recalling the last time he was here, back when he was very young and it was in operation. His eyes snapped open when he heard quiet movement on the ground to his left. A plump rattlesnake slithered near the rusting steel billet. Smiling, Connor made a mental note to kill the fat reptile for dinner during the next few days. Rattlesnake was a favorite delicacy of his and this snake was at least a full four pounds. Ever since his time spent in Dallas back in the early 2000s, he’d always made it a point to have rattlesnake once or twice a year. He strolled to the main camp.

“Where’s McLeod, Rog?”

“He’s with Marty searching the office trailers.”

“Okay.”

Connor stood with Roger and watched the team take ownership, making the mill their home for the next few days.

“Rog?”

“Yeah, Mac?”

“Send Jason, BB and Judy out for some fresh meat. Tell ’em to go south. Head out now towards that pond we spotted a half-mile back. Take the geese if they can, we’ll need ’em. Dog or cat if they can. Tell ’em we need a stockpile for at least five days, so they need to make it count. They have until dusk to kill what we need ’cause six hours should be plenty for any decent hunters.”

“Yep, Understood, sir.”

“Here, give BB this to carry.”

Connor reached into his backpack and pulled out a yellow, handheld device. Ignoring Roger’s questions for the moment, he switched it on.

“Good. The batteries still work. They’re draining faster than I’d like. Need to find some replacements.”

“I’ve seen you use that several times. Is that what I think it is, Mac?”

“Probably.”

“We worried about radiation here?”

“No, don’t think so. Not based on the nuclear fallout map in my pack from the NRC.”

“NRC?”

“Nuclear Regulatory Commission. Helped keep me safe in my travels.”

“That the blue map?”

“Yep.”

“The one with those big blue circles and green ovals?”

“A huh.”

“Can I take a closer look?”

“Sure.”

Connor dug into his pack, pulling out the Ziploc bag that held the map. Well used, he carefully opened and set it on the ground, placing a few pebbles on the ends.

“Damn, there’s a lot of them nuclear plants—”

“That’s for sure. 104 nuclear plants in the U.S. from what I recall, more than six million people lived within ten miles of ’em. And most plants went bye-bye and offline right after the back up generators died out. Particularly the BWCs, that’s ‘Boiling Water Reactors’ to you and me.”

“Wow.”

“I know, right? And this map shows that Shippingsport, PA was a nuclear plant nearby and that’s not too terribly far from here.”

“Oh.”

“Some nukes had decent containment protocols, so they’ll be good for awhile, I guess. Anyway, I wanna keep an eye on things here—”

“I see.”

Roger studied the map while Connor pointed to a few spots across the country. His hand skirted several blue circles.

“This map probably saved my ass on this little excursion at least seven or eight times.”

“And you say Shippingsport’s near here?”

“It is. Not sure of the status of the plant—so, I’m making sure the winds haven’t sent any bad crap this way we need to worry ’bout.”

Roger was deep in thought, visibly disturbed.

“How come me, Rhonda, Cody and all the others never got exposed? Sure, we avoided the obvious dead areas, but I’m thinking we had to have taken a hit at some point. Breathed in some bad air.”

“I don’t think so, Rog. Look at the map. Figure out where you’ve traveled. Personally, from what I know of your travels, you’ve had some serious luck on your side. All of you. If not, you’d be dead by now.”

“Wow. I never even thought about using one of them Geigers or a map like that for that matter… things were so hectic.”

“Yeah, well, I grabbed mine compliments of the Australian government before I left. Figured with people dropping like flies and me wanting to return to the States, worse case scenario might put the nuke plants going offline and bubbling.”