David Robbins - Doomsday

He stopped and regarded the Family members a moment. “I know what some of you are thinking. That I’ve set myself up as your lord and master. But nothing could be further from the truth. I never make a decision without consulting those best able to give me advice. If the decision is important enough, if it affects our whole Family, then I give you my word that from this day on, I’ll put it to a vote so everyone can have their say.”

“That’s reasonable,” a woman declared.

A gust of wind hit Carpenter in the face. He glanced up. The sky seemed a darker shade of gray than it had been, and he would swear the gray was moving and rippling, almost as if it were alive. A man waved a hand to get his attention. “Ed Batson, Kurt. Nurse. I have no interest in being a Warrior. I like to save lives, not destroy them. But I also like to think I’m practical, and it occurs to me that it might be wise to encourage everyone to wear or carry firearms, especially if we venture outside these walls.” The wind kept buffeting Carpenter. He gazed beyond the west wall and saw what he took to be rain in the distance. “You make a good point, Ed. Let’s make it a rule, shall we, that no one leaves the Home unless they are armed or have someone with them who is.”

An infant squealed and raised a tiny hand to the sky.

“When will we be able to go out?” an older man inquired. “The compound—sorry, our Home—has plenty of space, but I’d like to get out and about now and then.”

“First things first. We must get the Home in order before we venture beyond the safety of its walls.” A small dark flake flitted out of the sky and landed on the grass.

“Is there anything any of you care to bring up?”

A woman with wavy red hair stood up. “Yes, there is. You can’t expect us to stay in the bunkers forever. It’s too crowded and there’s hardly any privacy. Where will we live once it’s safe to come out?” Carpenter began to respond but stopped with his mouth half open as more flakes fell, some of them fluttering like butterflies. He reached out and a large flake landed on his palm. It reminded him of ash.

“What in the world?” someone blurted.

A woman turned her head to the sky and gasped. “Is that what I think it is?” Carpenter glanced up, too, and icy fingers gripped his heart. The sky was filled with flakes. Not hundreds or thousands or hundreds of thousands but millions, descending in a quiet rain of potential death. For it wasn’t ash, he realized; it was nuclear fallout.

“God in heaven.”

Patrick Slayne instantly assumed command. “Everyone into their assigned bunkers! On your feet! Do it quick but do it orderly! Move, people! Move!” He touched Carpenter, who was staring upward as if mesmerized. “That means you, too, Kurt. Get in C Block.”

Carpenter tore his gaze from the deluge. He blinked and said, “The Family first.”

“A lot of us are expendable. You’re not.” Slayne motioned to Diana Trevor. “Get him in there. Push him if he won’t walk.”

Diana nodded and took hold of Carpenter’s wrist. “He’s right. Your safety is paramount.” The Family made an orderly dash for sanctuary as more and more flakes fluttered down, a dark snowfall, growing thicker and darker, moment by moment.

Slayne was furious with himself. He should have posted lookouts with orders to keep a watch on the sky as well as beyond the walls. His lapse might cost lives.

By now the ground was completely covered. Visibility was limited to twenty feet, at best.

“Faster!” Slayne shouted. “As fast as you can!” He moved among them, hastening them along. “Hold hands and call out if you lose your way!”

To their credit, no one panicked. Mothers clasped children and fathers shielded their young ones with their own bodies.

Slayne was the last to make for the Blocks. By then visibility was down to five feet. Cupping his hands, he bellowed, “Have someone standing next to each Block yell so the others can get their bearings.” Almost immediately, some of those who had already reached the bunkers began calling out. Slayne reached C Block. But he didn’t go in. He stood just outside, the fallout so thick he could barely see his hand at arm’s length, and listened to the shouting until it stopped. Then, shaking himself and brushing off flakes, he entered and nodded at two men waiting to shut the door. He made straight for the Com Center and contacted each of the other Blocks.

Everyone was accounted for.

A man ran up with a Geiger counter. “I’ve been checking like you said we always should when we come back in. The needle is jumping.”

Slayne confirmed it for himself. The fallout read high but not so high as to be life-threatening, except for a few hot particles. He barked commands. Everyone was to strip off the clothes they had worn outside and the clothes were to be piled in a corner of the laundry. Cleanup details were to go from room to room, sweeping up ash. Hot particles were to be isolated and disposed of.

Slayne relayed his instructions to the other Blocks. He could only hope no one came down with radiation sickness. When he had done all he could, he went in search of Carpenter and found him seated at his desk looking distraught. “It could have been worse,” he concluded.

“A lot worse,” Carpenter agreed. “I didn’t react fast enough. You did, though. You assumed change quickly and efficiently.”

Slayne shrugged. “It’s my job.”

Carpenter thoughtfully drummed his fingers on his desk. “Another lesson learned. From here on out, in times of emergency you’re to assume charge of the Family.”

“Don’t go overboard.”

“I’m not, Patrick. In fact, I intend to ask for a vote of general approval so that in the future, whenever the Home is threatened, the Warriors will take over until the crisis has passed.” Diana Trevor came in. She had changed into a light blue blouse and jeans. “I think that went well, all things considered.”

Slayne frowned. “We were caught napping. But I’ll be damned if I’ll let that happen again.”

“I guess I should have listened to that girl. Maybe it wouldn’t have happened.” Diana sank into a chair.

“What girl? What are you talking about?

“Megan Franchone. She’s, what, fifteen? This morning I was talking to her family at breakfast and the mother mentioned Megan had a dream last night that something terrible would happen today. I told her dreams like that are perfectly ordinary.”

“I wonder,” Carpenter said. “Have the mother and the girl come see me later. I’d like to find out if she has dreams like that often.”

“Oh, she does. The mother tried to convince me that Megan is some kind of psychic. Which is perfectly ridiculous.”

“Is it?” Carpenter leaned back. “I read an article on it once in a Fortean magazine. Empaths, such people are called.”

“Kurt, please.”

“I know, I know. But there have been documented cases that can’t be explained.”

“I’m surprised at you. Usually you take a more rational approach.”

“I try to leave myself open to all possibilities,” Carpenter said. “I had a college instructor who used to say that the only thing that keeps us from solving the challenges we face is a closed mind.” Slayne changed the subject. “I’m going to get on the horn and announce that anyone interested in being a Warrior should contact me. I’ll conduct personal interviews later, after the fallout stops and we know it’s safe.”

“I wonder how many will apply?”

Fourteen men and women were interested. Slayne weeded out those whose hearts were in the right place but who lacked the most essential attribute for the job. As he explained it to one of the volunteers,