John Irvin: Pochatok

The mushroom cloud descended from the heavens as its fiery-red plumes filled the TV screen.

No one saw this coming.

Gideon Cole, topaz brown eyes wide in shock, stood his full six feet height. He gaped just like everybody else in the store.

Just minutes ago, he’d decided to take a casual stroll across the street from his suburban home to the tiny grocery store so he could buy a snack. He’d finished a take-home project early that morning and planned to spend the rest of the day binging on Netflix.

Every one was meandering through the short aisles, snatching bags of chips or boxes of ramen noodles—the casual American way.

No one had the slightest idea what was about to flash across the Breaking News screen on the TVs overhead.

Now, no one moved, it was as if the Universe had hit the pause button on the world.

The anchorman muttered into his mike, his words coming out strained—he too was obviously shocked and reading the words from his teleprompter was a struggle.

“The Russian nuclear missile made contact in New York City. From the destruction we are witnessing live right now, estimates say a fifty-seven mile radius will be affected. The death toll will most likely be 14 million but those numbers are rising. The missile was launched from a Submarine somewhere in the Atlantic off the Eastern coast, officials still have not made any comments or given any information as of yet.”

Gideon managed to find a spark of energy in his ankles. He dropped the chocolate bar he’d picked up off a shelf, his hands sweaty. It felt like all the blood in his head had flushed out, leaving his forehead and cheeks, even his neck, feeling cold and clammy.

Every movement felt awkward—like being transformed into a mechanical robot.

Approaching the cash register at the front of the store, he opened his mouth to ask the employee a question.

No sound escaped his mouth.

The young man, looking barely out of high school, stared back, his blue-green eyes wide with terror.

Finally a sentence managed to choke out of Gideon’s throat.

“Do you know why they fired on us?”

The boy nodded.

“They wanted to stop the virus before it spread.”

“Virus?”

“Yes, Sir, the Arctic-N13 Virus. It was hiding in that creature that group of scientists uncovered from the glacier they found several weeks ago. Did you hear about that?”

Gideon nodded, he had heard a group of international archeologists and marine biologists found some prehistoric creature of unidentified origin frozen in the ice. They claimed it could have the answer to mankind’s origin. Teams from the USA, Russia, China, France, Germany, Norway, and even Korea had come together and released the artifact from its frozen prison. They’d immediately taken it to New York City for the examination.

Shortly after that, he did remember seeing some headline on the Internet about a virus accidentally being spilled during a test.

The United Nations had convened an emergency conference just two days ago, warning the world about the plague—a few of the delegates there were already showing deadly signs: rotting facial features, burn-like markings all over their bodies, and plenty of hacking coughs. The US delegate, in fact, died just the night before.

“So murdering 15 million people was their solution?”

“Better them then us, I guess. Glad, we’re on the opposite side of the country.”

Gideon stared at the boy for a long moment, unbelieving of what he had just heard.

How could anyone be so heartless? So selfish?

Glancing at the TV screen again, he watched in horror as the camera focused in on at least four smoke-trails from four more ICBMs.

“The US government immediately retaliated by launching four of our own missiles.” The anchorman ranted.

At that moment, Gideon’s cell phone chirped in his pocket.

Pulling it out, he read “Dad” across the screen and pressed the on-button.

“Gideon,” a gruff voice scratched through the speaker. “Are you at home?”

“I’m just across the street,” Gideon replied, his breathing was a bit erratic. “Is this about the nukes?”

“Yes,” his father replied, his voice deep with emotion.

Gideon’s father was a Lieutenant General in the US Army and chief of some branch in the Arms Division of their home city of San Francisco—Gideon wasn’t sure what exactly his father dealt in though, but never asked. What should be secret, should stay secret.

General Cole muttered something else.

“What was that?” Gideon asked.

“I said, I’m headed your way. Hurry back to the house and grab what food and medical supplies you can, stash it in bags or backpacks, whatever, just have it ready. We’ve got to get out of the city before it happens. I know a place—”

“Wait,” Gideon interrupted. “Before what happens? Dad what’s going on?”

There was a heavy sigh in the phone’s static, Gideon was certain he could feel his Dad’s emotions emanating through the cell.

“I saw this coming a long time ago. As soon as those crazy scientists decided to unfreeze that corpse, I knew it would all unravel. It’s unraveling faster than I expected though. But, thank God, we still have time.”

“Time for what?”

“I’m almost there, I’ll explain when I pick you up.” The receiver beeped and the call closed out.

Gideon stared at the screen, his thoughts were now plunging down a hole he was certain had no way out.

Then, something kicked in. Survival mode is what his father had always called it ever since Gideon was old enough to understand. That flight or fight response all human beings possess.

Feeling like he was watching his own body from above, he rushed across the street outside and dashed inside the two-story suburban home he’d lived in with his father for the past two decades of his life.

They’d moved into this house after his mother had passed away when he was six years old.

Snatching the large camping backpack out from under his bed, he threw it on the bed and scurried out of the room.

Water first—every survival class drums this into the brain.

There were two packets of twenty bottles stacked in the kitchen.

Ripping the top packet up, he yanked out as many bottles he could grab with two hands and hurried back to the bedroom. Shoving them deep into the pack, he mulled over the questions in his mind for a moment before running back to the kitchen and grabbing six more bottles. After stashing them, he raced to the bathroom with the medical cabinet hung on the wall.

First Aid kits second—human beings could go without food for weeks, they couldn’t go more than a week without water, and any injuries no matter how small could become deadly if not cared for with proper medical supplies.

When Gideon had finished stuffing his backpack the rest of the way with canned foods and other long-shelf-life stuffs, he heard the roar of a Jeep engine chug up to the front door outside.

General Cole had arrived.

No more time to grab another backpack apparently, Gideon thought as he heard the Jeep’s horn being laid on by his Dad.

Hoisting the backpack onto his right shoulder, he did a quick survey of the living room—memories from twenty years threatened to overwhelm his senses. He shoved them back into the dark recesses of his mind for now. Yanking the front door open, he charged out to the parking lot.

His dad glanced from the backpack to his son’s gaze—he shrugged like it didn’t matter whether there were two packs or one.

“We’ll have plenty if we get where we’re going in time,” he muttered while Gideon tossed the pack in the backseat of the Jeep and jumped into the co-driver’s seat.