Jacqueline Druga - Fallout

He hummed, nodded in return, and faced the ocean. “While I appreciate your show of solidarity for our country and those who serve it, I believe wearing that uniform is a misrepresentation and you should consider changing it.”

“I did not want the men or women who serve to see me as any different.”

“You give orders that must be followed. From a different position than I. So therefore, you are different. They say if you want to be heard by the ducks you must quack like a duck. I am not sure any uniform can make you”—he glanced at her—“reach the ducks.” He returned his stare back to the ocean. “If it is a matter of comfort, I am sure suitable comfortable clothing can be found.”

“You speak to me with such disrespect.”

“I speak to you with honesty and as an elder. As an elder, I request you not wear the uniform of the men and women who are now forced to leave their homes and families.”

“They are performing their duties for a humanitarian cause,” she argued.

“Save your delusions of being the next Statue of Liberty for those ignorant enough to believe that is your motivation. This… war, and that is what it is, was short sighted in planning.”

Fen roared in laughter. “Short sighted? We have successfully crippled the United States of America.”

The general nodded. “By strategic nuclear hits. The high population east and west, douse a few in the middle here and there.”

“And the biggest invasion ever known has made landfall.”

“Yes. Yes, it has. But this is no Hollywood movie. No Red Dawn where we come from the sky and the Americans cower and obey.”

“We have the largest army, combined with North Korea, we are preparing more soldiers than there are civilians in the United States,” she argued. “Three hundred and fifty thousand are mobilized.”

“Ah, yes, the biggest invasion, and another three quarters of a million waiting at sea and airfields, but in doing so, and having them ready, you have now left our homeland vulnerable. The guard dog is away.”

“Vulnerable to whom?” she asked. “Who is it that you fear you cannot defeat?”

“Anyone and everyone… combined. Not only are we about to invade and control the foremost food source of much of the world, you and your imbecilic plan have now contaminated at least thirty percent of that food supply. And when the rest of the world who rely on that food find out, the sleeping giant that awakes will be unimaginable.”

Fen fumed and her face showed it. “You will not speak to me as such. I will have your position, General.”

“Good,” he said smugly, turning from the rail. “Take it.” He then walked away.

With an angry growl, Fen smashed her fist against the railing, then reached into her pocket and pulled out a cigarette. She’d calm herself, she had to. The general was wrong. All the naysayers were and they’d all see that very shortly.

It seemed as if the boat had stopped moving all together. The river was still and the boat drifted center of the body of water at a painstakingly slow pace.

Perhaps if the boat was smaller. Not that it was large, but the twenty-two-foot Cuddy Cabin had some weight to it.

There were four of them in that boat, and the engine had long since died. It had sputtered to an end shortly after the four of them made their escape from a war-torn area. They were battered and beaten not only from the destruction they had witnessed for twenty-four hours straight, but from the car accident as well. An accident that occurred when they were fleeing what they believed to be foreign invaders on their land.

The four of them were wearing down.

Owen Calhoun, or Cal as every called him, imagined his life had he not left England. He thought of his friend, Nick, back home. How Nick was supposed to be the best man in Cal’s wedding that never happened. Honeymoon to New York bought and paid for, Nick told him it was going to be a mistake to go.

“It’s gonna hurt,” Nick said.

Cal supposed Nick hadn’t a clue how bad that solo honeymoon would end up hurting… physically.

As he sat on the floor of that boat, Cal rotated his arm to work the kink out of his shoulder. He watched as Jake handed Ricky his rations for the day. Jake had been a cop in New York and Ricky was a Pennsylvania store owner.

The four of them were all so different, but in the same boat physically and metaphorically.

As Jake handed Cal his rations, he seemed to freeze mid transfer.

“What is it?” Cal asked.

“That shack over there,” Jake replied, then pointed. “It wasn’t that far ahead of us yesterday evening. Maybe a hundred feet.”

From his seat in the covered cabin area, Ricky laughed. “You’re mistaken. You’re saying we drifted a hundred feet in one day.”

“Yeah,” Jake said.

“No,” Ricky argued. “We drifted more than that.”

“The water is not moving… at all,” Jake said sternly. “And I…” He took a moment and seemed to catch his breath. “I may be wrong.”

“You alright?” Cal asked Jake.

“Yeah, yeah.” Jake nodded. “Just not feeling too well.”

“Me either,” Ricky said. “None of us are. We’re dehydrated. All of us. We’re going to need to get off this boat soon.”

“How?” Jake tossed his hands out. “How?”

“Blow the horn,” Cal said. “Next town, we start sounding the horn.”

“And what? Summon the bad guys. Shoot at us? Take us prisoner,” Jake said, irritated.

“Easy.” Cal lifted his hand. “We haven’t seen any signs of foreign soldiers or anyone dropping from the sky in a while. No, I think we’re in a good place. Just we need to alert someone. She…” He nodded his head to Louise. “Needs us to.”

Louise barely moved. She sat on the floor of the boat, her body leaning against the side. She only moved to sit up and lean over the boat to vomit.

“She doesn’t look good,” Jake said in a whisper.

“I’m right here,” Louise’s voice cracked.

“Think it’s her diabetes?” Jake asked.

Cal shrugged and looked down to his rations. There wasn’t much water left and he offered what little he did have to Louise. She shooed his hand away. “I don’t know.” Frustrated, Cal ran his fingers through his hair. “I just don’t…” He paused. “No, it’s not her diabetes,” he said with eerie confidence, staring at his hand. “It’s something else.” The revelation hit him the second he saw his fingers covered with his own hair. Since the bombs fell, they had been in the open and exposed. Cal didn’t verbalize what it was, but he knew. The sickness, vomiting, headaches. It wasn’t dehydration… it was radiation.

The security room was their bunker, their haven. It had two rooms; one was the main security room, the other, slightly smaller, was the kitchenette. Even though it was two rooms, each hour that passed, each day, it seemed to Harris that it shrunk, and he started to second guess letting one of the strangers into the shelter.

Tobias, or Toby, or even ‘The Big T’ as he referred to himself, was all about five foot six and Harris would describe him as a hundred pounds soaking wet. He was no older than twenty-five, probably closer to legal drinking age, with long blonde hair that he pulled into a man bun.

Toby wasn’t a bad person, probably wouldn’t hurt a soul, however his ability to be unnerving was out of control.

He only seemed to bother Harris. Marissa, the thirty-something woman from accounts payable, chuckled at the young man. She even told Harris she found a distracting amusement in him.