Nuclear Winter First Strike by Bobby Akart (best fiction books of all time .txt) 📗

his questions. “And this is because of the balance of nuclear power differential?”

“I think so,” replied Jenna. “At least from the Pentagon’s perspective.”

Peter looked to Brian. “Same from the White House?” He intently studied his friend’s facial expression, searching for clues.

Brian squinted his eyes and furrowed his brow. He looked around at the mostly empty restaurant. Most people were home tuned into the cable news stations. The nuclear showdown in the Middle East was high drama for most Americans. He leaned in to reply.

“Okay. This is totally water cooler talk, understand? This has never come out of the mouth of my boss and is strictly passed around the Eisenhower and EOB cafeterias.” There were two cafeterias open to White House staff. One was located in the Eisenhower Executive Office Building, and the other was in the New Executive Office Building, both of which were part of the White House complex.

Brian continued after both Jenna and Peter nodded in agreement. “There is something personal between the president and Kim. Nobody knows what it is and where it originated. Did you notice during the campaign the subject of North Korea rarely came up?”

“Yeah, you’re right,” replied Jenna.

“Are you saying he and Kim are best pals or something?” asked Peter.

“I don’t know,” Brian quickly answered. “There is some kind of unwritten understanding between the two that none of us can put our finger on. It isn’t discussed much because, frankly, Kim has toned down his rhetoric since the election, and the president hasn’t found a need to address this particular foreign policy matter.”

“Well, I’m gonna throw this out there,” began Jenna. “Regardless of what the North Koreans are up to, I can say that Pakistanis are certainly on a war footing. That didn’t come from me.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Sunday, October 20

McDowell Residence

Hayward, California

Lacey, Owen, and their son, Tucker, were not unlike millions of other American families gathered around the dinner table that night as they discussed the nuclear attack. They’d grimaced when, despite the warnings of the media that the following images were graphic in nature, they couldn’t look away from the devastation wrought by the nuclear bombs.

Lacey cried when she saw orphaned children, maimed and burned, crying for their parents while they clutched a doll or toy. Owen set his jaw in anger as the pundits explained why Iran thought they had a right to attack Israel. Tucker scowled in disbelief when some reporters warned a nuclear war could be brought to American soil.

The solemn news overshadowed what should’ve been a celebration for the family when Owen broke the news that he got the promotion together with a substantial raise. He was even rewarded with a few days off at the end of the upcoming week.

“Okay. Enough of this,” began Lacey as she turned off the television that had been playing in the background as they ate. “We’ve heard it all, and now they’re just regurgitating and speculating, their favorite pastime.” She and Peter had vastly different opinions of the role of the media in America. Lacey’s was more closely aligned with her father—why can’t they just tell the truth from all sides. Peter’s perspective was different since it was his passion and job.

“I agree, Mom. I’ve been thinking about a way to spend Dad’s extra days off besides him doing chores around the house.”

“How do you know that’s what I had in mind?” asked Owen.

“’Cause that’s what you do lately, Dad. The three of us haven’t been hiking and camping since last spring.”

“You and your mom have gone,” said Owen with a tinge of guilt in his voice. He knew his son was right. He’d been far too focused on his career at Yahoo, promotion and raise notwithstanding. He needed to live in the present with his family.

“As luck would have it,” interjected Lacey, “there are no honey-dos on the hubby’s to-do list. We can all just chillax or—”

“You can pull me out of school for a few days, and we can head to the mountains,” said Tucker, finishing his mom’s sentence in a manner she hadn’t planned. “I’ve got it all planned out.”

Owen chuckled and leaned back in his chair. He and Lacey exchanged subtle smiles and encouraged their son to continue.

“Have you guys checked out the weather forecast for the Sierra Nevadas?”

Lacey started to laugh and shrugged. “Um, can’t say that I have. How about you, Owen?”

“Nope. What did I miss?”

“Snow, you guys. No cap. The forecast is calling for snow at the end of next week.”

Owen and Lacey burst out laughing. They tried not to show their age when talking with their fifteen-year-old son, especially since they were in their late thirties and hardly ancient. Phrases like no cap, the new-and-improved version of for real or no lie used often in their younger years, required evening internet research sessions to decipher.

Once Tucker had entered high school, new words were introduced into his vocabulary. While playing football one afternoon, Lacey heard Tucker and his buddies shout yeet from time to time. She learned yeet was an expression used by teens instead of bam or boom, with the presumed accompanying explanation point, of course.

Lacey recalled laughing so hard she was in tears that evening as she relayed her observations to Owen. Without a word, he’d hustled off to the kitchen, returning with a stockpot and a wooden spoon. Then he retrieved a white dinner jacket out of his closet and a pair of tighty-whitey underwear. He pulled the drawers on top of his head and adjusted them just so in the mirror. Then he put on the white jacket and turned to Lacey with pot and spoon in hand.

“Who am I?” he asked nonchalantly, starting the guessing game they played often, along with would you rather?

“More clues, please,” asked Lacey as she laughed, already amused by his antics.

Owen smacked the pot with the wooden spoon, held it high over his head, and yelled, “Yeet!”

Lacey immediately picked up on the reference to Chef Emeril Lagasse, who was known to throw out