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

the east side of the Dumbarton Bridge. He’d passed by there twice a day, five days a week, for years, yet his mind drew a blank.

Was there a nuclear fallout shelter over there? Was there even a building with a basement considering its close proximity to the bay? How much time did he have before the bombs hit?

Owen wanted to throw up, but he kept moving. He focused on his love for Lacey and Tucker. He prayed they’d taken off to the east like they’d discussed. He wanted them to live, even if he couldn’t. He refused to let despair overtake him. So he pressed forward. He abandoned all sense of decorum or politeness. Like so many others were doing, he knocked anyone down who prevented him from reaching safety.

Lacey had been marshalling their assets. Picking and choosing what was a priority based upon the survival rule of threes. A person can only live three hours in extreme weather without adequate shelter. Without hydration, the human body begins to deteriorate rapidly without water after three days. Without food and adequate nutrition, the body begins to cannibalize itself after three weeks.

With that being her focus, she started giving things to Tucker to pack into the back of the Expedition. After the Bronco was affixed to the tow dolly and the hitch of the Expedition, they’d fill it with their most essential gear.

“Mom!” yelled Tucker from the garage. His disaster app had issued an incoming ballistic missile alert.

Lacey heard it as well, and the television screen was filled with the warning. She ran down the hallway toward him as he raced back inside. They nearly collided but spontaneously hugged one another instead. She gripped her son by the shoulders and looked up to the taller young man.

“No panicking. Okay.”

Tucker nodded. “What about Dad?”

“Let’s see where he is. Try calling him on both your cell and our landline in case you can’t get through. Let me check the app.”

The McDowells’ cell plan enabled them to link their locations together. At any given time, they could check on each other. Lacey thought that was an essential feature with a teenage boy in the house. She opened the map and searched for Owen. It showed him on the Dumbarton Bridge, moving slowly in the direction of the Nimitz Freeway.

“Anything?” she hollered at Tucker in the kitchen.

“Circuits are busy!” he yelled his response. “I’ll try to text!”

Lacey ran into the living room and located her laptop. In all her preparations, with the assumption they’d immediately be leaving town when the warnings were issued, she hadn’t bothered to locate the nearest fallout shelter.

She searched nuclear fallout shelters near me and viewed the results.

Besides Ready.gov, which was essentially worthless because the advice it gave was to hide under your bed, the other results were survivalist websites trying to sell products or backyard buried shelters.

She drilled down in her search, using fallout shelters near San Francisco. Her mouth fell open as she viewed the results. The words abandoned, thing of the past, and no plan were common. She shook her head in disgust as she ran her fingers through her hair.

Tucker joined her in the living room. “Mom, what are we gonna do? We have to wait for Dad.”

Lacey closed her eyes. She couldn’t believe the words that came out of her mouth. “It’ll be too late.”

Chapter Thirty-Six

Tuesday, October 22

Driftwood Key

Although Hank was exhausted by the end of the day, he was having difficulty finding sleep. He’d started before dawn at just after five that morning, resulting in a fast-paced, seventeen-hour day. He tossed and turned as a myriad of scenarios ran through his head. He questioned himself several times as he tried to determine whether he was overreacting. However, Peter had been so convincing, and when the nuclear skirmish in the Middle East transitioned into an all-out war between India and Pakistan, Hank began to believe the potential threat to the U.S. was real.

But which threat should he prepare for? Would America be subjected to a nuclear detonation on her soil? Or would it simply be subjected to the aftermath of these other conflicts—nuclear winter?

The best-case scenario, of course, was that nothing happened. Certainly, the concept of nuclear winter was largely theoretical, based upon the works of Carl Sagan many decades ago. Comparing the global environmental implications to the eruption of the Yellowstone supervolcano, he thought, might be a little too much. Then again, would it have to be that bad to throw the world into a period of rapid cooling and famine as plant material died off?

If nothing happened, then he’d sent his guests home for no reason and he’d cancelled reservations that would have to be rebooked. It would cost the inn revenue, but he had sufficient savings to cover the losses.

In his restless state, his mind chased several scenarios. When would it be safe to say all clear? Or the threat has passed. The modern-day equivalent of the Cuban Missile Crisis is over.

Hank’s planning had relied on Peter’s inside information and judgment. He would not take the advice of the talking heads on the news networks. They’d lost his trust and confidence years ago.

He worried about Peter, who was a headstrong risk-taker. Peter was not one to shy away from a fight or danger, as his career had proven. His son was prepared to stay in Washington, an obvious nuclear target, until the end so he could cover the story. While Hank admired his dedication, he’d feel a whole lot better if Peter were settled in one of the guest bedrooms upstairs.

Then there was Lacey. His adorable baby girl who’d grown up, left the nest for college, and was hustled off to Northern California to start a family. He didn’t begrudge her choices in life. In fact, Hank truly admired Owen and enjoyed his company on the rare occasions they traveled back to the Keys. And Tucker was a heckuva young man. Polite. Smart. Head screwed on right. A model teen,