Nuclear Winter Armageddon by Bobby Akart (ebook reader 7 inch txt) 📗

full weeks. Once fully stocked with Meals-Ready-To-Eat, or MREs, provided by the U.S. military and barrels of drinking water, its supply closets had not been replenished or updated in more than a decade.

At that moment, none of that mattered inside the fallout shelter. After the rolling thunder that shook the building to its core, the lights went out, and the emergency lighting system powered by backup batteries failed to function.

Nearly two hundred people, twice the shelter’s capacity, were packed like sardines standing upright in a can. Shoulder to shoulder, they could barely move much less panic.

Yet they tried. Their screams of primal fear coupled with shouts demanding someone do something reverberated off the completely enclosed concrete structure. Many began to push and shove one another in an attempt to create a little more personal space. Some, either afraid of the dark or curious as to their surroundings, lit their Bic lighters. This drew fearful screams from the others who were concerned a fire might break out.

Lacey McDowell, her husband, Owen, and son, Tucker had fortuitously made their way to the back of the shelter into the corner. The natural inclination of the agitated refugees was to press forward toward the door through which they’d entered. Minutes prior, they’d knocked one another over to get inside. Now, despite the massive shaking of the ground they’d just experienced, they begged to be released.

The local police officer and the high school coach had barely closed the door when a blast wave from a nuclear explosion swept over Auburn. It felt like an earthquake, which, unbeknownst to them, it was. As the concrete pieces and accompanying dust fell on the occupants of the shelters, their screams were from surprise. When the lights went out, their primal shrieks were deafening in the enclosed space.

The officer tried to regain order. Normally assigned to traffic duty and supervision of crosswalk patrols, he was one of the few police officers to carry a whistle at all times. It was loud and shrill, but it worked under the circumstances.

He blew it repeatedly. The unexpected sound caused the vociferate refugees to immediately silence their emotions.

“Everybody! Please! You have to calm down!”

“We can’t see!” someone shouted back.

The officer pulled his flashlight from his utility belt and shined it upward to reflect off the ceiling.

“Better?” he asked sarcastically. “See, the sky is not falling, and neither is the ceiling.”

“Were we hit?” a woman asked.

“We’d be dead, you idiot!” a man replied rudely.

“Enough of that!” the high school coach admonished the man. “We don’t know what happened. For now, we have to remain calm and wait.”

“How long?”

“I can’t breathe!”

“I need to pee.” The young boy’s statement immediately sent a new wave of panic over the occupants. They could barely move. Where were they supposed to go to the bathroom?

“Me too!” shouted an older woman.

While the coach began answering questions and did his level best to assuage their concerns, Lacey leaned in to Owen. “This is never gonna work. These people are already losing their minds.”

Owen whispered back, “Maybe the cop oughta grant their wish? Let’s send half of them back outside.”

“I bet there are still a hundred more in the stairwell to replace them,” said Lacey.

The other refugees continued to push their way toward the only exit door, which provided the McDowells a little extra breathing room. Each of them stretched their arms and legs, which helped ease the tension somewhat.

Tucker walked along the back wall in the dim light. Another refugee had illuminated a flashlight and was shining it upward. He walked as far as he could before coming upon a group of people huddled on the floor, blocking his progress. He returned to his family.

“There are three steel roll-up doors,” he explained what he’d found. He turned to his father. “Dad, there’s not a lock on the handles. I don’t know what’s in there, but if somebody figures out they’re not locked, this place will go nuts.”

“You’re right, Tuck. There’s no way those two can control this mob.” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder as he referred to the police officer and the coach.

Lacey was concerned about the mood of the refugees. “I don’t trust a panicked mob. If they open the door, should we leave?”

Owen grimaced and shook his head. “I don’t think so, honey. Everything I’ve read says the worst of the fallout is in the first forty-eight hours.”

“Plus, we don’t know if they’ve finished,” interjected Tucker. He gulped and continued. “You know, um, nuking us.”

Lacey’s tough exterior broke down. She began to cry as she reached for Owen’s hand. “That had to be our home, right?”

Owen closed his eyes and sighed. He nodded.

“Dad, that felt like an earthquake.”

“I know, son. You know, I’m just guessing, ’cause it’s impossible to say for sure. But the Hayward Fault runs right by our house and just to the west of Sacramento. I suppose it’s possible a nuke near Silicon Valley could trigger quakes along Hayward.”

“But we’re east of Sacramento,” countered Tucker.

“That’s true, but you know how earthquakes can be felt for miles. When San Andreas shakes, we feel it all the way up on the ridge in Hayward.”

“So we didn’t take a direct hit?” asked Lacey hopefully as she wiped her tears.

“Here? No,” Owen responded. “Listen, I can only speculate, but we all knew Silicon Valley and San Francisco were likely targets for a nuclear attack. We’re just over a hundred miles or so from the city. If the bomb was big enough, I imagine it would shake the earth for at least that distance.”

The police officer and two men were now shouting at one another, causing the crowd to grow even more apprehensive. The two dads were demanding to know who they should hold accountable for the poor conditions in the shelter.

Lacey returned to her immediate concern. “Then maybe we’re safe to leave? I just don’t feel good about being in here with these people. They worry me more than the radiation.”

Owen reached out to his wife and wrapped