Fiction - Barbara's Legacy

[Jerry D Young]

Barbara’s Legacy - Chapter 1

Scott was getting ready to go home. After three weeks of near daily terrorist attacks across the United States, including some that affected other colleges, the university Scott was attending closed down for the duration.

It didn’t take him long to load his truck with the few necessities he kept in the room he rented off campus. He had one last stop to make before he left town and headed for his family’s home in the Ozarks of Missouri. Though one side tank and the cross bed fuel tanks were full, the left side tank was almost empty. He wanted to fill it before he left town and headed east.

He pulled into the Chevron Station just off I-80 that was the last station just before leaving Reno eastbound. Much to his surprise, he saw Barbara Wadsworth at a pump fueling up. Though he waved, she didn’t seem to have seen him. That wasn’t much of a surprise, Scott knew. They had three classes together and they had not exchanged more than three words.

Scott was a bit intimidated by her. She was breathtakingly beautiful. She was also New England Aristocracy. A liberal. As opposed to Scott Toomey. All six foot two of him was diehard Midwestern conservative.

Despite the differences, seeing her always brightened his day. Even if it was not directed at him, her unintentionally seductive smile brought a smile to his lips. Things seemed especially bright when she laughed that throaty laugh she had.

Barbara had gone in to prepay as Scott drove up. The automatic pay system didn’t seem to be working, so Scott took his debit card in to pay. Barbara looked exasperated. “But it is a platinum card! I’ve never had anyone refuse it.”

Scott heard the clerk respond. “Sorry, Miss. Only cash and debit cards are being accepted. It’s the terror attacks. The owner doesn’t know when he might collect on credit cards and checks. He gets the money in his account immediately with a debit card.

“Do you have an ATM machine,” Barbara asked.

“Sure do. But it isn’t working.”

Barbara said something rather unladylike and turned around, almost stepping into Scott. “Excuse me,” she said and tried to go around him.

“Here,” he said, touching her arm. “Let me pay. You can owe me.”

Barbara didn’t have to look up very much to look into Scott’s eyes. She was almost six feet tall. Scott had seen her long auburn hair swish majestically when she turned around.

“I certainly will not!” she replied. Suddenly recognition gleamed in her eyes. “Wait. I know you. You’re in a couple of my classes.”

“Scott Toomey,” Scott said, holding out his hand. She took it in a firm grip and shook it a couple of times. “Just until this mess is over. I know you’re good for it.”

“I’ll give you a check,” Barbara said after a pause where she agonized over accepting help from nearly a stranger. But she needed to get back to Delaware. Hopefully the whole trip won’t be the same as it was starting off.

“Sorry. No checks,” Scott said automatically.

Barbara cut him a sharp glance and then reddened. “You won’t get anything else from me,” she said harshly, having dealt with very forward young men before.

“No strings,” Scott quickly said, turning red himself when he realized what Barbara thought he was suggesting. “Just cash when you have a chance.”

“I insist that…”

“Lady, take the offer and get the gas, or get out of line and let someone with the means pay for their own.”

“Oh, very well!” Barbara replied, hating the fact that she did.

Scott gave the clerk his debit card. “Hundred fifty on twelve.” He looked at Barbara.

“Oh. Just…”

“You’d better fill it up,” Scott said. “While you’ve got the chance.”

“But it is over five dollars a gallon and I’m empty.”

“Can’t be more than a ten or twelve gallon tank on that thing.”

“That ‘thing’ is a new Honda Civic Hybrid!” She stared at Scott for a few more moments and then told the clerk, “Sixty dollars. I’m on empty.”

The clerk made the transaction and handed Scott his debit card back. He and Barbara went out to their vehicles, much to the relief of the long line that had developed behind them. Barbara put exactly sixty dollars worth of gasoline in her Civic. She pulled forward and over out of the way and waited for Scott. While she waited she wrote out a check for sixty dollars. When he put the nozzle of the diesel fuel pump back she walked over to him before he could get in his truck.

“I insist you take this,” Barbara said, holding out the check to Scott.

Barbara could tell Scott was going to refuse again, but suddenly he relaxed and said. “I’m sorry. Of course I’ll take the check. I should have before without a fuss. I’m sorry.”

It startled Barbara. “Well… Okay. Thank you.”

Scott took the check and waited until Barbara was walking away before he tore it into tiny pieces and put it in the trash bin beside the pump. Smiling again he got into the truck and pulled away from the pumps. Barbara was pulling out into traffic and he was right behind her.

Scott was still behind her when she merged onto I-80 east bound. He half expected her to really take off, but she kept it at the reduced speed limit through the canyons. Even when they hit the 75 mph zone Barbara kept her speed at a more economical 70 mph. Scott regulated his speed and stayed about a mile behind her.

He kept a Sirius news radio station on and listened to report after report of the aftermath of terrorist attacks and the speculation of where the next one would be. It wasn’t long before Scott found out. In a breathless voice the newscaster announced that the Las Vegas Strip had been hit with a series of radiation bombs. Scott began to wonder if he would make it to the family compound in the Missouri Ozarks before being caught in one of the attacks.

So far it had been individual incidents mostly on the coastal states on all three coasts. Houston refineries had been hit. Drilling platforms off the Mississippi and Louisiana coasts. A terrorist flying a light plane had tried to crash into the Discovery Shuttle, which was on the launch pad, loaded with fuel, ready to go. An F/A-22 Raptor blew the Cessna 172 out of the sky only moments before it could hit the Shuttle. There was minimal damage to the Shuttle.

The same could not be said for some of the other iconic targets. The Golden Gate Bridge for one. The section of bridge between the north shore and support pier and tower was down and the tower was leaning alarmingly. The Statue Of Liberty was in hundreds of pieces, most of it in the water around Liberty Island.

Icons were not the only things being targeted by the terrorists. Major electrical power distribution points had been hit, causing blackouts over several regions of the US, mostly on the east coast and areas of the west coast.

Scott made the same rest stops Barbara did, making no effort to avoid her. At the rest area just east of Dunphy, Nevada, Barbara walked over to him just as he was getting into the truck. She was obviously angry. “I do not appreciate you following me! If you keep it up I’ll notify the police that you are stalking me.”

“Just happen to be going the same way,” Scott said calmly. “I’ll be on I-80 until I pick up I-29 south. You travel at a nice, steady pace. So do I. We’ll probably be seeing each other until you turn off where you’re going, or I do.

“Well… I don’t like the sensation of being followed.”

“Consider it traveling together.” Scott was amazed at the audaciousness of his remark.

Barbara turned red. “I assure you we are not traveling together!”

“Of course not,” Scott said, slightly amused at her intensity. “But don’t be surprised to see me from time to time.”

Barbara just huffed and spun around and headed back to her hybrid. Scott climbed into the truck and pulled out of the rest stop, feeling a bit guilty. Maybe he was following her. He had no right to do so. He put Barbara out of his mind as he continued to listen to the news reports.

He was very surprised to see the Honda Civic pull in the same motel parking lot he was in, even before he got out of the truck. She didn’t see him until she was right up to the truck. She stopped, and Scott thought she might go to another motel. But she didn’t, walking past him without looking at him.

Scott followed her into the motel lobby. He was glad he had. Barbara was having essentially the same conversation with the desk clerk as she’d had at the Chevron station with that clerk. The motel was not going to take her credit card or check. “Things are just too uncertain,” the clerk told Barbara.

Scott felt for her. This time she didn’t seem angry, just disappointed and hurt. Scott doubted Barbara had ever had any money issues in her life.

“At the risk of suffering bodily harm, let me offer my services again,” Scott said softly to Barbara when she stepped away from the check-in desk.

“No! Absolutely not! I won’t hear of it! I’ll just go and find a branch of my bank and get money that way.”

Scott really had no right to try to dissuade her. Under normal circumstances it is what he would do himself. “I’ll be here if you change your mind,” he said, stepping up to the desk. He handed his debit card to the clerk.

It was a large, self-satisfied smile that lit Barbara’s face up when the clerk said, “We aren’t taking debit cards, either, sir.”

“Not a problem,” Scott said immediately, putting the card in his wallet and taking out a hundred dollar bill. “I assume you are still taking cash.”

“Yes, sir! Of course.”

Barbara’s smile faded. She turned and walked out of the motel office. Scott turned back to the clerk after Barbara had left. He told the clerk, “Two rooms. Hold the second for the lady.” Scott gave the clerk the additional money for the second room. With the check-in completed, Scott went out and parked his truck in front of the room. He took a small pack into the room with him.

It was nearing seven and he was getting hungry. There was a Red Lobster just across the road from the motel and he planned on eating there, but was waiting for the off chance that Barbara would be back. If she didn’t have cash for the room, she might be so short she couldn’t afford a decent meal.

Scott watched the news while he waited. Things were getting worse. There was speculation that it was being orchestrated by one or more of several different foreign governments, plus some copycat incidents by small groups on their own taking advantage of the situation.

With the shake of his head, Scott shut off the news and got up from the bed. Apparently he’d underestimated Barbara and overestimated the severity of the financial problem. He was walking along the sidewalk, headed to the motel office to cancel the second room when he saw Barbara pull under the gazebo at the office.

When she got out of the car Scott noted the totally dejected look on her face. “No go, huh?” he asked when she joined him at the office door.

“No. I don’t know what to do. I can’t keep going, and I can’t sleep in the car. This smog is playing havoc with my allergies.”

Scott took the card key to the second room out of his shirt pocket. “I got a second room, just in case.”

Barbara hesitated to take the key, but then snatched it out of his hand. “This better not be the key to your room!”

“It’s not. I’m in one thirty seven. You’re in one eighteen. You want to freshen up and then go get something to eat? I was just about to go over to the Red Lobster.”

“I’ve only got a few dollars in cash. Thank you, but I’ll just get a burger or something.”

“You sure you want to spend any of that cash? Once I’m gone it will be all you have. Believe me, I’m just extending a hand to a fellow UNR student. You can always give me another check to cover the additional expense.”

“I don’t want to run you short, if they aren’t taking debit cards now.”

“You won’t. I have enough cash to see us through to I-29 without any problem.”

Scott saw the hesitation in Barbara. Pride versus practicality. “Okay. But you have to take my check for the entire amount.”

Scott nodded and Barbara said, “Give me a couple of minutes to get settled in the room.” She got back into her car and moved it to the room. Scott walked down and waited at his truck for her to do what she needed in the room. He checked a few things on the truck, just to kill the time.

Barbara came out a few minutes later and she began to walk beside Scott as he headed for the entrance to the parking lot and the crosswalk to the other side of the street. “This smog is terrible,” she said, to make some conversation. “I had to take a Bendryl.”

As they waited for the light to change, Scott replied. “Got a really bad inversion right now. It’s holding everything down in the valley.”

They were silent the rest of the way to the restaurant. When they got there they had a short wait for a table. There was more silence. Only when they were seated and had given their orders, did Barbara again speak.

“Thank you, Scott. This is above and beyond the call to help a fellow classmate. I won’t forget it.”

Scott shrugged. “It really isn’t that big of a deal.”

“It is for me,” Barbara said, slowly picking apart a cheese biscuit and eating it as they talked. “I’ve never needed to ask for any kind of help like this. It is… unnerving. My family contributes thousands of dollars a year to charities. Never thought I’d ever be one.”

“It’s not like that,” Scott replied. “You’re just in a rough spot, due to circumstances. It is quite probably happening to many people.”

“I sure feel for them. This is not a pleasant situation to be in.”

Barbara had ordered a fairly light meal, but Scott had ordered a combination starter plate and she found herself taking an item or two when it was obvious Scott wasn’t going to eat it all. They talked a bit more, about what was happening all over the United States. Though Scott offered Barbara part of his dessert, she declined, having only a cup of coffee after the meal. They parted on the walkway at the motel.

The weather was oppressive the next morning when Scott went out do a short run. The inversion was worse than the day before. The smog was visible as a tan tint to the atmosphere. Scott didn’t run far. He turned around and went back to the motel room to take a shower to get the ugly feeling washed off.

He was tempted to wait for Barbara, to see if she wanted to get breakfast or coffee before they both left, but decided he was pushing his luck. He decided to just turn in his key and take off. She’d mentioned the night before that she would probably stop at a Western Union and have her father wire her some money to continue the trip.

No need for him to wait around for her. But he did run into her in the motel office. She was turning in her key, too. They exchanged good mornings but that was the extent of the conversation as they each walked toward their vehicles. Barbara had unlocked the Civic when Scott looked up at the sky, a droning sound becoming loud in his ears.

He saw several small aircraft, flying well apart, but going in the same direction. Each had a fog trail behind it. They were agricultural sprayers. And there was no reason for them to be spraying over the city. It suddenly struck Scott what the probable reason was. A biological or chemical attack on Salt Lake City. The weather was perfect for it.

“Quick!” Scott said, grabbing Barbara’s arm just before she could sit down in her car. “We have to get to my truck!”

Barbara protested verbally, and when Scott scooped her up in his arms and ran to his truck she began to pummel him with her fists. “Put me down! Put me down!”

Scott set her on her feet at the passenger door of his truck. She tried to run, but Scott spun her around and said, “Look!” He pointed at the aircraft, which were almost overhead, all still spraying.

“It’s a terrorist attack with biological or chemical weapons. Now get inside!”

“My car…” Barbara started saying, but Scott cut her off.

“You car won’t protect you. Mine will. I have a filter system. Now get in or get prepared to die horribly.”

Scott had the passenger door open and ran around to the driver’s side. He wasn’t going to die because of her stubbornness. He closed the driver’s side door and started the engine. He was reaching over to close the passenger door, but Barbara was climbing in. “Close it! Close it!” Scott yelled.

She did and Scott put the truck in reverse, backed up and turned the truck toward the entrance of the motel. There were a few people in evidence. One by one they looked up when they felt the light mist touch them. Several headed for doorways to get inside, away from the mist.

Barbara watched in horror as person after person fell to the ground. Several people had climbed into vehicles, the way Scott and Barbara had, and were copying his movements to try to get away from the falling mist.

But, like those in the open, the cars began to move in erratic patterns as the mist was drawn inside by the vehicles’ ventilation systems.

Barbara turned frightened eyes on Scott. “Even those in cars are dying! Why aren’t we?”

“I have a CBRN filter system mounted on the roof of the truck. It’s that white rectangular unit. Provides filtered air to the cab.”

Whatever the terrorists were using, it was quick acting. The planes had come from the east, and Scott was heading toward the east. He didn’t like tracking through the stuff, but decided it wasn’t that much more dangerous than trying to flee to the west. He and Barbara both wanted to go east. There were vehicles all over the road, with one occasionally still rolling out of control. Scott put his foot down and drove the truck like he was in a slalom race.

Using the wipers and washer occasionally, Scott kept most of the windshield clear of the mist. They ran out of the falling mist about the time I-80 curved northward on the east side of Salt Lake City. But there were constant signs that the mist had already fallen in the area. They were well away from the city before they began seeing vehicles and people on the move.

“People are going to drive right in to it,” Barbara said, watching the oncoming traffic.

With little in the way now, Scott reached down and picked up the mike on the CB. It was already switched to Channel 19. “Breaker! Breaker! Breaker! Gas attack on Salt Lake City. I repeat! There is a gas attack on Salt Lake City. Do not go into the city! All westbound traffic turn around and leave the area.”

“Get off the radio, you puke!” came the first response. “That ain’t funny! You know what is going on all around the country.”

“Someone should shoot you,” came another reply.

“I think he’s right!” came yet another reply. Suddenly there were screams coming out of the speaker, but they didn’t last long, thankfully.

Several more excited calls to turn around and go east came through over the next several minutes, but then they were out of range in the canyons on the east side of Salt Lake City.

At the first town they came to, Scott got off I-80 and drove around until he found an automatic car wash. Being extremely careful, and holding his breath, Scott opened his door, fed the money into the control console of the car wash, and then got back into the truck, closing the door after him.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Scott relaxed a bit as the truck went through the automatic car wash. He looked over at Barbara and discovered her huddled up against the far door, shivering. She met his eyes and whispered, “I think I’m going to be sick.”

Acting quickly, Scott reached behind her seat and got the small trash container he kept there. He handed it to Barbara. She immediately started throwing up into it. Scott had a bottle of water and a bandanna ready when she finally quit.

He took the bag from her, having a hard time not throwing up himself, and closed the trash bag the hard case contained and tied it tight. Barbara was wiping her face with the dampened bandanna.

“I’m going to die like the others, aren’t I?” Barbara asked, her voice barely audible.

“I don’t think so,” Scott said immediately. “I think you just are a bit overcome with the scenes of death we’ve just experienced. Try to drink a bit of the water. Just a few more minutes and we’ll be on the road again, away from all this.”

Still huddled against the opposite door, Barbara did as Scott suggested. They were back on I-80 before she straightened up and looked over at Scott. “You saved my life,” she said softly. “All those other people…”

“I know…” Scott said, concentrating on the road. He was beginning to catch up with east bound traffic and slowed down. “I hope they find some of these people doing this!”

“I still don’t quite understand how we were spared. You said a special filter?”

“Yeah. An American Safe Rooms vehicle CBRN filter unit. Chemical, Biological, Radiation, and Nuclear. It’s part of a preparedness package I put on the truck.”

“You sound like you were expecting this.” It was almost an accusation.

“Not this specifically. But I’ve been preparing for all sorts of disasters, natural and human caused, for years.”

“You’re a survivalist!” Barbara drew away from him.

“Not like the mainstream media portrays survivalists. I’m a prepper. Every one of my extended family is a prepper. We prepare for disasters. We aren’t out to overthrow the government. Several of us are CERT members and volunteer for rescue work during problems. I suspect my family is gearing up for that right now.”

“But you own a gun, I suppose,” Barbara said.

“I do. Several.”

“Guns kill people, you know.” Barbara’s voice was cold. She seemed to be regretting having been saved by a gun owner.

“People, among many other things, kill people. Guns are a tool. And I know what I’m saying won’t persuade you. Only a life experience will, I suspect.”

It was a long time before Barbara spoke again. Scott had turned on the radio and they had been listening to the reports of the latest attack. The Salt Lake City aerial Sarin gas attack was one of two attacks that morning.

The second was a dual purpose attack at Memphis, Tennessee. Seven separate massive barge strings were rammed into the highway and railroad bridges across the Mississippi at Memphis. The barges, upon hitting the bridge supports were blown up with explosive charges and sunk to add the barges mass to that of the bridges to block the river from other traffic.

“Oh, no!” Barbara suddenly said, sitting up in her seat. “My parents. I called them last night and they know I’m in… was in… Salt Lake City.” She looked around for her purse. “My phone! My purse!” She shot an angry look at Scott. “It was left behind when you attacked me.”

“Use mine,” Scott said, handing her his cellular telephone.

After a grudging “Thank you,” Barbara dialed.

“Mother? No, Mother! I’m fine. I’m fine. I got out unharmed.” She looked over at Scott for a moment before turning her eyes away and continuing to talk to her mother. “A classmate… A man traveling east the same as I am. He has a special vehicle and we got away from the gas in it.”

“Mother, is Daddy there?”

There was silence for a few moments and then Barbara was speaking again. “Yes, Daddy. I’m fine. But my car… my purse… all my belongings are in Salt Lake City.” Again Barbara looked over at Scott. “There just wasn’t time. The news says it will be days or weeks before people can come back into the city. I don’t have any money or means of transportation, and…”

Barbara was suddenly frowning. “My father wants to talk to you.” She handed Scott the cell phone.

“Yes, Mr. Wadsworth?” Scott said, keeping his eyes on the road.

“You have a very important person with you,” said Barbara’s father. “It would mean a great deal to me for you to see that she gets home. And it would be well worth your while.”

“That isn’t necessary, sir.”

“I insist,” reiterated Wadsworth. “Now give me a location where I can wire the money she asked for last night and I’ll double it for you to make sure she gets on a train or bus for home, since the planes aren’t flying at the moment.”

“Again, not necessary. I’m traveling as far as Interstate 29 and I can just continue…”

Barbara was making the same angry response her father did. “Now see here, young man,” her father said, “I want my girl home as quickly as possible! You follow my instructions or I’ll have the law after you for kidnapping. You understand me?”

“I do, Mr. Wadsworth. Cheyenne is the most likely place to be able to get things done. We’ll be there this afternoon if nothing else happens. Here is your daughter.”

His jawbones working, indicating his anger, Scott handed Barbara the cell phone. Scott turned his attention away from her and she lowered her voice, turning to face her window as she talked to her father again. Scott couldn’t hear what she said.

“Yes, Daddy. Thank you, Daddy.” Scott heard that, and turned to look at Barbara.

“You have a plan now?” Scott asked.

“Yes.” She handed the cell phone back to Scott. “I’m… I’m… I’m sorry. My father can be a little… forceful.”

“Runs in the family,” Scott replied. “No skin off my nose. As soon as we get to Cheyenne you can call your father and have the money wired and then get a bus. Don’t think the trains will be running after the hits at Denver and Omaha.”

Barbara didn’t respond, simply turning her head and watching the scenery passing by, occasionally looking in Scott’s direction as one vehicle after another whizzed past them. She finally leaned over and saw that they were traveling at almost 80 mph. The traffic wasn’t passing them because Scott was going deliberately slowly. The other vehicles were just traveling much faster than the speed limit.

Around noon Scott pulled off the interstate and into a fueling station with a quick mart. He gave Barbara a twenty to get something to eat. She almost refused, but she was hungry and finally took it without comment.

The fuel dispenser took the debit card without a problem and Scott filled both side tanks. The cross bed transfer tank was still full. He pulled the truck clear of the pumps and went inside, intending to get something to eat and drink himself. But there was Barbara, two sandwiches and two bottles of water in hand.

“I hope you like turkey salad,” she said, handing him one of the sandwiches and one of the bottles of water. He took the change from the twenty when she handed it to him rather than risk another row.

“I love turkey. Thanks.”

They sat down at a picnic table at the side of the quick mart and ate silently. Both went to the bathroom and then they were on the road again. Scott turned the radio back on and again the pair listened to the reports of the day’s terrorist attacks.

They pulled into Cheyenne mid-afternoon and found a Western Union in the Yellow Pages. Scott parked the truck and handed Barbara his cell phone. She exited the truck without a word.

Barbara came out of the Western Union office with a stunned look on her face. She got back into the truck and handed Scott his cell phone. “Daddy’s bank is closed. He couldn’t get any cash out and they wouldn’t take a credit card. I still don’t have any money.”

“What did your father want me to do?” Scott asked.

Barbara bit her lower lip for a moment and then said, “He… He didn’t say. He was so upset about not being able to send me the money I think he started having chest pains. Mother got on and said she was taking him to the hospital.”

“I’m sorry, Barbara,” Scott said softly. “Try not to worry. I’m sure he’ll be all right. And don’t worry about getting there. If I need to, I am fully prepared to take you all the way home.”

“Why? Why would you do that? You don’t even know me. And I’ve made it as clear as I know how that you won’t get any physical reward from me for doing anything.”

“You’re just someone that needs help and I’m in a position to help. My mother and father would each whip my hind end if I didn’t do all I could to see you safely home.”

“So I’m just your pet needy person, then?” Barbara looked hurt and was starting to cry.

“Don’t cry, please,” Scott pleaded. “It’s not that simple. You’re a good person. I happen to know you. I would have offered to help no matter what.”

“Can we just go?” Barbara asked and dropped into that silent mode she was so good at.

“Okay.” Scott started the truck and headed back to pick up I-80 East again. They traveled silently until it got dark and then stopped at the first motel with a vacancy. Again Scott had to pay cash for the two rooms. When they checked the two rooms out, which were side by side, Scott, seeing the look on Barbara’s face, said, “Let’s find a Wal-Mart and get you a few things for the next few days.”

Barbara looked relieved. “Okay. Thanks.”

The Wal-Mart was nearby. Scott parked and shut off the truck’s engine. Pulling out his wallet, Scott handed Barbara two one-hundred-dollar bills. “I know it’s not what you are used to, but…”

“It’ll be fine,” Barbara replied. She was halfway out of the door when she looked back and asked, Scott, “You aren’t coming?”

“I think you know how to shop on your own,” was Scott’s sardonic answer. He was sure he saw a tiny smile curve Barbara’s lips as she left the truck. “Bring me back a sandwich, would you?”

Barbara nodded and hurried toward the entrance to the Wal-Mart. She wasn’t really a Wal-Mart person and took quite some time getting the things she needed. There was plenty of money left to go to the grocery section and get a couple of items from the deli before she went back to the truck.

Scott had the driver’s seat leaned back, his wide brimmed hat down over his eyes. Barbara couldn’t tell how he knew she was coming, but he straightened up and reached over to open the front passenger door for her. She set the food bag down and then went to the rear passenger door and opened it. She put the sacks containing her items on the rear seat.

Scott had the truck running by the time Barbara buckled herself in the passenger seat. He pulled out of the parking lot without a word and headed back to the motel. He helped Barbara carry in her purchases. Barbara kept waiting for him to ask what she had bought, but he never asked, taking his share of the food and a bottle of water from the sack containing it.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he said, leaving the room and closing the door behind him.

“Oh,” Barbara said, stepping toward the door. “Your change…” her voice trailed away and she didn’t open the door. Instead she went about eating a very lonely meal and getting ready for bed.

She woke up groggy and still tired the next morning when Scott knocked on the door to her room. “Just a minute,” she managed to say. Wrapping the bed clothes around her she went to the door and opened it a crack.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I just woke up. I didn’t sleep very well last night.”

“No problem. Take as long as you need. I’m going to go fuel up while you get ready.”

Barbara nodded and yawned. Nearly an hour later she was on the verge of panic. Scott hadn’t returned and she had no clue about what she would do in the event he didn’t come back. But there he was and Barbara breathed a sigh of relief.

“Sorry I’m late,” Scott said as soon as Barbara opened the door. “Fuel is getting hard to find. I want to keep the tanks topped off in case we can’t get any more.”

“No more fuel? What will we do?” The near panic of Scott not showing up was back, with the idea they might not have fuel to get to her home.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got enough to get home. Maybe get all the way to your place, but I’d feel a lot better stopping at my family’s place and refueling if I can’t top off again this evening.”

“Oh. Okay. But isn’t it a long ways out of the way to get to your home? You said you cut south on I-29. How far south would we have to go?”

“To south central Missouri, in the Ozarks. Near Branson?”

“Oh. I’ve heard of Branson. I guess if that is the only way…”

“It may be,” Scott said. “If I can, I’ll take you straight home. But there just might not be enough fuel available. I know I can refuel completely at home. We store quite a bit of fuel for emergencies.”

“The prep thing?” Barbara asked.

“The prep thing,” Scott acknowledged. “Speaking of which, I’m supposed to be reporting in during circumstances such as this. Would you speed dial number one for me?”

Scott handed Barbara the cell phone as he kept his eyes on the road. Traffic was light, but it was aggressive.

“Hello?” Scott heard Barbara say. His mother didn’t like telephones much and had a tendency to talk very loudly into one. He could hear both sides of the conversation as it continued.

“Toomey house. To whom am I speaking?”

Barbara started to hand Scott the telephone, but he was concentrating on not getting crushed between two semi trucks. “This is Barbara Wadsworth, Mrs. Toomey. I’m with Scott. He wanted me to dial for him, but he’s driving and can’t take the phone.”

“Probably a good thing,” Mrs. Toomey said. “I’ve got a few things to say to that boy. You were in that thing in Salt Lake City, weren’t you?”

“Yes, Ma’am. But Scott got us out okay.”

“Of course he did. We trained him well, we did. Boy has a head on his shoulders. A little too independent minded. He should have contacted us before this. Everything okay?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Barbara said. “Here he is now.” Barbara started to hand Scott the phone, but Mrs. Roomey was speaking again. “That’s fine then. Tell the boy to keep to the contact schedule.” She hung up.

“She hung up,” Barbara said helplessly.

“Yeah. I heard. Mother does not like using a telephone. Got shocked by lightning when she was twelve when she was on the telephone. Never trusted them again.”

“I can’t believe she didn’t ask why I’m with you,” Barbara mused.

“She doesn’t care,” Scott replied. “For a woman, she isn’t very inquisitive.” Before Barbara could retort to the comment, Scott continued. “That’s a quote from her, not me.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Since we know the cell system is still up, why don’t you try your folks? See how your father is doing.”

“Thank you,” Barbara said, opening the telephone again and dialing. “Hello? Mother? Yes, it is me. Scott has assured me he will see me all the way home. We may have to swing south to his family’s place in Missouri to get fuel before we can make it all the way. How is Daddy?”

Barbara listened for a long time before she said anything else. “Tell him I love him and I’m all right. And that Scott is doing everything he can to get me home.”

Worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, Barbara closed the telephone and put it on the center console between the custom bucket seats of the truck. “They kept him overnight for observation. Mother is picking him up in a little while.”

“I’m sorry,” Scott said quietly. “My father had an incident a couple of years ago. It is frightening to think you might loose a parent.”

“Yes. My family is very close,” Barbara said. “I don’t know what I would do if I lost one of them.” She reached down and turned the radio back up.

It was basically the same information they had heard the day before. Nothing else had been attacked, but just about everyone that had any responsibility was on watch for something new. There was still no martial law, Scott noted. But people were being told to stay at home, or wherever they were at the moment. Travel was strongly discouraged. They might hit travel restrictions at any time.

Rather than going into Omaha, Scott got off I-80 in Lincoln and took State Road 2 across to pick up I-29. Not only was it a more direct route, but it would avoid the hassles in Omaha that the attack on the rail yards had caused.

When he was down to fifteen gallons in the left hand thirty gallon tank, Scott started looking for fuel. After the fifth stop he decided it was pointless to continue trying. At least until they got to a major metro area again. “We’ll try at Kansas City,” Scott told Barbara after getting back in the truck at the fifth stop.

“How can they just be out?” Barbara asked. “No gasoline…”

“Diesel,” Scott corrected her.

“No Diesel and hardly any food left in the quick mart.”

“Times like these, there is a cascading effect. If the trains and especially the trucks don’t run, service stations don’t get fuel and stores don’t get food deliveries.”

“That’s just not right!” Barbara said rather forcefully. “How are people going to cope?”

“Many won’t,” Scott said. “Besides the deaths caused directly by the attacks, there are going to be people dying of dehydration due to lack of water. Some will die of starvation, though that does really take quite a long time if they are getting any food at all. Some people will have access to water, but it will be contaminated. Many will die from waterborne diseases. There will be fights over food and water. People will die from those.”

“Enough! Enough!” Barbara cried. “I don’t want to hear any more!” She turned to look out the passenger window again, lost in some world of her own.

Scott let it go. What was happening across the US, and to a much smaller extent, across Europe, was just too traumatic for some people to come to grasp with it. Scott wasn’t too surprised at Barbara’s reaction, but he had some hopes she would bounce back after a time.

With the radio on at a low drone, they approached Kansas City. “Could you help me look for a service station that is open?” Scott asked, hoping to bring Barbara out of her funk.

She looked around at him and said, “You really think it will be hard to get fuel here?”

“Harder even than I thought,” Scott replied. “Look. The traffic light at the end of the off ramp is out.” They looked around. It seemed that the power was off in Kansas City.

There was very little traffic on the interstate system and not very much more on the side streets that they could see. Law enforcement was visible, but seemed to just be waiting for trouble. They weren’t stopping people.

They were on the way out of the city, traveling south on US 71 when Barbara suddenly pointed ahead of them and to the right. “I think that one is open!”

Scott slowed down and turned into the station. There was one car at the pumps and it seemed to be filling up. Pulling up to the diesel pump, Scott stopped and got out of the truck. A quick try of his debit card showed that it wouldn’t work. Scott headed into the building to pay with cash. Barbara was right on his heels.

“Looks like you have both power and fuel. Unlike most of KC. What’s it going to cost me to fill up?”

The man behind the counter was chewing on a toothpick. “Can let you have ten gallons. Two hundred bucks.”

Scott heard Barbara gasp and look toward them from where she was looking over the limited choice of food items on the shelves and in the cooler.

“Twenty bucks a gallon,” Scott said. “I guess I’ll just have to pass on that.” He made a motion with his head and Barbara hurried over, several items in her hands. “Leave it,” Scott said.

Scott could tell Barbara wanted to object, but she didn’t, setting the items on the counter in front of the man and following Scott out of the building.

“I can’t believe he wanted twenty dollars a gallon!” she said, going behind the truck to the passenger side.

“The food would have been the same,” Scott said as he buckled up. People with no other choice will pay it, if they have it. Fortunately we have a choice.” He looked over at Barbara and grinned. “Actually, we have the money, and the choice. Just didn’t like the guy’s attitude.”

“Oh,” Barbara said. “Good. I can wait for some food later, I guess.”

“No need,” Scott said. “Reach behind the seat and get that bag on the floor behind my seat.”

Barbara unbuckled her seatbelt and leaned over between the bucket seats. Scott’s eyes went to her bottom, perched as it was right by his shoulder, in the tight jeans she’d picked up at Wal-Mart. But his eyes left as quickly as they were drawn.

“Got it,” Barbara said, pulling the small backpack from behind the seat. She set it on her lap and buckled back in. When she opened it she smiled. But it faded after a moment. “What are these?” she asked, holding up one of the Millennium Food Bars that was in the pack.

“Food bar. Tastes okay and will fill the void. We’ll stop the first place we think we can get real food.”

Barbara offered Scott one, but he declined. She tore open the wrapping on the bar in her hand and took a bite. “Not so bad,” she said. “Not like a Snickers, but not bad.” She pulled out a bottle of water, offering the first one to Scott. He took it, opened it, and took a long drink. Barbara did likewise.

“I always keep some rations in the truck. Just in case. Don’t want them to be too appetizing or I’ll eat up the supplies and then not have what I need when I need it. I’m hoping we can get something in Springfield.”

Again Barbara fell silent as they continued to listen to the radio. It was approaching seven in the evening and the sun was fading when they pulled into Springfield. The power was obviously on, since there were plenty of lights shining. “You want to try to fuel up?” Barbara asked.

“No. I’ve got more than enough to get to home…” his words trailed away. “But it might be a good idea to get as much as I can, to stretch the supplies at home.”

Barbara and Scott both watched for a station that was lit, that didn’t have a sign out signifying they were out of fuel. It took a while, but they finally found one. Scott pulled in and tried the debit card. No dice. He headed inside. Again, Barbara was right on his heels.

“Sorry,” said the female clerk. “No credit cards, debit cards, or checks. Cash on the barrelhead. Limit of ten gallons of gas, twenty of diesel. It’s double what shows on the meter.”

Scott gave her enough cash to pay for the twenty gallons of diesel, despite the price.

“Someone ought to turn these people in,” fumed Barbara as they went back out to the truck. “There are laws against gouging during a disaster.”

“People will be people,” Scott said, putting the nozzle in the left side fuel tank. He pumped until it cut off at twenty gallons. Barbara started to go get the change, but Scott stopped her with a grin. “Better let me get it. Just as soon not have to bail you out of jail for getting into a fight with the clerk.”

“I would never…” Her words trailed away and then she huffed, turned, and got into the truck.

When Scott came back and was buckled up, Barbara said, “You let them take advantage of you!”

“I pick my fights,” Scott said. “A few bucks weren’t worth the hassle, since I got the twenty gallons. Now. What do you feel like eating this evening?”

“Just whatever you want,” Barbara replied.

“I’m kind of in the mood for steak,” Scott said, turning into the parking lot of a local steakhouse. “Feel free to get whatever you feel like.” Scott locked the truck with the remote as they walked inside the restaurant.

“I’m afraid we are somewhat limited on the menu tonight, due to delayed deliveries,” the hostess told them as she was seating them. “No salad bar to speak of.”

“We’ll find something, I’m sure,” Scott said, smiling at the hostess.
Barbara and Scott waited for the server, who was at the table only moments after the hostess left.

“Before you list things,” Scott said, “Let me ask, do you have a filet mignon and lobster tail?”

The server, Janice, looked pleased. “As a matter of fact, we do. We’re completely out of the cheaper cuts, but we do have filet mignons.” She looked over at Barbara. “The same?”

“I couldn’t eat that much…”

“Make it two,” Scott said. “I’ll eat what she doesn’t.”

“Well, I like mine medium rare,” Barbara said.

“Excellent! So do I.”

Barbara frowned. She’d hoped he liked it well done.

“Any starters still available?” Scott asked Janice.

“Stuffed mushroom caps,” she replied.

Scott looked over at Barbara. “Split an order?”

Rather reluctantly Scott thought, Barbara nodded.

“And what to drink?” Janice asked.

“Just water for me,” Scott said.

“Ice tea,” Barbara said.

Janice wrote down the orders and started to turn away. She turned back, and obviously embarrassed, said, “I’m afraid it is cash only. Is that okay?”

Scott nodded. “Got it covered.” Janice smiled again and walked away.

The two said little while they had their dinner. The restaurant wasn’t very busy, and most of the other people were talking in hushed tones.

Barbara declined dessert and had coffee while Scott downed the rest of her meal and a piece of peach cobbler with ice cream.

“Where do you put it all?” Barbara asked, as he finished the last of the cobbler with a sigh.

“Mother says I have a hollow leg,” Scott said with a laugh. “Just a naturally high metabolism. Pop is skinny as a rail, too. Speaking of Pops, why don’t you try yours again?” He handed Barbara his cell phone.

“Thank you,” Barbara said, taking it and dialing the number of her parent’s house. “No answer,” she said after letting it ring over thirty times. She had a worried look on her face when she handed the phone back to Scott.

They were walking back to the truck, which happened to be north of the restaurant when a sudden, rather large pinprick of light appeared in the sky slightly to the northwest. It was only there for a couple of seconds, but it was all the more noticeable due to the fact that all the lights around them went out.

“Oh, no!” Scott said, half under his breath. “This is not good!”

“What was that? What happened to the lights?” Barbara asked.

Scott grabbed her arm and hurried her to the truck. “Hey!” she protested when Scott as much as picked her up and set her in on the passenger seat. “What’s going on now?”

Scott got in the driver’s seat and started the truck. “I think that was a HEMP device going off.”

“HEMP? What is a HEMP?”

“High Altitude Electromagnetic Pulse device. Kills electrical items attached to long lines, and some electronics. Including automotive engine control computers, apparently. Look.”

Scott pointed out the few vehicles on the road slowly rolling to a stop. On some the headlights went out, but there were some still with lights working.

“Why is the truck still running?” Barbara asked, feeling the panic well up in her.

“It’s not electronically controlled.” Scott became busy getting around people that had come outside to see what was going on. He managed to get back on the road without hitting anyone, but it was a near thing.

“I still don’t understand,” Barbara said, after staying quiet while Scott maneuvered the truck.

“It’s probably the initial stages of a nuclear attack on the United States. Something has happened somewhere that we are not aware of and the big boys started playing with weapons systems would be my bet.”

“Nuclear attack! No! It can’t be! It just can’t!”

“I’m afraid it is,” Scott replied. “Look behind us.”

In the far distance to the north and slightly west, an ugly bright purple glow lit the dark of the night slightly. “Probably Kansas City,” Scott said.

Barbara started crying. “My parents! What about my parents?”

“Barbara! Barbara! Look at me!” Scott stopped the truck in a spot without any stalled traffic. He touched Barbara’s arm and she turned to look at him in the light cast off by the dash lights. Her eyes were wide with fear. Scott could tell it was fear for her parents and not herself.

“We’re only a couple of hours from my home. Even if they hit Springfield, which is doubtful, we should still be all right. When we get there I will do everything I can to find out about your parents.”

Scott took a deep breath and then committed himself. “When things are safe, if we haven’t contacted them, I’ll take you there.”

“Can we go now?” Barbara asked, making a visible effort to calm herself.

Scott shook his head. “No. We’re bound to get some fallout if this is a full scale attack. We have to take shelter. We have one at home. We’ll be safe, once we get there. Will you be okay while I drive?”

Barbara managed to nod, though she didn’t say anything. She simply stared out the windshield into the darkness as Scott put the truck back into gear and headed south. As they traveled, they saw three quick flares of brightness, one to the southwest of their travel, one almost due south, and one slightly southeast.

After each one, Scott named the probable target city. “Little Rock. Ft. Smith. Memphis.”

Behind them there was another flare and Scott said, “Jefferson City… Or Ft. Leonard Wood.”

“Please! No more,” Barbara whispered.

Scott wasn’t sure if she was speaking to him or God, but he quit trying to pinpoint targets and simply drove as fast and safely as he could. He had to slow down when he left US 65 and took state and then county roads to an entrance of one of the Mark Twain National Forest segments.

He drove past the marked entrance and then turned onto a well maintained gravel road just a ways further west.

“You live in the park?” Barbara asked.

“Not per se. My family’s property borders the Park. We kind of think of it as ours, too. It’s not too much further.” He fell silent as he continued up the road.

Barbara shivered a bit at the enclosed feeling the trees all around gave her. She was stunned when the gravel road turned into asphalt and the road entered a large opening in the forest. It was too much to take in all at once.

She saw what looked like any small subdivision in the suburbs off to the left, complete with fire hydrants and street lights. Which were on. There were lights on in the houses, too. Off to the right came the reflected light coming off a lake that disappeared off in the darkness. But dead ahead was what really took her by surprise. It looked like a small, modern hotel. It too had lights glowing from most of the windows.

Scott pulled around the circular drive and stopped under the entrance canopy. There were no other vehicles around. “Come on!” Scott said. “We need to hurry.”

Barbara saw lights winking out in the subdivision, including the street lights as small groups of people approached the large structure. The lights in the upper story of the building were going out one by one, too. Scott had taken her by the hand and was tugging her toward one of the groups approaching. A woman stopped at his call, “Mother!” The others hurried on.

“Mother, this is Barbara Wadsworth.”

“Hello, dear,” Mrs. Toomey said. “Come along. We don’t have much time.” She looked at Scott. “You cut it very close,” she said. It was an accusation.

Barbara was surprised to see Scott turn slightly red. “Gee, Mother! How was I supposed to know?”

“You stopped at the steakhouse, didn’t you?” It was another accusation.

“Well… Yeah… But…”

“Hush up and come along. I want us buttoned up and locked down inside of fifteen more minutes.”

Scott shut up, and followed his mother, Barbara’s hand still in his. They were the last to enter the building. A man was standing at the door and marked off Mrs. Toomey and Scott. “Name?” he asked Barbara.

Scott answered for her. “Barbara Wadsworth.”

Barbara looked behind. The man was closing security shutters for the door and sidelights. Scott ushered her into one of two elevators in what was obviously a reception area of a commercial operation.

She noted that they went down two floors. There must be a basement and sub-basement, Barbara decided, curiosity getting the better of her fear. When they left the elevator they entered a large open area with quite a few people milling around.

“Welcome to the Ozark Corporate Retreat Complex disaster shelter,” Scott said, finally dropping her hand.




Barbara’s Legacy – Chapter 2

Things suddenly took on a look of order, as Barbara realized that the individuals weren’t really just milling around. Each seemed to have a project of some type going, and many had clipboards in hand.

One thing that drew her eyes was a group of youngsters. Instead of the panic that she had felt, and was still feeling to a degree, the children were being supervised and seemed to be checking off items on their own lists quietly and calmly.

Suddenly she looked at Scott. “Wait. This is Corporate Retreat? With a fallout shelter?”

“Dual purpose,” Scott replied. “We have a big family. Building something large enough for all of us without an additional source of income wasn’t going to be possible. Back in the seventies, when business and corporate retreats became common, my parents talked to the rest of the family and got the go ahead to build this place.

“There was additional cost, of course, for the emergency facilities, but the income from the retreat business has more than paid for them, with a nice dividend from the profits every year for each member of the family.

“Quite a few of us work here, but we have outside employees, too.” Scott led the way over to a communications console at one side of the area. “Dad,” he said to the man there with headphones on.

Mr. Toomey set one earpiece off an ear so he could hear as Scott introduced Barbara and then asked his father, “How many staff and clients are here?”

“No clients,” Mr. Toomey replied. “When the terror attacks started, everyone decided to head for home. Everyone we had booked cancelled until things settle down. That is going to be a while, if ever. As far as staff, with no clients, everyone except family was sent home, for the duration, with an extra month’s wages. We may see a few of them start showing up with what is going on now. Speaking of which…”

Mr. Toomey pointed to one of the bank of TV monitors. Got someone coming up in a hurry.” He turned to Scott. “You’re here. You might as well handle it.”

“We getting any fallout yet?” Scott asked, but looked at a line of CDV-717 radiation meters himself. “Nope. Not yet. Don’t have to suit up.”

Scott turned to Barbara. “Stay here. I’ll be back in a while.”

“But…” Barbara tried to protest, but Scott was gone.

“Have a seat and watch the boy work,” Mr. Toomey said, patting the seat of a chair behind him.

Barbara sat down and watched the TV monitors. She saw Scott leave the elevator on the first floor and go to what she now recognized as an airlock entryway. It was the same one she’d come through. She’d seen the one man close the security shutters for the outside door and windows, but had not seen the security doors on the inside doors of the airlock.

Scott disappeared through a door near the entry doors. He didn’t show up on any of the monitors, but Mr. Toomey indicated the monitor showing the now enclosed space between the inner and outer security doors of the entry.

Barbara watched, amazed, as Scott went through the process of bringing someone into the building after it was locked down for an emergency. Though she couldn’t see Scott, she could hear his voice coming from a speaker in the entryway.

First he asked the people… there were three on the monitor that showed the outside of the entry… for their identification. “He’ll be checking a list of employees and other people that have a standing invite to come here in a crises. I happen to recognize the vehicle when it came up. It should be Harvey Jones, his wife, and little boy. They’re on the list.”

Apparently Scott found their names on the entry list, for the security shutter for the door opened and then three people entered the airlock.

“There is a small cabinet on the wall there,” came Scott’s voice. “Take the wand out and run it over yourself and the others.”

“He’s got a remote reading radiation detector like these,” Mr. Toomey said, touching one of the CDV-717 meters on the console.

“Okay,” Scott said. “You’re all three clean. Just a second and I’ll let you in.” The inner security door and regular inner door opened and the three walked into view of another camera. Scot came out a moment later and closed the doors. He began to lead the three toward the elevator.

“What if they had been in fallout?” Barbara asked. “Or the gas, like we avoided?”

The floor has unobtrusive drains in it and there is a shower wand in another cabinet. They would have been told to strip down, put their clothes out a hatch, shower, and put on a simple jump suit and flip-flops we have for people that come in contaminated.”

“And if they didn’t want to do that?”

“Well, it’s not likely that anyone would get that far and not want to decontaminate. Strangers that might show up and demand entrance for some reason would be dealt with outside the entry. If they seemed all right and came into the decontamination area and didn’t want to decontaminate, they would have been escorted off the property under guard by people in protective gear.”

“Guns?” Barbara asked.

“Oh, yes,” Mr. Toomey said. Barbara didn’t respond.

A few minutes later Barbara saw Scott get out of the elevator with the three people. They were immediately met by Mrs. Toomey and went through some type of check in system. When Scott joined Barbara and his father, Barbara asked, “It looks like they are being checked in. Should I be doing that, too?”

“Actually, yes,” Scott said. “Mother would probably be over here in a little while, tugging my ear to get you checked in. Please save me that embarrassment and come on over with me. It’s not a big thing, but it can be important.”

“Mrs. Toomey,” Barbara said, “Are there some forms I need to fill out?”

“No offense girl, but we have to be able to read these. Today’s schools… Anyway. No. I’ll ask questions and write down the answers. We’ll get it in the computer in a while, but we always want a hardcopy record, just in case.”

“Oh,” Barbara said, understanding why Scott didn’t want his mother on his case for anything.

Mrs. Toomey looked at Scott for a moment and then said, “Leave.”

Barbara was a bit disappointed when Scott moved away, but reddened slightly and silently thanked Mrs. Toomey for making him leave when the questions got a bit intimate. Things like her name and address, next of kin, allergies, blood type, and such seemed quite routine.

But then Mrs. Toomey asked, “Pregnant?”

“No.”

“In your period?”

“Uh… Yes.”

“Pad or tampons?”

“Tampons.”

“Light or heavy?”

“Heavy now…”

“Okay,” Mrs. Toomey said, lifting the clipboard up against her ample chest. “That does it. Should have Scott show you around and get you a bunk.”

“Oh!” Barbara said, suddenly remembering Scott had pulled her out of the truck so fast she’d forgotten to bring the Wal-Mart bags that were here suitcase. She mentioned it to Mrs. Toomey.

“We’ve got stuff in just about all sizes. We’ll get your personal things when we know everything is clear.” Mrs. Toomey looked around, saw Scott, and called him over.

“Show her the ropes.” With that Mrs. Toomey went over to another console, near the communications console, and gave the papers she’d just filled out on Barbara’s behalf to a teenaged girl already entering the data from the Jones.

It would be several days before Barbara learned all about the family complex, but Scott showed her the shelter before assigning a bunk in one of the women’s dorm rooms. Even with just the brief tour, Barbara felt safe, protected from all the bad things going on out in the real world.


Scott was watching the communications monitors when Barbara found him the next morning after getting up and going to the bathroom. One of the women in the family had shown her where to get one of the jumpsuits. While not particularly flattering, it was comfortable and quite serviceable Barbara found.

“Where is everyone?” Barbara asked, walking over to Scott.

“Fallout is light right now. Everyone but a couple of us is upstairs in the secondary shelter doing activities.”

“Fallout?” Barbara asked, fear pumping adrenaline into her system.

“Real light.” Scott looked at Barbara and saw the fear. “Don’t worry. We’re perfectly safe here and even in the main basement. If it doesn’t get any worse we really wouldn’t have to even sleep down here, but that is the way we’re set up. If it does get worse, we’ll spend our time down here until the radiation fades.”

It suddenly occurred to Barbara that they weren’t doing anything special about the air. “What about the air? Isn’t it contaminated? And water?”

Scott didn’t laugh at her lack of knowledge about nuclear fallout. He knew a couple of preppers that had trouble believing the air itself didn’t become radioactive. Neither did the water. But if you didn’t know that, it was a very scary thought.

“The air is filtered. We have Bio/Chem filters as well as particulate filters for fallout. The air itself doesn’t become radioactive. Only the fallout particles are radioactive. They are filtered out and accumulate in a safe place where we can dispose of them.

“Water is the same way. We have a lot stored, and have three wells that serve the compound, plus there is the lake. The lake is for pleasure use and fire protection, but we can draw drinking water from it if need be. If it is, it will be filtered and treated to make it safe. Like air, the water itself doesn’t become radioactive due to fallout.”

“Oh,” Barbara said. “I didn’t know that. I thought…”

“It isn’t something a person just knows. I’ve had training since I was old enough to understand. My family’s preps started back during World War II and just became more extensive during the Cuban Missile Crisis.”

“I don’t think it’s ever really been discussed in my family,” Barbara said.

“Speaking of your family,” Scott said, “I’ll try the telephone lines again.” Scott plugged a simple touch-tone telephone into one of dozens of different types of electrical jacks mounted to a copper sheet fastened to the wall beside the communications desk.

“Still nothing,” he said and saw Barbara’s disappointment. “I just tried the Amateur Radio bands. They are still just filled with static. As soon as it fades, if the telephone doesn’t come back up, I’ll try to find an Amateur Radio operator near you home. See if they can contact your parents.”

“You can do that?” Barbara asked.

“Depends on who survived and where. I’m not getting any radio or TV, be it commercial broadcast, shortwave, or Amateur. I have no idea how broad the attack was. All we can do is wait.”

Barbara nodded, fighting back tears. Scott motioned to one of his cousins, who came over and took over the communications console. Scott took Barbara into the kitchen area of the shelter and helped her prepare a breakfast. It was normal home fare, and when Barbara asked about it, Scott explained that one of the first steps of taking shelter was moving all fresh food to the shelter so it could be used up first and not be lost to spoilage.

After her breakfast Scott took Barbara up to the main basement. “How do you have power?” she asked him, suddenly realizing the structure did have power.

“We have commercial power,” Scott replied as they stood and watched several of the youngest children playing a game. “When it goes down, like it did due to the EMP, our generators kick in. And we have quite a bit of photovoltaic power, but not nearly enough to run the whole place. As best as we can tell, the PV system is still working, despite the EMP. There was a lot of concern beforehand in whether or not it would survive.”

Seeing her interest fade from what he was saying, to the children, Scott took Barbara over and introduced her to his cousin Shelly, who was watching and playing with the children. “I could use some help,” Shelly told Barbara with a smile.

Barbara gracefully folded her legs beneath her and took one of the toddlers from Shelly so she could help her play the game. Scott made himself scarce. His family would accept Barbara amongst them without a word. He wanted to check on a few things around the place and didn’t particularly want Barbara to know he was doing them.

With one of his brothers and a cousin, Scott suited up in a Tyvek protective hooded coverall, put on rubber boots and respirator, and added rubber gloves to go out and check the property. The cameras weren’t showing anything untoward, but Scott wanted a walk around inspection and his father and grandfather both agreed. All three men went armed, just in case.

With Scott in the lead with a CDV-715 survey meter, the three checked for hotspots around the property and placed small flags to mark them.

They took only as much time as required to do the inspection and then hurried back to decontaminate and return to the shelter. The individual dosimeter each man wore indicated an accumulated dose of less than 0.5 r. Not something they wanted to do every day, but acceptable for the information gathered.

On the fifth day in the shelter, with the outside radiation already dropping rapidly after a peak of only 50 r/hr plans were being made for an off-property expedition to see how the locals had faired. There was still no communication with the outside world and no one had shown up at the compound.

But the entire building suddenly shuddered, barely enough to be felt, but discernable. Scott’s grandfather was on the communications monitor and pointed to one of the cameras pointed toward the north. He’d seen a flash of light from it, but nothing else showed for several minutes. Then the unmistakable mushroom cloud slowly rose into view. “Springfield,” the elder Toomey said. “Second… or maybe a third strike.”

Five hours later the radiation level on the property began to rise again. The fallout dust was visible on the camera monitors. Scott’s grandfather, as patriarch of the family, announced the fact that they were going to be in the shelter for some additional time. Most took it quite well, having grown up with the risk of nuclear war, and the means to prepare for it.

“My parents?” Barbara asked, coming over to join Scott at the monitors.

“I’m sorry,” Scott said softly. “We still haven’t been able to contact anyone. With this further attack, it is going to be some time still before we can even attempt to communicate with someone in the area.”

Barbara moved away, to be by herself, the tears slowly rolling down her cheeks. Scott felt a dull ache in his belly at not being able to help her. Over the next month, before it was safe to exit the shelter again, Barbara kept herself busy helping with the children. It seemed to give her some solace and it allowed the parents to get away from the responsibility for a few hours at a time.

A few days before anyone left the shelter, the various radios began to come alive with traffic. Though just about everyone in the shelter already believed it, the contact confirming other survivors was a welcome relief.

But the news wasn’t good. The initial terrorist attacks had been minor compared to the devastation the nuclear exchange had brought to the world. No one seemed to know exactly how it started. Who launched first, or even who was the ultimate winner, if there was even such.

Amateur radio operators from around the world gave details of local destruction, with huge loss of life. There were small battles for supplies going on everywhere people had survived, but the infrastructure had not.

As soon as they had the big picture, Scott got on the air and began calling for anyone in the Dover, Delaware area. Scott and Barbara were both elated when an answer came soon after they started calling. It was an unlicensed operator in the Dover area. But his news deflated the elation. He was still in his shelter and the radiation level was still above 50 r/hr.

His estimate was that Washington, D. C., just west of Dover, had taken at least five separate nuclear warheads, one of them several days after the initial attacks. He planned to stay in his shelter for at least another two months. After that he would have to go out, whether the radiation was down or not. That was all the food he and his family had.

Barbara looked over at Scott, her right hand to her mouth, eyes again rimmed with tears. “Two more months of not knowing?” she whispered and turned away.

A few minutes later Scott had both sets of grandparents and his parents in a private discussion. They each made a token effort to dissuade Scott from the plan he’d just proposed. But they were family and if it meant as much to Scott as it apparently did, they would support him. He was going to take Barbara to Dover as soon as they could get things ready for the extended trip.

The word traveled through the family grapevine quickly, but Scott made sure he was the one that told Barbara about the trip. He didn’t want it to be a rumor she just overheard.

When he told her, she grabbed him in a hug, “Oh, thank you, Scott! Thank you. I don’t know if I can tell you how much this means to me.”

“You don’t need to,” Scott replied. “My family means more to me than anything else. The risks might be higher going now. But then again, it might be more dangerous later. Whichever, if you’re willing to take the risks, so am I.”

“I am. I will never be satisfied until I know the fate of my parents.”

“Okay. Now it will take a few days to get things ready. It will be slow going, so you’re going to have to plan on being on the road weeks, if not months. Don’t worry about food and such. I’ll take care of that. You just need to have personal items for that length of time.”

Barbara had stepped back and was watching Scott intensely as he spoke. She nodded.

“There is one more thing…” Scott’s words trailed away, afraid of what Barbara would say when he continued. “I want you able to defend yourself. Part of getting ready for this trip, for you, will be learning how to handle a pistol and a carbine.”

Scott saw the flash of resistance in Barbara’s eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. “If that is what it takes to go, I’ll do it,” she said, eyes taking on a determined look once she’d made the decision.

“Find Grandpa Morris. He’s taught most of the family to shoot. And to swim.”

“My mother taught me to swim,” Barbara said softly, apparently a fond memory coming to her.

Scott let his grandfather do the firearms training, without interference. He was busy getting his truck ready for the trip. Though the un-refueled range of the truck was 2,400 miles, almost exactly the distance to Dover and back, using pre-war road choices, Scott wanted more range. He expected detours. Many of them. As well as delays and possibly side trips. The possibilities of finding diesel fuel available on the trip were slim and none in Scott’s opinion.

Between the need for additional fuel and having plenty of supplies for a trip that could take many weeks or even months, Scott opted to put a bed shell and pipe rack on the truck as well as take a trailer.

Scott had several offers by family members to go along with him in convoy, just in case of trouble, but Scott declined. He wasn’t going to put anyone else at risk. For the trip so soon after a nuclear attack was going to be a series of risks, small and large. There was no way to tell how survivors along the route would react to someone traveling through their territory, all of which would probably be heavily scavenged and short of supplies.

The day before they were to leave, Scott took his Grandfather Morris aside and asked him, “She going to be able to cover my back and watch out for herself?”

“At least as good as half the family can. She picked up the skills quickly, just as most people do that have never had any experience. It will all be in the willingness. She was determined to learn. I think she’ll pull her weight, when the time comes.”

Scott noted that his grandfather had said when and not if. He felt the same way about it. The chances were extremely high that they would need to protect themselves sometime, somewhere during the trip.

“What did she choose?” Scott asked. He saw a small smile on Grandpa Morris’ face.

“As a matter of fact, your Steyr AUG. She liked the feel of it and the compactness over the AR’s. As you thought, she didn’t like the heavier recoil of the 7.62 x 51 weapons, though she did try. She’s much better with the 5.56mm.”

Scott shrugged it off. He would have brought the AUG anyway, to use where situations dictated it. He was sure his cousin Bernie would loan him one of his AUG’s. Bernie had two. It could act as backup to Barbara’s and give him a carbine if he needed one. “Probably want to sell it to me,” Scott thought, with another shrug.

“What about a handgun?” Scott asked.

“She didn’t have any problems handling any of them. When I explained the advantages of semi-autos over revolvers, she went with my old GI Colt .45.”

Scott was more than a little surprised. That customized Colt was his grandfather’s pride and joy. “You don’t have to do that, Grandpa,” Scott said.

“Want to,” he replied gruffly. “It fit her hands perfectly and she shot it better than any of the others, even the lesser calibers. She might as well have it. I’ve still got plenty of others.”

“Only if you’re sure, Grandpa.”

“I am.”

Scott nodded and then asked, “You got her all equipped?”

“Of course. A gun’s not much use without the things that go with it. She’s got plenty of magazines for each gun, and extra rounds. Boxed for the .45 and in stripper clip bandoleers for the AUG. Kept it simple for load bearing equipment. A leather pistol belt with six pouches for the Colt and a musette bag for the AUG mags.”

“Can’t ask for better than that for a beginner on a trip like this. Thanks Grandpa.”

“No problem, boy. Despite being from where she is, I think she’s got mettle.” Grandpa Morris suddenly grinned. “She did put up with you getting here with her.”

“Good point, Grandpa.” Scott left his grandfather to his own devices and went to find Barbara. Everyone was still sleeping in the sub-basement shelter, but Barbara, along with several others, had been assigned rooms in the housing section of the corporate retreat building.

Scott found her in her room, doing a bit of last minute packing. “Your family has been more than generous,” she told him after she’d opened the door when he knocked. “I’ve got plenty of clothes. Boots. Winter weather gear. Everything I need.” There were tears in her eyes. “How can I ever thank them all and repay them.”

“Just by telling them,” Scott said. “That’s all that is needed. You don’t have to try to repay item for item. You’ve been pulling your weight. That’s all that counts. You’ve been a big help with the little ones.”

There was a surprised look on her face. “I never would have thought that I would do that. Enjoy working with kids.”

“You’re good at it,” Scott said. “All the mothers say so.”

“Well, I’m glad I could be of help.”

“We’ll leave right after breakfast tomorrow morning. Check everything over good this evening. Won’t have much chance after that. If we don’t have it when we leave, we do without it.”

Barbara nodded. “I understand. I’ll be ready.”

Scott left it at that, and left her to finish up. He went down to the shelter and got on the radio to contact the man in Dover they had talked to from time to time. He couldn’t raise him, and feeling antsy, he decided to check over the truck and trailer one last time. It was getting dark and Scott looked up at the night sky. There was just a touch of haze, normal now, filtering the light of the full moon.

When he went in he noticed that Barbara didn’t eat much. He found himself in the same boat. He just wasn’t hungry. But he was tired. He went to bed early.

Scott felt energized the next morning when he went to the kitchen area of the shelter. Barbara was already there, talking to his mother while she fixed the two of them breakfast. Scott got a look at her eyes. They showed excitement equal to his.

It surprised Barbara when Mrs. Toomey hugged Scott and then turned around and hugged her. “You take care. Both of you.” She hugged Barbara again and while she was holding her, said, “I hope for the best for your family. We’ve all been praying for them.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Toomey,” Barbara said when she was finally released.

“Look out for Scott. He tends to get himself in trouble.”

Barbara smiled. “I will. I’ve noticed that about him, myself.”

The rest of the family was getting up and trailed out in ones and twos to say good-bye, as much to Barbara as to Scott. Good-byes finally done, Scott and Barbara got in the truck and Scott headed it for the driveway.

Both were lost in their own thoughts, and spoke little, but both also kept a very good lookout for problems or danger. Barbara commented early on how eerie and quiet things were. There just wasn’t anything moving in the quiet morning air. No birds. No planes in the sky. Nothing.

Scott took a look at the CDV-715 radiation meter sitting on the consol between the bucket seats. The needle was barely coming off the peg. They were fine as far as radiation danger for the moment.

They had discussed the route they would try to take a couple of days previously. Both agreed that there would probably be less trouble following state and county roads and the occasional US highway than trying to take the Interstate system unless it was necessary.

They’d also discussed stopping if and when they saw people. The agreement was to simply play it by ear, but to always be cautious. The first test of that agreement came late in the afternoon. There were some people on horseback going east, into Van Buren, when Scott approached them from behind.

He slowed significantly, so as not to spook the horses. “Keep the AUG ready,” he told Barbara calmly. She nodded and readied the carbine, keeping it on her lap out of sight. Scott rolled both front windows down with the controls on his door.

The riders finally heard something and they all stopped, turning the horses to face the truck. Scott and Barbara had both seen the long guns slung over the shoulders of each of the riders. None moved to bring one down and Scott drove up beside them and came to a stop.

“Hello,” Scott said, looking up the oldest of the five men. “We’re passing through. Any thing we should watch out for?”

“Not a good time to be traveling,” said the man. “We’ve had some trouble around here lately. Looking for a couple guys on motorcycles. Been on a rampage the last few days. Watch out for them. Looks like you got a CB from the antennas. Call us on channel 23 if you run across them. I’d keep the woman out of sight. They do some nasty things to women.”

Scott didn’t see it, but Barbara paled and gripped the AUG more tightly.

“Thanks. We’ll keep an eye out. Thanks for the warning. Any word on things east of here?”

“Nothing much,” replied the man. “Could be more fallout that way. We got the Springfield hit, but didn’t get much from Whiteman. Winds were more to the east. Could hit some hot spots.”

“We were expecting it,” Scott said. “My family has a place this side of Branson. You can get them on whatever ham band is running at the time around 7:00pm each evening.”

“We’ll pass that along to the rest of the survivors around here. Might look to do some trading one of these days.”

“So would we,” Scott said. “Thanks again.” He eased the truck forward gently, again not to spook the horses. “Keep an eye on them in the mirrors,” he whispered to Barbara, dividing his attention between the road in front of him and the left hand outside mirror.

“They just seem to be following along behind us slowly,” Barbara said after a few moments.

Scott sped up and pulled away, feeling a bit relieved to be away from them. There’d been no trouble, but there just wasn’t any way to know ahead of time how contact with others would turn out
.
They picked a spot in another section of the Mark Twain Nation Forest system for their camp that night. It was well away from any towns and Scott thought they could safely camp there, if they put out perimeter alarms.

They didn’t take any chances, covering the truck and trailer with camouflage netting and setting its alarms. With trip cord around the entire camp area the two climbed into the tent, to their separate sleeping bags, after an easy supper of a Mountain House freeze-dried campers’ meal.

Despite the security efforts, neither slept well and decided the next morning to switch off each night for four hour watches. They continued to set up their camp in out of the way places, avoiding potentially populated areas. There were bridges out here and there and finding places to cross the many rivers and streams in Southern Missouri ate up the days.

There’d been some speculation that the woods would be full of people trying to live off the land after a nuclear exchange, but Scott and Barbara didn’t run into anyone in the wilds until after they crossed the Mississippi River near Cairo, Illinois on I-57. The bridge was still standing, though it had several vehicles stopped on it. Scott was able to maneuver the truck and trailer through them without incident, after studying the bridge through binoculars from a concealed position on the Missouri side of the river.

There was some nearly primordial forest in the southern tip of Illinois and I-57 cut right through it. Scott and Barbara planned to travel a bit further north on the interstate before cutting northwest again on side roads. They were looking forward to stopping at the rest area on the Interstate deep in that forest.

Scott knew he’d made a mistake almost as soon as he pulled off the Interstate onto the access ramp to the rest area. There were three heavily armed men at the edge of the forest bordering the ramp.

“Trouble!” Scott told Barbara. “Get ready to fight our way through,” he added grimly as he floored the accelerator of the truck. The diesel engine roared and their speed began to climb as they came to several more people in the rest stop itself. It looked like half the world to Scott and Barbara as they came under fire from those that were armed in the camp.

Barbara had to get Scott’s AUG from the seat behind him. At least it had a full Beta C-Mag one-hundred round drum in it, as did Barbara’s. Both began firing outward and forward of their path of travel, sending people diving for cover.

A half dozen bullet holes appeared in the windshield and they could hear rounds hitting the sheet metal of the truck and trailer as they drove through the hail of bullets, Scott barely managing to control the truck and trailer with one hand as he fired the AUG with his other, right foot still holding the accelerator pedal to the firewall.

Barbara screamed when two men stood their ground, firing at the truck coming right toward them. The windshield failed completely, followed shortly by the rear glass. Neither man judged the speed of the rapidly accelerating truck and one bounced off the right fender and the other off the left fender.

Scott nearly lost control as he made the swerving turn to get back on the Interstate proper. Scott put his AUG aside and Barbara reloaded his and hers with fresh drums.

“You’re bleeding!” Scott cried when he looked over at Barbara.

Her eyes wide, Barbara looked at Scott. “You are too!”

Scott kept the speed up for several miles, until he was sure they weren’t being followed. He stopped the truck in a spot that gave them a good view of the road in both directions and hurried around the front of the truck. He snatched open the passenger door and carefully helped Barbara out of the cab.

“Where are you hit?” he asked, looking her over carefully.

“I think it’s just scratches from the glass,” Barbara said slowly, carefully analyzing how she felt.

“This one isn’t,” Scott said, lifting her left arm. There was a long slash in her shirt sleeve and it was bloody.

Barbara felt a bit woozy at the sight and Scott set her down on the passenger seat again. Getting the first-aid kit from the rear passenger compartment of the truck he began to slowly and carefully clean the gunshot wound first, and then the small cuts on her face and neck.

He continued to check the roadway, almost frantically, fearful they would be attacked again before he could get the truck back on the road. Scott gave Barbara some water to drink when he was finished working on her and then began a detailed inspection of the truck and trailer. Both were riddled with bullet holes. He cringed at the sight of several holes in the upholstery of both bucket seats.

His heart fell when he saw the flat on the trailer. It was the only flat they had, a small miracle in and of itself. Fortunately Scott had brought several spare tires mounted on rims. With the engine mounted air compressor he was able to use air tools to change the flat. The tire was shredded and the rim ruined. He rolled it over to the side of the road and down into the ditch.

The engine of the truck had continued to run, so Scott left it last to check. There were a couple of holes in the hood, and one of the headlights was shattered, but, another small miracle, the radiator was okay, as was the fan. There were signs of bullets having struck the engine block, but none had penetrated that he could see. Time would tell if there was damage he couldn’t see.

When he closed the hood, ready to get back in the truck and leave, he saw Barbara sitting with her head back, her eyes closed. He said a little prayer that she was all right and got behind the wheel of the truck.

The next thing he knew he was in the passenger seat of the truck and Barbara was driving it slowly along an Illinois State Highway.

“What… What… What’s going on?” he asked, straightening up in the seat. A sharp pain shot through his right arm, just above the elbow. He looked and felt of the spot. It had been cleaned and dressed. He felt of his face. So had it.

“You sort of passed out,” Barbara said, looking over at him and breathing a huge, visible, sigh of relief. “You’d lost some blood from the cuts and the bullet wounds.”

When he shifted again he felt the awkwardness of his left leg and looked down. There was a long cut in his pants, with a bandage in sight.

“The one in your arm went all the way through,” Barbara continued. “I don’t think it hit the bone, because you’d been using the arm. The one in your leg was just under the skin.” Barbara shuddered at the memory. “It came through the door of the truck and I guess that did something to it. The bullet was all out of shape. That must have been why it didn’t go in very deep.”

Suddenly the truck slowed down, Barbara turned several shades of green and essentially fell out of the truck when it came to a stop. She began to retch beside the truck.

Moving as quickly as he could, Scott got out and went around the truck. He had his hand on her back as she retched, on hands and knees. She finally quit and Scott helped her up. He got one of the canteens and handed it to her, along with his bandanna.

When she’d cleaned up she suddenly started to cry and rushed into Scott’s arms. “I thought you were going to die! There was so much blood… and the bullet holes… and the glass… and…” She started to hiccup and Scott just held her for a long time, her head on his shoulder.

Finally he leaned back, tilted her head back and moved her long hair from her face. “You okay now?” he asked.

There were still tears trickling down her cheeks but she managed to nod. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“Don’t be sorry. That was a rough time. I’m a little surprised I didn’t do the same thing. Come on. Let’s put a little more distance between us and them.”

Barbara showed Scott on the map where they were and he took over the driving again. He continued to look over at Barbara from time to time. She was huddled against the passenger door, staring out the open window, her hair blowing in the wind passing through the cab of the truck due to the missing windshield and back glass.

As the day waned, Scott stopped so they could put on jackets. It was late September and already getting cold in the early afternoon. The wind whistling through the cab wasn’t helping. They only put up with it until Scott found a similar model truck and he pulled the windshield, back glass, and driver’s side widow from it and installed them in his truck. He did the same with the busted headlight. Barbara had to marvel at the extent of the tools and odds and ends of repair supplies he had in the truck.

“Never know what we’re going to need on a trip like this. We just got really lucky they didn’t hole anything critical like the engine or fuel tanks. Or us, more than they did, anyway.”

“Yes. This thing really itches all the time now,” Barbara said, not quite resisting the urge to scratch the wound on her arm, despite the bandage.

“I’d heard healing flesh itches. I believe it now,” Scott replied, having his own problems not scratching his wounds. Both had faces that looked like near fatal acne had set in with all the scabs on their faces from the minor, but many, glass cuts both had sustained.

Besides bridges being down, they were now beginning to have to avoid higher radiation areas as they continued to travel north east. There was more and more evidence of nuclear detonations on not only various military bases, but major, and even some minor cities.

Whenever the radiation level began to climb, Scott headed away from it, continuing the best eastward course he could. That sometimes took them on a southern direction, which always caused Barbara to tense up. Only when they were traveling the straightest course possible to get to Dover was she at ease. At least as much at ease as one could be traveling a radiation ridden country.

They had not been able to avoid everyone on their trip so far, but none of the encounters had been as dangerous as the one in Southern Illinois. Scott was even able to do some trading in a small town in Indiana for diesel fuel, in exchange for a case of MRE’s. He was able to refill all the tanks they’d emptied on the way. It made him feel a bit better about being able to get back to Missouri after they’d been to Dover.

It was becoming more and more difficult to find a safe route as they neared the New England States. Twice they found and took shelter in undamaged buildings for three weeks at a time to allow the radiation to fade to a more acceptable level. They had discussed it, and at Barbara’s urging, Scott had agreed to keep traveling when the radiation was as high as 0.5 r/hr, as long as they sought good shelter for a few days after every exposure.

They both became inured to the death all around them. As often as not they had to suit up in Tyvek coveralls and filter masks or respirators to clean out the best places to stay when they were in the higher radiation areas.

Finally they crossed the Appalachians and stayed near the foothills as they cut further north, staying well away from Washington, D. C. But finally they looped around the remains of Baltimore and then cut down to Maryland and Delaware. They sought some type of radiation shelter every night as the levels were the highest they’d been traveling through. Scott knew they were pushing the safe limits for future problems with cancers and other radiation diseases, but it was just too important for Barbara to find out about her parents that he quit mentioning the slowly accumulating doses they were getting, though he did continue to track them.

Scott wasn’t having any luck making contact with the man in Dover, but his regular contacts with the compound in Missouri assured him the man was still there and transmitting on a fairly regular basis.

Finally, two days before the first Christmas after the start of the war, Scott made contact on a two meter frequency.

“You caught us just in time,” the man said. “We’re heading out the day after Christmas. We’ve all suffered effects of radiation poisoning and can’t afford to stay here any longer.”

“Were you able to contact the Wadsworths?” Scott asked. Barbara was looking on intently.

“Sorry, buddy. We never did. The risk was just too high.”

Barbara bit her lower lip. “Scott?” she asked.

“We’ll get there,” he said, hanging up the radio’s microphone.

Scott pushed the limits of safety, but they turned down Barbara’s parents’ street midmorning of Christmas day. There were three inches of snow on the ground and it was still snowing lightly. There was nothing stirring. No animal life was evident. There were no tracks in the new snow.

Many of the mansions lining the street had burned. When Barbara saw her parents’ house, still intact, she jumped out of the truck and ran for the front door.

She’d left her AUG behind, but she was still armed with the Colt, Scott knew. He started to pick up the AUG to take to her, but left it lying and took his M1A with him as he went to join her. He locked the truck with the remote and hurried to catch up with her. She was already at the front door.

Scott saw her struggling with a key, but her hands were shaking so bad she couldn’t get it into the lock. He slung the M1A and took the key from her. When he had the door open Barbara pushed past him into the entryway, calling, “Mother! Daddy! Mother! Daddy!”

Dead silence was her only answer. Frantically she moved through the house, checking each room in turn, upstairs and down. Scott was taking a closer look at the living room and kitchen areas when Barbara headed down to the basement.

When she screamed, Scott couldn’t tear if it was horror, fear, or elation, but he took the steps down to the basement two at a time, the M1A ready.

“They survived!” Barbara told Scott. “Look!”

Scott looked over the makeshift fallout shelter. With the deep basement and masonry construction of the house, and the extra efforts on the actual shelter space, Scott thought that Barbara’s parents might very well have survived the initial days of the war.

But from the looks of the litter and trash, they hadn’t had much food to live on after the fact. “They must be around here close,” Barbara said. “They wouldn’t go far, I’m sure.”

Suddenly, a bad feeling filling his body, Scott said, “Let me check around. You keep looking for a note or something upstairs.”

Scott had expected resistance to his suggestion, but perhaps Barbara was having the same feeling he was. She calmly went upstairs and began going through the rooms again. Scott found the French doors to the back yard. He immediately saw two mounds of dirt, with a hole between them.

It wasn’t until he came up to them that he realized one of the mounds was a filled grave, and the other one an open grave. It wasn’t empty. There was a makeshift cross at the head of the filled in grave. It had Barbara’s mother’s name on it. Scott assumed the body in the second grave was that of her father. He’d buried his wife and dug his own grave, and then laid down and died in it.

Barbara was waiting for Scott when he came back in. There were tears streaming down her face and she held a sheet of paper crumpled up in her hands. Scott took her in his arms without a word. Huge sobs wracked her body as she cried.

Scott didn’t know how long he held her after he picked her up in his arms and went to a sofa to sit down so he could hold her on his lap. She cried herself out in his arms and fell asleep. Scott didn’t want to wake her and sat with her until early afternoon, when she began to stir on her own.

“It’s them, out there, isn’t it?” she asked Scott in a small voice, making a small motion with her head toward the French doors.

“Yes. Let me finish filling your father’s grave and you can say good-bye to them.”

Scott was afraid she was going to follow him outside, but she stopped at the French doors and watched him as he took up the shovel still in the mound of dirt from Mr. Wadsworth’s grave. It took almost an hour to complete the task and every time Scott looked, Barbara was still at the French doors, watching.

Mr. Wadsworth had made a cross for himself, as well as the one for his wife. Scott tapped it into place with the shovel. When he turned around Barbara was walking toward him. She took his hand in hers as she stared down at the graves, the one covered in pristine snow and the other a mix of raw earth and snow.

The wind began to pick up and Scott made a move to go toward the house. Barbara didn’t resist and walked with him in silence. When they were inside, she handed Scott the paper she’d been clutching so tightly.

While she sat on the sofa in silence, Scott read the letter. It had been started by her mother, and finished by her father. It was about what he had expected, except for the last lines.


‘I’m afraid we have not left you much to sustain you in this crisis. There is a modicum of cash in the safe, and a legacy from your grandfather he wanted me to pass on to you when you graduated from college.’


“You’ll want to keep this,” Scott said, handing her the paper.

She took it and looked up at Scott. “What do I do? Where do I go?”

It hurt Scott that she would ask. He thought he’d made it clear that she was more than welcome at the family compound. “I hope… you’ll go back with me. Join my family as a friend, if you don’t want to join me as my wife.”

“Your wife!” Barbara looked at Scott for long moments. “But I’m… just a nobody now. With nothing.”

“You think it matters to me?” Scott cried. “I’ve loved you from the first. Before that. Before all this happened.”

Slowly Barbara stood. “Scott… I can’t say I felt the same way… but as we traveled, I must say the thought crossed my mind. I thought you thought of me as a poor little rich girl with nothing to offer.”

Scott took her in his arms and kissed her. “Now what do you think?”

In answer, Barbara eagerly kissed him back. When they finally separated, Barbara, eyes shining, said, “I know you’ve put yourself in additional danger for me. We should get away from here as quickly as possible, because of the radiation.”

“We’ll at least take some time for you to gather a few things to take with you. There are bound to be things you want. And don’t forget the money and your grandfather’s gift to you.”

“That money isn’t worth anything now,” Barbara said. She smiled a wan smile. “Never thought I’d ever say that. But you’re right. Some clothes and things. Keepsakes. And I should get whatever it is my grandfather left me. He died when I was little. I don’t really remember him. He suffered a lot during the depression and World War II. I think that is why my parents never wanted me to want for anything. Because of his experiences. My father told me once my grandfather was a miser before he died.”

Scott moved the truck and trailer into the garage, he and Barbara pushed her parents’ cars out of the way. Both were exhausted and had a quick supper before going into the basement to sleep. Early the next morning Scott helped Barbara go through the house. She wound up taking quite a bit more than she’d first planned, the idea of making a home for herself and Scott now influencing her plans.

It was an afterthought that she swung away the picture in her father’s study to get to the safe in the wall. Scott whistled when he saw the door of the safe. “Could be a lot of money in there,” he said with a laugh. “That thing is huge.”

“I really doubt it,” Barbara said. “My father was big on banks. He very seldom carried much cash.” It took her a couple of tries to get the safe unlocked, and then Scott had to swing the door open. Not only was it heavy, it apparently hadn’t been opened in several years. But a solid tug by Scott had it open.

“See,” Barbara said, handing Scott a stack of bundled bills. “Not very much, like he said.”

“These are hundreds and twenties,” Scott said. “Even some thousand dollar bills. They haven’t been in circulation for years. This isn’t small change. Or… Wasn’t. Still worth keeping. Might be a collector’s item some day. Especially the thousands.”

“I guess I should take these papers, too,” Barbara said, handling Scott a couple of portfolios containing legal documents.

“Absolutely. It’s the deed to the house and property. Life insurance papers. Stock certificates. Everything a successful businessman would have. Never know. These could be important to our children… more likely our children’s children.”

Barbara took out the last item on the top shelf. It was a fancy wooden case. She looked in the safe shelf, but couldn’t find a key. It took Scott just a moment to force the simple lock. He handed the case back to Barbars.

She gasped when she lifted the lid. Inside was a well worn Colt 1911A1 military issue pistol and six spare magazines beside the one in the pistol. There was a box of fifty rounds of FMJ ammunition, also GI issue.

“Your Grandfather’s service pistol, no doubt,” Scott said.

“Mother and Daddy must not have known what was in here. They hated guns.” She looked at Scott. “I should probably give your Grandfather back his, don’t you think?”

Scott shook his head. He was very pleased to give it to you. I’d hang onto both of them. Can never have too many guns.”

Barbara smiled. “Good. I like being a two pistol woman.”

That had emptied the upper shelf of the safe. The lower shelf contained what turned out to be four canvas bags.

“Scott,” Barbara said after trying to take the first bag out of the safe, “This is heavy. Do you mind?”

Barbara moved out of the way and Scott stepped up. “Sure,” he said. “They all are pretty heavy,” he added as he took down the four identical canvas bags.

“What in the world could your grandfather have left you in canvas bags?” Scott asked.

“I don’t know,” Barbara said. She opened the first bag and gasped at the sudden gleam of gold coins.

“My lord!” Scott said, “There are hundreds of them,” as he opened another of the bags. When all four were open, there turned out to be two bags of Krugerrands and a one-thousand dollar face value bag each of pre-1965 silver dimes and quarters.

“Your Grandfather lived through the depression and the gold recall of 1933. He must have converted every dollar he could into gold and silver coins as soon as it was made legal again in 1975.”

Scott looked at Barbara. “Do you think your father knew what these were?”

Barbara just shook her head.

“Your Grandfather had great foresight,” Scot said. “Just before the war, sold off a few at a time to not affect the price too much, these would have been worth hundreds of thousands of dollars with gold trading the way it was. Several hundred thousands. Now they’re just worth a few hundred thousand. In equivalent goods and services.”

“You’re kidding!” Barbara said.

“Nope. I know gold. Our family has been holding it from about the same time as your grandfather. We used it a couple of times to finance projects when gold prices were high, but we always converted back to gold as soon the price dropped again. You, alone, now have as much as my entire extended family, once gold becomes the currency of the land again. And I think that will be very soon.”

Barbara couldn’t think of anything to say, so she kissed Scott a couple of times.

“Uh…” Scott said, mostly in jest, but with a real glimmer of fear in him, “You’re not going to run out on me now that you’re richer than me, are you?”

“Half of it is yours,” Barbara said softly, “so I’m not richer than you.”

“But I can’t…”

“You want me, you have to take my money.”

“Now how am I going to argue with that?

They spent another night at the mansion, and then began to retrace their route. Knowing where useable bridges were, and where trouble spots were, it took significantly less time to get back to the compound than it had taken to get to Dover. Once there, both were eager to have the marriage ceremony conducted by Scott’s Uncle Titus, a sometimes preacher and sometimes lumberjack.

Scott turned out to be right. The one-thousand-dollar bills did become valuable collectors items for their grandchildren, one of whom selected to help repopulate the east coast, living in the Wadsworth mansion and starting a maritime shipping business.

End ********

Copyright 2007
Jerry D Young

 

[mikea46996]

Another great read Jerry!!!

Second time I have read this one, loved it the first time at WhenSHTF and loved it now @ INGO....

Glad you accepted the invite!!!

 

[SWAMPMASTER]

Very nice but I need more, more, MORE!!!!!!!!!!

 

[duger]

Thank you Jerry i hope thers more

 

[Ranger Rick]

Great story,thanks for sharing with us..you're a very good writer and story teller!!! Look forward to reading more stories....pleeeease!! thanks Jerry!

 

[paddling_man]

Now I'm hooked. Thanks, Jerry!

 

[USMC_0311]

Another good one.

 

[45-70]

Jerry these stories are habit forming, another excellent piece. Thank you.

 

[smokingman]

Another great story. Every time I read something like this it just reminds me that being prepared is not being crazy lol.

 

[Lucas156]

Holy crap what an awesome story! be prepared!

 

[mikea46996]

Props for Jerry

Since our new friend and resident PAW author is so well received I figure I would let you in on a secret...

He is a publish author also.

If you love Jerry's survival stories you should try his book... Shipwrecked.

I just ordered mine today. The reviewers either love him or hate him, I suspect I will enjoy it as I enjoy his attention to detail and character development.

Clicky---->www.amazon.com/Shipwrecked-Jerry-Young/dp/0595302300/ref=ed_oe_p

Sorry for some reason my clicky is not working, just cut and paste it.