Brace for Impact (Nuclear Survival: Southern Grit Book 1) Page 15

  The car started as soon as she turned the key.

  She drove in a wide arc, angling through the parking lot and onto the road. The street headed due north and Leah followed it, focusing on the blacktop in front of her. As long as she focused on the road, the waves of dizziness were manageable.

  When she glanced in the rearview, the world wobbled and her stomach threatened to heave. Gagging on sticky spit, Leah scanned the buildings she passed for possibilities. More subdivisions, more side streets, nothing that would help.

  Another major cross street loomed ahead. A gas station sat on the corner. She slowed as if to stop for the non-existent red light. Could she break in?

  Bars covered the windows and the front door of the mini-mart. She thought about how hard it was to get inside the bookstore. Add in metal bars and Leah pushed the gas pedal. She needed somewhere easy. Across the street, a Walgreens with a drive-through took up the next parking lot, its sign that usually scrolled with sales and health alerts black and empty.

  Cars occupied two parking spaces: an electric with the cord from the charging station still plugged into the port, and a five-year-old Honda. Neither would be working now. Leah stopped on the road and stared at the building. Were the owners of the cars inside? Would they let her in?

  Bars covered one of the folding doors, but not the other. The exposed door tilted awkwardly in the track, like it had been forced apart and then haphazardly shoved back together. Leah glanced at the tire iron sitting atop her duffel in the passenger seat. It wasn’t much protection.

  She drove on.

  The strip mall just past the pharmacy housed a restaurant and a clothing boutique and a business aimed at helping kids with math. None of them were viable.

  With every rejected option, Leah’s frustration grew. Driving straight to Dawn’s became more and more attractive. She could make it in a couple hours if the roads were mostly clear. But what if she couldn’t? What if she met an obstacle she couldn’t avoid?

  If she were stuck on the road until dark with no food and no water, it would be bad. She might pass out or do something stupid.

  No. I need to eat.

  Leah pushed on, eyes focused on the side of the road. A Waffle House sat tucked between a car wash and an apartment complex. Leah brightened. If anywhere were still open and serving food, it would be a Waffle House. As she slowed to turn in, a large, handwritten sign caught her eye.

  We Are Out of Food!

  Closed Until Further Notice!

  Leah sank in the seat. Of course they were out of food. With the blackout hitting a day before the bombs, the place probably ran out of food within a single shift. Without a freezer, what they couldn’t cook would go bad before the day was out.

  Trapped in the hospital, working to keep patients alive, Leah hadn’t experienced the full onslaught of the EMP. She missed the initial confusion and the run on the stores. Most supermarkets were probably raided with panicked neighbors buying bread and water and everything else they could get their hands on.

  She would be lucky if anywhere had anything left. A wave of dizziness and panic gripped her, but she pushed ahead, coasting around a gaggle of stalled cars and on down the road.

  Five miles later, Leah spotted it. An overgrown shrub camouflaged half of the sign, but the bright blue and yellow still showed through. Walmart.

  If anywhere were still open, it would be a super center. Most stayed open twenty-four hours. And what were the chances a place that big was out of food already? Leah turned into the parking lot and eased over the speed bumps.

  About fifteen cars sat in the parking lot, abandoned from the looks of them. She cruised up to the front doors, ready to park along the side of the building when her breath caught in her throat.

  Glass littered the concrete. A flipped-over shopping cart wedged between the sliding doors and kept them open. Leah frowned. She wasn’t the first to have this idea.

  She eased up on the brake and the car rolled ten feet before she stopped. The massive store was her best option for food. It meant risking exposure to not just radiation, but whoever was inside.

  Leah put the car in park and turned off the engine. There were so many unknowns. Dawn could be hurt or already suffering from radiation sickness. Her husband could be dying. The way to Hampton could be impassable.

  I need food and water. I don’t have a choice.

  Opening the driver’s door, Leah pocketed the keys and picked up the tire iron. She gripped it tightly in her hand as she approached the store. No lights on inside. Total darkness. She paused five feet from the entrance.

  Fear pulsed in her veins and goosebumps rose in a wave across her skin.

  Leah took a deep breath and eased through the broken front door. Twenty paces inside, with darkness closing in all around her, she stopped. Some part of her had hoped despite the broken front door that the store would be open. That one brave employee was still helping people get what they needed.

  But she was also naïve and stupid. The store was closed and the knocked-over display shelves for sodas and chips and beer were proof. Looters had already ransacked the place.

  If Leah wanted to eat, she would have to steal. It hadn’t seemed so wrong at the bookstore. She was trapped in there, surviving nuclear fallout. It was eat the muffins that were about to go bad or starve.

  But now? Now she was free to make other choices. The whole country opened up ahead of her and with a half a tank of gas, she could reach Hampton. She stood in the Walmart because she was hungry and tired and weak.

  She turned back to stare at the outside. All the other people out there would be making the same choice soon. If FEMA or the military or some organized charity still in operation didn’t show up soon, the millions of people sitting in their apartments and houses all around this community would be faced with the same choice.

  Steal or starve.

  Leah didn’t want to starve. She had to believe she could stay alive. That’s what she built her life on: doing all she could to save a life. Giving up now would be pointless.

  With a deep breath, she walked toward the checkout. A row of pocket flashlights hung on a hook and Leah grabbed one and turned it on. Using the light, she crossed the store, heading for the boxed goods and sports drinks.

  It didn’t take her long to find them. With the flashlight gripped in her teeth and the tire iron shoved in the back of her pants, Leah reached up for a twelve-pack of Gatorade. It slid off the shelf and she huffed with the weight. As she turned around, the flashlight lit up the end of the aisle and three men came into view.

  Leah froze. Each one of them stared at her like she was a skittish deer in their sights. Saliva dribbled over the flashlight between her teeth and she sucked it back.

  I am such an idiot. When she’d seen the broken entrance, she knew the store had been ransacked, but as soon as she found a flashlight, she forgot all about it.

  One man stepped forward and Leah jerked her head to capture his entire frame in the light. He lifted a hand to shield his eyes, but Leah still caught the dried blood crusting beneath his nose and the bare patch of skin on his head.

  She thought about the effects of radiation sickness that she’d learned about in the bookstore. Burns and spontaneous bleeding. The man was sick, maybe dying.

  He nodded at her. “Looks heavy. Need some help?”

  Leah shook her head and the flashlight beam bounced back and forth.

  Another man spoke up. “See? I told you she was just a thief.”

  Oh, God. Why had she been so reckless? Leah took a step back. She couldn’t talk with the flashlight in her mouth, but she wasn’t about to spit it out.

  The closest man stepped forward again. “I think she’s just scared, that’s all. Ain’t that right, sweetheart?” He held up his hands. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. We’re friendly, aren’t we, fellas?”

  A murmur of agreement pulsed through the other two. Leah didn’t know what to do. She’d dealt with combative patients and angry loved
ones countless times, but she’d never really been in danger. She was a nurse and they had to listen. Eventually, her position of authority would win out.

  But here, in the middle of a store aisle, she wasn’t anything but an average woman with arms straining against the weight of the drinks in her arms. She could drop the drinks and run, but they might catch her. She could agree to whatever they wanted and give up. She could try and fight her way out with the tire iron.

  None were suitable options.

  Leah tilted her head and eased the flashlight from her mouth. With her chin, she wedged it in between the lids of two bottles. The circle of light aimed high, but lowering the case of Gatorade, she could still see the men blocking the aisle.

  She knew what she had to do. It had always been the only choice. She cleared her throat. “You look sick.”

  The man in front wiped at the blood under his nose. “What’s it to you?”

  “I’m a nurse. I can help.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  GRANT

  State Road 205

  Northern Georgia

  Wednesday, 3:00 p.m.

  Grant watched the gas gauge with increasing trepidation. Without a map, driving backroads north of the city was like running through a giant corn maze. Every third street was a dead end, whether from cars blocking the road or poor signage. He’d wasted plenty of gas and time.

  All he could think about was whether the hospital survived the attack. If the bomb went off south of downtown, maybe it had a chance. He needed to find out where the bomb detonated. He needed a view of the city.

  Grant looked around. For miles, he’d been driving past fields and farmland intermixed with brand-new subdivisions and strip malls. None of the gas stations were open. None of the businesses appeared viable.

  He didn’t know the area. He barely knew how to make it home.

  Grant paused.

  Home! Why hadn’t he thought of it before? If his wife wasn’t trapped downtown and she wasn’t at her sister’s place, maybe she went home. Their house was seventeen miles via surface street from the hospital, probably twelve or thirteen as the crow flew.

  Pete had cautioned him against coming that close to the blast, but Grant had to know. He couldn’t wait another week to find out if his wife was safe. They lived in a little neighborhood called Smyrna, in one of those new construction, cookie-cutters.

  It wasn’t their dream house, but it was affordable. The thing that sold them on it was the view. On a clear night, they could walk out onto their balcony and see all of Atlanta stretched before them. It was breathtaking.

  Grant turned on the first major street he came to. If he angled toward the southeast now, he would eventually hit the perimeter highway circling the city. From there, he could navigate home.

  An hour later, signs for 285 began to appear. Grant followed them until he reached an area he recognized. Half a mile ahead, an overpass spanned the highway. Grant’s heart picked up speed. From the bridge, he could see downtown.

  He sped up, ignoring the red line hovering just above the E on the gas gauge. The Cutlass rumbled up the hill. Grant stopped at the top and got out. He walked over to the sidewalk and the chain-link fence with barbed wire to prevent jumpers.

  The sky stretched out for miles with not a cloud in it. In the near distance, he recognized the financial district of Buckhead with its high-rises covered in names of banks and titans of finance.

  Not so important now.

  He turned to the south and squinted into the distance. Downtown should be there. He should see the familiar spire of the Bank of America building and the round stick of the W. The two towers of the 191 Building.

  Am I looking in the wrong place? Using his hand to shield against the setting sun, Grant scanned the horizon. He froze. A building he recognized stood all alone, looking like a monster bit a chunk from the middle.

  The tallest building in midtown had a green pointed roof and gold tip. He’d worked there years ago when computer firms still occupied the space. It was the only building left. Grant swallowed. Downtown and midtown were destroyed. Any hope of finding Leah there was gone.

  Grant slid down to the ground, parking his feet in the road and his butt on the sidewalk. It was really true. It really happened.

  All this time, despite the flash, the reports on the ham radio, and the hackers from the conference, he’d held onto a shred of hope. Maybe it wasn’t real. Maybe the bombs were small and not so deadly.

  But they were all that and more. The heart of Atlanta was destroyed. Were all the other major cities the same? Were other people risking a trip to see the devastation? He thought back in time. Four days since the explosion. Four days since America changed forever.

  He closed his eyes and rubbed them. How would he find Leah out there? He only had one place left to look. Home.

  Grant opened his eyes and braced to stand when movement caught his eye. A blur of something gray and furry darted behind the only car abandoned on the overpass. He watched as a set of little paws made their way around the far side of the vehicle.

  He heard scrabbling and two of the paws disappeared. Was it trying to get inside? Was it hungry? Hurt?

  Grant fished in his pocket and pulled out his last bit of food. A half-eaten peanut butter energy bar. He unwrapped it. The little feet froze.

  He tore a small piece off and tossed it as far as he could into the road. After a minute or two, the little feet moved. A small dog, about twenty or thirty pounds at most, padded into the road. It stopped ten feet from the bit of food and twenty feet from Grant.

  Covered in matted gray hair, the dog had obviously been on its own a while. It paced back and forth, unsure what to do. Grant gave a little click, click with his tongue and teeth, encouraging it.

  He didn’t know what he was doing. If the dog was sick, he shouldn’t give it the last of his food. If it were owned by someone nearby, he should leave it alone. But Grant couldn’t. It was hungry. Probably thirsty, too.

  Grant tore off another little piece and threw it toward the animal. It bounced to a stop two feet closer than the first piece.

  The dog sniffed the air and darted out. It snarfed the first piece, eyes always up and watching Grant. After a moment, it came forward and snatched the second.

  Every time the dog finished, Grant threw another piece until it was within touching distance. He held the last chunk of energy bar in his hand. Up close, the dog’s blue eyes were mesmerizing. It constantly watched him, darting back and forth on the road, looking for a reason to run.

  Grant held out the food in his palm. The dog stopped moving. It stood three feet way, waiting. Grant smiled. He had more patience than a hungry animal. Maybe it was the years spent hunting up in a tree, waiting for a sign of a deer or turkey. Or maybe it was the latest job where he’d walked up and down aisles of computer tournaments, observing for hours.

  It took ten minutes, but hunger won out and the dog came closer. Its mouth hovered an inch above Grant’s palm before it snatched the rest of the energy bar and darted back a handful of paces.

  As the dog gulped down the food, Grant took a chance. “You can come home with me, if you like. There will be more food. Water, too.”

  The dog didn’t run.

  Grant eased up to stand and walked over to the Cutlass. He opened the door. “It’s old, but comfortable. You can ride up front with me.”

  The dog stared at the car and Grant, undecided.

  “Take it or leave it, but if I’m being honest, I don’t like your chances on your own.” Grant waited beside the car.

  The dog backed up a step and Grant’s insides twisted. For some reason, he wanted the dog.

  “I can be kind of a jerk, but I know how to share. Whatever I have, you get some, too.”

  Grant glanced up at the sun. It dipped low toward the horizon. He couldn’t stay on that overpass forever. He tensed to move when the dog surprised him.

  It loped over to the open door, hesitated for a moment, and jump
ed in. It turned around three times on the passenger seat before settling down in a curled-up ball. Grant smiled and eased into the driver’s seat.

  “You made a good choice, my friend.” He started the car and put it in drive. “Let’s go home.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  LEAH

  Walmart

  Northern Georgia

  Wednesday, 5:00 p.m.

  “Ouch! That hurts.”

  Leah smiled at the man wincing beneath her touch. The big ones were always softies underneath. “If I don’t clean it, you’ll get an infection.”

  She dabbed the wet cloth on the wound before slathering it in triple-antibiotic ointment. “How close were you to the blast?”

  He thought it over. “Five miles, maybe.”

  “And how long were you outside?”

  “I don’t know.” He scratched at a section of scalp where he’d lost a chunk of hair. “An hour, hour and a half. I picked up Howie before we ran into Dale and headed up here.”

  Leah nodded. From what she remembered, an hour and a half outside within the medium-impact zone meant exposure to near-lethal levels of radiation. It all came down to dose.

  “Sorry we were jerks when we first saw you.”

  She smiled. “It’s okay, Paul. I understand.”

  “I just couldn’t stand the thought of anymore thieves, you know?” Dale walked over and sat down on a portable stool he’d found in the camping section. “When we got up here and saw the doors smashed all to bits, Paul and I jumped out and made sure it was safe. Ain’t nobody gonna rob my Walmart while I’ve still got a job.”

  Leah shook her head. A group of law-abiding men keeping guard over a Walmart. It wasn’t the stuff of horror movies, that’s for sure. She refused to share all the terrible thoughts that flashed through her mind when she first saw them. “I thought you were going to kill me.”