The Survivors

NORAD Road, Colorado

Ground Hogs’ Day

1

Samantha’s hope of safety inside Cheyenne Mountain was gone before she got there. The smoke she had been seeing all morning rolled up behind the hills in thick, black waves that signaled fresh destruction. Wide winged birds circled the sky.

Samantha had built it up in her mind. The government had been ready for decades. All she had to do was get there and persuade one guard to check her prints. Then she would be safe inside the bunker. Ignoring the conscience asking why she was worthier of protection than the dead she had passed along the way, Samantha had pushed herself relentlessly.

She’d made 8-12 miles every day, on foot. She longed to drive, but she couldn’t handle any attention she might attract. Even her weather gift seemed to be against her; it wasn’t working at all. Samantha assumed that was because of the constant stress she was existing under. She was traveling through a new, unknown world that tried hard daily to break her. This existence went against how she’d been raised. Her sheltered childhood had allowed her to stay above the human misery she was witnessing now. It was heartbreaking. The dream of safety had been the only thing keeping her going.

She wanted to gather supplies and hide, but the hope had kept her moving through Rawlings, where rats as big as bread loaves were starting to take over. In Table Rock, she’d been chased out of a barn by an animal that looked like a cat but acted like a raccoon.

Yesterday morning, she had bleached her yellow locks to kill the lice that were now immune to pesticide products. She wasn’t sure where she had picked them up; it was likely from the dead soldier when she’d taken his gun and ammo. In all reality, the tough little bugs were the least of her worries.

Today, Samantha had been hunting for a groundhog. She didn’t believe the creatures really predicted the weather. She just needed a break from the flashes of murdering Henry.

Samantha shifted her battered kit onto her other shoulder, bracing against the stiff, gritty wind that tried to shove her off her feet.

Ahead, a lump lay in the street.

It hasn’t even been two months! How can NORAD be gone?!

Samantha drew in a ragged breath and forced herself to keep going. The sole of her boot flapped at each step. When she passed the uniformed man who had been shot, she wiped away a tear. There should still be something she could use, or maybe even a radio she could listen to for some idea of where to try next.

Glad for her goggles in the heavy, reeking smoke that swirled over the road in waves as she got closer, she walked between the trees to avoid being outlined by the sky. Samantha knelt down and looked at the place she would have been, where she probably would have died, if not for the chopper crashing.

Buried in the Cheyenne Mountain complex, the tunnel to the once impenetrable compound was open, releasing pillars of thick, black smoke. It drew Samantha’s attention back repeatedly as she scanned the devastated shack city spread across the two-lane road in a pathetic mix of moldy boxes, tents, and wood of every kind. A crowded cemetery filled the far corner of the sad refugee camp. These people had come here after the war, following family and friends taken in the draft. They’d stayed here, dying on the indifferent doorstep of safety. There were no signs of survivors, just the hum of flies swarming corpses.

Was anyone let in? Samantha swept row after row of destroyed cooking, sleeping, and laundry areas. She lifted her goggles to wipe away tears. No. Not one of them. These people had been desperate. They would have overrun the guards the second the door was opened.

This was something the government had planned to do nothing about. The people running things had probably watched the slaughter in relief until one compassionate soldier or unwilling draftee had been unable to watch his fellow Americans, maybe even his own family, be murdered. He’d gone out to help, allowing the compound to be breached.

Samantha settled in the cover of bushes, sheltered from the sharp wind while she waited for the fires to finish burning down. It could have happened that way. Then again, they might have had bait to get the door open. That also had a ring to it. She examined the battle scene again. Blackened, smoldering piles of debris highlighted shot bodies lined up near the compound’s entrance, almost all male. The females were gone. Samantha pushed away the thought of how bad their lives must be now. The main doors were charred, dented, beaten. This compound was conquered.

She scanned the area, then the sky. The thick layer of clouds threatened rain or worse by morning. Samantha decided to set up her shelter and go down tomorrow. She was dreading it, but she hoped there would be bits of food or the location of another government complex that had held. Please, God. Don’t let me be alone forever.

2

Samantha went down at dawn to see what remained of the facility. She had a tough time forcing her feet to pass through the blackened entrance. She tried not to stare at the dead, but she couldn’t help crying as she stepped over hands still outstretched for mercy that hadn’t come. Another two hundred human lives, gone.

Sharp, glittering glass crunched under her boots. Thin clouds of smoke lingered; snapping flies tried to invade her long trench coat. Despite the season, snow hadn’t layered the ground here yet. The rotting corpses were creating a perfect environment for insects.

Red lights in the tunnel signaled a generator still in use. It comforted her as the dim daylight faded from view. She had a gun, a Taser that may or may not work, two knives, and a can of mace, but she didn’t feel safe as she wound deeper, straining for sounds. This new world was full of death and destruction. More of it existed down here in these long concrete halls.

The disadvantage of the red lights was that she could see all the horror. Blood stains and bullet casings were hard to avoid as she walked over the uniformed dead littering the hall. She only saw soldiers. Whoever the enemy had been, they’d taken their dead with them.

She flipped her belt light to high as she stepped into the first room. It was a security area with four gory bodies and no loot.

The next three rooms held more of the same.

Samantha went by open doors marked as Utilities and Lavatories, knowing they wouldn’t hold anything she needed. The tunnel dead ended into a spacious bunk area, with bodies in many of the beds. They wore an even mix of military uniforms and Capitol Hill casual. They’d been shot. Sam wasn’t sure she could force herself in there for long. She went to the stairs. I’ll search there last.

3

Samantha returned to the top level after three hours of searching. Tacky blood was so thick on some floors that the Presidential Seal was no longer visible. The lounge had been stripped; both cafeterias had fire damage. Laundry rooms didn’t have a single sheet or blanket, and the three medical bays were completely empty. Not even a box of bandages had been spared. Whoever had done this had made sure survivors would find nothing to keep them alive.

As she headed back toward the room of bodies, she was drawn to a small painting of President Milton placed in a shadowy corner behind a set of shattered doors. It hung askew, revealing a darker shadow.

Samantha examined it and found the covered entrance to a throw room tunnel. Set into the wall, it was a secure area where the Secret Service could literally toss a person to be safe while they guarded this only way in. Samantha avoided a bloody handprint on the rail as she hefted herself into the opening.

The tunnel dumped her out onto a thick mat in a narrow hall lined in multiple doors. Sam sighed, able to feel how empty it all was. Back to scavenging through body-filled rooms in the dark. Lovely.

The sixth door was a war room. Computers were destroyed, communications equipment was broken, uniformed bodies Samantha vaguely recognized were draped across desks, lying on the floor. Drying puddles were impossible to avoid as she checked stacks of papers and books, then the computers. None of the electronics responded to her fingers.

She dug through the file cabinets next, but most of the charred papers were too damaged to read. She found a single sheet intact; it had two ominous sentences.

All descendants must be rounded up according to the new mandate made by President Heins before his death. No exceptions are to be made.

They were hunting descendants... My kind. Samantha tried not to be disturbed by it. She went back to her search, dumping out drawers and swiping at dark corners of high shelves, but she came up empty.

She scanned for anything she’d missed... Samantha found writing on the wall. Is that red marker...?

She realized it was blood.

We did it for our country.

She eased out of the room, stomach in a knot.

Scratch…

Sam spun, fingers fumbling for her gun. She stopped when she saw a big rat. If not for the noise it would make, she would try to kill it anyway to keep it from doing what the insects were. Sam glared at the bold rodent as she went by.

The last door led to a small lavatory. When she saw no bodies, not even blood smears, Samantha allowed herself to use one of the dusty, cobwebbed stalls.

Peeing was bittersweet. Even taking paper from the almost empty roll hurt. She struggled not to cry. It’s all gone.

A small, dark shadow dropped from the ceiling above her. It landed on her bare knee.

“Damn!” She slapped at the spider as it ran upward, missing. It was fast.

Sam gritted her teeth as the arachnid bit her, sending a rush of pain up her thigh that shot straight up into her spine.

Sam squashed the fleeing spider against her leg, grinding it into little pieces. She wiped the remains down the dusty stall wall. “Serves you right!”

She used the last of the paper on the roll to wipe the bite, a bit uneasy at how sore the wound already was. Then she put it from her mind. I’ve been here too long. I’ll check the lounge, then get the hell out of this mausoleum.

4

The climb out of the throw hole made Samantha anxious because it took so long. She breathed a sigh of relief when the faint, dim glow of red lights finally came into view. One more room, then I’m out of here!

Samantha hurried by the rows of bodies. She stepped into the smoky, vomit-smelling vending machine area, stomach growling for chips or a candy bar despite the odor in here. She ran to the three tall dispensers, but every ring was empty.

She slapped her hand against the dirty glass. “Damn it!”

“Help...”

Sam jumped, fumbling for her gun again.

“Please.”

Samantha drew in air, glad that her bladder was empty. She lifted her belt light for a better view of the man dying on the brown and white sofa.

“Do it.”

Total awareness flickered in those dead eyes. Sam wished her peripheral vision would go out. The gore was everywhere. She breathed through her mouth to keep from gagging as she stepped closer. Trying not to gape at his emaciated body, she realized it was a white sofa. The brown was his rotting body drying into the material.

“Please…help me.”

The pitiful whisper made him seem more human. She lowered the gun. “What can I do?”

“Kill me.”

Sam blanched. “I can’t do that.”

He moaned. It was a wet sound. She heard his jaw grind as he coughed. Scarlet flew from his mouth, ejecting one of his teeth. Reddish drops of agony rolled down his distorted cheeks. “Please!”

She lifted the gun as his gasps filled the room. His body was no longer responding to his commands. The sickness was destroying him from the inside.

“Where...” She pushed aside her horror to talk. “Where else can I go?”

He struggled to answer. “Only a base…in Cheyenne taking calls. All gone...faulty air valves. A lot of us got sick.”

“What about the Essex?”

“No! Ground…Zero. Evac’d after the bomb… No transportation for…radiation.”

Sam was scarred by the hell in his eyes. I’ll never forget this moment. “There must be some place left, some people. What about all the Joint Chiefs, and the Secretaries?”

“Breached. Burned alive... Wouldn’t touch me.”

Samantha’s mind went to the smell of gasoline and the charred room four levels below them that she hadn’t been able to enter. She shook away the horrible images. At least their struggles were over now. “What about the people who did this?”

The dying man coughed again.

Sam retreated as bloody pus sprayed from his swollen lips.

“Guerrillas. Came during...a storm. Hit Fort Carson first. Attacked the refugees. Took females. One of them...drafted. Betrayed us. ...retaliation for the war.” He lifted a finger, skin sliding to the side. “Please…do it now. Don’t know...anything else.”

She tried to smile as she lifted the gun. “I’m Samantha Moore.”

“Pat. Mi-Michaels.”

She gasped in horrified recognition of the former press secretary. She asked the only thing that mattered to her now. “Why were you hunting descendants?”

Pat’s eyes lit up. “Evil! Caused the war!”

Sam couldn’t think of anything else to ask.

When he tried to beg again, she pulled the trigger.

His body jumped like Melvin’s had when she hit him with the Taser.

Sam ran, loud steps mocking her flight. She had no idea where she would go, only that she shouldn’t have come. I would have been a captive here too. I can’t go to another bunker. I have to find my own kind and blend in. The government is no longer my safety net.