The Survivors

The Northern US

Samantha

1

“Where are you taking us?” Samantha’s vivid blue eyes encouraged the grim soldier to answer. He hadn’t responded to any of the other terrified civilians crammed into the government chopper.

“We’ve been diverted to NORAD. The Essex Compound is being evacuated.” The soldier frowned at her; the rifle in his hands came up. “I’ll toss you out.”

Samantha paled. “It was just a question.”

“Your file indicates otherwise.”

Samantha shrank back into the seat as she understood. He knows what I am! “I can’t do anything with people.”

The rifle didn’t lower. “Your kind evolves. Stop talking now.”

Samantha had no idea what he meant by that, but his threat had been clear.

The big bird lurched. Its loud blades struggled to cut through the windy Wyoming haze.

Samantha stifled her scream, but not a low groan when it happened again.

The other Seattle civilians aboard the struggling chopper echoed her noise of near panic. They’d been relocated from their jobs at the Environmental Protection Agency by soldiers carrying clipboards and guns. After witnessing a coworker shot when he ran, none of them had rocked the boat despite being abducted by their own government.

Samantha brushed a quick glance over the other well-dressed, lucky few onboard. She recognized the same dawning terror in their expressions, but she could have been alone. She didn’t have a connection to them. I’m different.

Samantha fingered the badge around her neck, almost wishing she didn’t have it. If her severe weather alarm hadn’t worked, the former president turned terrorist traitor–Robbie Milton–would have been killed by a tornado in Nebraska. If he’d died four years ago, none of this would be happening. Does that make it my fault?

The chopper lurched again, bringing her back from the past. She stifled another sound of misery as a city rolled by. That can’t be my country down there tearing itself apart. Shootings, fires, assaults, murders. And bodies were everywhere–in cars, on streets, even on playgrounds! Where are the police? The ambulances? Why aren’t those fires being put out?

She gaped as an unending line of destruction rushed over the city below them. Power lines lit up, sparking; gas lines exploded. Homes and cars disappeared beneath the advancing gray avalanche of death that was nearing the military transport chopper. We’re out of range, aren’t we? “Go higher!”

Even as Samantha finished the shout, the blades above them slowed. Her ears registered the sudden, deafening silence, and then they plummeted toward the earth in a sickening blur of pain and screams.

The government bird slammed into the rocky, Wyoming ground at a hard angle and flew back up, flipping and twisting into new shapes. It blew through a tall tree as it rolled, scattering thick smoke and awful debris along the crash site.

Samantha groaned. Her hurting body checked in as ready to hide but otherwise uninjured. The lack of noise, not even a whimper now, told her the rest of her traveling companions hadn’t been as lucky. Sam moaned again, dazed. I hope someone called 911.

“Told ya it’s a woman!”

The confident voice released her tears. Help’s here! In a few minutes, I’ll be bundled onto a stretcher and be on my way to the emerg–

“I’ll hold her while you go first this time, but pull her away from the glass.”

Hands clamped around her slender ankles like iron bands.

Samantha began to scream.

It perfectly matched the sounds of the dying country around her.

2

Kenn

The Southern US

“Damn!” Kenn ducked as gunshots rang out, pushing the muddy hardback as fast as it would go over the rocky terrain. Fort Defiance was under siege. Furious citizens were trying to get through the ten-foot electrified fence surrounding the seventeen-mile compound. It sounded like a giant bug zapper as poles, cars, furniture, and even people, were used to try to break the hot perimeter. The fence was holding, but it wasn’t keeping the bullets out.

The popping grew steadier, rhythmic. Someone out there is firing an assault rifle. Kenn pulled his Marine cover on tighter; his grip on the wheel tightened. I have to save Charlie!

Choppers swarmed over the base, trying to evacuate Marines and draftees; violent wind made landing difficult. In the past, the weather was the worst challenge the pilots had to handle here. Now, it was the least of their worries. Arriving and leaving birds were being blown out of the smoky sky before they could reach safety; twisted metal debris showered the screaming mob lining the fences. Soldiers shouted orders, rioters screamed, guns fired and gust after violent gust of stomach-churning wind pushed against the truck, slowing it. The sky above the base roiled in thick clouds that dropped black flakes in heavy layers. It was mayhem.

Hang on, boy! I’m coming for you! Kenn flew by bodies, not looking at the few fathers and sons who had refused the draft. Some of the men on base for the annual competition had lived nearby, but the government hadn’t let them go to their families. Most had submitted to orders, but a few had tried to resist.

There were also suicides. The news was informing everyone of bomb hits in other places. Some people hadn’t been able to go on without their loved ones. Only Kenn’s rank had allowed him to keep moving freely, but that would change once the rest of the lower ranked men were loaded onto the choppers. When I get Charlie from the officer dorm, we’ll have to evade capture.

The barracks came into full view through the thicket of trees. Dozens of portable dorms had been set up for the visiting competitors. He and Charlie were off today, so he should have been there, studying. He has to be there! I can’t lose him!

Kenn looked up. The huge, close shadow of the chopper wasn’t what drew his attention, but the silence of its engines. He stared in shock as the big bird spiraled toward him.

Kenn mashed the pedal and ducked as the chopper spun past, but the hardback didn’t respond. He met the eyes of the horrified pilot for a brief second before the chopper hit the main dorm and exploded.

Charlie! No!

Orange flames and black smoke billowed upward.

The screams from people outside the fences grew louder, hungrier.

Kenn had frozen in grief and pain. If the boy had been in there, he was dead. I just lost my only hold over his mother. Now, she’ll run from me.

Angela

3

Mid US

“Did he say Fort Defiance...?” Angela dropped the stained scrubs she’d just changed out of; she gripped the chair. Oblivious to the gunshots and screams outside, and to the pains tearing through her rounded belly, she stared at the CNN report on the plasma TV. The reporter was informing everyone of an impact over twelve hundred miles from her Cincinnati home.

“…latest word is five million dead and another two million injured or exposed, and the cloud is moving west, northwest toward the Alabama state line at thirty-seven miles per hour. Camp David is gone, Houston, all the coastal oil refineries…”

“Charlie?” Angela slid to her knees on the plush carpet of the two-bedroom apartment; the agony in her chest was worse than the bands of pressure clamping around her stomach, pushing down.

Footsteps thudded in the halls outside her door, followed by more shouts. Both went unnoticed.

“In an ironic twist, the ancient New Madrid fault line under St. Louis also woke today, causing a 7.7 earthquake that has leveled untouched areas. Aftershocks are being felt as far away as Kansas City and Louisville. Places like Humboldt and Jonesboro have simply collapsed like dominoes, already weakened by the surge of debris-filled waves that came from….”

“It can’t be!” The cell phone slid from Angela’s hand. Liquid suddenly oozed down her thighs and swollen legs as Christmas lights flashed mockingly in place of emergency blinkers.

“I would know!” She doubled over. “Show me my son!”

Angela tried to draw on a power she had locked away over a decade ago.

The door in her mind rattled... She was weak; the magic remained shut.

Her forehead thumped against the carpet as pain, raw and sharp, tore through her abdomen. Darkness flooded her mind.

“Please hold and the next available operator will assist you. 911 estimated wait time is two hours, fourteen minutes. The system is currently experiencing heavy call volume. If this is not an emergency, please hang up and try your call again later. Service outages can be expected in some areas. Please continue to hold…”

Marc

4

The Eastern US

“Standby for an important message...”

Sergeant Marc Brady didn’t reveal his frustration as the radio broadcast restarted for the thirty-fifth time; he wished the driver of the Greyhound bus would shut it off.

This is an alert from the emergency broadcast system… “My fellow Americans, this is your President, Carter Heins. I have grave news. Let me start by asking you to care for each other in this time of crisis. We’ll get through it together.”

Marc stiffened as the hair on the back of his neck rose. The sense of danger coming his way was unmistakable. He sent his military mind out to search for trouble. His grid came back empty, but he knew that first instinct wasn’t wrong.

“Two hours ago, a terrorist was able to gain access to our nuclear arsenal by introducing a virus that shut down security. The terrorist immediately initiated launches; the missiles did not respond to our abort codes. Ten minutes ago, these stolen weapons began reaching their targets.”

Marc tried to ignore his fury and fear of what was happening. He couldn’t do anything about the coming war except survive it. He’d never thought it would happen here in America.

“Despite our frantic messages, other countries have retaliated, believing we’ve declared war. We predict the United States will take five nuclear hits. Direct targets are Washington, Houston, Lansing, New York City, and Los Angeles. Leave these areas immediately.”

Marc scanned the traffic jam around the bus. They weren’t near one of those places, but they’d still been stuck for hours. Few people would get away from the ground zeroes in time.

“I have declared Martial Law nationwide. Curfew is an hour before sunset. Looters will be dealt with harshly. Our southern border has been closed. All air traffic has been grounded; prices are frozen across the country. And finally, under the authority given to me by this declaration of a nationwide emergency situation, I have activated our Selective Services program. All males, ages 14-50, must surrender to the convoys of trucks on their way from bases across the country. Those who resist the draft, flee, or follow the trucks with harmful intentions will be considered treasonous and handled accordingly. Everyone else, stay in your homes, do what the soldiers tell you, and pray for your fellow–”

Connection has been lost. We will now return to scheduled programming…

“All males will surrender to the draft! If you resist or run, you will be shot!” The faint bullhorn woke those who’d been dozing in the uncomfortable seats of the Greyhound.

A fresh ripple of tension went through Marc. He stayed sitting as other people stood, muttering.

A dozen jeeps and trucks of armed soldiers rolled up to a cargo van idling a few vehicles behind them. They were followed by an unending line of transport trucks already half-filled with terrified male citizens. The soldiers immediately started dragging people out of the van.

“Hey! He’s too young!”

“They just hit an old guy!”

“They shot a woman! Murder! Call 911!”

We’re trapped... “Everybody out!” Marc used his military voice to be heard over the din of growing panic. “Make room!”

The other people stuffed into the cold bus obeyed; they panicked, shoving and yelling.

Marc’s survival instinct kicked in. He stepped onto the vinyl seat and lowered the window. He dove out as a volley of gunshots and screams exploded from the surrounded van.

People poured from vehicles all around the bus, fleeing toward the shadowy buildings of Wytheville, Virginia.

The soldiers followed, firing M16s at citizens who refused to surrender. Few of them bothered with the bullhorns or their aim. Specifically selected for draft collection duty, these men didn’t react to begging, excuses, or bribes.

Marc rolled through the slush, getting under the bus. He stayed there as chaos got closer, arms and ankles locked around the greyhound’s icy frame. The war had cancelled his leave to attend his mother’s funeral and collect Dog, but he was still going. These enforcers would shoot him for desertion. Marc stayed locked around the bus frame as the citizens he was sworn to protect were gunned down.

The air shifted, thickened... Marc buried his head against his arm as the sky lit up and the sun fell on all of them.

5

“Help!”

“My God!”

“Ahhh!”

Marc stared at the people stumbling by the bus. Soldiers and civilians alike, faces bloody, stumbling blindly.

“Help!”

“No!”

The screams were horrible, and there were other noises under that, ones that made Marc want to vomit, but the gunfire was the clearest to his trained mind. He eased away from the walking corpses who were firing out of reflex, mowing down others like themselves.

Marc scanned for even one other survivor.

Danger!

He swiveled.

“Uuhh!” Marc threw himself away from the outstretched fingers of a Private tightly gripping a pistol in his other hand. He tripped over a bloody pile, landing hard on his ass.

“Do you know what happened?” The soldier’s sockets dripped blood. It ran over his cheeks in small torrents. His eyes were dead orbs that reflected nothing back.

Marc was almost overcome with his first ever case of panic. This isn’t a foreign land. It’s America!

“I can hear you breathing, you know,” the Army man stated almost casually. Scarlet drops rolled in slow motion, sliding down his cheeks to hit the dirt.

Marc blinked. “W-war… A bomb.”

“But where? North or south?”

Marc watched a muscle in the blind man’s jaw twitch while he waited for the answer. “South.”

“I thought so.” The soldier’s voice was emotionless now. He lifted the gun to his mouth and pulled the trigger.

Blood sprayed across Marc’s face.

He took off running, moving away from the houses and neighborhoods that were suffering the same fate. This can’t be happening here! I’m in America!

Adrian

6

The Western US

“Is it true? Former President Milton was your father?!”

Adrian opened his mouth to confirm the lethal secret. He snapped it shut as a neighborhood siren began to wail.

“This is Cynthia Quest, coming to you live from Southern Texas, where a nuclear explosion has devastated another American city...” The radio crackled under the reporter’s shocked voice, drawing attention from the Greenpeace members gathered in the finished basement. “This has been unlike anything our generation has ever experienced. All around the country, we’re watching in horror as each of these bombs hit and…it’s so ugly! Huge fireballs create gaping craters around the point of impact, blasting all those buildings, cars, and people into the sky. As it rises, it forms an enormous toxic mushroom cloud that immediately starts spreading with the wind.”

Rapid gunshots overwhelmed the reporter for a few seconds. Adrian wasn’t sure if it had come from the street outside this house or from the broadcast.

“...following these explosions are rushes of thermal heat and light that shoot out in every direction, peeling skin from bones and blinding every living thing facing that direction. The temperatures are in the hundreds of degrees. Those in the path have no chance of escaping as our way of life comes crashing down…”

The station faded into a national anthem as the local tornado siren reached a peak. The earsplitting noise overwhelmed the other horrible sounds going on outside the small San Bernardino home. Adrian’s heart bled for people he didn’t know. The powerful secret he’d held for so long seemed tiny in comparison. But it was the reason the world was ending.

The radio on the basement steps went quiet. The siren outside stopped, leaving a thick silence.

Adrian stepped under the protective planks next to his Christmas tree as the dozen angry men pushed closer.

“Your family caused this, you bastard!”

Adrian concentrated, letting out a thick sleep charm.

Half of the men dropped; the rest kept coming.

“You traitor!”

“You spied on us at every meeting!”

“I came here today to warn you!” Adrian was glad most of those who’d come for this secret meeting had left at the first report of a bomb hitting Washington, but even this dozen was too many to fight unarmed if things got ugly. Good thing I’m packing. How did they find out?

“Who are you?!”

“Tell us the truth!”

Adrian used the last of his energy to charm them again. Magic hit the group.

One more man fell, knocked out.

I’m rusty. Adrian retreated.

“Make him tell us!”

The furious men advanced. The plastic tree and presents went flying when Adrian tried to use them as a shield. He had no other gifts, and no one knew where he was.

“We’ll beat it out of you!”

“Did you know the war was coming?!”

“Did you help him do it?”

Again, Adrian started to answer, but he was cut off by a vicious rumbling. Dust from the stairs fell over everything as danger pounded toward them through the rock and stone.

Adrian had been in enough hot landing zones to recognize the threat. He threw himself to the tiled floor, putting a hand on the gat in his pocket.

Some of the men followed his lead. Others lunged his way, thinking he was trying to escape.

“Get him!”

Adrian ducked their swipes, squeezing his lean body under the base of the steps. “Incoming! Get down!”

The walls directly above them disappeared, blown away like brittle leaves in the fall...

The small, neat house crumbled, burying them alive.