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Post by brucearmstrong65 on Jul 1, 2016 18:27:00 GMT -6
A Difference of Opinion – Chapter 1 Saturday, December 2nd – 9 AM
“Official: US jets scramble to intercept Russian bombers off California” “RAF Typhoons scrambled to intercept Russian bombers over North Sea” “Russia vows response to U.S. naval ship’s entry into Black Sea” “US & Russian fighters in dramatic showdown over Syria” “NATO Can’t Protect Baltics from Russia, says US General” “Russian Frigate Again Harasses U.S. Carrier Strike Group During Flight Operations”
Frank Simonian shook his head at the headlines as he closed his browser and then shut his laptop off. Any of these incidents could have triggered a war, he thought. I’ve done what I can, but is that near enough? He shook his head to clear the dark thoughts; today was a happy day, or it was before he’d read the news. Christmas was three weeks away, and, this being the first Saturday in December, it was also the North Folk Christmas Festival & Bazaar. It was about an hour’s drive from the Simonian home in rural Clovis, California, north to the festival that he had been attending for decades – before he even had a family of his own to take. The people of North Fork took their Christmas Festival very seriously, and it showed in the enduring popularity of the festival among the “flat-landers” who lived on the floor of the San Joaquin Valley. The festival had begun in a small building which housed a country day school. It expanded over time to take over the entire North Fork Town Hall and the parking lot of the Mountain Oaks High School. Frank looked at his watch and groaned. As usual when the family had plans to go somewhere, everyone else was running late or lollygagging while Frank was at the front door, ready to go. He yelled to his family to hurry up and received no reply, which frosted him even more than the running late did. I swear they do this purposely to annoy me – even my wife. Especially my wife. Frank and Nancy Simonian’s marriage was, to say the least, rocky. After 15 years and one kid, they were teetering on divorce. Nancy took no interest in his job as an agricultural technology consultant, though she was very interested in the fairly substantial income he brought in. The pile of bills on his desk paid testament to that fact. Jillian, their 13-year-old daughter, was turning into a carbon copy of her mother. Frank used to think it was cute; now it was bordering on frightening. Same looks, same taste in clothes, same lust for money, same treating me like crap on the bottom of their shoes.
The fact that Frank was a prepper fed even more fuel on the divorce fire, at least from Nancy’s perspective. Frank could predict, nearly word-for-word, Nancy’s argument when they had a talk about money. “I buy what I need. Do you want your daughter and I going around in absolute rags? I swear, I don’t know why you piss away money on that beans-and-rice shit. Sometimes I think you’re HOPING the world will end so you can sit on your dumb ass in the basement and say I told you so.”
Finally, Nancy and Jillian came down the stairs. Frank’s jaw dropped. Neither female was dressed in what anyone in their right mind would consider attire for a day in the mountains. Frank had on a Pendleton shirt over a T-shirt, jeans, and well-worn hiking boots. Nancy and Jillian were dressed identically in too-tight blouses, too-short skirts, and too-high heels. Frank started to speak but Nancy just held up a hand. “Don’t start, Frankie.” She knew he hated the nickname Frankie, which was why she used it like a whip to lash out at him. “We’re going to Riverpark to shop and have lunch.” “What about the Christmas Festival?” Frank asked, trying to stay calm but turning as red as his woolen shirt. “Oh, Frankie, nobody wants to go to that hokey thing. So old-timey and full of hicks. You drive up there if you want, we’re going shopping.” Nancy grabbed the keys to her Mercedes GLE Coupe and strode out the door to the garage. Jillian at least had the decency to turn and say, “Sorry, Dad. ‘Bye” before she followed her mother into the garage. Frank heard the garage door open, followed shortly by Nancy racing the engine and burning rubber in reverse. Frank turned off the coffee, wiped down the counter and rinsed out his coffee cup, the whole time thinking about when and how he and Nancy were going to split up. His reverie was interrupted by a knock on the inside garage door. He answered it and found Dave Powers, his best friend and next-door neighbor. “Hey, Dave, c’mon in. How’s it going?” “Except for your wife trying to kill me just now, pretty good. What put the bug up her backside?” Dave said with a smile to take part of the sting out of his words. “A difference of opinion. I was getting ready to drive us up to North Fork for the Christmas festival when Nancy came down and said it was ‘too hicky’ and that she and Jillian were going shopping. It was a continuation of last night’s argument about spending money on prepping versus expanding her wardrobe.” The differences of opinion were beginning to add up, Frank thought. “Well, now that you mention it, that drive up to North Fork is pretty nice this time of year. You want to head up there anyway?” Dave asked. Frank considered the idea … for about half a second. “Aw hell, why not? Sitting around here moping won’t get anything done. Besides, they’re serving those thick French Dip sandwiches for lunch this year. Let’s take my Blazer, okay?” “Lead on, MacDuff!” Dave laughed as the two men headed out to the garage. Frank grabbed Nancy’s Bug-Out bag from a storage shelf in the garage and tossed it in the rear of the Blazer. Normally he only kept a single bag in the Blazer, since neither Nancy nor Jillian would ride in it, but with an extra passenger, he wanted an extra bag, just in case. Frank backed out at a considerably slower pace than Nancy had a little while ago. In a few minutes the Blazer was headed north on Highway 168 and into the mountains.
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Post by 9idrr on Jul 1, 2016 20:46:26 GMT -6
I like the start of this one.
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Post by brucearmstrong65 on Jul 2, 2016 16:05:36 GMT -6
A Difference of Opinion – Chapter 2
Saturday, December 2nd – late morning
The drive from Clovis to North Fork took closer to an hour and a quarter today, mainly because Frank wasn’t in his usual fast-fast-fast hurry. In part, that was because Dave was right: it was a nice drive through beautiful greenery; but also, Frank thought, because Nancy wasn’t nagging at him to drive faster, slower, this lane, that lane, watch out for that car, etc. Frank enjoyed the British situation comedies (Britcoms, for short) that the local PBS station aired every Saturday night. One, Keeping Up Appearances, featured Hyacinth Bucket (pronounced by her “Bouquet”), a rather snobbish woman who focused on living above her status while endlessly nagging her husband Richard, especially while driving. Lately, Frank felt a great affinity for Richard.
Frank parked down on the near end of the football field; the couple-dozen spots in and around the building were already filled. It looked like a bigger crowd than usual to Frank, both customers and sellers; at least half a dozen people had tables and canopies set up outside the Town Hall Entrance.
Frank’s favorite seller was an old lady whose name he had never learned; she was simply called “The Jam Lady” by one and all, in recognition of her amazing jams and preserves, all made from locally grown fruits. As usual, Frank bought two jars of wild grape jam (his favorite), and one each of elderberry jam and peach preserves. Dave bought three big jars of peach preserves; he was practically a junkie for anything with peaches. Dave’s wife had perfected a recipe for peach cobbler; sadly, she had passed away two years before, in a car accident in downtown Fresno.
The two men wandered around the festival for the better part of an hour, buying from a couple of vendors and merely browsing at others. They sat down for an early lunch of a French dip sandwich on homemade sourdough rolls; proceeds went to new uniforms for the football team this year. About half of the vendors were raising funds for one cause in North Fork or another – cheerleading camp, debate team, the volunteer fire department, and so on.
This was the kind of town Frank would have loved to live in; everyone knows everyone else, somebody’s always willing to lend a hand, and everyone pulls together when called for. Last year he had broached the idea of moving here to Nancy, he remembered with a wince; that might have been their biggest “difference of opinion,” as she called it, in the last five years. That probably explains why she and Jillian bailed on the Christmas festival this year, Frank thought, as he finished his sandwich and threw away the paper plate and napkin.
Frank and Dave wandered for another half hour or so, waiting until the last of the raffle ticket winners were drawn. Nobody was more surprised than Frank when his name was called; it took Dave’s none-too-gentle nudge in the side before he realized it was his name. He held up his hand with the ticket, and a small elderly lady brought a beautifully-prepared basket over. “Congratulations, young man! You won the big prize – a gift basket made up from every one of the sellers here today. Glad to see you win it, too!” The lady volunteered with the historical society in town, which raffled off a quilt and other handmade items every year, and he always chatted with her while buying his (usually losing) tickets.
Lugging the gift basket around the crowded festival was impractical, so Frank and Dave headed for the Blazer, but not before buying two more of the French dip sandwiches. Whenever he and Nancy had one of their differences of opinion, she refused to cook, usually going out to dinner with Jillian and specifically NOT with him.
“You’re quiet, Frank,” as they reversed the course they had traveled that morning. “Still thinking about Nancy?”
Frank nodded his head. “Sometimes I think the harder I try to be a good husband and father, the worse I do at it.”
“Well, no offense, Frank, but Nancy is not the easiest person in the world to get along with. I think Jillian is following her down that same self-centered path.”
A quick flash of anger started to rise up in Frank, and just as quickly died out. He didn’t like hearing it, but Dave was right. “So what do I do, Dave? Live separate lives in the same house? Hell, we’re practically doing that already. And I think it’s hurting all three of us.”
“That’s one question, I can’t answer for you, Frank. When Alice and I had a big disagreement over something, we tried to hash it out right away, never to let it harden like fast-setting concrete. There’s a verse in the New Testament, from Ephesians I think, that says ‘Don’t let the sun go down on your anger.’ Alice and I tried to follow that.” He laughed. “On more than one occasion, the sun didn’t go down in our house until nearly midnight.”
Frank was about a mile away from the turnoff that led to the gated community Frank and Dave lived in (and which Dave, a contractor, had helped design and build) when there was a bright flash of light off to the southwest. Frank slowed down, pulled off the highway (which was really just a two-lane road) and glanced in the direction of the light. Before Frank could say a word, a second bright flash came from the same direction. Neither man spoke as they watched as a pair of mushroom clouds become visible just above the horizon.
The two men looked at each other, and in unison said, “Oh, shit.”
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Post by millwright on Jul 2, 2016 16:16:13 GMT -6
A plutonium divorce?
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Post by brucearmstrong65 on Jul 2, 2016 16:37:33 GMT -6
I haven't decided yet. FWIW, the shopping center Nancy and Jillian are at is about the same distance from the blasts as Frank and Dave are. Initially survivable, but afterwards, who knows? (Certainly not me until I write the next chapter!)
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Post by brucearmstrong65 on Jul 2, 2016 19:19:37 GMT -6
A Difference of Opinion – Chapter 3
Saturday, December 2nd – 3 PM
Frank and Dave stared at the fading mushroom clouds on the distant horizon to the southwest.
“Dear God … think it was Lemoore, Frank?” Dave asked in a trembling voice.
“Had to be. That’s the only thing worth hitting between here and LA.” Frank’s voice cracked; he had served 8 years in the Navy after high school, and had been stationed at Lemoore in the late 1980s. “Home base to four carrier air wings, plus Strike Fighter Wing Pacific, one of those new Master Jet bases. All gone...”
“We better be getting home and under cover, my friend,” Dave said as he jostled Frank’s arm. "We get storms from that direction due to prevailing winds coming up the valley, so we’ll probably get fallout too.”
Frank put the idling Blazer into drive and tore down the highway. “Turn on the radio, Dave, see if there’s anything on the news. One nuke could maybe, maybe be a horrible accident. Two nukes means we’re at war.”
Dave switched on the radio and held on for dear life as Frank took a fast, hard left from Highway 168 onto North Academy Avenue, toward Shepherd Estates, their gated community now only a half-mile away. “Easy, Frank, let’s get there alive.” Frank started to reply but was interrupted by a voice from the radio.
“This is KMJ, Newstalk 580 AM and 105.9 FM. We have multiple reports of two nuclear” - the announcer stumbled on the word and cleared his throat - “two nuclear explosions in the vicinity of Lemoore Naval Air Station. This is all the news we have at this time. The last weather report received from the National Weather Service indicated winds from the south-southwest at 5 miles an hour. We have been unable to reach the NWS office in Hanford since the explosions.
“One moment please. … We have a message from the County Emergency Services Agency: All Fresno County residents should seek immediate shelter from expected radioactive fallout. Fallout is expected within the hour in the closest communities. … Stand by, please. We are receiving a message on our EAS decoder. Stand by for an Emergency Action Notification message."
The shrill EAS tone coincided with the squeal of brakes as Frank pulled into his driveway. The power was still on so he opened his garage door with the remote and pulled inside.
The EAS tone ended and was replaced by a prerecorded message. The two men sat in the Blazer cab and listened intently, staring at the radio.
“This is an Emergency Action Notification. All broadcast stations and cable systems shall transmit this Emergency Action Notification message. This station has interrupted its regular programming at the request of the White House to participate in the Emergency Alert System.
“During this emergency, most stations will remain on the air providing news and information to the public in assigned areas. This is KMJ 580 AM and 105.9 FM. We will continue to serve the greater Fresno-Clovis area. If you are not in this local area, you should tune to stations providing local news and information for your local area. You are listening to the Emergency Alert System serving the greater Fresno-Clovis area.
“Do not use your telephone. The telephone lines should be kept open for emergency use."
A different voice, not one of the local announcers, came on the air. “This is the Emergency Alert System. Please stand by for an emergency message from the President of the United States." A pause of approximately ten seconds, then:
“My fellow Americans, it is with a heavy heart that I announce what many of you already know. A nuclear attack has been launched by the Russian government against this great nation. Many explosions have occurred throughout our country, primarily targeting military facilities. I have ordered the most severe retaliatory measures, which are even now being carried out against our enemy.
“Find the best available shelter and stay there until notified by your local emergency officials that it is safe to leave. Please do not panic. Please help those in need as best you can. I will speak to you again when it is safe to do-” The message cut off abruptly.
“That can’t be good,” Dave said quietly in a masterpiece of understatement.
After a short pause, the local announcer came back on the air. “We have lost our connection with the Emergency Alert System. A report from Sacramento via the County Emergency Services Agency indicates explosions in San Francisco, Los Angeles, and San Diego. We have no information on conditions outside the state.”
Frank turned the Blazer’s engine off and with it the radio message. “I’m going to grab some things from the house and head for Riverpark. I’ve got to find Nancy and Jillian.”
“Maybe we should stay put, Frank,” Dave said, drawing a disbelieving glare. “Think about it, man. They’ll be doing their damnedest to get back here, right? The streets will be a madhouse. Odds are we’ll pass them heading home as we try to get to Riverpark. That won’t do any good. We’ll be outside as the fallout comes down, they’ll be back here without the faintest idea what to do about sheltering or surviving. All four of us will end up dead for no good damned reason.”
Frank got out of the truck without a word and headed into the house, Dave hot at his heels. “Okay, Frank, what’s the plan then?”
“Look, you know Nancy. Besides being a first-class pain-in-the-ass, she’s also a creature of habit. She goes to Riverpark the same way every time – Shepherd Avenue to Friant Road to Nees – and she comes back the same way. If she's heading back, we'll spot her red Mercedes a mile away. If we can’t find them in two hours, we’ll come back here, okay?”
Dave nodded. “Your call, man. I’ll have your back either way. I need a couple things from home – meet you back here in five.” Without waiting for a reply, Dave ran out through the garage and headed home.
Frank flipped on the light switch just inside the basement door and took the stairs down two at a time. He unlocked the door at the bottom of the staircase and then the door into the shelter itself. Frank’s gun safe, disguised as a small closet, was just to his left. Unlocking the door, and spinning the safe’s dial, Frank removed a Stevens 320 12-gauge pump shotgun and quickly loaded in five rounds. With five more in a sleeve on the right side of the stock, plus the five rounds he was putting into his two shirt pockets, he had twenty rounds for immediate use. A musette bag with more 12-gauge ammo gave him plenty of ammo, God forbid he needed it. Snatching a paramedic-quality medical bag from a storage shelf, he secured the shelter and ran back up the stairs.
Dave had beat him back to the garage. He was kneeling by one side of the open garage door, holding a shotgun identical to his at port arms and surveying the street in both directions. A bag, presumably with more ammo, was slung across his chest. “Okay, I’m ready to go,” Frank said quietly. He knew Dave's toughness, had seen it up close and personal, and didn't want to surprise or startle him.
Frank clamped his shotgun into a Rugged Gear floor-mount gun rack, dropped the musette bag at Dave’s feet, and tossed the medical bag in the back, grabbing Jillian’s BOB and tossing it in as well. Backing out of the garage at a speed comparable to Nancy’s earlier that day, Frank headed for the front gate of the community. Dave had closed the garage door with Frank’s remote and replaced it in its Velcro spot on the dash.
“Fourteen miles to River Park,” Frank said, as he turned left from the gated community onto North Academy before making a quick right onto Shepherd. “Figure an hour’s drive time, round trip. That gives us maybe three hours to look for them before fallout starts.”
“I don’t think getting into the city will be a problem, Frank. Getting home, with the girls, before the fallout – well, that might be a different story.”
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Post by ydderf on Jul 2, 2016 21:24:03 GMT -6
Nice beginning thank you for sharing it with me/us.
Fred
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Post by pbbrown0 on Jul 2, 2016 21:59:58 GMT -6
“I don’t think getting into the city will be a problem, Frank. Getting home, with the girls, before the fallout – well, that might be a different story.”
So, Dave sounds like the "clear head in a crisis" kind of guy.
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Post by brucearmstrong65 on Jul 3, 2016 15:41:13 GMT -6
A Difference of Opinion – Chapter 4
Saturday, December 2nd – 2:15 PM
Frank and Dave’s trek nearly ended before it began. Not two miles from their neighborhood, they were nearly hit head-on by a panicked driver who tried to pass the car in front of him as he approached a bridge over the Friant-Kern Canal. The oncoming driver missed Frank’s Blazer but hit the SUV behind Frank head-on, catching two other vehicles in the aftermath. In a few seconds, the canal bridge – and Frank and Dave’s planned route home – was well and truly blocked.
Frank drove on, at a slightly reduced speed, as most people do after seeing an accident. Dave called 911, surprised that his cell phone worked and that he got the call through. The harried operator took the information down but couldn’t guarantee anyone would respond before the fallout hit. Dave thanked her, which must have been a rarity; she said “God bless,” and disconnected.
Frank bore right onto Shepherd where Tollhouse turned into the 168 freeway and continued west. They were making good time until they got into the more built-up area just past Willow Avenue. Half-crazed drivers were trying desperately to get to the Orchard Supply Hardware store and adjoining Big 5 Sporting Goods north of Shepherd Avenue or the Vons supermarket south of Shepherd. The parking lots for both were signs of sheer panic. They heard gunshots from the direction of the Big 5 as they got by. Frank snorted. “Helluva time to prepare when the bombs have already fallen. Day late and a dollar short.”
Dave nodded. “Well, you gotta admit, Frank, we’re both different creatures than these sheeple. Being ready just comes naturally to us.”
“True, true,” Frank conceded. “But not being ready is going to cost most of these people their lives.”
The next challenge was making a left turn onto North Friant Road. Southbound traffic wasn’t a problem, as everybody was going northbound, away from the fallout. Luckily the power was still on and the traffic signals were still working, but people on northbound Friant were running the red lights when they couldn’t see any traffic coming.
Frank cautiously edged forward when he got the green arrow. His caution was rewarded by not being T-boned by a Ford F-150 loaded to the gills in back and driving hell bent for election towards the mountains. Luckily the other cars stopped and Frank finished his turn.
“Any idea where the girls were going to go, Frank?” Dave asked. “Riverpark covers a big area with a lot of stores.” Technically Riverpark was a complex on the southeast corner of Blackstone & Nees; a companion complex across Blackstone was the Villagio Center, but everyone in the valley called the whole area Riverpark.
“Riverpark itself, I think” Frank replied. “The girls love Macy’s and their salon, Planet Hair, is in the same area. God, I imagine Blackstone & Nees will be a madhouse.”
“It usually is, even on the best of days,” said Dave. “Too much stuff around one intersection. It’ll probably be gridlock in all directions with cars on the sidewalk.”
“Good to see that positive thinking course is working out for you, Dave,” Frank said with the slightest hint of a smile, followed by “Oh crap,” as they came to a stop next to Woodward Park.
Ahead of them, Friant Road was a wall of cars as they approached the northbound 41 onramp well in the distance. Those who weren’t trying to evacuate to the mountains in the east were heading north, to real or imagined shelter of Madera County and beyond.
Frank was able to get into the outside left-turn lane for Audubon Drive, but though the signals were working still, people on northbound Friant were ignoring them completely. Seeing a slight gap, Frank floored the accelerator and the Blazer screamed through the oncoming traffic with scant inches to spare.
“We’ll take Audubon to Nees, miss all that freeway traffic, and come right out by the north end of Riverpark, not far from the salon. Knowing Nancy, she’ll probably be there insisting they finish her facial before leaving.”
It was close to an hour after they left Frank’s home before they pulled into the Riverpark complex. Driving at a considerably slower pace, Frank drove through the lot, passing Planet Hair and then circling Macy’s once, without any sign of the red Mercedes coupe. Every store he could see was closed; more than one had a broken window and a wailing burglar alarm.
“What now, Frank? Head across Blackstone?”
Frank sat for a moment, thinking. “Let’s check the parking structure out, then we’ll check the Blackstone parking lot as far as Panera. If we don’t find a sign of ‘em by then, we’ll cross over and check out Villagio.”
“Good deal, Frank. We’ll find ‘em.”
Frank drove past Planet Hair again and pulled into the parking garage entrance. The security arm was up and neither guard nor gate attendant were anywhere in sight.
The bright red Mercedes coupe sat in plain sight as soon as they pulled onto the top deck and to their right. Frank started to accelerate towards it but Dave yelled “Stop!” and racked a round into his shotgun. The Blazer was about 300 feet away from the Mercedes, and both men could clearly see the broken driver’s side window and movement behind the vehicle.
Frank shut the engine off and removed his shotgun from its mount. Chambering a round, he undid his seatbelt and opened the door. “How do we do this, Dave?”
“Don’t close your door or make a noise. I’ll take the back of the car, you take the front. Take 'em from both sides and keep the car in between us and whoever is there.”
The two men, shotguns at port arms, walked quietly but quickly towards the Mercedes. Just as Frank realized someone was slumped over in the front seat, a loud scream pierced the air.
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Post by 9idrr on Jul 3, 2016 18:42:04 GMT -6
I'm liable to lose my balance, stayin' on the edge of my seat like this. And it looks as though you've put some swabbies on the losin' side this time.
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Post by brucearmstrong65 on Jul 3, 2016 18:43:54 GMT -6
A Difference of Opinion – Chapter 5
Saturday, December 2nd – 3:30 PM
Both Dave and Frank broke into a dead run towards the Mercedes, heedless of noise. Dave skidded to a stop at the rear of the car and peeked his head round, followed by a shotgun blast into the air. Frank glanced at his unconscious wife briefly as he slid across the hood to find his bleeding, half-naked daughter sobbing hysterically, and a young Latino male with his pants around his ankles and his eyes nearly cross-eyed at the business end of Dave’s shotgun.
“Okay man,” Dave said to the young gangbanger. “Stand up, leaving your pants around your ankles, and walk very slowly away from the car, toward the ledge. Try one thing and your head will be separated from your body.” The gangbanger did as he was told, for the moment. Dave was certain the punk was calculating the odds of making a grab for the shotgun.
As soon as the thug was clear of the car, Frank knelt down and touched his cowering daughter on the arm. Jillian screamed and kept screaming until she looked up and saw her father, at which point the hysterical screaming became hysterical crying as Frank encompassed her in a bear hug.
Dave was maintaining his focus on the gangbanger, who was equally focused on Dave. Both were waiting for the other to try something.
Frank was able to get Jillian to sit against the hood of the Mercedes. He wanted to get a blanket from one of the bags in the Blazer but didn’t want to leave Dave without backup.
“Dave, I’m going to bring the Blazer over closer and get a blanket for Jillian. You okay with our new friend?”
“No problem, Frank. He moves, he dies. Pretty simple.”
Frank double-timed to the Blazer and pulled up behind the Mercedes. He pulled a blanket from Jillian’s bug-out bag and draped it around her shoulders. The sobbing had lessened, and she seemed to be a bit more conscious of her surroundings. “Dad … Mom, where’s...”
“Ssssh honey, you’re safe now. Dave and I are here. Look, I’m going to check on your mom. You stay right here until I say so, okay?” Jillian nodded mutely and pulled the blanket tighter around her.
Dreading what he was certain he would find, Frank walked around to the driver’s door of the Mercedes. The broken window was caused by a bullet, which had lodged itself in Nancy’s temple. Her body was cold and there was no discernible pulse in her neck or wrist.
Despite all their fighting and differences of opinion, Frank was heartbroken. He had almost accepted that their marriage was over, but he had never wanted it to be. Now it was over, at the end of a gun barrel, with neither one having a say in the matter.
Frank took his daughter in his arms and, using his body to shield Jillian from the sight of her mother’s body, buckled her into the back seat of the Blazer on the driver’s side. He took her face in his hands and spoke softly, almost in a whisper. “Jillian, I’m going to talk to Dave for a minute. You stay right here, okay? Everything’s all right now. Will you be okay here for just a second?” Jillian nodded her head once, without speaking.
Frank walked back to the driver’s door of the Mercedes and stood looking at his wife for a long minute. “Goodbye, Nancy. I’m so sorry things got so bad at the end. I’ll take care of Jillian, okay?” Frank kissed his fingertip and placed it against Nancy’s lips, then stood up straight and walked around the back of the Mercedes to Dave’s right side. With two shotguns pointed squarely at him, the young gangbanger realized any chance of escape or survival had just flown away on the wind.
Never removing his eyes from those of the rapist, Dave asked quietly, “Nancy?” Frank responded with a thumbs down. Wordlessly, Dave raised the shotgun and put it point blank against the thug’s forehead. His false bravado all gone, the scared young man voided his bladder and began to whimper.
Frank surprised Dave by putting a hand on his arm and saying one word: “No.”
Dave glanced over in surprise. “You sure, Frank?”
Frank nodded once, then spoke. “Dave, would you pop the trunk of the Mercedes open and get me a hank of paracord out of the box in there?” Frank had insisted that Nancy have at least a car emergency kit in the trunk, and begrudgingly, she had agreed. The kit contained highway flares, a reflective emergency marker, jumper cables, and the paracord.
After a few seconds, Dave handed him the paracord. “What’s the plan, Frank?”
Without answering, Frank ordered the gangbanger to stand up and pull up his pants, then lay down flat on the ground. Working quickly, with Dave standing overwatch, Frank hog-tied the young gangbanger and with Dave’s help lifted him into the backseat of the Mercedes. Turning the key in the ignition, Frank lowered all four car windows. He spoke quietly to the now thoroughly confused thug, as an equally confused Dave stood by.
“You killed my wife and raped my daughter. I was just going to shoot you or throw you off the parking garage roof, but that’s too good for your kind. So here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to leave you here.”
From his expression, Frank could see the thug didn’t understand. Dave grimaced as the plan became clear to him.
“I figure you’ve got about -” Frank checked his watch - “four hours or so before the fallout gets here. You’ll probably accumulate a lethal dose within 8 hours after that. The vomiting will begin within a day, maybe sooner. And the bloody diarrhea. And you’ll be right here, tied up like a steer bound for market. And you won’t be able to do a damn thing about it.
“If you’re very unlucky, and I hope you are, you’ll live several days in your own filth before you die and go to hell. Dehydration and exposure will probably get you before that. More’s the pity.”
The gangbanger, understanding now exactly what his future held in store for him, began screaming and struggling violently against the paracord. Frank knocked him out with the butt of the shotgun. Taking the car keys from the ignition, Frank threw them as far as he could, over the side of the parking garage and toward the Edwards cinema in the distance.
Frank grabbed the purses of his daughter and late wife, as well as the handful of papers in the glove box. He handed the Blazer’s keys to Dave, who stood speechless looking at the unconscious thug and then at Frank. “Let’s go home, Dave. You drive. I need to be with my daughter.”
Dave got into the driver’s seat and started the engine. Frank folded the passenger’s seat forward, climbed in back, laid the shotgun down behind the back seat, and sat with an arm around his daughter. Dave circled the lot, drove down the exit ramp and started to navigate a route back home.
When the gangbanger came to a few hours later, he saw a light gritty dust falling from the sky and in through the four open windows. Nobody was around to hear his screams.
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Post by brucearmstrong65 on Jul 3, 2016 18:46:58 GMT -6
I'm liable to lose my balance, stayin' on the edge of my seat like this. And it looks as though you've put some swabbies on the losin' side this time. Thanks, man. I wasn't happy with that chapter at first - thought I was getting too detailed on the route they took and all that. As for the edge of your seat, I just posted the next chapter which, I think, clears a few things up.
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Post by 9idrr on Jul 3, 2016 20:44:33 GMT -6
Good writing so far, at least from my perspective as a reader. I'm just as happy with a little more detail than not enough. You don't seem to get hung up on minutia. As for routes through Fresno, to whom would it matter, other than a Grizzlies fan or somebody who got lost from Hwy99? Sounds more like these guys want to get out of there as quickly as possible, anyway. Head for the hills.
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Post by brucearmstrong65 on Jul 4, 2016 20:10:39 GMT -6
A Difference of Opinion – Chapter 6
Saturday, December 2nd – Just before 4 PM
Dave drove through the deserted parking structure and through Riverpark until he got to Nees Avenue, where they had entered the complex. In the time they had been on top of the parking garage, the traffic had grown thicker and considerably slower. Several accidents were visible in both directions.
“Frank, Nees is jammed solid. I’m going to try to get on the Rail Trail, see how far we can get,” Dave said as he managed to work his way across four lanes of traffic which, with the cars trying to use the turn and bike lanes, was more like six or seven lanes. Finally Dave made it onto the trail, to the accompaniment of several car horns.
The Fresno-Clovis Rail Trail runs northeast from the edge of Riverpark until it turns east at Shepherd and runs east for another two miles until it turns north. Extremely popular with bicyclists, walkers, joggers, and dogwalkers, it was wide enough for the Blazer to make steady progress in the direction of home.
The three-and-a-half-mile drive was a silent one in the Blazer. Neither Frank nor Jillian made a sound in the backseat. Frank had his left arm wrapped around Jillian’s shoulders and was alternating between staring at his daughter and looking out the window.
Dave stopped at the northwest corner of Shepherd & Willow, where the trail turned north, away from their intended direction of travel.
Dave turned to his right and looked at Frank in the back seat. He spoke softly. “Frank? Frank? We need a decision. Should I try to get onto Shepherd” - pointing at the crowded street out the right-side window - “or something else.”
“Ranch roads,” Frank said, almost in a whisper. “Get us all the way home, with a few zigs and zags.”
Dave followed the trail for a quarter-mile north until he saw a paved farm road through the orchard on the other side. A break in the traffic, albeit a momentary one, was enough for Dave to get the Blazer across Willow Avenue and into the orchard.
The drive back to Frank and Dave’s community was a rough one – across farm roads, dirt paths, dry creek beds and open fields. It took nearly ninety minutes to get back to the gated community, a time which was shortened when a kindly gentlemen in a farm truck slowed just enough to let them cross Tollhouse Road and get onto East Shepherd. From there it was a few moments until they pulled up to the gate of Midway Estates (so named because, in describing the location to a prospective client, Dave said it was midway between the 168 and Shepherd Ave.).
As Dave pulled up to the gate and punched in his code, a middle aged man in jeans and an old-style bomber jacket came out from behind a decorative column, pointing a shotgun. Recognizing Frank’s Blazer, with Dave at the wheel, the man moved the shotgun away from the Blazer and came around to the driver’s window.
“Thank God that was you, Bruce! What’re you doing out here?” Bruce was Bruce Jacks, who had been one of the first buyers in Midway Estates and lived closest to the gate.
“You know what happened, right, Dave? I thought we might have unwanted company, so I figured I’d keep a watch up here until it came time to head down below.” Bruce caught a good look at Frank and Jillian in the back seat and crossed himself. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Dave, what happened?”
“Frank and I went up to North Fork for the morning. Just got back when the bombs went off. We grabbed our gear and headed to Riverpark to find Nancy and Jillian, who’d gone shopping. They were on the top of the parking garage. Nancy was dead and Jillian, well, you can figure the rest.”
“Yeah, I can. Did you find the SOBs who did it?” Bruce spit the words out like tacks from a nail gun, he was so angry.
“One guy. I guess he shot Nancy and then, well...” Dave left the words drift off. “He won’t be bothering anyone anymore.”
Bruce nodded. “It’s been quiet here, no trouble yet. Not even a car in the past half hour. I’m going to lock up and get home. Anybody who lives here will know how to bypass the gate lock and get in. If anybody else shows up.”
“How many families so far?” Dave asked. The community was made up of eighteen large homes on large lots, with a road that ringed the inside and a mini-park and community area in the center.
“You and Frank make three, Dave. Jesus, man, three out of eighteen...” Bruce’s voice trailed off.
“Well, I’m going to get Frank and Jillian inside their shelter, then head back to my place and grab whatever I can before the fallout starts. I’ll be staying with them.” Dave put the Blazer in drive, then hesitated. “Frank’s got a CB in his shelter. Monitor channel 18 and stay in touch.”
“You too, Dave. And … tell Frank I’m sorry about Nancy and Jillian, ok?”
Dave nodded wordlessly and drove up the street to Frank’s house. Activating the garage door with the remote, he pulled in and closed the garage door behind them. Just as the bottom of the door hit the garage floor, the power went out.
Talk about timing, Dave thought to himself. He took the shotgun from the floor mount, turned and told Frank, “We’re home, buddy. C’mon, Frank, we’ve got work to do and not all that much time left.”
It took Frank a good half-minute to focus his eyes and figure out where they were. “Yeah, Dave. How long until…?”
“Couple hours at the outside if we’re lucky. Probably less. I’m going to get you and Jillian down in your shelter, then I need to run home. Will you two be okay here?”
Frank nodded. Dave got out and tilted his seat forward, out of habit extending a hand to Jillian to help her out. To the surprise of both men, Jillian looked up, took his hand and stepped out of the back seat. “Thanks, Mr. Powers.”
Frank slid along the back seat and followed Jillian out. “Hon, I’m going to take the bags out of the Blazer and take you down below, okay?” Jillian nodded. Frank swung the back of the Blazer open and picked up the medical bag, the shotgun, and one of the BOBs. Jillian hesitated a moment, then picked up the purses and one of the BOBs (hers, as a matter of fact) and followed her dad, waiting while he unlocked the door from the garage. She went inside, and Frank hesitated for just a second. “Thanks, Dave. For everything.”
Dave nodded. “I’ll be back here in twenty minutes, tops. You get Jillian down below and wait with her if need be. We’ll secure this place when I get back, ok?”
“Don’t take too long, Dave. There’ll always be a place here for you.”
Dave followed Frank into the house, made a beeline for the front door, and took off for his home at a dead run.
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Post by papaof2 on Jul 4, 2016 22:58:15 GMT -6
I'm still hooked ;-)
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Post by pbbrown0 on Jul 4, 2016 23:27:46 GMT -6
Bruce, Relax about your concerns over too much detail on routes and such. Your level of detail is right on the mark, and it makes the story more believable. For those readers who know the area well or even slightly, it makes it more believable and real because what is happening is associated with facts they know to be real. In the same way those who do not know the area, it helps them feel like the events are anchored to a real place rather than a fictional location. I can name countless authors, who consistently made it to the best seller lists with their books, that were just as detailed in their writing about the locations where their stories take place.
You are doing great. I am eagerly awaiting each segment you post.
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Post by brucearmstrong65 on Jul 5, 2016 18:17:32 GMT -6
A Difference of Opinion – Chapter 7
Saturday, December 2nd – 6 PM
Frank sat the bags down and opened the door to the basement. On the back of the door was a rack which held several cleaning implements, as well as a fire extinguisher and a flashlight. He took Jillian’s hand in his, and with the flashlight in the his other hand, he lit their way down to the basement. A battery-powered emergency light, which had come on when electrical power went out, illuminated a second door at the bottom of the stairs. Frank unlocked this door, stepped inside with Jillian, and unlocked the main shelter door.
Dave had designed the 18 homes which comprised Midway Estates with preparedness in mind, even if some of the buyers weren’t really into preparedness. In an unusual feature for California, every home was equipped with a full, no-windows basement. The staircase was enclosed with a second door at the bottom, which opened to a small anteroom with coat closet. Only the preparedness-minded recognized the 90-degree turn at the base of the stairs, designed to shield against direct radiation, and that the anteroom could function, in essence, as an airlock.
Many people used their basements as an entertainment area. Pub-style bars and home theaters with a dozen heavy lounge chairs were all optional packages offered by Dave. One buyer, a former PGA tour golfer, even had a high-definition golf simulator installed.
Frank and Bruce Jacks had both followed Dave’s lead. As with the other families, about half of the basement was used as an entertaining area, with sofas, easy chairs, bookshelves, and a kitchen/dining area; that part of the shelter Nancy had loved and used to full advantage. The other half was split between the bedroom and bathroom area on one end of the shelter, and an equipment & storage area on the other end. This area contained the nuts-and-bolts of survival: a generator (with separate exhaust), fuel storage, a battery bank fed by solar panels, and an air filtration system. Food storage was also included in this area.
The basements of Frank, Dave & Bruce were the only three that went all-out for the preparedness angle. Their “entertaining” areas were somewhat smaller than those of the other homes, which always grated on Nancy; Alice, Dave’s late wife, and Suzy, Bruce’s wife, were fully supportive of the preparedness angle. Despite their best efforts, neither Alice nor Suzy were able to bring Nancy around to the preparedness mindset; in fact, the last difference of opinion had been so contentious that the Powers’ and the Jacks’ had been persona non grata at Nancy’s parties for some time after the discussion.
Nancy had absolutely forbidden Frank from having any of his “silly survival stuff” in plain view when she entertained, so he had extra work to do to go from entertainment room to fallout shelter. A decorative table with a glass sculpture was replaced with a folding desk, radio equipment & a remote survey meter. The antenna and cable for the survey meter were enclosed in a special conduit when the house had been built.
The automatic transfer switch had started the generator when commercial power was lost and would keep running until it ran out of fuel (unlikely with the large fuel tank installed) or commercial power came back on (unlikely for a long time to come).
Jillian had gone into the bathroom to take a shower and clean up as soon as Frank had opened up the shelter. Frank had just finished setting up the radio equipment when she came out.
Hesitantly, Frank asked, “How are you, sweetie? Feeling better?” He half-expected a Nancy-like response, and then felt guilty for thinking ill of the dead.
Jillian smiled and said, “Better. At least cleaner. What happened, Dad? Russia?”
Frank nodded. “Don’t know how bad. Two on Lemoore, and KMJ said San Francisco, LA and San Diego got hit before they went off the air.”
“We heard bits and pieces of that. We got our hair done, then went over to Ruth’s Chris for lunch. We just finished and were going to go to Macy’s when everything got crazy. The roads jammed up, people were freaking out and running around in all directions. We heard gunshots over by the Rolex place, and Mom decided we’d better get back to the car and try to get home. We nearly got run over a couple of times in the parking structure. By the time we got to our car, we could see all the roads jamming up – Blackstone, Nees, 41 both ways.”
“Is that when that punk attacked you?” Frank asked quietly.
Jillian shuddered and nodded her head. “Mom had just gotten into the car and I was opening the door on my side when there was a loud bang and her window shattered. I ducked down but the guy had already seen me. I held out my purse, like you always said to do if we were robbed but he, he… that wasn’t what he wanted.” Frank nodded but didn’t say anything. “I don’t know how long after that before you and Mr. Powers showed up.”
Jillian reached out and took her dad’s hand. “I’m sorry, Dad. We should have gone to North Fork with you. If we had, Mom would still...” She began sobbing.
“That’s enough of that, young lady,” Frank said in as stern a voice as he could manage. “What happened today was nobody’s fault, except the Russians. Today was full of acts by madmen. Neither you nor Mom did anything wrong. I just wish Dave and I had gotten there a little bit earlier.”
Through sniffles and sobs, Jillian reminded her dad of what he’d just said. “Nobody’s fault, Dad, except the Russians. And that gangbanger….”
“Enough about him,” Frank interrupted a train of thought which he thought would do no good. “We’ve got stuff to do around here. Will you be okay for a few minutes? I need to get some things from upstairs, and I want to keep an eye out for Dave.”
“I’ll be fine, Dad,” Jillian said, getting up and heading into the kitchen area. “I’m going to have some hot chocolate. Is it okay to have the radio on?”
“Sure hon, but I don’t know if anyone’s still on the air. The CB is set to channel 18. Only talk to Dave or Bruce, if they call. Nobody else, ok?” Jillian nodded. “Okay then, I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Frank picked up the remote portion of the fixed survey meter he had set out with the radio equipment, jogged back through the doors and up the stairs to the first floor. He made sure the garage door was properly secured, and locked up the Blazer (after removing the battery and hiding it under some rags on a shelf). Unlocking a small panel in the garage wall, next to the light switch, he pressed a number of buttons. Each button corresponded to the security shutters for a certain portion of the house.
Once that was done, he picked up his shotgun and went out the front door, unfastening a small pipe cap on the front wall of the house next to the porch. From there he extracted two cables – one the antenna wire for the radio gear and one the cable to the other portion of the survey meter. Moving quickly but deliberately, Frank stretched the antenna wire out to its full length, through and concealed by the shrubbery. He then attached the remote survey meter’s cable reel to the cable going into the basement, and positioned the remote portion of the meter in the open air, next to a planter. That would give them a local radiation reading when the fallout started.
Frank heard a noise and grabbed his shotgun from behind him, only to realize that Dave Powers was pulling a luggage cart which held a large Igloo cooler, a couple of gun cases and an OD green duffel bag packed nearly to bursting.
“Planning on moving in, Dave?” Frank said as he grabbed the duffel bag off the cart.
“Sure am, Frank, if you’ll have me. I don’t much fancy a couple of weeks alone in my basement. You’ll prove marginally better company, I think.”
Both men had a dry and rather acerbic sense of humor which they appreciated from each other but which outsiders rarely understood or enjoyed.
Frank and Dave worked well as a team, and quickly got Dave’s gear inside next to the basement door, and then went through Frank’s house like a pair of whirling dervishes. Blinds, curtains, and interior doors were closed and, where possible, secured. Medicine cabinets were emptied, as were the refrigerator and kitchen cupboards. Finally, Frank grabbed both his and Jillian’s laptops and her iPod. They had a desktop computer and a family server in the basement, but having their personal items, Frank thought, would be more comforting to both he and Jillian.
Dave surveyed the pile of bags, boxes, and cases and whistled softly. “And we’re the prepared ones? Man, think what the unprepared are going through now.”
Frank picked up a couple of bags and headed down the stairs. “The pool tables and golf simulators are looking less attractive by the moment. Let’s get this stuff down below and button up. I suspect,” he said, looking up towards the ceiling and the sky beyond, “we’ll be having some unwanted company very shortly.”
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Post by brucearmstrong65 on Jul 5, 2016 20:41:03 GMT -6
A Difference of Opinion – Chapter 8
Saturday, December 2nd – 7 PM
Frank and Dave worked quickly and efficiently to get everyone down to the basement before the fallout reached them. They got the last of the items to the bottom of the basement stairs before Jillian yelled from inside the shelter, “Dad! This yellow thing’s making a clicking noise!”
Rightly assuming she was talking about the survey meter, Dave shot up the stairs and locked down the basement door while Frank went in to check the survey meter. The “yellow thing” was indeed clicking, and it was doing so at a faster and faster rate.
Frank ran back out to hurry Dave up, only to nearly get hit by a duffel bag that came flying through the door into the shelter. Dave stuck his head around the corner.
“Sorry about that, Frank. Everything’s inside the anteroom. Both basement stairway doors are closed and dogged down, as is the outer anteroom door. Let’s get this stuff inside the shelter and we’re good to go for the duration.”
“You keep working on this, Dave. I’m going to radio Bruce, make sure he got the word,” Frank replied, as he headed for his radio setup.
As he was picking up the mike, a loud voice came booming over the speaker. “Dave, Frank, this is Bruce. We’re getting hot stuff. Up to 5 on my meter. Over.”
“This is Frank. I was just calling to tell you the same thing. We’re locked down tight over here. You and Suzy all set up? Over.”
“We’re good as can be. Suzy moved a lot of extra stuff down here while I was watching the gate. The Andersons came in about a half hour after you. No one else came in after them, sad to say. Over.”
“Damn. Well, keep an eye on your meter and we’ll do the same. I’ll check the numbers with you in an hour. Over.”
“Good deal, Frank. You and Jillian and Dave take care. Over and out.”
Though not strictly necessary, all three men (ex-military) followed the radio procedures they’d learned in the Navy (Frank) and Army (Dave and Bruce).
Jillian walked over behind Frank and put her hands on her dad’s shoulders. “How long will we have to stay here, Dad?”
“At least a couple weeks, depending on the highest reading for the fallout,” Frank answered, as he put a hand on one of hers. “We’ll be safe down here, no matter how long it lasts.”
“Why did so many people not make it home, Dad?”
Frank paused for a second, as Dave came in from the shelter entrance.
“I don’t know, hon. I thought more would have made it back. Nice weather, holidays coming up, people were probably out shopping or up in the mountains. Hopefully, some of them found shelter elsewhere.”
“Hello, Jillian,” Dave said tentatively, not wanting to intrude. “How’re you feeling?”
“I’m fine, Mr. Powers,” she said with an attempt at a smile. “Well, better, anyways. Thanks to you and Dad.”
“Wish we’d been a little earlier, but I imagine your dad told you that already. I’m so sorry about your mom, hon.”
“Thanks, Mr. Powers. At least she didn’t suffer.”
Dave didn’t know how to answer that, so he smiled and walked over to the radio desk. “What’s the reading looking like? Bruce ok?”
“Getting higher and yes,” Frank responded. “He had a reading of 5 when he called over. We’re up to 10 already.”’
Dave nodded. “It’ll go higher, pretty quick. We’ll switch off on radio & meter duty tonight.”
A growling stomach interrupted the quiet.
“Sorry about that,” Frank said with a sheepish look on his face. “I guess it is about time for some dinner. Anybody hungry?
Jillian shook her head no. Dave said, “Neither am I but we ought to have something.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Frank agreed. “Soup and sandwich ok?” Dave and Jillian agreed.
An hour later, the three sat at the breakfast bar, empty bowls and plates in front of them.
“I’m either a much better cook than I thought, or you were exceptionally hungry,” Frank remarked as he stood and started collecting dirty dishes.
“Hard to screw up soup and sandwich, Frank, though I’ll give you credit – you tried your level best,” Dave said with a straight face. The three of them broke into laughter, which, coming from Jillian, surprised both the men.
“So what now, Dad?” Jillian asked, followed by a big yawn. “Sorry about that.”
“Not much to do now except wait, hon. You can go to bed if you want, or stay out here with Dave and I.”
Another yawn escaped Jillian’s mouth. “I think I’m going to lay down, Dad.” She gave her dad a hug. “Good night, Dad, Mr. Powers.”
The men said good night and Jillian went into her bedroom. Dave stretched and leaned against the kitchen counter while Frank washed up the dishes.
Glancing toward the bedroom area to make sure the door was closed, Dave remarked in a low voice to Frank, “Strong girl. Think she’ll be okay.”
Frank paused, staring at the dishwater. “I hope so, Dave. We talked a little about what happened. She all but said he raped her. And then,” Frank said, looking Dave straight in the face, “she apologized to me, man. Said if she and Nancy had come up to North Fork with me...” He couldn’t finish the sentence.
Dave thought for a moment, then said, “It’s nobody’s fault, Frank. It just happened. No rhyme or reason.” He paused. “Nobody could have predicted this. Not you or me or Nancy or Jillian. Nobody.”
Frank finished the dishes. He and Dave walked over to the radio desk. “I’m going to take the first watch, Dave. Why don’t you stretch out on one of the couches and get some rest? I’ll wake you up about 10, or sooner if anything happens.”
“Sounds like a plan, my friend,” Dave responded as he stretched out on a couch nearby. “Got Tom’s spreadsheet ready?”
“All set up on the computer. I’m using the newer one, that Jerry D. Young did some modifications to a few years back.”
Dave’s only response was a snore.
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Post by 9idrr on Jul 5, 2016 21:10:09 GMT -6
Okay, I'll just nitpick a little bit. Havin' spent a little time in a commo room, "over" is what one says when expecting a response and at the end of a transmission one just says "out", unless things have changed in the last forty-some years. Jeeze, I suppose I might be givin' away my age, huh? The rest of the chapter seems to be good.
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Post by brucearmstrong65 on Jul 5, 2016 21:43:33 GMT -6
Okay, I'll just nitpick a little bit. Havin' spent a little time in a commo room, "over" is what one says when expecting a response and at the end of a transmission one just says "out", unless things have changed in the last forty-some years. Jeeze, I suppose I might be givin' away my age, huh? The rest of the chapter seems to be good. Not a nitpick at all - over & out was a mistake - which I should have remembered from working the radio in our battalion command post in West Germany (4/3 Field Artillery, 2nd Armored Division (Forward), Garlstedt, FRG, 88-89). thanks!
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Post by kaijafon on Jul 6, 2016 9:49:31 GMT -6
a hearty THANKS! and one bit of a typo?
“At least a couple weeks, depending on the highest reading for the fallout,” Frank answered, as he put a hand on one of hers. “We’ll be safe down here, no matter how long it lasts.”
“Why did so many people make it home, Dad?”
did you mean "Why did so many people NOT make it home, Dad?"
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Post by brucearmstrong65 on Jul 6, 2016 11:33:53 GMT -6
a hearty THANKS! and one bit of a typo? “At least a couple weeks, depending on the highest reading for the fallout,” Frank answered, as he put a hand on one of hers. “We’ll be safe down here, no matter how long it lasts.” “Why did so many people make it home, Dad?” did you mean "Why did so many people NOT make it home, Dad?" Thanks, k - I run spell- and grammar-check in Libre Office, but it misses a lot. (As do I!). Thanks again
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Post by brucearmstrong65 on Jul 6, 2016 11:48:12 GMT -6
A Difference of Opinion – Chapter 9
Saturday, December 2nd – just before midnight
“Frank.”
“Frank.”
“C’mon, Frankie.”
Frank's eyes flew open at the mention of his disliked nickname and he found himself looking into his wife’s face.
“Nancy!?! What are … I thought… You’re alive?!?”
“Oh, don’t be silly, Frank. I’m still in the Mercedes at Riverpark.”
“But you’re here right now, I’m talking to you!”
“Frank, I just wanted to thank you and Dave for rescuing Jillian.” “What about you?”
“Well, I’m watching the SOB that raped her suffer. Quite the poetic justice that, Frank. To be honest, I didn’t think you had it in you.”
“Nancy, I don’t understand!”
“Ssssh, don’t worry, hon. I’ll be around when you need me. Now go wake up Dave. You need some more sleep.”
"Frank...Frank..."
Frank’s eyes flew open and he nearly leapt out of the desk chair he had been dozing in.
“Whoa, easy there, Frank!” Dave said, with a hand on Frank’s shoulder. “You look like you had a bad dream, man.”
Frank shook his head hard as he came to full awareness. “We’ve all had a bad dream in the last day. What time is it?”
“Midnight. I woke up because I needed to use the bathroom and saw the time. You shouldn’t have let me sleep past ten.”
Frank spluttered, “That’s what Nancy said,” and stopped. The look on Dave’s face suggested he had been shocked by a live wire.
“Frank, you remember what happened, don’t you?” Dave asked quietly.
“Yeah, I guess it was just a dream. Or wishful thinking. I swore Nancy was right there, leaning against the desk, thanking me for...”
“For rescuing Jillian? Frank, did she mention the car?” Dave’s words were almost a whisper.
“She did. I asked what she was doing here and she said… Wait a second, how did you know about what she said?”
Dave looked pale and faintly nauseous. He sat down on the chair that Frank had vacated. “Because she spoke to me, Frank. She thanked me for getting Jillian and asked me to keep an eye on you both. Said she’d be back when she was needed.”
Both men fell silent for a few minutes. Dave checked the survey meter and noted the reading. “100 R, same as you took a half hour ago. Wonder if we’re peaking?”
“Another hour’ll tell the tale, Dave,” Frank said as he wiped his eyes. “I’m going to make a head call and get some sleep, if I can.”
“Frank? How did we both dream the same dream?” Dave asked when Frank came back from the bathroom.
“Way beyond me, my friend. Maybe because we lived the same traumatic events the last 12 hours? Or...”
“Or what, Dave?”
“Maybe she’s guiding us, trying to protect Jillian from beyond.”
The two men went silent again, trying to make sense of a strange dream after a day of strange events.
Six hours later – Sunday, December 3rd
Dave noted the radiation reading for 6 AM – 150 R – and added it to the chart. The radiation level had held steady at 100 R for a couple hours and then began increasing again. It had been 150 R at 5 AM and hadn’t changed. If it stayed the same for another couple hours, they could use Tom & Jerry’s spreadsheet and figure out their time in the shelter.
Frank was out to the world on the sofa where Dave had been when he’d had the dream visit from Nancy. Dave shivered at the thought of Nancy’s visit and walked into the kitchen to start some coffee and think about breakfast.
The smell of coffee and bacon soon brought Frank into the kitchen.
“Morning, Dave,” Frank muttered as he headed for the coffee pot. “How’s the fallout looking?”
“I think we had a false peak at midnight, it started going up again at 1 AM and seems to have maxed out at 5 AM at 150 R. I haven’t worked up the spreadsheet yet.”
“Morning, Dad, Mr. Powers.” Jillian emerged in a thick bathrobe from one of the bedrooms, looking awake if not rested.
“Jillian, please start calling me Dave, all right?” Dave asked, with a laugh. “I feel old enough already.”
Jillian poured a glass of orange juice and placed the carton back in the fridge. “I’ll try, Mr. … Dave.” She sat down at the breakfast bar next to her dad and sipped her juice quietly.
“How’d you sleep, hon?” Frank asked.
“Okay, I guess. I dreamt of mom.”
At the mention of Nancy, both men went pale.
“What did you dream, J?” Dave asked as he brought over plates of bacon, eggs & toast.
“She said she was okay, and not to worry, that you two would take care of me and I needed to look after both of you.” Jillian looked first at Dave as he put the plate before her. “What’s the matter?”
Frank paused for a moment, then spoke. “Um, honey, both Dave and I dreamt of Nancy, too.”
Jillian’s eyes were wide. “What’d you dream?”
“Almost the same thing you did, hon,” Frank spoke quietly. “That she was okay, and to look after each other.”
Dave sat down with his plate. “Two of us dreaming the same thing is a coincidence. Three of us, in almost the same words, at roughly the same time...” The thought trailed off.
The three ate breakfast lost in their own thoughts. Nothing was said until Jillian stood up and picked up the dirty dishes and began rinsing and then washing them.
“Dad, have you heard anything from Mr. Jacks this morning?”
“Not yet, hon. I’ll get him on the radio at 8 AM, see how they’re doing.”
Jillian asked, “How bad is it out there, Dad?”
Frank paused for a moment. “About 150 roentgens an hour, that looks like the peak reading.”
“What’s that mean for a person outside, without any shelter?”
In for a penny, in for a pound, Frank thought, she’s got to know sometime. “If someone were outside right now, in the open, no shelter at all, they’d get a lethal dose in four or five hours. But that’ll start going down almost immediately. In two days, assuming no more bombs, the radiation level should be down to 15 R an hour. Two weeks after that, down to 1.5 R. Dave and I can go up to the ground floor for very short trips about then if we need to.”
“How long will be have to stay down here?”
“Full-time, another two weeks or so. After that, we can go outside for short periods of time, but we ought to stay down here at night for quite a while.”
Jillian didn’t say much after that. Once she finished the dishes, she went into the bathroom to wash up and get dressed.
“Lot for a girl to handle all at once,” Dave said quietly.
Frank nodded his head. “I know. She’s gone through every horror you can imagine for a teenage girl in the last 18 hours. But hiding the truth from her wouldn’t be an act of mercy. We’re going to be spending a lot of time down here the next few months. If my math is right, we won’t be near one-tenth of a REM until after April 1.”
“That’s what I got too,” Dave agreed. “Well, time to check in with Bruce.”
Dave spent the next few minutes talking with Bruce on the CB radio, trading radiation readings and calculations (they matched on both counts) and just generally getting used to voice-only communications, at least for the next two weeks.
Jillian came out of the bathroom barefoot, dressed in plain jeans and a T-shirt – a normal outfit for Jillian before she became Nancy’s Mini-Me, Frank thought, and then immediately felt bad for thinking ill of his dead wife and living daughter.
“So what’s the plan, Dad? What do we do down here for the next two weeks, at least?”
“Well, if you’re interested, I can show you some of the shelter features you might have missed before. I know your mom didn’t want you caught up in my prepper stuff,” Frank said, then immediately apologized. “I’m sorry, hon, that was uncalled for. Your mom and I had a difference of opinion on prepping, and even with her gone now, I guess I’m still a little bitter about it.”
“Mom was, well, Mom,” Jillian said quietly, and Frank nodded. “So where does this grand tour start?”
Frank and Jillian spent the next hour prowling every inch of the shelter, showing Jillian the generator, air filtration system, food storage, the radio desk, and the like. The tour finished up at Frank’s gun safe.
“How come we never went shooting, Dad?” Jillian asked.
“That was one subject your mother absolutely refused to compromise on. She wouldn't go anywhere near a gun and said, more than once, she’d leave me if I had the guns anywhere near you.” Frank paused. “I’m not trying to slam your mom, hon, that’s just the plain truth.”
“I know that, Dad. Mom – well, you’re right, she didn’t like guns and didn’t want me near them. But I’d like to learn, Dad – no, I need to learn to shoot and defend myself.”
“I think you need to learn too hon. We can’t very well shoot down here, but Dave and I can teach you everything except live firing. If you’d like, we can start going over basic gun safety and handling after lunch,” Frank suggested. “Once we’re able to be outside for longer periods of time, we can set up a makeshift range and get you some live fire time.”
“I’d like that, Dad.”
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Post by pbbrown0 on Jul 6, 2016 15:21:18 GMT -6
As Hamlet told his companion regarding strange happenings, “There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”
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Post by brucearmstrong65 on Jul 6, 2016 18:18:43 GMT -6
A Difference of Opinion – Chapter 10
Tuesday, December 19th – 8:00 AM
To the surprise of all three occupants of the Simonians’ shelter, the next two weeks passed surprisingly quickly. Dave, being the best and most frequent shooter of the three, led the firearms training. Jillian was a little bit nervous the first few days, but she was apparently a natural gun-handler and shooter. Frank thought that when they got her some live fire training, she’d likely outshoot him.
Frank and Jillian spent at least an hour a day working on the various systems in the shelter. Frank, and sometimes Dave, would do the hands-on work while Jillian watched, handed them parts and tools as needed, and eventually began to perform some of the simpler tasks. As with the guns, Nancy hadn’t thought that mechanical work was appropriate for a young lady, so Jillian had a steeper learning curve; but, as with the guns, she hadn’t developed any bad habits in doing mechanical tasks that needed to be broken.
Jillian also learned how to stand a proper radio watch, how to use the military phonetic alphabet, and the importance of communications security, or COMSEC. Even though they weren’t yet talking to anyone besides Bruce & Suzy Jacks, both Dave and Frank drove home the importance of not saying too much over an open channel about their location or their situation. Having three people capable of standing watch ensured that everyone got plenty of rest.
All three occupants of the shelter also pitched in on the everyday minutiae of shelter living – cooking, cleaning, washing and the like. In the shelter, at first, and later in the new world, there would be no such thing as woman’s work or a man’s job.
Tuesday, December 19th – the day the radiation outside should have decayed to 1.5 R per hour – couldn’t come soon enough for any of the survivors of Midway Estates. Everyone was looking forward to a few minutes outside – even if outside only meant outside their shelters.
Frank had the last radio watch the morning of the 19th and had coffee going when Dave and Jillian woke up. Frank had used his time to check and double check the extra survey meter he had, plus the dosimeters and their recharger. He had also gotten three sets of protective clothing out of storage – not full-on radiation suits, but Tyvek suits with goggles, gloves, and booties. Frank’s watchword was “Take no unnecessary risks” and he meant to enforce it. You wanted to go topside – even just into the ground floor of their house for a few minutes – you went suited up or you didn’t go. This wasn’t negotiable – not even for Dave, and certainly not for Jillian.
Dave and Jillian sat at the breakfast bar and drank coffee while watching Frank talk on the radio during his 8 AM call from Bruce Jacks. The two families had set up a check-in schedule – every four hours, starting at 8 AM and ending at 8 PM. Even days, Frank or Dave would call Bruce; odd days (numerically speaking – all these days were odd), Bruce would call them. Today being an odd day (in all sorts of ways, Frank thought), Bruce checked in with them.
Dave and Jillian had put on their protective gear and dosimeters while Frank had been on the radio with Bruce. Frank already had his hear on, except for the Tyvek hood. He too was ready to go topside.
“Bruce confirmed our readings. The remove survey meter shows just the slightest bit under 1.5 R an hour. I want to keep our cumulative exposure short, and this expensive piece of advanced technology” - he waved a wind-up kitchen timer in his gloved hand - “will keep us to that. I’m setting it for 20 minutes when we hit the top of the basement stairs. When it hits zero and rings, we drop everything and go back down. Based on our dosimeter and survey meter readings, we’ll plan our next trip up. This isn’t just a 20-minute walk in the park. Ok, let’s go.”
The trio stopped at the gun safe near the shelter entrance. Frank and Dave both took shotguns. Frank handed Jillian a gun belt with empty holster, helping her put it on, and a small air horn which just about fit in the holster. He showed her how to remove the safety cap and use the horn, and how to put the cap back on. “This is your panic button, hon. If something happens, if you fall and get hurt, or if you just get scared, sound this horn and the two of us will come running.”
“Damn right we will,” Dave confirmed, which earned him a glance bordering on adoration from Jillian.
“Okay, folks, here we go. I’ll take the lead. Dave, you okay with Tail-End Charlie?”
“Lead on, MacDuff,” echoing his words of that fateful first Saturday in December.
Frank stopped at the top of the stairs, and used the spare survey meter to check around the door before opening it. “Less than 1 R,” he called down. Dave acknowledged with a wave, and Jillian made a note on a pad of paper; Frank wanted to carefully track radiation readings around the house.
Frank unlocked the basement door and stepped out into the hallway he hadn’t seen for 16 days. He checked the meter; still under 1 R. Dave built this place even better than I already thought he had. Frank did a quick survey of the ground floor before calling to Dave and Jillian to come up. No readings above 1 R in the house, though it was right at 1 R by the front door.
As promised, Frank set the kitchen timer for 20 minutes and sat it on the side table near the front door. He then took radiation readings all over the house, having Dave open and close the emergency shutters one section at a time, with Jillian making careful notes.
“Nothing over 1.5 R, even with the security shutters open, Dave. Those things were worth their weight in gold.”
Dave smiled. “Maybe not gold, but close enough. I’m glad the extra effort paid off, though I wish more people had taken advantage of the security options, shutters and whatnot.”
“Dad,” Jillian asked, “can I go up to my room now?”
“Sure honey, I’ll walk up with you. I want to check the upstairs with the meter anyway.”
Dave sat down halfway up the steps, figuring he’d give Frank and Jillian a little privacy, and just to enjoy a few minutes of quiet time somewhere other than the shelter.
The master bedroom was across the hallway from Jillian’s bedroom, so both she and Frank headed to the right at the top of the staircase. Frank opened the bedroom door for her and did a quick check with the survey meter. “Ok, honey, it’s about 1.2 R here, so make it quick, 5 minutes tops. Grab what you need and let’s get back below.”
“Okay, Dad, I’ll meet you at the top of the stairs within 5 minutes.”
Frank took a deep breath, nervous both at being separated even by a few feet from Jillian, as well as stepping foot into the master bedroom for the first time since losing Nancy.
Everything looked the same to Frank, if a bit dusty and musty-smelling. The survey meter showed 1.2, the same as Jillian’s room.
The room was filled with shadows of Nancy. Her walk-in closet, full to the ceiling with expensive clothes and shoes and handbags. She spent SO much money on stuff, he thought, but oh, what I wouldn’t give to have her here to argue … no, have a difference of opinion with – about money right now.
Frank paused at the dressing table, looking at the various combs and brushes and bottles there. He picked up the bottle of Chanel No. 5, Nancy’s favorite perfume (and Frank’s, to be honest). He sprayed it once in the air and had just lifted up his mask for a sniff when the air horn sounded from Jillian’s room.
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