Nuclear Winter Armageddon Bobby Akart (ebook pc reader .txt) 📖

watched the man’s movements and was relieved as he pulled out two magazines filled with ammunition from his jacket. He slowly set them on the pavement next to his dead friend.

Peter rushed forward and grabbed them. Then he knelt next to the man and talked in a low voice. “I’m gonna give you some bandages, but you’re on your own. I’m not a doctor, and I’m not gonna let you or anyone else get the jump on me.”

“You gotta help me,” he pleaded.

“No, I don’t. You guys should have never raised your guns toward me.”

Peter stood and marched back to the bicycle. His first aid supplies were in the lightweight backpack slung over his shoulders. He pulled out a small bottle of spring water, a roll of gauze, and a tube of Neosporin triple antibiotic ointment. The gunshot wound was far more serious than the lacerations Peter had experienced around Driftwood Key, but the principles of wound care were the same.

“Flush the wound with this water. Pack the bullet holes with the gauze and apply the Neosporin. Then keep pressure on them until you can get some help.”

“But—” The man began to beg for Peter’s help, but it wasn’t forthcoming.

“Good luck,” Peter responded in a cold, callous way. The good-hearted member of the Albright family was becoming desensitized to gun battles and killing.

And this was just the beginning.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Wednesday, October 30

Interstate 70 near the Utah-Colorado State Line

Just like any road trip, eventually the travelers run out of things to talk about. Especially when the road they’re taking provides nothing of interest except endless rocky surroundings and the occasional stalled car. By the time Owen pulled onto Interstate 70 and crossed over into Colorado, the weather had cleared somewhat although the wind continued to gust, forcing the top-heavy Bronco into an occasional unintentional swerve.

For the first part of the day, the McDowells talked about how gracious the bishop and his wife had been. They’d allowed the trio to eat the remaining stew Anna had made in the Crock-Pot using the church’s solar panels for energy.

Bishop Gates had explained the difficulty he’d had keeping the solar batteries at full charge. He’d had the presence of mind to purchase backup solar charge controllers when he installed his array. Along with other electronics he used frequently, Bishop Gates stored extra parts in galvanized trash cans to protect them from solar flares or nuclear-generated EMPs. For a brief time, his array had been disabled until he’d swapped out the damaged parts.

A problem he hadn’t anticipated was the haze resulting from nuclear winter that had covered North America. It prevented the sun from doing its job. They’d learned to be more judicious with their energy usage by cooking a little at a time throughout the day to allow the batteries the opportunity to recharge.

Owen’s concerns about traveling on the interstate were valid, but the two hundred miles through the mostly uninhabited stretch of mountains toward Grand Junction produced nothing in the way of human encounters. Live ones, anyway.

There were several decomposing bodies seen off the side of the road. The wind had pushed away the previous day’s snow accumulation, exposing the corpses. At first, the family was sickened by the bodies. Then they began to accept what had happened as part of the world they were in. If anything, seeing the dead strengthened their resolve to survive by whatever means necessary.

Suddenly, the rocky, gray earth that had been the norm in Utah gave way to a variety of shrubs and brush. A sign on the side of the road made of stone pillars and carved wood read Welcome to Colorful Colorado. It marked the state line between Utah and Colorado and was intended to point out how the barren surroundings began to show signs of life with plant material.

Tucker, however, pointed out the obvious contradiction between the sign’s intended meaning and reality. “Everything is dying.”

The sagebrush, juniper, and kinnikinnick that were native to the Colorado mountains were drooping and turning brown. There was sufficient snow on the ground to provide the plants moisture. The problem was the lack of sunlight. Even the prairie grasses were laid over on their sides, dying from their inability to trap light energy as part of the photosynthesis process.

“This is what Peter warned me about on the phone that day,” began Lacey. “Dad told me the same thing. I guess he befriended a woman who was the secretary of agriculture.”

“Wait. When did that happen?” asked Owen.

“Oh, I forgot to mention her to you. It was when the whole false-alarm thing happened. Anyway, the fires creating all of this soot are going to kill plants and crops soon.”

“It’s already happening,” pointed out Tucker.

Owen turned on the windshield wipers as the snow began to fall again. The small flakes didn’t warrant the wipers, but the ashy substance mixed in immediately smeared the windshield with black streaks.

They were approaching Grand Junction, and Lacey once again focused on her map duties while the guys got out and filled the Bronco’s gas tank. With this fill-up, they’d be down to three of the six-gallon gas cans, enough to take them another four hundred miles.

“I found us a way around Grand Junction. We’ve had pretty good luck so far, but this is the biggest city we’ve come to. You know what they say, luck always seems to run out for the guy who depends on it.”

“How far out of the way does the other route take us?” asked Owen as he settled into his seat and buckled the seatbelt around his waist. Tucker finished securing the empty fuel cans and settled into the back seat.

Lacey laughed. “On paper, it should be a shortcut. But the road obviously winds its way along the top of a ridge. There’ll be plenty of bends in the road, but it’s probably deserted.”

Owen turned over the motor of the ’67 Bronco and smiled as it fired up. He’d never intended it to be used on long road trips, and he