He’d formulated a plan as he’d lain awake earlier. Shelter. Water. Food. Security. He would start in the camping gear and go from there.
He smiled to himself as he made a beeline for the large backpacks and sleeping bags. The athletic shoes and casual apparel had been picked over. Some were looking through the archery equipment. Peter focused on the things that would keep him alive.
He selected a hunting backpack that had several different sized pockets and attachments for bows or rifles. It was also lightweight at only a few pounds, unlike the framed backpacks most campers used.
Peter resisted the urge to grab everything he thought he might need to cram into his backpack. He was prepared to walk thirteen hundred miles to Driftwood Key if that was what it took. A heavy pack would make that all the more difficult.
He gambled on being able to find shelter along the way even though it might mean he’d have to cut his day short if the weather was bad or his stamina gave out. He did choose a ten-degree mummy-style sleeping bag that could be rolled up and attached to the bottom of the backpack. This style sleeping bag would alleviate the need for a tent and would keep him warm in the event colder weather set in as he made the trip south.
He also picked up a tarp and some 550 paracord. In the camping section, he added a couple of different knives, a Gerber multi-tool, and several tactical flashlights with batteries. He was pleasantly surprised when he tried one and found that it worked despite the EMP.
Finally, he turned his attention to nourishment. Dick’s sold LifeStraws, a water filter designed to eliminate contaminants from most any source. The LifeStraw removed cells and germs as well as potentially harmful chemicals.
With his backpack full of camping and survival essentials, he went to the camouflage clothing section and changed out of his jeans and tee shirt. He had to think of living outside, in the elements, under all conditions. He recalled the homeless people of Washington he’d encountered for inspiration.
Despite the time of year, the homeless of America wore everything they owned. Countless layers of undergarments, pants, shirts, and jackets would ordinarily be too hot for most in the summer. When you don’t have a closet, your body served that function.
Peter picked out several packages of boxers and white tee shirts. He chose socks that were appropriate for his running shoes as well as boot socks if needed. He layered himself in matching camo. Khaki material for pants as well as a bulkier outer shell in the event of cold rain or snow. His shirts ranged from short-sleeve tees to long-sleeved heavy cotton. Finally, he added a jacket with a zip-out fleece liner if it became too hot. In Peter’s mind, he could always peel off layers and carry them. If he was underdressed, cold, damp nights would take their toll.
After filling his arms with gear and having a firm plan on deciding what to take and what to abandon later, he made his way back to his hiding place in the storeroom. He laid everything out and considered what items he wished he had. Then he thought about the unthinkable.
What if he’d been exposed to the radiation already? What could he do to stave off the harmful effects of the radioactive poison that would destroy him from within?
He was gonna have to go back into the mall. But first, he needed more sleep.
Chapter Eight
Friday, October 25
Mount Weather Operations Center
Northern Virginia
Deep underground and protected from the carnage above, President Helton was exhausted as the day came to an end. He stood stoically at the head of the conference table, dark circles around his eyes and his hair mussed. His advisors from the Department of Homeland Security and his national security team had gathered in the conference room to provide him a more up-to-date assessment of the nuclear exchange. As the military leaders and intelligence personnel gave their reports, he soaked it in. With each new assessment, the news became grimmer. He wasn’t sure if he could take any more.
The secretary of the Department of Homeland Security tried to respond to the president’s repeated requests regarding the death toll. In an attempt to provide the president accurate information, he made matters worse.
“Sir, admittedly, it’s impossible to have an accurate death toll. That may take many months if we’re able to do it at all. Frankly, part of the problem may have been the ballistic missile warning apps and the overall system employed by governments at all levels.”
“What do you mean by that?” asked the president as he furrowed his brow.
“Well, Mr. President, after the first false alarm initiated by Sacramento that was also sounded in Oregon and Washington, many residents failed to heed the warning when a real threat was inbound. By the time they tried to react like their neighbors and coworkers, it was too late.”
“Their hesitation may have resulted in their deaths,” added the chief of staff.
The president shook his head in disbelief and buried his face in the palms of his hands. The stress was taking a toll on him, and many in the room privately had chatted outside of earshot about his ability to perform.
President Helton turned to the team from Homeland Security. “What are we doing to help people?”
“Sir, at this time, nothing,” responded the FEMA administrator.
This response nearly brought the president out of his chair. “What?”
“Well, sir, there are multiple reasons for this. Our vehicular assets in the affected regions were disabled by the EMP. However, even if they were not, the superfires surrounding these cities are covering vast areas of the surrounding terrain, much worse than our simulations ever imagined.”
“And at a
