He tried to avoid coming into contact with the frantic looters who searched for the most high-end retail stores to improve their lot in life. Peter pushed toward the back side of the mall where Dick’s Sporting Goods was located. It was far away from the two-story, all-glass main entrance that was being used by the majority of people coming and going.
As he fumbled through the mall in the pitch darkness, his mind wandered to his family. He tried to be logical as he considered the top nuclear targets in the U.S. He was comfortable his father and uncle were safe from the effects of a nuclear blast. It was possible Miami had been attacked because of its population, but doubtful. He couldn’t think of any strategic military interest in the Miami-Dade area that would rank above the more high-value options on the West Coast.
He took a deep breath as he thought of Lacey, Owen, and Tucker. Had they heeded his warnings? Did they leave as he’d subtly suggested? Should he have been more forceful in his warnings? Peter had to believe his sister and her family were safe. There was nothing he could do about saving them.
Suddenly, chaos broke out outside Champs, a sports retail store specializing in footwear and apparel. People were rushing down the escalators, holding six or eight boxes of sneakers. One lost his balance and fell forward, losing his loot and knocking down several of his compatriots in the process.
Peter shook his head in disbelief, but the overall scene reminded him of a simple fact. Other than his sling backpack, which contained his handguns and ammunition, he had nothing but the sopping wet clothing he was wearing. He would also have to become a looter. Not just to wear dry clothes, but to survive.
For it was in that instant that reality hit him. He mumbled to himself, “Exactly what, pray tell, Mr. Peter Albright, do you plan on doing now?”
He reached the entrance to Dick’s, where a logjam occurred as people tried to slide under the storefront’s grilled gate that had been forced open. A concrete planter had been overturned and jammed underneath to prevent it from closing.
Peter secured his sling pack and decided to join in the fray. He crawled underneath the gate and made his way into the dark, two-story sporting goods store. To his left, voices shouted to one another. From prior visits, he remembered footwear and workout clothing were located there. He’d come back to it when and if the fight over sneakers subsided.
He briskly walked into the center of the store, where a mountain-like display with a pond had been constructed. The water had stopped flowing due to the power outage and had filled the catch basin to capacity. Peter immediately wondered if it was drinkable.
He made his way to the far end of the store where guns and ammunition were once sold. The hunting rifles had been replaced with archery equipment and an indoor archery range. In the dark, he could make out the crossbows. He shook his head as he considered whether he should add one to his personal arsenal. Only guys named Daryl can shoot one of these, he thought to himself. And all he could kill was something that was already dead and stinkin’.
Nonetheless, he ran behind the counter where the crossbows were sold. He fumbled in the dark until he found the handle of a hard plastic case and grabbed it.
With his crossbow in hand, Peter made his way past the hunting and fishing equipment until he found camping gear. He hesitated as he approached the darkest part of the store. Suddenly, two young men rushed past him, inadvertently striking him in the back until he spun around and crashed to the tile floor. He lost control of the crossbow case, which could be heard sliding down the floor until it struck something with a whack. Abandoning any thought of retrieving it, he sat there for a moment to catch his breath.
The impact had knocked the wind out of him, and it reminded him of the damage his body had endured during the blast wave. It also gave him an opportunity to get his priorities straight. The looters weren’t shopping in the departments Peter had identified as the most important—survival gear. They were after clothing and shoes. He needed to find a windowless part of the mall to shelter in place for a couple of days until the radioactive fallout dissipated.
As morning came, the daylight would illuminate enough of the mall stores for him to procure what he needed to survive another day.
Chapter Three
Friday, October 25
Placer High School
Auburn, California
In the basement of Placer High School’s gymnasium, after winding down three flights of concrete steps, a single ominous door made of steel was embedded in the filled-concrete wall. Once painted a forest green color, time had peeled away the paint and revealed its true battleship-gray exterior. On the wall, there were several screw holes where the yellow-and-black nuclear fallout shelter sign had once been posted. Now it was either hanging in a mischievous student’s bedroom or had been passed from one person to another via eBay.
Behind the door, chaos reigned.
The bunker had been a symbol of the Cold War era dating back to the sixties, but eventually diminished in importance during the Reagan administration. The Auburn Union School District quickly found more important things to spend their budgets on, and the fallout shelter was mostly neglected.
The last time its electrical wiring, backup batteries, or supply rooms had been maintained was eleven years ago. What was once meant to be the Auburn community’s Noah’s Ark against the deadly effects of radiation was now an empty concrete shell that was more coffin than shelter.
The dark, dingy, and run-down basement had been crammed full of safety-seekers. Originally, it was designed to serve about one hundred people for two
