The Survivalist (Solemn Duty) Read online

  Books by Dr. Arthur T. Bradley

  Handbook to Practical Disaster Preparedness for the Family

  The Prepper's Instruction Manual

  Disaster Preparedness for EMP Attacks and Solar Storms

  Process of Elimination: A Thriller

  The Survivalist #1 (Frontier Justice)

  The Survivalist #2 (Anarchy Rising)

  The Survivalist #3 (Judgment Day)

  The Survivalist #4 (Madness Rules)

  The Survivalist #5 (Battle Lines)

  The Survivalist #6 (Finest Hour)

  The Survivalist #7 (Last Stand)

  The Survivalist #8 (Dark Days)

  The Survivalist #9 (Freedom Lost)

  The Survivalist #10 (National Treasure)

  The Survivalist #11 (Solemn Duty)

  The Survivalist #12 (Road Home)

  Available in print, ebook, and audiobook at all major resellers or at: http://disasterpreparer.com

  The Survivalist

  (Solemn Duty)

  Author: Arthur T. Bradley, Ph.D.

  Email: [email protected]

  Website: http://disasterpreparer.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission from the author.

  Illustrations used throughout the book are privately owned and copyright protected. Special thanks are extended to Marites Bautista for print layout, Park Myers and Vanessa McCutcheon for proofreading, Nikola Nevenov for cover design, and Olga Dabrowska, Katerina MR, and Fariza Nurtsani for illustrations.

  © Copyright 2018 by Arthur T. Bradley

  ISBN 10: 1722119527

  ISBN 13: 978-1722119522

  Printed in the United States of America

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events is purely coincidental.

  “All the great things are simple, and many can be expressed in a single word: freedom, justice, honor, duty, mercy, hope.”

  Winston Churchill

  1874–1965

  Foreword

  The United States and Soviet Union have both developed nuclear weapons small enough to be carried in backpacks or fired from man-portable launchers. The lightest of these, the W54, measures approximately eleven by sixteen inches, weighs fifty-one pounds, and has a yield ranging from 10 to 1,000 tons of TNT equivalent. Originally used as a short-range rocket, the W54 was later adapted to be a man-portable Special Atomic Demolition Munition, or SADM. Special US Army Green Light Teams have reportedly been trained in using such weaponry to destroy and irradiate key targets and routes, including power plants, bridges, and dams.

  Firing small nuclear projectiles is accomplished using recoilless guns, such as the Davy Crockett Weapon System. Developed in the late 1950s, the Davy Crocket was designed specifically for use against the Soviets and North Koreans. The system fired miniature nuclear warheads, such as the M-388, whose only controllable feature was a burst-height dial on the projectile. The M-388 could be fired from either the 4.7-inch M28 launcher, with a range of 1.25 miles, or from the heavier 6.1-inch M29 launcher, with a range of 2.5 miles. With a yield of 10-20 tons of TNT equivalent, they were only capable of destroying a few city blocks. However, both systems were notoriously inaccurate, and their greatest threat was considered to be the deadly radiation that they released.

  Stanislav Lunev, a high-ranking defector from Russia’s Main Intelligence Directive (the GRU), claimed that not only do suitcase-sized nuclear weapons exist, but that they have been secretly deployed on US soil to assassinate government leaders in the event of a war. He also claimed that devices had proven remarkably easy to smuggle into the US via the Mexican border, as well as by small transport pods launched from Russian airplanes. Corroborating his story, former Russian National Security Adviser Aleksandr Lebed claimed that the Russian military had not only deployed such weapons but had lost track of more than one hundred nuclear bombs designed specifically to look like common suitcases. If true, it seems only a matter of time before a portable nuclear weapon is detonated in a heavily populated area, either by a rogue nation, terrorist organization, or simply because of an accidental discharge. Such an attack would kill countless numbers of Americans, as well as instill widespread panic and illness due to the long-term radiological effects.

  Chapter 1

  The black 1977 Trans Am rumbled and shook as its powerful 400-cubic-inch V8 gulped down the last few ounces of gasoline. Deputy Marshal Mason Raines sat in the passenger seat, his M4 leaning against the door. Bowie rode directly behind him, the wolfhound’s enormous head craning out the open T-top to let the wind whip against his soft fur. Brooke perched behind the steering wheel, her knuckles white as she repeatedly glanced back and forth between the rearview mirror and the fuel gauge now pegged against the “E.”

  “We’re going to be walking soon,” she said, nearly shouting to be heard over the roar of the engine.

  They had been barreling south along Highway 10 for the past several minutes in an effort to escape their infected pursuers. From the quick glimpse they had been afforded, it appeared that only a small subset of the larger army had decided to give chase. Whether the remaining force would ultimately join in the hunt likely depended on whether burning The Farm to the ground had quenched their fearsome leader’s thirst for vengeance.

  Mason guessed that it hadn’t. Locke and his butchers had done the unthinkable, and the unthinkable was awfully hard to make right. No doubt they had discovered that he had escaped and were now hell-bent on tracking him to the ends of the earth to exact their retribution. Little did they know that Locke was already dead, thanks to an unlucky ricochet. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the kind of development that Mason could easily convey to the army of bloodthirsty mutants. A simple sign that read, “Cannibal leader now dead; feel free to return home,” seemed woefully ineffective.

  Even if the larger force decided not to move south, those manning the two dozen vehicles already in pursuit would be more than enough to deal with a lone marshal and his oversized dog. Their only chance was to either evade or escape, both of which were significantly hampered by the fact that their getaway car was running dangerously low on fuel.

  Mason pulled himself up and stood on the passenger seat to get a better view of his surroundings. The wind buffeted against him, and he had to squint to keep from being lashed by his own hair. As far as the eye could see, there was nothing but farmland, trees, and the occasional abandoned house. There were no signs to offer direction, but having passed through Chuckatuck a few miles back, he knew that Suffolk lay directly ahead.

  Suffolk.

  The word caused his gut to clench. What had once been a quiet Virginia town was now, by all accounts, a haven for anarchists and criminals. While he had never enjoyed the dubious pleasure of actually visiting, anything nicknamed “The Badlands” wasn’t at the top of his list of places to vacation, certainly not with a beautiful woman in tow.

  His eyes cut over to Brooke. If life could get any more complicated, he didn’t see how. With her curly short brown hair, slender tight body, and a face as lovely as that of Audrey Hepburn, Brooke was as enticing as any woman he had ever known. Enticing, yes, but also duplicitous. She had betrayed him, even setting him up to be killed. Yet, here he was serving as her protector. Life, it appeared, was destined to have more turns than the Burr Trail, not to mention be equally as muddy.

  The Trans Am stuttered, and then the world suddenly became two octaves quieter as its engine stalled out.

  “What now?”
Brooke said, looking up at him.

  He pointed to a driveway up ahead.

  “See if you can get us off the road.”

  Brooke wrestled the wheel, steering the big car into a narrow driveway shrouded by thick evergreens. She let the car roll another thirty yards before it finally came to a stop in front an old single-story cedar home. There were no vehicles in sight, and the siding lay smeared with long streaks of green mold, thanks to the canopy of trees overhead.

  Bowie propped his feet on the back of Mason’s seat, eyes filled with excitement.

  “Go on, boy. This is the end of the line.”

  The big wolfhound bounded from the car, running first one way and then the other, as if uncertain which direction might offer the most fun.

  Brooke climbed out of the Trans Am and studied the house. The curtains were pulled tight, and like most residences these days, there was a feeling of untended emptiness to it. A faded red and white swing set peeked around from the backyard, suggesting that the home had once enjoyed the laughter of young children.

  “I like it.” She pointed to a small bed of wildflowers. “Look, it even has a flower garden.”

  Mason swung his legs over the door and hopped down on the other side of the car, one hand clutching the pistol grip of his M4.

  “We’re not here to play house.”

  Brooke retrieved her father’s Colt Python from where it lay on the dash and pressed it down into her waistband

  “No, I suppose not.” She glanced back toward the highway. “Any chance we lost them?”

  “I suspect they’ll be along soon enough.” Mason started up the narrow walkway, now overgrown with weeds and grass. “But that doesn’t necessarily mean they’ll find us.”

  “Why do you say that?” she said, hurrying around the car to catch up to him.

  “Lots of rocks to look underneath.” He gave the front door of the home a good rap with his knuckles.

  No one answered, and there were no sounds of anyone shuffling about inside.

  “What’s that mean? Lots of rocks.”

  “Think about it. There’s a whole world out here to search. That makes it awfully hard to find two people who don’t want to be found.”

  “I guess.” Brooke leaned past him and tried the doorknob.

  Locked.

  “Come on,” he said, turning and heading toward the attached two-car garage. “Let’s see if they might have left behind a set of wheels that still runs.”

  “I’d settle for a few gallons of gas.”

  He nodded. “Or that.”

  As they approached the garage, they saw that it had several small windows on the doors. Shielding their eyes from the sun overhead, they peered inside.

  Empty. No cars. No gas. Not so much as a pegboard lined with rusty tools.

  “Bummer,” she said.

  Mason leaned down and tried the handle on the garage. To his surprise, it turned, and he slid the door up. Instead of going inside, he wheeled about and started back toward the Trans Am.

  “Help me get the car out of sight.”

  With Brooke working the wheel and Mason pushing from the rear, they carefully guided the Trans Am into the garage. Bowie hurried in a moment before Mason pulled the sliding door closed behind them.

  “Well, that’s something,” he said with a satisfied nod.

  Brooke turned to face a small wooden staircase leading up into the home.

  “Shall we?”

  With his M4 leading the way, Mason ascended the stairs and opened the door. Bowie pushed past him and disappeared into the home, sounding off with a short woof, woof, as if to announce their arrival.

  There were no shouts of concern, not so much as a giggle or squeal.

  Mason leaned his head in and saw living room furniture to the right, empty kitchen counters to the left. The house not only looked abandoned, it held the musky odor of a space that had been closed up for too long.

  “Anyone here!” he called.

  No answer.

  He entered and turned right, Brooke pressing against his back. They passed through a short entryway with a built-in desk before arriving in the living room. The matching leather couch and loveseat both looked new, free from any signs of wear. A flat-screen television hung opposite the couch, and a stone fireplace filled the wall beside it. To one side of the fireplace sat a stand of cast iron fire pokers, and to the other, a small stack of cut wood.

  Brooke and Bowie both seemed drawn to the fireplace.

  “I bet we could get a fire going,” she said, squatting down and placing a billet of wood inside. She looked up at Mason and smiled. “What do you say? It might make things a little cozier.”

  In any other circumstance, an invitation like that from a woman as beautiful as Brooke would surely have had him hunting the house for a bearskin rug, or at the very least a blow-up mattress. The comfort of a warm fire and an even warmer woman was not something Mason took for granted. In this case, however, he did neither.

  Instead, Mason said, “Better not. The smoke might draw attention to the house.”

  She straightened up and dusted off her hands.

  “Party pooper.”

  “Stay put while Bowie and I give the place a good once-over.”

  Mason turned and started down the hallway leading to two bedrooms and a bathroom. Bowie quickly abandoned his study of the fireplace and followed after him. It took only a minute for them to confirm that the house was indeed empty, and based on the thick layer of chalk-like dust covering the windowsills and baseboards, it had been that way for many months.

  When Mason returned to the living room, he found Brooke peering out through a small part in the curtains.

  “Anyone out there?”

  “Nope. All quiet.”

  He moved up behind her to look for himself.

  She was right. The driveway was clear, and there wasn’t any traffic passing by in either direction. The infected were having to move slowly so as not to lose their prize.

  “The way I see it, we basically have two choices. We can either hunker down here with the hopes that they won’t find us, or we can try to put a little more distance between us and them. Neither is without risk.”

  Brooke turned and inched a little closer. He could feel the heat of her body, which he suspected was exactly what she had intended.

  “I’ll do whatever you want,” she said softly.

  There was something about the way she said the words that suggested there were more than just two options on the table, options a good bit more pleasing than hiding or going on the run.

  “Give it a rest, Brooke.”

  Her eyes tightened, and she seemed ready to tell him just how little she appreciated getting the cold shoulder.

  Instead, she took a calming breath and said, “I want to ask you for something.”

  He answered with an incredulous chuckle. “What, like a favor?”

  “If you want to call it that.”

  After what she had done, it seemed preposterous that Brooke would feel empowered to ask anything of him. Then again, it was Brooke.

  “Fine,” he said with a sigh. “Ask.”

  “You still care about me, right?”

  “Brooke—”

  “Just answer the question.”

  As he looked into her sparkling green eyes, there was no way to deny it.

  “You know I do.” He started to say more, but she held her fingers to his mouth.

  “Then I’d like to ask that you try to enjoy the time we have together.” She took her hand away and glanced toward the window. “Lord knows, it might not be very long.”

  Her words stung, and Mason had to bite his lip to stop from reminding her that she was the one who had broken his heart. How the hell did this get turned around?

  Women.

  He took a moment to reflect back on the months they had shared together. Despite her deceit and treachery, those memories remained vivid and meaningful. Mason had always believed that memories were al
l a person really had to mark the passing of their life, and he didn’t want to cast a shadow over those that he and Brooke had shared.

  “All right,” he said softly.

  “All right, what?”

  “All right, I’ll be nice to you.”

  Her lips turned up. “Really?”

  “But that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten what you did.”

  She leaned forward, her face resting against his chest.

  “Thank you.”

  Mason slowly stepped away. “None of it changes the fact that we need to decide whether to stay or go.”

  “You’re a man who’s lived through more dangers than anyone I know.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning that you should trust your gut.”

  He thought for a moment. “It’s like I said earlier. I think there’s little chance that they’ll find us here. Not quickly, anyway. There’s also a perfectly serviceable car in the garage. Lately, those have been harder and harder to come by, and without wheels, getting back to the New Colony is going to be darn near impossible.”

  “Then it’s decided. We stay.”

  “The problem is that we have very little food or water, and no gasoline for the car. We won’t make it long without having to go out and forage for supplies.”

  “Okay, so we go and get what we need and then come back here to hide out.”

  “Taking a woman who looks like you into an area reportedly filled with bad men isn’t going to end well for either of us.”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “Looks like me?”

  “You know what I’m saying.”

  She grinned. “Maybe I just want to hear you say it.”

  He gently moved a strand of soft brown hair out of her face.