The Survivalist (Dark Days)

By Arthur T. Bradley

Dark Days is the eighth book in a series described as "a cross between Justified and The Walking Dead." Still reeling from the death of President Glass, Deputy Marshal Mason Raines finds himself working for the New Colony. Using his unique skills as both lawman and soldier, he leads an elite team tasked with retrieving critical supplies for mankind's last survivors. While delivering goods to an independent food supplier, known only as "The Farm," Mason uncovers a secret that goes against all that it means to be human. Refusing to join their ranks, he soon finds himself the target of a man willing to do anything to keep that secret from being revealed.

Hundreds of miles away, Tanner and Samantha investigate a cryptic call from the Watts Bar Nuclear Facility. There they discover a menace so great that it threatens to leave the surrounding area forever uninhabitable. When Tanner is captured by a militia group, Samantha is faced with not only surviving on her own, but also finding a way to secure his escape.

With Tanner and Samantha away, Issa secretly departs for Mount Weather to share the exciting news of her pregnancy. Armed with an elephant rifle and her two trusty blades, she discovers a band of men trafficking in those who have been afflicted with the virus. It is then that Issa must decide where her loyalties lie, as well as how much risk she and her unborn child can endure.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Arthur T. Bradley
• Release date: Jul 9, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311936424

Arthur T. Bradley

Dr. Bradley's books includes his Handbook to Practical Disaster Preparedness for the Family, Disaster Preparedness for EMP Attacks and Solar Storms, Prepper’s Instruction Manual, Process of Elimination: A Thriller, the bestselling Survivalist Series, and his brand new series, beginning with "The Watchman."Dr. Bradley is an Army veteran and father of four. He holds a doctorate in engineering from Auburn University and currently works for NASA Langley Research Center in Hampton, Virginia. Having lived all across the United States, he writes from personal experience about preparing for a wide variety of disasters, including earthquakes, tornadoes, hurricanes, floods, house fires, snowstorms, electromagnetic pulse attacks, and solar storms. His books have been featured in the New York Times, Toronto Sun, Money, Popular Mechanics, Costco Connection, and numerous blogs and radio shows.

Book preview

Foreword

The United States currently has one hundred operational nuclear power reactors, each faithfully providing clean energy to homes and businesses all across the country. While many hold up nuclear energy as the holy grail of electrical power generation, catastrophes such as those at Three-Mile Island, Chernobyl, and most recently, Fukushima’s Daiichi Nuclear Power Plant beg the question as to whether the risks are truly worth the rewards.

Unlike conventional coal-burning plants, nuclear power facilities are not fail-safe. Instead, they require careful, continued servicing for years to prevent the release of dangerous radioactive contaminants. The Nuclear Regulatory Commission ensures that numerous safeguards are in place to prevent such releases, but those safeguards assume that a mechanism for cooling the nuclear materials remains available—typically through the use of large pumps to circulate water around the fuel rods in the reactor and spent rods pools.

Those cooling pumps require electricity, either from the grid, batteries, or onsite diesel generators. But what would happen if that electricity became unavailable? The simple answer is that, within hours, the surrounding water would boil off, uncovering the nuclear fuel rods. If the rods had not yet cooled to an acceptable level, their claddings could melt or oxidize, leading to fires, explosions, and the release of radioactive steam and particulates into the atmosphere. Now imagine hundreds of nuclear power plants all over the world experiencing problems at the same time.

It’s easy to discount such a scenario as simple fear mongering. After all, it would require the sustained loss of electricity and a failure of the onsite diesel generators (likely due to fuel becoming unavailable). How likely are both of these to occur? If history is our teacher, the answer is not very. Consider also that a nuclear meltdown is a global concern. Governments around the world would quickly render aid to maintain nuclear power plants if the host country were unable.

For that reason, nuclear Armageddon would likely require an unprecedented global event, such as a pandemic, asteroid strike, or supervolcano eruption—the kind of thing that would shake the foundational infrastructures of nations all over the world. Should that happen, however, the greatest threat to mankind’s survival might not be the event itself but rather the subsequent release of radioactive contamination all across the globe.

Chapter 1

Deputy Marshal Mason Raines stood completely naked, staring out the sliding glass door of his apartment as the sun slowly rose over the Chesapeake Bay. The deep blue water broke with frothy white caps, churning as restlessly as he had the night before.

He closed his eyes and let the sky’s fiery glow wash over him.

It had been six long, hard months since leaving his family’s cabin, and in that time much had happened. Not only did he now find himself living in Norfolk’s New Colony, he also had a new job.

For the past several months, Mason had been working alongside the colony’s Security Force, helping to maintain order and generally keep the small bastion of civilization alive. The position had come about through a personal invitation from General Carr, the man now responsible for the New Colony’s safety and security. The two had fought alongside one another at The Greenbrier, and that battlefield bond remained intact despite the untimely death of President Glass.

Understanding that Mason was first and foremost a lawman, Carr had initially asked that he lead missions to track down criminals and other aspiring disruptors of the peace. Necessity eventually required that his role be broadened to include the gathering of much-needed supplies.

Still feeling the pangs of guilt over his failure at The Greenbrier, Mason had readily accepted, but with two conditions. First, he would take orders only from Carr. And second, Bowie would be welcome to come along on every operation.

Both had been accepted without reservation.

Mason had been brought in as a private contractor touted to have extensive experience in law enforcement and military operations. And while he had not yet fully overcome the stigma of being an outsider, most who worked under his command quickly realized that anyone who could help keep them alive was worthy of their respect.

He reported directly to General Carr, and Carr to former vice-president Andrew Stinson, now governor of the New Colony. The death of President Pike and subsequent collapse of the federal government had left Stinson as the senior-most representative in what semblance of government remained.

While Mason found Stinson to be indecisive, the politician had to his credit, addressed this shortcoming by surrounding himself with capable people. That single decision helped the New Colony survive its first winter with only nine thousand deaths, a mere twelve percent mortality rate. While that was far better than history’s other first colonies, life had certainly not been without its hardships.

Outbreaks of cholera and dysentery had plagued the inhabitants, affecting thousands with diarrhea, vomiting, and dehydration. Food, water, heating oil, and other basic necessities had to be scrounged or stolen, making daily life a never-ending quest for survival. After a winter of limited food and even less heat, many of the colony’s survivors were left weak and malnourished, praying for warmer weather and the crops that spring promised to bring.

Had it not been for a private agribusiness known only as The Farm, the death toll would surely have been much higher. Like most successful entrepreneurs, their CEO, Oliver Locke, had identified a need and pulled together the necessary resources to fill it. With the support and backing of the New Colony, The Farm had managed to produce and deliver more than two million emergency rations throughout the fall and winter.

The rations, affectionately known as ERs because eating too many could ostensibly lead to a visit to the emergency room for gastrointestinal blockage, came vacuum-sealed in dull aluminum-colored wrappers and had the consistency of moist granola bars. The list of ingredients included wheat flour, dehydrated fruits and vegetables, shortening, sugar, meat and meat by-products, vitamins, and artificial flavors and colors. Each block measured six inches square and two inches thick, and purportedly provided everything a human body needed for a full day.

What the rations offered in nutrition, however, was offset by a distinct acrid taste. Even Bowie refused to nibble on the sticky brown blocks, convincing Mason to seek his sustenance elsewhere. Fortunately, spending many of his waking hours finding food and water for the colony meant that there was almost always something left over for him and Bowie at the end of the day.

A soft voice pulled Mason from his thoughts.

Come back to bed, love.

He took one last moment to bask in the warm sunlight before turning to face Brooke.

She lay on the bed, a silky white sheet wrapped tightly around her slender body. Soft unblemished skin, short curly brown hair, and eyes as intriguing as the Mogul Emerald caused the breath to catch in his throat. Before the pandemic, such natural beauty would surely have landed Brooke the finest things in life. As it was, she had managed to put it to work well enough to land her a position at The Farm.

Are you okay? she asked.

Mason offered a slight smile. I’m good.

At the sound of his master’s voice, Bowie raised his head. He lay curled up on a rug barely large enough to fit his one-hundred-and-forty-pound frame. When Mason didn’t say anything more, the dog slowly settled back to the floor.

Brooke slipped a hand out from beneath the covers.

Come warm me. I’m cold.

As was the case with many of the women with whom he had come to share a bed, their relationship had begun with a cry for help. In Brooke’s case, she had been confronted by a band of violent men intent on partaking of her beauty, with or without her consent. It was only pure happenstance that put Mason in their way.

To hear her tell it, he was her guardian angel, the hero who had miraculously appeared to frighten off a gang of would-be rapists. And since that rescue, they had developed a special kind of relationship. What had begun as something carnal had grown into something more. Now, more often than not, they would spend as much time talking about their regrets from the past or their hopes for the future, as they would in the throes of passion. In Mason’s case, there were a lot more regrets than there were hopes.

Despite enjoying what had become a regular weekly rendezvous, Mason laid no claim to Brooke. Between Ava’s death and Leila’s betrayal, he was reluctant to become emotionally involved with anyone, at least not until his wounds had had more time to heal.

She cleared her throat softly. I’ve never had to ask a man twice to come to bed.

Mason grinned. I’m sure you haven’t. He swaggered over and slipped under the sheets.

Brooke slid next to him, nuzzling her warm body against his. Resting her head on his chest, she said, Today’s the big day.

What day is that?

She raised her head and looked up at him. Mason was smiling.

Don’t make light of this. It’s a big opportunity, and you really need to make a good impression.

Like I did with you?

She settled back onto his chest.

You don’t need to go so far as to save Locke’s life, but you do need to show him that you’re more than a gunslinger. You’re a leader.

Is that what I am?

That’s part of what you are, don’t you think?

I suppose. It was a conversation they’d had a half-dozen times before, and he was being difficult only to keep it interesting.

And please don’t tell anyone about us. Not yet, anyway. I don’t want Locke or any of his men thinking that I recommended you because you’re my… well, you know.

Secret lover?

Exactly.

If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were married, or worse, ashamed of me.

She rose up again to look into his eyes.

Being ashamed of you is worse than my being married?

Sure it is.

And why’s that?

One can be changed. The other can’t.

She nodded thoughtfully. Well, I’m not married. And by God, I could never be ashamed of you. You’re the man of every woman’s dreams.

Says the Victoria’s Secret model.

She smiled and settled back onto his chest.

What kind of supplies will you be carrying today?

Fuel. We’re heading over to the NASA center to drain one of their tanks.

I didn’t know the center had been cleared.

It hasn’t. We’re going in assuming there are hostiles.

She opened her mouth to protest, but stopped and let out a worried sigh instead.

Just be careful. You know how dangerous it is outside the colony.

We’ll be fine. Bowie and I will have a crew with us.

Have you worked with them before?

Many times. They’re okay.

Even so, watch for signs of the Craze, she warned, using the term that colonists had adopted to describe an unexplained psychosis that was spreading throughout the colony.

They’re okay, he repeated.

She lay quietly for a moment, gently tracing his navel with the tip of her index finger.

You had another nightmare last night.

Mason said nothing as he gently stroked her hair.

Was it Ava again?

It’s always Ava.

Because she was your one true love? Brooke’s voice was laced with both sadness and jealousy. She was not used to playing second fiddle, even if it was to a dead woman.

No, he murmured. Because she was the one I couldn’t save.

She rolled on top of him, so that they were lying face to face.

You saved me. Isn’t that enough?

Feeling the warm press of her body, he wondered why it wasn’t. He leaned forward and kissed her.

You’re gorgeous. You know that, right?

Why is it that men think a compliment can be used to answer any question?

Did I mention you’re a great kisser too?

She grinned. I am that. Before he could say anything more, she sat up, straddling him. The covers fell away to reveal supple breasts and a tight stomach. You’re lucky to have me like this. You know that, right?

I do.

She leaned down and kissed him, her nipples grazing his chest.

If you asked me, I’d be yours, and yours alone. It was the first time she had said such a thing, and it surprised him. I wouldn’t expect a proposal or anything, just a promise that you’d take care of me.

He stared at her, uncertain of how to reply.

I know you’re not ready yet, she said. I can see that in your eyes. But you’re healing. I can see that too. So when you are ready, tell me.

He offered a slight nod. All right.

She let her tongue trace his ear before sucking the lobe into her warm, wet mouth.

Until then, she whispered, we have this.

Mason said nothing, his voice once again caught in his throat. Her kisses slowly made their way down his chest and stomach, and he closed his eyes, thinking that the day was off to one hell of a good start.

Chapter 2

Samantha looked up from her book in time to see Carver stick out his foot and trip young Flynn. The five-year-old stumbled and fell, scraping his hands on the stone walkway. A few of the kids standing in front of the Church of the Fallen Saints giggled, but most looked away. Carver was big for fourteen, and no one wanted to be the target of his attention. It had occurred to Samantha more than once that he was probably better suited to working the fields than attending Boone’s only school.

Flynn’s teenage sister, Annie, raced over and helped him to his feet. She glared at Carver and the two boys standing beside him.

Leave him alone!

Carver shrugged. I didn’t do nothing. Your clumsy little brother needs to watch where he’s going, that’s all.

Bully.

Carver smoothed back his long black hair.

Listen, gorgeous, it doesn’t have to be like this. I’ve been telling you ever since you got here that you and I could be friends. Real good friends, if you know what I mean. He looked over at his cohorts, and they chuckled the way teenage boys invariably do when sex is the topic of conversation.

Not in a million years.

Suit yourself. But I have a feeling that your little brother’s troubles are only just beginning.

Annie squinted at him. You leave him alone, or so help me…

So help you what? he said, straightening up.

She swallowed.

Carver grinned. That’s what I thought.

Samantha glanced down at the small rubber band on her wrist. It had been a gift from Father Paul, the letters WWJD printed conspicuously on its face. The priest had given a band to every student, hoping that it would act as a simple reminder to always ask What would Jesus do? In Samantha’s case, however, the J had partially rubbed off, so that it now looked like a T. And no matter how hard she tried not to, every time she looked at the band, she couldn’t help but ask herself, What would Tanner do?

She slammed her book shut a little harder than she had intended, and everyone’s gaze turned to her.

Carver gave her an ugly grin. You got something to say, Sa-MAN-tha?

She didn’t flinch. Annie’s right. You’re a bully. Who else would pick on a little kid?

Maybe we’ll start on you next, said one of the boys standing beside Carver.

Carver nudged him and muttered, Not her.

Why not?

You ever seen her dad? He’s a freakin’ bulldozer. Carver turned back to Samantha and pointed a thick finger. Just stay out of our way.

Samantha glanced over at Flynn. The boy was wiping tears from his eyes, more embarrassed than hurt. She felt anger welling in her belly.

I don’t think I can do that.

What’s that supposed to mean?

It means I’ve decided to fight you, Carver. That is, unless you apologize and swear never to hurt Flynn again.

Yeah, right.

Samantha bent forward and readied herself, squinting and blowing air out through her nose the way she had seen Tanner do when he got angry.

Carver rolled his eyes and chortled.

What are you supposed to be? Some kinda wild pig? Look, guys, Samantha’s turned into a wild pig.

The boys laughed and poked fingers in her direction.

She straightened up. She had always heard that if you stood up to bullies, they would back down. Oh well, it had been worth a try. Apparently either the saying was nothing more than wishful thinking, or Carver was the exception to the bully rule.

She stepped toward him, and Carver instinctively leaned away. Realizing what he had done, he abruptly bent toward her with his jaw jutting out.

What’re you gonna do, wild pig? Hit me? ’Cause if you do, I’ll beat you down no matter who your daddy is. I swear to God I will. He glanced at the door to the old church as if worried that the Almighty might have overheard him.

Samantha looked down at the book in her hands. Learning and education were what she valued most, not meaningless fights with school bullies. The smart thing to do would be to walk away. Why was it then that her feet wouldn’t turn around? This was Tanner’s fault. He had instilled some kind of misconceived killer instinct in her. Yeah, she thought, what was about to happen was his fault. Oddly, that made her feel a little better about it.

She looked back up at Carver. The boy stood a head taller and had a good forty pounds on her. Despite his size, she couldn’t help but wonder whether he had ever been in a real fight before. She had. Several of them. And they hurt. Plus, Tanner had been training her for over six months, and she now considered herself fluent in the basics of karate and judo.

Still, Carver was bigger and stronger. And he had friends with him. If she didn’t take him out quickly, one of them might jump in. Annie and Flynn would likely get involved if that happened, and Samantha didn’t want to see either of them get hurt.

The anger left her as quickly as it had come. Unlike Tanner, she was not someone who could draw on things like rage or hate. She was a thinker. Cunning. Clever. Like a cat. Yeah, she thought, I’m like a cat, smart and with very sharp claws.

You want everyone to think you’re such a big man, but I know what you really are.

Oh yeah? And what’s that?

You’re a coward, Carver. A big fat coward. She spoke the words calmly, dispassionately, as if describing the weather. She was simply citing a fact, which made her words sting that much more.

Carver’s eyes tightened, and he snapped his teeth as if threatening to bite off the tip of her nose.

I’m not afraid of anything. Certainly not a twelve-year-old girl who dresses like my little brother.

So prove it. Let’s have a contest to see who’s tougher.

His brow furrowed. What kind of contest?

It’s called ‘Who’s the Wimp?’ Even as she said it, she silently kicked herself for making up such a dumb name. I’m surprised you’ve never heard of it.

Carver looked back at his friends. Everyone either shrugged or shook their head.

It’s a simple game, she explained. We take turns hitting one another until one of us cries or runs away.

Yeah, right, Carver said with a smirk.

It’s okay. You don’t have to play if you’re afraid.

Several of the boys made a loud Oooh.

I ain’t afraid. But if I hit you, your dad’s gonna come and kill me. I ain’t stupid neither.

Scout’s honor, she said, holding up a hand. If I get hurt, I’ll say I ran into a door.

Carver raised an eyebrow. You’re gonna let me punch you? Are you crazy? As strong as I am, I’d probably kill you.

Ah, you’d be surprised by what I can take. So, what do you say? Are you up for a little ‘Who’s the Wimp?’

Carver looked around at the other students. Everyone was watching. There was no way he could back down from a girl. No way.

Fine. But when you go home with a broken nose, remember, you asked for it.

She nodded. Fair enough.

Carver stood up straight and rolled his shoulders around like a boxer preparing for a prize fight.

Who goes first?

The weaker person usually goes first. She leaned forward and offered him her jaw. Go ahead. Give me your best shot.

Carver furrowed his brow. Me? I ain’t the weaker one.

What? she scoffed. You think I’m weaker than you?

Of course you are.

"So you say. She looked at the students who had gathered around. What do you think? Which one of us is weaker?"

Nearly everyone pointed at her. The only two who didn’t were Annie and Flynn, and they didn’t do much of anything.

See! Carver said, puffing out his chest. Everyone agrees that you’re the weakest. You have to go first.

Are you sure? Because I think Bart was pointing at you.

Carver turned to glare at Bart. The hell he was.

Even before the words were out of his mouth, Samantha was in motion. By the time Carver turned back, she was in full swing, the hardbound American history book whooshing through the air like a cricket bat. The flat of the cover hit him squarely on the cheekbone, whipping his entire body around. And like every good batter, she continued through the swing, the momentum nearly sending her tumbling down on top of him.

When she regained her footing and turned back, she saw that Carver had collapsed in a pile, his legs corkscrewed beneath him. He tried to stand, and when that failed, he fell onto his side and began to cry.

Samantha looked down at the rubber band on her wrist and pressed her lips together. Yep, she thought, this was most definitely Tanner’s fault.

Chapter 3

The rumble of the big diesel engine shook the tanker truck, rattling its doors and wobbling Mason from side to side like he was riding atop a Magic Fingers vibrating bed. Bowie sat on the other end of the sprawling seat, his head craned out the window to watch the two men clinging to metal grab bars. Both men wore dark-blue New Colony Security Force uniforms. Mason instinctively checked the driver’s side mirror and confirmed two other officers holding onto his side of the vehicle, rifles slung tightly across their chests.

Almost immediately, five enormous white spherical tanks came into view. Four of the storage tanks measured a good sixty feet in diameter, with the final one nearly twice that size. From a distance, they looked like four planets and a sun, all clustered together as part of a densely packed solar system. Mason found that particularly fitting given that they were at the heart of NASA’s Langley Research Center.

According to General Carr’s briefing, the vacuum tanks had at one time been used to support hypersonics and the testing of spaceflight hardware. When the pandemic hit, however, the vessels