He shivered violently. He gasped for breath as he struggled to stay warm. His skin felt like it was burning. He became confused as to where he was and what was happening to him. He had visions of Lacey and Tucker, like watching a movie at thousands of frames per second. Tears emerged from his eyes and then froze.
And then, as if his surroundings weren’t already pitch-black, Owen’s mind found darkness of its own.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Wednesday, October 30
Near Amelia Court House, Virginia
“Pa, somebody’s comin’,” eleven-year-old Cletus Munford whispered to his father, Nelson. “He’s walking up the hill.” Young Cletus kept his eyes glued on the person, using the small slat opening underneath the front porch of their home. The light was dim, but the silhouette of the figure that approached could be seen against the rocky driveway.
Nelson pulled his son down from the produce crates he stood on to see outside. He peered through the slats himself to confirm what his son reported just as the approaching man’s legs disappeared up the steps toward the front door.
He abruptly turned around and grabbed his son. “Cletus, go alert your mother and sister. Tell ’em we got company.”
“Yes, Pa,” the boy responded politely before disappearing.
The man walked across their porch, bellowing as he went. Nelson Munford chuckled and spoke in a hushed tone to himself.
“Yeah, sure. Mister nice guy just wants to close his eyes for the night. Ain’t no marauder comin’ near my wife and baby girl.”
He took a deep breath and held it so he could focus on the man’s movements. Nelson had been born in that home and had spent almost every night of his life in one of its bedrooms. His parents had passed, and his brothers had been lost to wars in the Middle East, but he remained behind to continue their farming operation while caring for his family.
His wife, Marjorie, suddenly appeared by his side. Nelson turned to her and relayed what he knew.
“Seems like only one man. He’s headed back toward the barn now. He’s been out there hollerin’. He claims to be a nice guy. I don’t believe anybody, do you?”
“Nah. Sure don’t. We heard what happened to our neighbors when they let their guard down. They died. I’m not gonna die ’cause some stranger says he’s safe.”
“Come on,” said Nelson as he gently nudged his wife back toward the center of the house. They’d had this basement hideaway since the days of the Civil War. Once the conflict broke out, the Munford family began to prepare for the battle to be brought onto their fields. All around them, the North and South fought one another until the final days came in April of 1865.
Cletus took up a position on another stack of crates at the back of the house. He watched as the man emerged from the barn and then suddenly became frightened when that creaky screen door came loose from its latch due to a gust of wind. It was a sound the family was used to. It had been that way for the boy’s entire life.
The family intently listened once the sound of breaking glass could be heard at the back door. The man’s shuffling footsteps caused their youngest, eight-year-old daughter Patience, to gasp. Her mother calmed her down, and then she reminded her to stay quiet.
Young Cletus grabbed his lever-action Henry .45-caliber rifle. It was a powerful gun for a teen, but Cletus was a strong youngster raised on a farm.
His mom took a firm grasp on her shotgun, which was ready to do its job. Nelson readied his Henry rifle, which was identical to his son’s. Like father, like son. Just as it had always been in the Munford family for nearly two hundred years.
They were ready.
The intruder’s flashlight grabbed their attention as it illuminated the basement through the knotholes of the plank flooring. As he slowly walked around the kitchen and into the dining room, dust began to fall off the rafters onto their heads.
The trio walked together, slowly in the dark, confident in their familiarity with the dirt-floor basement that had been their hiding place since the bombs dropped. Nelson led the way as Cletus and Marjorie walked side by side, tracking the intruder.
They positioned themselves under the foyer as the man trudged up the stairs toward their bedrooms. Marjorie bristled at the thought of a stranger traipsing through the rooms where her children slept. Where she and her husband had created their precious lives. Anger built up inside her as she thought of the intrusion on their privacy.
“He’s coming back down,” whispered Nelson to his family.
The man’s flashlight shined through a knothole and washed across Nelson’s dusty face. He quickly pulled his head aside to prevent being seen. In the foyer, the man wandered slowly, shining his light upward on the members of the Munford family who’d inhabited the homestead in the past.
Nelson positioned himself under the knothole and stared upward. The man stood directly over him. He turned to his family, and in the dim light, he nodded to his wife. Marjorie leaned over to her daughter.
“Cover your ears, dear. And, honey, don’t look up, okay?”
The child nodded.
Nelson made eye contact with his son, who also nodded, indicating he was ready. Then, in unison, as the Munford family had practiced, they raised their weapons to the underside of their entry foyer. With determined looks on their faces, the Munford men cocked the hammers on their rifles and prepared to fire.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Wednesday, October 30
Florida Keys
Hank had tried to remain busy around Driftwood Key to avoid thinking about Lacey and Peter. His children were out there somewhere, he was sure of it. Despite the travails they were likely facing, at least they were alive. He knew this to be true.
With each passing day, the Florida Keys was becoming a microcosm of the suffering being felt around the nation. While the remaining inhabitants of the islands weren’t subjected to the direct radioactive fallout from the detonations, they were exposed to the nuclear winter that had traveled completely around the planet.
Plant life was suffering already. Dead seabirds were floating onto the beach. The skies remained a drab gray, but they didn’t produce any sort of rainfall. And temperatures were dropping.
Some of the lowest temperatures ever recorded in the keys occurred in 1981 when Key West dropped to just forty-one degrees in January. Since 2000, the lowest recorded temperatures occurred in January, as was typical, but hovered near fifty. That night, as the last day of October approached, the thermometer mounted on the front porch of the main house had dropped to forty-six. Over each of the last four nights, the lows had reached the upper forties, an unheard of reading for October.
That, coupled with the perpetually hazy skies, had already taken its toll. It was affecting humans as well. Seasonal affective disorder, or SAD, was a form of depression that goes with the changes from fall into winter. Inhabitants of the Keys didn’t experience this type of mood change. In fact, they rejoiced at the hint of cooler weather as an opportunity to wear a sweater or sweatshirt at night.
The general feel of depression was exacerbated by the lack of resources on the keys. Every retail store’s shelves had been emptied by buyers or looters. Food wasn’t scarce. It was nonexistent. Bottled water was gone. Gasoline pumps, even if they worked without power, would have nothing to distribute.