ARV-3
ARV - 3
By
CAMEO RENAE
Published by
Crushing Hearts and Black Butterfly Publishing, LLC.
Algonquin, IL 60102 USA
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, duplicated, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Text Copyright 2013© Cameo Renae
All rights reserved
ISBN – 13: 978-1-939769-50-3
ISBN – 10: 1939769503
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
Published by
Crushing Hearts and Black Butterfly Publishing, LLC.
Algonquin, IL 60102
This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious and are products of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual events, or locales or persons, living or dead are entirely coincidental.
Cover by
Regina Wamba
for
Mae I Design
Dedication
I’d like to dedicate this book to my amazing editor, Victoria Rae Schmitz of Crimson Tide Editorial. This book would not be as awesome as it is without her editing expertise. She’s an editing rock-star, and has quickly become a friend.
To my husband, who gave me all the gun advice. He even went and bought biohazard plates for his Glock 27. He’s been such an amazing support.
To my writing buddies, Cambria Hebert and Amber Garza. Our daily check-ins helped push me to finish this book. Both have given me tremendous inspiration and support. One day we will all meet together, and have coffee while wearing our sparkling capes
To my awesome cover designer: Regina Wamba of Mae I Design. She made the cover of ARV-3 come to life, and I know it will grab the attention of readers! She’s also the designer for ALL my other covers.
To my publisher, SJ Davis. She has been such a tremendous support to me and my books, and has believed in me from the start. I simply adore her. She’s much more than a publisher. She’s become a great friend. I hope to meet her one day soon and give her a huge hug!!!
Also, to Tina Donnelly, who won a giveaway which let me use her name in this book. Tina has grown become one of my favorite book characters.
Last - but not least – my readers. Each and every one of you has been a vital part of my success. You’ve made my stories come to life, and helped me grow along this crazy journey. I may not be the greatest writer, but I feel like I am because of you. Thank you for sharing my crazy adventures, believing, and supporting me.
Prelude:
According to the Mayan calendar, many thought the world was going to end on December 21, 2012. Some stayed home from work and school, some gathered in prayer, while others just blew it off and went on with their daily routines.
That Friday, on the day of the predicted doomsday, the sun rose and set without change. A few days later… life continued.
People crawled from their worried slumps and assumed their normal positions back in the daily grind. Many years passed, with no signs of world destruction. In no time, talk of the end of the world had dissipated like a foul smell caught in the winds.
Unbeknownst to the public, NASA had been giving warnings to the government of impending natural disasters, but they were never officially broadcast to the general population because it was all considered… “theory”. No one really knew what was going to happen. No one expected anything.
Behind closed doors, the government began preparations for building large, underground bunkers that would survive any type of apocalypse. Only select military personnel, and a handful of the world’s leading scientists, were privy to this information.
They knew it wasn’t a matter of if it was going to happen - it was a matter of when.
***
START OF THE APOCALYPSE
THURSDAY – 3:16 PM GST
The sun aligned with the Milky Way galaxy, causing a gravitational pull, tugging on the sun’s surface. This caused a massive solar storm to erupt.
It was a solar storm of maximum proportions, labeled Class-X, and it triggered the beginning of the end. As soon as the mass ejection entered the earth’s atmosphere, it completely collapsed the national power grids, shutting down all navigational and communication systems across the globe. Millions were suddenly thrust into darkness.
The solar flare not only disrupted the earth’s magnetic field, causing thousands of birds and fish to die instantly, it also set off massive earthquakes and volcanic activity. Those who were at higher altitudes were exposed to massive doses of radiation from the sun.
Terror and chaos, along with widespread rioting and looting, broke out across the globe.
But that wasn’t the worst of it.
Over four hundred nuclear power plants were operating across thirty countries. Very few nuclear power plants were “walk away safe”. Even fewer had backup generator pumps which relied on large tanks of water for cooling the containment shells. Without electricity, it was only a matter of days before the unimaginable would befall.
Every nuclear power plant was a ticking time bomb, and most were running on battery power alone.
A majority of the population had no inclination their days were numbered. Within a span of about ten days, nuclear fuel would begin to melt through containment rods, sending out vicious, unspeakable amounts of radiation into the atmosphere.
There was no way to give warnings without communication.
The government, and a select few, started emergency evacuations into their underground bunkers around the world. Even the Doomsday Preppers withdrew to their own shelters, which left the rest of humanity unprotected, with no means of survival.
After the solar flare, skies everywhere danced with the most beautifully colored auroras. The beauty… before the beast.
All those who didn’t prepare, panicked, and ran to the few shelters set up by the governments. Shelters which were completely useless against the oncoming horror.
A handful of scientists had been working on a new serum, an anti-radiation vaccine, which was supposed to aid the body in resisting the absorption of radiation. The first two versions failed, causing the lab animals to become crazed and subsequently, die.
With the end swiftly approaching, the governments made an urgent and ill-advised decision. In an effort to keep the world’s populations from revolting and storming the emergency bunkers, they gave the people some kind of hope, offering reassurance that a vaccine had been created which would save them.
So, despite a lack of proper testing or receiving positive results, the government not only approved the third anti-radiation vaccine, it was mass produced. They used helicopters, which had been strategically kept protected against the electromagnetic pulses, for distribution to the shelters.
The helicopters were given orders not to land, but to simply drop the crates of serum, and head back to the bunkers. The risks of landing were too great.
Thousands panicked, storming the shelters; hundreds were killed in the name of survival. Many brandished guns or other types of weapons, and used them to try and secure vaccines for themselves and their families.
Meanwhile, secret bunkers around the world were filled to capacity and locked down.
Amidst all of this mayhem…it began.
The end of all things.
The Apocalypse.
One by one, nuclear power plants across the globe began meltdown. Due to their size, a number of them exploded like atom
bombs, spewing massive doses of radiation into the atmosphere. Slowly and quietly, the invisible death stalked, and was believed to have eventually killed every living organism on the topside.
Scientists estimated it would be a minimum of ten years before any form of life could safely set foot on the topside. Even then, many areas of the earth would be uninhabitable.
This is where I come in.
My name is Abigail Park. I’m seventeen, and this is my story.
Chapter 1
I was four years old when the apocalypse started, and the events that led us down into the hive would be forever branded in my memory. After the power grid collapsed, our life was thrown into overdrive, and everything around us became a blur. My parents quickly and tirelessly loaded our old truck, a 1957 Chevy, with last minute supplies. The only cars still running after the apocalypse were the pre-computer chip models, which is exactly why my dad invested in the ‘57 beater.
Early the next morning we quickly and quietly loaded in the front seat and buckled in. I remember hearing voices, and turned to see my father helping our neighbors, Mrs. Armstrong and her son, into the back of the truck. He instructed them to stay down, and covered them with a tarp.
As we backed out, a man came from out of nowhere and charged at us with a baseball bat. He bashed in my dad’s window, shattering glass all over us. My mother screamed, and my father quickly opened his door, pushing the man backwards. The irate man was yelling. Spit foamed and spittle flew from his mouth as he threated to kill us if we didn’t get out. The look of evil in his eyes was terrifying.
My dad tried to reason with him, but it was as if he had gone mad. I knew something was going to happen when my dad turned to my mom and nodded with a blank look in his eyes. Then he reached down and pulled something from under the seat. My mother quickly wrapped her arms around me, covering my ears and eyes.
Again, I heard my dad plead with the man, telling him to leave. But the man just wouldn’t shut up.
“Stephen,” my mother wailed.
Bam! Bam!
My mother screamed. Suddenly my father was back in the truck, throwing it into drive, and screeching away. I remember turning back and seeing the man’s body lying on the ground. He wasn’t moving. Mom said he was sleeping, but I knew that wasn’t true.
The loud rumble of the truck didn’t stop for hours, and the sun has just started to set as we drove down a long dirt road. It was extremely bumpy and I was glad when we finally came to a stop in the middle a small field. The field was surrounded by large trees, which kept us hidden. My dad let us out of the front, the guests out of the back, unloaded the truck, and then drove it back into the trees.
I noticed there were a few other old beaters parked where my father went. Then a small group of people started walking toward us. Some were familiar, some weren’t. My father seemed to be leading them.
When we arrived at our destination, the men pulled open a large round door into the earth, and each person started to climb down into the hole.
I remember my mom telling me to look up at the sky. It was beautiful; a deep fiery crimson, with bright orange and yellow streaks. A tear traced the line of her cheek as she turned to me and asked me to hold tightly to her neck. We descended into the dark earth.
My father was the last to enter, and before he came down, he locked the top, sealing us inside. That was the last time we’d seen the world, the sky, the trees, the grass. What I didn’t understand then, as a child; we were now separated from the madness about to strike earth. We would quickly learn to adapt in a speck, a small hole, in its vast expanse.
***
My father was one of those crazy Doomsday Preppers, but also a retired scientist from NASA’s Heliophysics Division. He had been part of a team which studied the sun and its effects on earth and the rest of the solar system.
He and his team theorized that solar flares would be most active, and at the greatest risk to the earth, over the upcoming years. Their theory also stated that due to the sheer size of some of the solar storms, the coronal mass ejections could be so powerful they would knock out satellites, and the nation’s power grid. My father knew, without the power grid, horrifying things would happen.
That was when preparations started.
It was my father’s vigilant attentiveness, coupled with money from investors, which saved our lives.
The hive, a name given to the underground bunkers, was the place where I grew up. There were a total of fifteen citizens who resided in our hive. Our families had gone in together to buy and renovate this old missile silo to keep us alive. There were ten levels, each with its own functions.
The first level was split between the electronics room, which powered the hive, and the infirmary.
The second level held the kitchen and dining areas. Thankfully, my father planned way ahead and had enough food rations - dried, canned, and dehydrated - to last us approximately fifteen years.
The third level was where we had meetings, conferences, and the kids did our schooling.
Levels four through eight were the living quarters. Each level consisted of two bedrooms and one bathroom.
Our water was pumped from an underground well which was drilled almost 600 feet below the silo - way below the radiation levels. During construction, they even installed a top-of-the-line, large sewage system. It was set up with electric motors and hand pumps to carry away waste.
My father made sure we had the best and most recent technology to keep our hive running without power from the grid. We had the best air filtration systems, which kept us safe from any nuclear, biological and chemical hazards. We used generators, wind, and solar power; all of which gave us just enough electricity to run our hive. We also had back-up energy, created from using exercise equipment in the electronic room. Our usage was heavily monitored because it was hard to come by. Everyone was careful to keep by the code, as it was a matter of life and death.
The ninth level in the silo was my favorite. It was wide open, and designed to resemble a park. The ceiling was professionally painted to look like the sky. Half of the park was painted with a big, yellow sun, a blue sky, and white fluffy clouds. The other half was made to look like a sunset, which was painted in beautiful pastels of violet, pink, muted yellow and soft orange. Some days I’d find myself lost, staring, trying to visualize the real thing.
Happy lights were placed in certain areas of the park to mimic natural light, and were supposed to improve our overall mood, but there were days it didn’t work.
There were a few picnic tables set under a large, fake tree and green turf set down to resemble grass. The turf was now worn and had holes in it. There was even a small playground with a jungle gym and a sand box, which we all played in when we were younger. Sadly, it was nothing like the real parks on the topside, but it had been good enough while we were growing up. These days, I dreamt of cool breezes sending goose bumps across my skin, and whispering in my ear. I missed the wind, the sun, and its warm kisses on my face.
The last level of the silo, level ten, was our training area. It was where each of us learned about weaponry and survival, which was mandatory.
We had a set of hive rules in place, and they were strict, but they also keep the hive running smoothly. Everyone played a part in its daily maintenance.
There were six families who resided in our hive. In my family, there were three of us. Me, my father, and my mother.
The second family consisted of my Uncle Frank, his wife Sandy, and their daughter Lily, who was now fourteen. Uncle Frank was a top Navy Seal, and trained our hive on survival techniques and weaponry. We’d learned how to use pretty much anything as a weapon – along with the good ol’ standbys - shooting with a bow-and-arrow, throwing daggers with accuracy, and shooting targets with precision from at least twenty-five yards away. We were also trained in hand-to-hand combat and could kick some serious ass, if needed.
Our training was set up to aid us when we started to rebuild on the topside. We would be r
eady to fight if other survivors show up, and attempted to take what we had worked so hard to get.
The next family was Finn Armstrong and his mother, Anya. Anya moved from Russia to America when she was in her mid-twenties. She went to school to become a teacher, and that was where she met Finn’s father. When he found out she was pregnant, he left her. Anya was a very strong, determined woman, and a very strict teacher. In the beginning, she made sure all of the children in the hive knew how to read and write. As we aged, she gave us the kind of work that kept our minds sharp. Finn was nineteen and my best friend.
Our physicians, Dr. Jay and Dr. Lisa Banks, were the next residents. Both kept every single one of us healthy and happy. Well, as happy as you can be underground without the sun. The Banks were African American, but the color of their skin meant absolutely nothing to any of us. They were a close and vital part of our new family.
Then there were the Hatch’s. Tom Hatch and his wife Mei, who was originally from China, were both well-studied in botany and herbalism. They met in college and had one child, Charlie, who was now fifteen. The Hatch’s kept a garden in the corner of the silo on the ninth floor, opposite the park.
The garden area was surrounded with specialized fluorescent lighting, which assisted in the vegetable’s growth. They grew green onions, carrots, cherry tomatoes, leafy greens, various berries, and a variety of herbs. They each had some kind of magical green thumbs, because everything they planted… grew.
Mei had her own special area where she planted herbs she used for medicinal purposes. The rest of the herbs were used to put in our food to make it taste better. We were very lucky to have them.