william w johnstone - ashes 03

Author:anarchy in the ashes
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2011-08-09T13:50:39+00:00

I’ve got to search the town for survivors! the

thought came to him just before he went to bed. Surely there will be somebody left alive.

The next morning, after shaving and showering and eating a light breakfast, he took his coffee outside and stood for a moment by his small house in the country. He viewed the silent scene that lay before him. Birds still sang and dogs still barked in the distance, and that puzzled him. A nuclear war that would kill humans and leave the animals alive? Not likely. So it had to have been some type of germ warfare. He had to find out what happened.

He went to several stores in search of a worldwide radio. But the stores had all been looted. He finally found one at the Radio Shack. He sat on the curb outside the store and studied the instructions on the operation of the radio. He turned it on. No batteries.

“Wonderful, Ben,” he muttered. “Marvelous presence of mind.”

With fresh batteries in the radio, Ben worked the dial slowly, going from band to band. Sweat broke out on his face as he heard a voice from the speakers.

The voice spoke in French for a time, then went to German, then to English. Ben listened intently, a feeling of dread washing over him. “We pieced together the story,” the voice spoke slowly. “The whole story of what happened. Russian pilot told us this is what happened-from his side of the pond, that is. They-the Russians-had developed some sort of virus that would kill humans, but not harm animals or plant life. Did this about three years ago. were going to use it against us this fall. Easy to figure out why. Then they learned of the double cross; the Stealth-equipped sub. That shot their plans all to hell. Everything became all

confused. If we had tried to talk to them, or they with us, or the Chinese, maybe all this could have been prevented. Maybe not. Too late now. Some survivors worldwide. Have talked with some of them. Millions dead. Don’t know how many. Over a billion, probably. Maybe more. Ham operators working. It’s bad. God in heaven-it’s bad.”

This message was repeated, over and over, in four languages.

“A goddamned tape recording,” Ben said.

A snarling brought him to his feet, the .45 pistol in his hand. A pack of dogs stood a few yards away, and they were not at all friendly.

Ben leaped for the hood of his truck just as a large German shepherd lunged for him, fangs bared. Ben scrambled for the roof of the cab as the dog leaped onto the hood. Ben shot the animal in the head, the force of the heavy slug knocking the animal backward to die in the street.

The dogs remembered gunfire. They ran down the street, stopping on the corner, turning around, snarling and growling at the man on the cab of the truck. Ben emptied his .45 into the pack, knocking several of the dogs spinning. Ben slapped a fresh clip in the pistol and climbed down.

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