Nuclear Hell

This story is based partly on a real life event. Sometime in the early 1980's in a small Northwest community, there was a proposal to stockpile poison pills so that in case of nuclear war, people could take them and commit suicide before the bombs fell. By 1997, for a while, I had been thinking of doing a story of a man struggling through an icy version of hell, then when thinking of the mentioned news story decided to combine the two. And Nuclear Hell was conceived. There is one thing that seperates Nuclear Hell from most of my work: the main character is an anti-hero who's actions lead him to his fate.

Nuclear Hell , and/or and part of it, is not to be distributed by disk, paper, or copied onto another site without my permission. Thank you for your cooperation

"Mr. Charles Dectur," the city councilman spoke, holding a paper that he glanced at occasionally, "your statements and opinions in the recent past have been, to put it mildly, quite strange and an unusual. But this proposal of yours that you would have our schools take, this goes beyond anything of yours before."

The scruffy-looking man, looking like a relic from the "hippie" days of the 1960's, with his long brown hair, and wearing a worn green denim jacket with peace symbols on the sleeves, responded, "What we ask for is our right to avoid the suffering that would accompany a nuclear war."

The time was the early 1980's, the place was a town in the American Northwest. The nation was increasing it's weaponry, and among it the nuclear weaponry. Some feared this nuclear build-up would inevitably lead to confrontation. This fear took different forms.

"Chuck" Dectur had his start in radical politics in the days of hippiedom. He began hanging around them in his early teens, living the life of "sex, drugs, and rock & roll." Like the others, he protested the U.S. effort in Vietnam, and was among those calling for the legalization of drugs. He went from one cause to another, from environmentalism to anti-nuclear energy. Then with the nuclear weapon build-up, he found another cause.

With Chuck Dectur at this city hall meeting were a handful of teenage supporters. In another part of the room were a group of parent-aged local townsfolk. And in front of them all, the city council sat. The councilman with the paper continued, "According to your proposal, you would have the high school stockpile cyanide capsules, so that in the event of a nuclear war, student would be allowed to take their own lives."

"Yes." Chuck answered, "Nuclear holocaust would bring on tremendous suffering, radiation sickness, starvation, ectedra. At least the capsules would offer us a quick death rather than a slow, agonizing, painful end."

There were some groans and mutterings from the audience. The councilman glanced at them, then turned back to Chuck, "So, you would have everyone kill themselves?"

"The alternative is dying from radiation poison, or starvation."

"And how would you know this?"

"Haven't you seen the films of the aftermath of Hiroshima and Nagasaki? All those people dying? Today's bombs are far bigger, more destructive. They'd spread fallout for thousands of miles, killing not just people, but plants and animals. There won't be hardly any food left for the few who survive the radiation. It'll be a slow death for man as the few survivors fight for the last scraps of food.

"We have the right to avoid that fate!"

"Mister Dectur, aside from the highly unlikely event of a nuclear war, and the still even more unlikely event that this area would be a target, how would it be guaranteed that the cyanide not be used for suicide for mundane reasons?"

"Yeah!" yelled someone among the townsfolk, "How're you going to make sure some jilted teen girl doesn't kill herself over getting dumped or somethin'." There were several additional remarks that followed of, "Yes" "Yeah" and "That's right."

Chuck appeared unfazed, "The capsules would be kept in a locked cabinet, with the key in the hands of the school nurse."

"The school nurse?" Someone else in the townsfolk interjected, "Oh I can just see it now: 'take two of these and call me in the morning.'"

That comment drew laughter from the townsfolk and some of the city council. Chuck didn't think it was so amusing, "You think all this is bull, don't you?! You think I'm just some jackass with 'a load of baloney' as one guy called it. Well, it's not! The U.S. and U.S.S.R. are stockpiling weapons, and if history tells us anything, they're gonna be used! We're gonna have death from above rained on us, and the only thing we can do about it is to take matters in our own hands, or else die a long horrible death!"

At this moment, a minister moved to the front of the group of townsfolk, and spoke, "What about the method you suggest to avoid this - suicide. Are you aware of the consequences of such an act? Have you forgotten what God says about it?"

"Don't give me that! Not all of us believe in that stuff. We have the right to judge our own lives."

"You have the right, yes, but also responsibility. God does not ignore murder, whether upon someone else or the self. You will have committed a wrong that you cannot repent, and you will endure an eternal nuclear war. Not for hours, days, or weeks, but forever.

The minister then turned to the city council, "Consider carefully what you are about to do." He then fell silent.

"Damn them!" Chuck yelled as he entered his rented office, a place strewn with papers, trash, music tapes, and the occasional pizza box. Three supporters, two girls and a guy, were with him.

"It's okay Chuck," one of the girls tried to reassure him, "There'll be another time."

"Yeah, right! Did you see the looks on their faces after that preacher worked that magic of his on them? They're not going to even think about bringing it up again."

"So then we've lost?" asked the guy supporter.

"No, we're going to take matters in our own hands." He went over to a closet, got a toolbox out, and opened it. Inside were bottles of capsules.

Chuck's three supporters looked at the box, then at him, the guy saying, "You already had it?"

The first girl asked, "But if you already had the cyniade, why bring it up to the city council?"

Chuck answered, "Getting them to approve it would have meant publicity, media attention. We could have gotten other town and cities to store capsules as well, not to mention getting people to give some thoughts to getting rid of this nuclear madness. Now we gotta spread it by word of mouth."

"Okay," said the guy, "so it'll take a little longer. Don't get steamed over about it."

Chuck gave him an angry look, "We don't have any time to spare!" He grabbed a newspaper and pointed to a certain article, "As we speak, Ronnie Reagan is puttin' out more missiles and bringing us closer to Armageddon. We need this stuff out now!"

The three were silent.

"Well, meet me with the others in tomorrow, seven P.M. We'll discuss a plan of action. I also have something else to show." He went back to the closet, and got out what looked like a shortwave radio, "I found the frequency to some missile bases. As soon as the word of the nuclear launch goes out, I'll hear it and then spread the word. You guys then come over and get the pills."

The following day, Chuck was going over some magazines in his messy office. The radio was on, tuned to the Air Force frequency, and there were the sounds of radar operator and pilot chatter. Chuck was still bitter over yesterday's defeat. In his mind, all he was trying to do was give people an alternative to the slow death nuclear holocaust would bring. Besides, this would make people think twice about having those weapons around.

As he was thinking to himself, he heard on the radio a radar operator mention an "unidentified object." Curious, he listened in. He heard a pilot was sent over to investigate. Then he heard, "Confirm. I can confirm a missile."

It had begun!

Chuck grabbed the phone and quickly dialed a number, "Hello, Jake, it's started! I just heard on the radio the Russians just launched one! Pass the word!" He then dialed another number, "Hello, Vinny, the Russians just launched a nuke! Pass the word on!"

He was about to dial again, but heard the radio again, "Missile confirmed. I've sent word to the brass. Looks like we have a problem." Chuck was in a panic. He reached for the toolbox he brought out yesterday, grabbed a bottle, popped it open, spilled out some of the poison capsules in his hand, and bit down on one.

Consciousness slowly faded from him, his thoughts a mixture of the fear of the Armageddon, and a feeling of triumph for having escaped it .....

When Chuck regained consciousness, the first thing he noticed was the heat. Then he could hear crackling noises, like a - fire! He opened his eyes, and saw his office, collapsed all around him, a flaming wreck.

He then remembered, the radio, now a flaming mess of wires and molten plastic, the message about the missiles, and the poison capsule he bit into. But he was supposed to be dead! He was supposed to have escaped this.

As he looked at his surroundings, mouth agape in horror, he heard a loud creaking above him. The part of the building he was in was still standing, but about to collapse - on him! Without thinking, he ran past a break in the flames and out of the building. As he looked back, the burning heap gave way and fell down.

Chuck looked all around him. Every building in town was aflame, or a burnt-out wreck. The sky was cloudy with smoke, and the air smelled of ash. Snow-like fallout ash was falling down from above like snow. "Hey!" he cried, "Hey! Anyone?! Can anyone hear me?! Anyone?!"

He got no answer.

Chuck fell to his knees, "No, no, not like this. I was supposed to have avoided all this. This can't be happening!"

The following day, nothing was left of the town but charred wood and ashes. The surrounding trees were stripped bare of leaves, burned off. The fallout on the ground made it look like a winter scene, and the cooling temperatures made it seem more like it.

"Falling temperatures," Chuck muttered to himself, "the Nuclear Winter is coming."

Chuck Dectur, apparently the only survivor of the town, began to walk away and out of it. The clothes on his back and the shoes on his feet were his only possessions. He had found nothing but burnt rubble in the wreckage of the other buildings he checked, no cars, or bicycles, no weapons, no pup tent, not a spare piece of clothing, nothing.

Still, what was on his mind was not so much the journey ahead. He was still thinking of the horror he went through yesterday. He was the first to hear of the nuclear launch, and survived both the poison he took and the blast that killed everyone else.

Why had he survived and no one else?

Why?

He felt no relief with his survival, only despair at what lay ahead for him. He also felt cheated. He was supposed to have avoided all this.

He also had another feeling - hunger. He had nothing to eat since yesterday morning, and could find nothing in the wreckage of the town. Not even a can of tuna. He thought to himself that there might be some wild berries or something in the woods. But the immediate forest looked just as charred as the town. Eventually, he reasoned, there'd be another town, and he'd get food there.

With nothing left for him here, he walked down the road, out of town.

It seemed like he had been walking for hours. By now, it had gotten so cold, it was actual snow and not fallout that was floating down. Chuck was cold, his feet were sore and cold, and he was hungry.

Step, after step, after step.

He had found nothing since leaving the town but an endless stretch of road. No other towns, no gas stations, no cars, not a single thing or person. Nothing.

Step, after step, after step.

Nothing but the usual gray skies and the horizon of a gloomy forest and empty road.

Step, after step, after step.

To the sides were the trees. The leaves were starting to wilt and fall off, as if the life had been somehow drained from them. The grayish sky made the scene even more dismal.

Step, after step, after step.

Finally, he noticed something up ahead.

Something was next to the road.

Too small to be a building. A car?

Inspired for the first time since the bombs fell, he began to dash forward to the car. Maybe there was someone inside. Maybe there wasn't. But it was a ride. He could hot-wire it and drive. It would be relief for his aching feet, shelter from the cold wind.

He couldn't run very fast, and his feet hurt worse. Still, he rushed to the car. It took on more and more of a shape. He then noticed a shape on the driver's side. Someone was inside! People. Someone to talk to! Someone to ally with in this dire time! He continued to run over.

As he was getting close, he noticed through the back window the hood appeared to be partially up, on one side more than the other.

Something was wrong. Chuck slowed down.

Getting all the way to the car, he made the discovery. The car had ran off the road into a three foot pole as thick as a telephone pole. The car was wrecked, useless as transportation. The windows were shattered, making it a poor habitat for long. And the man had been dead for some hours and was already stinking.

Chuck looked inside the car for possessions. He found only a cell phone, with the words "LO BATTERY" flashing. He looked in the trunk area, and found only junk. A flashlight was busted, and even the tire-iron was broken in two.

All that effort, so much hope, and in the end nothing.

He rested on the fender for a few moments, getting the weight off his sore feet, before the dead body gave him enough creeps to head on.

Step, after step, after step.

In the cold night, Chuck had forgotten just how long ago he had found that car. Since then, it had been the same endless stretch of road in the scene of winter forest, changed only by the dimness of dusk and the fall of night.

Step, after step, after step.

He was shivering with cold, the snow-laden wind blowing against him, and depositing more snow on top of the path he continued to walk. He was hungry and tired, still not having found a bite to eat. Just how long ago had night fallen?

Step, after step, after step.

He was more than just tired, exhausted, and his feet ached, and cried out for relief. But where was there a place to sit?

Step, after step, after step.

Finally, he had enough. He fell forward. He felt no pain from the impact, but the coldness from the snow soon seeped in. That feeling was met with his feet seemingly crying out from relief from all those hours of walking.

He was so tired, he couldn't find the energy to get up. But right now, he didn't care. In fact, he wished for nothing more than for it to end right here. He had tried to escape all this before it even started. All this convinced him even more that he had been right. His only regret was that poison pill hadn't worked in the first place.

His heavy eyelids began to shut. Soon, it would all be over.

Then he saw something in the distance.

A shilouette of something. It looked like a building. It wasnÕt too far away, maybe fifty feet.

Suddenly full of hope again, Chuck got up, ignoring the pain of his feet. He began to walk over, wondering what might be inside. Maybe everything he needed. Maybe another dead end like the car. Still, he had to try.

After a few minutes, he managed to see in the dim light that this was a gas station. He tried the door, and it was locked. He then smashed the window open, felt for the doorknob, and opened it from inside. He walked in, then closed the door behind him.

At last, shelter from that cold.

There was no one else here at this gas station. But he did see some items. A few were some shirts , which he tore off the sleeve of one to use as a bandage for that wound. He then saw a snack machine, and rummaged the desk for the key. Finding it, he ran to the machine, his mouth already watering. It seemed to take him forever to find the right one, open the metal door, and get at those precious cheese crackers and chips. Just a couple days ago, he would have easily passed them by. Now, he greedily devoured them, bits of the plastic wrappers going down his throat with the food.

With another key, he got himself a drink from the soda machine. With his belly finally satisfied, he then found a corner in the place well away from any draft. He found an old blanket, and wrapped himself in it. And for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, he found himself some sleep.

For the next few days, he remained at the gas station, eating snack foods, drinking soda, and staying warm. Eventually, the food ran out. At least he now had some extra clothes, enough for an extra layer and more, plus that old blanket, a flashlight, and some other things. With these, plus some drinks for the road, he reluctantly left the gas station, his shelter from the cold, and walked on.