Published by Dwayne Albert Bearup at Smashwords
Copyright 2012 Dwayne Albert Bearup
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I used to be an optimist. Back before the world died, nothing got me down. When life threw lemons at me, I stood behind a fan with a bucket under it.
The night the missiles hit Phoenix, I had the flu. It saved my life. If I hadn’t been sick, I’d have died in bed when the blast wave flipped over my mobile home. Instead I was at the mini-mart down the street picking up some Nyquil, safe from the nuclear wolf in a brick building full of canned food and jugs of water.
The clerk and the only other customer went outside when they heard the initial blast, and they lost their eyes when the second nuke mushroomed. That was probably best, since they never saw the car that smeared them over the front of the building.
I’d been at the back of the store looking for chicken soup and only looked around when that second flash strobed through the back of my head and out my eyes. At least, that’s how it seemed. I looked around in time to see two people on their knees screaming, and then the cars hit. In addition to helping me conserve the limited supply of food in the store, the cars plugged the only doors and collapsed the front wall. Another lucky break, since the building across the street crumbled and washed up against my new home, and the cars kept most of that debris outside. If not for that, the radioactive crap would have spilled in and I would have died months ago. But hey, when it comes to death I’m a procrastinator… I’d rather put it off ‘til tomorrow.