Chapter 2

"Jesus," the word Houdini'd through teeth ferociously clenched shut by the muscles in his jaw -- the word made like it's name and disappeared mystically in to the wooded landscape.

Ben placed his foot as far behind him as it could go, he leaned backward and slowly placed his weight on to it. He mirrored the move with his other leg and repeated the heart pounding routine several more times before finally allowing his entirety to begin to recall exactly what it meant to relax.

"Holy shit." He first rubbed at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger before using the same digits to squeeze his nose. "Where's your fucking head Ben, you were millimeters away from dying," he chastised himself.

Colonel Benjamin Carrion hiked the two miles back to Interstate 95. Typically the distance would have taken Ben thirty-five minutes. Today, Ben covered the distance in twenty-five. The 47 year old career Army Colonel threw the SPEC backpack in to the bed of the Black modified F250 pick-up truck without and concern for damaging the contents within.

"God damn it." His fist slammed down on to the steering wheel. He concentrated on regaining his composure by focusing on the adrenaline losing its grip on his body.

How close was he, another step, perhaps mere inches from coming in contact with what was dubbed as "Chernobyl with a brain". Eye witnessed accounts told details of clothing mixing with flesh, fleshing turning to liquid, and liquid to steam. From start to finish, a sequence that took all of one second to complete. For what he figured to be the millionth time, Ben tried to rationally determine if any pain would be involved in such a death.

Ben drove south along the deserted section of the interstate. What was once heavily populated with cars full of vacationing families, rush hour traffic, bus loads of seniors in route to Atlantic City, and tobacco spitting tractor trailer drivers was nothing more than a barren stretch of black top littered with debris. Exiting some miles later, Ben followed 642 East to the point where the road lapped in to Pohick Bay Regional Park where an ad hoc Military Observation Post was erected months after the massive explosion.

Ben steered the modified black Ford pick-up drove in to a large steel structure known as the Turn-Down station. He got out of the truck, gathered his SPEC satchel from the back, and feeling much livelier, casually tossed the keys to an unfamiliar face who quickly saluted him.

"Colonel," the solider said, deftly ripping his hand away from his forehead in order to snatched the keys out of the air before they had the opportunity to clattered on to the cement floor.

Ben returned the salute and pointed at the solider's hand, "Nice catch. Listen I'm just going shopping, should be back in say, oh I don't know, three or four hours. You're not going to charge me some ridiculous over-sized vehicle fee are you?"

The solider glazed over with a mild case of confusion. "Beg your pardon Sir?"

Ben smiled. "Just messing with you son." He forced the imagery of him and Betty on one of their monthly visits to New York City from his mind. "But I will be back in a couple hours, I want to make one more trip out to the break line so," he pointed to the truck, "just S and F." He thought it best ask, just in case, "You know what that is, right?"

"Yes Sir, sanitize and fuel, understood Sir." The solider saluted again, pivoted, and commenced to carry out the details of Colonel Carrion's request.