Winter in July Contemporary Nuclear war Drama

What follows is the introduction and four excerpts from the novel, Winter in July, then a review from Kurt Stallings, Fort Worth, Texas, the contents list, and contact information.

Introduction

The world is still a dangerous place. Russia and China both have Intercontinental Ballistic Missiles still aimed at the United States, and likely most other nations of the free western world. India and Pakistan have nuclear weapons, although, presently at least, we think, just aimed at each other. North Korea has nuclear weapons, but we don’t know, exactly, what they have. Iran badly wants nuclear weapons, no matter what their leaders are saying. And who knows how many other nations have nuclear weapons and/or the capability of acquiring them very quickly. Oh, yes, and terrorists: How many suitcases can a terrorist carry? Or a dozen? Or a hundred? A nuclear winter is still somewhat in the realm of theory; that is, we don’t know what would happen during and after even a small nuclear exchange. And that’s the key: We don’t know.

This novel, WINTER IN JULY, is fiction. It is not meant as a call to arms by the doves of the world, nor as a call to quarters for the hawks. It is meant simply as a good read, and a reminder to the millions of moderate individuals out there of what is possible.

All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing.

Edmund Burke
Irish orator, philosopher, & politician (1729 - 1797)

Kirby Yates, 40, has a good job groundskeeping at the new underground Energy House Museum at Hammett’s Mill, North Dakota, population 240. Kirby suspects it’s a bomb shelter.  He’s nearly obsessed with that suspicion. When his mother cleaned out his late uncle’s house, then ten-year-old Kirby stumbled onto a collection of nuclear war literature. He didn’t understand what he had but began reading and had many nightmares, but he couldn’t stop reading. He couldn’t repress his new found fascination, which followed him into adulthood. So, yes, the U.S. government is building secret bomb shelters by small towns, the idea being to save entire populations.

After his suspicions are confirmed ex-army Kirby gets a second job (defense of the bomb shelter).  But he’s unsure of his feelings (hawk or dove?) so he attends a peace meeting, where he meets Lisa, one of the group’s leaders. She leads a protest at a missile silo, involves Kirby, becomes his lover, and becomes curator of the new underground museum/bomb shelter, but isn’t told of its insidious true purpose. Conflict of interest would cost her new job.

Excerpt from Chapter 2 Denial

By nearly closing Kirby had stomached all the rum he could and then some, yet remained sober.  His sixth drink was half full.  He took a sip and ordered another.  And still he wanted someone to admit the truth of the construction site.  “Say, Elmer, you work out on the edge’a town, too.”  For a second the rum hit kind of hard.  He felt dizzy

Vanders faced him, “Yeah, so?”

            The dizziness passed.  It always did, “What’re they buildin’ out there?”

            Vanders took a deep breath, smoothed his handlebar moustache, then faced away, “It’s called an energy house, Kirby.  Sort’a like a museum.  A demo site.  You know that.”

            “I know that’s what we’re told, yeah.”

            Vanders kept facing away, hunched his shoulders, “Why question it?  It’s a job.  Something we both need.”

            “But don’t you ever wonder?”

            “Nope.”  Vanders appeared to have sobered, slightly, “Never.”

            “Nobody’ll talk about what’s goin’ on out there, Elmer.  Why is that?”

             “Cause nuthin’s goin’ on.”  Vanders faced him, appeared to have sobered even more, “I get paid workin’ there, Kirby, and that’s all I care.  If somethin’ else’s goin’ on, fine.  But I don’t need to know about it.  And I really don’t care.”

            “I know what’s bein’ built, Elmer.”

            “You don’t know shit.”

            Kirby had not actually spoken the words before.  Sometimes he had trouble even thinking them, and said, not quite whispering, “It’s a bomb shelter.” 

            The jukebox music stopped.  By chance the song had finished, but abruptly.  So did the television.  Kirby jerked toward it.  Evidently a short pause.  The silence throughout the place roared through his ears.

             He stared at Vanders, who—eyes bulging—stared back and then looked away.  Kirby glanced around the room.  Colleen sat absorbed on her TV viewing perch.

 Linden, Bradding, Smith, everyone in the tavern just sat, not talking but not indicating they had heard, either.

            Kirby licked at his sharp wisdom tooth nubs furiously.  His armpits ran again.  Then a new song began on the jukebox.  The television came back on.  Conversations from several directions drifted in.  Things returned to normal, with nobody but him knowing they had been kind of abnormal for maybe three seconds.  A point in time when everything had simply stopped.

            He took a breath, then faced the front of the bar, like everyone else, and belted the rest of his drink, “How’s the family, Elmer?”

 

            Vanders answered without facing him, “Family’s fine.”

            The evening passed back into the norm, and the complacent acceptance of what was being built outside of town.

Excerpts from Chapter 9 The Protest

Kirby watched for a few seconds then returned his attention to the woman before him, "We're probably more alike than you think, Ms. Graham."

            "I doubt we're anything alike, Mr. Yates."

            "You remember my name."  He smiled.

            She did not return the smile.

            "What's going to happen?" he asked.

            "At two o'clock we're singing the national anthem."

            "What?"  He couldn't help smiling again, then glanced at his watch, "Well, it's after two."

            "The cameras aren't here yet."  She glanced at the larger pickup, where both young men and young women in uniform were climbing out, all wearing side arms, all carrying M16s.

            "Cameras?"  He felt like grinning, but held it.

            "Channel 11."  She glanced at him.  Her face had lost some of its hardness, "We're making a statement of irony."  For just a second her face might have expressed a feeling of uncertainty, even vulnerability, but then it hardened again, "We’re peacemakers singing a macho song to the war makers."

            He couldn't help a grin.  He didn't mean it offensively.

            "You think this is funny?"

            "No."  He said it quickly, "I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to grin."  Don’t grin.  His feelings from the auditorium swept back, "I just meant that…yes, it will be an irony."

            A quiet cheer from the small crowd took their attention.  Just turning in from the highway, a van.  On its side CHANNEL 11.  The news-van pulled in beside Kirby's pickup.  Voices took their attention back to the larger air force pickup, where about a dozen armed young men and women were moving in single file along the fence from north to south. The one with the leashed German Shepherd remained close to the pickups.  The dog, its black ears still perked, was sitting quietly on its haunches, but definitely continuing to watch the demonstrators.

            Leading the file was the young man with all the stripes.  He stopped, faced the demonstrators from about six feet.  He didn't look any older than twenty-one or twenty-two, but also did not appear nervous.  The remaining security people moved on until evenly spaced, then stopped and faced outward, their rifles held in front of them.

            The holes in their line were large enough to throw a hundred dead cats through.  Kirby got the feeling, almost, that the air force was saying 'I dare you.'

            He switched his attention to the news-van.  A woman with a luscious mane of blonde curls had gotten out from the driver's side, a man bearing a shoulder video camera from the other.  Both appeared to be around thirty, a sober expression on the woman, a malicious-like grin on the man.  No doubt he was there to film things getting out of control.

Second excerpt from Chapter 9 The Protest



The cameraman was way, way beyond the white line.  But maybe the military was assuming the media to be on their side, at least unbiased.

            Another moment passed.

            The song reached its final line, "…and the home…of the…brave…."

            For some dumb reason Kirby expected a rousing cheer.

            Instead, silence.

            The cameraman stood for another second or two, then hoisted the camera from his shoulder, and walked toward his partner by the van.  But there had to be some

sort of climax.

            Mainly, Kirby sensed Ms. Graham leaving his side, then saw Seth hurrying in the same direction, then more movement to his right—he jerked that way—and 'squawking'.  The canvas bags were opened.  Two huge white roosters were removed.  The cameraman was back.  Definitely a malicious grin on his face.

            Then there were the two men with axes, and two swings of those axes, and the two roosters lost their heads.  Seth grabbed one of the roosters by the feet and ran toward the chain-link fence, and, Ms. Graham—Lisa—the other.

            Kirby focused on Lisa.  He could not believe his eyes.  The flapping rooster was big and spewing much blood.  Yet she carried the vibrating, sputtering, bleeding double-handful, across the white line, through the sparse military line, swung the fluttering double-handful back twice, then heave-hoed it over the fence, where the dead rooster, along with Seth's, flopped and bled over an area of about twenty feet square each.

            Silence again, but not for long.

            Two military police each—after handing their weapons to adjacent police— approached both Seth and Lisa.  Again Kirby focused on Lisa as the two airmen, roughly, jerked her hands behind her back.  She struggled, and immediately was thrown to the ground.  Kirby moved.  He didn't think about it at all, just crossed the vague white line, and then looked down the barrel of an M16.

            The person holding the weapon was a woman, blonde hair pinned tight to her head under a dark blue beret, "Please step back behind the line, sir."

            He looked into her steady eyes.  She was following orders.  There would be no reasoning with her, "Please step back, sir, or we'll have to arrest you too."

Excerpt from Chapter 23 Hell

In a full run, Kirby flew past the corner of the building and leveled his gun at whatever was there.  A man, trying to get his trousers down.  A woman beneath him, fighting him, her eyes open but not seeing.  Lisa.

            Sergeant Frank Jansen was trying to rape her.

            Kirby checked his weapon, returned it to single-fire, then moved close, placed the barrel against Jansen's temple, said quietly, "You son-of-a-bitch, get away from her."

            Jansen faced him.  His mouth fell open.  He pulled away, began trying to hitch up his trousers, "I warned you, Yates.  I swear I'll lock you up.  You're threatening an officer of the law with a firearm."

            "You fool."

            "What?"

            "You dumb ass, Jansen.  There's no law left."

            "What…?"

            The man didn't know.  He didn't comprehend what had happened.  But forget him.  Keep your eye on him but forget him.  He touched Lisa, "Get up, my darling, we're leaving."

     "Kirby?"

            "Yes, I'm here.  We're leaving."  He kept his gun pointed in the general direction of Jansen and put his arm around her waist, helped her get to her feet, then spent a few seconds holding her, "Come on, we're leaving."

            "You're just going to leave me here, Yates?"  Jansen spoke matter-of-factly, standing there like a giant adolescent with his arms hanging at his sides.

            Kirby glanced at him but didn't answer.  No answer even came to him for such a question.  Then he felt a tug on his arm by a small, very, small, hand, "Mister?"

            He jerked around.

            A child, a girl, about five years old.  She could see.

            Keeping Jansen in his view, he knelt beside the child, "Honey, who are you?"

            "I'm Sharla."

            "Sharla what?  What's your last name?"

            She said a name but Kirby didn't recognize it, "Is your mom here, Sharla, or your dad?"

            "No.  I don't know where they are."

            "You don't know?  How did you get here?"

            "With my friend.  I can't find her, either."

            Oh, God.  Well, he wouldn't leave her.  He didn't know what he could do, but he wouldn't leave her.  Maybe he could find her parents later, "Lisa, can you hang onto Sharla's hand?"

            "Yes."  But Lisa did more.  She knelt and held out her arms.  Sharla moved into them and Lisa gathered the tiny girl up and stood, then grasped Kirby's arm, "We're ready."

            They were ready.  Out of hundreds, he was choosing to help only two.  He faced the quiet mass of people.  Every blind eye was on them.  Some who had been sitting were getting to their feet.  He felt hopelessly sorry.  His stomach, he didn’t know how his stomach felt, just hollow, completely empty.  But he could not help them.  He faced the sergeant, "So how come you can see, Jansen?"

            "I don't know.  I…I guess I was facing away."

            "Are there others who can see?"

            "Yes."

            "Where are they?"

            "They left.  I don't know where they went."

            Kirby stared at the man.  Right then Jansen appeared pretty harmless.  For just a second or two Kirby considered allowing the ex-officer-of-the-law to join them, and he didn't even know yet where he was going himself, "Why didn't you go with them?"

            "I…."  Jansen's eyes fell on Lisa, just for one split instant.

But long enough to remind Kirby why he wouldn't invite the sergeant to join them, "Don't try to follow us, Jansen."  He pulled Lisa closer, and felt the tiny Sharla between them, "If I see you again I will not hesitate to use this."  He gestured with the M16.

A Review from Kurt Stallings, Amazon Kindle reader

Buy! -- an unusual, introspective take on the apocalyptic / post-apocalyptic tale, May 5, 2012

By Kurt Stallings "Kurt Stallings -- Author, Law... (Fort Worth, Texas) - See all my reviews
(REAL NAME)

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This review is from: Winter in July (Kindle Edition)

Kirby Yates lives in a part of the country where there are almost as many nuclear missiles as there are people. The small little town he calls home is filled with lonely people making their way through silent lives. They would be mere numbers waiting to be dumped onto a casualty list if it wasn't for the fact that their exact location is just beyond the range of total destruction by any enemy missiles aimed at the American bases a short drive across the prairie. Even so, Yates would be nothing among them in the eyes of planners, but for the fact that he happens to have a combination of basic military experience, a quiet competence for planting and managing landscapes, and a bit more intelligence than most -- common enough throughout the world, but rare in that particular spot. He's chosen to prepare for and participate in any nuclear exchange without being informed of the fact until it's too late to quit, although he is bright enough to realize it before. Ironically, he realizes, he is preparing the stage for the tragedy that has given him nightmares since discovering a secret stash of materials in his grandfather's house. His artist's vision, which he keeps hidden from others, makes his sense of what may be coming only more vivid.

The author achieves something rare, if not indeed unique, with a work of fiction that not only broadens the reach of its particular sub-genre but doubles as a commentary on that sub-genre in itself. Certainly, this is the first of the A/PA novels I've read that explores the reason I am compelled to read so many. The protagonist grew up with the same obsessive sense of impending nuclear doom that vested in so many of us at a certain age, thanks to countless drills at school, those ridiculous films in class, and any number of black-and-white movies on TV. While some reviewers here are put off by Kirby Yates' initial, relative immaturity -- brilliantly and incisively detailed for him halfway through by a woman explaining why they can not be together -- readers more accustomed to novels that aren't purely action-driven will enjoy following his maturation, complete at the end of the book.

I'm not knocking action books, or those who enjoy them, I'm simply making the distinction so you can choose whether you personally might enjoy the book or not. I like action books; I also like this one. This is a book about a man, not a war, albeit a man preparing for the most terrifying of wars; and it's a book about a real man, not a caricature.

I recommend BUY as someone who enjoyed the tension as the subtle shifts in his relationships, always driven by an artist's appreciation for the insanity of nuclear war, was also balanced by an appreciation for the need for "adults" (as Yates puts it in his musings) who deal with insanity as something that is never going away. The struggle to achieve some sort of mature balance within himself as between those two impulses are what drive his decisions throughout the book. The ending is so satisfying because he finds that balance under the most surprising of circumstances -- or perhaps the only situation in which he might have stumbled onto it. In any event, it's his decisive action that wins him his "adulthood," and brings the security he's always sought to himself and those for whom he cares.

Contents

1    PROVIDENCE

2    DENIAL

3    NUCLEAR SANITY

4    THE NIGHTMARE BEGINS

5    THE ENERGY HOUSE

6    SAMUEL HATWELL, ESQUIRE

7    80 ACRES OF PARADISE

8    REFLECTING

9    THE PROTEST

10   DELUSIONS

11   THE APPOINTMENT

       INTERLUDE

12   THE NIGHTMARE CONTINUES

13   BOMB SHELTER

14   NO QUARTER FOR CARRION-HUNTERS, OR SURVIVORS

15   HIS HUMAN NEED

16   ALMOST CRAZY

17   THE BRAWL

18   LISA

19   COLLEEN

20   OPEN HOUSE

21   BIRTHDAY BASH

22   FROM HEAVEN TO HELL

23   HELL

24   HOPE

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