The Storm Rises (The Solar Storms Saga Book 0)

by Kyle Pratt

  “Do you know her parents?” he asked.

  “I haven’t met them yet,” she said. “James doesn’t think I know about her.”

  “Shouldn’t we … maybe be a little proactive?”

  “You mean me, right?” Carol locked a firm gaze on him. “Emma’s father is a police officer. I figured I could wait and see if it grew into anything.”

  “Okay.” Franklin nodded and relaxed a bit. “I’m just saying we should keep the boys close. How are you doing?”

  “We’re fine now.” Carol shook her head. “But you smell like smoke.”

  Franklin explained what had happened.

  “Did you see the fire, Dad?” Logan asked. “It was huge!”

  “I saw some of it and the burned homes.” Franklin turned to his wife. “The thought of it reaching you scared me.”

  Carol nodded. “We were packed and ready to run if the flames drew close. How are you doing?”

  “I’m fine. We’re out trying to assess current conditions.”

  “I was still watching the news when we lost power. How bad is it?”

  “We still need to check the airport and then head downtown to city hall and police headquarters, but it’s looking like the EMP affected at least the metro area.”

  Carol shook her head. “It wouldn’t be just here.”

  Several times during the years of their marriage, he had tried to hide the full truth of troubling events from her, but she always seemed to know. He nodded. “It’s probably worldwide, but we don’t know yet.”

  They talked for a few minutes and then he asked, “Were you able to get more food before the power failed? How much do you have?”

  “I got some, but people were in a panic … buying everything. I’ve got eight days maybe. Ted’s been talking to the neighbors. Word is that none of the nearby stores are open and some have been looted.”

  Franklin could imagine the looting and didn’t want Carol near it. “Don’t try to buy more. If you need anything, go to the Intel Center.”

  “The car doesn’t work. How would I get there? On a bike?”

  He frowned. His home was a short fifteen-mile commute in a car, but now most vehicles didn’t function. Those he loved were on their own until he could return. “Keep the guns loaded and ready. I’ve got to go to Salem and report, but I’ll be back at the Intel Center by tomorrow morning, long before you run out of food.”

  Minutes later, the convoy climbed an onramp to the freeway. From this vantage, Franklin spotted several columns of smoke drifting high into the still air. Only a few motionless cars and trucks dotted the freeway, allowing Keller to increase speed as he led them toward the airport.

  On the far side of the freeway, a man pushed a shopping cart filled with suitcases.

  “Look at all those people around that church.” Private Thomas shook his head.

  “Eyes on the road, Private.” Franklin continued to stare at his map. What could a church do at a time like this?

  “Where do you want me to go when we reach the airport?” Keller asked over the radio.

  Franklin shrugged at the device in his hand and pressed transmit. “Arrivals.”

  Clusters of people stood along the road near baggage claim. If not for the lack of vehicle traffic, it might have been a normal day. The sidewalk crowd moved toward the convoy as others scurried out of the terminal. Seeing the mass of civilians caused Franklin unease as the vehicles rolled to a stop. Again, he pressed transmit. “Drivers, stay with your vehicles. Soldiers, deploy with your rifles.” Then he stepped from the Humvee as the crowd swept toward them like a wave.

  “Are you in charge?”

  “When are flights resuming?”

  Without a word, Franklin strode into baggage claim surrounded by his men. Light shone through windows and from fixtures above. The airport had at least some power. Cots, burdened with weary passengers, lined the walls on either side of the baggage turnstiles.

  A police officer ran up to the soldiers. “Are you here to relieve us?”

  “No.” Franklin shook his head as he stepped forward. “We’re checking on the situation in the Portland metro area. What’s the status of the airport?”

  “Closed,” the police officer said with a frown. “Well, sort of. Last night, after the final plane landed, the Port Authority closed the departure terminal, but a lot of people weren’t able to leave before the power went out. Then cars and buses wouldn’t start.” He shrugged. “Eventually, they got some power back on, but radios, phones and computers aren’t working. We got the cots and blankets out of storage.” He pointed to several police officers and TSA agents who had joined the growing swarm around them.

  “Where’s the manager?”

  “I have no idea,” the police officer snarled.

  “Why aren’t there any flights?” a woman in a gray business suit shouted from the growing crowd. “Is FEMA working to restore power?”

  A man in shorts and a Hawaiian shirt pointed at Franklin. “Are you in charge?” He pushed to the front of the crowd. “I need to get to my family.”

  “Stand back,” a soldier ordered.

  Other soldiers moved to block his way with rifles at the ready.

  “I missed my flight,” a woman with two small children said. “We live in Atlanta. How can I get there?”

  Franklin stood on a chair and looked over the growing crowd of confused, tired, and angry people that now encircled them. What information or guidance could he give them? He held his hand up and the questions hushed. “The president has declared martial law. The electric grid appears to be down throughout the city and possibly worldwide. Until communications are restored, no civilian flights will be departing.” He didn’t know that for certain but couldn’t imagine a civilian aircraft going anywhere without air traffic control.

  “When will power be restored?” another man shouted.

  “We don’t know. You’ll need to provide for yourself for the next three to five days … perhaps longer.”

  A gasp rippled through the crowd. Several adults and children cried.

  “Are you kidding me?” a man in a dark business suit and red tie bellowed. “That’s not good enough. My car won’t start. What do you expect me to do? Walk to a hotel or restaurant?”

  “Well, you could.” But Franklin doubted any of those were open.

  A few people asked questions, but more shouted them. Others screamed angry curses.

  Realizing the mob might turn violent at any moment, Franklin stepped down from the chair. “Fall back and mount up.” He clicked transmit on the radio. “Drivers, we’re leaving ASAP.”

  Soldiers pushed back through the crowd as the Humvee engines rumbled.

  Several men pressed against the soldiers.

  A man struck Private Parson on the jaw. Parson hit him with the butt of his rifle. The man stumbled backward and then dropped to the floor.

  “There are a dozen people standing in front of the deuce.” Keller’s worried voice blared over the radio. “I’m not sure they’ll move.”

  “Push through, Sergeant,” Franklin replied over the radio as he opened the door to his Humvee.

  “Are you sure, sir?”

  Franklin nodded at the radio. “Very sure.” He slammed the door shut.

  A gunshot boomed.

  Screams and shouts filled the air as most civilians ran. A few men fought with soldiers for their rifles.

  More shots echoed off the glass and steel.

  Three civilians lay dead—sprawled on the curb.

  The mob fled.

  Soldiers hurried into Humvees and the convoy sped away.

  * * *

  At city hall, six police officers stood outside the lobby keeping several dozen angry and bewildered citizens at bay. While these people were anxious, compared with the hospital and airport, this visit felt like a rest stop. The officers directed Franklin to the Portland Emergency Operations Center, a small room crammed with computers, phones, radios, maps, and whiteboards. Thanks to a ge
nerator, lights were on, but nothing else worked. Around a conference table Franklin briefed the mayor, police commissioner, fire chief, and a few others about what he had seen in the city.

  The mayor frowned. “That’s similar to what we’re hearing from the police and fire stations.”

  “How are you staying in contact with them?” Franklin asked.

  “We have a few tow trucks clearing major streets and a few squad cars running,” the mayor said. “Can you help us with communications and radios?”

  Franklin shook his head. “My orders are to go to Salem and report. Perhaps officials there can provide assistance.”

  “I hope so.” The fire chief frowned.

  Franklin returned to the convoy and they rumbled south into the night. Pondering the growing crisis, he realized that most people relied on a complex system to deliver food, water, and medicine.

  That system no longer existed.

  Day Two

  Salem, Oregon, Monday, September 5th

  Franklin awoke to the screech of metal upon metal grating at his ears. Headlights shined on a tour bus as it tipped over and then slammed into a concrete barrier.

  Private Thomas laughed. “Sergeant Keller sure is having fun.”

  Franklin rubbed his eyes as he stared into the darkness. “Where are we?” His stomach growled as they passed the mangled wreck of the bus.

  “Just outside of Salem, sir. There’s an MRE on the back seat.”

  Franklin twisted around, grabbed it, and sighed with relief at the sight of instant coffee inside the package. He slid the packet of coffee into a jacket pocket but, since he hadn’t eaten in the last eighteen hours, devoured the rest. Then he pulled out his phone. He had no service, but it did display the time at just past midnight.

  Every stop yesterday, eighteen homes, the hospital, airport, city hall, and an electric substation, had proven the same. The power grid remained down and where generators were available, most computer processors were burned out. He held out little hope that the situation would be different in Salem.

  The Humvee rumbled onward, swinging past cars and trucks. A fire engine blocked most of the lanes ahead, but Keller swung the deuce around it. Perhaps destroying the bus had satisfied his destructive tendencies for a bit.

  Still tired, Franklin considered drinking the coffee, but, wishing to save it for later, he rejected the idea and gradually succumbed to fatigue. He woke to the sound of down-shifting as the convoy slowed to exit the freeway. The sky remained dark with only headlights illuminating the way as they drove toward downtown Salem on streets littered with abandoned vehicles. Tall buildings obscured much of the starry night, as they continued toward the capitol campus.

  The deuce ahead slowed and stopped in front of the white marble capitol building, brightened only by lights from within. On either side, light shone from several windows almost as if hung in the sky like stars on a moonless night.

  In the distance, an engine, probably a generator, growled.

  Franklin stepped from the Humvee onto the pavement. In this open space around the capitol, countless stars dotted the vast night sky. “At least there’s no aurora.”

  Thomas strode around the Humvee and stood beside him. “We had northern lights earlier, sir, while you slept.”

  Franklin grunted at the news of a second night of solar storms as Sergeant Keller jogged into view. Before he could say anything, two state patrol officers emerged from the darkness and into the glow of the headlights. Each rested a hand on his holster. “Who are you?” one asked.

  “I’m Major Franklin. I need to speak with the governor or other command authority.”

  “First we’ll need to see some ID,” the officer said flatly.

  Franklin pulled the card from his wallet and handed it over.

  “I’m Sergeant Benson. The governor and others are still in the emergency command center.” Benson examined the card in the glow of the headlights and then returned it. He pulled a flashlight from his belt. “I can take you there.”

  Turning to Keller, Franklin said, “Have the vehicles refueled and ready to leave when I get back.” Then he followed the officer into a nearby gray stone building.

  Strategic lights glowed at corners and midway along halls, providing minimal visibility as he and the sergeant moved to the stairwell and headed down. While he had been to the capitol campus many times before and in this building several times, he had never been in the basement. “This is where the emergency center is?”

  “Yeah,” Benson replied. “It’s part of the old bomb shelter complex below the building.”

  A state patrol officer and a soldier stood guard at the entrance. The soldier asked for ID and then, “Do you have any weapons, sir?”

  “Just this.” Franklin tapped his holster.

  “I’ll need it.”

  Reluctantly, Franklin released it and the guard opened the door.

  The stillness of the room struck Franklin. Oregon faced its greatest emergency ever, but the state command center remained as quiet as a library. Only a few hushed voices reached his ears.

  A huge map of Oregon covered one wall. Whiteboards filled most of another and several dozen desks covered with computers, phones, and stacks of paper occupied the middle of the room.

  He thought of The Cube and how useless it had become since the first CME hit. Perhaps all computers centers were now useless relics of a bygone era. Franklin shook his head, attempting to dismiss the idea and its ultimate consequences.

  People turned and stared as Franklin strode across the room. He recognized Governor Adams from his many appearances on television but not the five people with him or the other dozen scattered about.

  Adams turned.

  “I’m Major Franklin, here on behalf of General Sattler. I’ve been assessing the situation in Portland and he wanted me to brief you.”

  Adams nodded and then introduced the state police superintendent, fire marshal, head of emergency management, Salem’s mayor, and city police chief. Then the governor sighed. “How bad is it in Portland?”

  Franklin described what he had seen the day before.

  “So, Portland is in much the same situation as Salem, no power or communication.” The governor stared at the floor for a moment. “I hope we’ll soon get assistance from the rest of the country or … who knows, maybe Canada can help.”

  Franklin shook his head. “We suspect most of the world has been hit by the solar storms.”

  The fire marshal plopped a large binder labeled Emergency Action Plan on a nearby desk. “If that’s so, then no one will be able to help us.” He frowned and shook his head.

  “I believe we need to prepare for that possibility,” Franklin replied.

  “No,” Adams declared. “I won’t believe this great nation has been brought down by a storm … a storm that started millions of miles away on the sun.” He shook his head. “It just doesn’t make sense.”

  Franklin knew the facts and those facts did make sense, but he wouldn’t argue with the governor. Thinking that it might be a good idea to work with the Oregon National Guard, he asked, “Where’s General Gordon?”

  “In his office on the second floor.” The police superintendent tilted his head as if pointing. “I can show you.”

  Franklin retrieved his pistol and, with the superintendent, climbed the stairs to an area he had visited several times for meetings and conferences. Just beyond those rooms was a cafeteria. The smell of grease still hung in the air. He had always avoided eating there, but now a burger, fries, and a cup of coffee would have been great. He fingered the pouch of coffee in his pocket.

  Later.

  Next along the hall stood a small uniform shop used mostly by National Guard soldiers in and around Salem.

  Franklin stopped just outside the store. “Do you have the key for this place?”

  “I have a master key.” The superintendent raised an eyebrow. “You need to get in there?”

  “Yes.”

  The superinten
dent shrugged, unlocked the door, and held it open.

  Inside, Franklin searched a dozen drawers behind the counter until he spotted what he needed. Stuffing the necessary items in a pocket, he set a ten-dollar bill by the register as he left.

  Just around the next corner the superintendent stopped at General Gordon’s office.

  The superintendent introduced Franklin to the general, a man with thinning gray hair and a wrinkled brow.

  “What can I do for you, Major? Or what can we do for each other?”

  The superintendent left, and for the next few minutes Franklin and Gordon discussed ideas for working together to provide security.

  Static crackled from a corner of the room.

  Franklin turned and spotted a small multiband transceiver. “It’s good to see you have one that works.”

  “I had it in a Faraday cage the night of the storms and took it out only today.” Gordon adjusted the squelch.

  “You know about Faraday cages?” Franklin smiled.

  “They say you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.” He flashed a broad grin. “I read the military journals and try to keep up.”

  Franklin laughed.

  “We had auroras earlier.” Gordon shrugged. “It still works. I think I heard your drivers talking as you entered Salem. I tried to contact them, but the signal isn’t good in this building.”

  They returned to their security discussion until Franklin said, “I think we have a framework, but I’ll need to return to Portland before—”

  Keller burst into the room with a police officer behind him. Gasping, he said, “There’s a guard unit under attack … just outside of Salem. We heard them … over the radio.”

  “Where?” Franklin stood.

  Keller took a deep breath. “At an armory just east of here, sir.”

  Franklin looked at General Gordon. The martial law decree made him the senior officer in the state.

  “I know this isn’t your mission, Major,” General Gordon frowned. “But I have no troops with me.”

  “Sergeant Keller, have the soldiers do buddy checks and then perform the pre-combat inspection.”

  “Yes, sir.” He hurried from the room.

  “I know the place.” General Gordon retrieved a pistol and holster from his desk and stood. “I’m going with you.”