by Bobby Akart
Carly thought for a moment. “When I was growing up, you know, my parents lived in Elwood just west of Muncie.”
“Right. I remember.”
“Well, as a kid, I went to school near an LDS community.”
Sarah interrupted. “Church of Latter-day Saints. The Mormons.”
“Yes. Anyway, they were all homeschooled and it was a good thing, too. The other kids around Elwood used to bully them and make fun of them. I hate to admit it, but I didn’t defend them like I should have. You know how it can be when a rabid mob decides to pick on someone. If you speak out against it, then they brutalize you, too. I stood silent when I should’ve stood up. That was wrong.”
Sarah reached for her hand, puzzled why this conversation was necessary right now. “Honey, that was a long time ago.”
“I know, um, sorry,” said Carly. She took a deep breath and continued. “Anyway, the LDS families were known as preppers. Their religion taught them to be prepared for emergencies in every possible way. They lived within their means and stayed out of debt.”
Sarah laughed nervously. “Well, that eliminates the Boone family right there.”
Carly shrugged and continued. “Mostly, they believed in having a good supply of food, medicine, and essentials. They were also taught to be self-reliant. They honestly believed their community could live well and survive any scenario without the help of the government.”
“What do you think? Based on what you saw, anyway.”
“I absolutely believed they could. I became friends with a girl from their community. We’d hang out by Big Duck Creek and skip stones while we talked. She’d tell me about all the chores each family member had to do and why. Sarah, they were always growing food, canning, and stockpiling more for the future.”
Sarah nodded and patted her daughter-in-law on the knee. “Honey, we may be a little late to this preparedness game, but there’s no time like the present. We don’t have the time, or the rainfall, to grow our own food and whatnot, but I have a credit card and a big SUV that can do some damage at the Corydon Walmart. Whadya say?”
Carly replied, “I’m in, but do you know what we need to buy?”
“Not completely, but sort of. Let’s go inside and I’ll tell you how I think we should approach it. Let’s use your recollection of the LDS folks to help me create a big ol’ shopping list.”
The two women went inside, where Squire and the grandkids were having a great time playing video games. Sitting on the sofa, focused on the game, they were oblivious to Sarah and Carly’s discussion at the dining table.
Nonetheless, the two women spoke in hushed tones so they didn’t unduly concern the children or unintentionally solicit the input of Squire.
Carly began first. “Let’s look at it from a common-sense approach. Water is very important, not only to keep us hydrated, but also to cook and bathe with.”
“We have the wells,” interjected Sarah. “Plus, they’re solar powered because they’re spread all over the farm and orchards.”
Carly pointed out something Sarah hadn’t considered. “Yes, but what do we need to keep the wells functioning while keeping the water stored and purified?”
Sarah started a list for a stop at Capitol Feed & Farm. She jotted down seeds, fertilizer, medications for the chickens, and well supplies.
Carly continued. “Water is most important, followed by food. We will can everything that we have growing in the fields now, including apples. I saw you write down seeds. I remember from talking with my friend back in Elwood that the LDS people used heirloom seeds.”
“Of course, so do we, but I’ll make a note.”
“Then the next thing we should focus on are foods that don’t require refrigeration or electricity to prepare. Let’s make a Walmart list.”
Sarah began to jot down a list of dry goods like beans, rice, and pastas. She expanded the Walmart list to include canned goods and jotted a note in parenthesis that read check shelf life.
Over the next thirty minutes, the two women huddled over the dining table and thought of every aspect of their daily lives, from drinks to food to medicines and hygiene.
Lastly, they discussed weapons. Sarah said, “Squire’s father used to always say, if you can’t defend it, it isn’t yours. He believed in teaching his kids, and grandkids, how to properly handle weapons. They grew up learning which guns were best used for what situation, and then he trained them so they were always comfortable using them.”
“Levi remembers all of those lessons, and he’s passed them on to those two,” added Carly, nodding at the superheroes playing the most recent version of Spiderman. “Heck, they even learn from those video games, eighty percent of which are ridiculously violent. I try to shield them from it, but Jesse seems to find a way to play them anyway.”
Sarah grimaced and shook her head. She disapproved of the video games for her grandkids, although she’d enjoyed them when she was a kid. “Well, we’re gonna need to stock up on ammunition, and it’s gonna be hard with the new rules restricting how much we can buy. I have an idea that might work. Give me a minute while I run to the bedroom. Then we’ll go.”
While Carly recruited Jesse and Rachel to warm up barbecue leftovers for their grandfather, Sarah slipped off into the master bedroom to open the safe hidden away under a pile of shoeboxes in their closet. She retrieved a stack of hundred-dollar bills and shoved them into her purse.
“Money talks and …” She smiled as her voice trailed off.
Chapter 7
The White House
Washington, DC
Grant Houston had enjoyed a meteoric rise to the presidency. A California native and fourth-generation San Franciscan, he’d been born into a family of attorneys on his father’ side and scientists on his mother’s. His childhood was difficult as he battled the emotional stress of his parents’ divorce and the complications associated with a severe dyslexia condition.
After graduating from the University of California at Berkeley with a degree in political science, Houston chose to go into business with a family friend rather than pursue a law degree, as demanded by his father.
The liquor store he opened with his partners was certainly not what his mother had planned for his life either. She, however, supported him in his endeavors, and within a few years, the mom-and-pop enterprise became a chain of twenty-three liquor stores, restaurants, and boutique hotels.
Politics was never on Houston’s radar although he was keenly interested in matters that related to the environment and animal rights. He grew up with an otter, an unusual pet by any measure, but one that taught him that all animals, not just the typical domesticated ones like cats and dogs, deserved love and protection.
His first foray into politics was in his late twenties when he worked on the San Francisco mayoral campaign of a local political heavyweight. He hosted private fundraisers at his restaurants and actively promoted his candidate’s cause in social media. When the election campaign was successful, he was rewarded with a vacant seat on the city’s Parking and Traffic Commission.
Certainly, an unknown quantity with a political start on the Parking and Traffic Commission wasn’t necessarily considered presidential timber, but Grant Houston was a different breed. He was driven and saw an opportunity to use his handsome appearance and eloquence to promote causes that were dear to his heart.
Soon, he became the youngest member of San Francisco’s board of supervisors, which then vaulted him into the local news spotlight. With the blessing of the mayor who started him in politics, he finished first in a nine-candidate field and became one of the youngest mayors in San Francisco history.
But Houston wasn’t done yet. As mayor of San Francisco, he began to get noticed by national party leaders and was honored with a speaking slot at their national convention during a presidential election cycle. He wowed the crowd with his soaring rhetoric and was soon well known around the country.
Successful campaigns for both lieutenant governor and later gov
ernor of California set him up for national prominence. And now, barely nine months after he took the presidential oath of office, he was sitting in the Oval Office at the White House facing a monumental crisis the likes of which no president before him had faced.
“Mr. President, they’re waiting for you in the Roosevelt Room,” announced Angela O’Donnell, his longtime chief of staff from his days in California government. O’Donnell had been challenged often during her early days in Washington because she, like the president, was an outsider. To complicate their early days in office, the media alleged the two had a tryst during the presidential campaign just a year prior. The cloud of controversy had swirled over their heads for months, yet they’d effectively circled the wagons in an attempt to govern. Hugely protective, she’d become a tenacious gatekeeper preventing unfettered access to the president.
“Ang, you know I’ve been up to my eyeballs with this gun legislation on Capitol Hill. I haven’t had time to look at this situation in detail. Seriously, is this much ado about nothing? I know they’ve experienced outages in Eastern Europe and into France from this solar storm, but it’s happened before, and the grid was repaired soon thereafter.”
O’Donnell shut the door leading into the secretary’s office. She approached the president and gently ran her fingers down his chiseled jawline. “Don’t let this distract you. Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it together, just like always. Past presidents on both sides of the aisle have allowed their domestic agendas to get distracted by international events and media hype. Not yours. This is an opportunity to right the wrongs of the past and create a legacy to be proud of.”
Houston bent over and kissed his chief of staff. The tryst reported by the media was much more than that. For all intents and purposes, the two were husband and wife except for one minor detail—his legal spouse was still living in California, pursuing her career as a Hollywood producer.
“I love you,” he whispered in her ear, always concerned that his office was being surveilled by someone. “Let me hear them out, and if it appears it requires more of my attention, then I’ll shift gears.”
“Grant, it’s more about what the media thinks. We’ll make sure they believe you’re on top of the situation, you know, closely monitoring events, etcetera. In reality, this could provide the perfect distraction for you to ram the gun bill through Congress.”
“This is why I need you by my side twenty-four seven.”
She reached behind him and pulled him closer to her body before passionately kissing him. She whispered in a sexy voice, “No, this is why you need me twenty-four seven.”
A gentle tap at the door interrupted their moment, and the two quickly put some distance between them.
“Yes, come in,” said the president.
“Sir, I’m sorry to interrupt,” said his secretary. “Apparently, something is developing in relation to your briefing, and they have requested your presence immediately.”
President Houston took a deep breath and exhaled. “Thank you.” With his lover in tow, he marched toward the Roosevelt Room across the corridor from the Oval Office.
The meeting room was often referred to as the Fish Room, a moniker hearkening back to the day of President Franklin D. Roosevelt, who used it to display an aquarium and some mementos of his fishing expeditions. Later, President Richard Nixon named the conference space the Roosevelt Room to honor Theodore Roosevelt, who built the West Wing, and FDR, who expanded it.
Inside the windowless room, which served to hold daily briefings and multimedia presentations, every chair was full of representatives from NASA, NOAA, and the USGS—the triumvirate of the planet’s earth sciences. As the president and O’Donnell entered the room, the attendees all stood out of respect, and President Houston casually waved to them to sit.
O’Donnell took the floor, as had come to be expected in the Houston administration. The president always allowed her to set the stage for any briefing. She dispensed with the pleasantries and got right to the point.
“It’s oh-dark-thirty and we’ve delayed the president’s daily briefing on matters of national security to meet with all of you. I trust what you have to say trumps his duty to protect our nation.”
Several of the attendees gulped and appeared to sink into their chairs. Only one sat a little taller. It was Nola Taylor, a rising star within NASA’s organizational structure. A former astronaut and climatologist with an expertise in analyzing climate patterns and the geological effects on the world’s weather, Taylor was on the fast track to become the head of the agency’s Space Technology Mission Directorate. In recent years, the directorate had shifted its focus from exploration to using space technology to study the climatic impact of humans on the planet.
She was calm and collected as she addressed the president. “Mr. President, Chief of Staff O’Donnell, my name is Nola Taylor, and I can assure you this is a matter that may be directly related to the national security of our country.”
Chapter 8
The White House
Washington, DC
President Houston gave O’Donnell a look as he leaned forward. “I’m intrigued, Ms. Taylor. Go on.”
“Sir, just a few hours ago, a geomagnetic storm, or geostorm for short, struck an area of Eastern Europe stretching from Ukraine, through the former Czech republics, and into France. This storm, one that had been predicted by our SWPC in Boulder, was recorded as a G1.”
The president held his hands up and leaned back in his chair. “Ms. Taylor, please, provide this layman with a little more context here.”
“Yes, sir, my apologies. The Space Weather Prediction Center, or SWPC, is the division of NOAA that continually monitors and forecasts space weather alerts and warnings for the U.S., and the world, really. Space weather consists of conditions on the sun that emit solar winds, plasma, and particles that could have a direct impact on our planet’s spaceborne and ground-based electronics.”
One of the attendees began to cough, so Taylor paused her response until the fit was over. The man was offered a glass of water, but the coughing continued until O’Donnell nodded to an aide to remove him from the Roosevelt Room.
“Please continue,” said the president.
“Yes, sir. Space weather, in the form of coronal mass ejections and geomagnetic storms, can damage satellites, navigation, Earth-based telecommunications, and can cause damage to the electrical systems we rely upon for energy. Just as we need early warning systems in place to monitor hurricanes, tornadoes, and other naturally occurring events on Earth, we need to monitor the Sun for possible solar flares that can damage our electronics.”
“Ms. Taylor, I’m familiar with the impact solar flares can have on our power grid. In California, we established solar arrays that were independent of the PG&E grid after the sophisticated sniper attacks in 2013. These arrays harness the power of the sun while being hardened and independent of the main grid.”
“Yes, sir, I’m familiar with your work on that project when you were lieutenant governor. However, what I’m talking about today could have a far-reaching impact on the entire country.”
“A larger geostorm than what we customarily experience?” he asked.
“No, sir. There is no current threat of a Carrington-level solar storm event. The threat of an ordinary storm wreaking havoc has emerged.” In 1859, a powerful geomagnetic storm struck the planet for two days. The coronal mass ejection spewed electrified gas and subatomic particles that breached Earth’s atmosphere, causing telegraph wires to catch on fire and early electronics to malfunction.
“How?” asked O’Donnell.
“Geostorms occur when a coronal mass ejection or a high-speed solar wind stream engulfs the Earth, causing the magnetic field to become unsettled. We can predict when a CME will sweep over Earth’s magnetic field, creating the conditions for a geostorm, but we cannot always be accurate as to the strength.
“Once the geostorm hit Eastern Europe overnight, the SWPC, as confirmed by NOAA, was able to iden
tify it as a G1 storm. Now, G1 storms occur approximately seventeen hundred times every eleven years, which is the typical length of a solar cycle. A G1 storm is manageable, meaning that it can cause weak power grid fluctuations, minor satellite malfunctions, and can confuse migratory animals in the northernmost regions of the planet.”
The president interrupted her. “And aurora.”
“Yes, sir. Periods of active auroras are most vibrant across the northern territories of Canada and can also be seen at middle latitudes depending on atmospheric conditions.”
The president glanced down at his watch. O’Donnell picked up on the gesture and pressed Taylor to move it along. “How does all of this relate to our national security? I mean, I recall a geostorm knocked the power out in Quebec many years ago, but it was restored within a few weeks.”
“Yes, I’m glad you brought up the Quebec event. That geostorm was caused by a massive X15 solar flare, resulting in a far greater impact on the province’s electric grid. Some studies indicate that geostorm was a level G3. That is many times greater than the G1 experienced in Europe.”
O’Donnell was growing impatient. “Okay, last night’s solar storm was an irregularity. Again, it begs the question, why does this require the president’s immediate attention?”
Taylor looked around the room, hoping to gather strength from her fellow scientists. She found the words and was blunt in her delivery.
“Because geologic conditions exist for it to happen again, and very soon.”
The president motioned for an aide to bring him a bottled water. He pulled his Montblanc pen out of his shirt pocket and laid it on the conference table. In an odd act of irony, he mindlessly twirled the pen on the polished tabletop, mimicking a compass spinning out of control.
“May I?” A man seated across from Taylor asked to address the president. With the wave of a hand, he was encouraged to continue by the president.
