Nuclear Winter Whiteout

by Bobby Akart

  “Wow! Didn’t expect that,” Peter said aloud.

  HONK!

  Peter jerked his head around. Another car was approaching, and they were laying on the horn to force him out of the road. Peter pushed off and shuffled to the shoulder to avoid getting hit by the second car. This time, he got a better look at it. It was a late-model Mercedes.

  Once again, he rubbed his eyes as if he were dreaming. Then he rubbed both hands on his thighs as if to confirm he was really standing by his bicycle. In the growing darkness, he studied the buildings around him. None of them showed signs of life, much less electricity. Yet two late-model cars had just sailed past him.

  Peter took a deep breath and held it. He focused all of his senses on his surroundings, straining as he listened for any signs of machinery operating, whether it be another car or a small appliance. He cupped his hands to his ears in an effort to block out any ambient noise caused by the wind rustling through the trees. He concentrated.

  Then he heard it. It was the low rumble of a truck approaching from behind him. He pushed his bicycle off the shoulder of the road behind a dumpster standing between a gas station and a barbeque restaurant.

  Peter pulled his weapon and crouched next to it. Peering around the edge of the dumpster, Peter saw headlights appear on the road he’d just traveled along. The truck had lumbered up the hill and was coasting down the other side toward the stop sign. Only, he stopped, whereas Peter hadn’t.

  After a second, the driver of the diesel farm truck began to drive past him, shifting gears as he picked up speed. Peter wanted to call out and ask him a simple question.

  How?

  Chapter Nineteen

  Friday, November 1

  Stokesdale, North Carolina

  Peter eased up out of his crouch and assessed his surroundings. There were several older homes at the intersection together with an auto repair business on the back side of the gas station. The barbecue restaurant was attached to a hair salon. Despite the vehicles that had unexpectedly passed him, the rural crossroads was devoid of life except for a dog nosing around the back of the building.

  Peter breathed a sigh of relief. He watched the dog sniffing around in search of food and wondered if the older pup might help him find something to eat as he suddenly realized how hungry he was.

  The pup noticed him and immediately made a beeline to Peter’s side. Tail wagging and the tags on his collar jingling, the family pet turned scavenger used his friendly nature to introduce himself to Peter.

  He crouched down and held his right hand out for the dog to sniff him. Peter spoke in a calm, reassuring tone. “Hey, buddy. Are you looking for some yummies?”

  The dog responded by wagging his tail even faster. He sniffed at Peter’s arm and then sat down, eagerly allowing Peter to scrub on his neck. His panting and smiling face confirmed to Peter that he wasn’t likely to bite him.

  “I wish I could help ya. I’m pretty sure the MRE bars I have would suck for you as much as they suck for me.”

  Peter stood and rummaged through his bag in search of the Clif protein bars. Most of them had chocolate, but he found one that substituted carob, a powdered form of the dark brown pea produced by the carob tree that tasted like chocolate. He broke off a small piece and allowed the Heinz 57 pup to try it.

  “Um, did you even taste that?” asked Peter with a chuckle. The dog panted, and his eyes seemed to ask for more. “All right, a couple more bites. Let’s not overload that stomach.”

  Peter fed his new friend half and ate the other half for himself. It was hardly enough but satisfied him until he could find shelter. The dog raised his nose in the air and caught a scent of something. He darted off between the buildings and glanced back at Peter before disappearing.

  He suddenly felt exposed. Thus far, he’d been riding along with very little human contact, thank goodness. Either the people he’d encountered had tried to kill him or they had already been dead. Peter had developed a survival mindset in which everyone was a threat and the world would be lacking any form of operating electronic device. Yet, here he was, roughly three hundred miles from Washington, and he’d just witnessed three vehicles that had survived the electromagnetic pulse generated by the nuclear warhead destroying the city.

  Peter needed to process this as well as rest for the next day’s ride. He considered his options. Unlike the small communities he’d ridden through previously, these businesses didn’t appear to be looted. There was no electricity, at least as far as his eyes could see. This was puzzling to him as well. If the EMP didn’t impact the cars, why would it take down the electric grid here?

  He paced back and forth behind the dumpster, contemplating all of this. Finally, he pushed his bicycle between the buildings. At the rear of the simple block building, which contained the restaurant and hair salon, there was another business that built storage sheds. They were the kind you found at most home improvement stores. Shaped like small cabins and Dutch barns, the simple structures could be loaded on the back of a flatbed delivery truck and installed on blocks just about anywhere the owner desired. They’d become popular for some as tiny houses, a way of living inexpensively and, in some cases, off the grid.

  Now that he’d seen signs of activity in the form of moving vehicles, Peter assumed law enforcement was active as well. He was not comfortable breaking into the businesses to look for food and shelter. He looked to the inventory of storage barns as an option that might not draw the owner’s ire if he was discovered.

  He checked the door handles of the first few floor models lining the front of the business. They were all unlocked. After a look around, he decided on a small, near-windowless storage building in the middle of the business’s inventory. The lack of windows would insulate him from the cold, and the centralized location within the property might give him a heads-up in the event somebody else had the same idea.

  Operating vehicles meant people were more mobile. The lack of electricity meant they were still going to be desperate.

  Peter wheeled his bicycle inside and unloaded the gear. Then he laid the bike crossways across the barn door and used his bungee cords to secure it to the interior door handles. This barricade would give him peace of mind as he slept.

  After rebandaging his wounds, he laid out the various pills that had become part of his daily regimen. The Keflex followed by the potassium iodide. He also took a multivitamin, vitamin C, D, and E supplements as well as a zinc tablet, most of which helped build his body’s immunities to disease. He had a sufficient supply to last him six months although he was certain he’d be back at Driftwood Key by then. Meanwhile, as he traveled, he’d be more likely to encounter diseased animals or people. And, as he’d proven, the prospect of being injured was high as well. The vitamins and supplements would help protect him while his nutrition was lacking.

  After settling in, Peter took a sip of the Chivas Regal scotch he’d packed at the golf course. It caused him to wince as it went down, but he allowed himself another swig. He chuckled to himself as he imagined a doctor assessing his mental state. On the one hand, he was taking extra precautions to keep his body safe with various supplements. On the other, he was swigging a premium scotch without regard to the countereffect on his medication.

  “Sometimes, you gotta just say screw it. Right, Pete?”

  He took another sip. Within minutes, the lack of food in his stomach immediately resulted in a buzz. Peter, who’d never been a heavy drinker, had become a survivalist much like his sister. He recognized the importance of keeping a clear head. He capped the bottle of Chivas and stored it away before he took one swig too many.

  Peter inhaled deeply, leaned against the wall of the shed, and laid the AR-15 across his lap. He closed his eyes and ran all the scenarios through his head. He tried to recall everything he’d ever learned about EMPs.

  After all the calculations and possibilities were run through his mind, he came to the conclusion that the effect of the ground detonation in Washington had been limited
to a certain radius. He became convinced that the power grid had been taken down due to the cascading failure similar to what had happened in India years ago.

  Most likely, he decided, appliances and electronics like computers could function the farther he traveled away from DC. And, as he’d witnessed, vehicles were moving, although not in large numbers.

  This meant his options for getting home just widened. As Peter drifted off to sleep, his entire focus changed. He needed to find a ride, one with at least four wheels.

  Part III

  Day sixteen, Saturday, November 2

  Chapter Twenty

  Saturday, November 2

  Mount Weather Emergency Operations Center

  Northern Virginia

  President Helton was about to learn not all EMPs were alike. The electromagnetic pulse generated by the nuclear warheads had a differing effect on the U.S. depending upon whether it was an impact explosion or if the warhead detonated above the Earth’s surface.

  Homeland Security and its experts were called in to brief the president on the impact the EMPs had on critical infrastructure and anything dependent on the use of electricity. While trying to help those in need, he was constantly looking forward to the rebuilding effort.

  “Mr. President,” began the DHS director, “since the nineties, an argument raged in Washington as to whether the EMP threat was overhyped or a grievously overlooked existential threat to the nation. Generally, the debate centered around the funding of the various means to insulate our critical infrastructure from the effects of an electromagnetic pulse.

  “These EMPs, whether naturally created by the sun in the form of a coronal mass ejection of solar matter or manmade as delivered by a high-yield nuclear warhead, impact us in similar ways. When a nuclear device explodes at high altitude, say between twenty-five and two hundred fifty miles above the Earth, it produces powerful gamma rays that radiate outward.

  “As the gamma rays collide with molecules in the Earth’s atmosphere, they are directed toward the planet surface in the form of a powerful electromagnetic energy field. The EMP does not directly cause human injuries, but it does destroy most electrical equipment and computerized devices as a surge of high-voltage current seeks out wiring or cables that act like antennas.”

  The president raised his hand slightly to stop the director’s presentation. “Before you continue with what has been affected, let’s talk about the range these detonations had. They’re all different, correct?”

  “Yes, Mr. President. For one, we’re dealing with several different types of detonations. This may seem illogical, but the higher the altitude of the burst, the farther the pulse of energy travels. The gamma rays spread outward from the detonation site. At twenty-five miles above the surface, they enter the atmosphere where ionization occurs and produce an electromagnetic wave. This wave travels unimpeded, and it radiates everything below it.

  “The only example of this type of high-altitude EMP detonation occurred near Denver at an altitude of around twenty miles. Our analysis leads us to believe that this warhead was destined for Cheyenne Mountain, but our ballistic missile interceptors took it down near Boulder. The gamma rays radiated outward in a radius several hundred miles across the U.S.

  “Now, contrast this with the ground burst in Washington, which radiated out a much shorter distance. The line of sight from ground zero was much shorter than the Colorado air detonation.”

  “Okay, I understand,” said the president. “Now, is it possible for you to identify, either by your modeling or actual in-the-field research, what parts of the country were directly affected by the EMP effect?”

  “We’ve begun that process through modeling, Mr. President. Next, with your permission, we’d like to utilize the military to assess the range of each nuclear detonation. Those parts of the nation that are outside the reach of the gamma rays will be able to achieve some sort of normalcy first. Assuming, of course, that the power grid can be restored.”

  “Normalcy?” asked the president.

  “Sir, I suppose that was a poor choice of words. Nothing will be normal for years to come, as Secretary Bergmann indicated in yesterday’s briefing. By normal, I mean vehicles and computers could still operate. Audio-visual equipment, for example, would work, enabling Americans to both receive and transmit information to satellites for further dissemination.”

  “Hospitals, too, I presume.”

  “Yes, sir. Most hospitals outside the EMP blast radius would have operating medical devices once electricity is restored. For a while, as we’ve discussed, they can operate using their generators, many of which are hardened against electromagnetic pulse energy already. However, they need fuel to function. Without the power grid, they have to rely upon propane, natural gas, or gasoline. All of which require their own power sources to be extracted and then delivered.”

  The president sighed. The nation’s ability to function wasn’t totally destroyed. It simply meant he’d have to marshal the unaffected assets wisely. However, he thought to himself, without a functioning power grid, the task of recovery was near impossible.

  “Our managed blackouts didn’t work to prevent the complete collapse of the grid, did they?”

  The director grimaced and shook his head. “Sir, it was the only option we had, but you’re correct, the rolling blackouts simply prolonged the agony. It didn’t give us time to prevent the cascading failure.”

  “What steps do we need to take to restore the grid? At least in the areas where the EMP blast didn’t have an effect.”

  “Sir, prior studies have pointed to as many as fourteen bulk-power transformers that are especially vulnerable to the thermal damage resulting from an EMP event. These massive transformers, all made in China, I might add, convert high-voltage electricity from one transmission location to another, enabling it to move from the source of generation to the end user.

  “Their proximity to the EMP blast determines whether it is ruined or simply rendered inoperable. Further analysis is needed to understand the extent of damage using site-specific data, including the overall condition of the transformer. That said, the cascading failure will necessarily result in the removal and replacement of the computer systems for each transformer. These are unique to the transformer and must be rebuilt to those exact specifications.”

  “How long would it take to replace a transformer and its computer system?” asked the president.

  The director shook his head side to side as he contemplated his answer. “Years, under normal circumstances. Because Japan was hit by the DPRK’s nukes, China is our only source for replacement components. We’re totally reliant upon them at this point.”

  The president slumped in his chair, allowing the director’s final words to hang in the air.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Saturday, November 2

  Central North Carolina

  A dog barking incessantly in the distance awoke Peter that morning. He’d passed out sitting up, and eventually during his sleep, he’d slid over on his side, sleeping in a fetal position to ward off the cold. The barking dog might have been his new friend, but when several others joined in, a cacophony of breeds awoke the rural neighborhood just like a rooster might on a farm.

  Peter gripped his rifle and forced his sore body to stand. He rolled his eyes as he questioned if it would ever recover. He unstrapped the bungee cords from his bicycle and eased the door open. It was daylight. Well, as much as daylight was allowed to appear during nuclear winter.

  The sounds of the dogs barking in the distance were louder now but sufficiently far enough away not to concern him. After he relieved his bladder, he slipped back into the storage building and plotted out his day.

  He was beginning to establish a routine after only a few days on the road. He checked his wounds and took his medications. He repacked his duffels and backpacks, reassessing his ammunition supply as he did. Thus far, he’d only expended nine-millimeter rounds from his handgun. He was certain it wouldn’t be the la
st time.

  He also decided to keep extra magazines in his cargo pants pockets for his handgun and the AR-15 rifle he’d taken from the men on the bridge. He would be traveling near a major metropolitan area as he swung to the west of Winston-Salem. The historic city of a quarter million, built during the infancy of America’s tobacco industry, would present challenges if someone approached him.

  He’d have to tread lightly and be pleasant to everyone he encountered. He’d also have to be prepared to shoot them just like he’d shot the men on the bridge. His mind was prepared to travel through a kill-or-be-killed environment. It was wholly out of character for him but a necessary consequence of the changing world.

  The circuitous route he would have to take to avoid the city would take him to the town of Wilkesboro, sixty-five miles northwest of Charlotte. From that point, Peter believed, after studying the map, he could travel due south through the Carolinas, into Georgia, before entering North Florida. All of the major cities along the way could be avoided.

  Peter was a beast that day. Perhaps it was the fact he’d rested his weary body. Maybe it was the fact he began to see more signs of life. Several times along the route, he was passed by vehicles traveling in both directions as he approached Wilkesboro. Only one car slowed down as they approached Peter, and it appeared to be out of courtesy, as they didn’t want to startle him on a sharp curve.

  The combination of all the positive things he’d experienced as he rode gave him a second wind. By his prior calculations, he was able to easily ride eighty-plus miles in seven hours. He approached Wilkesboro with several hours of daylight remaining, so he continued on his southerly track.

  As he rode closer toward I-40, the number of homes with people appearing outside increased. There was one property near the road frontage that caught his eye. A man and a woman sat in white rocking chairs, slowly easing back and forth with surgical masks over their faces. The older man had an oxygen tank with a breathing mask dangling from the valve by his side. The portable oxygen device must’ve been used by him for a respiratory ailment. Now, despite the horrendous air quality conditions, he was sitting outside.