CME Apocalypse Fiction

by Blaze Eastwood

  He opted for raisins and a box of glazed doughnuts that had expired a day earlier.

  After checking his wallet to ensure he had enough money, he approached the checkout lane, which had a handwritten sign posted near the register. It read: CASH ONLY.

  Since the scanners were down, the cashiers were tediously recording every purchase manually, sending other employees into the clustered aisles to confirm the price tags for the items being bought; a time-consuming process indeed. Needless to say, the lines were long and dreadfully slow moving.

  By the time it was Vaughn's turn to check out, he was caught in the midst of a daydream. He was vividly picturing a better life; a utopia, where power outages simply didn't happen. He allowed himself to soak it in, delaying the misery of the intrusive real world, until the cashier alerted him that she was available to help the next customer, chasing away his wandering thoughts and violently jolting him back into cruel reality.

  * * * * *

  Though Mason was almost always by Vaughn's side, he would oftentimes seem distant, as if he was lost in his own world. He also noticed that Mason seemed to carry a variety of faces, changing his personality sporadically.

  This wasn't to say it was problematic, however. Although Mason's moods would alter occasionally, and although he sometimes appeared to be aloof, he was never impolite or unpleasant to accompany.

  The heat from the sun made its presence known on the back of Vaughn's neck as he walked through the ghastly neighborhood.

  Shattered glass from broken windows adorned the ground, broadcasting the aftermath of the panic-inducing electromagnetic pulse.

  Gunshots crackled in the not so distant background.

  Society was already collapsing, and it was on the brink of crashing hard into the ground.

  How long would the aftermath last? The remnant shadows of the crumbling society did not specify.

  It had only been a few days, and Vaughn assumed the worst was yet to come.

  * * * * *

  After tirelessly following the road signs for an additional twenty miles, they stumbled upon an elongated lake.

  Large rock formations jutted out of the water, and an extensive patch of dense mist adorned the background, blocking their view of the mountains.

  Although the view was not ideal, it was a welcome change of scenery from the wasted cities they had recently passed through.

  Vaughn decided it was time to rest, so he took a seat on the sandy ground and faced the lake.

  Mason was setting up his tent, humming lightheartedly, as if he didn't have a care in the world. Vaughn found it perplexing. How were certain people able to stay so positive while facing such dire circumstances?

  The answer to that question eluded him, as it had for most of his life.

  The sky was clear, and if it wasn't for all the nagging thoughts that fought for control of his mind, he would have actually been able to enjoy the incredible scenery that enveloped him.

  Staring straight ahead at the lake, and feeling the minutes pass by, he eventually noticed a shadow sweeping over him. It was Mason's silhouette.

  Vaughn turned his head slightly to the right and used his peripheral vision to acknowledge him.

  “Do you really want to survive this journey?” Mason asked.

  “What do you mean? Of course I want to survive.”

  “No. I mean, do you really want to survive?”

  “I don't understand.”

  “So far, you haven't done much to demonstrate your determination.”

  “Are you kidding me? I've been walking twenty miles a day, while consuming very little food. I'm burning more calories than what I'm taking in.”

  “I'm not talking about that. There is more to survival than physical survival. What about mental and spiritual survival?”

  Vaughn was confusedly awestruck. He had certainly not expected such a question, and by the time he turned around to reluctantly answer, Mason had retreated to his tent.

  Chapter Six

  It took them two full days to reach the other side of the forty mile lake, and they had entered the next town by mid-morning.

  Vaughn had consumed two doughnuts and some raisins for breakfast. It would be close to sunset before he allowed himself to eat again.

  Although the town appeared to be placid at the moment, the leftover wreckage in the streets and sidewalks told a different story of what it had transpired the evening before.

  Buildings had been evidently broken into. There were pieces of cardboard in the window frames that had once contained panes of undisturbed glass.

  Doors were ripped from their hinges and thrown onto the sidewalk. They had shoe prints on them from being mercilessly trampled upon.

  Cupping his hands over one of the few glass windows that remained in place, Vaughn peered inside a small corner store. “You should see what it looks like inside, Mason.”

  The entire interior was in a state of horrid disarray, and if he had been a regular shopper there, he probably wouldn't have been able to recognize the place.

  Shelves had been thoroughly ransacked from left to right. Broken bottles and empty shell casings from bullets were scattered across the floor.

  “I don't need to see it,” Mason said earnestly. “I can see plenty of wreckage already.”

  Vaughn slowly leaned back until his view of the disheveled store's interior faded into obscurity.

  * * * * *

  After exiting the small town, Vaughn and Mason found themselves in the wilderness. In the distance, they could hear the sound of water flowing through a stream.

  “We have to be careful,” Mason said, walking toward the stream. “There aren't any road signs in the wilderness. One wrong turn could lead us fifty miles in the wrong direction.”

  “We'll just keep following this river for now,” Vaughn said, approaching the stream. “It's flowing northeast.”

  “I think I'm gonna use the water in the stream to wash up,” Mason said, taking a container of shower gel out of his suitcase.

  Vaughn nodded. “I'm going to take a seat in the tall grass.”

  Mason disappeared behind a row of ferns, bringing with him his shower gel and a roll of paper towels.

  Vaughn sat on top of his suitcase and thought fervently about his destination. He could hardly wait to get home, and although he had his doubts about getting there, he refused to surrender his thoughts to a perpetual state of pessimism.

  Negative thinking wouldn't serve him well, especially during a time in which he needed to fight hard to survive.

  A large breeze swept past him, blowing sand into his eyes. He didn't let it bother him, though. There was enough on his mind already.

  The sound of twigs snapping prompted him to suspect that someone was in the near distance, sneaking up on him perhaps. He looked over his shoulder and saw the tall grass swinging back and forth. The constant breeze led him to believe the noises were caused by nothing more than the fierce wind.

  Minding his own business, Vaughn continued to think deeply about his destination, when a large man of fifty years of age, dressed in a blue prison uniform, with his arms covered in tattoos, emerged from the ferns.

  Mason was out of sight and oblivious to the suspicious man, and when Vaughn sensed an attack approaching, he knew no one would be there to have his back.

  Before Vaughn could get into a standing position, he was kicked in the head by the violent assailant. He fell sideways, crashing into the ground, and for a moment, he didn't know where he was or what had happened.

  At this point, the assailant could have stolen Vaughn's suitcase and ran away. But he didn't go anywhere, and it became immediately apparent to Vaughn that he wanted more than the suitcase; he wanted his outfit.

  People in prison uniforms were likely to be shot on sight during such perilous times. An EMP itself already caused enough trouble. Society didn't want to have to deal with convicts who had escaped from prison after taking advantage of a power outage, especially when those prisoners co
uld potentially be serial killers.

  Vaughn stood up, but the assailant charged at him, and back to the ground he went. He looked up at the tall grass that was still moving back and forth in the wind. There was also the blue sky above him that glowed serenely in the glistening sunlight. Then, the assailant came back into Vaughn's direct line of vision.

  The assailant was tall and large, approximately two hundred and fifty pounds and well over two meters tall. The lack of compassion in his dark eyes bore the resemblance of a hardened criminal who would show no remorse for murdering someone.

  As he waited for the assailant to strike again, he placed his hand on his left outer pocket to see if his knife was still there. Had he placed it in his suitcase? He couldn't remember. He slipped his hand inside his left pocket, but nothing turned up.

  The assailant kicked Vaughn while he was down. He had aimed for Vaughn's ribs, but struck his upper arm instead, after he had dodged.

  For the second time, Vaughn tried to get up, only to be sent back down to the ground again, and this time, he felt a jarring pain in his upper back. He had landed on a rock.

  The assailant kicked him again. He was attacking him methodically, and there was no doubt he was heavily experienced in the fields of battery and assault.

  Vaughn grabbed his attacker's ankle and attempted to take away the ground beneath him.

  The assailant briefly danced on one leg and tried to maneuver his way out of Vaughn's grasp, before losing his balance and falling onto the ground.

  Now Vaughn had gained the upper hand. He stood up rapidly and struck the assailant in the face with his fist, causing him to cry out in pain.

  Vaughn struck him several more times, and the assailant cried out even louder, screaming for his friend to rush to his aid. “Help me! Get him off me!”

  At the corner of his eye, Vaughn saw a much leaner man in a blue prison uniform in the vicinity. He was rushing toward Vaughn as fast as he could, prepared to charge at him like a rampaging bull.

  The next thing Vaughn saw was his surroundings spinning wildly, as he absorbed the impact of the hit and fell onto the ground in a dizzying fashion.

  “Get the rock!” the larger assailant shouted at his friend. “Get the rock!”

  Vaughn darted his eyes around and tried to locate the rock before his assailant could get a hold of it. But it was too late.

  The leaner assailant had already spotted it. He picked it up from the ground and held it firmly with both hands. It was approximately ten inches wide, fifteen inches long, five inches thick, and weighed twenty pounds.

  The large assailant rushed toward Vaughn and grabbed him. After some initial difficulty, he managed to place him in a headlock.

  The leaner assailant hurried toward them, carrying the rock.

  “Did you look in his suitcase?” the large assailant gasped. It was taking nearly all of his strength to restrain Vaughn.

  “Yeah, he doesn't have any extra outfits. But he's got some food and water.”

  “Who else is with you?” the larger assailant asked, looking down at his unfortunate victim.

  Vaughn had not thought of Mason within the past minute, and he was not reminded of him until now. Everything was happening exceedingly fast, and the adrenaline rush was clouding his thinking.

  “Who else is with you?!”

  Vaughn didn't answer.

  “Crack his head open!” the larger assailant barked.

  Vaughn was visibly trying to break free.

  “Hold him still,” the other assailant said.

  “It's fine. I've got him. Just hammer the rock into his head. Hurry up.”

  Vaughn placed his hand in his right pocket and felt around for anything he could use as a weapon. After reaching deeply, he made contact with the handle of his folded knife. He flipped it open and covertly extracted it from his pocket. From there, he sank the blade into his assailant's upper thigh, and immediately, the grip on the headlock began to weaken significantly.

  The large assailant screamed in agony, but did not relent entirely. He desperately tried to maintain what was left of the weakening headlock with one arm, using his other arm to reach for Vaughn's right wrist.

  With his head still facing downward, Vaughn cringed in anxious anticipation as he waited for the rock to come crashing down upon his head.

  But it didn't.

  The lean assailant had froze after he heard his friend screaming. “What is it? What happened?”

  “He's got a knife,” the large assailant croaked. He staggered backward, taking Vaughn with him.

  Vaughn sliced the large assailant's right hand, and then the grip on the headlock ceased entirely. He broke free and took a few steps away from his attackers.

  The lean assailant threw the rock at Vaughn as hard as he could, aiming for his upper body. The rock missed Vaughn by several inches, and tumbled away into the tall grass.

  The large assailant had already bolted in the other direction, limping as he went. His friend soon joined him, and they both diminished out of Vaughn's sight.

  A moment later, Mason emerged from the ferns, entirely oblivious of what had transpired. Only after he looked at the bloody knife in Vaughn's hand and the traumatic look in his eyes did he realize that something had gone wrong.

  Chapter Seven

  Three additional days had elapsed by the time they reached a point in which the river began to turn. Vaughn's head was still sore from the attack.

  “Are you sure we can't keep following this river?” Mason asked.

  “I'm positive,” Vaughn replied. “It's starting to turn east now. Do you see how the river is starting to curve to the right?”

  “Yeah, I guess I do see that.” He paused momentarily. “How far along do you think we are?”

  Vaughn shrugged. “It's hard to say.”

  “Give me a rough estimate.”

  Vaughn exhaled a wearisome sigh. “Uh . . . I wanna say we're a little more than halfway to Idaho.”

  “How's your water supply?”

  “Three gallons left. You?”

  “Two and a half.”

  They had been awake for what felt like a few hours now, and the thought of breakfast excited Vaughn. He sat down, opened his suitcase, and rummaged through his rations.

  “We're not going to make it, are we?” Vaughn asked, glancing at his open suitcase and observing the scarce food supply.

  “Have some faith,” Mason said unconvincingly.

  The wind was picking up, sending copious amounts of loose sand into the side of Vaughn's face. His sunglasses shielded his eyes, though, and he paid little attention to the annoyance. He opened the wrapper and allowed himself just one pop-tart and a slice of dry bread.

  Mason slumped down and ate with him. “I've never been known to be much of a complainer, but I gotta tell ya, I'm getting real tired of all this nonstop walking.”

  “I remember back before I had a car, I would walk all over the place,” Vaughn said. “I told myself I would stop walking once I got a car. But then when I got my first car, and I saw how straining it was to drive during heavy traffic, I started walking again. Before I knew it, I was walking pretty far, and I was walking almost every single day.”

  “For fun?”

  “Yeah. Why not? It was a great way for me to release stress and clear my mind. But even now that I'm walking all day, it doesn't seem to have a positive effect anymore. My mind is still racing day and night. I guess walking is only good enough to ease the milder forms of stress.”

  Mason said nothing. He seemed aloof again. Then he stood up, took a step backward, and observed his traveling partner while he ate.

  “I wouldn't expect you to understand.”

  “No, I can relate,” Mason said. “Except, I usually go bike riding to relieve stress. I remember getting a black and silver bike on the Fourth of July. The bikes were on sale for the summer holiday, so my dad bought one for me and my sister. I would ride it all over the neighborhood, using my imagination and pretending
I was driving a bus, car, or even an airplane. Then one night, it got stolen. I left it outside in the backyard, and it was gone by sunrise. The summer before that, my dad put up a basketball hoop on our garage in the alley, and it got torn down a few days later. I really hated living in that neighborhood, so I moved to a place that had lower crime rates. I didn't want my kids growing up in a neighborhood like that.”

  “Did you live in a big city?”

  Mason nodded. “I lived in the mid-west. I never complained about any of the bad things that happened to me in the crime-ridden city, though. Well, maybe occasionally. But I still enjoy looking back at the time I spent there. After all, there are going to be pros and cons that come along with everything, no matter where you live.”

  Vaughn finished his breakfast and stood up. “That's true. You just have to try to minimize the cons as much as possible. Everyone has their strengths and weaknesses. Put yourself in positions that allow you to emphasize your strengths while you work to correct your weaknesses.”

  “Well, I wish I never would have put myself in a situation like this. That's for sure.”

  “I'd say you're doing fine,” Vaughn said. “You don't give yourself enough credit.”

  Mason stared into space, thinking deeply and absorbing the compliment. Then he picked up his suitcase, and they both continued to endeavor upon their journey.

  Chapter Eight

  After emerging from the wilderness the following day, they found a highway and followed it north. They were glad to see road signs again.

  The late morning was beginning to transform into the early afternoon, and the air was dusty from the airborne particles that had accumulated on the ground.

  The nearby town on the left side of the expressway hid itself behind an array of tall trees. On the right side of the highway, some fishing was being done in a pond by a small family.

  “Isn't that water going to be too polluted for fishing?” Vaughn asked. “Look how close that pond is to the highway.”

  “I don't know,” Mason said. “But people are desperate, and they'll try to do what they can for food.”