“You don’t think that was a nuke, do you?” she asked sharply, stepping off the cockpit bench.
“I don’t know, but I saw a massive flash of light from the south,” he said, pointing to the island off the starboard side, “then I felt a strange tingling, like I was about to get hit by lightning. Now none of our electronics work. I’d say we were hit by an EMP.”
Kate pushed his hand away and descended the cabin steps. Alex heard her try to activate the VHF marine radio at the navigation table.
“The radio is dead. So is everything else at the nav station.”
“All of the navigation gear is either connected to the radio antenna or the GPS receiver—all located at the top of our mast. An EMP wave would travel right down the wire and fry everything,” he said.
Kate directed the flashlight at his face.
“Will you stop blinding me with that damn light?”
“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Kate said. “Have you checked the portable electronics?”
“Not yet. I’m going to see if I can restore electrical power to the lights and a few other systems.”
“I wouldn’t worry about the lights. It’s almost dawn. Get the water pumps and the head working. What about the bilge pump?” Kate said.
“It’s hardwired to the battery bank, like the engine. Should be fine, but let’s check.”
Alex waited for Kate to gather the handheld electronics from a cabinet above the navigation table and move to the small couch across from Emily’s bed. Their daughter had begun to stir, but still remained asleep. He really hoped she would stay asleep until they figured out what was going on. They needed a little more time to think before adding a panicky teenager to the mix.
He illuminated the electrical panel and noticed that all of the breaker switches had been tripped. No surprise there. He flipped all of the switches and tried the light mounted to the navigation table. Nothing. He knew it wouldn’t be that easy. The electrical surge generated by an EMP didn’t give surge protectors or breakers time to react to the change in current.
Beyond the microwave oven, radio and the navigation equipment, most of the gear connected to the boat’s electrical system didn’t contain any of the sensitive microchips susceptible to an amplified EMP wave. If the breaker mechanism itself had been damaged, they would have to do without the electrical system on the return trip to Portland.
“I’m pretty sure the breaker is fried. We’ll have to use the manual pumps to draw water. As for the head, I’m not sure what we can do. I don’t think it works without electricity,” he whispered.
“Not a big deal. We’re not that far from Portland. The handheld stuff seems to work fine. Can you tell if we are getting a signal?” she said, holding up the illuminated GPS plotter screen toward him.
“Let’s see,” he said, taking the unit.
The small satellite icon in the upper right corner of the screen indicated that the unit was receiving a satellite signal. He navigated through a series of onscreen menus to get more information.
“It says we’re tracking six satellites. That’s good news. See if you can pick up anything on the radio. Let’s take this topside so we don’t wake the kids,” he said.
Kate followed Alex up the steps and into the cockpit, where a refreshingly cool sea breeze greeted them, evaporating the small beads of sweat that had formed on Alex’s forehead in defiance of the chilly, coastal air. Despite his demeanor, he was terrified by the prospect of what might lie ahead for them. If something big had indeed gone wrong, he had little doubt that society would quickly collapse. Confidence in the government’s ability to handle a major crisis was at an all-time low.
The 2013 flu pandemic had exposed the nation’s essential service infrastructure to a slow burn, which caused a rapid, critical failure across the board, launching the country into chaos. While the northernmost states and the upper Midwest had added freezing temperatures and winter storms to the disaster already unfolding, the warmer regions were hit the hardest. The harsh winter weather dampened and eventually extinguished the widespread rioting, looting and violence that continued unabated in cities like Atlanta, Dallas, and Los Angeles. Even the Mid-Atlantic cities saw their share of the devastating civil unrest that ultimately claimed just as many lives as the H16N1 virus.
Not much had changed on Capitol Hill. The likelihood of another pandemic virus striking in our lifetime was a statistical impossibility claimed the epidemiologists—and they were probably right. Funding for national emergency preparedness remained level and consistent with pre-2013 levels, with few politicians willing to suggest cuts, especially with over twenty-six million deaths attributable to the inadequate pandemic preparedness budget authorized by Congress in the years leading to the Jakarta Pandemic. Of course, with the U.S. economy making slow but steady gains, even fewer politicians were eager to increase disaster preparedness funding or spend money on infrastructure improvement programs. Major natural disasters had been shrugged off for decades, given a flurry of attention for a month and pushed to the sidelines.
Alex and Kate understood that the United States could not weather another nationwide disaster, and had taken the appropriate precautions to ensure the safety of family and friends. They would all converge on the isolated farm in Limerick, Maine, where they could live off the grid indefinitely, until society settled back into a routine.
Alex considered the flash of light. It had come from a different direction than the red aura. Was it possible that the United States had been attacked with nuclear weapons? One flash. That was all he had seen. He expanded the scale on the handheld GPS plotter to make a quick calculation. He created a waypoint over Boston and started the navigation function. The system plotted a straight course from the boat to the waypoint.
Standing in the open cockpit of their boat, staring at the blood-red aura, his vision narrowed. He sat down next to Kate and took a deep breath.
“We have to get back fast. I give it two, maybe three days before all hell breaks loose in Boston. We need to get Ryan out of there,” said Alex.
Kate sighed. “If it hasn’t been nuked.”
He stood up and compared what he saw on the GPS chart to their physical orientation in the cove.
“The flash was centered there,” he said, pointing his entire hand directly south. “Boston is almost twenty-five degrees to the right of that. A nuke would go off directly over the city. This is somewhere pretty far off Cape Cod,” he said, not completely convinced by his logic.
Alex placed the GPS receiver on the top of the cabin and pulled Kate off the bench. He embraced her tightly, but kissed her neck gently. He drew his face even with hers.
“I’m just as scared as you about Ryan. He’s going to be fine. We’ll get this boat back to Portland, and I’ll bring him home, I promise,” he said.
She nodded and met his lips for a brief moment, then laid her head on his shoulder.
“I know it’ll be fine. We’ll be fine,” she said, sitting back down and rubbing her face.
“I think we should wait until there’s enough light to see the lobster pots on the water. The last thing we need is to tangle the prop and kill the engine. It’s 5:09 right now. Sunrise is at 5:50. We get underway fifteen minutes after that. That gives us plenty of time to get our shit together, secure for sea—maybe try to raise someone on the handheld radio. I wish we had one of the satellite phones. If the GPS satellites are still working, maybe the satphone network is still intact,” said Alex.
“Remind me why we don’t bring a satphone out on the water?” she said.
“Because we don’t go far enough out to need one. We never leave Casco Bay.”
“I think we need to add that to the required equipment list,” Kate said.
“If we take another sailing trip, I’ll make sure to throw one in the bag.”
Kate stood up. “I’ll wake the kids and start tidying up below.”
The wind picked up, and the boat started to swing on the anchor line to face due s
outh. Alex heard a few trees snap in the distance.
“Get below!” he yelled. “Now!”
Through the clear vinyl window of the dodger, he saw the leading edge of a powerful blast wave explode through the trees. He pushed Kate down the stairs and ducked his head below the cabin overhead moments before a dark wave of rocks and tree limbs pounded the sailboat. The boat lurched sideways with the initial blast, knocking Alex into the galley, where he tumbled to the deck and smashed his elbow against the counter. Within seconds, the debris shower abated, leaving them in absolute silence. The sailboat’s hull creaked against something in the water.
“Ethan! You all right back there?” he yelled through the open hatch a few feet away behind the galley.
“I’m fine. What happened? The lights don’t work,” said Ethan.
“Grab your flashlight and get dressed. I need you out here in thirty seconds. Emily, change in the vee-berth. All hands on deck immediately,” Alex ordered. “We have a problem.”
“You think?” said Kate.
“You have no idea. We need to go topside to clear the mess and assess damage. We don’t have much time.”
Kate looked at him quizzically. “I thought we weren’t leaving for another hour?”
“I don’t think that’s an option anymore. Talk about this topside?” he said, pointing at the open hatch at the top of the stairs.
When Alex’s head emerged through the cabin hatch, the first thing he noticed was a half-inch-thick layer of dirt covering every horizontal surface in the open cockpit. Rising further, he scraped his head on something solid. He directed his flashlight upward to see a jagged, two-inch-diameter branch protruding above his head, blocking him from climbing the rest of the ladder. He pushed the branch to the right and squeezed through the opening.
“Be careful coming up,” he called behind him to Kate.
The branch had speared the left vinyl window of their dodger, stopped by the thick tangle of smaller branches that struck the dodger’s dense, aluminum frame. If he hadn’t pushed Kate out of the way to get down the ladder, the shredded edge of the branch could have impaled him. He felt dizzy and wanted to take a seat, but there was no time for it. He pushed the near death experience out of his head and stood on the cockpit bench to assess the situation.
His flashlight revealed the rest of the fifteen-foot branch hanging over the starboard side of the boat, straining the sailboat’s lifelines. Kate’s flashlight probed the port side of the boat.
“I see a few branches and rocks, but nothing else. How’s your side?” he asked.
“Same. This branch is the worst of it,” she said, directing her light at the torn end protruding through the dodger window. “Jesus,” she whispered, touching the sharp edge of the branch.
“Jesus is right,” he said, moving quickly aft to the back of the cockpit.
Their gray inflatable dinghy bobbed in the water along the stern, apparently undamaged. He stepped out of the cabin and onto the swim deck, pulling the dinghy next to the boat.
“Can you clear that branch? I need to check the dinghy and start the motor,” he called.
“Got it.”
He stepped into the dinghy and pressed down on each side of the craft with both hands. The cold plastic exterior gave slightly to the pressure applied, consistent with early morning inflation levels. The boat was undamaged.
“Now for the fun part…” he mumbled, staring at the motor.
He had battled off and on for nearly four years with the four-horsepower, gasoline-fueled contraption, having consigned it to a watery grave on more than one occasion. It should be simple. Open the air vent. Open the fuel valve. Open the choke. Start the engine. That easy. In four years, he could count the number of times it started without incident on his middle finger, which he often lifted to protest the manufacturer. Alex ran through his mental checklist and took a deep breath.
He pulled the starter cord, and the motor caught, puttering quietly at idle. He revved the throttle for a moment, letting the engine warm, before pushing in the choke. The motor continued to idle.
“Shit,” he muttered.
Everything had worked perfectly, which meant that he had wasted his one good start of the year on a test. Brilliant. He stopped the motor, leaving everything in position for a quick start. He heard the branch fall away, followed by a quick scream. He flashed his light forward, searching for Kate, but couldn’t immediately find her on the deck.
She fell overboard.
Alex jumped onto the swim deck and reached for the Lifesling preserver attached to the starboard rails, when Kate appeared from behind the mast.
“Fucking thing almost took me in with it!” she yelled.
“You all right?” he said.
“I’m fine. A few scratches,” she said, starting to walk back along the deck.
“Stay there. I need to check the anchorage,” he said.
He made his way forward and met her at the bow.
“We need to talk while I do this,” he said, reaching through the forward rails to grip the nylon line stretched into the water several feet below. “That air blast came from the same direction as the flash of light. Took eight minutes to arrive. Only a massive explosion could create something like—”
“Boston,” she muttered.
“I’m pretty certain that’s not the case. The wind came from the direction of the flash, which puts the explosion in the Gulf of Maine,” he said, tugging on the anchor line.
“I hope so.”
“Me too, but if the explosion was over water, we could be hit by a tsunami. We need to decide whether to stay onboard and ride out whatever crests the island, or abandon the boat for the concrete lookout tower near the cove.”
“I don’t think we should leave the boat,” Kate decided. “If it gets swept away, we’re stuck here.”
“I agree, but we have no idea how big the wave will be. Remember those videos of the tsunamis in Thailand and Japan? Solid walls of water travelled inland for miles.”
“How long do we have?” Kate asked.
“I’m not sure. If it took the wind eight minutes to get here, I’d guess we have at least another hour? I have no idea. Could be thirty minutes. The anchor feels fine,” he said, standing up on the bow. “We might not have a problem at all, honey. From what I remember reading, tsunami waves are barely noticeable out at sea. The problem occurs when the wave hits shallow water. We’re several miles from the mainland, and this is a small island. A tiny blip in the ocean for a tsunami. It might not rise up enough to mess with us.”
“Then I say we stay on the boat,” she said.
“We’ll keep the engine running in case we break free of the anchorage,” said Alex, starting toward the cockpit.
“If a wave makes it over the island, I don’t think the anchor will matter. It might cause a problem for us if it gets snagged on the rocks,” she said.
He flashed his light at the anchor line tied to the forward cleat. He couldn’t imagine climbing forward to cut the anchor line while the boat pitched violently. They needed a way to detach the anchor if necessary.
“Start securing the boat for heavy seas. I’ll run the anchor line back to the cockpit. We can cut it from here. I’m glad you thought of that,” he said.
“I’m good for an idea or two,” she said, brushing against him on her way back.
“That’s one more than I’m good for,” he said, grabbing her hand. “We’ll be fine, hon. I’ll be in Boston tomorrow, picking up Ryan. Nothing to it. We’ve been through worse.”
“I know. I’m just scared for him. He’s alone in a new place. No friends. Nothing.”
“He knows what to do. Ryan’s the least of our worries. He’ll probably be waiting for us at the house when we get back,” he said.
She buried her head in his chest and didn’t respond. The sound of rustling leaves raised her head, and he let go of her to grab the nearest deck-mounted handrail. They wouldn’t have time to get into the cabin if another blast
wave hit them. A stiff gust of wind buffeted them for a few seconds, swinging the boat on its mooring to face an easterly direction. No flash preceded the airwave, which told Alex that the explosion had occurred over the visible horizon. The only thing due east of Jewell Island was Nova Scotia. When the wind completely died, he stared in the direction of the first explosion, wondering if his plan to stay on the boat would send them to a watery grave.
Chapter 7
EVENT +00:15 Hours
International Space Station
Commander David Stull, United States Navy, drifted away from the Harmony node to the adjoining Destiny Laboratory, using his fingertips to guide him. He was several minutes behind the rigid daily schedule imposed by NASA mission controllers, though his effortless flight down the equipment-packed passageway betrayed no sense of urgency. The draconian NASA itinerary served a purpose: to regulate the astronauts’ natural biorhythms in the face of a ninety-minute cycle of light and darkness experienced by the station’s low earth orbit.
An unresolved communications glitch had put him behind schedule today. The station’s connection to NASA had been interrupted during the final moments of their morning briefing and could not be reestablished. His initial diagnostics check indicated no obvious issues with the communications equipment onboard the station. Of course, he wouldn’t know for sure unless he inspected the radio link equipment directly, running a series of sophisticated checks on the transmitters. To do that, he would need to enter an unpressurized section of the Z1 Truss structure above the Unite node. This simple thirty-minute voyage into unpressurized space would require an entire day of planning.
He glided into the Destiny node, where Cosmonaut Sergei Moryakov waited. Moryakov’s permanent, good-natured smirk was gone. Something was wrong.
“Roscosmos station in Moscow lost all communications with NASA fifteen minutes ago,” said the cosmonaut, in perfectly structured Russian-accented English.
“So it’s on their end. Saves us the hassle of accessing Z1,” said Stull.
The Perseid Collapse (The Perseid Collapse Series 1) Page 4
