For us, we could use the toilets for a bit, just until temperatures in the house dropped below freezing. At that point we risked backups from the line to the septic being frozen. Although the pump wouldn’t run, we could manually refill the toilet tanks from one of numerous five-gallon jugs we kept in our garage.
The generator ran well enough. It started each time and was frugal on gas. In the first day, we only burned a gallon or so.
It was cold outside, but it was crystal clear. There wasn’t any wind. It was always beautiful here in the winter. The stars filled the sky. The northern lights visited often, providing a magical scene over our home.
Traffic was intermittent on Chena Hot Springs Road. Cars and trucks came and went. We still had no cell phone signal. We decided to turn them off. No sense in wearing down the battery. Recharging was no longer easy. It had to be planned like anything else we wanted to run off the generator.
We took care of the refrigerator. I didn’t want to lose my mustard collection! One needed to keep things in perspective. We also had cheese and meats and other things that needed to stay cool. Our time frame was a week. We could do the extension cord from the generator for that long.
The second day was about the inventory. What did we have? What did we need? What did we want?
Holy crap! I was going to run out of creamer for my coffee in the next day. At least I had plenty of coffee. Unfortunately, nearly all of it was for the Keurig. Which meant electricity. Which meant it would last a lot longer, because I would only get one, maybe two cups a day.
Fresh stuff – salad and whatever. We’d figure that out and not worry about it.
And of course, diapers.
Diapers and coffee. Those were the staples of my life.
So was routine.
We put the kids in their snowsuits and then positioned them on their sleds so Phyllis could get a good walk. We’d see what other people were doing in the neighborhood.
Since most people worked in the city, we expected that they came home early and would be staying home today, although there hadn’t been any vehicles driving our road. A light dusting of snow from the previous day had not been disturbed.
Looking closely, it wasn’t snow. It looked like ash. Maybe some people had panicked when they were without power and burned green wood. But then again, this is Alaska, and no one panics when the lights go out. They know what is okay to burn.
In our half-mile block with twelve homes, only one had a car in the driveway. No one had come or gone since the time of the accident.
That was odd. A number of people had dogs. One couple with small children left their Husky outside when they were gone. We went to that house. No answer at the door. No one home. I checked the back porch where they kept their dog when they weren’t there. Madison stayed in the road with the kids, their breath making little clouds in front of their faces.
The Husky was curled up in her crate, trying to stay warm. She whimpered when she saw me. “You’re coming with me,” I told her. I would leave a note on the door to let the family know we had their dog. Whenever they returned, I’m sure they would appreciate the help. I know I would if Phyllis was trapped without us.
I had heard the Husky’s name before, but couldn’t remember what it was. We decided to call her Husky for now. There wasn’t a leash, so I just held her collar. Phyllis seemed to welcome her. They sniffed each other as dogs do, and then we headed home.
The twins loved the new addition to the family. They loved dogs, man’s best friend.
Except when we got home. Phyllis hadn’t realized that her space was going to be invaded. So there was some growling and a brief throw-down, but after the yelling stopped, and the hierarchy established, we settled in. We put Husky in the garage by herself as we fed her a full bowl of dog food. She hadn’t eaten in who knew how long. She drank thirstily from a separate bowl. Then we brought her back in the house. The dogs would have to learn to eat at the same time, in the same place, but not today.
We had one extra leash, the retractable kind. I didn’t really like it, so I tied a carabiner to a length of rope, duct-taped over the knot, and declared it good.
Now I could take both dogs out. Around the house, Phyllis didn’t need a leash, but I didn’t want to risk her running in front of a vehicle during our walk around the neighborhood.
“It’s strange that no one has come home. The roads must be blocked off.” I wasn’t sure what to think so I thought out loud. As a career Intelligence Officer, I had no problem speculating, but I liked data. With data, you could draw a conclusion. With more data, the chances improve that your conclusion will be correct. “I’m going to take your Jeep to town and see what’s up.” Madison’s Jeep Wrangler was the better all-purpose vehicle than my Jeep Liberty.
“I’m not sure about that. Let’s just stay home for a bit. I’m sure we’ll find out something soon,” she said.
“Turn on your cell phone and see if you can get a signal.”
Madison powered up her new iPhone, holding it up to the windows as it searched. No signal.
“I’ll just run to the gas station on Farmer’s Loop and see if I can pick up some diapers.”
“Okay, but don’t be gone long. You can’t call me if something happens.”
I assured her that I would whip out and back. We hadn’t heard traffic in a little while, so nothing would hold me up.
It wasn’t too cold in the garage yet. We had been running the kerosene heater as needed to keep the utility room above freezing. We lived in some decadence, as our garage was heated by an in-floor system. The Jeep started right away. I turned its heater on full.
Without power, we had to unhook the garage door from the opening arm and lift it manually. Madison shut it after I pulled out. With nothing but static, I shut off the radio.
First Look at the City
There are plenty of times when there is no traffic on Chena Hot Springs Road. The main roadway showed use, but the road was clear. I didn’t think about it. I turned onto the road as I had done a thousand times before.
The intersection between Chena and the Steese Highway had claimed plenty of vehicles in its ditches. Today was no exception. Two vehicles were wedged against each other in the ditch of the on-ramp. I pulled past them and got out. The vehicles had been there for a while. Each was cold – frost filled the windshields. No one was inside. I didn’t see any signs that someone had been hurt. Just another Steese fender bender.
I drove on.
A mile or so down the highway, it turns gently and you can see the western half of the city. I should say that you should be able to see the western half of the city. The entirety of what lay before me had been burned away, and smoke billowed into the sky from hundreds of fires that were burning themselves out. Nearly all of the buildings had been leveled. Much of the surrounding hillsides had also burned away. I sped up.
I pulled over at the Steese-Farmer’s Loop intersection. My mind could not comprehend what I saw. It looked like the entire city was a junkyard. Very little stood. Nothing moved.
Most of the gas station at Farmer’s Loop and Steese had collapsed and burned. It looked like the tanks had ruptured. This station had propane, fuel oil, and unleaded. Had.
I pulled to the side of the road and got out. The quiet surrounded me, pressed in on me. Nothing this side of the hill had been spared. My mind raced. The whole world had changed, at least our part of it.
It was clear. Help would not be coming.
The people. All gone.
Electricity would not come back on.
I looked at the ruins of the gas station. It was apparent that I wasn’t the first to check things out. The cash register had been charred, but was mostly intact. It was open and empty. Of all the things people consider important, at this time, money was hardly one of them.
The good news was that other people were alive somewhere, as they’d raided the register after the destruction. But where were they?
Something about the enormity
of the blast scratched at the back of my mind, but it didn’t get my full attention. My list of concerns just grew by orders of magnitude.
I climbed back in the Jeep and raced home, ignoring stop signs and dead traffic signals. I drove the roads alone.
“It’s All Gone.”
“How can it all be gone,” she replied. “The whole city? That’s not possible.”
“I should have taken my phone so I could get a picture, but yeah, it’s all gone. I think there was a nuclear blast. I didn’t think they had nukes at Wainwright. It’s an Army post. I don’t know about radiation, but toward the base, the scorching shows a massive explosion. I can’t imagine what it was if it wasn’t a nuke.” I spoke in a stream of consciousness. It helped me think when I heard the arguments out loud. So I always talked to myself. Many times it was under the guise of talking with Phyllis or the twins.
“Either it was an accident or it wasn’t. If it wasn’t an accident, then it had to be an act of war – no civilians have anything that could cause that. Although the world isn’t a great place right now, I haven’t seen news that even hinted about us going to war. That tells me it was an accident. It was an accident with a nuke at the base. I don’t know. The city is gone. Everybody who worked in the city is gone.” I was speaking quickly, the words pouring out of me.
“What do we do?” Madison asked.
That was the question, wasn’t it? What would we do indeed? Wait for help? Don’t wait for help? I took deep breaths to calm myself.
“I don’t think we can go anywhere. Even with all the gas we have in cans, would we make it someplace else? With the twins and now two dogs, we can’t get there from here. We could try something later, but we should be seeing helicopters or airplanes or something. We have enough here for a while.” I looked around as I held my wife’s hand. “Let’s wait and see what kind of help is on the way. I think we should hear something soon. We have to …” My mind rambled. There was so much to do.
“How can I let my mom know we are okay?” Madison asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe we can get a message out through someone else. In any case, your mom won’t know that we are okay, but we are. We’ll get word to her sometime.”
I didn’t feel like we would hear anything. I was sick to my stomach.
We went outside to listen. We could hear a generator running somewhere in the distance. Dogs were barking on the other side of a stand of trees behind the house. A dog musher lived over there.
There wasn’t any traffic on the road. There weren’t the normal sounds of life happening. At minus twenty degrees Fahrenheit, birds don’t sing, but there are always ravens. Not today though, which didn’t bode well. Ravens are good luck in Alaska.
Maybe they were lamenting the loss of their brothers and sisters in town. Everything on the other side of the hills between us and town would have been affected. We didn’t have any family in town, but we had plenty of friends. What happened to them? They could have been spared, couldn’t they?
Where were the planes? There weren’t any contrails in the sky. It had been more than a day since the explosion. Where was the governor? Wasn’t he supposed to show up during a crisis and lead the people to salvation? Okay, that was a bit sarcastic, but it was hard to believe that the second largest city in Alaska could be wiped away and no one came to see it.
It was hard to take in. I kept asking myself, what happened and why?
The twins started crying. The dogs were enjoying their newfound friendship and there was a bit of chaos in the great room. That’s the kind of crisis I prefer. One where we had some control in fixing it.
Family Meeting
“What do we do?” my wife asked. We looked at each other. My wife was concerned. So was I as I tried to hide it. The twins were oblivious to it all. The dogs were asleep on our floor-bed.
“The city lost everything, but we lost nothing. We have what matters. Life isn’t about what you can buy at the store. It’s about living. Look at them.” I pointed to the twins. “Fairbanks will come back. Sometime anyway. In the meantime, we do what we need to to make it until help arrives. Then we do what we need to do to make it to spring. Then there will be another step and another. We keep moving forward.”
Madison snuggled next to me, burying her face in my chest. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, smelling her hair, her clothes. I felt her next to me. I opened my eyes, looking at the twins. How blessed were we?
We didn’t need much. I was a lifelong asthmatic. I needed my medications, but I always had about two months’ supply on hand. Being a pseudo-prepper meant a certain amount of hoarding.
“Let’s make a list of what we really need to get us to spring and maybe even into next summer. We’ll keep a copy with us at all times, in case help comes. They can gather up people’s needs and come back with the minimum to help people survive until the weather gets warmer.”
Madison nodded. She was still in shock. Her mind was fully engaged, but she could not yet focus on just one thing.
I dug out a notepad and a pen and started to write.
“Asthma meds.” I listed the three that were the most important. “Gasoline. What do you think? One hundred or more gallons can get us through the winter?”
Madison looked out the window. I put the list down and pulled her close. She rested her head on my chest, her shoulders slumped.
“What are you thinking?” I asked.
“What happened to the University?” It was almost a whisper.
I didn’t know. I couldn’t see it when I went to the city. Too much haze and smoke. Speculation is a horrible thing. We fill unknowns with ridiculous ideas. I suspected that the University had many buildings that survived. If buildings survived the blast, then people could have survived, too.
“Let’s take a trip over there, tomorrow, at daylight. We have enough gas, although we could use more. I think the neighbors will be helping us, although they don’t know it.”
She nodded.
“Let’s set ourselves up. If anyone else comes along, what can we share?” She looked at me, not understanding. “We’re all in this together and I expect everyone will run short of something. It’s minus twenty outside and it’s probably going to get colder. People should be fine because everyone up here is used to certain trials and tribulations, but you never know. We all do better with a little help.”
I wasn’t suggesting the grand giveaway. I only proposed that we help others where we could. This might be a rough ride. When it was over, how would we see ourselves? I know that I wanted to see myself as one who helped. If I knew Madison, I expected she would be happier to see herself that way, too.
So, for the thirty-eighth time that day, I dressed to go outside. I took my flashlight and the dogs. Phyllis was wearing her coat and boots. Husky? I would have to figure out her tolerance for the cold. I didn’t bother with leashes. No one was around. Plus, since we’d saved Husky’s life, she was immediately loyal.
I took one of the kid’s sleds. And my bolt cutter.
I went to our first neighbor’s house. They both worked day jobs in the city. I knew they weren’t coming home. They had gas cans outside their shed. One was almost empty, the other full. I put them both in the sled. There were two propane tanks. I took them, too. I used the bolt cutter on the shed’s lock.
This was the first time I’d seen what was inside my neighbor’s shed. A bad feeling came over me. I felt like a criminal rummaging. I vowed to keep track of what I had taken, should anyone ever question it. I would pay them back, whatever it took, if they returned.
The shed was filled with mostly summer stuff – mower, garden tools, summer tires, pesticides, potting soil. Interesting. I’d never seen them gardening. There was one more gas can, but it was labeled for a two-cycle. The only thing I had with a two-cycle engine was my chainsaw. I might need my chainsaw if we ran out of pellets, although you can’t burn wood in a pellet stove. I took the can anyway.
We zipped back to the house. As I thou
ght about it, I didn’t want to store the gasoline cans in the garage, but leaving them out invited others to do what I had just done. I put the new gas cans and the ones from our shed in the garage, as far away from the kerosene stove as I could. The kerosene was going pretty fast. In another few days, we would be out of kerosene. We could burn fuel oil in it, but it would be smoky and give off noxious fumes. I wasn’t sure that would be the best choice.
Husky was a big dog, so we would go through dog food quickly. We would need more, but not right now. I would go to Husky’s house sometime in the next day or so, but that would mean breaking in, something I wasn’t looking forward to. What would happen to me if it became easy to break into someone’s house?
The house on the corner was owned by a working couple. They had a side-by-side quad, two snow machines, and a trailer. In the lower forty-eight, they called them snowmobiles, but not in Alaska. Here, they were snow machines. I didn’t care what they were called. I cared that they worked.
These people were more traditional Alaskans than we were. They would have gasoline. After arranging our stash of gas cans, I headed back out. The dogs followed. They seemed happy to be outside, despite the growing darkness and perpetual cold.
A quarter-mile later found me knocking on the door. I waited. I knocked some more and then yelled, “Anyone home? Is anyone here?” A truck was in their driveway, but it hadn’t been driven since before the explosion. I tried the door. It was locked. Today was not the day I would break in. I knew that day would come soon, unfortunately. Reality suggested we would need a snow machine or the quad.
I checked their shed. It smelled like gasoline. There was a fifty-five-gallon drum. With the flashlight on, I pulled the plug from the top. It was half full. Twenty-five or thirty gallons of gasoline. That would give us another month run time for our generator. The better part was that they had a hand pump. The barrel would be too much for a child’s sled, but I filled two five-gallon gas cans he had on his snow machine trailer.
Endure (End Times Alaska Book 1) Page 2
