Lines in the Sand_Post Apocalyptic EMP Survival Fiction

by Bobby Akart

  Grand Canyon West Airport was located sixty miles northwest of the small Arizona town of Peach Springs. From the sky, it appeared abandoned, as it stood on top of a mesa overlooking the Grand Canyon. The runway, which stretched only five thousand feet before it reached the rocky soil, was just long enough to stop the massive Boeing aircraft, which would use every inch of asphalt.

  The pilot began his final approach, and the C-17 decelerated as it dropped lower toward the runway. As the one-hundred-seventy-five-foot aircraft touched down, the reverse thrust of the four Pratt & Whitney turbo engines countered the aircraft’s forward momentum, causing the passengers to lurch toward the front of the plane.

  Duncan did his best to hold his position and not crash into the female soldier to his left, but Sook’s groan told him that the passenger next to her was not as polite. In fact, purposefully so.

  Duncan had no idea where Peach Springs, Arizona, was, but he knew the Grand Canyon was a long way from home. At least they wouldn’t have to battle any large population centers. Their first battle, however, could be with the people who surrounded them.

  The aircraft came to an abrupt stop and sat at the end of the runway for an excruciating minute. Despite the darkness, Duncan could feel the eyes upon Sook. He desperately wanted to depart the plane and be on their way, but then he remembered it was the middle of the night.

  Within minutes, bright lights were turned on outside the aircraft. Large temporary lights had been installed with generators powering them. Duncan surmised that the runway was purposefully dark except for the landing lights embedded in the pavement. Most likely, they used instrument flying due to the lack of visibility, as they would in poor weather conditions.

  With the taxiway now fully illuminated, the aircraft slowly made a left-hand turn and taxied back toward the terminal, Duncan assumed. Others on the plane had removed their shoulder harnesses and began to gather their gear before crowding near the rear mechanical ramp.

  Sook and Duncan also unstrapped, but he pushed down on the top of her leg, indicating they should wait. He wanted to assess the potential for a physical altercation before they joined the group to depart.

  As the ramp was lowered and the troops began to shuffle out, he noticed the mouthy Marine across the way had ignored them and disembarked. That was fine with Duncan, so he decided to grab their one duffle bag containing his Barrett rifle and a change of clothes given to him at the Andersen base exchange in Guam. Duncan hoped to blend in with the crowd as they entered the terminal for an anticipated debriefing.

  The cold wind struck them in the face as they deplaned. The temperatures were near forty, but the wind chill at what seemed like the top of the world at GCW caught them both by surprise. There were several military police personnel guiding the departing passengers toward the small one-story terminal of the airport. To their left was a tent city surrounded by military vehicles. The orangish glow of lanterns illuminated the desert storm camouflaged tents, which were lined up by the dozens.

  The group shuffled under a canopy supported by four-by-four posts toward the entry of the terminal, which held a sign greeting passengers with a hearty gamyu, which meant hello in the native tongue of the Hualapai Tribe.

  The airport was owned and operated by the Hualapai Indians. Their reservation, which spans three counties in Northern Arizona, included their tribal capital of Peach Springs, which was a small town on historic Route 66.

  As Duncan and Sook entered the terminal full of uniformed military personnel, he immediately noticed there were no Hualapais in sight, nor were there any other civilians. He immediately became concerned about how the two of them would be treated considering their identification put them within the Defense Department, but not active-duty military.

  “Everyone gather around, please,” shouted an MP who stood near the ticket counter for a helicopter tour of the Grand Canyon. “Attention! Please gather around and give the colonel your full attention.”

  The group crowded the ticket counter and began to settle down as the colonel spoke.

  “My name is Colonel Jacobs with the 58th Operations Group from Luke Air Force Base in the southern part of the state. You have touched down at Grand Canyon West, one hundred miles west of Flagstaff, Arizona, and also a hundred miles or so southeast of Vegas.

  “This is a civilian airport, and we are here as guests of the Hualapai Indian Tribe due to developing circumstances around the country. First, and I’m not gonna sugarcoat this, let me get the bad news out of the way as we know it. Several hours ago, NORTHCOM notified the president that several ICBMs were inbound from the Korean Peninsula. Initial targets included Guam and Hawaii.

  “Our defenses were successful in Hawaii, but not Guam. This aircraft departed just hours before Guam was hit. When you consider what lies ahead for you in this post-nuclear world, remember how close you were to a certain death.

  “Since those initial attacks, and I know that you are aware of this, California was hit as well. San Diego, Los Angeles, and an area east of San Francisco all took direct hits. Several other warheads were intercepted, but these three slipped through. The country has faced additional devastation. Here’s the list based upon the information relayed to me at this time.

  “Colorado Springs, New York, Omaha, Toledo, Ohio, Galveston, and Barksdale Air Force Base in Shreveport have all been hit so far. Now, before anyone jumps to conclusions about the fate of your families, know this. The cities I have mentioned are fairly large metropolitan areas. The death toll varies depending upon someone’s proximity to ground zero. I urge all of you to keep your families in your prayers. Do not give up hope.

  “Let me explain the situation for you tonight. GCW and Peach Springs are potentially in the fallout path of the Los Angeles attack, but more so the San Francisco attack, which is located six hundred plus miles to our northwest. Let me explain to you what fallout means.

  “After a nuclear blast, radioactive material is thrown into the upper atmosphere as the mushroom cloud rises upward. The radioactive dust and ash mixes with air particles that become highly charged with radiation.

  “The prevailing winds, following the jet stream, greatly influence the fallout pattern. The winds help carry the fallout longer distances, but they also serve to diminish the radiation levels. As time passes, the radiation levels decrease, and your exposure is less likely to result in your death.

  “Let me bottom line it for you. Radioactive fallout decays relatively quickly with time. Most areas become safe for travel in three to five weeks within the area surrounding the blast zone. For areas like ours, some six hundred miles away, the likelihood of receiving radiation poisoning is very low.

  “Tonight, all of us are safe from nuclear fallout. By the end of the day tomorrow, if the radiation travels under perfect meteorological conditions, low doses of radiation will appear on our monitoring devices.

  “As protection against the effects of the radiation, we are going to issue each of you the following items.”

  The colonel paused to retrieve a ziplock plastic bag from the table behind him. He pulled out a package of tablets and showed them to the group. “This is a blister pack containing a fourteen-day supply of IOSAT tabs, which is potassium iodide. It is a full-strength radiation-protective medication designed to block the nuclear radiation from entering your thyroid.”

  He reached into the bag again and retrieved a yellow, postage-stamp-sized card and showed it to the group. “This is a RADTriage card, or a RAD sticker. It’s a personal dosimeter that will instantly detect radiation exposure. When you first detect radiation using the RAD sticker, you should seek protective shelter. Once in a protective shelter, or regardless, you should begin taking the KI regimen. As for me, I plan on starting the potassium iodide tomorrow and run it for the entire fourteen-day dosage.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen, we know the radiation will come this way. The question is how much punch it will pack on arrival, which leads me to the logistical problem we have. Needless to say, your arr
ival was unexpected, and you may not be the only flight redirected to GCW.

  “Sadly, that means you can’t stay here except for tonight. You are welcome to bunk in here, but we’d prefer you not interact with the troops assigned to this detail, who are sleeping in the tents outside. Their deployment orders can change by the hour. We’ll get you fed, but we have nothing in the way of bedding. Tomorrow morning at oh seven hundred, we’ll get you some chow, and then you’ll be loaded up on M35s and delivered to Peach Springs. Unfortunately, you’ll be on your own after that.”

  Sook looked to Duncan, and he shrugged. “Tonight, we’ll get some sleep here. Tomorrow, we head home. How does that sound?”

  She simply smiled and wrapped her arm through his. He liked this soft, gentle side of Sook. He just hoped she could turn on her survival instincts when the time came.

  Chapter 13

  December 1

  Raven Rock Mountain Complex

  Liberty Township, Pennsylvania

  “Sir.” A serviceman dressed in his fatigues approached Colonel Baker, who was still deep in thought. He was more concerned by the loss of the transmission lines to the west than he’d let on to President Harman. He was continuing to communicate with former Defense Secretary Gregg through his office at Lackland Air Force Base near San Antonio. Gregg had promised Colonel Baker a position in the Texas military once the bombs stopped flying. He and his wife could enjoy life far better for the next several years in Texas than they could inside Raven Rock.

  “Yes, Captain,” replied Baker.

  “The final missiles will be reentering momentarily. Our weapons defense systems are ready.”

  Secretary Evans overheard the conversation and turned to the president. “Madam President, let’s turn our attention to the monitors, if you please,” started Evans. “We have live feeds from Washington and New York.”

  The president, with the assistance of Acton, made her way to the back row of the theater-style situation room. Members of Baker’s team were intently focused on their monitors, only periodically looking up at the large screens as if to confirm their work was being shown for all to see.

  “Also, Madam President,” started Colonel Baker, “we have birds with eyes on the Korean Peninsula. The South Koreans are holding their own against the short-range missiles and armaments fired against them from the bunkers on the North’s side of the DMZ. Thus far, none of the nukes have been pointed in their direction.”

  Secretary Evans was quick to add, “Frankly, Madam President, Kim’s response to the initial South Korean attack has been muted. It could have been a lot worse. Either he has no intention of engaging the South Koreans further, or he’s incapable for some reason. The return fire from the North has been designed to repel an invasion, not annihilate the enemy, as he has always boasted he could do.”

  “Here we go,” exclaimed Baker, focusing everyone’s attention on the monitor.

  “Omaha has been hit!” declared one of the service members at a computer terminal.

  “Toledo also!” shouted another.

  The president cupped her hand over her mouth to stifle a reaction.

  “More incoming, two directed toward New York City.”

  The cameras switched rapidly from scene to scene as the military’s hardened wiring enabled those in the situation room to study the live feeds from various cameras scattered throughout the city.

  “We took out one of ’em,” said a young woman with a heavy Southern accent.

  The group continued to watch the monitors as they scanned Manhattan, Queens, the Bronx, and Brooklyn.

  Suddenly, an intense flash of bright white filled two of the screens followed by static.

  “Which boroughs?” asked the president.

  After a brief delay, one of the technicians replied, “The Bronx and Manhattan, ma’am.”

  “Cameras are down in Brooklyn Heights, Astoria, and at College Point.”

  President Harman turned to Acton for clarification.

  “Those are neighborhoods along the East River, Madam President,” said Acton. “Manhattan is only thirteen miles wide. The blast radius and fallout will overtake Queens and Brooklyn.”

  She gasped and muttered aloud, “My god, millions will die.”

  “Philly and Pittsburg are hit!” shouted a lieutenant from the front of the room. “Three missiles inbound for Washington.”

  The room became still and quiet. The tapping on the keyboards ceased, and all eyes were directed to the large monitors mounted on the curved wall at the bottom of the room.

  “What’s happening?” asked the president.

  “Madam President,” Secretary Evans began to respond, “there are six ground-based midcourse intercepts dedicated to these last three missiles. They have been tracking the inbound ICBMs. They are designed to intercept the warheads after the burned-out boosters fall away. The computer systems will have to differentiate between the boosters, the cloud of debris associated with separation, and also the decoys.”

  “Decoys?” asked President Harman.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Secretary Evans responded. “Assuming the North Koreans are following the Russian design, the missile can deploy simple aluminized Mylar balloons outside the Earth’s atmosphere. Because they will be in a condition of weightlessness, they become an effective countermeasure potentially leading our kill vehicles astray.”

  Once the booster rockets of the ICBM intercepts burned out, they separated and left a five-foot-long bullet-shaped device known as a kill vehicle. This tracker was designed to hunt down its prey—the nuclear-tipped warhead. Using its sensors as well as guidance from satellites and ultrasensitive ground radar, the kill vehicle attempted to distinguish between the warhead and any decoys or debris.

  “Then what?” she asked.

  “Onboard thrusters will steer the kill vehicle into the path of the nuclear warhead, shattering it on impact in the upper atmosphere before the bomb has a chance to detonate.”

  “How do we know if these kill vehicles are successful?”

  Secretary Evans sighed and turned away, choosing to focus on the cameras panning throughout Washington. He responded in a hushed, faint voice.

  “The cameras will tell the story.”

  Chapter 14

  December 1

  Los Angeles, California

  The three-hundred-kiloton nuclear warhead burst in the air just above downtown Los Angeles, as directed by the computers deep underground in Pyongyang. Had it not been for the EMP attack of a week ago, the Los Angeles Coliseum, home to the University of Southern California Trojans, would have been packed with ninety-three thousand football fans for a rare season-ending Thursday night game with crosstown rival UCLA. Chinatown would be teeming with tourists while Koreatown filled bellies with dining delights. Wine would have been consumed at gLAnce and the BottleRock. The Killers rock band was scheduled to perform at the Staples Center to thousands of adoring fans. Families would have packed the Walt Disney Concert Hall to hear the Los Angeles Philharmonic perform Christmas music.

  In any given twenty-four-hour period, there might be approximately two-point-eight million people in downtown LA. At night, it became the epicenter of cultural events, entertainment, and nightlife. But after the EMP, much of the population had escaped downtown LA and headed toward the perceived safety of the Angeles National Forest toward the north.

  Those who remained lived in a lawless society in which gangs moved in and preyed upon the weak. Downtown LA was their turf now. The wars taking place in the inner city raged as the California National Guard and the U.S. military ceded the once vibrant downtown to the criminals and opportunists.

  However, on this night, the inhabitants of downtown LA would face a threat far greater than the bands of roving marauders written about in post-apocalyptic fiction. It was ground zero for the final journey of the Hwasong-15 missile that had left North Korea thirty-five minutes ago.

  There were no warnings. The power grid failure had destroyed the civil defense syst
em set up years ago during World War II. For the gangs and seedy side of a post-EMP world, it was simply business as usual until the nuclear warhead performed an airburst detonation a mile above LA.

  Within seconds, the several hundred thousand residents remaining in the city were killed instantly. Those who weren’t eviscerated suffered third-degree burns, which are eerily painless because the depth of the burns destroyed the pain nerves, throughout the layers of their skin. The depth of the burn went beyond the layers of the skin, but also affected deeper tissues and muscles. The skin became blackened and charred, resulting in infections that, if left untreated, would result in death within hours or days.

  Those who weren’t burned received a massive five-hundred-rem radiation dose. Without immediate medical treatment, ninety percent of those exposed would die a painful death within days.

  The overpressure of the nuclear blast, at five pounds per square inch, caused most buildings to collapse, crushing or burying those who sought shelter inside. Injuries to anyone seeking shelter in the buildings would be universal, and fatalities were widespread.

  Even with much of the population evacuated as a result of the collapse of the power grid, the death toll would rival the casualty rate the U.S. military suffered in World War II, the wars in the Middle East, and the terrorist attack on 9/11 combined. From Beverly Hills, to Pasadena, to South Central LA, very few lives remained unaffected.

  The City of Angels had become a wasteland that would last for decades.

  Chapter 15

  December 1

  Kingsbury Colony, Montana

  “Man, these guys are serious,” said Riley. “I can see why the government doesn’t like them. They’re organized, prepared, and independent.”