Geostorm The Collapse: A Post Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller (The Geostorm Series Book 3)

by Bobby Akart

  “Mayor, those men were armed and supposedly made off with more guns during their attack on the old folks,” said one of the residents from the New Middleton area.

  “I’ve heard that as well. They also broke into the gas station and stole a bunch of tools. While I’m truly sorry for the deaths, it appeared this bunch roamed through the countryside looking to steal anything they could find. Now, knock on wood, there haven’t been any more reports today. It’s likely they’ve moved on to other parts of the state or even beyond that.”

  A woman interrupted. “Mayor Jake, I hate to admit this, but we don’t own a gun.”

  “We don’t either,” added another.

  A man apologetically pushed his way through the crowd to approach the mayor. “I might be able to help.”

  “Does everyone know Allen Edmund? He’s the owner of Gun World in Corydon.”

  A few people said hello before Allen spoke. “Just a few days ago, a couple of our neighbors came in the store and made an interesting suggestion to me. At first, I didn’t know what to think, but now everything is becoming clearer.

  “Their suggestion was for me to hold on to my weapons and ammunition inventory, you know, just in case. Now, I’m in the business of selling guns to make a livin’. Unlike many of y’all who have gardens or chickens, we rely upon the grocery store and Walmart to keep us fed.

  “I’m sayin’ all of that to say this. I’ve got a wide variety of guns and ammo to trade. Me and my family are short on food. If you folks have the ability, and you need protection, see me after the meeting and we’ll work somethin’ out.”

  He stepped back and the mayor continued. “Thank you, Allen. Now, that’s what I’m talkin’ about. We all have something to contribute. Allen can help you with a means to protect yourselves. You can help him feed his family.”

  An older man raised his hand and began to speak. “Mayor, my wife and I are old. We have a couple of rifles, but if we get overrun by five carloads of criminals like last night, we won’t be able to hold them off for long.”

  “That’s a good point, Willard. That leads me to the third aspect of this, which is response. As we know, we can’t call the sheriff for help. We also know they might not come even if we could. So we have to protect each other. We have to come up with a way to notify our neighbors, who in turn will notify theirs, to send the cavalry, so to speak. Does anybody have any ideas?”

  The group mumbled to one another as they tried to come up with a suggestion to put forward. Finally, a woman from nearby Mauckport raised her hand. Mauckport, a town about the size of New Amsterdam, was located next to the only bridge that crossed the Ohio River in Southeast Indiana other than the interstate leading into Louisville many miles away.

  “Mayor, um, I have an idea. Well, it wasn’t really mine, but it came from some books I read several years ago about the eruption of the Yellowstone supervolcano.”

  “What was it?” asked the mayor.

  “Well, a small community like ours was discussing protecting themselves during the chaos caused by the volcano. The man leading the discussion …” Her voice trailed off before she stifled a laugh. “Well, excuse me. Ironically, I think his name was Jake, too. Anyway, this character suggested using air horns to communicate with one another. You know, as a very loud warning system.”

  “Kinda like one if by land and two if by sea?” asked one of her neighbors.

  She smiled and responded, “Well, I think it was a little more complicated than that. I can’t remember. I’d have to go back and read, um …” She hesitated for a moment and then continued. “I was gonna say I’d go back and read it, but it’s on my Kindle, and we don’t have any power. But I think they somehow identified each home with their own unique blast on the horn.”

  “Like Morse code?” someone asked.

  “Yes, something like that,” she replied.

  “I don’t have a gun, much less an air horn,” interjected one of the earlier participants in the conversation.

  A man with a deep, baritone voice spoke up from the rear of the gathering. “I can help there. Many of y’all may not know me, but I own the marina at Fishtown over on the west bank of the Ohio. We have boats docked there in both dry storage and in rented slips. I’ve got several cases of air horns, and I’m sure the boats have too. I can see how many I can muster up.”

  “Outstanding!” exclaimed the mayor.

  “I’ve got a few bullhorns left over from my auctioneer days!” shouted another resident.

  A flood of suggestions began to flow forward.

  “We’ve got a set of eight Midland two-way radios that we can distribute to our neighbors. They’re battery powered, or they can be charged. We used them for huntin’.”

  “Hey, I’ve got some, too. We took them to Disney World so the family could go their separate ways, but we could round everyone up when it was time for lunch or whatever.”

  “We have a ham radio,” announced a young woman who was one of the county’s veterinarians.

  “Good, good! I like it,” said Mayor Jake. “After the meeting, let’s all get together and figure out a way to get coverage from Riverfront Farms in the west over to Fishtown.”

  The group was excited as their spirit of cooperation became contagious. It was Chapman who put a damper on the moment.

  Chapter 22

  Town Hall

  New Amsterdam, Indiana

  “I think now is a good time for me to speak to the group,” whispered Chapman to Mayor Jake. “They need to understand what is potentially in store for us all.” The mayor nodded and called the crowd to attention. He introduced Squire, Chapman, and Isabella before stepping off the crate and allowing Chapman the opportunity to speak.

  “I want everyone to understand that what I’m about to tell you is not intended to frighten you or cause you to give up hope. I simply want everyone to have the entire picture so you’ll know how to prepare.”

  “Please, tell us what you know.”

  Chapman continued. “Much of what you may have heard in the news media and the president’s address is true. I have to be honest, however. The situation is much more dire than they’ve let on. Our planet is going through a catastrophic change in its makeup. Sure, everything appears normal for the most part other than the fact the government has elected to take away our power.

  “The reason they’ve done that is to protect our technology from a much greater threat. It’s something that has happened before in the mid-1800s, and will happen again, potentially any day.”

  “What is it?” asked the mayor’s wife.

  “It’s called a geomagnetic storm, or geostorm for short. When the sun sends out powerful solar flares, it ejects highly charged particles that can sometimes impact the Earth. All of the beautiful auroras that happen in the Arctic, Canada, and sometimes down into neighboring Michigan are the result of this phenomenon.

  “The problem is this. Our atmosphere has weakened because of the pole shift that you all have heard about on the news. The solar storms, which used to create pretty colors in the sky, can now cause us all significant harm.”

  “Are you talking about sunburns and stuff?” asked a teenage boy in attendance.

  “Possibly worse,” replied Chapman. “As the atmosphere weakens, the most harmful rays of the sun will penetrate all the way down to the planet’s surface. Depending on how long this pole-shift event takes place, there will be increased instances of skin cancer and damage to your eyes.

  “I am going to warn everybody to stay out of the sun as much as possible. Try to do your chores at night. If you have to go outside during the day, always wear a hat, like a baseball cap with a bill to shield your face and eyes. Wear polarized sunglasses. Cover your exposed skin with the highest sun-protection-factor sunscreen you have. Wear long sleeves and avoid short pants.”

  The voice of the marina owner from Fishtown boomed from the back of the crowd, “It’s hot as blazes, Chapman. We could sweat to death.”

  “I underst
and. That’s why I suggest you try to avoid going outdoors during the day. Let me address another important issue in addition to the sun’s effect on your bodies. When these geostorms begin to hit the planet, our electronics may be destroyed.”

  “How?” asked a woman near the front.

  “The geostorm will produce what’s known as an electromagnetic pulse, or EMP. This is a very strong burst of energy that will hit our atmosphere like a nuclear bomb exploding. Only there’s no fire and destruction like we all have seen on television or in the movies. It’s a silent, invisible form of energy that won’t hurt humans, but will destroy all of the electronics and technologically advanced devices we’ve grown accustomed to using in our daily lives.”

  “Cars too?” asked the mayor.

  “Probably,” replied Chapman. “Let me explain. There has never been an event to strike the planet during the advent of modern technology since 1859 when a massive solar storm struck Earth known as the Carrington Event. At the time, the extent of our technology consisted of telegraph stations and the wires that connected them.

  “When the geostorm hit, the electromagnetic pulse was so great that the telegraph wires caught on fire and traveled all the way to the operators’ headsets, who received burns as a result. Now, consider where we are today. Virtually everything is computerized, relying upon tiny wires and microcircuits. These devices are incapable of withstanding the type of energy emitted by the sun during these geostorms.”

  A man interrupted Chapman. “Are you saying we can expect this to happen here?”

  “Yes, anywhere and everywhere. Our planet’s defense mechanism to these massive solar storms is the magnetic field that surrounds Earth. As that field reverses, the protections diminish. Every storm, no matter how weak compared to the one in 1859, can potentially destroy our electronics.”

  “How often do these occur?” someone asked.

  “Weekly. Now, they are not always directed at North America, but the one that hit Europe was an example of what we might face. You have to get ready for this to happen.”

  Mayor Jake stepped forward. “What should we do?”

  “First of all, you need to find every available galvanized steel trash can or drum that you can. These can be used to create what’s known as a Faraday cage, named after a scientist who figured out how to protect electronics from these EMPs. You need to gather any electronics you want to protect, especially communications devices like the two-way radios you mentioned and cell phones you might want to use in the future. Wrap them in aluminum foil and some type of padding. It could be foam from your chairs, cardboard, or even tee shirts. Then place them in the galvanized cans and close the lids tight.”

  “What does that do?”

  “When the EMP hits us, the Faraday cage, or in this case, the trash can, will repel the solar matter around the cage, protecting its contents.”

  “I’ve heard of these,” said the woman who’d suggested the air horns for perimeter security. “Can a microwave oven do the same thing?”

  “Yes, newer ones,” Chapman replied. “A microwave is designed to contain the potentially harmful radiation during the cooking process. Therefore, it would be capable of keeping the solar matter out during a geostorm.”

  The group began talking amongst themselves as they digested Chapman’s warning. After a moment, one of the attendees asked, “When do you think this next geostorm could hit us?”

  Chapman was brutally honest in his response.

  “It could be happening right now and we wouldn’t know it.”

  Chapter 23

  Tommy Bannon’s Residence

  North Michigan Avenue

  Chicago, Illinois

  Kristi took Brooke from Tommy and allowed him to lead the way into the dark parking garage. He carried the handgun in front of him, prepared for an ambush in case the men locked on the balcony had a way to alert others.

  He intentionally burst through the doors leading to the garage, hoping to startle anyone who was lying in wait. The pitch-black conditions made seeing difficult, and he cursed himself for not having a flashlight. He didn’t even have a lighter since he was a nonsmoker.

  Some ambient light filtered its way through the underground parking structure, which had aided him earlier as he packed the Mustang. The interior dome light had ceased working years ago, and he’d never bothered to fix it since he never drove his dad’s car at night.

  “Come on,” he whispered to Kristi, who stretched her arm out to touch his back. Like a human train with a chimpanzee boxcar, they moved methodically through the parked cars until Tommy reached the Mustang.

  “Sweet,” said Kristi as she set Brooke down on the concrete floor. She looked closer at the car in the dim light. “Love the racing stripes.”

  “Really?” asked Tommy.

  “Maybe not, but right now, I’ll take it. It is a really cool car, though.”

  “Thanks. It was my dad’s pride and joy. Listen, I have a space in the backseat for Brooke. She’ll be wedged in between duffle bags and pillows, but I think she’ll be comfortable.”

  Tommy opened the door, and Brooke hopped into the driver’s seat and sat behind the steering wheel.

  “Ooo-oo-oo!” Then she fluttered her lips, emitting a puttering sound and a little bit of spittle.

  Tommy and Kristi laughed.

  Tommy used a sweeping gesture to shoo Brooke out of the seat. “No way, Jose! Get in the backseat.”

  Kristi was more analytical about Brooke’s actions. “See what I mean? She emulated the sound of a motor. Just like a child might do. How would she know this if she’s been kept in captivity with the other primates?”

  “Maybe she’s very observant?” asked Tommy rhetorically.

  “Yeah, maybe,” said Kristi in a soft voice, unsure. She made her way into the passenger seat and pulled the sidearm out of the waistband of her jeans. Tommy noticed her do this as he sat behind the wheel.

  “Things got a little hairy up there,” he commented as he inserted the key into the ignition.

  “I knew they were coming inside. I didn’t want them to jump you as you came out of the stairwell. I probably bit off a little more than I could chew.”

  “Looked to me like you had it under control,” he said. He turned the ignition, and the 289-cubic-inch motor roared to life. The dual exhausts made a low rumble sound as the engine idled.

  “I got nervous when Brooke came out of the bedroom. Once again, she surprised me by knowing how to turn the handle on the door. Anyway, she was very protective and charged the guy in the kitchen. I reacted and shot him.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t kill him.”

  “I could’ve, but I chose to wound him instead. The lead asshole was another story. I wanted to kill that SOB, but he wasn’t a real threat. Just mouthy.”

  “Okay,” said Tommy calmly as he pulled out of the space. “I don’t know what we’re gonna face getting through the garage exit. As long as that thing doesn’t have a hair trigger.”

  Kristi sighed. “That will be up to me.”

  Tommy slowly made his way through the garage and started up the final incline to the exit. With the power out, his remote gate opener wouldn’t work. During a winter storm the prior year, Chicago had lost power for a day, and maintenance workers had manned the gate, opening and closing it manually for the residents. He expected guards to be doing the same.

  “Okay, we’re about to find out if they have radio communications,” he said as he eased up to the gate.

  A man with a clipboard stood waiting while another with a shotgun slowly approached the passenger side of the vehicle.

  “What’s your name?” he demanded as Tommy rolled down his window.

  “Thomas Bannon, unit ten-ten.”

  The man leaned down to see inside the car. Kristi sat in the passenger seat, staring forward. Her peripheral vision was focused on the man with the shotgun.

  “Um, does she have a name?”

  “No, I mean yes. She’s a guest a
nd I’m taking her home because of the association’s new rule.”

  “Good, I’m glad you see it our way,” the man remarked snidely.

  Kristi clenched her jaw. These people were ridiculous with their newfound peon power.

  “Okay, thank you.” Tommy was better at playing the game than she was. “We’ll be on our way.”

  The man made a few notes on his clipboard and walked to the front of the Mustang to record the license plate number. He tucked the clipboard under his arm and began to lift the wooden exit barrier when his radio began to crackle with static.

  “Housley to garage! Housley to garage!”

  The man hesitated and allowed the barrier to rest on his shoulder as he fumbled for the radio attached to his belt. The other man lowered the shotgun and cradled it under his armpit as he pushed the barrier up slightly to assist.

  The gatekeeper pulled the radio free and walked toward the booth that separated the exit from the entrance. “This is the garage. Go ahead.”

  “Get ready,” Tommy said under his breath. He pushed in the clutch and eased the gear shift into first gear. The armed guard began to slowly walk toward the booth, pushing the gate upward as he did.

  Housley spoke into the radio. “Be on the lookout for Thomas Bannon. He’s mid-thirties, dark hair. He has a female guest and a monkey.”

  Tommy didn’t wait around to hear the rest. He popped the clutch and slammed the gas pedal to the floor. The nearly three-hundred-horsepower engine delivered a massive amount of torque to the rear wheels, which forced the Mustang forward with the smell of burnt rubber invading the inside of the car. He turned the wheel slightly to avoid running over the guard and then fishtailed into the street, leaving two black streaks from the tires in the process.

  The guard was never able to regain his composure from almost getting run over to take a shot at them. Tommy was racing south on the Magnificent Mile, using the northbound lane because it had less congestion.