by Bobby Akart
“Okay, let’s do it.”
Sarah kissed her son on the cheek and said, “I’ll get a few things and then bring the truck around.”
Chapman grabbed her by the arm. “No, Mom. You can’t. You’ve gotta stay here at the farm.”
“I’m staying with your father,” she protested.
Chapman pulled her aside to speak with her as the tears flowed again. She was very emotional, rightfully so.
“Please listen to me. You don’t understand. This could be very dangerous. People are desperate out there, and I don’t want to put you at risk. Besides, you know the farm, and Carly needs your help watching over the kids. I’ll take him. It’s the best way.”
Sarah shook her head side to side and was visibly shaken. Her hands trembled as she covered her face, and her voice cracked as she spoke. “I-I have to be with him, Chapman. I can’t lose him.”
Isabella approached them. She gently took Sarah’s hands and squeezed them. “I promise to watch over both of your boys.”
“Wait,” Chapman interrupted. “You’re not going either.”
Isabella stood firm. “Chapman Boone, you promised not to coddle me, remember?”
“Yeah, but that was different.”
“No, it was not. I am going because I made Sarah a promise. Right, Sarah?”
Sarah managed a smile. “Okay, I’ll stay here, but only if Isabella goes too. I trust her to watch over you both.”
Chapman shook his head and furrowed his brow. “Fine. Let’s get started. I’ll get the truck and the extra gas we need to get up there and back. Mom, help Isabella put together some clothes for Dad.” He rolled his head around his shoulders as he contemplated the daunting task before them. This was not going to be a quick drive up the interstate.
“What else, son?” Sarah asked, noticing the concern on Chapman’s face.
“This may take a while. We’ll need clothes and some food for the road. Also, two handguns and one of the new AR-10s you bought from Allen. Plenty of ammo for both.”
Isabella eased next to his side. “We will be okay. Your father needs us right now.”
Chapman looked at his dad, who was shivering from the fever. He appeared so helpless. So many thoughts flashed through his mind. He visibly shook them off.
“He’s always been there for me. It’s my turn to take care of him.”
Chapter 48
Fort Wayne, Indiana
Chapman used his recollection of Indiana’s back roads from his days of chasing storms as a teenager to make the two-hundred-fifty-mile trek to Fort Wayne faster than the refugees spilling out of Kentucky. He was constantly checking his rearview mirror, not because of traffic behind him, but because he’d adjusted it to check on his dad, who was curled up in the backseat. Isabella held his hand and kept a wet washcloth to his head in an attempt to reduce his fever. The wool blanket helped with his uncontrollable shivers.
As they got closer to the city, traffic increased. Several times, Chapman threw caution to the wind by driving down the wrong side of the road and even on the sidewalk. He also made use of yards and open medians to pass stalled vehicles. Despite his best efforts, a normal four-hour drive took just over six, causing his level of concern for his father’s health to rise.
Once he arrived in the vicinity of Lutheran Hospital, it became apparent that driving closer would be impossible. He looked for a safe place to park the truck, and then he turned around to Isabella. “I have to carry him.”
“How far is it?” she asked.
“Maybe a mile or two. I’m not sure.”
“Do you want me to go for a wheelchair?”
“I’m sure they’re all taken.” Chapman thought after watching two cars crash into each other several hundred feet behind them. Two men immediately jumped out of their vehicles and began to pummel one another. “Besides, we need to stick together.”
Chapman exited the truck and holstered his handgun. Then he ran around the back of the truck and grabbed the AR-10 from the front passenger seat.
Isabella opened the door and gently placed Squire’s head on a pillow. “He is sleeping, but he still has the fever. This is not good for him.”
“I know,” mumbled Chapman. He checked the magazine on the rifle and chambered a round. He handed it to Isabella. “Do you know how to shoot one of these?”
“It is a rifle, no?”
“Yes, no different from what you hunt with. I want you to carry it with authority and confidence. Do you understand?”
“Like the military?”
“Exactly. I want people to know that you will shoot if necessary.”
Isabella took the weapon and held it like she’d seen special forces personnel around Paris during anti-terrorism operations.
“Ready,” she announced, spinning around and checking for any threats.
Chapman leaned into the back of the truck. “Okay, Dad. We’re gonna get you some help.” Chapman took a deep breath and hoisted his one-hundred-eighty-pound father into his arms. He huffed as he got his dad cradled against his chest. “Good thing he’s lost some weight.”
Isabella led the way, wearing Chapman’s Ray-Ban Wayfarer II sunglasses to hide her eyes from anyone who might challenge them. She certainly knew how to play the part of a badass.
With his adrenaline and his desire to save his dad’s life, Chapman was able to keep up with her quick pace, and the two arrived near the hospital emergency room in around twenty minutes.
That was the easy part. Getting through the mass of humanity proved more difficult and almost deadly.
“Chapman, do you see?” asked Isabella.
He didn’t answer as he paused to observe the hundreds of people crowded around the emergency room entrance. It would be near impossible for them to force their way through the throngs, who were pushing and shoving one another to gain access themselves.
Chapman dropped to one knee and gently laid his father on the grassy median of the boulevard entrance. “There has to be another way.”
While the two of them assessed their options, Squire began to cough uncontrollably. A small amount of bloody spittle trickled down his chin. Isabella quickly bent down and wiped it off his face.
In French, she spoke softly into his ear, encouraging him to hold on until they could get him some help. She reminded him of how much he was loved and needed by his family. It was a touching scene, which was interrupted by the blare of a siren from an oncoming ambulance.
Chapman twisted his body to see the boxy white and orange paramedic unit from Three Rivers Ambulance Authority approach from their rear. Then he glanced back toward the hospital. He noticed the throngs of people were parting in the center, clearing the road for the ambulance to pass. He decided to take the risk.
“Isabella! Grab the gun and block the ambulance. Hurry!”
Without hesitation, she scooped up the rifle and ran into the middle of the road. At first, she stood with her shoulders square and the AR-10 casually held in front of her. As the ambulance continued to approach, it became apparent it wasn’t going to slow down in this game of chicken, so Isabella turned sideways and raised the rifle, pointing directly at the driver.
That ended the standoff.
The driver pulled to a stop ten feet away from her and slowly raised his hands off the steering wheel. As he did, Chapman lifted his dad and ran to the back of the ambulance.
Isabella walked slowly toward the driver, continuously keeping the rifle pointed at his head.
“Out!” she shouted in her best American accent.
“I can’t—” he could be heard yelling back from behind the driver’s door.
“Out, now!”
This time he complied with her demand.
“On the ground!”
He didn’t hesitate to drop to his knees, and then his hefty waistline immediately dragged his upper body until he face-planted in the dry grass.
Isabella ran to the back and opened the doors with her free hand. The two paramedics inside slowl
y raised their hands over their heads and began to exit the ambulance.
“No, you two can stay,” said Chapman. “I just need to get my dad inside, that’s all.”
One of them, a young woman, tried to reason with Chapman while staring at Isabella. “This is not the way to—”
Chapman cut her off. “It’s the only way. Now cooperate, or you can join the driver on the ground.”
“Okay, okay,” said the male paramedic, an older man. He moved things around and assisted Chapman to get his dad in the ambulance. While they did, Isabella motioned for the driver to get back in the cab, and she instructed him to drive them into the hospital.
While he navigated the ambulance slowly through the crowd, Chapman answered questions for the paramedics, and Isabella kept her rifle trained on the driver. She focused all of her attention on his mannerisms to ensure he didn’t do anything to jeopardize them.
“Monsieur, I apologize for my actions. He is very ill.”
He smiled and replied in French, “Je comprends.” I understand.
Isabella rewarded him with her best sexy Frenchwoman smile. It was going to be all right. “Très bon.” Very good.
It turned out that the patient they were transporting was not nearly as ill as Squire. During the trip to the hospital, the paramedics had been able to treat the woman, and she was already feeling better. Also, it didn’t hurt that the lead paramedic recognized Chapman from The Weather Channel.
As a result, they were able to gather information from Chapman and promised to help him get admitted to Lutheran Downtown Hospital.
Chapter 49
The Oval Office
The White House
Washington, DC
“These are the unintended consequences of their actions, and they have no one to blame but themselves!” shouted the president as he paced the floor in the Oval Office. O’Donnell, the head of FEMA, and Marc Ducci, the Secretary of Homeland Security, waited silently for the tirade to end.
The FEMA director was delivering a report concerning local utilities restarting their power grids without notice to their users. In many instances, deaths resulted from flash fires, electrocutions, and machinery starting without warning.
“Also, sir, there are the overloaded transformers. The black start plan necessarily requires the same kind of coordinated effort that the takedown required.”
The president shook his head in disappointment. “Once again, shortsighted thinking.”
O’Donnell weighed in. “My question is whether these same reports are causing the other utilities to rethink their actions? Have they—?”
Before O’Donnell could finish her question, a rapid tapping on the door followed by a member of the president’s Secret Service detail entering the room startled the attendees.
“What is it?” barked the president.
“My apologies, sir. Ms. Taylor says it’s urgent.”
“Let her in.” The president stood and walked toward the door. Before she was fully through the doorway, he asked, “What is it, Ms. Taylor?”
“Sir, we have an event reported by the SWPC.”
“Please explain,” said the president, who set his notepad on his desk and leaned up against it with his arms crossed.
“Mr. President, this is eerily similar to the Halloween magnetic storm, which occurred in 2003. The SWPC advises that seventeen solar flares erupted in neighboring active regions on the sun’s surface within hours of each other. Almost half of these were accompanied by storms of radiation.
“The largest of the flares was quickly followed by a coronal mass ejection. Our initial data indicates the plasma is moving at over twelve hundred miles per second. The Lagrange spacecraft positioned at L1 immediately malfunctioned as the protons from the flare consumed it.”
Lagrange was a 2018 project of the European Space Agency that had positioned several spacecraft orbiting the sun. Identified as L1 through L5, these space weather satellites enabled the ESA to identify potentially dangerous solar events.
“Is this Earth directed?” asked O’Donnell.
“Yes.”
“When will it hit us?”
“Our calculations are preliminary, but we are most likely looking at a window between thirty-six and seventy-two hours.”
The president stood and began pacing, shoving his hands in his pockets as he wandered through the Oval Office. Nobody spoke, respectfully giving the president time to digest this news.
He turned to his FEMA director and Ducci first. “Gentlemen, we can’t mess around with these rogue utilities and do-gooder mayors. I want these regional power grids shut down, and I mean now! This thing could be upon us in thirty-six hours, and I’m not gonna allow their insubordination to cause permanent damage to the American people.”
“I’ll reach out to the Pentagon,” offered Ducci.
“I’ll contact the governors of the affected states to ensure the National Guard takes every step to gain immediate control of any operating utilities.”
The president turned back to Taylor. “Tell me how this will unfold. What exactly should we expect?”
Taylor took a deep breath and began. “Mr. President, first, let me state that these events have just occurred, and the entire world is monitoring this activity. It’s too early to determine whether this geostorm will hit North America or not.”
“We have to be prepared nonetheless. Don’t you agree?”
Taylor calmly nodded. “Yes, sir. Of course. To answer your questions, I think we’ll experience a wave of particles that will engulf the planet in a more episodic manner rather than a continuous barrage.”
“English, please, Ms. Taylor,” interrupted the president.
She quickly apologized before continuing. “I’m sorry, sir. As early as thirty-six hours from now, these particles of solar matter will reach closer to the planet. In some places where the Earth’s magnetic field is relatively intact, these solar particles will be deflected. Where the field has been weakened, they will be able to reach our ionosphere and most likely the planet surface.
“This is no different than the cosmic rays we have discussed previously. By their nature, cosmic rays are continuously bombarding the planet, and we rely upon the atmosphere to deflect the slower, less dangerous particles. The solar matter will prey upon our planet’s weaknesses.”
“How are we going to know the impact?” asked President Houston.
“Initially, unprotected electronics will suffer catastrophic failure. Computers, electronics, machinery, and, most likely, newer vehicles will be permanently damaged.”
The president frowned. “Survivable, short term, anyway. Am I right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What about over time?” he asked.
“Long term, we don’t know how the weakened atmosphere will withstand the aggressive solar wind during the period of reversal. If the pole shift is fast, then we have a proverbial fighting chance.”
“And if it’s slow?” asked O’Donnell.
“We have Mars,” she replied dryly.
“How so?” asked the president.
Taylor furrowed her brow and took a deep breath. “Over time, as the atmosphere on Mars weakened, the continuous bombardments of radiation and solar wind began to strip away the atmosphere. Eventually, there was nothing left but a dead planet.”
“Wait, is that possible under the present conditions?” asked Ducci.
“It would take a long time, depending on the speed of the reversal, but we might be in the beginning stages of such a climatic apocalypse.”
“Extinction level?” said the president inquisitively.
Taylor hesitated and then replied, “Yes, sir. Absolutely.”
The room fell silent.
Finally, President Houston spoke up. He turned to his Homeland Security leadership. “Okay, first things first. Gentlemen, make your calls and get the ball rolling. I want those grids secured. Taylor, please do not hesitate to come back here with updates. If you can’t find me, f
ind Ange. I want to stay on top of this.”
“Yes, sir. Is there anything else you need from me at this time?”
“No, Ms. Taylor. Thank you so much for indulging my nervous nature.”
“Of course, Mr. President. You carry a huge responsibility on your shoulders. I’m glad to help.”
Taylor left on the heels of the men, leaving the president alone with O’Donnell.
“Okay, Grant, here we go,” she began after the door to the Oval Office was closed.
The president loosened his tie and wandered behind the Resolute desk, where he flopped into his chair. “Maybe. Or at least we’ll have everyone’s attention now. You heard Taylor. They don’t know at this juncture whether the geostorm will hit us or not.”
“You’re right, though. It bolsters your position and will shut down opposition. We need to announce this incoming CME to as many people as we can reach.”
“The American people need to realize this is serious business, even if we dodge a bullet this time. There will be another geostorm, and another one after that, and another one after that.”
Chapter 50
Lutheran Downtown Hospital
Fort Wayne, Indiana
“What’s my next assignment, Nurse Heller?” asked the young woman wearing red and white candy-striper scrubs. The nurse had called upon St. Paul’s Lutheran Church for volunteers to assist with triage of patients and cleaning up of exam areas after a patient was discharged. This young woman had no medical experience and worked harder on her appearance than the task at hand.
The older nurse, a mainstay at the hospital since its opening years ago, was frantically trying to address the needs of the physicians on staff, who constantly barked orders at her and her underlings.
“Contact the morgue, extension oh-five-hundred. Tell them we have one deceased for transport downstairs.”
The candy striper shuddered at the thought of a dead person nearby. “Which one?” she asked hesitantly.
“East wing, on a gurney in the hallway. Male. Dressed in camouflage. You know, hunting clothes.”
