“I was going to call the landlord soon,” said Mandy, anticipating Mrs. Kerns’s next question.
“I already did,” said Mrs. Kerns, in a matter of fact way. “Well, I tried to, but the phones are all dead.”
“Do you have a cell phone?”
“I’m not that old, am I?” said Mrs. Kerns. “Of course I do.”
“Let me try my phone. I’ll be back in a second.”
She went into her bedroom to get her phone. She picked it up, and noticed that the screen was dead.
She went back into the living room.
“That’s strange,” she said, sitting back down on the couch. “I remember distinctly that I charged it last night at the, um, bar.”
“Everything’s dead,” said Mrs. Kerns.
“What do you mean everything’s dead?”
“All the machines. All the electronics. None of them work. I’ve been downstairs to see Alison, and none of her things work either. And I even looked out to the other buildings. There isn’t a single light on. But the strangest thing is that if you look out to the other buildings—I can see over to Downing Street from my living room window—none of the lights are on either. And the Nevins are always home, with all the lights always on.”
“Hmm,” said Mandy. “I guess the whole town lost power. I mean, that’s happened before, but usually it’s when there’s a storm…”
Mrs. Kerns shook her head. “There wasn’t a storm.”
“Maybe a transformer or something?” said Mandy. She only vaguely knew what a transformer was, but she knew it had something to do with electricity.
Mrs. Kerns shook her head. “I don’t know. But I’m worried. I’ve never seen anything like this.”
Mandy didn’t know what to think, but she was starting to get nervous. “This is really weird,” she said. “Oh, what about the radio?”
Mrs. Kerns shook her head again. “I tried,” she said. “It doesn’t work. Just like all the machines. I guess my father was right. He was always telling us that these gadgets wouldn’t save us.”
“There’s something!” said Mandy. “I heard something outside. Sounds like cars.”
They both stopped speaking.
Mandy moved to the window and pushed the slats of the blinds aside to peer outside to the parking lot. Most of the cars were gone. Most of the residents were at work, after all. Her own car sat there, a beat up old Honda Civic with dents all over it. It must have been at least fifteen years old, but that was what Mandy could afford with her waitressing job.
They could clearly hear the sound of car engines approaching. But Mandy didn’t see anything yet. There was something odd about the sound. They sounded bigger, beefier than normal engines.
“Someone’s coming,” whispered Mandy.
“Shh,” said Mrs. Kerns.
A single truck pulled slowly into the parking lot. It didn’t look like any truck that Mandy would have seen in her normal life. It was a military style truck, something like a beefy pickup. It was painted a solid light green color, without any camouflage. There were two or three men up in the front cab, and a man in the back manning a huge turret gun.
Mandy gasped. She’d never seen anything like this in the United States. It reminded her of the trip she’d taken in high school to Mexico for spring break. There, she’d been shocked to see the police driving around town in pickup trucks with guns mounted on the back. Honestly, though, she’d been too drunk to remember much else from the trip. Not that she was a big drinker. She’d barely had a drink since she’d dropped out of college after her first disastrous semester, except for yesterday night.
Mandy watched for a moment as the truck slowly circled the parking lot. The man in the back of the truck seemed to be scanning the area. For what, Mandy didn’t know.
There weren’t any markings on the truck that she could see.
The men looked like they might be from the United States Army, but she couldn’t get a good look at them.
She had a bad feeling in her stomach, and it wasn’t the beer she drank last night. She kept moving her face away from the window, worried that they would see her.
“What’s going on?” said Mrs. Kerns, starting to get up slowly from the couch.
“Shh,” whispered Mandy, waving her hand for Mrs. Kerns to stay where she was.
Mandy didn’t know who these men were or what they were doing here, but she had a feeling that it wouldn’t be good if they knew she was here… at least not until she knew what they were up to.
3
Max
Max had finally gotten over his mild panic attack, or whatever you wanted to call it. He cursed himself under his breath for being weak. This wasn’t the time to freak out. This was the time for action, for making logical choices.
The rest of his coworkers were still up in the office. Max didn’t see a single person in the parking lot as he walked to his Jeep 4x4, an old but reliable car. He’d done all the recent repairs on it himself, and he knew he could rely on it in times like this.
The only thing was… would it start after an EMP?
Max was pretty sure it would. He’d spent too many hours online, reading about these sorts of things, and the general consensus seemed to be that the majority of cars would start after an EMP. Some newer cars might have electronics problems, but Max’s Jeep didn’t have any of that new fancy nonsense.
Still, despite how much he trusted the car, he breathed a sigh of relief as the engine roared to life when he turned the key in the ignition.
“There we go,” muttered Max, to the car as much as himself, as he pulled out of the parking lot.
Max was glad he hadn’t taken that job in the city. He shuddered to think what must be going on in Philly. Or what might happen in the coming days. If this was what Max was pretty sure it was, no food would be arriving. And in the city, plenty of people had guns… It would quickly descend into complete chaos as people who’d never experienced true hunger suddenly were cut off from their cheeseburgers and potato chips.
Out on the road, everything looked surprisingly normal.
Just the calm before the storm, thought Max.
There were one or two cars out along with Max. Pretty typical for this time of day, although normally there might be more.
The traffic lights were all out, but Max didn’t see any police doing normal traffic work. No, they’d be busier with other things.
Max flicked the radio on, expecting nothing but static. Instead, the radio didn’t even turn on. It was fried.
It was strange to feel so cut off. Max was something of a lone wolf in general, but in this moment, he felt more isolated than he ever had before. Seeing the dead faces of the office buildings and the stores was strange and eerie. And no one was out. That was the strangest thing. Normally there’d be people walking their dogs, going on jogs. Max didn’t see a single person walking around.
He drove slowly towards his apartment. He knew he didn’t have much time before things really started happening, but he also wanted to drive cautiously. The last thing he needed right now was some problem with the Jeep.
He knew it was only too easy to do something careless, like running over something unexpected in the road, especially when dealing with a stressful situation like this. The last thing he needed was for the Jeep to be out of commission. He had to get to the farmhouse in Lampton, PA, about eight hours away on a normal day. And this was not a normal day. Who knew how long it would take for Max to make it there.
Max looked behind him in the rearview mirror. He could hear the sound of a big truck coming up behind him.
It passed him going about sixty miles an hour on what was normally a low-speed road. It was a military cargo truck, probably full of soldiers.
Max just kept driving normally, although he made sure to stay as far over to the shoulder as possible.
He was only a couple minutes from his apartment building, when he came to a police barricade.
There was a single cop standing in the
road. Not near a traffic light or anything, just in the middle of the road. His police cruiser was parked sideways on the road, and he had the rest of the road blocked off with yellow crime scene tape and a couple folding chairs. Pretty shabby for the local police, who were known for having a higher than normal budget, especially considering the low crime in the area.
Max wasn’t worried. It wasn’t like the cop was going to arrest him.
That said, Max didn’t know how the military and police were going to handle this new crisis. Maybe they’d enforce road blocks, or some kind of curfew. Something like that could interfere with Max’s plans to leave the area.
But there was no doubt in Max’s mind that he would do whatever it took to get out. Staying there would be certain slow death. Without the shipping system, no food would arrive, and chaos would ensue. The police and military would only be able to contain the masses for so long.
Max pulled up slowly to the police officer, who Max noted had his hand already on the handle of his pistol.
“What’s going on, officer?” said Max, in his most polite tone. He tried to act just like a normal concerned civilian, who would do whatever he was told by an authority figure.
The cop didn’t answer him. He just gave him a steely stare.
“License or identification,” said the cop.
This was a big departure from the standard “license and registration.” It meant they already weren’t concerned with who was driving what.
Max realized suddenly that the cop’s radio wouldn’t work. He doubted the cops would have taken the precautions of shielding some two way radios from possible EMP blasts.
Max took out his wallet and handed the cop his ID.
“What’s your destination?” said the cop, not breaking from his deadpan voice and stare.
“Just heading back to my apartment,” said Max. “I work on a computer all day. So, you know, there wasn’t any power so I figured I’d just take the day off.” He gave a little laugh at the end to try to show that he was just a regular guy who wasn’t up to anything. He figured the authorities would want everyone to stay home.
The cop nodded at him and handed the license back.
“Any weapons?” he said.
Max laughed. “Nope,” he said. “Never was the type. My girlfriend was all anti-NRA and everything. She would never let me have one.” Of course, he didn’t have a girlfriend.
The cop looked at him, studying him.
Max wondered if he was going to get a pat down. If he did, it’d be beyond easy to find the Glock in his waistband.
Max tried his best to look relaxed, innocent, and clueless.
He’d only ever used the Glock at the firing range. But today was the day, of all days, when he really needed it. Max knew that there might come a time soon when the Glock would be what stood between life and death.
What measures would he be willing to take to keep the gun?
The cop kept staring at him.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he turned his gaze to the car behind Max, giving Max a brisk wave of his hand to signal that he should continue onward.
“Thanks, officer,” called out Max, cheerily.
But Max’s fake smile turned to an expression of grim determination.
He could already see that it had started: the police were going to have their own agenda, and it wasn’t going to be in Max’s best interest to adhere to whatever rules they put in place. They would soon become fractured without radios, without a central guiding principle. Max wondered what principles they were operating under right now.
He pulled into the large parking lot of his apartment building, just as a military truck was pulling out. It drove slowly. There was a turret gun, manned by a soldier, in the bed of the extra large pickup. It wasn’t any civilian model, but some type of vehicle that Max wasn’t familiar with.
The driver stared Max down as he drove slowly by.
Max only noticed that he was holding his breath until the truck passed. He watched it in his rearview mirror. With that kind of fire power, they could riddle his Jeep with bullet holes in seconds, killing him instantly. His Glock wouldn’t do anything against that, obviously.
It was only a matter of time before the authorities became splintered, fractioning off into their own groups, looking out for their own survival. And they would be the ones with the guns. Or they would fall prey to others who wanted their weapons. Either way, Max simply wasn’t equipped to fight off people with huge guns like that. His Glock was certainly not going to be a match for well-trained police officers and soldiers with automatic rifles.
Max took a deep breath as he parked his Jeep. He knew what he had to do. He had to get into his apartment, get his supplies, gather all the food and water that he could, and high tail it on out of this town.
He didn’t know if the roads would be blocked. He hadn’t planned on that before, that a serious curfew type situation might be implemented. But seeing the cop and the soldiers, his mind was starting to change.
Better to get out as soon as possible, before things got really bad.
The lights in all the apartment buildings were off, of course. There were four apartment buildings that faced the parking lot, which sat in the middle, like a kind of courtyard.
He used his small pocket LED flashlight as he walked into his apartment. It was clean and tidy, but not overly so, not that you’d be able to tell without the lights on. Not much light ever came in through the windows, and today was no exception.
There was his pull up bar, in the doorway, and there were his weights stacked neatly against the wall. He was glad now that he’d put in all that work. But would it be enough? Would his body be able to sustain the rigors of the journey ahead?
Max moved quickly through his apartment. It was a small unit, exactly the same as all the apartments in the building. He had a bedroom, a living room, and a small kitchen.
Max didn’t feel sentimental at all about leaving things behind. He grabbed what he needed. In the kitchen, he methodically yet quickly took every piece of food and put it into paper bags, which were the only bags he could find. He’d worry about what might spoil later. Fortunately, most of what he had were canned goods, rice, sugar, that sort of thing.
His camping stove, with extra fuel containers, was already in his bug out bag. He cursed himself again for not completing the bag.
It was sitting in the corner of his bedroom, looking tidy. Tidy, but not yet complete. There wasn’t a single mark on the bag. He’d bought it new at the store, and had never used it. He’d never even so much as been camping or hiking in the last few years.
Yeah, he was seriously lacking in a lot of areas.
As Max gathered the possessions he would need, he didn’t hear a single sound from the neighbors. Everything sounded deathly quiet. The background noise of the cars was simply absent, as it had been since the EMP. It was funny that he’d never noticed the background noise before.
Max took trips out to his Jeep without seeing anyone, his arms loaded down with paper bags full of food.
Next, he brought out his bag, which contained the camping stove, the water purifier tablets, the first aid kit, the compass, etc.
Maps… shit…
The thought suddenly hit him. He didn’t have any maps.
He’d been meaning to buy them for months now. But he’d always put it off. That was part of the malaise he’d been feeling. He didn’t think it had been depression, but more like a general discontentment with the way things were going. He’d been motivated in some areas—doing his exercises daily, for instance. But he’d slacked off severely in other areas.
Like buying maps.
Whatever, he’d just have to work it out along the way. How hard could it be, anyway? He mostly remembered the route. Something like take 476 N, obviously, and then basically head west at some point… He didn’t remember exactly where.
Some roads might be blocked off. Some might be impassable. That was where the maps were
going to come in.
Max cursed himself again.
But he had to keep moving. He had to keep preparing. He checked his watch, and decided he wanted to be out of there in fifteen minutes. Max’s watch was a purely mechanical analog watch, winding itself from the movements of Max’s wrist. It had cost a pretty penny, but in situations like this, it was worth it, although truthfully Max didn’t know if regular digital watches would continue to work or not.
Max kept his flashlight on the lowest setting to conserve its battery. When he didn’t absolutely need it, he hit the button to turn it off. He would be able to use this battery, and his four spares, before his flashlight became nothing but an obsolete metal cylinder. Possibly never to work again.
Society might fall completely apart. It might not. It might rebuild itself. All Max knew was that he wanted to be far, far away from everything when people were figuring out whether or not they were going to kill each other and fall into chaos, or work together to rebuild.
Frankly, Max didn’t have high hopes for humanity. He’d seen the way people were these days. He’d seen them in the super market aisles screaming at each other over petty disagreements. He’d seen the news, seen people shooting each other over nothing. Husbands were murdering wives and wives were murdering their children. The world wasn’t the same as it had been, and it was clearly sinking into some awful state from which it might never return. The EMP might just be the final nail in the coffin, the event that pushed everything and everyone completely over the edge once and for all.
Max had finished his last pass of his apartment. He didn’t even look behind him into his old apartment. It wasn’t like there had been a lot of happy memories there. Max had nothing there that he wanted to take with him. Well, maybe the pictures of his parents.
But if he couldn’t eat it or shoot it, or use it in a similar way, it had to stay behind.
He was in the lobby outside his apartment door, heading towards his car. He still hadn’t run into any of the neighbors. That was probably for the best. He didn’t want to be forced to take anyone with him. Not that he would. This was the time for hard decisions, and Max was ready to make them. He only had enough food for himself.
Getting Out: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller (The EMP Book 1) Page 2
