Digital Winter

by Mark Hitchcock

  “I’m sure they will.” Stanley moved to a table and removed his cell phone. He dialed his wife but got a fast busy signal. That didn’t surprise him.

  “I can’t get out on my cell either.” Burt moved into the service area and gathered abandoned cups. “I imagine the cell network is a little stressed. You might try texting. Sometimes that gets through when a voice call won’t.”

  “I hate texting. I remember when people used phones to talk to each other, not send them cryptic messages.” He paused. “I guess that makes me sound old.”

  “I would never say that, Mr. Elton.”

  “I bet you’d think it.”

  Burt avoided the comment. “The landline works. The phone company provides its own power to wired phones. Something to do with FCC regulations.”

  “Thanks, Burt. I need to call the office and let them know I’m okay and that I won’t be walking up twenty-five flights of stairs.” Stanley rose and moved to the phone behind the counter and placed his call. He then called his wife’s cell but couldn’t get through. He tried her office phone. She answered on the first ring. “Hey, you.”

  “Hey yourself. Are you okay?” Royce sounded stressed.

  “Just peachy. Got stuck in the elevator for a few moments, but twenty-first-century engineering saved me. How about you?”

  “Everything on campus is down. Emergency generators are running essential stuff like the bio labs. Everything else is dark.”

  “So this extends to La Jolla. Interesting. It must be more widespread than I realized.”

  “Well, it’s not everywhere. I just got off the phone with Rosa. She said they still have power.”

  “Really?” A twinge of guilt stabbed Stanley. He hadn’t thought to call home. “That’s good. Donny wouldn’t understand why his computers weren’t working.”

  “That’s another thing. Rosa said Donny was motoring around the condo and laughing. Something has made him happy.”

  “At least he’s happy. We’ve seen the other side, and it isn’t pretty.”

  The comment was met with silence. Stanley decided to push on. “I wonder why Coronado still has power.” He watched Burt wipe down the tables. Outside, people milled along the walkway. Men in suits stood shoulder to shoulder with the homeless.

  “I don’t know. We have an old boom box in the lab. Normally we have it plugged in, but it still had some juice in the batteries. The blackout is happening up and down the coast and even in Washington DC.”

  “No way.”

  Burt looked at Stanley.

  “I didn’t hear the newscast myself, but several others did.”

  “Okay. Wow. I don’t see how that can be. How can DC be having an outage at the same time? It doesn’t make sense. I’m no expert, but I know we’re on separate power grids.” Stanley was an avid reader, devouring two newspapers a day and a dozen magazines a month. There had been several articles written about the US power grid after Southern California’s last major outage, and each one had a map of the country’s power grid. East and West did not meet.

  “I’m just telling you what I was told.”

  “I know, hon. I’m just trying to process things. Look, if this thing lasts long, getting home might take a while. I don’t have that far to go. As long as things don’t back up over the bridge, I can get home fairly quick. Let’s keep in touch—” The connection crackled. “Royce? Baby?”

  Nothing. The line went dead.

  “Great. Just great.”

  “What’s wrong, Mr. Elton?” Burt walked his way.

  “Stupid phone quit on me. I don’t suppose you have a battery-powered radio.”

  “Sorry. I get all my tunes on my iPhone. The music system for the shop doesn’t run on batteries.”

  Stanley smiled. “Not your fault, Burt.” He looked at his coffee. “Can I get that in a to-go cup?”

  “Headed back, sir?”

  “I’m going to the car. Maybe I can get something on the radio.”

  A few moments later, Stanley began to work his way through the crowd. In the distance, he could hear car horns honking and the mournful sound of sirens.

  Roni moved through her second surgery quickly: a young man with a ruptured spleen. It was still a lengthy operation, and she couldn’t cut corners. She couldn’t waste time either.

  The door to the surgical theater opened, and a man clad in a green surgical gown entered. He was gloved and masked, but his broad shoulders and short neck gave away his identity. Dr. Peter Court was chief surgeon for the hospital. Much of his day was spent in administration and dealing with doctors’ egos, but he maintained a consistent presence in the OR.

  “How we doing, Doctor?” His voice was a half-octave too high for a man his size and age. He approached, his kind gray eyes watching the orchestrated movements of modern surgery. Roni glanced up again and then returned her attention to the work before her.

  “So far so good, Doctor. I was unable to save any of the spleen, and there’s some additional injury, but none life threatening.”

  “Good to hear. How are you holding up?”

  The question worried her. “Fine. A little tired but we all are. I’m good for more surgery.”

  “That’s good. That’s good…”

  “Is there something you want to tell us, Dr. Court?”

  “There are more on the way. The day and night might be longer than we assumed.”

  “From the train wreck?”

  “Most of those are in, but we’re taking West Regional’s share.”

  Roni looked up. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “I wish I were. Their backup power system failed. I don’t know why, but my guess is that they didn’t maintain the generators. It happens in a tight economy.”

  “How many?”

  “Another thirty patients from the train, but most don’t need immediate surgery. Maybe fifteen high-priority surgeries. Orthopedics and otolaryngology have their work cut out for them. West had several people in the OR when the power went out. They’ve been stabilized and are being transported here. We’re also taking CICU and ICU patients.”

  This is a nightmare. She glanced at her team. “Are we getting help?”

  “I’ve called in everyone I can, but it’s taking longer to get in. Traffic is a mess.”

  “DC traffic is always a mess.”

  Court nodded. “Especially when the traffic lights don’t work.” He took a breath. “I’m afraid you’ll be shouldering more than your fair share.”

  “Understood. We’re up to the task. I recommend a rotation system for the surgical nurses.”

  “I’ve already set something up. Of course, off-duty nurses are having the same problem getting in as the doctors. West Regional is sending staff with patients. They’ll be around to help us. We’ll get some surgeons and OR docs too.”

  Roni couldn’t imagine the nightmare going on at West Regional. She made a mental note to thank the hospital administrator for keeping the backup systems up to date.

  Court remained in place.

  “Is there more, Doctor?”

  “The blackout isn’t just in DC. It’s hit most of the East Coast and other states. The phones went down a few minutes ago. The cell system is jammed.”

  “Life just gets better and better.”

  “Could be worse,” Court said.

  “Really? How?”

  “You should see ER. At least it’s quiet in here.”

  “Are you sure you’re not hurt?” The man in a blue lab coat leaned over Cody.

  “I’m okay. Where’s my mother?”

  “She’s behind those doors.” The man pointed to a pair of white doors on the far wall. Cody had watched people being taken back there. None ever came out. “That’s where the ER doctors work. Do you know what ER means?”

  Cody shook his head.

  “Well, it means ‘emergency room.’ The doctors here are trained to help people like your mother.”

  “Are you a doctor?”

  “No, I’m
a triage nurse.”

  Cody didn’t know what triage meant, and he didn’t know men could be nurses.

  “Where is your father? Is he at work?”

  “He’s dead.”

  The man-nurse looked down and then made eye contact again. “I’m sorry. Did he die in the accident?”

  “No. He was a policeman and a bad guy shot him. That’s when I was eight.”

  “How old are you now?”

  “Ten. My birthday was last month.”

  “Happy birthday. My name is Alan. What’s yours?”

  “Cody Broadway.”

  “Okay, Cody. Do you have any other family in town?”

  “No. It’s just me and my mom.”

  “I see. I have to get back to helping these other people, Cody, so you stay right here. If you need anything, you go to that window over there.” He pointed at a window near the ER doors he indicated earlier. A woman in a uniform sat behind the glass. “You tell her you want to see Nurse Alan. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “One other thing, Cody. As you can see, there are a lot of people here. So it might be a while before I can check on you again. You can be brave, right?”

  Cody nodded.

  “Are you hungry?” He pulled several one-dollar bills from his wallet. “There are vending machines down the hall. You can get a soda and some chips.” He held out the bills, and Cody took them. He was hungry, and a soda sounded wonderful.

  The man walked away, and Cody wondered about the train wreck. He hadn’t been on a train. He was in the car with his mother when a pickup ran into their car.

  It was a bad day.

  6

  Mr. President

  When the lights went out, President Nathan Barlow was having an early lunch with his wife, Katey, something he tried to do at least three times a week. During the first two years of his administration, he had averaged one and a half times a week. Fifty-percent wasn’t bad for a man whose schedule was timed to the minute and whose average day included at least one crisis. When push came to shove, personal time always took a backseat to state business. Especially these days. Six years of recession teetering on depression had created issues few presidents had faced.

  The lights in the residence wing of the White House dimmed, brightened, and then failed. In seconds, the emergency power came on—and the Secret Service locked down the White House.

  Barlow had been tempted to approach one of the windows of the second floor and see the effects of the power outage. The family dining room overlooked the north lawn and Pennsylvania Avenue, but he knew the drill. Although the windows were bulletproof, he was to stay away. “No need to broadcast which room you’re in.” The Secret Service was paranoid about paranoids and just about everyone else.

  He didn’t have to get up to know what was happening around the building. They went on lockdown at least once a month because of potential threats. West Wing staff were moved to offices without windows, all doors into the building were locked, and the Marine guards who stood around the perimeter became more than sharp-looking ornaments. Agents dressed in black uniforms and looking more like special ops than Secret Service walked the roof, automatic rifles in hand.

  Five minutes later, the phone in the dining room chimed. Barlow answered, listened, and then hung up. He returned to the table and sipped his coffee. He admitted to being addicted to caffeine and had no intention to give it up.

  “End of the world?” Katey sipped her tea. She was the most unflappable person Barlow knew.

  “Nah, just a power outage in the city. Probably a squirrel in some relay station. That’s one mistake the critter will never make again.”

  “Don’t be cruel, Nathan. Squirrels are cute.”

  “I’m not being cruel. Besides, he might have been a terrorist squirrel. His demise was quick. Okay, I don’t know that it was a squirrel. Just an outage. No doubt the power will be back on soon. I’m just glad I don’t have to commute to work.”

  The phone rang again. Again the president listened and thanked the caller.

  “Don’t tell me—the squirrel was a Republican.”

  Barlow sat at the table again but didn’t respond.

  “Nathan?”

  “What?”

  “You okay?”

  He smiled. “Sure. I’m fine.”

  “You look concerned.”

  He rubbed his chin. “That was Frank. The problem is a little more widespread.”

  “A little more?” Katey set her glass down and spooned some vegetable soup into her mouth. After two years of living with the head of the world’s most powerful nation, she had grown used to the constant intrusion of problems. Still, the chief of staff was not prone to exaggeration. “More than a few blocks? The whole city?”

  “Much of the East Coast.”

  Katey set the spoon down.

  By the time Barlow reached the Oval Office, Frank Grundy had a fresh report for him. The chief of staff was a tall, attractive man with dark hair and a square jaw who once admitted that he longed to be president. He served two terms in congress before realizing that he didn’t have the political drive to seek the nation’s highest position, but he did have the smarts to help someone else get there. He was most effective and most comfortable behind the scenes.

  They exchanged greetings and got down to business. “We don’t have details yet, but DHS is getting reports from the field that the power grid is in serious trouble.”

  “Terrorism?”

  “We can’t prove it, but that’s my suspicion. This isn’t confined to one segment of the grid. It’s hopscotching around the country.”

  “How long before the utility companies have things back up and running?”

  “Unknown, Mr. President. That would depend on the actual cause. Secretary McKie asked to see you. I’ve bumped the afternoon meetings. Traffic is at a standstill, so most people were happy to reschedule.”

  “She didn’t want to do this on the phone? If the traffic is as bad as you suggest, Monica is going to have a tough time getting here.”

  “She wants to do this in person. Police will do what they can to get her here. There’s one more thing—she thinks we need to set up a videoconference in the sit room.”

  “With whom?”

  “Several people, including USCYBERCOM.”

  Barlow thought for a moment. “She knows something.”

  “Yeah, that’s my take.”

  “Let me know when she’s here.”

  Stanley listened to the radio in his Audi Q8. The car was as comfortable as his living room, and the stereo system would be the envy of any audiophile. Despite the eight grand he had spent to upgrade the audio, the sound was scratchy and muddled. The concrete and steel in the basement parking and the twenty-five story building above him didn’t help, but he knew the audio shouldn’t be that bad. He attributed it to radio stations being on backup power.

  He marveled that technology was unwilling to yield to setbacks. A series of national disasters over the decades had pushed the country to make sure that communications continued. The Cold War had been a pretty good motivator too.

  Stanley shifted from the San Diego news station to one in Los Angeles. The news was the same: Power was out in San Diego, Los Angeles, and points in between. The lights went out in central California shortly after power was lost here. The radio announcer mentioned how odd that was. In 2011, power loss was felt as far north as Orange County but no more—at least in California. Other states were affected, but he knew more about what his own state experienced than he did about the others.

  Stanley switched back to the San Diego announcer just in time to hear him pass on some messages from the mayor’s office.

  The last outage in San Diego lasted eleven hours in some areas.

  Traffic was currently jammed on all major freeways and streets. Estimated time to travel from center city to North County was four hours.

  People were asked not to drive if they had less than a quarter of a tank of gas. G
as stations were shut down and unable to pump fuel. Stanley assumed this bit of advice was meant to keep cars from running out of gas while idling on I-5.

  The traffic lights at some major intersections had battery backup and would most likely continue working through the night if need be.

  San Onofre nuclear power plant had gone off-line as a security precaution.

  When power came back online, it would do so in stages. The announcer explained that it wasn’t like throwing a switch. It had to be done in stages or the sudden flow of power would activate other safety protocols.

  Raw sewage was beginning to spill into San Diego Bay and could begin to pour into the streets. In 2011, more than two million gallons of sewage polluted the coast.

  The newsman said something else that caught Stanley’s attention. “The blackout covers all of San Diego County and east to New Mexico…”

  He had almost missed it. The man had to be wrong. Didn’t Royce say the power was still on in the condo? Rosa had said so. That couldn’t be right. He tried to remember if the ten buildings that made up the condo complex had emergency power. They didn’t in 2011, and he had received no word of an update to the buildings that could explain why his lights were on.

  It didn’t make sense. Royce must have misunderstood.

  Rosa stood at the window facing the Glorietta Cove and gazed at the blue ribbon of the San Diego–Coronado Bridge. Since 1969 it had been one of the gems of San Diego. At night it appeared bejeweled, magical, with blue light that painted the tall concrete columns that held it 200 feet above the calm waters of the bay. A Navy ship moved beneath the span on its way to open ocean.

  A thirty-four-inch-high concrete side rail allowed motorists an unobstructed view of the bay. It also made it easy for those weary of life to slip over the edge. Hundreds had done so. From the tenth floor, Rosa could usually see what few could: cars moving across the five-lane road. At night, the red taillights made an image begging to be photographed.

  But today, the cars weren’t running as normal. Traffic had come to a standstill. Cars sat on the two-mile span. Getting home tonight was going to be difficult. Her husband was on a long haul, guiding his truck through the Southern states for a delivery in Atlanta. He wouldn’t be home for days. Maybe the Eltons would let her stay over if things didn’t get back to normal soon.