EMP

by Wilson Harp

  He smiled and went back to looking at the papers in the folder.

  I went over to refill my coffee cup, but the pot was empty.

  “I’m sorry, David,” Mom said as she came back in the kitchen. “There is something wrong with the water, so I just used a bottled water to fill the coffee maker. Just enough for a small cup for each of us this morning.”

  “I better get going,” I said as I put my cup down in the sink. “I’ll be back by dinner time.”

  “Take a notepad and a pen,” Mom said as she handed me a slip of paper with her friend’s address on it. “You never know if you will need to leave a note with someone.”

  It was sound advice, so I looked in the utility drawer and grabbed a pen. I picked up a small notepad on the kitchen counter next to the phone, scribbled on it to make sure the pen worked and placed them both in my shirt pocket. I went to my room and put on my shoes and picked up my wallet and keys from the dresser.

  “Be safe, David. And stop by the pharmacy if you can. Maybe he has the prescriptions ready,” Dad said as I left the house.

  I nodded as I said goodbye. I knew what Dad was thinking. Even though they had just had their prescriptions filled, it wouldn’t hurt to have an extra month on hand. I’m sure he already has a spare bottle somewhere in the house, but I knew he was as worried as I that this outage would be longer than a day or two.

  It was only about three miles from the house to where the five and dime on Vinson Street used to be. Frank and I would make the trip each Saturday. Sometimes we would buy packs of baseball cards and open them to see who we got. Other times we would buy some candy and split a soda. I realized even though I was older the road into town now seemed longer and more menacing. Of course I was on foot now, and back then Frank and I lived on our bikes.

  The number of houses were fewer. The McKay’s had bought all of the land on the west side of the highway for their soybeans. On the east side, some of the houses I remember riding past had been torn down as well. In a few cases, new houses sat where others had been, but some lots were barren. I remember there had been some bad flooding over the years, and some of those houses had been total losses.

  “Hello.”

  A faint voice caught my ear and I turned to look. A frail looking woman stood in the doorway of a dingy house. The early April growth of weeds seemed to be reinforcing the wild lawn left from the autumn before.

  “Hello,” I said with a wave. I turned off the shoulder of the highway and walked onto her driveway.

  “Are you heading into town?” She asked.

  “I am, ma’am.”

  “Can you ask them if they can check on my water and electricity? My grandson said he paid them last month, but I think they cut it off anyway last night.”

  “I’ll ask, ma’am. But there is a power outage, I am afraid. My folk’s house lost power last night as well, and they must be having problems with the water tower as well.”

  “Oh. Well thank you. You look familiar. Do I know you?”

  “I’m not sure. I’m David Hartsman. My folks live over there. When I was a kid, this was Allen Stewart’s house.”

  “David Hartsman! I’ll be. Allen is my grandson. I’m his grandma, Jana. I remember you now.”

  “It’s good to see you again, Mrs. Stewart.”

  “No, I’m his momma’s mother. I’m Mrs. Grant.”

  “I’m going into town, now Mrs. Grant. I’ll stop by and let you know what is going on when I come back later this afternoon.”

  “Thank you, David. I’ll let you get on your way.”

  I continued on toward town as I tried to remember what I could of Allen. His dad had left the family before Allen went to grade school. He was a few years younger than me and Frank, and at the time we didn’t want a younger kid hanging around with us. From what I recalled, his mother had a reputation for sleeping around town and she was constantly in trouble with the law. She liked booze and pot. Even the kids in high school learned to stay away from her as she was always caught up in one mess after another.

  I think I remember Allen talking about his grandmother coming to live with them. At the time I guess I thought his grandmother must have needed help because she was old, but now I realize she probably came to help take care of Allen because his mom was such a mess.

  As I crossed Miller Road, the fields to my left turned into a subdivision that would not have been out of place forty miles outside Chicago. The housing was more tightly packed together than the town I grew up in, and yet somehow the intervening years had made this style of suburban living feel more like home to me. There were several other people, none of whom I recognized, walking toward town along the highway ahead of me a ways. It looked like they were walking as a group and I wondered if there weren’t people already talking about what happened and making plans on how to cope.

  My legs were starting to burn as I moved past the old fire station. It was some sort of artist shop now. I stopped and rested against the brick wall. A huge mural of flowers and rainbows dominated the side of the crumbling building. This fire station used to be just inside the actual town’s borders. Kenton had expanded far enough south to put my folks inside the town by the time I had graduated high school, but if it shrank back to the old fire station, I don’t think anyone would notice.

  I wondered what time it was and my hand instinctively went to my front pocket for my phone. When I realized what I had done, I shook my head and looked up to the sky. The sun was out and about halfway from the horizon to the noon position. Since it was early April, I figured it must be between nine thirty and ten in the morning. Maybe a little later, but not much.

  A couple rode by me on bikes as I pushed myself away from the wall and on into town. I would have to see if my old bike was still in the garage somewhere, that was certain. As I left the fire station, I was glad to see the sidewalk. I had never really noticed the lack of sidewalks along the highway before. At least there were no cars I had to keep watch for. Of course, if my car had worked, I would have driven it into town.

  Soon there were groups of people along my path. The first was a group of three young women. They all looked very upset and each held cell phones in their hands. The snippets of conversation I grabbed as I passed by all seemed to be focused on what they would do to whoever was responsible for their lack of cell service.

  The further I walked, the more groups there were. Most just laughed and talked as if they hadn’t seen each other in some time. Perhaps that was the case. How many of my friends in Chicago had I communicated with several times a day and yet not actually seen in months? If the situation was not so severe, I might have thought a few days of no smartphones and laptops would have a refreshing effect on many relationships.

  But what happened in the night was severe. I knew it was, as did others, from the comments I heard as I walked by. While those around them chatted and talked about the odd occurrence, those who seemed to know had a haunted look in their eyes. When they saw me, there was a slight nod or wince. After I had passed several larger groups, I noticed a small tail of followers.

  I wanted to tell them I had no idea where I was going, but I kept walking. I knew I would recognize what I was looking for when I saw it.

  I pulled the slip of paper Mom had given me out of my shirt pocket and read the address. It wasn’t far from where I was, but I knew I needed information first.

  “There,” a man behind me said. He was pointing up the street. I hesitated and a few of the men who had followed me to that point walked forward instead. Now, I followed them. A few men stood near an old streetlight in front of the library along the far edge of the town square. Most were older and one wore a policeman’s uniform.

  “Carl, you need to let them know what is happening,” one of the men said loudly as I approached.

  “How?” the one name Carl asked. “How am I supposed to let anyone know what is happening when I have no idea.”

  “You can at least tell them we don’t know when the power will
be back on,” another man said.

  “Even if I could somehow piece it together, how am I supposed to tell everybody?”

  “What about your bullhorn?” one of the men asked. “You have that in your office, don’t you? You use it when we have the fair every year.”

  “If it’s like everything else, it won’t work,” the man in the police uniform said.

  “Thank you, Gary,” Carl said. “The problem we are facing is none of us knows what is going on and we can’t get in touch with anyone who does.”

  “I know what’s going on,” a booming voice said.

  I turned and looked over to the steps of the library. There was a tall man in a red t-shirt and blue jeans. He had wild bushy hair and a long beard. He also had a rifle slung over his shoulder and a canteen hanging from his belt.

  “Who are you?” Carl asked.

  “That is Ted Riggins,” Gary said. His hand slipped down to his belt and rested easily on his sidearm.

  “Morning Deputy,” Ted said. “And the answer to your question, Mayor, is that we experienced a massive EMP last night.”

  I was shocked at the conviction he said this with.

  “What is an EMP?” someone asked.

  “The sun let loose with a giant solar flare,” Ted said. “It traveled straight at us and hit the magnetic field around the earth. It was like a giant planet sized bolt of lightning hit us dead on.”

  The murmurs and questions started growing louder. I glanced around and noticed more and more people drifted toward the crowd.

  “Hold on,” Ted said. He yelled to be heard over the crowd. When the volume shifted down, he spoke again.

  “The power is gone, at least from this area. Almost every electric device is fried out. That means the transformers which allow electricity to flow through the power lines, the switch boxes which control the communications, and even the pump that keeps the water supply going.”

  “What do we do?” a woman asked.

  “First, we don’t panic,” Ted said. “We don’t know how widespread the EMP was so we might be contacted in a few days from those who are in charge of an emergency like this. In the meantime, we need to have some volunteers who can help communicate what needs to be done.”

  The crowd pushed forward with questions and calls drowning out Ted’s voice.

  Carl, the mayor of Kenton, worked his way up to the unkempt Ted Riggins. They spoke for a few seconds and the mayor motioned people to silence.

  “We need thirty volunteers,” he said. “There are around thirty-five hundred people in and around Kenton and each volunteer will have about a hundred people to get information to. If you are willing, go stand next to the wall.” He pointed to the wall along the side of the post office.

  I found myself over by the wall along with most of those who had followed me toward the town square. I glanced around and realized while there were a few women who had moved over to the wall, most were men in their thirties and forties. Family men, I figured by their looks. Men, like me, who had the responsibility of others to consider. And yet we were all volunteering to help this shaggy man, who the policeman was concerned about, spread information that would keep people calm.

  A man bumped into me and apologized. I looked over to tell him it was alright, but instead I stared in amazement. It was Kenny Dawson. I had not seen him since he graduated high school. He was one of the few black kids to go to our district.

  “Kenny,” I said. “Man, look at you.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m bad with names.”

  “David Hartsman. You graduated when I was a freshman.”

  I could see he still had no idea who I was.

  “It’s alright, Kenny. You were older and I was just a freshman when you left.”

  “Sorry, man,” he said. “I just… there’s a lot I don’t like to remember from back then, you know?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  When he said that, I remembered his family’s house burned down one Christmas day. The fire inspector said it was arson, but no one was ever charged. I also remembered he and his sister had to deal with the racist attitudes of many in school.

  “We have more than enough, it seems,” the mayor said as he walked over to the volunteers. “Let’s go into the meeting room and sort this out.”

  A pudgy man with a shock of white hair nodded and unlocked the front doors to the library.

  “If you are a volunteer, follow us in. If not, please go home and wait for further information,” the mayor said to the crowd gathered in the square. Except for the volunteers who filed into the library, no one else moved from where they were.

  The meeting room in the library was just as I remembered it. The town council met there and the committee for the Thanksgiving parade used it as a planning room. My mother had been part of that committee for as long as I could remember. As a kid, I would grab a Hardy Boys book and read it while they had their meetings.

  I took a seat near the window and Kenny sat next to me. Ted walked over to Kenny and said something. It was too low for me to hear, but Kenny smiled at Ted and motioned toward me.

  “What was that?” I asked.

  “He just wanted to know if I knew anyone here. I told him we went to high school together.”

  I smiled at Kenny and nodded. A gavel struck the podium and the few people who had not sat down found seats.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” the mayor began. “I don’t recognize several of you, so let me begin by introducing myself. I am Carl Mueller and I am the mayor here in Kenton. I want to introduce you to—“

  “Hold it,” Ted said suddenly. “I mean no offense, Mayor. But, we need to get moving.”

  Carl nodded and sat down in a chair behind the podium. Ted walked to the front and pointed out the windows.

  “As of now, we are living in a different world. In a few days, maybe we will be back to our old world, but the decisions we make in the next few hours will set our course if this problem lasts for weeks, months, or years.”

  Murmurs picked up and Ted had to pause for a few seconds. The mayor stood up and pounded the podium with his gavel and then handed it to Ted when the room quieted again.

  “How many here rode bikes into town?” Ted asked.

  About six hands went up.

  “Good, you will be our messengers for today,” the bristly man continued. “We will need to go into every garage and shed and look for bicycles tomorrow. We need to be able to stay mobile and spread out a bit. If we all gather into town, we will run into problems.”

  “What kinds of problems?” a man in a John Deere cap asked.

  “Health issues if this goes on too long. So we need bikes, skateboards, inline skates, and anything else that will work as well.”

  “Horses?” Kenny asked.

  He was looking out the window. A woman was riding up to the town square on the back of a horse. My breath caught in my throat as I recognized her. Anne Franklin had just ridden back into my life.

  Chapter 4

  I stood up and hurried out the front of the library. Anne was dismounting when I stopped at the top of the steps and just stared at her. I didn’t know what to say or if she would even recognize me. It had been nineteen years since we had last spoken face to face and I was as nervous as I was the first time I had spoken to her six years before that.

  She finished hitching her horse’s reins to a park bench and started up the stairs. She stopped as her eyes slipped across my face and recognition flared up.

  “David, how good to see you,” she said with a bright smile. “In Kenton for a quick visit?”

  I stammered for a second as I tried to get my bearings. We hadn’t parted on good terms, and yet she spoke like it had been just months or even days since we last spoke. The oddest part was it felt normal and natural.

  “Yes,” I said. “Got here last night. Just in town to check up on Mom and Dad.”

  “And how are they?” Anne asked as she looked around the town square.

&nb
sp; “They’re good. Mom is… doing okay I guess, and Dad is still kicking along.”

  “What’s going on in there?” she asked as she looked at the library doors.

  “The mayor called for volunteers to help spread information on what we need to do.”

  “Mueller knows what’s going on?”

  “No. A guy named Ted something or other.”

  “Ted Riggins?”

  “Yeah, that sounds right.”

  “Huh,” she said with a surprised inflection.

  “You know him?”

  “A bit. He buys supplies from me occasionally. Not a great rider, but he takes care of his horses pretty well.”

  “He seems to think it was an EMP from the solar flare last night.”

  “A what?”

  “An electro-magnetic pulse. Dad thought the same.”

  “Let’s get in there and see what he has to say,” she said.

  I followed her into the meeting room where we slipped in to stand in the back. Ted had a list of items written on a movable whiteboard behind him. I pulled out the small notebook and pen Mom had pushed on me before leaving the house and jotted down the items: water, medicine, food, contact.

  “The pharmacy will be locked down when we leave this meeting,” Ted was saying. “We will attempt to make sure everyone gets the medicine they need, but after two weeks we will likely start seeing shortages. When you contact the houses in your area, check to see if there are any doctors, nurses or anyone with E.M.T. training. We will also need any medical books we can acquire.”

  People were jotting notes on whatever paper they seemed to have scrounged up. I leaned against the wall and listened as I wrote what I needed to remember.

  “We will need to meet here again tomorrow to send more information out,” Ted said. “If you cannot make it back, we need to know now. I would like to have at least six runners who can get information quickly to the different volunteers. If possible, we will set up an alarm system.”

  Several people shifted and muttered as he talked.

  “Shouldn’t we bring everyone into town?” one man asked.