by Roger Hayden
"That's strange," one student said out loud. "What the hell happened to my Mac?"
Other students, with their tablets and cell phones out, felt the same abject confusion.
"All right everyone, let's just stay calm. The lights should be back on soon." Though he wasn't sure of this himself.
"Yeah, but my computer went out too, and it's running on battery. How did that happen?" A girl in the front row called out.
Murmurs from the class followed.
"What do you think is going on, Mr. Cook?” another boy asked. "My cell phone's dead too."
In unison, all the students in the class took out their phones and tried to get them to work. To their near horror, they were met with blank screens, as if all their phones had been synchronized to shut off at the same time.
"Please, everyone, put your phones away. We don't want to get carried away here. Just give it a couple minutes, and the lights should be on."
"I'm not getting anything on mine. It won't even turn back on," a disappointed boy said, pressing the power button of his iPhone.
"Me neither," another male student added.
James placed the history book on the table and sighed. As long as the lights were out, he was going to have trouble maintaining the students’ attention. He leaned against the table and waited, deciding to listen to what the students were saying. Something hit him. A pattern emerged, and he suddenly perked up. “It couldn't be,” he thought. “That's insane.” Or was it?
He was a prepper after all. He drove a 1979 F150 for a reason. Years ago, James had bought the truck not only for its affordability and low maintenance but because he wanted to be prepared in the event of EMP attack. Conventional wisdom suggested that a magnetic pulse powerful enough could disable all vehicles with a microprocessor, electronic wiring, or computer parts. On the other hand, James had also read that such claims were considered a myth. He read that most cars wouldn't be affected anyway because wiring and electronics are well shielded against electromagnetic interference. There was no real certainty either way. At the very least, James knew that diesel engines, like that in his Ford, had no ignition system and would be protected against electromagnetic manipulation; at least that was what he hoped.
James's mind began to wander, as he still hadn't fully accepted that anything so serious had interrupted his morning lecture. He students were still griping about their electronics when he excused himself from the classroom and went down the hall to check on his colleagues. The first thing James noticed was that the lights were out all over. The building had no power. There was no air conditioning, no emergency lights, no functional vending machines, nothing. He stuck his head into the office of one of the adjunct professors, a thirty-something named Pat, who taught English composition. Shane sat at his desk staring at the blank screen of his laptop.
"Good morning, Pat. Everything okay?" James asked.
"Damn power went out, right when I was in the middle of grading one of my student’s online assignments." Pat buried his face in his hands in frustration. "This is unbelievable. Nice fucking timing."
"Yeah, same here. I was in the middle of a lecture.”
"I don't understand it. My laptop wasn't even plugged, but why would it go completely dead like that?"
"I don't know," James said, thinking. He tapped his fingers against the wall, trying to think of ways to offer Pat some help, but didn't really know what to say.
"Have you talked to anyone else?" James asked.
"Nope," Pat said, putting his face back in his hands.
James looked around. "I gotta talk to my class; I'll catch up with you later.”
"This is a nightmare," a distracted Pat mumbled in weary defeat.
James walked back down the hall, looking through the windows of the other classrooms. Each room had the lights out. One of the double doors flew open as a classroom of students, clearly frustrated with the power outage, entered the hallway and walked out of the building. James opened the door to his classroom and found that most of his students still remained. Only a few had left, most likely in frustration.
"Power's out through the entire building," James said. "I may have to find the Faculty Director and see what he wants to do."
"None of our phones work, not one," one of his students, Ryan, called out from the middle row. James stopped to think for a moment. He had left his cell in the truck accidentally and had no way of verifying it for himself. He asked Ryan if he could take a look at his phone. Upon examining it, he could see that the screen was completely blank. James pushed the power button, but nothing happened. There seemed to be something more to the case than just a random power outage. He began to put together the pieces, and offered the class a theory.
"I think it's fair to say this power outage is a huge distraction. We'll wrap things up so I can investigate."
"What do you think happened, Mr. Cook?" Ryan again asked.
"I don't know for sure, Ryan. Our electronics have been disabled," James answered.
"How?" a girl in the front row asked. The students were looking at him, waiting for an answer.
"So far everything looks to me to be consistent with an EMP type scenario. How many of you have heard of an EMP?" A few students raised their hands.
James continued. "An electromagnetic pulse is capable of sending a burst of energy into the air that can be fatally damaging to electronics. The threat of a nuclear EMP weapon was a very real concern back during the Cold War, but it's since become more of an unlikely threat. The purpose, however, of engaging in electronic warfare would be to eliminate the entire infrastructure of a country in order to create panic and chaos. I'm not certain, but it would explain your laptops and cell phones not working."
"What should we do?" Ryan asked.
"I would go home and stay indoors for the day. Just lay low until the problem is fixed. If you're able to stop by the store, see if they have any power. If not, stock up on what you can with cash."
"Cash?" a girl said laughing.
"Yes, cash."
The ultimate question entered James's mind. He wanted to go to the parking lot and see if his truck would start. He wanted to see if any vehicles were working. "Class is dismissed for now. Everyone stay safe and keep in touch with me, that is, if you can get your cell phones working. I'm hoping this will all pass soon."
The students slowly got up, grabbed their bags, and left the auditorium, still in a great state of confusion. Cell phones, smart phones, tablets, Wi-Fi, and the Internet. They couldn't imagine life any differently.
James walked down a hall towards the parking lot when the Faculty Director, Dr. Ron Keppler, stuck his head out of his office and called him in. "James, can I talk to you for a minute?" he asked. James stopped, and entered the office. "Please have a seat," Dr. Keppler said. There were two vinyl chairs in front of his desk. An enormous bookcase stood against the wall behind him. James sat on the chair farthest to the left as Dr. Keppler studied him.
"What's going on?" James asked. Dr. Keppler wasn't his favorite person in the world. Though they got along professionally, Keppler was often condescending, even though he was ten years younger than James.
"That's what I was about to ask you," Dr. Keppler said in response to James' question. Keppler stared at him though a pair of wide-rimmed glasses that rested on his nose.
James stammered slightly. "Well, I know that the power went out in the middle of my class, and it hasn't come back on. I know that my students’ laptops and phones have been disabled. Other than that, I'm not sure. Do you know anything about it?"
"I haven't a clue, but I'm sure it's only temporary," Dr. Keppler answered. He smugly leaned back in his office chair, and James sensed a juncture in their conversation. "I noticed you dismissed your class early," Dr. Keppler said.
"Yes, that's correct," James answered.
"Do you think that was a wise move?" the Director asked.
"I don't see why not. The power outage was very distracting."
"An
d you told them it was an electromagnetic pulse attack?"
James paused, unresponsive. Dr. Keppler continued, "I spoke to a few of your students on their way out. Seems you have some pretty outlandish theories about the whole thing."
"I believe an EMP is a possibility, definitely. It would make sense," James said.
Dr. Keppler laughed. "I don't doubt your conviction, James, I really don't." His chair squeaked as he leaned in closer. "I just don't think we should be filling our students’ heads with wild scenarios, calling this a terrorist attack and such."
James felt offended. "I never said it was a terrorist attack."
"All the same," Dr. Keppler said, waving a hand in the air. "The point is that the students are worried, and this EMP talk has them in a frenzy."
"They should be worried," James said defensively. "There's a very high probability that all these disabled electronics are linked to an EMP attack. I've done plenty of research on the matter."
"Ah yes, your research. In that cabin you have in the middle of the woods, slaughtering animals, and preparing for the apocalypse?"
"Excuse me? I think you're way out of line with that comment," James said, his anger rising.
"I'm sorry, James," Dr. Keppler said. "I didn't mean to offend you. I just don't want the students to be worked up into some kind of panic."
"What panic? They left the class in an orderly fashion. Are they confused? Yes. There's no reason to keep them in the dark about anything."
Dr. Keppler smiled. "Nice pun. Let's just wait and see what happens before we go spreading any more wild tales."
"Very well, but in my professional opinion, this school needs to take appropriate action to plan for weeks, if not months, without power."
Dr. Keppler rose from his chair. "I appreciate the advice, James, but what I'm concerned about most is creating a panic." He pointed at James sternly. "You are not to tell this theory of yours to any other students or faculty members whatsoever. This is a matter of safety."
James sat silent for a moment, feeling himself being pushed into a corner. "You're issuing a gag order?"
"Take it however you want to take it. This college has a reputation to keep. You're a good teacher, I give you that, but I would advise you to keep your personal life—the hunting, doomsday prepping, and end of the world theories off this campus. Good day, James." Dr. Keppler stretched his arm toward the door, indicating it was time for James to leave. There was nothing more to say. James rose from his chair, and left the office. Dr. Kepler sat down, satisfied to have put James in his place.
James's fears were confirmed as walked the parking lot, carrying his satchel over his shoulder. Several faculty members stood over the open hoods of their cars, all clueless as to why their cars weren't starting. The hot Georgia sun provided no mercy on the dry, cloudless day. The lack of air conditioning had already been evident in the building, was actually cooler outside. He spotted his truck and walked a few rows over.
"James! There you are," a voice called out.
James turned around and saw one of his colleagues, Denise, a professor of U.S. Political and Cultural Studies. She was frazzled and breathing heavily. Her blonde pageboy hairstyle blew in a quick and welcome breeze that suddenly swept by.
"I've been looking for you; I just came from your classroom."
"Denise, hey, what's up?" James answered, putting his sunglasses on.
"I saw everything, James," she said emotionally.
James walked closer to her. "What are you talking about? What did you see?"
"Your students, I passed one of them, her name was Amber. She said you told them that an EMP blast in the sky caused the power to go out."
James attempted to correct her. "I said I believed that could be the case; I don't know for sure at the moment."
"Well, I do," Denise said. "I saw a large blast in the sky about twenty minutes ago. It was more like a flash, actually. It took only a second and practically threw me to the ground. I was on my way to my car to get some files. I thought maybe an airplane blew up or something. I just don't know."
"I believe you, Denise, don't worry. From what you're telling me, it sounds like you witnessed an aerial nuclear explosion. It's probably how the electromagnetic pulses were deployed. From what I know, it takes only seconds."
"I tried to start my car, but it's dead. My phone. My laptop. They're all dead," Denise said.
She was shaken up, so James put his hand on her shoulder and tried to calm her.
"Everything is going to be okay. I'm about to try to start my truck, and then I'm out of here. If you're having car troubles I can give you a lift home if you want."
Denise smiled. "That would be great," she said, touching his arm. They walked to his truck, as James hoped for the best. Off in the distance, near the bus ramp, a bus was stopped in the middle of the street with several students standing around it. Others zipped by the scene on bikes. James and Denise approached a beat-up F150.
"All right, let's see if this works," James said, entering the driver's side.
Denise looked at the vehicle in wonder. "Wow," she said. "This car is an antique."
"Sure is." James placed the key in the ignition, and put his foot on the clutch. He cranked the engine while holding onto the stick shift. The truck roared to life without issue. James let out a heavy sigh in relief.
"It starts. I can't believe that it starts!" Denise said, looking into the truck through James' side window. He grinned and looked over at her.
"Go ahead and hop in; I'll take you home."
She got in and looked at the minimal interior of the truck in awe. There was no carpet. The long bench seat in the front was old and worn, and the radio looked like something out of the 1950s.
"How did start it?" she asked while shutting her door.
“I just turned the key,” James said.
He moved stick shift into reverse and backed out of the parking space. They fled the lot while drawing the curious attention of several nearby onlookers. All the traffic lights were out, and motionless cars were blocking both lanes. James did his best to maneuver around them. Stranded commuters barely took notice, as their attention was focused on their own vehicles.
"Not all cars are susceptible to EMPs,” James said to Denise. “At least from what I've read. I'm sure that military and law enforcement vehicles are designed to withstand the attack. I sure hope they are. I know the government has taken some precaution in that regard. My truck was designed before computer circuitry became a standard part of the engine. This is a 1975 Ford F150. Is it old as hell? Yes. Is it invincible? No. Is it completely safe from an EMP? I don't know. It's running now. I mainly got it because it's diesel and the engine is reliable."
"Why diesel?" Denise asked.
"Because in the event of massive fuel shortages, you can use alternate measures in lieu of diesel fuel."
"Like what?"
James thought for a minute. "Like vegetable oil, for instance."
Denise laughed. "Yeah, right!" she said.
"It's true. I tried it before. Truck runs just the same."
"That's crazy," Denise said, staring ahead.
"Let me know where I'm going here," James said.
"Oh, I'm sorry, take a right at the light up here." Her voice dropped when she how many cars were in their path. At least ten alone blocked the road to her neighborhood street. James drove on the side of the road to get around them.
They arrived at her house, located in a quiet, nearly empty neighborhood. She exited James's truck visibly shaken. She closed her side door and walked to James's side.
"Thank you so much, James. I really don't know how to thank you."
"You just did," James replied. The thought of inviting her to his bug-out house crossed his mind, even though he knew that she was married. He couldn't help it. "Good luck and stay safe."
"Do you think things will go back to normal soon?" she asked.
"I'd say it depends on the extent of the EMP blast and how
prepared emergency teams are for it. Just make sure that you get plenty of food, water, and supplies from the store before their shelves are emptied. A couple of days of this will be all it takes."
"But how?" Denise began.
"Ride a bike. Walk if you have to. I can't stress it enough; you have to be stocked up."
Denise touched James's hand. "Thank you again," she said, turning to her small one-story three-bedroom house. She waved and walked in through the front door. James waited until she went inside, and then drove off.
Twenty minutes later, roughly thirty miles away from Denise's, the Ford flew up the winding and bumpy dirt road leading to James' bug-out house. It was time for him to take the first step in preparing for the lengthy and treacherous aftermath of what was a probable EMP strike. He was not surprised to enter the house and find it without power. He was also not surprised to find his cell phone lifeless and inoperable. He had generators stored in the shed with more than fifty gallons of fuel on hand. Some of the house ran on solar electricity, including the outside lights and some electronics. He had also routed the back-up power of his kitchen refrigerator to the solar system, which would keep it running for a little while longer. He also had large 12-Volt batteries stored for essential appliances in case of an emergency. The kitchen oven ran off propane. Many things in the house were designed to run in the event of a power outage, and James felt vindicated for all of his hard work.
He filled his bathtub with buckets of water to have on-hand for washing and cleaning. He fished out all the flashlights, battery-operated radios, and batteries and placed them on the kitchen table. The radio in his car didn't pick up any signal, and he had no better luck with the portable radios or television. It seemed as if they'd all been fried. Through all of this "quick prepping," it never occurred to James to go to the police or emergency service to find out what was going on. His first instinct was to get to the bug-out house and get in contact with his prepper pact. For the time being, they even took precedence over his son and grandchildren.
