“The entire town?” Rob asked.
Bernie nodded. “It’s out at the court house, that’s for sure. I went there, ready to report for jury duty when it happened. At first, I’m thinking, no big deal. Then I saw the cars. All dead in the water. Tried to call a cab, but the driver was just sitting there in the middle of the road. Cell phones. Nothing. Computers. Nothing. Then I thought about the local prison.” Bernie walked closer to Rob with fear in his eyes. “How long do you think they can keep that place under control?”
Rob nodded understandingly and then walked over to one of the aisles. He grabbed a camouflaged tactical backpack and began loading it with supplies from the store.
“What are you doing?” Bernie asked.
“What does it look like?” Rob asked, going down the aisle and tossing items inside his bag.
“Looks like you’re on a shopping spree.”
Rob set the bag down on the floor. It was nearly full. “I’m getting out of here. In two weeks, this town will be out of food. The grocery store shelves will be empty. Without trucks delivering food and goods, there’ll be nothing coming in.”
Rob pulled at both ends of a draw-string, clinching the bag shut. “The EMP has dismantled the power grid. We’re looking at a minimum of two months before power grids can be repaired and back online.”
“So just like that, you’re leaving?” Bernie asked, astonished.
Rob brought his bag over to the counter and set it down. He went behind the counter, took his non-functioning laptop, and slid it into a cubbyhole. “I have to get my family together. Then we’re going to hunker down for as long as it takes.” Rob didn’t go into too much detail. Bernie had a big mouth. However, Rob wanted to at least set him in the right direction.
Bernie looked desperate and afraid, and Rob never liked to see anyone like that. “Bernie. I want you to take what you need from the store. Think of the basics. What’s going to get you through the next two months? You and your wife. Then I’d suggest you lie low until things blow over.”
Bernie was flummoxed. “I have a business to run. Mortgage payments. You do, too. We can’t just walk away from everything and hide in the mountains.”
“Think about it,” Rob said, placing a metal case on the front counter. “Things are only going to get worse from here on out.”
Bernie seemed to get the picture. “It was the Russians, wasn’t it? Just like I was saying before. They’re trying to start another Cold War.”
Suddenly someone else banged on the door from outside, causing Bernie to jump. Rob pulled another case from under the counter, small and plastic. Inside were a 9mm Beretta pistol and three full magazines. He opened the case, keeping an alert eye on the door.
Mr. Clayton stood at the door, frightened. “Hey, Rob. Let me in. Come on, no hard feelings, eh?”
Bernie looked back then at Rob. “Clayton? Nah, don’t let that asshole in.”
Rob sighed and quickly moved from the counter to the door. He unlocked it and let his landlord slip in. “What’s wrong? Car doesn’t start?”
Clayton looked exasperated. He took off his ball cap and wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Couldn’t even get the engine to turn over. What the hell is going on out there?”
“It’s an EMP,” Bernie answered. “The Russians hit us real good.”
Clayton shifted and turned to Bernie, giving him a funny look. Then he switched to Rob. “What are they saying on the news?”
Rob walked behind the counter, where his work stereo rested on a stool, powerless. He opened the metallic case he had set down earlier, revealing a two-way GMRS/FRS handheld and an emergency radio. He wound the radio’s hand crank as Clayton and Bernie waited quietly. He tried both FM and AM stations but received nothing but static.
“Can I buy one of those from you?” Bernie asked. Clayton jumped in and asked for one too.
Rob took a breath and placed the radio back in the case. He spoke as he stuck the handheld in his pocket. “We’re closed. And I’m locking up until further notice. You guys get what you need and be on your way home, where it might be safer.”
Both men seemed overwhelmed. They looked at Rob, expecting answers and solutions. But he had very little to give.
“Find your families and stay close to them,” he reiterated. He glanced at Clayton in particular. “And don’t forget that my lease doesn’t run out on this place for another two months.”
“Of course. I would never do anything like that,” Clayton said sheepishly.
Another knock came at the door. Rob was nearing his wits’ end with visitors. This time it was Carol, the curly, red-haired woman who owned the book store.
“Rob? Are you in there?”
Bernie turned to the door and rolled his eyes. “Oh no. Not her.”
“Let her in,” Rob said. He then lifted his backpack onto the counter, dug into his pocket, and pulled out the handheld radio, hoping to hear Mila’s voice on the other end. But there was no way to know if she was even up, let alone trying to reach him on the radio.
“Why the metal case?” Clayton asked, referring to the container with the radios inside.
“Blocks damaging magnetic waves,” Rob answered. Clayton looked intrigued.
“Hello, Carol,” Bernie said as he let her in, locking the door behind her.
Carol nodded. “Bernie.” She walked farther in, approaching Rob. “People look really lost out there. None of their cars work.”
Bernie stepped in with the answer. “It was the damn Russians, I tell you. Hit us with an EMP.” He stopped and turned to Rob. “Isn’t that right, Rob?”
Rob looked distracted, fiddling with his handheld. “I can say I’m ninety-nine percent sure it was an EMP. Where it came from, there’s no telling just yet.”
Carol scoffed. Her blue blouse was darkened with sweat and her flimsy sandals didn’t look strong enough to make any kind of long distance walk to Nantucket city, where Rob knew she lived.
“From what I’ve read, it’s much more likely that this was some kind of solar flare,” Carol said.
Bernie threw his arms in the air, frustrated. “What are you talking about? Rob said it’s an EMP, and he’s the prepper expert here.”
Carol was undeterred. “The idea that a nuclear electromagnetic pulse could disable vehicles and electronics is a myth. Why don’t you try reading about it? The most you’re looking at with an EMP is maybe a massive failure of power grids. NASA has already estimated that a solar flare, striking the earth from the sun, might hit within the next eleven years. How can you disregard that?”
Bernie waved her away. “Ah, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“And you do?” Clayton interjected.
Rob latched the snaps of his backpack and scrutinized his three bickering guests. “Enough. I need to get moving. Just take what you need and get home to your families.”
They all looked at him, trying to figure out if he was serious.
“I appreciate the offer, but I don’t have any cash on me,” Clayton said.
“I don’t think you’ll have much luck at the ATMs either,” Carol added.
Bernie gasped. “The ATMs. Oh, my God! People are going to start tearing them apart.”
“Don’t worry about the money,” Rob said. “Just load up a bag and get moving. I have to get to my family. I’ve got two children in the city on a field trip.”
Bernie was beside himself. “What are you going to do, walk to New York City? What are any of us going to do?”
“Well, I’m just glad I brought my bike today,” Carol added.
Rob threw his backpack over his shoulder and told everyone he was closing the shop in one minute. After all their stalling, the group kicked into gear and started taking items from the shelves and putting them into bags.
He briefly explained the most critical: multi-tools, water purification tablets, dried food kits, medical and hygienic products, batteries, paracord string, baby wipes, and whatever else he could point out. �
��Just pay me back later,” he said, knowing full well that it would probably never happen.
Carol had mentioned a bike, and that was exactly what he needed in order to cut his travel time home in half. “Where can I get one?” he asked her.
“I have two,” she answered. “You can borrow it for as long as you like. It was my ex-boyfriend’s. Tit for tat.” She continued filling her bag, thanking Rob along the way.
With everyone loaded up and ready to go, Rob herded them outside the shop, where more and more people were filing out onto the streets. Not one for long goodbyes, Rob wished his landlord and neighbors well. Carol emerged from her store with a bicycle—a ten-speed Huffy—and passed it off to Rob.
“Thank you,” Rob said. “I’m grateful.”
“You have another one for me?” Bernie asked.
Carol ignored him.
“Surely you must have a bike or two in your thrift store,” Rob said.
Bernie’s eyes lit up. “Yeah, you’re right! I should check on that.”
“Thanks for your help, Rob. Don’t worry about anything with the shop until this thing blows over,” Clayton said.
Rob hopped on the bike with his tactical bag over his shoulder. “I won’t. You guys stay safe. Get home as fast as you can and ration everything you own.”
His store was completely closed up. Metal shutters covered the windows and the front entrance had bars on it. He hoped that it would be enough.
People around them and on the street seemed, more or less, to just be waiting. Most had already abandoned their cars and stood around directionless, waiting for someone to help. In the distance, the bike cops still dealt with hordes of people demanding answers. In another day or two, Rob imagined things would get worse.
Before pedaling off, he turned his handheld radio up. And just as he was about to say something, he heard Mila’s voice come over the speaker, startling him. He fumbled and nearly dropped the radio.
“Mila!” he shouted.
He pedaled off in haste, navigating through cars and people, as if they were roadblocks. He quickly gained momentum and sped off faster as he soon lost contact again with his wife.
***
Chet stepped closer to Mila each time she inched away. Screaming would either send him fleeing or encourage him further. But Mila knew she was neither vulnerable nor helpless. She had taken self-defense courses and was ready to use her .38.
“Why don’t you go on your way now?” she said.
“At least let me use your phone,” he said, moving in closer.
He had managed to back her in. A few more steps, and he would have her in the corner and within an arm’s length.
“I told you. Our power is out. My cell phone is dead. Now please leave.”
Chet stopped at the Datsun, leaned in closer against the tinted windows, and looked inside. The keys were in the ignition. He glanced up at Mila with a smile as she backed up against the washer and dryer.
“I’d say you’re going somewhere in a hurry.” He opened the squeaky driver’s-side door. “Mind if I take it for a spin first?” Satisfied, Chet perched over the driver’s side door.
Mila drew her revolver and aimed, her arms straight out and level. She clicked the hammer back and waited as Chet looked up, surprised.
“What have you got there?” he said with a nervous smile.
“A .38 Special snub-nosed revolver, filled with enough hollow-point rounds to put you down,” she said in a frank, no-nonsense manner.
Chet stood frozen. His smile dropped and his mouth twitched uneasily.
“You, uh. You sure you know how to use that thing?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I pull the trigger.”
Chet backed up slowly with his hands out and palms showing, as if to push Mila away. “Now, no need to get restless. I was just curious. I wasn’t going to do anything.”
Her aim remained steady. She didn’t take her eyes off him.
Chet grew more edgy with each careful step back. “Hey, look. You can stop aiming that thing at me now, got it? I wasn’t gonna do anything, I promise!”
“Just get the hell out of here, and don’t come back,” Mila said.
Chet turned and sprinted off in the direction he came from. “You crazy bitch!” he shouted, running down the street.
Her neighbors a few houses down watched as he ran past the garbage truck, fleeing into the distance.
Mila kept the revolver up until he was out of sight. After a moment, she lowered the gun and fell back against the washing machine, shaking and nearly in tears. The safety and security of her home already felt as if they were on the line, and it hadn’t even been an hour. She rested her head in one hand, put the revolver in her pocket, and called for Rob on the radio.
“Rob, come in. Are you there?”
She walked to the Datsun and closed the door, but just as she approached the garage door to close it, Ken, her neighbor, stuck his head around the corner, startling her.
“Something wrong, Mila?”
She jumped back, dug into her pocket for the revolver, and then stopped and put her hand over her heart. “Oh my God, Ken. Don’t do that to me.” Nice timing, neighbor, she wanted to say.
“I heard someone shouting and saw him run right past the house. Someone you know?”
“No,” she said. “Just a wanderer who I told to keep moving.”
From under the shade of his sun hat, Ken took a look at the Datsun, noticing the supplies in the back. “Going somewhere?” he asked.
“To the cabin,” she said, not elaborating any further. She didn’t know how much she should tell anyone about their plans. They could trust Ken though, right? After all, he had helped with their vegetable garden in the back.
Rob’s voice suddenly came over the radio. “Mila!”
She grabbed the radio without hesitation. “Rob, where are you?”
The transmission was spotty, but she was able to make out his words. “I’m on my way now. Hold tight!”
***
Having finally reached their neighborhood street, Rob pedaled with a fury, running on pure adrenaline. So far, he was confident he had made the right choices. Offering supplies to his business neighbors and landlord and explaining what they needed to do was the best he felt he could do under the circumstances. He stood up to pedal faster, even though the pack weighed heavily on his back and he was already winded.
Up ahead, he caught sight of a man in a mechanic’s jumpsuit running up the road toward him in seeming panic. The man raced past without making eye contact. Further ahead was a garbage truck, likely broken down, in the middle of the road. Rob moved on, his house within a few more determined pumps of the bike pedals.
He rode up the driveway to find Mila standing there, inside the garage with Ken. Her eyes lit up as he skidded to a stop. She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt and looked ready to go.
Rob jumped off the bike, letting it fall onto the pavement. His legs felt cramped, and exhaustion nearly sent him to the ground in a sweaty heap.
“Rob! You made it,” Mila said, running to him.
Ken said hello and tipped the brim of his sun hat.
Rob nodded at his neighbor and then noticed for the first time the distress in Mila’s eyes. “Are you OK?”
“I’m fine. I have everything ready for us to go, just like we discussed,” Mila said.
Rob took a step back and pulled his backpack off, placing it on the ground. “And the car? It starts?”
“Absolutely. It’s a miracle.”
Ken stood to the side, confused.
Rob continued. “Then we need to get the kids right now. We know where they are. They’re not going anywhere. But we have to hurry before things begin to turn ugly.”
“What’s going on, guys?” Ken asked.
Rob turned to Ken, trying to remain calm. “EMP, Ken. We’ve been hit with an EMP. The standard range on one ballistic missile alone is enough to cover half, if not all, the country. We’re leaving.”
Ken looked at their old car. “In that old thing? Why?”
“Because we have to get our kids,” Rob said.
Ken nodded. Rob and Mila then told him that they had to go and that they’d be back. They went into the garage, but before getting into the car, Rob gave Ken a few words of advice. “Keep your house secure and stay alert for looters. Keep your supplies well hidden. I’d cover that garden, too.”
Rob took the driver’s seat and turned the ignition. The reliable Datsun started without issue. He had never seen the theory put in practice of older-model vehicles resisting an EMP. But there they were, and he felt extremely fortunate and vindicated.
Mila stepped into the car cradling her cell phone. Rob told her that it wasn’t worth it—that her phone had been destroyed. “Magnetic waves are designed to destroy the internal circuitry of electronics, not to temporarily disable them.”
“Does anyone really know for sure?” she protested.
“I’d say we’re seeing evidence of it now,” Rob conceded. He revved the engine, and its roar was like music to the ears. After looking at the fuel tank gauge, he felt a sliver of panic.
“No. That’s not going to work. We need more fuel.” He slammed his fist on the steering wheel in frustration.
Mila touched his shoulder. “We might make it there at least,” she said in a comforting tone.
Rob stared ahead, gripping the steering wheel with both hands, searching for a solution. He then snapped his finger as a bulb went off.
“Of course! The Kia,” he said. He stepped out and walked toward his tool bench behind the car. In the corner was a long black hose and a five-gallon fuel can.
He grabbed the can and house and walked by the car window. “I’m going to have to drain all I can,” he said.
“Need help?” Mila asked.
“Nah. I have this,” he responded, walking off.
He knelt next to the Kia’s tank, took off the cap, and threaded the hose inside. He held up the other end of the hose to his mouth and paused. He hadn’t siphoned gas in years. The first and last time he had put the art of siphoning into practice was so that he could write about it on one of his prepper blogs. Now he was doing it for real, and the stakes were much higher.
No Power: EMP Post Apocalyptic Fiction Thriller Super Boxset Page 70
