Hideaway (Book 0): An EMP Thriller

by Hayden, Roger

  “Where’d you park?” Marla asked.

  “A few blocks from here,” James answered. “Not far.”

  They reached a crowded sidewalk headed north in the direction James wanted to be. He glanced behind him to see the news duo keeping up, though completely immersed in their dead phones. He led Marla across the street. The roads had become walkways in all directions. It didn’t matter. People were in the streets and some were sitting in cars. Riots and looting hadn’t occurred, and downtown seemed relatively free of panic. Fatigue seemed to be the clearer emotion on display.

  “Come on,” he said to Marla as they squeezed between the front of one car and the back of another.

  Raul suddenly stopped in his tracks, frozen, as something occurred to him. “My wallet,” he said, patting his pockets. “I left my damn wallet in the van.” Marla and Dean watched with concern as he spun around and quickly walked away. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Raul!” Marla said. “Forget it.” But he was already across the street and headed back to city hall.

  “Come on,” James said with his hands on her shoulder. “He’ll catch up.”

  “It’s probably sitting right on the dashboard,” Dean added.

  James pulled Marla forward urgently. “Come on…”

  They crossed the road and reached the sidewalk in front of a quaint boutique and bookstore James had frequented several times. The lights were off, the door was closed, and no one was inside. The cart of free books that usually sat outside the front window wasn’t there either. A Closed sign hung over the barred glass door. James considered it an ominous warning of things to come but couldn’t help looking inside as he always did when passing by. This time it was Marla pulling him away.

  “Guys, you hear that?” Dean asked as they skirted around several people who were going at their own slower pace. “Sounds like a police siren.”

  “Been hearing them here and there,” James said. “I have yet to actually see one cop car, which is incredible.”

  Dean then pointed to the road. “You mean like that one?”

  To their side sat a police cruiser parked in the road like every other vehicle, abandoned. The thought of a helpless police force seemed impossible to James. Surely, they had precautions for this kind of thing. He had seen some police directing people away from the burning Hudson building, but they weren’t out in full force as he believed they should be.

  Roughly two blocks from the alley where James had parked, they reached a crosswalk where the First Baptist Church was located, an old cathedral that always got James’s attention. He wondered if people had fled there for refuge, though he didn’t see anyone outside. It was just a steady stream of people leaving the city in droves.

  Many of them covered their faces with their sleeves as a kind of air filter, while all around, people were gasping and coughing. The smoke had only gotten thicker. James and Marla crossed the road as Dean followed beside them. For a fleeting moment, escape was within their grasp. James could see the building his Firebird was parked behind. He hadn’t known it earlier but saw now that the old two-story brick building was vacant.

  A leasing sign was planted in front, and all its windows were boarded up. They hurried along, and what had followed was so instantaneous and deafening that James thought they had died. An earsplitting blast consumed all that he could see and hear. He flew to the pavement, pulling Marla down with him as a wave of heat rolled over them. His forehead smacked the concrete sidewalk as muffled screams echoed around him. He squeezed Marla’s hand and wrapped his arm around her back, pulling her closer. Smoke flowed into the air, creating an impenetrable haze.

  James opened his eyes, disoriented and unable to speak. Brick and shattered glass lay scattered on the road and sidewalk, but nothing had hit them. He saw bodies lying ahead, motionless. Some had a patch of fire burning on the back of their clothes. Others were covered in debris. The heat in the air remained, burning hotter and fueled by the wind. James looked ahead and saw that the old building was on fire. Only the front had blown out, and he believed from the detonation pattern that the blast was intentional. Someone had planted bombs throughout the city. That was the only logical explanation.

  6

  Escape

  The blaze continued from a block ahead as James pulled Marla up and held her close. He brought her head up with both hands and stared into her eyes, asking her if she was okay. She nodded with her eyes still closed and placed a hand on top of her head, wincing.

  “I think I hit my head.”

  “I did too,” James said. He looked around in a frenzy. Several people ahead of them were already on their feet, but just as many weren’t. James didn’t want to believe that his Firebird had been damaged, even as the front of the building burned. Of all the alleys he could have parked down. He held onto Marla and moved forward as her senses returned.

  “Dean! Where’s Dean?” she asked, stopping.

  James turned and tried to find him in the haze surrounding them. The road was covered in scattered bricks. People were getting up and limping away, arms around each other and dazed. Those who had been heading in the direction of the explosion had quickly turned and run away, finding another route.

  James urged Marla on as they crossed the street to the church to put some distance between themselves and the fire. It had been minutes and still no fire department. One particularly daring man took a wrench to a nearby fire hydrant, twisting it on as a powerful gush of water sprayed directly into the fire, dousing it.

  They reached a bench near the church gate and carefully sat down as James held Marla. She had ash on her face and a small cut to her head, but nothing serious. “Take it easy,” he told her, brushing back her hair. “We’re going to get out of here.”

  Her eyes suddenly widened as she sat completely up and looked ahead, frantic. “We have to find Dean and Raul. They have families, James. Children!”

  “We will!” he assured her while rubbing her back. “Just take a breath. We still need to make it to the car.” Looking ahead, however, he knew that option was getting less likely. The mere thought of his car being damaged filled him with anguish. But there appeared to be bombs placed all around them. Any moment, anyone could get blown up, depending on where they were. He needed a good escape plan. Their lives were depending on it.

  The water continued to spray from the fire hydrant, suppressing the fire and extinguishing the flames. James could wait no longer. He rose with a careful hand on Marla’s shoulder. “You stay here. I’m going to get the car.”

  “Don’t go,” she said, grabbing his hand.

  “Marla, honey, don’t worry. I’ll be right back.”

  She wiped a tear from her eye, nodding with heavy breaths.

  “It’s going to be okay,” he assured her. “Just one minute.”

  He left her sitting on the bench and left before he could change his mind. Fresh black smoke flowed from the old building, a familiar smell. James crossed the road as the fire from the giant hole in the vacant building was doused. The worst of it seemed to be over, but another explosion could happen at any minute, anywhere downtown. He veered past the intact building next door and circled around to the alley in the back.

  A smoky haze filled the air. James stayed low and shielded his face as he hurried behind the building. He stood at the alley and tried to see his car, unable to see much beyond the haze. Walking forward, James was prepared for the worst, though he remained hopeful. But the sight of his Pontiac devastated him. The side of the building had blown out. Part of it anyway. Bricks and concrete rubble covered the hood and roof. A cinder block had crashed through his window. Debris was everywhere.

  James halted just inches away from the damaged automobile that had been such a source of pride for so many years. He then approached the wreckage in near shock, surveying the damage. The windshield and driver’s side windows were blasted out. His fine paint job was now blackened across the hood and side. Building bricks covered the roof, denting it. Jame
s grabbed one of the bricks and tossed it aside in anger.

  Circling the mess of scattered rubble, he walked to the driver’s side, assessing the damage. A sliver of hope rushed into his consciousness. Though the car’s exterior and windows were damaged, they might still be able to start it and get them out of the city.

  He opened the door as it squeaked on the hinges. The blast must have misaligned the framing, and he had to jerk it hard to open it further and get inside. James brushed some glass off the seat and sat down. As he placed the key into the ignition, he stared ahead and closed his eyes, hesitant. “Come on,” he said, taking a deep breath. He turned the ignition, hearing a faint click and nothing else.

  James ran out of the alley and toward the church bench where he had left Marla. A woman was screaming as he ran past without concern of danger. There were people standing about, some just getting up from having dropped to the ground after the blast. James saw an empty bench where he had left Marla. She was no longer there. He turned to his left and saw a mother with frazzled hair on her knees in the middle of the road, looming over a girl lying on the ground unconscious. James searched the road, turning his head both ways, when Marla suddenly appeared next to the woman, trying to calm her.

  “She has asthma,” the woman cried. “And I can’t find her inhaler.”

  Marla offered assurances as James hurried over. She checked the girl’s pulse and her breathing and lifted her from the ground. Her eyes slowly opened as Marla noticed a pink backpack strewn aside, unzipped a side pocket, and pulled out an inhaler. The mother snatched it up and wrapped her arms around the girl, pulling her away. “Thank God you’re okay.” Amid kisses on the girl’s face, the mother thanked Marla as they both helped the girl to her feet. She reached for her inhaler and held it to her mouth and inhaled after pressing the button. Marla watched the mother and daughter walking ahead. She turned to James, surprised to see him. “Where’s the car?”

  “It won’t start,” he said, reaching out for her. “Come on.”

  “Great,” she said, tossing her hands up.

  James pulled her close and led her along as they continued up the street past the old building, where flames had now turned to acrid smoke. She asked him where they were going, and all he could tell her was home. “We’ll have to go on foot.”

  She walked beside him, unsure of what to say. Her head suddenly whipped around as she called out for her news crew, but they seemed to have vanished. James pulled her along and kept moving. Marla suddenly slowed and lifted one foot as though she was in pain.

  “What is it?” James said, impatient and panicky.

  She grabbed the nearest railing and held a hand to her forehead. She had moved too fast and was getting dizzy. “I know a place we can go.”

  James looked around, confused. “What are you talking about?”

  “There’s a store around here,” she paused, thinking to herself. “A survivalist store. I did a piece about it months ago. Larry Atwood is the owner. I remember he specifically mentioned something like this happening.”

  “Is it still open?” he said, skeptical.

  “It should be.”

  James shook his head and wondered why they would deviate now to visit a store that served no immediate purpose.

  “He can help us,” she assured him. “He liked my piece and said if I ever needed anything from him to stop by. He might be the one person who actually knows what’s going on.”

  Whatever was happening throughout the city was still ongoing, with no end to the disarray, smoldering blast sites, and litany of sirens in the air.

  “He has tons of emergency supplies,” Marla continued. “It’s only a few blocks, and it’s on the way.

  The road they were on had nearly emptied. Things were eerie and quiet. James glanced at the smoking hole in the building across the street where his car was parked. They moved along, filing toward the highway with so many other stranded people. No matter their occupation or status, everyone was equally trapped in a hopeless situation.

  Marla had trouble remembering the exact street the store was on. They took a few moderately empty back roads, and once they reached the store, James’s concerns began to ring true. Tucked away on a corner street sat the Survival Superstore. Its sign rested on the roof. There was no mistaking that they had found the right place. The windows and door were covered with steel shutters. There wasn’t a person around. Only a few cars were parked along the street.

  Beyond the store was a fenced-in construction site with unmanned vehicles and no workers around. The street looked deserted, as though it had been evacuated hours before. Perhaps Marla’s prepper friend knew something after all. After about five blocks of fast walking, they stopped and leaned against the building, already feeling exhausted.

  “Well,” James said, holding his sides. “At least we gave it a shot.”

  “Hold on,” Marla said, holding up a finger. “I hear something.”

  James went perfectly still and listened. Marla was right. There was a sound coming from behind the building, as if someone was stacking things. They looked at each other, reaching the same conclusion. It was time to investigate. James followed the sound and walked around the building under the awning, reaching a gate that was halfway open. Marla remained behind him, hands on his shoulders.

  They moved cautiously through the gate and peeked around the corner, where a man was outside loading up packs of canned food into an old station wagon. He was older, late fifties, and was dressed in a white, short-sleeved button up shirt, jeans, and a black St. Louis Rams cap. He appeared as though he was going on safari. In addition to his color coordinating, he had a white beard.

  “What’s his name again?” James whispered.

  “Larry,” she whispered back. “Larry Atwood.”

  James stepped forward and called out his name. Before he could even introduce himself, Larry spun around from the back of his station wagon, pointing a shotgun at them both. James immediately put his hands in the air. “It’s all right! My wife knows you. We just came by to see if you were open.”

  Larry took a few steps forward and studied James with narrowed eyes, shotgun unwavering.

  Marla then appeared, removed her sunglasses, and spoke to him in a friendly tone. “Larry Atwood, you remember me, right? It’s Marla Weller, Channel 9 News. We did a segment on your store about a month ago…” she paused, waiting for his acknowledgment, but she only received silence in return. “You wrote me that real nice letter a couple of weeks ago, thanking me for the extra business.”

  Ever cautious, Larry lowered his shotgun and wiped his forehead. “Marla Weller? Yes. I remember. How can I help you?” He suddenly paused and pointed at James. “Who’s he?”

  Marla quickly placed a hand on James’s shoulder. “Oh, this is my husband, James.”

  Larry nodded. “Okay, James. Go back and close the gate, please.”

  James wasted no time and shut the gate as Marla approached Larry to talk. After locking it, James cautiously approached and observed Larry’s station wagon. It was an old Buick, at least forty years old. It seemed that Larry had the same ideas he’d had, though James didn’t want to pry just yet.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I’m very busy,” Larry said, closing his hatchback.

  Marla slowly stepped forward. “We need your help.”

  “Figured as much,” Larry said, taking his hat off with a sigh. “I heard the explosions. We’re under attack.”

  Though unlikely, James hoped that there was another explanation. “It’s terrorism?”

  Larry turned and headed to the back entrance of his store, opening it. “Come on inside, and we’ll talk. But only for a minute. I’m leaving very soon.”

  James and Marla exchanged glances and then followed Larry inside, closing the door behind them. Once inside the darkened store, they looked around to see countless shelves stocked with a wide range of supplies, from backpacks to hunting equipment and emergency food packs.

  “Was it an EMP?�
� Marla asked, placing her hands onto the front counter.

  Larry nodded from behind his open register, taking money out. “I’m almost sure of it.”

  “A building blew up right next to us,” James added. “It was a small blast, but it did plenty of damage.” He began to pace the store, growing increasingly frustrated. “Can’t the government stop this? Where’s the military?”

  Larry nodded along, scratching the scruff of his chin. “They’ll return order to the city eventually. Could be weeks. Months even.”

  James leaned forward, astonished. “Months?” He paused and took a deep breath, scanning the store. There was soot and ash on both their faces. Marla had a small cut under her eye and his own eyebrows felt singed. Among the aisles and wall displays were all sorts of hunting attire, backpacks, and camo gear.

  He noticed emergency food supply containers stacked in the corner next to a shelf of MRE boxes. He’d eaten plenty in his military days. He then approached Larry with a straight question.

  “Your station wagon works?”

  Larry stared back, hesitant to respond. “Yes.”

  Sensing his goodwill running low, Marla quickly jumped in and changed the subject. “What else can you tell us about this whole thing? Anything at all would be helpful.”

  Larry tapped against the counter, thinking to himself, and then answered. “At approximately 8:30 this morning, an aerial electromagnetic pulse was launched over the city. Some of these missiles have gamma rays that can spread across an entire state. If that’s the case, we’re in for some trouble.”

  “I know they can disable the power grid,” Marla said. “But vehicles too?”

  “Apparently so,” Larry answered. He then turned to James. “You asked about my car. Well, let me tell you. I’ve put a lot of work into that to withstand an EMP.”