World on Edge: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller (World on Edge Book 1)

by Chris Pike

  “No need.”

  “Seriously, Dad. We all need the money, and we get paid in full once the show is over.”

  “We got paid, regardless.”

  “Dad! I need work. And if I get a bad reputation, I’ll never sing anywhere ever again.” She had her arms folded across her chest, angry at the whole situation.

  “Lexi, you’ve got talent you’re wasting on these types of places. And no way were we staying to watch a bunch of no-good drunks duke it out. Next week we’ll head to Nashville where you can meet the right people.”

  “Alright,” Lexi capitulated. “I didn’t know you knew anybody in Nashville.”

  “I don’t. Give me time and I will.”

  Lexi and her dad rode in silence, the dark night and the whine of the tires lulling her to sleep. She closed her eyes, remembering the man she had locked eyes with for a brief few moments.

  This song is for you she had said.

  She had meant it.

  It was for him.

  Chapter 2

  Three Years Later

  Houston, Texas

  “I’m so nervous,” Lexi Carter said, patting her glistening palms on her pants. She dabbed her hands with a tissue.

  She had spent two hours in an oversized black padded chair in a dressing room at NRG Stadium, home of the Houston Texans National Football League team, while two make-up artists, three hairstylists, a manicurist, and one wardrobe woman fretted over her. When Lexi reached up to move a strand of hair out of her face, a stylist swooped in to do it for her.

  “Don’t touch your hair, remember?” the makeup artist reminded her.

  Looking her best was a requirement for the break-out country female artist of the year to sing the National Anthem at the Super Bowl. At twenty-eight, she had made the entrance into the world of country music later than others who had practically grown up in the spotlight. The glitter and glamor of the industry was overwhelming for the girl who was more comfortable in old jeans, scuffed boots, and a cowboy hat, who had grown up working alongside her daddy shoveling cow manure and tossing hay bales at their country home.

  “It’ll be okay,” Lexi’s mother, Wanda, assured her. “You’re gonna stand straight and be proud of who you are when you go out there. You show ‘em what kind of stock you’re made from. We’re country tough and country proud. Always remember that.”

  “I wish Dad was here to see me.”

  “Don’t fret, sweetie. He’s looking down on you from Heaven, and I’ll be watching you from the sidelines. After you’re finished, we’ll go up to one of those fancy boxes reserved for rich people and celebrities. You won’t believe who I heard would be—”

  “They’re all so boring.” Lexi rolled her eyes, the movement exaggerated by the enormously long fake eyelashes she was required to wear. “All they talk about is money, and who got what part. Blah, blah. I’d rather have a root canal.”

  “Speaking of root canals,” Wanda said, “have you seen a dentist for the tooth bothering you? It won’t affect your singing, will it?”

  Lexi moved her tongue over the sensitive molar. “I haven’t had time.” She placed her index finger on her cheek, gently massaging the area, then quickly put her hand in her lap when the make-up artist rushed over to powder her face. Lexi had been told numerous times not to touch her face after the makeup had been applied. She couldn’t help herself because she dealt with nervousness by fidgeting.

  “Better make an appointment. Toothaches are notorious for starting on the weekends. In fact,” Wanda said, taking her cell phone out of her pocket to write a reminder in the notes section, “I’ll make a few calls to make an appointment for you.”

  “Thanks, Mom. You don’t need to stay. Go on up to the luxury seat. I know how much you like hors d’oeuvres.

  “They won’t know who I am.”

  “Tell them you’re my mom. If they don’t believe you, give them my cell number.”

  Wanda pondered her daughter’s suggestion, conjuring up images of those scrumptious bacon-wrapped stuffed jalapenos, making her mouth water. “You’re right. I’d better head up to the nosebleed section before the delicious morsels are all gone. Good luck sweetie. And remember, don’t touch your face, especially your nose. My goodness, did I tell you about the time when the cameras zoomed in for a close-up shot of a quarterback who blew his nose using the ‘farmer’s blow’ method? You know what I mean when someone blows their nose by plugging one nostril and blowing forcefully out of the other one. Once the cameraman saw what the guy was doing, he panned to another shot. So gross.” Wanda shuddered. “And don’t pull at your shirt or fidget. A million eyes will be on you.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” Lexi said, lacking mirth. “Like I needed a reminder practically the entire U.S. will be watching me.”

  “Think what it’ll do for your record sales.” Wanda’s eyes grew wide at the thought.

  “Mom!” Lexi huffed.

  “Stand up straight, too. Nobody wants to see a slouch singing the National Anthem.”

  Lexi shook her head. “Love you, Mom.”

  “Love you too, sweetie,” Wanda said, opening the dressing room door.

  Lexi critiqued herself in the floor to ceiling mirror, turned to the side, then straightened her back. Her mom was right she mused. Moms usually were.

  “Mom?” Lexi called out.

  Wanda paused at the door. “What is it?”

  “You’re the best mom a daughter could have.”

  Wanda smiled, cocking her head. She walked over to Lexi and gave her a big hug. “Kill it out there, okay?”

  “I will, Mom.”

  “Later, my little gator.”

  ~ ~ ~

  “Has someone checked her mic to see if it’s even turned on? Lexi goes live in ten minutes before a TV audience of millions of viewers. Not to mention the seventy-two plus thousand people in the stands. All of us will be fired if something goes wrong.”

  Cullen Pickers, lead engineer for the electronics required for the National Anthem at the Super Bowl, shot a glowering stare at one of his subordinates, fumbling around the wires like a pubescent boy clumsily searching for third base. The other engineers standing near him, holding laptops or iPhones, had their noses buried in some make-believe important email, hiding from Cullen’s wrath.

  Taking his headset off, Cullen unconsciously squeezed the nasal septum part of his nose, a movement akin to a coke user rubbing away traces of the white powder after snorting the drug. It was a nervous habit he used to calm himself. The disgusting self-calming practice manifested in childhood when kids teased him about his last name, laughing because it was for people who picked their noses. Ever since, Cullen had become a master at belittling his classmates and anyone who challenged him. Friends were in short supply.

  Even a minute delay would ruin the show from kick-off, the announcers scurrying to fill dead air, the unrolling of the flag, the players bursting out of the tunnel and onto the field, not to mention the flyover of the Blue Angels. His mind bounced around like billiard balls after the break on a pool table with each one going in different directions.

  “We need to have Lexi stick to the schedule. Got it everyone?” Jumbled mumblings and downcast eyes answered his question. “Good. Once Lexi has finished singing, the Blue Angels do their flyover. We’ve rehearsed and prepared for every imaginable contingency, so what’s gone wrong here?”

  Joe Buck, dressed in faded jeans and a work shirt, casually strolled into the room. His tools jiggled on his well-worn utility belt. “What’s the problem?” he asked, hitching up his belt.

  Cullen eyed him with disdain. He lifted Joe’s ID card away from his shirt, glanced at it, then flicked it back onto his chest. “If I wanted a plumber, I would have called one!” he snarled, throwing Joe a condescending scowl. “I need an engineer, not these greenhorns assigned to me, and not a plumber. Got it?”

  Joe Buck said nothing.

  “Do you even know how to say yes or no?”

  Joe’s immediate
inclination was to slam the guy down on the floor and teach him a thing or two, except it wouldn’t get him anywhere other than a pink slip and unemployment, so he kept his cool without saying a word. He’d been there, done that, getting an overnight stay in the county jail when he decked a former boss. The guy deserved to be put in his place anyway. Being a man of few words, solving problems with words never much worked for Joe. During his youth, he had foolishly relied on having his fists do the talking for him, resulting in consequences he didn’t much like, so Joe had learned to keep his mouth shut. A stint in the military took care of his impulsiveness.

  The lights flickered, and Cullen and his entourage of electricians nervously glanced around before the lights came back on.

  Speaking into his headset, Cullen asked for assistance. When there was no reply, he tapped his state-of-the-art headphones. “What’s wrong with these?” He ripped the headset off his head. “Isn’t WiFi working?” he screamed with the petulance of a spoiled child.

  “I can help,” Joe said.

  “I didn’t ask you,” Cullen snapped.

  “I don’t care,” Joe replied, tired of taking the guy’s crap. “I’m gonna help anyway.”

  Joe inspected the wireless headphones. “Here’s the problem.” He pointed to a seemingly insignificant button, pushed it in, and said, “You had it muted.”

  “Oh, right.” Cullen replied sheepishly, refusing to make eye contact with Joe. “I purposely muted it.”

  Joe kept his editorializing to himself that Cullen was at the top of the A-hole class, and also a pathetic liar. “You’re welcome.” He flashed a toothy grin. “Have a good day. I know I will.”

  Once Joe left the room, he checked his company-assigned cell phone for any plumbing problems within his grid. Finding none, he decided to take an elevator earmarked for deliveries down to the ground floor. If his boss questioned him later, he’d make up an excuse of instead of being idle, he’d pitch in by helping on another floor since his area was running smoothly.

  Sounded plausible.

  From there he’d wend his way to a good vantage point where he could watch Lexi Carter sing. He had been a fan of hers since he heard her sing in a honkytonk a few years ago. As she sang the song she was now most well-known for, and the one propelling her into stardom, Joe and Lexi had locked eyes. She sang it like she was singing the song specifically meant for him. Mesmerized by her voice and beauty, Joe hadn’t realized a spittle of drool had formed on his open mouth as he gawked at her. He swore she had smiled at him. Embarrassed, he rolled his head to the side, and fumbled to wipe the spittle from his mouth.

  He relived the memory each day, praying he’d get a chance to see her again in person.

  Several years passed and Lexi moved on to bigger venues, awards, appearances on TV, contracts, real security, wardrobe decisions, so many things she had to deal with.

  Unknown to Joe, she never forgot his sparkling dark eyes, or the way his beard framed his face, and whenever she sang at a bar, she searched the crowd for him. She regretted not being able to thank the man whose eyes she had locked with for a few seconds. A silent understanding they were from the same side of the tracks, trying to get by in the world, and to find their place in it had transpired.

  She insisted on reading her fan mail, hoping she’d open a letter with the story of the man who leapt to her rescue.

  The young girl who’d picked up the guitar out of boredom, who taught herself how to play, who composed her own songs, was forgotten, replaced by the demands of Nashville and the pressures of fame.

  The incident was filed away in the back of her mind, hidden, yet not forgotten.

  ~ ~ ~

  To think Joe had been in the presence of a gifted singer before she was discovered was a memory he’d never forget.

  Pushing through the crowd, Joe flashed his ID card, apologized, and said, “There’s a back-up in the toilets the football players use.”

  He always found it funny how people gave plumbers a wide berth, like they’d catch some type of superbug from him. He also found it funny how people were extremely glad to see a plumber when they needed one. Then equally glad when they left.

  Once he found a perfect spot to watch the fireworks and the Blue Angels, he launched the camera app on his iPhone then swiped to video mode. He held the cell phone above his head to video the festivities.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen,” the announcer boomed. “Please rise for the singing of the National Anthem. Let’s give a big welcome to country star, Lex-eeee Carrrrter.”

  Lexi froze at the mention of her name. For a moment, she felt a twinge of a memory of earlier days when she sang by herself onstage. The glaring lights and choking smoke; the smell of cheap booze of those broken down honkytonks; unruly fans and the insecurities she suffered from made it seem like those struggling days were only yesterday. She never believed she was good enough to receive all the adulation and awards bestowed upon her.

  Channeling what her mother had told her, Lexi stood board straight, then strode onto the field like she owned it, keeping her gaze planted firmly ahead, trying desperately to focus on what she had to do.

  A raucous round of applause greeted her as she walked out onto the field.

  ~ ~ ~

  Oblivious to the thunderous applause, Joe took his sight away from the phone to witness the real thing. Lexi arrived wearing a smart navy blue pantsuit, paired with a white shirt, red dangly earrings, high heels, long brunette hair cascading in perfect curls over her shoulders, and a two hour makeup session by an experienced makeup artist. If someone had asked Joe Buck what Lexi Carter was wearing, he would not have been able to answer because he was blindsided by her grace and presence. She had come a long way from the smoke-filled honkytonk.

  Standing at center field, Lexi waited for the applause to fade, and once it did, she took a big breath, smiled at the audience, and from the first note she sang, Joe was in another world.

  He placed his right hand over his heart, and softly sang along with the words, oblivious to the person who accidentally bumped him, spilling a soft drink on his shirt. He didn’t notice the woman passing him, holding a screaming toddler who smacked Joe on his head; he didn’t hear a man telling him to move and to stop blocking people.

  He only heard the angelic voice of Lexi Carter, and the memories when he first laid eyes on her.

  The song ended much too soon before Joe had time to fully enjoy it, or even listen to the words. He hadn’t even tapped off the recoding on his iPhone or realized he had placed the phone in his pocket.

  ~ ~ ~

  When Lexi finished the last line of the song, she had a deer-in-the-headlights look, didn’t move a muscle, as if she was unsure what to do next. Savoring the memory of what she had accomplished, she lifted her gaze to the crystalline blue sky, visible from the open roof, closed her eyes, and said a silent prayer for her daddy.

  Once the Blue Angels did their flyover, she’d walk off the field as she had been instructed to, then take an elevator to the luxury boxes where her mother waited for her.

  The stadium lights flickered, and a strange buzzing noise zipped and crackled along electrical lines.

  The enormous big screen video board went black.

  A hush fell over the stadium.

  Cameramen on the field tapped their headsets, as if tapping would restore a connection.

  People were fumbling with their cell phones, confused.

  The ones who didn’t have their heads buried in their phones witnessed in horror a jet spiraling out of control towards the end zone.

  Before anyone on the field had time to react or prepare, the jet clipped the upper level of the stadium, catapulted end over end, then slammed into the end zone, gouging a depression through the artificial turf, the concrete foundation below it, then the gumbo-like dirt of the swamp Houston was built upon. A tsunami of fire and pressure sent exploding pieces of razor-sharp shrapnel sizzling through the air, slicing anything unlucky enough to be in the way.


  Dense, black, lung-clogging, fuel-soaked smoke spewed upwards toward the open roof.

  Another explosion rocked the stadium.

  A goal post, its foundation weakened by the blast and its padding melting from the intense heat, teetered then clanged to the ground.

  A fireball the size of a three-story building erupted, sending out flames sucking up oxygen, resulting in an intense rush of pressure.

  The entire stadium shuddered.

  Anything organic near the inferno was incinerated in seconds, and a putrid odor of melted skin and organs mixed with burning jet fuel filled the air.

  The shockwave of pressurized air hit Lexi hard in the back, lifted her off her feet, then slammed her onto the turf, knocking the air out of her. The back of her head took the brunt of the hit. She gasped for air and sucked in a gulp of oxygen that tasted like burned crumbs mixed with something putrefying. She coughed, trying to rid her lungs of the foul-tasting mush she had breathed.

  She wasn’t sure how long she laid there. Thirty seconds, perhaps five minutes.

  Dazed, Lexi pushed herself up to a sitting position and rubbed her eyes, trying to focus and make sense about what had happened. The ringing in her ears came loud and strong. A man ran past her, stopped and said something indistinguishable, and when Lexi didn’t answer, he mouthed, “I’m sorry,” before turning his back to her and darting into the maze of smoke and confusion.

  She was missing a shoe.

  How odd she thought. She had gone to great lengths to pick the right shoes for the occasion. Her outfit had been reduced to something a zombie might be seen in.

  She concentrated on breathing slow and deep, filling her lungs, a necessity for singing and keeping calm.

  “Help!” she cried meekly.

  No help came.