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

by Chris Pike

Joe summoned all his strength to push himself to a standing position. For several minutes, he leaned on a concrete support, teetered on wobbly legs, and watched the survivors who could run or walk scattering in all directions. Not one person offered to help him, though it didn’t surprise him. Joe was accustomed to being on his own and relying on himself. He had filled-up his truck the previous day because he never let the gas tank dip below half full. Living on the Gulf Coast of Texas, keeping the gas tank above the half empty mark was a motto he lived by. He also had an extra change of clothes, a first aid kit, and a Glock. Crap. No, he didn’t have a Glock. Any worker caught with a firearm in their vehicle would be fired on the spot. He had to sign an agreement his vehicle could be searched before he could step foot into the stadium.

  He needed to get to his truck and get the hell out of Dodge.

  Joe massaged his throbbing temples, courtesy of being knocked around like a tennis ball. Then he thought about Lexi, the woman who didn’t know his name, who probably wouldn’t give him a second look. A superstar, surrounded by people with money, by talent, by family, by fans.

  Or maybe not.

  It was the ‘maybe not’ that spurred him into action.

  She was the woman of his dreams and he had to make certain she was alright. If she wasn’t, he needed to know that too.

  Holding onto the railing, Joe took one baby step and another until he regained his balance. He stepped over rebar, chunks of seats, cups, purses, clothing, shoes, paper baskets meant to hold French fries, football equipment, and a plethora of other indistinguishable items. He kept his eyes focused on the opening leading to the field.

  Reaching daylight, or what could be considered daylight, he noticed a triage had been set up near mid-field. Thinking it would be a good start to his search, he wove his way towards the injured survivors. Several football players and coaches were tending to the injured. Someone yelled for the team doctors. Another person draped a towel over the face of a deceased player, but nowhere did he see Lexi.

  Joe’s eyes tracked from where the smoldering jet was located to where Lexi had been standing. A debris line clued him to her possible location.

  He walked the path of litter leading to a clear space behind a wall.

  There, curled into a ball, he found her.

  “Lexi?” Joe knelt next to her and reached towards her neck, afraid to touch her, thinking she might be dead. “Lexi, is that you?”

  “Do I know you?” she asked, slowing opening her eyes.

  “Thank God you’re okay. Are you hurt anywhere? Can you move your legs?”

  “What happened?” Lexi asked. She lifted her head, propping herself up with her elbows.

  “It appears a jet slammed into the field. I’m guessing it was one of the Blue Angels,” Joe explained.

  “Why?” Lexi’s enunciation was slow and calculated. Through hazy eyesight she focused on Joe.

  “I have no idea why anyone would purposely slam a jet into the stadium.”

  “Can you call 911? I need medical attention. My ankle hurts.”

  “Phones aren’t working,” Joe said.

  “Maybe your phone was damaged.”

  “It’s not only my phone. It’s everybody’s phones.”

  Lexi didn’t reply. Focusing on the environment, she noticed the lights had gone out, and there were many casualties. “The electricity is out too, right?”

  “Yes.” Joe quietly mused Lexi was more than a pretty face and a country singer. However, he kept his thoughts to himself. “I’m guessing whatever electrical grid the stadium was on has been reduced to nothing.”

  “Let me get this straight. Phones aren’t working, the electricity is out, and for some unexplained reason a jet happened to slam into a stadium filled to the max at an event seen around the world?”

  “Yeah,” Joe said. “That’s about it in a nutshell.” He offered Lexi a water bottle. “Take a sip of this. I bet you’re thirsty.”

  “I am.” Lexi downed several gulps of water then handed the bottle back to Joe. She repositioned her legs and grimaced when she noticed her ankle swelling to the size of a baseball. She recalled what her dad had told her about crowded places where a terrorist group could make a spectacular event. She came to the realization this was more than a jet losing control causing the electricity to go out.

  “Are you okay?” Joe asked.

  “I’m not and neither will anyone else be.” Lexi coughed, holding her sides.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean we are on our own. Hear any sirens?”

  “No.” Joe scratched the top of his head.

  “Any helicopters?”

  “No.”

  “See any police or first responders?”

  “No.” The concern on Joe’s face became evident. “What are you getting at?”

  “An EMP,” Lexi said matter-of-factly. She had no emotion in her voice, more like replying to the question about what was for dinner.

  “Who are you?” Joe asked. His opinion of Lexi changed from one of being another pretty face to a woman who was in the know. “EMPs aren’t mainstream. Most people don’t believe in them.”

  “I believe in them,” Lexi said. “To answer your question, I’m Lexi Carter.”

  “I know. I was watching you sing the National Anthem when all hell broke loose. I know you’re Lexi Carter, one of the most recognizable country western singers in the U.S. The only person who wouldn’t know you would be living behind a rock in Timbuktu, and without any radio or TV.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Lexi admitted.

  She became quiet, musing how fame made even the simplest of tasks difficult, like grocery shopping. She had started shopping for groceries online because when she went to the grocery store, she was mobbed by fans.

  “You’re uncomfortable with fame, aren’t you?”

  “I can’t even go grocery shopping without being mobbed. I like to think back to my roots, to being the daughter of Harold and Wanda Carter.”

  Joe tossed Lexi a confused expression, like he should know who her parents were. “I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but I don’t know your parents. Are they famous or something?”

  “They’re regular folks. My daddy was a long-haul driver, and my mama stayed home to raise me and my brother.”

  “Okaaaay,” Joe said slowly, drawing out the word. “I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

  Lexi shrugged. “There is no other shoe, except my parents were preppers, and they taught me the signs to look out for during an EMP. From what you explained, and what I’ve seen, it’s the only logical explanation, now that my brain has cleared and I can see straight.”

  “I’ve been thinking the same thing.” Joe sat next to Lexi, leaning his back against the wall. “I haven’t introduced myself.” He offered Lexi a hand to shake. “I’m Joe Buck, and—”

  “I know who you are.”

  Joe was perplexed. “You know me? We’ve never met.”

  “Not formally,” Lexi said.

  “Then how?”

  “Really?” It was Lexi’s turn to question Joe. “Although, I must admit I’ve been racking my brain trying to remember your name. It just came to me now.”

  Joe’s heart was in his throat, wondering if he’d had a one-night stand with her during a drunken binge before she became famous. He could barely remember himself after he tied one on, much less remember who he’d been with. He had done a lot of dumb things during his youthful bravado stage.

  “Three years ago, I was in a honkytonk,” Lexi explained. “I believe the name was Hungry’s. Before one of my songs, I looked you in the eyes and said this song is for you.”

  “I remember that moment. It’s something I could never forget,” Joe said. “Why’d you say it to me? I mean, so many guys—”

  “Joseph Buck.” Lexi put a hand on his. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

  “You’re Lexi Carter, the country singer.”

  “I was your neighbor years ago. W
e lived on the same street, and I had the biggest crush on you.”

  “Believe me,” Joe said. “If we lived on the same street, I would’ve remembered you.” He cracked a smile. “I remember all the pretty girls.”

  “You wouldn’t have given me a second look back then. I was a skinny, gangly kid, and you were about fifteen.”

  “Oh, wait,” Joe said, tapping the air with his index finger. “I remember. You’re Lonnie’s little sister, Alexa.”

  “You got it. I dropped my real name. I go by Lexi now.”

  “What ever happened to Lonnie? I haven’t talked to him in forever.”

  “Last I heard, he was in jail,” Lexi said.

  “For what?”

  “Murder.”

  Chapter 8

  “Come on,” Ethan Crossfield said. “We need to get back to your brother.”

  “What about my mom?” Kinsey asked. “We have to keep looking for her.”

  “We will. Let’s help your brother first, then we’ll find your mother.”

  “Okay.”

  “Stay right behind me, and try to keep your eyes focused straight ahead. There’s lots of things you don’t need to see.”

  “I’ve already seen it. Kinda hard not to.”

  With the tub of ice propped against his hip, Ethan retraced his steps. They passed the remnants of a coffee stand where the stools had been tossed in all directions, and where a faint aroma of coffee hung in the air. The kiosks where team t-shirts and other items were sold had been reduced to a heap of clothes strewn around like they had been tossed out during the spin cycle of a washing machine. A woman ran past and slipped on gourmet popcorn. The taco stand had tipped over, and other kiosks and restaurants were unmanned. The Bloody Mary bar had a few people helping themselves to free booze.

  “Kinsey, keep your eyes straight ahead.” Ethan grimaced at a pile of mangled and bloody corpses heaped next to a wall, contorted in grotesque shapes.

  There was no response.

  “Kinsey.” Ethan raised his voice in annoyance. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Close your eyes, and put your hand on my shoulder so I know you’re right behind me.”

  Kinsey clamped her hand on Ethan’s shoulder and closed her eyes, willing herself not to look. She already knew what was there, and it would be a memory she wouldn’t easily forget. The smell of fear and gore, the wailing of survivors, the faces blackened with soot and blood, the chaos of people separated from loved ones. Debris clogging the walkway, purses dropped, hats scattered, a trampled toy elephant. The floor was sticky with spilled soft drinks and beer and blood. People of all shapes and sizes, young and old, reduced to a lifeless shape, tossed away like garbage.

  She thought about her mom and her dad. She thought about her friends, and how lucky they were to be at home. She thought—

  Kinsey stumbled forward and bumped into Ethan.

  “You okay?” Ethan asked.

  Kinsey didn’t answer.

  She first thought she had snagged her jeans on a piece of metal. She tugged her foot away except she couldn’t get loose. She glanced down at her foot, and in the second it took for her brain to comprehend what had happened, she opened her mouth and screamed a shrill note so high, it sent shivers up Ethan’s spine.

  Ethan whipped around.

  Somebody from the pile of bodies had grabbed hold of Kinsey’s ankle, latching onto it with a death grip.

  Balancing on one leg, Kinsey used her free leg to kick the fingers wound tightly around her ankle.

  She kicked again.

  Ethan jumped in and stomped on the hand until Kinsey was free.

  Kinsey hadn’t had time to fully process what had happened, or had time to cry. She instinctively broke away from Ethan and stepped back to distance herself from the horror she had experienced when it became evident someone was alive in the pile of corpses.

  Ethan took Kinsey by the elbow, and as he was guiding her away, a weak voice cried out. “Kinsey, come back.”

  Kinsey froze. Her gaze dropped to the hand motioning for her to come back. The nails were painted in dark blue sparkly nail polish, a ring decorated with a diamond cut ruby surrounded by diamonds adorned the ring finger on her left hand. A memory came to her of getting a manicure and choosing a dark blue nail color. She recognized the ring and the nails.

  “Mom?” Kinsey cried out. She broke away from Ethan and raced to her mother, kneeling beside her. “Mom? Are you okay?”

  “I’m trapped. Help me.” Becca’s voice was raspy, thin. She was on her side, facing outward, one hand dangling over the pile. The rest of her body was trapped by people below her and others on top of her.

  “Ethan!” Kinsey yelled. “This is my mom, Becca.”

  Ethan quickly assessed the situation. “Can you wiggle your toes?”

  After a brief moment, Becca replied, “Yes.”

  “Good. Track my finger.” Ethan slowly moved his index finger from one side to the other in front of Becca’s face. “Do you hurt anywhere?”

  “I don’t think so. I’m having trouble breathing.”

  “It’s probably due to the weight of bodies on you. Hold tight, we’re going to get you out.”

  Working quickly, Ethan tugged away limbs and whole bodies encasing Becca. When they had freed her legs, Ethan looped his hands under Becca’s arms, dragging her away from the pile.

  Her clothes were stained with blood. Her tangerine shirt was ripped and she was missing an earring.

  Ethan helped her sit against a wall.

  “I’m so glad you found me,” Becca said. “I couldn’t move to save my life.” She gently rubbed her hand that had been stomped on.

  “I didn’t mean to kick you, Mom. I didn’t know it was you,” Kinsey said.

  “It’s okay, Kins. It’s not your fault.” Even after all Becca had been through, she was trying to comfort her daughter.

  “I’m here, and Ethan said he would help us.”

  “Thank you.” Becca shuddered and took a big breath. “Who are you anyway?”

  “Ethan Crossfield, pilot.”

  Becca eyed over Ethan’s uniform. “Are you with the Blue Angels?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Ma’am, I—”

  “Call me Becca. Ma’am is too formal.”

  Ethan nodded. “To make a long story short, we were flying in formation when our jets lost power. We were forced to eject, and unfortunately one of the jets slammed into the stadium.”

  “I can imagine one jet failing due to some sort of mechanical malfunction, but all four?”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Ethan said.

  “What happened to your jet?”

  “I have no idea where it crashed. Without working electronics, I couldn’t steer it. Hopefully it didn’t crash in a populated area.”

  Becca took a minute to absorb what Ethan had told her. Slowly, her head cleared. “Where’s Tyler?”

  “He’s still in his seat. Don’t worry, Mom, he’s okay.” Worry spread over Kinsey’s teenage features. Her round face, big blue eyes, showed the strain of growing up too quickly and facing the dangers of the world.

  Becca coughed. “I’ve been trapped for what seems like hours. How long have I been in there? A day?”

  “You haven’t been trapped long at all,” Kinsey said. “About an hour.”

  “I tried calling out for help, but my voice was so weak. I drifted in and out of consciousness. I couldn’t get enough air, and when I saw you walk past me, I summoned the last of my strength.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t see you. I didn’t want to look at the bodies.”

  “I must be a wreck,” Becca said.

  “It doesn’t matter, Mom. You made it. Lots of people didn’t.”

  “How many?”

  “Don’t know,” Ethan said. “A lot were killed when the jet crashed, and it’s still burning, so anyone with respiratory problems isn’t going to fare too
well. And as you know, there’s a lot of deceased people in the concourse.”

  Becca glanced at her clothes and inspected her hands, turning them over. “I still have my wedding ring on.”

  “Dad was protecting you.” Kinsey smiled weakly.

  “Who’s helping all the injured people?” Becca asked. “And why aren’t any first responders here? Let’s get Tyler and get out of here.”

  “Mom, when I was searching for you, I looked outside. I’m not sure how to tell you this, but we’re stranded until help arrives.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Ethan observed the mother and daughter interaction. They had a strong bond, and while Ethan could explain the situation outside, he kept quiet, thinking it would be better for Kinsey to tell her mom.

  “There are very few cars working. I only saw a couple of really old ones on the road. Lots of people are standing around the cars in the parking lot. It’s like nobody knows what to do.”

  Becca’s gaze swiveled to Ethan.

  “She’s right.” Ethan nodded. “Cars aren’t working, which means no ambulances will be able to get here. We’ll have to help ourselves.”

  “Get an Uber and let’s go home,” Becca suggested.

  Kinsey shook her head. “Phones aren’t working.”

  “This keeps getting better and better.” Becca rested her head against the wall and closed her eyes. “What are we going to do?”

  “How far away do you live?” Ethan asked.

  “Not sure. Thirty miles, maybe forty.”

  “Will you be able to walk that far?”

  “In these heels? I don’t think so. Shouldn’t we try the car first?”

  “If it’s a late model car, it won’t work. Do you have anything of value in it?”

  “No,” Becca said.

  “Any firearms?”

  “No. I took those out after my husband died.”

  “Too bad. We’re going to need them.”

  “Good Lord!” Becca gulped. “What’s going on?”

  “Let’s get you back with your son, then we’ll talk about it,” Ethan said. “Can you stand?”

  With Ethan and Kinsey’s help, Becca stood, and though lightheaded, she managed to stand on her own. When she took a step, her right leg buckled out from beneath her.