Survival EMP Box Set | Books 1-4

by Lopez, Rob

Rick was no expert, but he was pretty sure the Cessna would not be able to glide for two hours.

  Kowalski ascended into the clouds, and the cockpit grew dark as they were surrounded by a gray wall. Scott leaned forward between the front seats but said nothing. Nobody spoke as Kowalski stared at the instruments, watching the altimeter needle wind slowly around. The engine faltered again, and again he reached for the mixture control, but the engine resumed its drone.

  The climb through the cloud took a long time, and when they broke through the top into a pure blue sky, it was like surfacing from a dive into the ocean.

  Rick felt a deep chill as he realized they nearly had taken a dive into the ocean.

  Kowalski continued climbing until he reached the aircraft’s maximum altitude of ten thousand feet. The engine was running well, but below them the cloud was like a frozen plain that stretched to the horizon.

  “Shit,” exclaimed Kowalski.

  “What?” said Rick, thinking something else had happened.

  “We’ve got to descend through cloud for the landing.”

  Rick wasn’t sure what that meant. As far as he was concerned, a controlled descent was better than plunging down after losing all power.

  They flew for another hour, Kowalski’s face growing more concerned, when suddenly he exclaimed, “Shit, shit, shit.”

  The air speed indicator needle was dropping rapidly. Kowalski had taught Rick about not letting the air speed drop below the stalling point, and he looked on in horror as the needle passed the stalling point.

  The aircraft was still flying, however.

  “The pitot tube’s frozen,” said Kowalski.

  Rick had no idea what that meant. “Is that bad?”

  “Means I have no idea what our air speed is. Can’t trust the altimeter either.”

  Seeing as the plane was still aloft, Rick wasn’t sure how big a deal that was.

  “Our navigation’s dependent on knowing what our air speed is,” explained the pilot. “I need to know how far along our bearing we’ve gone before I descend through the cloud and I calculate that by knowing our airspeed.”

  Rick opened the chart, and Scott leaned over his shoulder to look at the penciled line. “Have they got mountains in Greenland?” he asked soberly.

  “They don’t have much else,” said Kowalski.

  The sun coming through the canopy should have been a relief after the drab chill below the clouds, but it did little to alter the icy atmosphere as Kowalski weighed up his options. Without radar or radio control, and with half the instruments inoperative or unreliable, descending into zero visibility was a potential death sentence. Maintaining his course in the hope of finding a break in the cloud, Kowalski was eventually forced to give up.

  “Guys, we’ve got a decision to make,” he said grimly. “I don’t know where we are. Somewhere under that cloud is land. Or maybe not. We can carry on looking for a break until our fuel runs out, or we can descend and hope for the best.”

  “What’s your professional opinion?” asked Rick.

  “Honestly? If I was in my F16, I’d turn around, bail out and wait for a pick up. With the way things are, that’s not an option for us. I haven’t been trained for the level of technology we’ve got here, so my professional judgment isn’t worth a lot. Take your pick.”

  “I say we go down and get it over with,” said Scott.

  Rick didn’t like the finality of that option. It meant crossing a point of no return. On the other hand, there seemed to be no benefit in putting it off. The cloud cover looked solid for as far as he could see. “Agreed. Let’s do it.”

  Kowalski looked at them both. “Okay. Whatever happens, I just want to say it’s been fun traveling with you guys.”

  “Wish I could say the same,” said Scott.

  With a wan smile, Kowalski pushed forward the controls, putting the Cessna into a shallow dive. Rick took his last look at the azure sky, thinking it looked more beautiful than ever. Streams of cloud drifted across his sight, and the blueness was snuffed out as the plane plunged into a gray hell.

  Rivulets of water streamed over the windshield and a chill seeped into the cockpit. Ice crystals formed on the corners of the canopy, and the engine coughed and stuttered, the RPM needle flickering back and forth. Kowalski gripped the controls like a man possessed. In spite of the cold, Rick noticed he was sweating.

  Turbulence rocked the plane, and he felt his stomach shift as the Cessna rose and fell. The repeated tribulations of the engine set his teeth on edge and he had to make a conscious effort to relax his muscles. It was like being in a dream and falling. If there was nothing he could do – and he was completely helpless – he might as well be calm. Try as he might, however, it was an ambition he was unable to fulfill.

  The cloud swirled beyond the prop, and a snow covered mountain slope appeared ahead of them. Kowalski yanked back the yoke and slammed the throttle home. Rick was pinned to the seat by the g-force as the plane screamed into a climb, the jagged rocks coming at them like a meteor shower. Kowalski side slipped and banked hard, the empty gas cans in the back slamming into each other, and a peak shot by. The wings looked as if they were about to drag through the rocky slope, and Kowalski pulled extra gs until the entire airframe creaked. Tendrils of cloud flashed across their vision, and another slope of black rocks with snow patches loomed before them. Kowalski threw the plane into an opposite bank, and the Cessna skirted over a ridge so close, it looked as if it were going to tear its undercarriage off. The ground fell away and Kowalski pushed the nose down, peeling away from the cloud base. All around them, valleys of moon rock nestled between peaks that ascended into the cloud. Kowalski twisted the little plane down through the valleys and emerged over water. Chunks of ice floated on the sea, and a mist hung like a veil over islands and fjords.

  “Holy crap,” breathed Scott.

  Unsticking his head from the side of the canopy, Rick had much the same thought.

  They weren’t out of the woods yet, though. As the engine faltered, they looked around for a flat place to land and saw none. Everything was either jagged or frozen. Kowalski gained height to pass between the peaks of another island.

  “Everybody look out for a runway,” he shouted.

  Rick glanced out of the cockpit. There didn’t seem to be anything flat enough for a picnic blanket, never mind a runway. “How far away are we?” he asked.

  “I have no idea. Look for houses. Look for a road. Anything.”

  The engine blipped and surged, and Kowalski looked desperate. Channels of ice strewn water flashed beneath them, and he banked the plane, following the jagged coastline, but everything looked the same. Scott tapped Rick’s shoulder and handed him his binoculars, and together they scanned the terrain while Kowalski nursed the aircraft onwards.

  “There! I saw a house,” called Scott.

  Rick swung around, trying to catch a glimpse of what he’d seen, but all he could see were more islands, peaks and icebergs.

  “Turn left,” called Scott. “I tell you, I saw something.”

  Kowalski banked the plane and gained height until he was just under the cloud base. Crossing over a large island, they flew over a lake and toward more mountains.

  “There’s a road,” said Rick. “A track.”

  It was a regular line in an angular landscape and Kowalski banked the plane again. Whatever Rick had seen disappeared into its surroundings, and he scanned again.

  “Structures at three o’clock,” said Scott, and Rick turned, seeing them too: Tiny, red colored houses on the edge of a bay. Kowalski dipped a wing for a better view, and they all saw the long, unnaturally straight line across the landscape: a runway in a rocky plain.

  “Well I’ll be dipped in shit,” said Kowalski.

  “Get us down, and I’ll happily do it,” said Scott.

  Kowalski throttled back, and the engine immediately cut out. “Shit. Buckle up, this is going to be rough.”

  He put the nose down, turning gently as the a
ir whistled past the now quiet cockpit. Unable to line up with the runway, he aimed toward it, looking to land at an angle. Rick didn’t think they’d have enough room to land that way and braced himself.

  The Cessna rocked in a crosswind, and Kowalski fought to keep its nose pointed correctly. A couple of airport buildings grew into view, white buildings springing out from the rocky turf. At the current heading, the plane looked like it was going to charge across the width of the runway and straight into them. Unable to bank hard lest they lose too much altitude, Kowalski was handling the plane like a basket of eggs.

  As gentle as the glide seemed, the ground rushed past at incredible speed as the plane got lower, and for a moment it looked as if they weren’t going to make the runway. Holding the plane aloft as long as he could, Kowalski crossed the marker lights and put it down on the gravel runway, the vibration shaking the canopy. With a foot pressed hard on the left rudder, and the flaps down, he applied the brakes, trying to kill the momentum, but the plane rolled right across the center line, toward the other side of the runway. Without engine power, Kowalski could do nothing else. The Cessna bumped off the edge of the runway, across the rough ground and onto the hard apron in front of the airport building. Pressing savagely on the brakes, Kowalski growled curses under his breath until the plane slowed to a halt, feet away from the terminal building.

  37

  “I don’t know whether to kill you right now, or offer to have your babies,” said Scott. “Hell, make it twins. The stretch marks will be worth it.”

  They sat in the Cessna, too stunned to move.

  “I’ll take it under consideration,” said Kowalski wearily.

  The hot engine ticked and the wind whistled through the door gaps.

  “I really don’t want to do that again,” said Rick.

  They waited quietly, expecting activity from the airport building, or curiosity from the village, but nobody came. A bright yellow forklift sat on the apron with a luggage cart attached. A fuel tanker was parked by the terminal building. Both were littered with bird droppings. The control tower atop the terminal building appeared to be unmanned.

  “I don’t think we’re going to have trouble with customs today,” observed Scott.

  Getting out of the plane, the trio wandered around the terminal. Every door was locked. Through the windows they could only see chairs and a customs counter. The garage at the end of the building housed a pristine fire tender. Down a long path, they could see the village of scattered and brightly colored wooden houses by the shore of a bay. A couple of boat trailers sat by the wooden docks, but there were no boats. As they walked down to the village, not even a barking dog greeted them. Two seal carcasses hung from a pole, fed on by seabirds. Every house turned out to be empty, though in good order.

  “They evacuated everyone,” said Rick, looking around.

  “Not surprising,” said Kowalski. “Winter’s coming. They probably thought it was a good idea to get out while they could. Pretty isolated here. Most of the settlements are on the west coast. Nobody lives in the interior, which is just one big glacier.”

  Rick peered into a house, seeing a seal skin coat hanging up.

  Innuit. If they didn’t think they could survive here, nobody could. Rick kicked in the door.

  “That was someone’s pride and joy, once,” said Scott dryly.

  “I don’t think they’re coming back,” said Rick. He tried on the coat. It was a little tight under the arms, but it was a hell of a lot warmer than the sweater. He turned to Kowalski. “What about the plane? Can you fix it so it doesn’t try to kill us again?”

  “I don’t know. If we can find some tools, maybe I can do something.”

  “Make sure you do, because we’re stuck here with no other transport. I mean, even Shackleton had a boat.”

  *

  Scott started a fire and roasted the seal meat while Kowalski worked on the engine. He’d drained a quart of fuel from each of the wing tanks to eliminate the chance of water droplets in the gas and was now dismantling the air filter.

  “Pass me that wrench there,” he said.

  Rick passed it up. They’d found tools and a box of spares in the airport workshop. Being the most common plane in the world helped a lot at a time like this.

  “See if you can find me some anti-icing fluid,” said Kowalski.

  “What does it look like?”

  Kowalski peered out from underneath the engine, an incredulous look on his face. “It’ll be labeled?”

  “Right.”

  Rick mosied around the workshop until he found a plastic container with green fluid in it.

  “Get a cloth and rub it liberally along the wing edges,” called Kowalski.

  The smell of cooked meat drifted across. The light was fading and Rick was anxious about getting the engine going again before it got too dark. He didn’t want to wake up with the thought of still being stuck here.

  “And don’t forget the pitot tube,” said Kowalski.

  “Which part’s that?”

  “It’s a tube. Right there. Underside of the wing.”

  Feeling like a dummy, Rick set to work.

  “Hey guys, this meat’s nearly ready,” called Scott. “And it’s delicious.”

  “How about not eating it before we get there?” said Rick.

  “Couldn’t help myself. Had to test it.”

  Rick’s stomach growled as he swabbed the wing. “What’s it taste like?”

  “Like the greasiest burger you’ve ever had.”

  Rick wished he hadn’t asked. Images of giant burgers floated through his mind.

  “I got it,” called Kowalski.

  Rick turned. “What?”

  Kowalski held up a rusted metal frame with a grille. “Air filter’s split, and the drain hole in the air box is blocked. Rusty as hell.”

  “That’s what caused the engine to fail?”

  “I hope so, because I don’t know enough about this engine to strip it down further. I can change the filter, dry out the plugs and drain the carb. Then we’ll see.”

  It seemed, to Rick, to be an incredibly minor thing, considering the potential effect in the air. He remembered Scott’s comments about the state of the airplane back in Syria. “Is this still airworthy enough to get us to the States?”

  Kowalski pouted. “To be honest, I’m surprised it’s gotten us this far. Didn’t want to put you guys off or anything, but I thought we’d get stranded a lot sooner.”

  Rick didn’t need that kind of honesty right now.

  “What did he say?” called Scott.

  “He said it’ll get us there easy,” explained Rick.

  Kowalski grinned. “Oh, sure,” he said loudly.

  “You lying fuck,” said Scott. “You get that thing started or I’m going to eat your share of the meat.”

  Kowalski feigned shock. “First you offer to have my babies, now you want to eat my meat. If I didn’t know better, Scott, I’d say you had a thing for me.”

  Rick laughed hard. Twenty minutes later, Kowalski primed the engine and swung the prop. It caught first time and there were grins all around as the motor chugged steadily.

  As the night set in, they sat around the fire and ate until they were full. Rick proffered the small bottle of whiskey. “Gentlemen, I think we’ve earned this.”

  Overhead, the last of the cloud passed and the stars glittered in the frigid air. “Here’s to the last leg.”

  38

  Daisy woke to the sound of distant thunder. The slow rumble sounded like the night sky was crumpling. She hoped it heralded rain. There wasn’t a drop of liquid left in the house, and it was still too dangerous to go down to the creek. Her mouth was parched and she worried about the children’s needs. Another day was probably all they could stand. After that, she would have to risk a walk down to the creek. She refused the idea of sending Josh – he’d suffered enough – but her hip twinged already at the thought of the journey.

  No matter. If they did not get
water soon, they would die. It was a dreadful choice, but soon it would be no choice at all.

  The thunder rumbled again. It was late in the season for such things, but she hoped it was an overdue summer storm. It might not mean rain, however. She remembered the lightning on that dreadful night of the solar flare, and wondered if this was the same. Perhaps it had altered the climate, making dry thunderstorms more likely now.

  Lying next to her in the bed, Lizzy breathed steadily, sleeping soundly. Josh, however, on the other side of the crowded bed, had stopped his heavy sighs, and Daisy guessed he’d woken up and was listening, just like her. He’d grown tense and jumpy, and she worried about him. She was no longer able to comfort him like a little boy, and he’d long refused hugs, but the haunted look in his eyes made her want to gather him to her.

  Drifting off to sleep, she snapped awake again at the sound of another crash.

  It was not the thunder this time, however. It was too close.

  Another thump echoed through the house, waking Lizzy and making her sit bolt upright. Daisy put a hand to her shoulder, hoping she’d stay silent.

  Someone was trying to break down the front door. Slowly, Daisy stretched out a trembling hand to the revolver on the dresser. The sideboard against the door was heavy: at least for her and the children. To a strong person, it might not prove to be much of an obstacle at all. Daisy listened to her palpitating heart, wondering if this was the moment she would have to confront an intruder.

  The shattering of the bedroom window startled her, and Lizzy screamed. Barely able to breath, Daisy pulled back the heavy hammer. Another piece of the window broke, a heavy object thudding against the drapes, and Daisy pointed the gun and fired.

  The boom was tremendously loud in the room, and another piece of glass shattered as the bullet flew out. Deafened, and blinded by the flash, Daisy gasped for breath and fumbled with the hammer, expecting the intruder to climb in.

  Nothing else happened, and as her hearing cleared, the house resumed its silent slumber. Through the broken window, the sound of crickets returned.