by Karon Ruiz
“Bartering?”
“If this thing happens, paper money will be useless. Food stockpiles will be like gold. Especially seeds.”
“How do you know so much?” She’d always known Gordy was smart, but pride in her son’s knowledge swelled in her chest.
“I’ve done a lot of reading.”
“That’s for sure. You are miles ahead of the rest of us.” She winked at him.
“And Mom … just so you know, the internet is erratic right now.”
“It’s off?”
“No, it’s still on. But the free flow of information seems to be restricted. Australia’s government site is down. So is Drudge.”
“What’s going on?”
“Not sure. Governments might be killing the news. Fear of wide-spread panic.”
“Including the folks in our little town if we can’t get information,” Samantha said as she headed to the door. “Got to get on the road. Keep an eye on your sister. She tends to freak out during thunderstorms.”
“Grams and I can handle it. Don’t worry.”
***
11:03 a.m.
Martin and Laney’s Garage
“This is wonderful.” Samantha inspected Martin and Laney’s stockpile in the back of their two-car garage. The older couple huddled nearby. Their red-rimmed eyes matched hers.
“You bought a lot,” Samantha said.
Laney nodded. “Two car loads. I purchased the two-way radios you suggested.” Laney pointed to some boxes covered with aluminum foil. “I wrapped them several times like Gordy instructed.”
“How many did you buy?”
“Four sets. I emptied the shelf and even found the rechargeable batteries you told me about. The radios have an eighty mile range.”
“Good. Perfect for our little town. I was able to pick up ten sets in Phoenix and some solar chargers so I think we’re ready. At least I hope so.” Samantha wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. Outside temperatures were already climbing. “Did Tom wonder what you were doing?”
“You know Tom. Once I told him about the CME, he thought I was nuts,” Laney said. Everyone knew Tom and his sarcastic ways. If earth was spared a disaster, the Baxters and Fernándezes would be the butt of jokes for months. Tom would certainly lead the charge, gossiping to anyone who’d listen.
“I wish I would have been there. I would have let him have it,” Martin said.
“I think you still should,” Laney said. “We spent hundreds of dollars today.”
“I might just do later.” Martin’s brow arched as he took in a deep breath. “Right now there’s too much to do and frankly, I don’t care what anyone says. This could be devastating. We need to tell whoever will listen … even the naysayers.”
“We’ll have their undivided attention if the lights go out,” Laney said.
“I see you loaded up on long term survival food.” Samantha eyed the containers of powdered eggs, cheese and oatmeal. “Not to worry you … but this event might bring out the worst in folks. Shouldn’t you hide this?”
“No need, Samantha. Laney and I would never turn away a hungry person. God will take care of us.”
Samantha shrugged. “Wish I had your faith.”
“After what you’ve gone through, that’s understandable. In time you’ll get your bearings back,” Laney said. “I’ll be praying for you.”
“Thanks, dear friend.” Samantha clung to Laney, then turned to Martin. “How was Dalton when you left him?” she asked.
“Very upset. He tried not to show it, but I could see the fear in his eyes. I hated leaving him there.”
Samantha flinched, visualizing handcuffs on her husband now under arrest and facing numerous felony counts. She tried to push the thoughts from her mind. If she let her imagination go, she’d be a mess.
***
10:50 am
Saguaro Junction Sheriff’s Office
The deputy removed Dalton’s cuffs, then clicked a remote, opening a holding cell. Two prisoners looked up as Dalton entered. They straddled a long metal bench, facing one another, playing cards spread out between them. They wore jumpsuits like his.
“Meet your new cellie, boys. This is Dalton.” The officer gestured toward the men. “That’s Bulldog over there.” He pointed to a tattooed prisoner with a mustache. “Next to him is T.T.” An overweight man sat across Bulldog. Fatty folds of pink skin escaped through his uniform sleeves. The frowning men said nothing, only stared.
After Dalton entered the cell, the deputy pressed the remote. The door clanged shut. Dalton jumped, then drew a deep breath. He would not panic. He would not lose it. He would not appear weak to these men.
“This will be home for a few days until you’re arraigned,” the officer told him. “Meals are at 8:00 a.m., noon and 5:00 p.m. Sleeping cots will be brought in each evening. Any questions?”
Dalton’s anxiety notched. “Can I talk to an attorney?” he asked.
“Your paperwork will be processed by tomorrow morning. Your public defender should follow sometime in the afternoon.”
“How about water?” The roof of Dalton’s mouth and the back of his throat felt clogged with cotton balls.
“Help yourself.” He pointed to the sink fastened to the wall next to an exposed toilet in the corner. The deputy turned to the others. “No trouble in here. Understood?” It wasn’t a question. More of a command.
A sadistic smile drew across Bulldog’s face. Dalton’s stomach twisted. Trouble? As soon as the deputy left, he was toast.
The Apache started to walk away but then pivoted. “I mean it you two. No trouble.”
“Sure, Chachu-man.” Bulldog’s grin revealed two missing teeth.
The officer disappeared into a hallway. Bulldog turned to the three-hundred-fifty pound man next to him. “Hey, T.T. What do you say? Wanna go easy on the new guy?”
“Why not?” T.T. chortled and his stomach bounced under the fan of cards he held in one hand.
Dalton watched them for a moment. Would all his gym workouts help if they tried to mess with him? He could box, and he always held his own against his trainer. When he didn’t have a bum knee and a throbbing face. But street fighting? Against criminals? He sized them up. If he had to, he could probably take the fat man. He wasn’t too sure about Bulldog though.
He took a seat at the far end of the bench. His legs twitched and a wave of nausea swallowed his insides. Circles of perspiration under his arms soaked through the jumpsuit. Sweat beaded his forehead. A thousand bugs seemed to crawl across his skin. Dalton swatted and scratched but at closer inspection, there was nothing there. He went to the sink and cupped water into his mouth. If only he could have his medicine. Why hadn’t he taken that last pill in the car? He’d never get it back now.
When he had enough water, he sat and glanced at his cellmates. The plastic chips piled between them indicated poker. Dalton wondered how they paid up.
“Five-card stud?” T.T. asked.
“I … uh … don’t have any chips,” Dalton said.
“We can front you some, can’t we, ‘Dog?”
Bulldog pulled out five chips from the pile and extended them toward Dalton.
“I’ll pass.” He wasn’t up to a card game. He felt dizzy. He tried to slow his breathing so he wouldn’t pass out.
“So much for being nice,” T.T. snarled.
“You think you’re too good for us?” Bulldog growled.
Dalton pointed to the gauze on his face. “I had an accident. I’m not feeling well.” He decided to change the subject. “What does T.T. stand for?” he asked the fat man.
“Tiny Tim.”
Dalton had to look away and stifle a laugh. Despite his misery, that was funny.
“You’re probably wondering why, huh?”
“Well … uh … no …”
“I was born on Christmas Day. They named me after my uncle. My ma said I came early and was a scrawny little runt. For
years the family called me Tiny Tim and it sort of stuck.”
CHAPTER FORTY
CME
_________________________________________________________
11:53 a.m.
McCormick, Arizona
Samantha gripped the steering wheel of her Camry. It kept jarring from her fingers, surrendering to the fifty-five mile per hour winds assaulting her car. She clenched with all her strength, forcing the car toward her desert home on the edge of town. Outside her windshield, inky-colored clouds shrouded the sun as ragged lightning stabbed the earth. Hail pelted, striking the glass so hard Samantha thought it might crack. She straightened her back and bit her lip. Grace wasn’t the only one who hated these storms.
Thanks to Gordy, hidden inside a shoebox on the passenger seat, was her cell phone. The box, enshrouded in three layers of aluminum foil, would be protected from an electromagnetic pulse, should it happen. Well, that was what Gordy thought, anyway. She wondered if having the capability to turn on one’s phone would even matter in the long run. An EMP would end their phone service and the cell would become nothing more than a high tech photo album and address book.
She was tempted to tear through the packaging and check for messages but could still hear her son’s voice. “Open only if you have an emergency,” he’d said when he handed it to her after breakfast. He’d placed a similar box in her mother’s hands. “The foil acts like a Faraday cage.”
“A what?” her mother had asked.
“How to construct one is really simple. The instructions are explained in those prepping links I emailed you last night. Did you forward them to the congregation?”
“Laney did. According to her, most people laughed.”
“Too bad.” Gordy frowned. “Those web sources were critical, Mom. The information provided could save lives.”
“I know. I did my best in the short time I had. People sometimes find a state of denial more comfortable. Much like your father.”
Gordy gestured with his hand. “Follow me.” He led them to a large aluminum trashcan on the outside patio. He lifted the lid. It was crammed with electronic equipment.
“This is a Faraday cage. The experts don’t all agree on this but the metal is supposed to protect the contents,” he said. “I’m not sure it will work, but it can’t hurt to try. I also loaded the microwave oven in the kitchen. It’s filled to capacity with spare batteries, some old phones, Ipods, stuff like that.”
“My microwave?”
“I sealed it with duct tape. Trust me, we won’t be needing that oven if this thing hits earth. For now, it makes an excellent Faraday.”
Samantha leaned over and looked in the trashcan. A small television, some laptops, radios and other stuff filled the container to the brim. “Why the cardboard?” She pointed at the thick brown paper, fastened to the metal sides with duct tape.
“It acts as an insulator against radiation.”
Samantha pointed to her iPad. “Will my tablet work?”
“With the solar chargers we bought, yes. But the Internet will most likely be down.”
“If we have no Internet and you can’t make calls, why bother?” her mother asked.
“No one knows how the CME will affect us,” he had told them. “A few transformers may survive. We might be able to get online within a few days. If that happens, we’ll be glad we did this.”
Gordy was right. If power was restored, being able to make a call might mean the difference between life and death.
Samantha turned on to Casa Blanca Road. Though the downpour had weakened to a sprinkle, the winds still raged. Grayish light peeked through billowy black clouds overhead.
As she drove through her neighborhood, an eerie crimson fog gathered and glowed over the mountains. Swaying curtains of reddish light moved above Prescott National Forest. Awestruck, Samantha swerved and slammed on her brakes. She pulled to the side of the road and stared. Like party streamers strung from heavenly ceilings, the lights shimmered and danced through the dark sky.
For several moments she drank in the wondrous beauty before pressing the gas pedal and easing back to the road. As much as she wanted to linger at the splendor, she couldn’t waste any more time. Gordy had warned about the auroras. “If they’re red, it’s because we’ve had a CME,” he said. Thank goodness her car still worked. Maybe the electricity hadn’t been affected after all. She flipped on the radio and pressed programmed stations. Each one emitted crackly static. Samantha swallowed hard, the beat from her heart graduated to her ears.
***
“Grace … would you look at that?” Shirley pointed outside the window. Rosy light invaded the breakfast room. Grace stopped drawing, flung down a colored pencil and ran to the glass.
“Wow, Grams! They look like Christmas lights.”
“They’re called auroras.” Shirley joined her, placing her hands on her granddaughter’s shoulders. “Gordy told us we’d see them.”
“They’re beautiful,” Grace exclaimed.
Aurora borealis. Shirley had seen them once when she and Stephen had taken that cruise to Alaska.
After a few minutes, the growing fatigue in her legs convinced Shirley to return to the breakfast table where she could enjoy the light show sitting down. That brief nap she’d taken hadn’t done much good. Her legs felt wobbly. She sipped green tea while Grace remained at the window. Who could blame the child? The lights rippled, then folded and unfolded, to suddenly disappear, then morph into new shapes moments later. It was breathtaking.
A vintage wall sconce above the breakfast booth flickered off. The florescent light over the kitchen sink sputtered, before going dark as well. Shirley slipped into her Birkenstocks and padded to the pantry. “Do you have any candles?” she asked Grace.
Her granddaughter appeared at the pantry door and pointed to the top shelf. “Mommy keeps a box up there.”
Shirley pulled down a container labeled “emergency supplies” where she located six white candles and some holders.
***
Gordon should have checked on Grams and Grace but he was frozen, unable to move. With his green notebook tucked under his arm, he could do nothing but stare at the sky. The oxygen-rich auroras were deep red which could only mean one thing. Earth had been struck by a mega flare.
Why hadn’t he brought a pen? He was seeing history. He should be taking notes. Like Richard Carrington over a hundred years ago, these events should be recorded for posterity.
He dropped his notebook on a wrought iron table and rushed to the trash can. He’d left his Canon Rebel inside. By now it should be safe to open. He yanked off the duct tape and raised the lid. He grabbed his camera, then quickly put the top back on.
“It’s remarkable, isn’t it?” someone asked.
Gordon spun around. His mother walked toward him clutching her keys.
“There isn’t a sound anywhere,” she said. “Not even a bird chirping.”
“It’s amazing, Mom.” Gordon aimed the camera at the sky.
“How long do they last?”
“If they were normal auroras, ten … maybe fifteen minutes.” He fired his camera in rapid succession. “But today nothing is normal.”
“Thank goodness my car still drives,” she said. “My car radio doesn’t work. Only static.”
Gordon lowered his camera. “We had a CME. See the reds …” He pointed. “Those are very rare. The ionosphere is super-charged. Electrons and atoms are colliding.
“The ejection had to be enormous,” he explained. “This could be the worst case scenario we talked about yesterday.” He gestured toward the trashcan. “The Faraday cage was a success. My camera still works.”
“Have you checked on your grandmother and Grace?” his mother asked.
“Not yet. I have to document this. We’ll never see this again in our lifetimes.”
“That’s for sure,” she said as she went inside.
***
12:01 p.m
.
Saguaro Junction Sheriff’s Office
Dalton huddled on the floor, shaking in one of the cell’s corners, near a barred window. An eerie light leaked into the room. Slivers of red streaked across his feet. Bulldog and T.T. slept across the bench, oblivious, sawing logs.
He managed to stand and look out the glass. A few people in the parking lot outside stared heavenward at the pulsating auroras. This must be what Gordy warned about. Something about the sun … a flare up? He’d been too caught in his own problems to listen.
Two ceiling lights flickered, then gave up their spirits, leaving the room full of shadows. Dalton went to the bench and sat, rubbed the goose flesh covering his arms. After several requests, the deputy had finally brought him a blanket. He wrapped himself in the black scratchy fabric, laid down on his side, using his elbow for a pillow. Flu-like aches invaded his muscles while his stomach tossed and turned. He’d felt this way one time before when he’d tried to stop using his medicine. He’d lasted only two days.
He closed his eyes and swallowed. An agonizing afternoon and never-ending night awaited.
***
12:05 p.m.
Baxter Home
Samantha entered the dimly lit breakfast room. Her mother and Grace nestled together, reading a book. An enormous three-wicked candle produced golden streaks across the table. They looked up and smiled. The homey atmosphere defied the reality of their situation. A wall clock behind them confirmed Gordy’s prediction. Its frozen time of 11:59 seemed ominous.
Samantha tipped the book to see its title. The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe. “I loved this story when I was your age.”
“We’re taking turns reading,” Mom said. “Grace’s language abilities are impressive.”
Grace’s eyes lit up over a happy smile. She hugged the hardback to her chest. “I can’t wait for second grade.” Samantha wondered if attending second grade at Pueblo Elementary would even be possible. Homeschooling might be in her daughter’s near future.