How We Survive: EMP Survival in a Powerless World

by Stone, William

  The Hatfields sprang into the closet, finding a dark hallway. Things grew less and less dark as they ran through. Clearly, they were heading somewhere. But where?

  At the tunnel’s end, they stepped out and found themselves in the kitchen. With the mob following down the hallway, they spun in desperate circles, checking for some way, any way out.

  Hatfield spotted an air duct behind the sink. It was narrow—maybe too narrow. “This will be a tight squeeze, but we’re out of options, guys.”

  “We don’t know where it leads!” Justin yelled.

  “If nothing else, it’s safe. We can hide out up there until we find a way out of the building.”

  He hoisted up his wife, watched her pull herself through the opening, knowing if she could get through, the kids would get through. His own body was another question, but he had to think of the kids and his wife first.

  With some effort, Jess got several feet inside, grunting and groaning her way up slowly.

  Justin was next, easily navigating the slender opening until he disappeared.

  “All right, you two!” Hatfield said. “Tami’s going to need extra help. I got her from down here, but she’ll need you to pull her up.” He climbed the sink, then reached back and hoisted her beside him. Together, they looked up, staring at the opening.

  “Dad, I’m scared.”

  He cradled her face for a second. “We got you, honey. Always.” With his grip firm on her waist, he hefted her up, her lone available hand stretched to its limit. Justin grabbed her wrist, then tugged her. Jess did the same while her husband took her by the legs and moved her in the same direction.

  The loud mob got closer, louder. Gunshots rang out, and Hatfield could hear bodies tumble to the floor.

  A grunt from his wife signaled a problem. Hatfield made up for it by pushing harder. Soon, his daughter was up and through. The only body left was his own. Tugging himself up was no struggle. He reached the opening, then gave it a closer look, trying to judge its size. It would be a snug fit, that was sure.

  Looking farther up, he saw how they each kept from falling out. The side of the duct had ridges they could grip with their fingernails and could also set their feet on, just firmly enough to prevent them from sliding down. Farther up still, he could see the sky.

  He got in up to his shoulders with extra effort, but getting beyond that would be tricky. He grunted through another upward yank but got stuck at his arms. With nothing supporting him from below, he couldn’t go farther.

  Tami reached to him with her free hand, grabbing his shoulder, making little impact. Jess was just above her, but reaching beyond her would be tricky. She’d need to rearrange her body—hard to do with such slippery sides.

  She reached down and took hold of his arms. They got him to his waist, then his knees. Soon he was high enough to place his feet on the ridges and scale up with the rest of them.

  The pack of loud and desperate people banged inside the kitchen. But the Hatfields were gone by then.

  “Awesome,” Justin called from twenty, maybe thirty feet above, his voice no longer echoing, suggesting he’d made it out.

  One by one, Jess, Tammy, and Hatfield yanked themselves to freedom. The noise of the crowd had nearly disappeared by then.

  Justin stood at the roof’s edge, staring down, then called, “It’s insane out there!”

  His father joined him. The two of them gazed across the city, watching fires rage on, explosions spark, and gigantic mobs of people flood into random directions.

  The weirdest of all was what they weren’t seeing—lights, smoke coming from chimneys, planes in the sky. Everything a city dweller tends to think of as a sign of life was absent. It was as if the world had died a violent death.

  “Just what Dad always predicted,” he said, his voice heavy with lament. He turned, glanced at his family, particularly his daughter.

  Tami managed a weak smile. “The ice is starting to melt.”

  “Suppose we should get out of here?” Jess asked.

  Hatfield nodded.

  Justin called from the other side of the roof. “Guys, there’s a fire escape over here!”

  They took off, Justin once again going first. Jess followed, teeth clamped in a terrified grimace.

  Hatfield laughed a little. “Still no fan of heights, huh?”

  “Nope.”

  “You okay with one hand, honey? Could be kind of tough.”

  Tami nodded, jaw tight with confidence. “No probs, Dad. I’m kind of getting used to missing an arm.”

  Even with the nightmare unfolding around them, Hatfield was proud of his family—especially Tami for showing the courage he’d never seen from her before. He scaled the fire escape after his daughter, checking back on her every few seconds.

  At the bottom, they all took a cautious glance around. They heard nothing, but the quiet could be deceptive or possibly even a good cover for anybody up to mischief.

  “Okay, everybody. We’re headed northwest in order to get back to the shop. We’ve got about two miles, and we want to get there as quickly as possible and as safely as possible.”

  They took careful steps down the sidewalk, staying close to the buildings—but not too close. “Let’s make sure we stay in a group in case we get any surprises.” His hand was at his side, near his holster. Every distant noise brought it a little closer.

  9

  After a few blocks, the family eased up enough to walk at a slower pace. Hatfield watched his kids in front of him, proud of the way Justin was helping his sister, even comforting her, arm around her shoulders as her spirit seemed to lag from time to time.

  He shared a grin with his wife, then she lay her head on his shoulder. He lifted it up and half-jokingly said, “Head up, young lady. It may be quiet, but we need to stay alert.”

  She gave him a playful salute, and they laughed together for the first time since the day began to come undone.

  The brief moment of quiet reminded him of how they had met. He rewound to an awful time in his life, crashing on Phil's couch, an older brother of his friend. No money, no job. And just when it seemed the news couldn’t get worse, the phone rang.

  Phil answered it in the kitchen, then called for him, a trace of annoyance in his voice. “Trevor! Come and get it, dude. It’s that chick, Michelle.”

  He sprinted for the phone, answered it, trying to mask the excitement in his voice. “Hey, how are you?”

  “I’m fine. How’s Luke’s brother?”

  He turned to find Phil standing there, fists impatiently on his hips, not even pretending he wasn’t listening to the call. “Uh, yeah, he’s cool,” Trevor said.

  “That’s good.” She paused like there was something she needed to say, but she couldn’t find the right words.

  “So… when do you think we can see each other?”

  Another pause. “The thing is…”

  Trevor wasn’t sure where this was going, but it wasn’t good news.

  “I don’t think the two of us meeting would be such a good thing. I’m sorry.”

  “You mean, like, ever?”

  “Yeah, sorry.”

  He stared at the floor, a million unasked questions gnawing at him, but there was something in her voice that told him it was no use. She wasn’t going to budge.

  “I’m really sorry.”

  Now he was the one searching for the right words. Michelle was his first girlfriend, and that was his first time getting dumped. The best he could do was, “Bye, Michelle.”

  He turned and saw Phil there again, same pose, same frown. “Dude, I kind of think you should maybe see about chipping in for the rent. And maybe the phone bill, too. You think you can handle that?”

  “Yeah, totally,” he said, “I mean, not yet. I have to wait until I can get a job or something.”

  “Well, my friend says they’re hiring at Doggie Burgers down the street.”

  Trevor swallowed a cringe. Not his idea of a good job. “That’d be great.”

&nb
sp; It turned out, Doggie Burger was happy to hire him as a “food storage consultant,” basically a gopher who would load and unload the truck and perform other menial duties. His first day started out as a drag. He carried several racks of bread inside until his back smarted from the lifting. All the while, he remembered what his dad would tell him when his work habits slagged off. “You think I’m working you hard? Wait till the real world gets a hold of you.”

  He hobbled to the break room, eager to take a seat and let his body relax.

  But a voice from behind stopped him before he got there. “Hey! The break room is for the kitchen staff only!”

  He turned, seeing a girl roughly his age, her stern face slowly melting into a smile. “Just kidding.”

  They stood there face to face as if they were both waiting to speak but too shy to do it. “This your first day?” she asked.

  He nodded. “And you?”

  “I’m an old pro here. Been around for two months. And by the way, I was kidding about the break room, but not really kidding.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means they really don’t want anybody but kitchen staff in the break room, but I’ll look the other way.”

  “Thanks.”

  They stepped into the room, took a seat next to each other. “I’m Trevor, by the way.”

  “Hi, Trevor. I’m Jessica. Everybody calls me Jess.”

  As they approached the street right across the shop, Hatfield tensed up, sensing their leisurely stroll was a little too easy. As if they were being set up for a trap of some sort. This just seemed too good to be true.

  But as they neared Temperton Street, things were no longer good.

  A chorus of loud voices shot through the air. Cackles, shouts, victorious howls. The Hatfield family froze in place when they spotted the source: a gang of young thugs—teens, twenties—were gathered in a circle over something, hard to say what at first. The family took cover behind an abandoned car.

  Hatfield scanned the faces of his wife and kids. Gigantic eyes and heavy breath. He’d never seen them this full of terror. Jess turned, shrugged, wordlessly asking, “What do we do now?” He had no answer, but he’d need one soon.

  “Hey!” A gangbanger shouted. “Check it out, behind that car!”

  Hatfield heard his daughter swallow hard. He comforted her with a hand on her shoulder, but that wouldn’t be enough. With as little noise as possible, he reached for his holster, pulled his Sig Sauer free. This made all of their already-widened eyes wider.

  He waited for cocky footsteps to come their way, not immediately knowing how he’d react. He had no plan, and he now needed to construct one. There were at least five of them, none of them armed as far as he could tell. If he were wrong about that, he’d have a problem—unless he used the element of surprise to his advantage.

  But it turned out the footsteps were moving in the wrong direction. Hatfield lifted his head just enough to see the gang moving to another car. When they got there, the family heard the horrified screams of a middle-aged man.

  Hand over her stretched-open mouth, Tami’s eyes watered. Jess swallowed her in a hug.

  Jess, Justin, and Tami could only hear the man’s nightmare unfold, their vision masked by the car. But Hatfield saw everything, every swing of every metal bar as their victim squirmed on the asphalt, jerking in convulsion.

  He gave his wife’s shoulder a tap, then mouthed the words “on three,” then did the same for Justin and Tami. Full of adrenaline, they crouched by the edge of the car, waiting. As he carefully eyed the beating, he held up a single finger, then two, then three.

  The Hatfields sprinted across, arms flailing, breath labored, steps clumsy but fast.

  As Jess, Justin, and Tami reached the bush beside the storage garage and ducked behind it, Hatfield—gun still out—stopped. He’d noticed the gang didn’t hear them, too immersed in their raucous beat-down, swinging, kicking, ripping through the man’s body.

  His family emerged from the bushes, frantically waving him over, but he couldn’t stop staring. He had the element of surprise on his side. He could probably take out most of them—maybe all. But it was risky. Too risky.

  After speeding across Temperton Street, he joined his family in the bushes, sharing a group hug, then—after checking the gang once again—he led them around the corner to the storage garage.

  As quickly and quietly as possible, he fished through his backpack until he found his keys, then unlocked and opened the garage door.

  The rusty door surrendered a long creak when opened. Halfway up, he slowed the motion down, hoping to reduce the noise. But that only dragged the creak into a longer sound. There was no way to do this silently, so he shoved the door open as quickly as possible, then urged his family inside with fast waves.

  They scampered toward the Hummer, following him, then settled into the seats, the closest they’d come to comfort in hours. But the battle wasn’t over yet. He had to make sure it could still start after all that time.

  “Let’s bow our heads, please,” he said, leading them with his closed eyes and taking his wife’s hand. After reciting a favorite bible verse from Psalms, he shoved the key into the ignition and waited.

  The car filled with gasps of relief when the engine roared to life. With a smirk on her face, Jess said, “Good thing my daddy wasn’t around to hear that.”

  The couple shared a laugh. Jess’s father—an ordained minister—had always taught his family to pray after a moment of gratitude, in thanks rather than a request. As they left the garage, he said, “I figured, on a day like today, we’d need one before and one after. We’ll wait till we arrive in one piece to give thanks.”

  As he stepped on the gas, shrieks of panic came from the other three. He’d nearly slammed into four or five gangbangers who had raced toward the garage, crowbars poised. He stomped on the brakes just in time to avoid a collision, but more screams followed as they scrambled forward and grappled at everything within their reach and tried to claw inside. They groped at the hood, the doors, windows.

  Hatfield stepped on the gas again, shoving a body from his hood to the street below as the others were stranded in the garage.

  He was doing at least fifty now as they bolted away, but even at that speed, they got a tour of the carnage left on Temperton Street, all seemingly victims of the gang. As he watched the lifeless bodies recede into the distance, guilt gripped his body. He hated knowing he could have helped that man but hadn’t. Ordinarily, he would be comfortable helping people, putting himself at risk to help others—even a stranger. But in this case, it wasn’t just about his own safety. His family needed him. A grim reality hit him. He’d have to put his family first above others. And if that meant letting strangers fall to harm, so be it.

  Jess took his hand without a word. He turned and saw her head bowed and eyes shut. Somehow she knew it was time for another prayer.

  10

  The roads up ahead were—as expected—littered with empty cars. By now, most pedestrians had wisely faded out of view. Hatfield assumed they were inside, taking cover. Some may have wisely made preparations for the event, but he knew most probably hadn’t. More likely, most of them were at home waiting for something. The government. The power company. Anything to fall from the sky to save them. He shook his head, thinking of them, but deep down, he knew he would have been one of them if not for what he had learned from his father.

  The long, upward slant on Bank Street gave him an advance peek of what was in front of him. More cars were parked in the middle of the street. A few more pedestrians—possibly looters. But beyond that, an even greater threat lurked. A group of military men had blocked off the roads.

  He could see no other working vehicles on the road, and it seemed unlikely that they’d let him and his family pass. But turning back wasn’t an option. He could tell from a few blocks away that he’d already caught their attention.

  Barking orders at others, an officer waved him to the side, gestured for
him to roll down his window. Hatfield did so, then asked him, “What seems to be the problem?”

  Strong jawed and blessed with an intimidating glare, the Major—Hatfield knew by the insignia on his uniform—leaned forward and spoke. “I’m afraid we’re going to need to confiscate your car, sir. By order of the governor.”

  Knowing this would be death for his family, Hatfield had no reply.

  “Did you hear me, sir?”

  “Why do you need our car?”

  “Sir, we don’t have to argue over this. We have to—”

  Gunshots clapped through the air, interrupting the standoff and sending everybody’s attention to the area behind the major. Other troops drew their weapons, looking for the source of the shots.

  “Wait here!” the major commanded, then raced away toward the danger, screaming out orders as more shots, explosions, and screams echoed through the night.

  All was silent and tense in the Hummer. Hatfield watched the combat unfold. In the distance, a gang of looters took shelter behind a fallen truck while the troops scrambled in opposition.

  He dragged his gaze away just long enough to look at the stretch of road ahead. There were barricades in place, but nothing that could stop the Hummer. His wife’s face twitched in terror. A glance into the rearview mirror showed a similar look on Justin and Tami’s faces.

  As the combat went on, the road ahead tempted him. There was a danger to disobeying the major’s command but a bigger danger to allowing his family to fall under occupation. If his father were around, there’d be no question which path he would recommend. He could almost feel his presence easing his foot off the brakes and onto the accelerator.

  Gunning the pedal and barreling ahead, Hatfield could feel he was crossing into an important place. It calmed him to know he wasn’t doing it alone. “Your family matters more than anything else,” a familiar voice echoed as the Hummer sprang past the combat. “Anybody else hear that?” he asked the others.