Cities on Fire

by A J Newman

  “Pop, it’s dead.”

  “The powers off, our trucks won’t start, airplanes are falling from the sky and phones don’t work; we’ve either had a big assed Solar Flare or attacked with a nuclear EMP. Go get my ’49 FI out of the garage, and we’ll go to the crash.”

  “Pop, it won’t start if a new truck won’t….”

  “Just do as I say, or I’ll box your ears.”

  Hoss quickly left to get the old truck. Hoss was four inches taller and 50 pounds heavier than his dad, but Jim always said that Hoss missed the line where God was passing out brains. Hoss was a little slower thinking than most folks were and was made fun of in grade school until he was a head taller than the other kids were. He beat the crap out of the two bullies that had been abusing him, and no one ever picked on him again. Luckily, he was a kindhearted giant and was nice to everyone.

  Jim heard the truck back out of the garage and knew he was right about the Solar Flare or EMP. He stepped back into the house and retrieved his Taurus 9mm pistol, holster, and extra magazines.

  “Hoss we were attacked by some damn country with Electro Magnetic Pulse bombs. We would have heard about a Solar Flare way in advance of it striking the Earth. Drive! Take me to the crash.”

  “This is the Captain we just circled around Nashville and will be at cruising speed and altitude in about five minutes. The city of Lebanon will be below the right wing in a few seconds, and then we will cross the Cumberland River on our way to Charlotte. Please keep your seat…. Oh shit.”

  The lights went off, and no emergency lights came on as the passengers heard the engines wind down and die. The plane leveled off for a few seconds and started to descend. There was chaos, screaming, and praying throughout the cabin.

  A stewardess ran down the aisle yelling, “Keep your seat belt buckled, lower your heads, and place your hands over your heads. We’ve lost power, and the pilot is going to find a place to land.

  The Captain looked over at the Copilot and said, “Everything is dead. We can’t make it back to Nashville, but can we double back and land at Lebanon?”

  “No, we’re dropping too fast. We will be down before we can turn around and line up with the runway. I know the land ahead. There are plenty of farms ahead that we can use to belly land.”

  “I hate it, but I think you are right. Prepare to land.”

  “I’m looking for an open field without trees. Damn, we’re down to 500 feet. Now 250. Here we go 100 feet. Try to get the nose up!”

  The jet touched down then bounced ten feet in the air before skidding through the cornfield tearing fences down and leaving a wide swath of downed corn seedlings.

  “Damn, we’re going to hit that bridge over the creek ahead. Brace for impact.”

  The plane hit the small concrete bridge and tore apart. The cockpit exploded upon impact, and the rest of the aircraft cartwheeled to the left breaking the wings of and the cabin into three sections. The wings and the front part of the fuselage burst into flames while the rear part fell into the shallow creek.

  Bob stayed up all night worried about his family in Louisville and was not surprised when the lights flickered and died. He checked his Samsung Galaxy phone and radio and as he suspected they were all dead. He went to his garage and opened a galvanized steel garbage can and fished out several 50 Caliber ammo boxes and took an emergency radio and a pair of walkie-talkie out of the boxes, and then stored the boxes back in his makeshift Faraday Cage.

  Before he turned the radio on it dawned on him to look for plane crashes. He had studied EMPs in the Army and knew what to expect so he took his binoculars out to the deck and surveyed the area towards Nashville as he hoped not to see anything bad.

  “Crap, there are several columns of black smoke toward Nashville,” he said to himself.”

  He watched for a few minutes and caught a glimpse of a plane flying low heading right at him. He watched it come down west of him about a couple of miles.

  “Damn, it might have crashed into the river. I need to go help.”

  He went into the house, strapped on his .45 Ruger pistol, grabbed his 12 Gauge pump and his Bugout Bag, and headed to the garage. Bob ran past his 2023 F350 and jumped into his ’50 FI Ford 4x4 that he had built himself. He stored his gear and turned the key to the old truck. It fired right up, and he raced north toward Dixon Springs so he could drive east to Hartsville to get across the river and head down South to the crash. He was only two miles from the accident as the Crow flies but over twenty miles away since there were only two bridges across the river in his area.

  He was on Rome Road driving about 60 MPH when he saw a man up ahead trying to flag him down. He recognized the man and slowed down then stopped beside his friend.

  “Bob, what happened?”

  “I don’t have time to talk. We were attacked by an EMP bomb. A plane crashed on the east side of the river, and I’m going to see if I can help the poor souls.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  Greg Farmer was a local man who had sold part of his farm to Bob. They became friends and swapped stories about their days in the Army. Greg was a little younger than Bob, and his wife was a couple of years younger than Greg was. Greg’s daughter and her two girls lived with him and helped around his farm and store in Dixon Springs. Greg owned the local Ace Hardware Store.

  Bob said, “Greg, I see you have a Glock strapped to your hip. You know your store will be looted in about two days when people realize what happened.”

  “Yes, that’s one of the reasons I flagged you down. I would like you to stop on the way in so I can tell Wilma to close the store and then stop again on the way back home and let me gather a few supplies, guns, and ammo from my store.”

  “Not a problem but hurry.”

  “Thanks, how long before the power is back on?”

  “My guess is that it will take years for the major cities. Five to ten years for smaller cities and perhaps not in our lifetime for a rural area like we live in.”

  “Boy, I hope you are wrong. Why so long?”

  “You’ve seen those big transformers sitting on the side of the road with a bunch of smaller transformers around them that send power out to small villages and subdivisions.”

  “Yes, why?”

  “Most of all transformers were fried by the EMP. The small ones and the ones at our houses are manufactured in the USA. The large ones are only made in South Korea and China. There is very few held in reserve since they are very expensive to make. It will take years to set up manufacturing capability and then more years to install the large and small ones.”

  “Oh shit.”

  “Yep, we are up shit creek without a paddle. Fucked and far from home. Shit out of luck….”

  “I get it, Bob. What’s next?”

  “People die from starvation, lack of medicine and medical care, and murder. There will be riots and looting when the food runs out, and then my favorite, the unfed hordes of Walking Democrats will leave the large cities looking for food, drugs, guns and women.”

  “Hey, I’m a Democrat. We are just as civilized as any damned Republican.”

  “Greg, I’m mainly talking about the ones that have been fed, sheltered and had free everything for the most of their lives. They will be the first wave. The second wave will be ordinary people who will kill good God fearing people to steal a loaf of bread to feed their kids.”

  “You paint a horrible picture.”

  “And I was holding back some of the bad stuff. I’ve been studying this crap for many years. My son thinks I’m nuts. Be happy that your daughter and grandkids are with you. Mine are somewhere on the highway heading this way.”

  They entered Dixon Springs and drove up to Greg’s hardware store. Wilma was sitting in a chair talking with one of the locals.

  “Greg, I didn’t open the store. No need to without power.”

  Bob poked Greg and said, “They’ll probably get the power back on after they get the lines back up.”

  “Wilma, go
on home. I’ll check back in a couple of hours and decide to open or not. Please post a note saying the store is closed.”

  Bob, “Why didn’t you want them to know what happened?”

  “Because it gives us time to go to the crash and get back before they are all frantic. Let’s move the plane went down 30 minutes ago.”

  They saw numerous cars, and tractor-trailers stopped along the main road out of Dixon Springs and passed several people wanting rides. Bob flew past them and said, “Remember those Kroger and Walmart trucks. We may want to come back and see if they have anything we need.”

  “That’s stealing. You can’t just take what you want.”

  “Those trucks are abandoned and will be looted within three to five days.”

  They took back roads to go below Hartsville to avoid the city and crossed the bridge at Highway 141. They only traveled a few miles south before they saw the smoke from the crash. Bob speeded up and was soon on the road in front of the crash. There were a truck and several people at the site of the accident. Bob drove through the corn to where the other truck was, and they went to join the others.

  “Are there any left alive, and how can we help?”

  A big man stepped up and said, “We have checked the wreckage over there and will check that part of the fuselage to the left. Please check the tail section in the creek.

  “Will do,” Bob said as they ran over to the tail section.

  “Bob I hear voices,” Greg said, as they got closer to the wreck.

  “Help. Help us.”

  The tail section had settled at the bottom of the shallow creek bed, and the open end was blocking the flow of water. The water had backed up and was now four feet deep in the cabin. Bob waded into the cabin along with Greg and started helping the victims get out to the creek bank. There were 23 people in the cabin, but only five were still alive.

  They helped the women first and then came back for the three men. They carried the women but could only drag the men out of the watery grave. Several had broken arms or legs but thank God, there were no gaping wounds to deal with. Bob didn’t realize until later that those people had bled to death.

  “Greg, make them comfortable until we can figure out how to get them to a hospital.”

  Bob walked over to the big man and noticed the pickup was gone.

  “Hey, I’m Bob Karr, and I live just a short piece across the river. We saw the crash and got here as fast as we could.”

  “Glad to meet ya’. I’m Jim Dickerson, and I live a few miles east of here. I saw you dragging out some survivors, so I sent my son back to the farm to bring a trailer to help take these poor people to the hospital.”

  “Thanks. There are only five survivors out of 23 in the tail section.”

  “Everyone else is dead. You know that we’ve been attacked don’t you.”

  “Bob replied, “Yeah, some sort of nuclear EMP. We have bad times ahead.”

  “Yes and I noticed both of you had shootin’ irons on your hips. That’s a good thing.”

  Greg and Bob stayed to help load the survivors onto the trailer and then left to go back to Greg’s store. Jim Dickerson took the injured to the hospital in Lebanon.

  They pulled back into Dixon Springs an hour later and found a crowd of people in front of the Quick Pick gas station across the street from Greg’s store. Bob pulled around the store to the back entrance, and Bob walked over to the crowd to see what was going on while Greg loaded what he came to get into the truck.

  One man in the crowd was very loud, and Bob heard him say, “I’m telling you that something bad has happened and we need to prepare for the worst.”

  A woman said, “Don’t get crazy. The Government will be here soon to help. The power will be back on by tonight, and this will blow over.”

  Bob yelled, “Listen up! Now that I have your attention. Do any of your phones work?”

  Everyone replied, no.

  “Do any of your cars or trucks run?”

  Another round of no’s was heard.

  One man asked, “Why is yours running?”

  “I’ll get to that in a minute. Do any of your TVs, radios or other electronics work?”

  Again nothing but no was heard.”

  “Okay, my truck runs because it doesn’t have any electronic parts on it. If you have vehicles manufactured before about 1974, they should run also. Old tractors, pickups, and such will run.”

  “Why will they run?”

  “Because we have been attacked with nuclear EMP bombs and that fried all electronics that weren’t shielded by a metal cage. The power won’t be coming back on for a long time. We need to band together and help each other survive this nightmare.”

  “Why do you know so much about this?”

  “It was part of my job and training in the military. That’s why I bought the old truck and have been getting ready for this for several years.”

  “What do we need to do?”

  “First thing is to only eat refrigerated or frozen foods first. You won’t have a working refrigerator so eat that stuff first. Second, boil or put a small amount of bleach in your drinking water. We need to have a meeting to cover the rest later today. Let’s meet at the shelter in the park at say 2:00 pm.”

  “Hey, I’m from Riddleton. We need to invite them also.”

  “My advice is that Riddleton is okay to invite but don’t expand beyond that. You don’t want strangers taking over your meeting and lives.”

  “You have the only truck running. Can you come over and pick us up?”

  “No. I only have so much gas, and the pumps aren’t working. Ride a bicycle or walk.”

  “Well, that’s not neighborly.”

  “Get used to solving your own problems. There are fifty old cars and trucks behind barns in this area. Get them running. Hell, some of you have antique tractors, cars, and trucks. Use them for transportation. Pick your neighbor up and share the ride. Take gas from the new vehicles that won’t run and fill the old car’s tanks.”

  Bob saw Greg wave at him, so he backed out of the crowd and walked over to him, and they drove on back to Greg’s home and unloaded the supplies.

  “Bob, take half of the ammo and get some of the camping and survival gear. I can’t use it all.”

  “Thanks, Greg. Does your old GMC run?”

  “Yes, if it had a battery and some tires.”

  “Take the battery from your daughter’s car and put it in the truck. I’ll keep an eye out for older GM wheels with tires.”

  Jim and Hoss drove down to State Road 24 East and headed into Lebanon. The Hospital was only about 16 miles from the crash site, but their progress was slow because of all of the crashed and stalled cars. Several people tried to stop them and ask for a ride, but Jim kept driving, and Hoss warned them to get away.

  They drove up to several crashed vehicles that blocked the road and saw several people laid out on the ground with their heads covered. Then they saw a man waving at them to stop. There were a young woman and a child with blood smeared all over them. Jim stopped and helped them into the wagon.

  “We’re taking these people to the hospital and you look like you need a hospital so let’s help you onto the wagon.”

  “Thanks, Mister. I don’t know what’s going on, but I didn’t see an ambulance or the police.”

  “I think they are busy. This looks like it may have hit the entire state or even the country.”

  “God, I hope not.”

  They arrived at the hospital, and Jim drove up to the emergency entrance. To his surprise, no one came out to help get the injured people into the emergency room. People were milling around the entrance and several people lying on the ground.

  Jim and Hoss each carried one of the women into the emergency room where a nurse yelled, “Get them out of here. We will triage them to see who has the most severe injuries.”

  “I have five from a plane crash and two from a car wreck.”

  “Sir we have hundreds of injured people. Park
them by the door, and I’ll be out to check on them in a few minutes.”

  They helped the people to the triage area, and then they drove away hoping to get back home quickly. They only got to the center of town when two Deputy Sheriffs stopped them.

  “Sheriff Johnson told us to stop any vehicles and requisition them for official use. Please get out and give us your keys.”

  “Over my dead body. Tell Buck to get his sorry ass out here and try to take my truck himself,” Jim said as he raised the Taurus so the officers could see it pointed at them.

  One of the Deputies ran into the Wilson County Sheriff Department building and came back walking beside Buck Johnson the Wilson County Sheriff.

  “Now Jim why you giving Floyd a rash of shit? This is an emergency, and I need that truck.”

  “Wish in one hand and shit in the other and see which one fills up the fastest. You ain’t taking this truck.”

  Hoss pointed the business end of a 12 Gauge pump at the Sheriff and grunted.

  “Well I guess you have the drop on us this time, but I’ll remember this the next time I see you, boys.”

  “You’d better remember not to try to steal from your citizens, or you won’t be Sheriff much longer.”

  A tall, thin man walked up behind the Sheriff and said, “Buck, what are you and Jim arguing about?”

  “The pot-bellied excuse of a Sheriff is trying to confiscate my truck.”

  “Buck, that’s not called for yet. You should have politely asked Jim to help you with transportation until we get some vehicles running.”

  “Bye Senator O’Berg. I’m going home and see if my neighbors need help,” Jim said as he drove off.

  The Senator and Sheriff went back into the Sheriff’s meeting room and rejoined the discussion in progress.

  “Barry, we need to declare martial law and get ahead of this before we have riots and looting.”

  “I agree. Buck, you need to deputize about 25 more of our good citizens to help keep the peace. Jerry, you need to get the city garage looking for older vehicles that don’t have electronic ignition and get them running. We need police cars, ambulances and dump trucks to haul away the trash.”