I looked around. They had everything, including a full winter’s supply of split firewood.
When we made it back to the house, I dutifully recorded what I had taken and from where. I then added a second page of notes for future prospects. It was important to keep life and death information in context. With gas, we could run the generator, which recharged the battery backup while also directly running the pellet stove, which meant heat. At fifty degrees in the house, we could make it through the entire winter. If we didn’t have power, we couldn’t run the pellet stove. We could run the generator for two hours a day and that gave us all we needed to heat the house for the whole day. Two hours meant one gallon of gas. My rough math suggested that we now had enough to get us through three months of winter. Help will arrive before then, won’t it? I wondered, especially since we hadn’t seen anything that looked like the government. Someone should have shown the flag already. I worried, but wouldn’t share my concerns with Madison. I needed to show her that we were in control and that we were fine.
This reminded me of my time in the Corps and a saying that a colonel once used. Amateurs talk tactics. Professionals talk logistics. I was thinking usage rates and supplies. I lived in my small world, lower on Maslow’s hierarchy pyramid. My wife was more evolved.
Madison was thinking about what would happen to higher education. What would happen to her? She’d spent eight years in grad school earning her PhD. Now what?
Day Three Begins
I always woke up early. There’s nothing like that first cup of coffee. No power. No problem. I would still have my coffee. As long as we had propane, I could boil water for rich joyousness.
Husky was a light sleeper. Phyllis slept like a rock. So Husky joined me in the kitchen while I heated water. She was soft. She was also a big bed hog. The twins didn’t care as they were mini bed hogs. I found that I spent half the night barely on the mattress. Maybe we needed to put down a second and make a bigger bed.
The water reached boiling, so I shut off the stove. No sense heating it more than necessary. Waste not, want not, right? I still had to let my precious cup of joe cool a little before drinking. It didn’t take long. It was only fifty degrees inside. Our indoor/outdoor thermometer was battery-powered. It showed the outside temperature at only minus five. It also predicted precipitation. If it was right (fifty/fifty chance), then hopefully it would hold off until we could get to the University for a look-see.
I enjoyed my coffee while reading a book on my iPhone. I turned it on to check for a signal. Nothing. I put it into Airplane mode, turned the screen down to a lower light level, and enjoyed my current book. I had downloaded a rather significant archive of books, so as long as I could keep my iPhone charged, I had reading material. I had both a solar charger, which didn’t work very well in the Alaskan winter, and a Biolite stove. This small portable stove also charged electronics. All you needed was fine kindling to keep the fire burning. It burned fast, but it was small. I could use it to boil water for coffee and simultaneously charge my cell phone. At some point it would come in handy, but I didn’t need it today.
We had plenty of batteries, especially if we took the ones in various remotes and other electronics throughout the house. It is surprising how many things we have with batteries. It is surprising how much electricity we use to make our lives convenient.
I bundled up and took Husky outside for a quick bathroom break. What about our bathrooms? We couldn’t use our toilets anymore. I wasn’t sure that fact had registered with Madison.
Peeing in the woods was how I grew up. Even in the cold it wasn’t too bad. Madison would be more put out. Maybe we could use a bucket in the garage. Maybe I needed to move one of the Jeeps outside to make room for everything we needed to do in the garage.
I put Husky back inside. The Jeep started reluctantly. It was a bit sluggish, but at least it wasn’t minus twenty. I popped the garage door and raised it by hand. I pulled the Jeep to the very edge of our parking pad, then backed it even further into a snowbank. It could be a long time before we needed it again. A very long time. I’d remove the battery and probably drain the gas tank, too. I’d have to do that in the light. Maybe it would get warmer outside. That would help me in my non-mechanic’s approach to doing mechanical things.
I was an Intelligence Officer. Information. Theory. Thought. Not action. None of this was my forte. All I could do was the best I could do.
The Morning Walk
I was glad the rest of the family enjoyed their sleep. It made things easier when they woke up closer to late-morning sunrise. We were blessed with two happy babies. Charles and Aeryn would wake up giggling and happy with life. Diaper changes at fifty degrees took a little shine off, but after two and a half years, we were pretty efficient. Dirty diapers? In the garage. They were starting to pile up. I’d have to do something about that, too, along with the fact that no matter what, we would always be dangerously low on diapers. Maybe we needed a crash course on potty-training. They weren’t quite ready, but need was probably going to make it non-negotiable.
I dressed again, putting a coat on Phyllis, but not her boots. Husky came along, too. While taking them for a walk around the neighborhood, my eyes were constantly drawn to things that could be important for our survival. My flashlight acted as a small window to our new world. That thing there would be good. We could use that. I think we could find something useful there. What about the firewood? Maybe we can swap our pellet stove for their wood burner …
The road was still clear as we hadn’t had a snowstorm since the explosion. Would we need to keep it clear? We had a lawn tractor with a snow thrower on the front. If help arrived, a clean roadway would act as a beacon, bringing them to our home. Yes. I would keep the roadway clear, but only one lane worth, two passes with my tractor. Gasoline was at a premium, but worth the cost to welcome the arrival of any help and, as importantly, word of what happened and what our future looked like.
I lost sight of the dogs. I scanned the area with my flashlight, but didn’t see anything. I stopped moving and listened. I heard a rustling by a house up ahead, then I heard the whimpering. I walked quickly that way. This was yet another house where no one had been home since the explosion. Husky was scratching at the door. I knocked and heard a sound inside. I knocked harder. Nothing. There was no heat, and frost covered the windows.
Using my elbow, I tried to break out a window pane. That wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be. I looked around. There was a snow shovel. Using the handle as a ram, I broke through. Shining the flashlight in, there seemed to be dried blood on the floor. Had I really heard a sound from inside? I looked again before trying to climb through the window, and there, two eyes looked back at me. A dog. His fur was matted and there was a big gash in his side.
I heaved myself onto the window ledge. The dog inside growled at me. I pulled myself a little further over the window sill. He didn’t get up. Maybe he couldn’t. Behind him was the carcass of another dog. Without food, they had fought. The winner had been wounded. The loser was dead and partially eaten. It had been only three days.
Was this a sign of things to come?
I did not go inside. There was nothing I could do for the injured dog besides put him out of his misery. I hadn’t thought before about arming myself. It was good that I had weapons. Once again, my mind had gone back to logistics while a dog was suffering. It was time to go.
We quickly returned home where I didn’t bother to take off my coat while I dug out my pistol. “What’s going on?” Madison was alarmed. Her eyes held mine. I didn’t want to tell her. I didn’t want to shock her.
“There’s a badly injured dog. I’m sorry.” I know she wanted to talk more, pleading for hope that the dog could be saved. We weren’t in a position to do that, and not with this dog. We had two small children and this dog had killed out of necessity. Maybe the rest of my family would get to that point of understanding, but not today. I was already there.
I took care of it. And I f
elt horrible.
Back home, I didn’t want to talk about it. I suggested that Madison take a hot shower, using our remaining hot water. The tank should still be warm and there was some pressure in the system. We might as well use it. Madison might as well use it. There’s a lot to be said about a hot shower.
As it turned out, a lukewarm shower, as brief as it was, helped improve her mood a bit. It took most of the pressure in the system to bleed off the cold water, but when the warm water came, it was welcome.
Contrails
As the sun finally climbed over the horizon, the hazy gray of a cloudy day hung all around us. We packed the twins into their car seats. And pulled the Jeep out. Madison shut the garage door and got in.
We were prepared for almost anything. We had cat litter to help us with traction if we got stuck. We had a shovel, an axe, and bolt cutters. We had a tow rope. We had extra blankets, food, and water. I had my pistol. A week ago, this trip would have taken about twenty minutes. I had no idea how long it would take today.
We took our cell phones and charger. No sense wasting recharging power while the engine was running. We also took a Bluetooth rechargeable speaker. It would be nice to play music at home.
We drove deliberately. If we got into an accident, there would be no help. It would make for a long walk home. Damn! I hadn’t thought to bring the sleds for the twins. Without them, a walk home would be almost impossible.
On the Steese, there is a break in the trees where one can see the University’s main buildings on the other side of the city. There were gaps in the smoke and haze that would probably hang over the city for weeks to come. Fires had burned the forests around the university, but the buildings appeared to be intact.
We made it to the gas station at Farmer’s Loop and Steese without a problem. Once we turned onto Farmer’s Loop, we realized how difficult things were going to be.
How many light poles had fallen across the road? How many power lines were in the road? How many vehicles had been on the road during the explosion? We slowed to a crawl. We had ten miles yet to go. We used the shoulder on the north side of the road often to get around the seemingly endless number of light and power poles. It was funny because we often complained about the lack of lighting on Farmer’s Loop.
There was other debris in the road, too. From mailboxes to garbage cans to tarps. Anything that had been outside homes along the road had found its way into the open. Without other traffic, we were able to weave in and out, making some progress. Our biggest challenge appeared a couple miles in. Power lines were across the road. They were at all heights so we couldn’t just crawl over them. I stopped and got out.
I tried pulling some cables down to the ground so we could drive over them. The lines were much heavier than I thought. Time for Plan B. “Get out the axe,” I told Madison.
I couldn’t cut the thick cable with my axe, but the power pole was made of wood. All I had to do was to break the support arm. I waded through the deep snow, setting myself up for a good angle to swing my axe. Madison watched me. She didn’t want to be too close when I was swinging the axe. She knew me.
“Be careful.”
Right on cue.
“Hey, look at that!” She pointed to the sky.
Contrails.
It looked like a commercial jet, maybe a 747 flying from Asia to the East Coast. That was a beautiful thing. To me, it meant that this interruption of our lives was temporary and not a whole new way of living. We cheered!
I set myself in and took a couple small swings with the axe. This wouldn’t take long. I kept a wide stance, so just in case I missed, I wouldn’t hit my foot. I angled the axe head slightly back and forth as it hit the beam. Cracks appeared. I pulled on the wood, then stomped on it. It broke and I fell into the snow.
“Are you all right?” Madison charged into the drift after me.
“I’m fine,” I said as I brushed myself off. “We don’t have too much daylight, so let’s get going.”
We continued to weave in and out of obstacles, but there were too many wires. We had only managed three miles, and we were stuck. It looked like a spider web ahead of us. We needed to turn around and try a different way.
“What do you think of College? Maybe Johansen and then University?” We had to try something else.
“How about Goldstream to Ballaine? That will keep us away from all of this,” Madison offered.
We turned around and went back the way we had come. We had lost a great deal of time trying to navigate through the downed wires. Not much daylight remained.
The destruction along the roads was overwhelming. Farmer’s Loop had houses on both sides. They weren’t the newest homes, but I thought they would have been sturdier. The damage ranged from homes being leveled to just broken windows. None of them looked to be occupied. We scanned the hillside and saw what looked like smoke from a few fireplaces, but that was it. You could count the number on one hand.
Maybe others had pellet stoves like us. Those didn’t smoke very much, but if you didn’t have a generator or battery backup system, then your pellet stove wouldn’t run. They were a convenient way to heat your house when electricity was available; otherwise, not so much.
We covered the five miles north on the Steese highway without any issues and turned west on Goldstream. This road seemed abandoned. There weren’t many houses close to Steese, as the gravel piles that were gold dredge tailings lined both sides of the road. We saw one old lady outside with her dog and waved to her as we drove past. She waved back. It looked like she would have been happy had we stopped, but we were using up our daylight much quicker than I liked. We turned on Ballaine and followed its roller coaster approach as it headed to the eastern side of Farmer’s Loop, close to the University.
The fires had ravaged the hillsides closer to the Loop. The cold and the intervening hills helped keep the fires from spreading, but the destruction was near complete. As we approached Farmer’s Loop, the power lines were back, lying in the road. Numerous vehicles were scattered in and along the road. We purposefully didn’t look inside them. Thank God we didn’t have to get out to negotiate the obstacles. We made good time through this final carnage and to the University.
The University
First impressions were not bad. We drove onto the University campus using Tanana Loop. Trees had fallen and burned away. Debris was everywhere. Fires had burned through the area, taking out most of the family housing. Metal light poles remained standing, sentinels from a time when they had a purpose.
We didn’t talk. The twins were asleep. Although she didn’t say it, I knew Madison wanted to see her building, her office. So that’s where we went. I couldn’t go because of the twins, and we didn’t want to haul them up three flights of stairs, so I offered her the pistol. She hesitated, and in the end, she wouldn’t take it. We weren’t supposed to have firearms on campus. I think the rules had changed, but that didn’t matter anymore.
It only took her ten minutes before she returned. Somber.
“Was there anyone …?” I let the question hang. I hoped that no one had died in the building.
“No. There’s no one there,” she answered. “My office was fine. It’s cold inside. A lot of windows are broken and some furniture fell over, but besides that, things look normal. Where are the people? Where are my friends?”
“And what happened?” I added.
A few professors whom we knew lived just off Farmer’s Loop. We could stop by on our way back home. There was still daylight remaining, plus we had a trail to follow.
The twins woke up when Madison returned. We took the time to change them both. It was nice and warm in the Jeep, but we had to do it with the doors open. Their little bodies shivered when exposed to the elements, and they fussed. We bundled them back into their car seats. We may come back to the university on another day, but for now, we’d check the homes of our friends.
Unfortunately, it was about to get worse. The snow finally started to fall.
; Sickness
The first home, that of Patrice, was empty. Her mini-van was gone and no one was home. No sign of their dog, either. They had left. Without city utilities, they could not survive. Maybe leaving was the best thing for them.
We backtracked a bit from Patrice’s home to get to Farmer’s Loop, where our next stop was the home of Aidan, Sean, and their ten-year-old son. Smoke curled from their chimney. Someone was home!
We pulled in, and Madison jumped out and ran to the door. She beat on it, yelling for her friend and co-worker, Aidan. He opened the door and she jumped forward to give him a big hug. He pushed her away. “Don’t touch me.” He held his hands out, to fend her off. She was confused.
He looked sick. His skin was pale and splotchy. “Radiation.” I’m not sure Madison understood. She was just happy he was alive. “We’ve all got it. You need to get out of here. Go back home and stay away from here,” he pleaded.
“Are you all okay?” It hadn’t hit her yet. The explosion was nuclear. An atom bomb had gone off in Fairbanks.
“No. We’re not okay. We’re dying from radiation poisoning.”
Already?
“Do you need anything?” I asked, leaning out the Jeep window.
“No. Get out of here and get rid of those clothes. If you touched anything, get rid of that, too.” Aidan’s husband was an expert in the field of radiation, although he had focused more on atmospherics. He knew what was happening.
Madison started crying.
“Take care of yourselves and those kids of yours. Now please, go.”
The snow fell lightly; small flakes hit the windshield. There wasn’t any sound. Technology was loud. Without it, the world was a serene place, especially here, especially in the winter.
Endure (End Times Alaska Book 1) Page 3