One Man's Island

by Thomas J. Wolfenden

  As it was, it was only a glancing blow, and the east coasts of both North and South America had it the easiest, only because of the time of day. The effects were the same all over the planet, for gamma rays went straight through the globe in a matter of milliseconds, blocked by nothing, on their unending journey across time and space.

  If anyone was awake when they’d hit, the first thing they would have noticed was that the Aurora Borealis— or Northern Lights— were extremely vivid, and it was the best light show they’d ever produced. With the gamma radiation another phenomenon came along, an electromagnetic pulse, or EMP. That lasted a nanosecond, and when it hit, every single electronic circuit board and microchip, if it wasn’t hardened specifically for EMP, was fried, sending the Earth back over a hundred years technology-wise in an instant.

  All over the world, everything run by computers just shut down. Planes lost power, cars, trucks, buses, trains all shut off. Computers that managed electric generating stations, power grids, nuclear reactors all over the world shut down. It wasn’t pretty. Even though countless vehicles had shut down, they didn’t stop moving, but careened on uncontrolled until slamming into one another on highways, streets and lanes all over the world. In most of the Americas, the majority of the population was home in bed asleep, but travelling west, on the far side of the Pacific Ocean, most cities were still in daylight.

  In Tokyo, where millions commuted in trains and millions of cars every day, there were scenes of the biggest pileups and train wrecks in history. The same was true for Hong Kong, Beijing, Taipei, Jakarta, Brisbane and Sydney. Fires were started all over the world by these wrecks, some of which would burn for days and even weeks.

  Planes fell out of the sky when engines stopped and autopilots quit working, starting more fires. For a while, the Earth was completely dark, as it had been thousands of years ago, until the fires grew large enough to be seen from space. These fires would burn uncontrolled until all the fuel was expended.

  Some things remained untouched by the EMP. Military aircraft all over the world flew on sans the controls of experienced pilots, all military aircraft and equipment was hardened against EMP. The gamma rays left the bodies, but killed almost everyone on the planet instantly. These planes flew on their set auto pilot settings until they finally ran out of jet fuel and fell to the Earth. A KC 135 air tanker was flying in a racetrack pattern over the central Pacific Ocean, where it was scheduled to rendezvous with Air Force One returning from Indonesia. They passed each other right on time, within two nautical miles of one another, but both kept on their merry way. The KC 135 would fly in circles for another three days before falling into the sea, but Air Force One had only enough fuel left to reach central Colorado on its present course, where its fuel tanks and emergency reserves would finally run dry.

  All over the world the Reign of Man ended and the Earth itself went on turning. And just as soon as it did, nature began its slow reclamation of man’s works to control her. The electrical grids were now powerless, the pumps that had kept the Netherlands free of water shut off, and slowly but surely the waters started rising. The same happened in New York City, where miles of the underground subway that sat below sea level filled with water.

  No more would there be armies of workers to repair valves, paint bridges, repair washouts and ice heaves, clean up damage left by storms and avalanches, and maintain the countless computers which took care of such things. Every city in every nation of the world became a huge Necropolis. The monuments man had made to himself would eventually and assuredly be returned to the Earth.

  Some things did keep working, things that had no electronic circuit boards, like the small gasoline powered generator that Tim had set up outside his house. That was still running, along with the refrigerator plugged into it. Tim heard the generator as he slowly stirred from a troubled sleep. The slight hum of the motor reassured him that the gennie was still working.

  He slowly sat up, and in the dim early morning light he looked at his watch, an old Timex wind up he’d had for years. 6:20 AM. His head pounded with the worst headache he’d ever had. It seemed like his skin was on fire, and every joint in his body was screaming. He felt like he’d been beaten with a baseball bat. This is the worst hangover I’ve ever had, he thought as a wave of nausea swept over him. He barely made it to the bathroom toilet, when the contents of his stomach came up. He knelt at the porcelain bowl for several minutes, dry heaving after his stomach was empty.

  He fell back, and sat on the floor for several more minutes, taking stock of himself. His skin really did feel like it was burning. As if he’d fallen asleep on the beach for a whole day.

  He slowly got up and hobbled out to the kitchen, where he lit one of the Army lanterns, and had a good look at himself. He saw his hands first. They were bright red, exactly like bad sunburn. His arms were the same.

  A look into the small metal mirror, confirmed his face and neck were in the same condition. He carefully stripped, then realized his whole body was burned. He immediately discounted carbon monoxide poisoning, because the bright pink actually hurt like sunburn. The wood stove was properly vented.

  Sunburn?

  How the fuck did he get sunburned in his own home on a snowy November night? He went back to the kitchen and took two Tylenol and put the coffee pot on to boil. He looked out the small kitchen window at the snow covering the alleyway. The snow had stopped overnight, and it looked like about a foot of the white stuff had fallen. The sky was clear and starting to grow light in the east. He then noticed there were no footprints at all in the newly fallen snow.

  It wasn’t that odd, he decided. It was still pretty early, and most people would still be in bed. He lit a Winston and contemplated what he’d do today. On another burner of the camp stove, he put a pot of water on to heat for washing up. When the coffee was done, he poured himself a cup, went to his clothes, and picked out underwear, socks and a clean t-shirt. The sunburn was bugging him, not only physically, but mentally. How did one get burned sleeping fully clothed indoors at night?

  With that on his mind, he busied himself with bathing and brushing his teeth. Once he was dressed, he made himself a bowl of instant oatmeal, and ate that with a second cup of coffee. The nausea came back for a minute, but he managed to keep the food down. He hoped he hadn’t caught anything. The Tylenol had taken the edge off his pounding head and the sting from the ‘burn’, but they both were still there nagging him. He looked at his watch again, and saw it was almost 7:30. He’d try and call his brother.

  Picking up his cell phone, he flipped it open. The screen was dark. He knew he had a full charge last night, and it was a new phone, but here it was, dead as anything.

  What else can go wrong? he thought. He finished getting dressed, then went out the back and checked the generator. At least that was still working. He checked the fuel and topped off the small tank, and started the Dodge truck to warm up. He still hadn’t figured out what was happening, but the M880 was hardened for EMP, as were all military vehicles, this one being built at the height of the Cold War. While it was warming up at idle, he locked both front hubs for 4x4 drive, and went back inside to get the .45.

  Retrieving that from his cot, he popped out the magazine and replaced the one round he’d fired last night at the two boneheads. He chuckled at that. What dumbasses. Putting it into a pocket of his Gor-Tex jacket, he headed back out to the truck. He’d drive back to the Armory this morning, call his brother from there, and then later he’d go to the bank and hardware store to get replacement panes for the two windows he’d broken, and locks for the door.

  Backing out into the driveway, the truck made an easy path in four wheel drive. Stopping and looking left to make sure no traffic was coming, he turned onto the side street and headed towards Frankford Avenue. He then noticed that no plows had been through the area at all. That was odd. Frankford Avenue was a major street, and was one of the first plowed. City services must be really going down the sewer. He downshifted up the small hill
, north of the Pennypack Creek Bridge.

  He drove for a few blocks, and realized that none of the traffic lights were working. He stopped dead in the middle of the intersection and looked around. Not a soul in sight. It was eight in the morning on a Wednesday. There should be at least someone around. What the fuck was going on here? He got out of the truck and took a look around, struck by the quiet.

  With the exception of a few birds chirping, there was no sound at all. Well, no sounds he thought of as normal. No traffic sounds, no aircraft sounds, nothing at all. He looked up at the sky and noticed no contrails. There should at least be a few planes flying around. The storm wasn’t that bad. Only about eight inches, he guessed. Not enough to shut down the airports. A chill went over him now, all the way from his feet. The last time the sky was this quiet was right after 9/11, when they closed down all commercial flights.

  What the fuck had happened?

  He looked around again, and saw two bumps in the snow near a bus stop that was back dropped by Saint Dominic’s Roman Catholic Church and cemetery. He took out the .45 on instinct, and made his way through the drifting snow in the street to the bus stop. The bumps were the outline of two bodies.

  He crouched down and brushed the snow off the head of one. The face of one of the two jokers from last night was staring back at him lifelessly, a look of shock permanently etched on his face.

  Due to his years in the military and on the police force, he was used to seeing dead bodies, but he still recoiled at the sight. He staggered back, falling on his rump, and backpedalling all the way to the truck. He climbed back into the cab and slammed the door.

  The heater going full blast was like fire on his burned face, but it reassured him. The face! It was burned just like his! Whatever happened had killed both of them out there. Where was everyone else? He tried to get his breathing under control. He looked out of the windshield, and gripped the wheel tightly as his mind raced.

  He put the truck back into gear and made his way rapidly towards the Armory. He spotted the first snowplow on Academy Road. It was actually a garbage truck, from the Department of Streets, with a plow on the front. It was askew on the sidewalk where it had crashed, taking out a light pole. He slowed going around it, looking into the cab. He saw the driver slumped over the wheel, but he didn’t stop to check on him. Further on, at the intersection of Grant Avenue, he saw a police cruiser, in the same situation as the plow truck. This time he did stop. A cop was a cop, and you always stopped to help a fellow officer.

  He made his way through a snow bank to the driver’s side door of the police car and opened it. The windshield was starred from the officer’s head, but there was no blood, which told Tim all he needed to know. The cop was dead before the impact. The airbag hadn’t deployed, even though it looked like a fairly good crash, maybe 35 MPH or so. He reached over the body and retrieved the officer’s handheld radio. He turned in on, but got nothing. Not even static. Dead as dogshit, just like his phone.

  No, it couldn’t be…

  Was it a neutron bomb? He didn’t think anyone had those. It was just an idea back in the 80’s. Even if it was a neutron bomb, it couldn’t have killed everyone that fast, could it? And if it was, why was he still alive? Why was the M880 still running? He couldn’t answer the first half, but he knew immediately why the truck was still running, it was hardened from EMP.

  His mind was racing a mile a minute when he got back into the truck. He headed off to the Armory once again, passing a crashed car here and there. He pulled into the Armory’s parking lot and got out, walking towards the front door he’d locked himself not twelve hours previously. He stopped and looked around, and noticed the fresh footprints of a rabbit in the snow. And he did hear birds. How could that be?

  He unlocked the front door to the Armory, and as he bounded the stairs, he recalled what he did know about neutron bombs, which wasn’t much. They were supposed to replace regular H-bombs. Dropped on a city or area, they were supposed to release huge amounts of short-lived radiation, killing everything organic, like people and animals, but leaving the buildings and infrastructure unscathed. After about a week, when the radiation got down to an acceptable level, an Army could march in unopposed and occupy the area, without firing a single shot.

  He quickly made his way to the orderly room and his office.

  Opening the door, he went to a file cabinet, and opened the bottom drawer. He pulled out a yellow Geiger counter, with a small blue triangle stamped with “CD”, for ‘Civil Defense’, also a holdover from the Cold War.

  He checked to see if the batteries were good and turned it on, making sure the selector was on the correct setting. He breathed a sigh of relief when it showed only normal background radiation. He went to the window that faced east and opened the blinds, letting in the morning light. He checked it again, and saw just a slightly higher reading, most likely from the sunlight. Good. He was okay in that respect. He peered out the window. It looked like it was going to be a clear day, not a cloud in the sky. He noticed several black plumes of smoke, off in the distance. They were pretty big fires, by the looks of it.

  They had to be crashed aircraft.

  His skin crawled. Not one to be easily intimidated, he was truly frightened now. He sat for a few minutes at his desk, pondering his options. He thought of the bottle of Jameson’s in his desk drawer, but decided against it. He’d need a clear and sober head. The power was on here, he noticed. The emergency generator must be running. The Armory was built back in 1972, and since it was slated as a Civil Defense center, had to have been hardened for EMP, so the generator would run as long as the fuel lasted.

  He then went down to the basement, where the arms room and communications rooms were. He walked past the arms room for now, right to the communications section.

  Most of the equipment was over in Afghanistan with the Brigade, but some of it still remained. He looked through the shelves of outdated radios and field telephones, and found what he was looking for— a digital secure satellite radio, and a hardened laptop computer. He put fresh batteries in both, and turned them on to test them. Both came on in an instant, letting him know they were in working order. Taking these, and several hand held radios as well, he carried them out, along with a large folded satellite antenna, and placed them in the bed of the truck, covering them with a green tarp.

  Going back inside, he returned to the basement and the arms room. The door looked like a huge vault one would find in a bank, which was exactly what it was, made by the same company who made bank safes and vaults. The combination dial turned freely, and he quickly spun the right five digits. The tumblers fell into place and he turned the handle, swinging the door open with a light pull. Inside he saw what he’d expected, not much in the way of weapons, only a few spares and older rifles. He went to one rifle rack in the back of the large room, where there was a full twenty, older M16A1’s from the 80’s.

  Why they’d kept them was beyond him, but all the same, he unlocked the rack from the key on his personal key ring and selected one. He relocked the rack, and went forward to another one, and did the same for a rack of M4 Carbines.

  He took one of these also, and in heading out, grabbed about 30 empty thirty-round magazines, shutting and locking the vault door behind him. These he put into the cab of the truck, and pondered his next move. His mind was flying a mile a minute now. Should he just stay here at the Armory? No, that was no good. Even though there was power, it wouldn’t last for long. Secondly, it’d be a target if it was an attack and an unknown enemy was on its way to occupy the City of Brotherly Love. He’d be better off back at his house, where he could at least hide out for a while.

  Locking the front door to the Armory again, he headed back out to the truck, climbed in and headed back south. As he drove back down Roosevelt Blvd. he thought he’d better get some medical supplies. Pulling into Nazareth Hospital’s emergency room ambulance bay, he left the truck running and cautiously entered the building. The power was out here, and he gu
essed that the hospital’s emergency generator wasn’t protected. When he forced open the dead automatic doors, he was hit with the sickly-sweet smell of death already permeating the building, even with the sub-freezing temperatures. There were several bodies lying about, patients, doctors and nurses. Trying his best to ignore them, he quickly retrieved several packages of antibiotics, pain medications, bandages and suture kits. Hopefully he’d not need any of it, but it never hurt to have it. Stepping over the bodies yet again, he headed back to the truck. Climbing back in the cab after stowing everything, he looked at the doors. He could see one scrubs-clad body lying prone. They really ought to be buried, he thought. But he couldn’t bury them all, could he?

  Then he thought of his brother and his nieces and nephews. He really needed to go over to the house and check on them. Maybe they were okay. He’d get the stuff home, and then he’d head over there. He’d have to scare up some 5.56mm ammo too. There was a gun shop a few blocks from his brother’s house. After making his way back to Leon Street, he parked in his tiny driveway, and made short work of storing everything away.

  He set the satellite radio up on a folding card table he’d taken from the Armory, and ran the long coaxial cable up the stairs, into the second floor bathroom. This was a full bathroom, with a skylight to the flat roof of the row home. He opened this easily and pulled himself up through the open window to the roof, pulling up the cable and antenna behind him. Setting up the one foot diameter “X” shaped antenna expertly on its folding metal tripod in the snow on the roof, he aimed it by guessing the proper angle with a handheld compass he always carried. Climbing back down through the skylight was trickier, and he almost fell on his head.

  Heading back to the kitchen, he turned on the radio and let it do its self-diagnostics check, and when it was through, heard the satisfying beep of the inboard computer synchronizing itself with the orbiting military satellite’s carrier signal. Good. He wouldn’t have to climb through that damn skylight again to realign the antenna. Checking the date/frequency time stamp in the codebook he’d pocketed, he selected the proper channel on the radio. He then looked up the Brigade’s call sign for that day, took the handset and put it to his head. Depressing the push to talk button and waiting a second, he said: “Whiskey six, this is Whiskey Two Six, over.”