by Td Barnes
“What is wrong, what has happened?” Stacey whispered.
“HEMP,” he said, his raspy voice so low she could hardly hear him. “Some bastard has hit us with a high altitude electromagnetic pulse. We are in a world of hurt.”
Responding to Bradley’s comment about them being in a world of hurt, Stacey knew it had to be something military. She asked the first thing that came to mind, “What about the kids?”
Neither of them noticed the motel manager and his wife standing nearby close enough to hear their exchange. “Electromagnetic pulse? Are we at war?” The manager asked.
Bradley did not answer either of them immediately. He stared at the aurora display for a moment. “I fear the war is over,” he whispered. “Someone has hit the United States with a super-EMP. I imagine we have lost our power grids, communications — our way of life as we know it.”
“I am Sid Farney, former Marine,” the manager introduced himself while sticking out his hand. “You sound like you know about these things. Work out at the Site?” He asked, meaning any of the government facilities in which Beatty provided the bedroom community.
“Colonel Tom Bradley, US Army,” Bradley replied while shaking the man’s hand. “Yes, I know about these things.”
Bradley probably knew more about the aftermath of an EMP attack than anyone in the United States. He had expressed his fears to anyone who listened to expect delivery someday of a terrorist device by ship to some harbor with the same effect, but perhaps not so widespread. A crude nuclear device placed on top of a 50-year-old SCUD missile and launched by a tramp steamer could cause the collective collapse of the nation’s power grid in a matter of minutes.
Even the backward country Iran could launch such an attack and reduce life in the US back to the “Stone Age.” His staff had often studied this scenario and provided a what-if training program on EMP for the Department of Homeland Security and first responder training programs.
He always focused on something like this being a terrorist attack on a local scale, but not a superpower initiating an attack the equivalent of an electronic Armageddon. This far exceeded being a 9/11 event, the standard used for most affiliated terrorist attacks ever since the 2001 Twin Towers attack. The magnitude of the light display marked this being a long-planned attack, occurring much higher in the atmosphere than what Iran could have mustered.
“What do you have in the way of law enforcement in Beatty?” He asked Farney.
“We have a local sheriff’s deputy, a Highway Patrolman, several Nye County deputy sheriffs who contract out at the site and I am sure we probably have some Homeland Security people living here who also work at the site. I know some of them have received first responder training.”
“Let’s locate the deputy and patrolman.”
They located both outside the Nye County Sheriff’s substation where they and several of the local members of the volunteer fire department watched the light show and speculated what it meant. The hood stood raised on the fire truck from their attempt to learn why it would not start. A couple blocks away from the dim light from a propane lantern in the Beatty clinic revealed the town nurse, and some of the EMC trained fire department volunteers treating a gathering of local citizens. They treated mostly minor burns, scrapes, and cuts occurring during their escape from their burning homes, a few banged up from their falling over obstacles in the darkness and one snakebite victim thus far.
A few wandered around in apparent shock and worried, but overall the people appeared to take the emergency in stride. Farney introduced Bradley to the two lawmen.
Bradley shook hands with each of them. “Gentlemen, some bastard hit us with an electromagnetic pulse. I have received training on the aftereffects of an EMP attack and will offer you some guidance if you like.”
“We figured as much. We certainly welcome anything about what we should expect?” The sheriff’s deputy said.
Bradley noted most of the buildings in town either being old mining shacks or mobile homes. He equated this to mean the town probably contained several older settlers and retirees. The health of the people first came to mind. “I noted several senior citizens at the casino last night, which concerns me. Any of them with pacemakers or other implanted electronic devices are at significant risk. I doubt if anyone can do anything for them.
He glanced up at the darkened streetlights. “The electromagnetic pulse passed through everything in town knocking out anything electrical,” he explained. “Even a bunker is uninhabitable against EMP so you can imagine the electrical power damage to the mobile homes and older buildings here in town. I am surprised that more of the older buildings are not burning as we speak.”
Both lawmen indicated agreement with his assessment concerning the pacemakers. The deputy introduced himself as Ben Holly and the highway patrolman as Harry Cordosa, both in their late 30s, close to 6-foot tall and each a well-conditioned 190 pounds. Several residents saw the lawmen accepting this stranger and gathered around to introduce themselves also in hopes of learning more of what happened.
Bradley tried to speak loud enough that those gathering around could hear, but his inability to do so forced the people to crowd in closer to listen. He somberly expressed his theories on the loss of the nation’s power grid, only older vehicles still operational, but without radios, air conditioning, or lights — nothing electrical working unless protected by a metal enclosure such as a Faraday Cage that diverts the electromagnetic energy directly to the ground to save most electronics. It only works if nothing conducts like an antenna.
He turned to face the lawmen. “There are some things that you need to do immediately. I suggest you secure any available fuel products. Once they are gone, that is it. Technologically, we have retarded towards the Stone Age, but are worse off because we do not know that level of life. We now have a twenty-first-century population living in a primitive environment without the required skills to survive. I am sure you have your share of dopers in this town the same that one could expect everywhere. They will be seeking a fix soon and will find no supply. I suggest you immediately secure any medicines and drugs. Otherwise, you will have them banging down doors and people being killed merely because some dipshit believes you might have a pill to fix his or her need. I understand you have several law enforcement residents working at the test sites. Get them organized to manage crowd control and maintain law and order. It will get mean. Declare martial law and take control immediately. You are on your own, so prepare yourselves accordingly.”
He glanced up into the magnetosphere where an aurora is streaking a greenish light display from the solar wind disturbance by charged particles in both solar wind and magnetospheric plasma. The others followed his gaze at something that typically occurred in the polar regions.
“Recognize the fact that whoever did this took away the constitution and civil rights. It appears that you have a good number of technical people living here. We need to know what we have so we can use their knowledge and abilities.” Bradley coldly laid out the facts to the deputy, not noticing when he switched from “you” to “we” while drawing upon his personal experiences in various war zones and from his researched and published knowledge on the subject for the DIA and Homeland Security.
“Get the town leaders together, and I will pass on what we can expect to occur from here out. What military talent do you have?”
“No one on active duty if that is what you are asking. I am sure we have the usual percentage of those who served their time and got out. We do have the large number of experienced law enforcement personnel that you mentioned. The Nye County sheriff contracts law enforcement out at the site. I imagine we have 15 or 20 deputies who live here in Beatty. They work strictly at the site and not with regular law enforcement elsewhere in the county. None of us peons are in the loop with these guys and their classified work. I believe they may even belong to a union.”
“Learn their identities and put them to work gathering up the ammunition in town. You must co
ntrol distribution. Also, disarm the nut cases and do it quick. Prepare your citizens to arm themselves and form into a militia. These deputies are a major asset in this regard. Put their asses to work on organizing town defenses.”
Bradley did not realize his taking control of the town and his issuing orders to its leaders and law enforcement. He would never have given thought to his depending on someone else to take charge of the emergency.
Recalling his seeing a medical clinic a bit earlier, he ordered the deputy to gather up medical supplies and place them under guard, place guards on the food establishments and consolidate food and establish a community kitchen at the school or somewhere similar.
He recalled where he and Stacey dined last evening and said. “Set up a community kitchen at the Stagecoach Casino since they have a propane-fueled kitchen that is still functional. Centralize everything that you can so your guards won’t be spread out.”
“Yes, sir. Anything else?”
It pleased Bradley to see this young deputy taking his recommendations seriously. “You absolutely must secure what little survival assets you have. There will be no more fuel deliveries. You need to commandeer any vehicles that survived. While you’re at it, you’d better secure any fuel, parts, etc. This will give you emergency transportation for a while. When I say emergency, I mean life or death emergency. Otherwise, round up some horses and get everyone become accustomed riding or walking.”
Stacey remained by his side during the exchange of ideas between Bradley and the deputy. He still did not dare think about the fate of their children, family, friends, and his people in Alabama. Bradley saw his recommendations taking hold and placed his arm around Stacey’s waist to lead her away. They walked in stunned silence for a moment with no focus or destination while he wrapped his mind around their personal state.
“Honey,” he said. “The kids were out of town when this happened. Being away from the masses of Las Vegas gives them a significant advantage towards survival like fate placing us here in this remote area. We will survive, and they will survive,” he declared forcefully. “We will survive.” His firm tone of conviction came out sounding harsh. Stacey assumed his meaning it that way. In any case, it did reassure her.
****
Stranded
Tom and Stacey felt keyed up from the morning events and decided not to return to their room where they knew they would be unable to sleep.
They walked across the bridge over the dry Amargosa Riverbed and soon found themselves approaching the Stagecoach Hotel and Casino where they had dinner a few hours earlier.
Drawing closer to the hotel, they saw word of something happening was spreading to the hotel guests, causing a mass exodus of hotel guests rushing out with their luggage to their cars in the crowded parking lot. The automobiles with electronics somehow shielded from the EMP pulse started as usual in very few cases and departed slinging gravel for destinations known only to those in the vehicle.
However, throughout the parking lot, unfortunate guests stood with their disabled vehicles wondering why the car would not start. Raised hoods identified Corvettes and any models constructed of composites rather than metal.
Those affected by the EMP included any vehicles with electric fuel pumps, ignition control systems, ABS systems, digital dashboards, security systems, remote starters, and those with chips embedded in ignition keys.
The unfortunate people are waking up to not having television, phone service or the Internet did not have a clue of the cause for their automobile not starting.
The rapidly changing light display above contributed to the urgency exhibited by those departing the hotel. Bradley quickly realized that most of those leaving did so after hearing a rumor about someone attacking the United States with nuclear bombs. Those departing failed to understand their rushing back home to some city being the worst decision of their lives. They only knew that they wanted to be home with their families and possessions.
The slot machines in the casino sat silent like rows of black ghosts in the dark. A propane lantern flickered in the kitchen to provide the only sign of light in the building. The shift manager, a security guard, and one waitress sat at a counter in the otherwise empty restaurant. Tom and Stacey sat down near the light and the others.
“Hungry?” The manager asked. “The grill is off, but we have food that we prepared for today’s breakfast buffet. It doesn’t look like we will have anyone here to eat it.”
Bradley replied while scanning the dark, empty restaurant. “Save it for the locals. They will need it. I recommended to the deputy that they use your kitchens to feed the people.”
It would be sunup in another hour, and Bradley did not know what to expect when those sleeping in the commotion woke up to no electricity, telephone, WI-Fi Internet, or radio. He accepted the food offer and motioned with his head to Stacey to take a stool joining the manager and the other two at the counter. He noticed when she glanced at her iPhone out of habit before remembering it is a fried piece of junk. There would be no more email, Internet, Facebook, or the Words with Friends game that she loved to play on her Internet social network.
Bradley extended his hand to shake hands and introduced himself merely as Tom Bradley and his wife as Stacey. He saw some coffee still in the carafes and asked for a cup.
“It’s cold,” the waitress commented without taking her eyes off the heavenly light show visible out the window.
“Doesn’t matter.”
“My husband can’t go an hour without his coffee. Caffeine runs through his veins,” Stacey joked.
“Reminds me of my father. He operated a loader out at the Bull Frog. He died a year or so after they shut down the mine.” Both Tom and Stacey still wore their western garb, including their western hats. The waitress looked them over and said. “You must be ranchers. Where’s home?” She poured each a cup of coffee while speaking.
“Here,” Bradley replied with a weak smile after a quick glance out the tinted windows. She did not answer, appearing more interested in the occurrence in the sky.
Bradley finished his coffee, stood up, and peered to the east for a sign of sunrise. He and Stacey stepped out of the casino in time to witness a man and a woman abandoning their car that refused to start.
A short distance away from a man, woman, and two children finished loading their luggage into the trunk and climbed into a highly restored 1941 Ford. The vehicle's license plate identified it as a classic.
The man abandoning his car pulled a revolver out of his waistband and pointed it at the man and his family. He ordered them to make room for them in the vehicle also. Before Bradley could react, the vehicle spun out of the parking lot and headed west to the intersection where it turned left towards Las Vegas.
Word of the EMP attack must have raced through the hotels even at this wee hour of the morning. During their short time in the restaurant, the hotel had emptied into the parking lot with the tourists trying to leave town. Only a few functional vehicles like the 1941 Ford started and left town to a very uncertain faith. “Looks like it has already begun,” he commented to Stacey. “I believe I should find some arms for us. Let’s locate the deputy.”
He left Stacey at their motel room while he walked to the sheriff’s substation where he saw the lawman collecting any vehicle that still ran. Three cars somehow surviving the EMP sat lined up in the street at the Rebel service station. Bradley noted with satisfaction the deputy having installed an armed guard at the station to protect the underground fuel storage tanks.
Deputy Holly saw him approaching and grabbed the arm of a grandmotherly-looking woman standing beside him to point Bradley out to her. Both headed to meet him. “Colonel Bradley, this is Mayor Robinson, Mayor - Colonel Bradley.”
Both the mayor and he extended their hands and started to speak at the same time. “Call me Jeannette,” she said when he yielded to her.
He tipped his hat as taught when growing up a kid on the ranch. “My pleasure, Jeannette. My friends call me Tom,�
�� he said. “I believe we both might be wise to use our titles of authority while in public to establish COG, continuity of government.” He turned to the deputy and told him about the incident in the parking lot of the casino. Both agreed this event merely tipping the iceberg of what to expect.
No-one noticed a man walking towards them out of the darkness. Holly heard the crunch of his footsteps and flipped on his flashlight that, being all-metal survived the EMP. He shined it in the direction of the sound. The man looked about 20 years old, long sandy-colored hair, a large earring dangling from his left ear and both arms covered with tattoos.
“Well, Charlie, I see you are back. Decide to follow orders and drop off your car?” Holly asked with a note of sarcasm.
Charlie ignored the deputy. “Are you that bastard military dude ordering me to turn in my car?” He said to confront Bradley in an agitated tone. Before Bradley could respond, he advanced threateningly with his fists prepared for physical contact.
“Whoa, whoa, Charlie,” the deputy said. He jumped between them to block the aggressor. “I am the one ordering you to turn in your car.” The deputy glanced at a restored 1965 model Ford Mustang with add-on accessories that spoke of affluence. “Charlie, your father owning half the town is not going to change what I ordered you to do.”
"Or what, deputy? Back off cop or I will have your job. My dad might give you a job catching that herd of Dingos hanging out at the town dump,” he said challengingly.
Several of the town's people had gathered for an explanation concerning the light display and wondering about an attack upon the United States. Many stopped in the middle of a sentence to monitor the exchange between the town bully and this stranger speaking with the mayor and the deputy.