Righteous Gathering: Book 1 of the Righteous Survival EMP Saga

by Timothy Van Sickel

  I take a right heading off the mountain towards the little town of Central City. This high in the mountains, the few homes and farms are almost completely surrounded by state game lands and state forest. The houses I do pass show no signs of activity, the owners probably stuck at work or in town. About two miles down the road I encounter my first obstacle. It happens to be Thad Jones, on his old John Deere, moving his hay baler down the road to another hay field he leases as part of his dairy operation. Being the first person I have seen since the world changed, I have to stop and see what he knows.

  "Hey Thad, did you see those planes go down?" I ask.

  "What planes?" he asks. "I seen some planes earlier. Probably bringing the DC bigwigs in to spout off over at that dang Memorial ceremony thing. But nothin' other than that."

  "That Memorial ceremony just went to crap," I say. "We been attacked again and 9/11 just got a hell of a lot worse. Check your cell phone, Thad. It's dead, and so is everything else electronic. I watched three planes nose dive. Big fireball and boom over towards Pleasantville. There are hundreds of pits in the ground all over this country now, just like Shanksville."

  "Huh?" Thad responds. Looking at his cell phone he says, "You're right, it's dead. What do you mean we been attacked?"

  "I ain't got much time, Thad, but someone nuked us and it fried everything electronic, cars, planes, computers. You name it, if it's got electronics, it's probably broke. Where's your wife?"

  "She went in to see her Mom at the home, like every Tuesday," Thad responds.

  "Go back home and drop the baler. Get some cash and head in to pick up her up. While you're there, buy anything you think you may need. You ain't going to be able to buy nothin' in a few days. Sounds weird, but buy salt, canning jars, spices, bleach, first aid stuff. I know it sounds crazy, but it's true. You'll see. You won't have no lights when you get home. Say a prayer, brother; this is going to get bad. I'm heading into Johnstown for the wife and kids."

  "Shit, you ain't shittin' me, are you?"

  "No, no I'm not," I say grimly as I pull off.

  As I drive off, I think to myself that Thad is a devout Catholic, never misses mass, always volunteering for the fish fries and annual bazaar. It may be Armageddon, but no Rapture, I convince myself. A mile down the road I see a car, hood up, driver poking around at the engine hopelessly. I drive around him.

  I pass three more cars like the first one before hitting the small town of Central City. A very small town, literally one light, not currently working, and a wreck. It's minor and I don’t recognize the folks so I drive on. I have a more important mission, my wife, my kids, and my grandchildren.

  I hit State Route 160 North. It's a sparsely traveled road, except for coal and logging trucks. It will take me through the remote hills and forests for the next ten miles. Then l'll get to Route 56, a four lane that will take me into Johnstown. I hit the pedal to the metal. Now that I'm off the county roads, I can start to put on some speed. But I have to quickly slow down as a log hauler is stalled in my lane and two pickups are on the left hand berm, stalled, hoods up, drivers looking confused. I keep going.

  Driving a little slower, I pass several more stalled cars and trucks. One guy stuck in a ditch tries to flag me down, but I keep going. It causes a dilemma in my mind--I should stop and help. But I can't. I'll never reach Rebecca.

  I see thick black smoke up ahead, oily and dark. It's too close to be from something in town, it has to be something bad on the road. I slow down a bit as I come up to a few sharper turns in the road. I see the source of the smoke, and it is bad. A coal truck couldn't make the turn at the same time as a car was coming the other way. It is not pretty. Car meets coal truck is never good. The truck is off the road and overturned, the car and truck are on fire, I don’t see anyone. My heart aches as I drive on. I pray for their souls. I pray for forgiveness.

  I travel several more miles. More dead vehicles and minor wrecks. I'm coming up on the intersection with the four lane. I slow down, expecting trouble. I expect that I'm going to have to dodge and go. I'm only a few miles from Becca's office now. Nothing is going to stop me.

  At the intersection, cars and trucks east and west bound were stopped at the light, and sit dead where they were stopped. The north and southbound traffic on Route 160 did not fare as well. There is a serious head-on in the middle of the intersection. An overturned coal truck that couldn't make the turn is off the road, in the ditch. So are several cars and a pickup. There are flares out. People are trying to help the injured. There is no cop car present but there is a cop, trying his best to keep people calm and take control of the situation.

  Everyone is startled as my big Dodge van rolls through the intersection. I dodge them and the wreck, and start to head westbound on four lane Route 56. Too late, the cop realizes a vehicle has pulled through his intersection, and with great agitation he runs towards me in my van, trying to stop me. But by this time I am heading west and he is in the rearview mirror. I keep rolling.

  Rebecca's office is only three miles away. But in two miles I will start to hit a big shopping district with lots of traffic, people, and cops. Funny, I think, traffic will be stalled vehicles and bewildered people with agitated cops having no clue as to what has happened. No patrol car, no radio, no command system, and no word as to what has happened or what to do. As much as I respect law enforcement, in this situation, they could be the loose cannon that ends my world, literally. Dealing with them is going to be a big challenge. But I will do what I need to do to get my family back to the farmstead.

  I see two Harley Davidsons heading east towards the mountains. Guy and a girl on each bike. They have saddlebags and bedrolls. I wonder if they know what's happened and are heading to a safe place. Or are they just getting out of town, fleeing the chaos to come? I wonder how many bikes are still running.

  Heading up the hill towards the shopping district, it is almost impassable with stalled cars and confused commuters. I'm on the berm several times and almost have to run a few people over who are trying to stop me. Close to the top of the hill is a residential road I can take to bypass the shopping areas. I have to slow down to make the turn. The four-lane light must have been green because there is not a line of stalled traffic, but there are two wrecks and lot of people. I can tell there are several serious injuries from the condition of the cars and the grouping of the people, some kneeling down attending to the injured. Three guys try to stop me. They catch me by surprise because I am gawking at the wrecked cars. Before I can lay on the horn and speed up, they box me in. This is not good.

  I hit the horn hard as I lean out the window and holler, "Outta my way, I got to pick up my wife and kids!" The three of them start heading towards my door. I move my hand to the pistol grip of my Glock.

  As the first one reaches the door he pleads, "We gotta get my wife to the hospital, she's hurt real bad. The phones don’t work, none of the cars will start, hardly anything is moving. You gotta help us!"

  Unwittingly they have opened a path for me to get through. My heart breaking. I look at the distraught man and say, "I'm very sorry but I got to get my wife and kids." I lay on the horn and step on the gas as they jump from the sudden noise and movement. Turning on the side street, two of them chase after me shaking their fists. The third, the husband, falls to his knees, crying. I say a prayer for them, and me.

  I ask God, "How can I do this? How can I save my family and ignore these people who are hurting? Am I going to lose my soul? Dear Lord, please forgive me." Even if I tried to help, it would be pointless. Getting to the hospital, which is all the way through town, would be almost impossible. And the hospital will be as disabled as everything else. The EMP will have fried all the modern medical equipment; even the backup systems and powerful modern generators will be fried. Many patients are dying right now, or dead. "Dear Lord, give me strength, that I may make it through this day. Grant me the wisdom to know when I can truly help or when I must move on. Be with us all as we face the challenges of th
is day," I pray out loud.

  I am only a half-mile from Becca's office. But I have to pass a few busy streets, a couple of schools, where some of my grandkids are, and then the township office; and the township police department. Anxiety grows in my chest.

  At the top of the hill is the secondary school. It looks like a fire drill. All the kids are out on the large lawns, grouped by classes, I guess. The teachers are trying to keep some semblance of order. The younger ones seem to be taking it in stride, sitting on the grass, talking amongst themselves. The older ones look to be getting restless after an hour with no explanation and no activity. The administrators, I assume, are gathered talking animatedly. Several turn and stare at me, some with bewilderment, as I drive past. I try to catch sight of my grandkids, but the crowd is too large, so I concentrate on what's ahead, the township building, the police department.

  There are two cruisers in the parking lot with two officers and a couple of civilians. They are spread out along the sidewalk standing and kneeling over a bunch of equipment. I see two more civilians and another officer walk out the door with more equipment and boxes. I realize it's laptops and printers, communications gear and even fire extinguishers! Being too dark inside the building they are bringing it outside, trying to figure out what works and what doesn't.

  Besides a few stalled cars, my path is clear. I step on the gas and make the turn towards Becca's office. This brings a reaction from the police as they see a working vehicle. I see one grab his radio, as if to call to someone, as they all start running towards me shouting. I have mobility on my side so I keep on going. Radio dude throws the radio down as he realizes his futility. The other two pull side arms and aim in my direction. Oh crap, I think.

  But nothing happens. I am already out of range, and I have broken no laws, I don’t think I have anyways. Not yet. I keep going.

  As I pass the college, there are people all over the place, including on the road. But they move aside at my approach. Again I get the stares and some urgent waving and yelling, but I drive on. I have a mission. Wife, kids, grandkids.

  Chapter 3 The FuneralLate July, 2011

  We buried my father today. Next to his wife of 62 years, in a family plot in Pittsburgh, near his aunt and uncle, and his parents. It was a sad day. It brought back memories of my mother as well as my father. I miss my mother, and now I will miss my father too. But they brought me up well, in the Church, and I will celebrate the good life they both led.

  We have all returned back to my parent's farmstead in the Laurel Highlands. Even though it is a long trip from Pittsburgh and I am the only one who lives nearby, we have gathered at my folks "retirement" home, because we all now consider it home.

  My folks moved here almost twenty years ago, before my dad actually retired. We all fell in love with the place. It is where we have celebrated holidays, gone hunting and fishing together, grew closer to each other, even though we were all grown and living our own lives by the time they moved here. My wife and I were even married here. We held the ceremony by the pond, and moved to the front lawn for the reception. Despite us all having been raised in Pittsburgh, going to the farm in the Laurel Highlands is really going home for us all.

  It’s a rather large gathering, my two brothers, my three sisters, their spouses, all our kids and grandkids. Add in a few remaining aunts and uncles, many cousins and many friends, both from Pittsburgh and Somerset, and there are over one hundred people here.

  And we are here to celebrate a life well led. My father is in heaven now with the Father. And we all celebrate what a blessing he and my mother have been to so many people. Being brought up in a strong Christian family brings a different atmosphere to a funeral.

  My oldest brother, Paul, rises and clamors for attention. "I want to thank you all for coming out and spending time with us here at Mountainside to celebrate the life my father led. It has been said you can tell a man's worth in life by the gathering at his death. And while we all will miss him, his legacy will be carried on by us all. The morals and values that he instilled in us, have been passed on to his many children and grandchildren, and have been spread not only across western Pennsylvania, but also from coast to coast.

  "Dad taught us so much. Integrity. Selflessness. Independence. Humor. Compassion. But most of all, he taught us love. How to love and respect our wives, how to love our children, heck, if he managed to love us, we gotta be able to love our children!" A few snickers are heard around the crowd. "But seriously, most importantly, he taught us to love God and respect his Word. I think that is reflected in all who are here. We know he is in heaven, with Mom, smiling down on the legacy that they left behind together. I pray, literally, that we can follow in his footsteps. Again, thank you all for coming. Celebrate the legacy our father has left behind and celebrate the honest and generous life he led. Before we eat, Reverend Jones will say a blessing."

  Reverend Jones stands, "Paul said it well, a man's worth can be judged by the offspring he produces. And in Peter's case, that is more than just his children, but also in the many lives he has effected. Let us thank God for the bounty he has provided us.

  "Dear Lord, we thank you so much for allowing us to know Peter, a man who followed you daily and, like Peter of the Bible, truly built churches in honor of you and your love for us. Peter once told me that a parent's most important mission in life is to lead his children to Christ and life eternal. I believe Peter left this earth having completed his most important mission.

  "Father, may you bless this gathering, that we may be nourished in spirit and may you bless this food that we may be nourished in strength and, like Peter, may we honor you in all we do. Amen."

  As unofficial host, I rise and let everyone know to help themselves to the buffet and refreshments and thank them once again for coming to both mourn our loss and celebrate our father's life and legacy.

  I sit with my wife Rebecca, Paul, John my other brother and their wives, Eve and Jan. John, always the tactful one says, "You know, Mark, this place is all yours in the will. Do you think you can handle it? Lotta land, lotta upkeep. Heck, me and Jan could move into the old farm house and help you out."

  Jan quickly chimes in, "We're not moving way out here to the top of this mountain, a thousand miles from anything! I like it quite fine with neighbors I can see, and a store closer than five miles away! Besides, how would we ever visit the kids, it takes two hours just to get to the airport!"

  "But Jan," John says, "we could be totally self sufficient! Raise some cows and pigs, get some chickens, plant corn, even barley and hops for some beer."

  "Well, ya better plant some grape vines too because you're gonna need some pretty good wine to get me out here," Jan quips.

  "Y'all are too much," I say. "But you are exactly right. Self sufficient living, that's how we're going to swing it. Rebecca and I are going to move our small operation out here. We already have ducks and the goat, we'll just expand a bit. And Thad down the road, he has always wanted to grow corn up here. I could lease him about sixty acres, that'll pay taxes and upkeep."

  "You up for that, Becca?" asks Eve.

  Becca responds, "I love my animals! So long as Mark takes care of what comes out the back end, I'll take care of what goes in the front end." That gets a good chuckle from everyone at the table.

  "I don’t know how that deal got started," I say, "but that seems to be the way it works. And they all love her and couldn't give a rat's ass about me! Go figure!"

  We continue to talk of the farm and my parents and how they loved the outdoors. We talk of how much they taught us, from tying knots and cutting down trees to making jellies and canning venison. My dad loved red raspberries and blueberries. There is still a large patch of each that he tended out by the barn. We all got raspberry jam every year at Christmas. And if you were here on a Saturday morning, you got blueberry pancakes, just like when we were kids.

  My youngest sister, Lessa, and her west coast husband, Josh, approach us along with their three teenage children
. "Mark, you have to show us around! The kids have never been here in the summer and I don’t think Josh and I have since Mom and Dad finished the house. It's absolutely beautiful with the trees so green and everything in bloom!"

  "I'd love to, Les," I say. "I need to stretch my legs a bit anyway. Who's up for a nice walk?" My brothers and wife decline, enjoying the memories they are sharing.

  As I rise, my oldest stepdaughter, Mellonie, and our son-in-law Brad, step up with their two kids. Brad is retired military. Having often been stationed overseas, they have only been here once, for the wedding. "We'd like the grand tour too, Mark. Come on Mom, show us around." Rebecca, not wanting to miss time with her kids and grandkids, agrees to go with us.

  "We'll walk out the road to the old farm house and then swing down past the pond and back up around to here. That will give us a good walk without trekking too far or going off the path," I say as we start out.

  Heading past the hundred and thirty year old barn, the grandkids pester to go inside. I show them the old tractor and a couple old farm implements. I point out the massive beams still holding the place together, forty-foot chestnuts, hand hewn. On the lower level I show them the stalls and feed troughs still in place, and the original stone foundation, recently repaired, that holds up the large structure. The kids want to climb to the hay loft and explore, but still being in good clothes, their parents shush them along, out the old rolling doors.

  We walk past the raspberry patch, and I show them the large vegetable garden, idle this year because of Dad's poor health. Next is the blueberry patch and we stop long enough to pluck a few and pop them in our mouths, sweet and juicy!

  We reach the old farmhouse, still in good repair, its chestnut framing holding up strong. It's just off from the property line, but still a quarter mile from the county road. It’s typical of a nineteenth century farmhouse: two stories with an ell shape, kitchen in the rear, full front porch, three chimneys. It has newer vinyl siding but, thankfully, whoever did it made sure to maintain the classic architecture. Kids being kids, they want to climb the apple trees in the back yard, but again we shush them along.