by James Hunt
He decided to give himself and the rest of his family a few more days before they would head out. He and Kalen had been sleeping during most of the days and nights. He’d never been so exhausted in his life. The days were more for him than anyone else.
The breathing was getting a little easier, but he still couldn’t move around a lot. His body felt like concrete, heavy and rigid. He was resting in his room when Anne came and knocked on the door.
“Honey, Fay’s here,” Anne said.
“Send her in.”
Fay had her daily basket of provisions that she came in from town to get.
“I suppose you still haven’t changed your mind?” Fay asked.
“No.”
“There has to be a way to fix this, Mike.”
“There isn’t.”
“If you could just talk to him. Hear him out.”
“It’s good to see you, Fay.”
Mike didn’t have anything else to add on the subject. He closed his eyes and went back to sleep.
He knew what she wanted. She wanted him to let Jung back in the cabin, into their circle. But it was something he just couldn’t do. Jung crossed a line that he never should have tried. He put Mike’s family in danger, and it almost got them killed. It wasn’t something that he took lightly.
Fay had chosen to stay with Jung and his kids at the motel in town. He knew she felt that he was being too hard on him, but Mike didn’t care. He’d given enough already. He didn’t have any more charity to offer.
***
The cabin was gathered around the dinner table. It was the first time Mike and Kalen decided to join everyone and eat in the kitchen.
There was a sense of relief when everyone saw Mike and Kalen walk in. For them it was a sign of things getting back to normal. For Mike and Kalen, it was them ready to face the people around them.
There wasn’t much talk. A few comments here and there, but Mike was thankful he didn’t have to say anything.
He knew everyone was already aware of the trip to Cincinnati. There wasn’t much objection when it was brought up. Everyone seemed to be glad to go. It gave everyone a sense of hope that once they made it to Cincinnati they’d be safe and that soon they’d be able to go home.
Mike wasn’t sure what home meant to him anymore. He wanted to believe that it was still a place where his family was, and that was true, but if his family wasn’t safe, then how could they enjoy their time together? How was someone supposed to grow and love and feel joy when the constant threat of violence was hanging over their heads?
He couldn’t answer that question now. All he was focusing on were the faces around the table. These were the people he could trust. This was his family.
Six Months after Blackout
Ben Sullivan took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. He’d been staring at data and spreadsheets for the past three hours. His eyes were dry and bloodshot. He needed to take a break.
He walked over to the snack machine and swiped his card. He pressed A7, and a Snickers dropped to the slot at the bottom.
His partner, Mitch, walked in with another file just as Ben was about to take a bite.
“C’mon, Mitch. I need a break,” Ben said.
“Trust me, you’ll want to take a look at this one. It’s Cincinnati.”
Ben raised his eyebrows. He stuffed the rest of the candy bar in his mouth and snatched the file from Mitch’s hands.
He flipped through the manila folder, studying the notes, pictures, and interviews that had already taken place.
“When did he get here?” Ben asked, not looking up from the file.
“About an hour ago. We have him in a holding cell. Should I bring him in?”
“I’ll meet you there in five minutes.”
Ben couldn’t believe it. Since the power came back on he must have questioned more than one hundred people who were indicted with crimes during the power outage.
He was put in charge with investigating all major crimes in the northeast that were committed during the time the EMP blast took out power for the entire country.
Most of the stuff he ran across were murder charges, but this guy, he was a big fish. The allegations coming out of Cincinnati were huge. People were still scrambling to figure out what happened, and if this guy was everything the file was telling him, then Ben could have just found the biggest break of his career.
Ben took a seat behind the two-way glass as Mitch brought in the suspect. His face was bearded, and he looked nothing like the picture in his file.
The violence on this guy’s record was incredible. Ben was surprised they didn’t bring him in with a straight jacket on.
Once the prisoner was secure with his hands and feet shackled, Ben walked in and sat down across from him. He slapped the file on the clean steel table between them, folded his hands together, and leaned forward.
“That file doesn’t paint a very flattering picture,” Ben said.
The prisoner said nothing.
“We’re going to be spending quite a lot of time together, and I can tell you that it will make both our lives a lot easier if you cooperate,” Ben said.
The prisoner wouldn’t look at Ben. He kept his face down, staring at his hands. That’s when Ben noticed the rigidness of the man’s fingers. They were swollen and crooked.
“If you give me something now I might be able to do something about your hands. Maybe a little extra pain reliever? Hmm? How does that sound?” Ben asked.
“Pain?”
“Pain reliever. For your hands. It loos like pretty bad arthritis.”
The prisoner looked up, his eyes shielded from the ragged strands of hair. He leaned forward.
“There is nothing on this planet that can numb me after the things I’ve done,” the prisoner said.
Ben leaned back into his chair. He pulled the Snickers bar from his pocket and took a bite.
“Well,” Ben said, trying to talk and chew at the same time. “It could be a long night for the both of us, Mike.”
Broken Lives
Six Months Before the EMP Blast
Dr. Wyatt’s knee bounced nervously under the desk. The Senate committee would be entering any minute. He kept glancing around, his gaze never staying on one item for too long. The building itself was simple, yet grandiose. It had the stale scent of wood, but the overwhelming sense of power.
His mouth felt dry. He reached for the glass of water and the condensation rolled down the glass and onto his tie. He drank too fast and coughed, spilling some of the water on the files on the desk.
“Damn it,” he said.
The senators entered and took their places while Dr. Wyatt brushed the water off the file with a napkin. Once the senators had taken their seats, the sergeant at arms called everyone to attention.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the Vice President of the United States of America,” he said.
Dr. Wyatt shot out of his chair quicker than the rest of the building. The vice president took his spot at the center of the table, and once he was seated everyone else sat down.
The vice president smacked the gavel on the desk, calling everyone to order.
“Today’s hearing will be discussing the budgetary needs of the nation’s main utility functions. We will hear from one of the EPA’s representatives and the results of his research. Dr. Wyatt, you have the floor,” the vice president said.
Dr. Wyatt took a breath and leaned into the microphone. Feedback squealed and the entire room covered their ears. Dr. Wyatt flushed red.
“Thank you, Mr. Vice President,” Wyatt said. “Senators and guests, I have spent the past eight months reviewing our nation’s security measures for our basic utility functions and the results that I’ve found are disturbing.”
Dr. Wyatt was able to save his notes from the water spill, and he flipped to the first page.
“We’ll start with our water utilities for the eastern hub of the country, as you can see on page two ther—”
“Dr. Wyatt, thi
s committee has not received a copy of your research,” the vice president said.
“Oh, I uh… I thought I had my assistant—”
“Your assistant did not provide us with any of the information prior to this meeting.”
Dr. Wyatt loosened the collar around his neck. He felt hot, uncomfortable. All eyes were on him, waiting for an explanation. When it didn’t come the vice president let out a sigh, looking frustrated.
“Dr. Wyatt, the purpose of this committee is to assess our nation’s utility needs, not to waste the time and resources of our taxpayers by coming unprepared.”
“Of course, Mr. Vice President. That’s not what I was attempting to do.”
“I move we adjourn here and reconvene at a later time when Dr. Wyatt has the courtesy to provide us with the data he allegedly collected over the past eight months.”
Just before the vice president reached for his gavel Dr. Wyatt grabbed the microphone.
“Mr. Vice President, putting this meeting off would be detrimental to national security.”
The room went into a quiet murmur. Senators, political aids, and members of the press whispered to their neighbors.
“Dr. Wyatt, it’s unwise to casually mention the threat of national security in today’s climate in a forum such as this,” the vice president said.
Dr. Wyatt closed the report in front of him. He knew whatever he said next wouldn’t just have an effect on his career but on the entire country as well.
“Our entire national utility infrastructure is at risk. Power and water utilities are completely exposed and if we don’t invest in the resources necessary to protect them, then this country will be sent back to the Stone Age,” Dr. Wyatt said.
“Congress has passed laws to help strengthen our national security and assess all threats to utilities and develop countermeasures to ensure the safety of our nation’s people,” the vice president responded.
“If you’re referring to the Homeland Security Presidential Directives, then I’m sorry to say those measures are nowhere near the level of preparedness that we need. It will only take the demolition of nine power substations around the country and we would be without power for months, possibly over a year, and that’s not even taking into consideration the probability of an EMP attack.”
“There isn’t a known EMP device powerful enough to take out our nation’s power grid, Dr. Wyatt.”
“It doesn’t just have to do with the size or range of the device; you also have to take into consideration the placement of detonation. If an EMP bomb was detonated in the atmosphere over the Midwest the effects of the blast would be felt around the entire country.”
The vice president started to laugh.
“Doctor, what you’re proposing is a missile launch over US soil. If such a missile was launched our air defense systems would be able to handle it.”
“Not if the launch happened internally.”
The vice president’s expression turned from dismissive to impatient. He gripped the microphone on the desk and moved in close.
“Dr. Wyatt, your tone is neither amusing nor welcome. The idea of a missile launching on US soil against its own citizens isn’t just preposterous, it’s treasonous,” the vice president said.
“If we don’t prepare for all possible scenarios then this country will be sent back to the days of horse-drawn carriages and steam engines.”
Dr. Wyatt’s chest was heaving, trying to catch his breath from the anger welling up inside. The press snapped a few pictures before the vice president finally spoke.
“This hearing is in recess until Dr. Wyatt can give us the documented facts of his allegations and present them in a more professional manner.”
The vice president slammed the gavel on the table, ending the session. Dr. Wyatt’s eyes closed when he heard that sound. However long this “recess” was going to last was time he knew the country couldn’t afford. Every minute that ticked by was one less to help prepare.
A few of the reporters came up to him, barking questions, but he didn’t hear what they said. The only sound left was the ringing of the gavel still lingering in his ears.
When the cleaning crew came in he was asked to leave. He didn’t want to though. He knew the world outside would call him eccentric, or a fearmonger, trying to panic the American people.
Outside, the Capitol building was buzzing with tourists running around snapping pictures on the Capitol steps. He walked around to the National Mall and he could see the Washington Monument protruding into the sky. Just beyond that the lights were turning on in the Lincoln Memorial.
The construction of those buildings was a testament to the human spirit, the will to go on; it renewed his strength to keep pushing. The men who made those monuments were the embodiment of this nation’s endurance, of its reason.
It was hard for him to imagine a world where that voice of reason was snuffed out by the fear and hypocrisy of politicians. Whatever fate awaited him after today’s events wouldn’t be as bad as that to come if men like the vice president remained in power.
“I was wondering when you’d come out of there.”
Dr. Wyatt turned around. Walking toward him was a tall, well-dressed man. The cut of his suit suggested wealth, but the manner in which he wore it gave him an air of power.
“I’m sorry. Can I help you?” Dr. Wyatt asked.
“I hope so. My name’s Bram Thorn.”
“What can I do for you, Mr. Thorn?”
“Please, call me Bram.”
“Okay, what can I do for you, Bram?”
“Those comments you made in the Senate hearing today were bold, but I don’t think you got your point across.”
“Those hearings were closed to the general public. The only people allowed to attend were government officials and the press, so which one are you?”
“I’m like you, Dr. Wyatt. A kindred spirit in trying to bring awareness to our nation’s weaknesses.”
“Well, in that case it looks like you’re the only friend I have right now.”
“Then perhaps you could give your friend a few minutes of your time.”
***
Bram’s office had the same opulence as the car that drove Dr. Wyatt there. The office was small, but whatever it lacked in size it made up for in location. It was on the top floor of a high-rise in downtown Washington, DC. The view was spectacular. You could see some of DC’s most notable sites: the Capitol Building, Washington Monument, Lincoln Memorial, and The White House.
“One of the reasons I bought the place,” Bram said.
“Did you know they stopped construction on the Washington Monument for over two decades? When they went to finish it they had to use another type of marble. It’s one of my favorite monuments,” Dr. Wyatt said.
“The storms of winter must blow and beat upon it… the lightnings of Heaven may scar and blacken it. An earthquake may shake its foundations… but the character which it commemorates and illustrates is secure.”
“Who wrote that?”
“It was a speech written by Robert Winthrop at the dedication ceremony of the Washington Monument. Please, have a seat.”
A group of chairs surrounded a small coffee table in the center of the office. As he set his bag down a young man entered.
“Can I get you anything, Dr. Wyatt? Something to eat or drink?” the young man asked.
“No, I’m fine. Thank you.”
“I’ll take an iced tea, Trent,” Bram said.
Trent left, leaving Bram and Dr. Wyatt alone.
“I’m glad you could make time for me today,” Bram said.
“Well, you were a hard man to say no to, what with the phone calls, and e-mails, and the car that you sent to come and pick me up.”
“I know what I want, Dr. Wyatt.”
Trent came back with the iced tea and set it on a coaster on the table, then left.
“What is it that you do, Mr. Thorn, I-I mean, Bram?” Dr. Wyatt asked.
“A few years ago I
engineered a new piece of software that protected financial information. That success led me to expand into the development of hardware. Today my company is the fifth-largest microprocessor manufacturer in the country, and we continue to grow.”
“I can see that.”
Dr. Wyatt took another glance around the office. The place had a simple elegance to it. The office was neither intimidating nor excessive; it was powerfully quiet.