15 Miles From Home

by P. A. Glaspy

  Cameron put his coat on and they both donned their winter boots over bare feet. As they traipsed through the kitchen, Cameron called out, "Morning, Pap. Going to shake the dew off the lily. Outside. In the cold. Be right back."

  Standing at the stove, Elliott turned and grinned at him. "Morning, Cam. Y'all hurry up. Oatmeal will be ready in a jiffy." He turned back and stirred the pot.

  The boys walked out onto the porch and stopped. The sky was lightening, though they couldn't see the sun from the cloud cover. The ground, the trees, the outbuildings — everything they could see was covered in a thin layer of ice, which was being covered by the steady snow falling. The little bit of light that got through the clouds was making the ice glisten. It was snowing, and the scene was amazing, even to two teenage boys.

  "Wow!" exclaimed Cameron. "That is bee-yoo-tee-full." He enunciated each syllable like a separate word.

  "Yep, pretty cool. But damn, it's cold. C'mon, let's get done and get back inside."

  They took care of their business, even with Cameron playing around — "Look! I made a smiley face in the snow!" — and hurried back into the warmth of the house. Elliott had three bowls of oatmeal set out on the table with honey, cinnamon, dried apples, butter, and milk.

  "Eat up, fellas, we got work to do," he said as he sat down in front of his own bowl.

  Cameron whined, "Work? I thought we were gonna shoot, Pap." He added honey and cinnamon to his oatmeal.

  Elliott nodded and spoke around a mouthful. "We are, but we've got to do a few chores first. Living in the country ain't like it is in Memphis. A power outage out here could take a while to fix, depending on what caused it. That layer of ice I saw on the trees from the window could have broken limbs, which fall on the power lines and pull them off the poles. If there's a bunch down, it could take a few days to get them all fixed. We need to bring a bunch of wood up from the shed and fill up some more water jugs at the pump. We can pee off the porch; the other, we're gonna need water to flush the toilets for. We can throw some of the ash from the stove out there where we're peeing so it don't stink.

  "We need to get a couple of coolers and put the milk and sandwich stuff in them and put them out in the utility room with the freezer. They'll be better off out there as cold as it is. There's some rock salt in there, too. We need to spread it on the steps to melt that ice off. Don't need anybody breaking a hip slipping down the steps. Namely, me."

  "Okay, Pap," Cameron said with a sigh. "We'll do it as soon as we get done eating."

  Aaron said, "Pap, can I use your phone? Mine's dead and so is Cam's. Weird, too, because we both thought we had them charged. I wanted to call and check on Mom, see if the power is out there, too."

  "Sure, let me go get it off the dresser," Elliott replied as he got up from the table. "She's probably fine though."

  "I'll get it. You finish your breakfast." Aaron stood up and took his bowl to the sink. He tried to turn the faucet on then laughed. "No water, genius," he chided himself aloud.

  "Use some out of that jug there on the counter," Elliott said. "We'll heat some water on the stove and wash them up good after we get everything else done outside. Maybe make a pot of hot cocoa."

  Aaron opened the valve on the jug and let the water run into his bowl. "It's kind of like a sink faucet, huh? When did you get these jugs, Pap?"

  "A few years ago. I saw them at Walmart in the camping section. Seemed like a pretty good idea for storing up some water. Even got a couple on sale because they were dented. I'd buy one every month or so until I had enough to store under Granny's old table over there." He pointed to the table in the corner. "Six fit under there perfect and hold enough water to keep me for about a month without even leaving the house — as long as I pee outside. We'll empty that one into some pots and pitchers, so we can refill it while we're out."

  Cameron walked over to the old table and pulled the tablecloth aside. "I used to crawl in here and pretend this was an indoor fort when I was a little kid. I haven't looked under here in years. Nice hidey hole, Pap."

  "Yep. Figured it was a good spot since you weren't using it anymore," Elliott said with a laugh. "Well, let's get a move on, boys. I also need to milk the goats and gather eggs. Lots to do, so we might as well get to doing it."

  Aaron walked into Elliott's bedroom and picked up his cell phone. It was an old flip phone, with no internet, no texting, nothing fancy at all. He opened it and found a small blank screen. He took it to Elliott.

  "So, no one has a charged cell phone? This is nuts!"

  Elliott took the phone. He opened it, pushed buttons, but got no response from the device. "This ain't right. I just charged it yesterday when we got back from your house. My battery lasts for days. There's something going on here." He went to the phone hanging on the wall. He picked up the receiver. It was dead. "Definitely something going on. The reason I've kept this phone all these years is because it works when the power is out and there’s no battery to run down. So, why ain't it working?"

  He looked at the boys. Cameron shrugged. "Maybe a tree fell on the phone line, too. We should go out and look around."

  Elliott nodded. "Yeah. Let's do that. First, let's empty that jug."

  They filled everything they could with water from the container. Elliott set four pots on the stove and turned them down on low. "That should be hot enough to wash dishes in by the time we get done outside. Let's go."

  It took them about an hour to get everything done. The snow switched to sleet and back to snow again a few times, with some kind of frozen precipitation falling continuously. They checked the lines coming to the house; nothing was disconnected. When they had finished the chores, Elliott took his keys off a hook by the back door.

  "I'm gonna go out to the truck and see if there's anything on the radio about this mess. You boys warm up and get some wash water going for those breakfast dishes. I'll be right back." Elliott went out to his truck, a 1999 Chevy Silverado, which sat under the detached carport. He climbed in and put the key in the ignition. When he turned the key to the "On" position, nothing happened. No dash lights, no radio, nothing. He turned it on to "Start" with the same results. He tried it a couple of times, but it was dead. He popped the hood and looked underneath. Nothing seemed out of place. The battery was there. He moved the cables back and forth to check that they were tight. He went back to the cab and tried one more time. Not even a click. He sat there looking at the dark console, trying to work it out in his head.

  No electricity in the house. The phones aren't working. My truck won't start. This is bad, real bad. He got out of his truck, put the hood down, and went back into the house.

  Aaron and Cameron had washed the dishes and were sitting in the living room staring at the glass front of the wood stove, sipping their hot chocolate. Elliott opened the back door into the kitchen. He shook his coat out and hung it on a hook on the door. Aaron got up off the couch and went to the kitchen to make him a cup of cocoa as well.

  "Well, Pap? What'd you find out? Did they say how far it spreads or when the power might be back on?" he asked, as he handed the warm cup to his grandfather.

  Elliott took the cup and went to the kitchen table. "Boys, come in here. We need to talk and get some plans made."

  Confused but curious, the two boys did as their grandfather requested and joined him at the table. Cameron asked, voice full of concern, "What is it, Pap? What's wrong?"

  Elliott stared into his cup for a moment, then looked at his grandsons. "I'm not sure, Cam, but it's something bad. My truck won't start. Won't even turn over. It's like there's no battery in it. Before you ask, I checked and it's there. There's no way that battery is bad. I just got it a couple of months ago. I started adding it all up — the electricity, the phones, the truck — this ain't just a power outage."

  "Then what is it?" Aaron asked, anxiously.

  Elliott looked thoughtful. "I'm not entirely sure. But I think it might be something like an EMP."

  The boys were quiet. After a mom
ent, Cameron spoke up. "Okay, I'll bite. What's an EMP?"

  Aaron replied, "It stands for electromagnetic pulse. We studied it in advanced science. Basically, it's a burst of energy that radiates through the air and fries everything electrical. And it would definitely explain everything that's not working now. Holy crap — do you really think that's it, Pap? I mean, now that I think about it, it makes sense."

  Elliott nodded slowly. "I do. I've heard about them, heard what people think would happen if a big one hit. Just never figured it would."

  "Wow! This is unreal," Aaron exclaimed. "I wonder how big it was, how it happened … you know, what caused it. It couldn't have been a sun spot. We'd have heard about it days ago."

  "I don't know but this sure changes things," Elliott replied. "Boys, if that's what this is, we're in for some hard times … and it may be a while before you see your mom again."

  Cameron sat up straight, his voice laced with concern and a bit of panic. "What do you mean, Pap? Why can't we see Mom? Is she all right?"

  Elliott placed his hand on his grandson's arm. "Calm down, Cam. I'm sure she's fine. It's just — well, we can't get to her and she can't get here. Not right away, anyway. But she's got your grandparents close, and I'm sure Joel will see that she's safe. And I'm gonna make sure you guys are safe right here. I told her if anything happened, they should all come here, and I know they'll do that just as soon as they can. In the meantime, we're gonna do what we can to stay warm and fed. Aaron, get me that pad and paper in the living room by my chair. We need to start planning."

  Aaron went to the living room and brought the requested items back. "What are we planning, Pap?"

  Elliott tore off the top sheet to reveal a clean one. "How to live without electricity."

  Chapter 8

  The Pentagon

  "He's insane. He's totally lost it. He can't do this!" General Everley was pacing the conference room connected to his office like a caged animal. Admiral Stephens watched Everley, shaking his head.

  "Agreed, but how do we stop him? We're at war. The country will be in complete chaos as soon as the people realize the power isn't coming back on any time soon. Do we attempt a coup in the middle of this shit?"

  Everley stopped his pacing. "Who said anything about a coup?"

  Stephens shrugged. "Sounded like that's where you were headed. I'm not really sure what our options are at this point. Either we follow the orders of the commander in chief," he said, rolling his eyes, "or we go AWOL. Personally, I think I'll go with the latter."

  Everley looked at him wide-eyed. "Are you serious? You'd risk your career, your pension, or worse, prison? You would abandon your post during a time of war?"

  Stephens smirked at Everley, then replied, "My career? My pension? Have you even considered the gravity of the situation we're in? It will take years — God only knows how many — to get power restored to this country. Olstein's plan, if you can call it that, is to turn this constitutional republic into a communist dictatorship. As of today, my pension is gone and so is yours. The Bill of Rights and the Constitution are being shredded as we speak. Repeal the Second Amendment? Not giving up the White House? You're wrong, he's not insane; he's fucking brilliant. He's taking the worst situation this country has ever seen and turning it into a win, for him anyway. And the people, the citizens of this great land? The majority of them will be so freaked out by what's going on they'll let it happen — probably encouraging him to do so for the promises of food, shelter, and security. The ones who don't, the patriots who know the value of their freedom and their rights, will be labeled as rebels and enemies of the state.

  "I don't know about you, but I will not go to war against my own people, especially the ones fighting for our rights and our freedom. I will not hunt down individuals because they do not agree with the current administration's ideas for what this country should be, rather than what it is. I'd rather fight by their side … because that's the right side. I'm five years past retirement anyway. I've more than earned the right to step down."

  Stephens rose and walked over to where Everley stood staring at him. He reached out his hand. "Good luck, Charles. I'm going to take the Hummer assigned to me and go pick up my wife. Then, we're going to try to get to my brother's place in the Smokies. You're welcome to join us. 'There's safety in numbers' is not just a saying."

  Everley looked like he was considering the offer; then, he shook his head. "No, I can't go. Someone needs to stay here, to try to keep some semblance of order around here and this administration in check. Good luck to you, too, Arthur. May we never meet across the battlefield."

  Stephens shook his head. "Don't go to war for him, Charles. Remember your oath. You swore to defend the Constitution against all enemies foreign and domestic, not be a puppet for a dreaming dictator. Don't fight your own people. If it comes to that, leave when you can."

  "Okay, I'll try. Be safe," Everley said as he released the admiral's hand and stepped back. He came to attention and snapped a salute to his long-time friend. Stephens returned it.

  "You do the same, Charles. God bless." With that, Stephens walked out of the room. Everley watched him leave, feeling as if he had let an opportunity slip by. He sighed.

  "You're in it now, Chucky boy," he said aloud. "Let's see where this crazy train leads us."

  ~~~~~

  Arthur went straight to the townhouse he and his wife owned in Georgetown. He parked on the street out front and hurried into their home, calling out to his wife, Jean, as he unlocked the door.

  "Jean? Where are you?"

  "In the kitchen, dear. Be right there," she called from the back of the house.

  Arthur didn't wait for her to come to him. He walked through the kitchen door with a purpose she could see in his stride. She looked up and smiled.

  "Or you could come to me," she teased. Seeing the grim look on his face, she asked, "What's wrong? What was the big meeting about?"

  He walked over to her, took his wife by the arm, and led her to the kitchen table. Sitting down beside her, he tried to explain to her what had happened and what was going on. The longer he talked, the more wide-eyed and concerned she became.

  "I don't understand, Art. You're saying the power is not going to come back on?" she asked incredulously, "and we're leaving Washington to go to your brother's place in Tennessee? It's been at least ten years since you've seen or spoken to him. How do you even know if he still lives there? And why do we have to leave our home?"

  Arthur rubbed his eyes, then let his hands continue down his face. "Because everything is going to go to hell really quick, Jeannie. When people find out the power isn't coming back on for a long time, anarchy will be the theme of the day. There will be mass looting, particularly at the grocery stores, and lawlessness will reign. There's over half a million people in DC alone. When the food is gone — and it will be, probably in about a week — the people will panic and do whatever they have to do to feed themselves and their families. The police won't be around because they'll be trying to feed their own families. Besides that, they're not going to work for free, and I'm pretty sure no one's getting paid again for a long time. And on top of all this, the president," he said with a sneer, "wants to shred the Constitution, steal from the people, and keep the White House, apparently for good. This place is going to become a war zone very soon. We can't be here when that happens. We have to go. Philip will be there. I'd know if he wasn't."

  Jean sat staring at him, shock apparent in her expression. She looked around her beautiful modern kitchen, where nothing worked at the moment, then back to her husband. In a soft voice, barely above a whisper, she said, "But how will we live with no money, no home, and no food? We'll be in the same position as everyone else, won't we?"

  Arthur shook his head and gave her a small smile. "No, we won't, because we know what happened; we know what's going to happen; and we're not going to be here when it does. We're going to be in a place where people live more simply, back to the basics." He stood, pulling he
r into his arms. They stayed like that for a few minutes, Jean sobbing softly into her husband's chest. When the tears seemed to be subsiding, Arthur held her away from him and said, "Okay, we've got about four hundred miles to get to Philip's place. We need to get some bags packed and get moving. Pack warm, sturdy clothes; all the soap, shampoo, hand sanitizer, those kinds of things you can get in one bag; any food we can eat as is — you know, that doesn't need to be cooked or heated — as well as any bottle or canned drinks."

  She stopped him. "It's only a six–hour drive, Art. We shouldn't need all the drinks in the house."

  "Depending on what it's like out there, it may take us a lot longer than six hours to get there. There will be dead vehicles all over the roads. There will be people who were in those vehicles, either still in them, or trying to make their way somewhere else. This won't be the straight drive down I-81 we used to make years ago. Right now, we don't even know if we can use I-81. Let's pack like we might not be able to." He leaned down and kissed her on her forehead. "I need to go pack a few things myself. I'll catch up with you in a few minutes to see how you're doing."

  She nodded and watched as he walked down the hall and started up the stairs. When she could no longer see him, Jean started pulling chips and snacks out of the cabinets and setting them on the counter top. She stopped, looked around the kitchen, then into the dining room. The china cabinet was filled with dishes from her mother and grandmother. The sideboard held pictures of their children and grandchildren who were in Texas. Would Art take her to them? Could they get that far? Tears started down her face as she walked into the dining room and gathered the framed photos of her family. She took them back to the kitchen and wrapped them in dish towels, placing them in the bottom of a reusable shopping bag, then setting the chips in on top of them. She wiped her face and continued gathering food from the kitchen she might never see again. At that thought, the tears started anew.