Getting Out
A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller - The EMP Book 1
Ryan Westfield
Copyright © 2017 by Ryan Westfield
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Any resemblance to real persons living or dead is purely coincidental. All characters and events are products of the author’s imagination.
This book is intended for adults over the age of 18.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
About Ryan Westfield
1
Max
Max sat in his cubicle with his chair pointed to the window. He’d been staring outside for the last twenty minutes, unable to concentrate on his work. On the best days, the work seemed pointless. On the worst, it was a nightmare.
It was supposed to be a good job, decent pay, good benefits. He had a real “career,” unlike some of his friends, who were still working odd jobs here and there. If his parents had been alive, they would have been proud of him.
But it wasn’t what he wanted to do. The problem? He didn’t know what he wanted to do. He only knew that things didn’t feel right. Something was wrong with the world, and Max already knew that it wasn’t going to get any better.
“Psst, Max,” whispered Jeremy, his cubicle neighbor.
“Huh?” said Max, waking up from his little daydream.
“You’ve been staring out the window for like forever, man,” said Jeremy. “Big Tom is going to come around soon, you know.”
“Screw Big Tom,” said Max. Big Tom was the boss, a guy with a much bigger gut than a heart. Max figured him for some kind of sadist who’d happened to get into the line of work that allowed him to pursue his true passion—torturing his employees with meaningless reports and “metrics,” whatever the hell those were.
“What’s that?” said Big Tom, moving slowly into view, blocking Max’s view of the window.
“Shit,” muttered Jeremy nervously. He immediately hunched back over his desk and started working furiously on some meaningless project.
“Hi, Tom,” said Max calmly. He wasn’t in the mood today to really give a shit about any of this. Maybe he should just quit, and head up to the old farmhouse that his dad had left him when he’d passed away. Max had been meaning to head up there and check the place out for a while. The old house hadn’t been used in years, but Max had been toying with the fantasy of creating a homestead there. The only problem? He didn’t know much about homesteading, having grown up in the suburbs away from real nature.
“I heard what you said,” hissed Big Tom, leaning down towards Max, bracing his hands on his khaki-covered knees.
“Yeah?” said Max.
Suddenly, something happened.
The lights went out. Everything went out.
A tremendous silence hung in the air.
“What was that?” said Big Tom, standing up straight and looking around.
Max swiveled his chair around to face his computer again. He felt as if he was expecting something… He had a feeling about what happened, but his mind couldn’t put it directly into thoughts.
The computer was completely blank. Dead.
Max hit the power button, but nothing happened.
“Someone cut the electricity,” shouted Big Tom.
Max looked around, seeing that everyone else’s computers were dead as well. Max picked up the phone. There wasn’t a dial tone. Hastily, he took his phone out of his pocket, but the screen was black.
“It’s not just the power,” Max said.
“They’re going to pay for this,” shouted Big Tom again. “Don’t they realize how much money we’ll lose?”
Max sat still in his chair for a moment.
So it was happening.
This was what he’d been thinking about for two years now: some kind of EMP event. Max didn’t exactly understand the specifics, but he knew that, given the right circumstances, solar flares on the sun could create electromagnetic pulses strong enough to wipe out most electronics on Earth.
This was a big part of the malaise he’d been feeling for so long: he knew that something was very wrong in the world. The infrastructure was simply too fragile. Everything relied on a shipping system, and everything relied on electronics that could easily be disabled or promptly deactivated with an EMP. Or something else. There were a million things that could happen that could cause a cataclysmic shutdown of modern society, and Max had spent hours on the internet reading about them all.
That didn’t mean he was exactly prepared for an event.
But perhaps he was a little more prepared than most. At home, he had a rudimentary bug out bag that he’d started preparing. In it, he had a basic medical kit, some veterinary antibiotics, a hunting knife, an axe, and a couple odds and ends he’d assembled over the years. It wasn’t a complete kit, and when Max’s thoughts turned to it in this moment, he cursed himself for not having gone whole hog on the idea.
Max knew it was time to act.
Everyone in the office was starting to panic, as they pulled out their cell phones and realized that they all didn’t work. They realized, unlike the boss, Big Tom, that this wasn’t just a mere power outage. Soon, everyone in Claymore would be panicking, all trying to drive home. The roads would be blocked off.
Max had one thing on his mind: get home, get his gear, and high tail it to the old farmhouse, where he’d be away from the panic and chaos that would ensue.
Max was surprised how calm he felt, and how quickly his mind went right to the solution. He knew this was his advantage, and that everyone else would take days, if not weeks, to come to the same conclusion.
Max got up from his swivel chair so quickly that it slammed right into his desk, making a huge noise.
Since no machines or electronics were running, the room had fallen deafeningly silent, except for the mutterings of the boss. Everyone else sat frightened in their cubicles, unmoving, perhaps whispering to each other.
Max’s chair made a surprisingly loud sound against the background of dead silence.
“Where do you think you’re going, Max?” shouted Big Tom.
“Home,” said Max, deadpan.
“Dude,” whispered Jeremy, looking up at Max from his chair. “Sit back down if you want a job. He’s in a bad mood.”
“So am I,” said Max.
Max ignored his colleagues and darted towards the exit. It was deadly silent. No one was even whispering.
The overhead lights were of course off, natural lig
ht streaming in from the office windows.
Big Tom moved swiftly to block his way. He stood in front of Max in the doorway to the exit.
Max could feel that all eyes were on him.
One of the precautions he’d taken a year ago, when he’d started getting more into a mindset of preparedness, was to carry a few important and practical possessions with him at all times. One was his well-oiled pocket knife with a thumb stud. The other was his Glock 17, which sat hidden in his holster inside the waist band of his pants, with his shirt un-tucked and covering it. It was considered by some too big to carry daily, but Max had found that once he’d gotten used to it, he didn’t mind it. Most of the time, he knew it was there, but he liked the feeling of the weight and heft against his hip.
But Max had a calm head, and he wasn’t about to shoot his boss for merely getting in his way. He knew that Big Tom wasn’t a serious danger. He was just a nuisance. The real dangers would come in the coming days, provided the power wasn’t restored, and considering the nature of an EMP, Max knew that that wasn’t possible.
“Get out of my way,” said Max in a low and calm voice, but one that meant business.
“You walk out that door, Max, and you’re out a job,” hissed Big Tom. He tried to stand up tall, puffing up his chest. But Max wasn’t the least bit intimidated.
“Don’t you get it?” said Max. “This isn’t just a power outage. Don’t you see that everything’s off? Check your cell phone. This is the end of the world we’ve been living in.”
“You’re crazy,” said Big Tom. But he sounded scared. “I’m telling you, Max. Walk out that door now, and that’s the last straw. You’ve spent too many days staring out the window. One more demerit on your record and you’re done. And forget about a recommendation.”
Max just shook his head in disbelief. He knew people would be slow to catch on, but actually confronting the reality of it was… astounding.
“Out of my way now,” said Max.
Big Tom bowed his head slightly, looking at the ground before stepping aside.
Max was in good physical condition, and Tom could sense that he wasn’t a match for Max, not that he’d ever dream of fighting him. Fighting wasn’t part of the modern cultured world, especially not in an office environment. Instead of thinking about physical capabilities, Big Tom’s managerial head was likely instead filled with ideas about potential lawsuits and demerits of his own that he’d have to deal with, should he find himself in a physical altercation.
Max walked out of the office. He knew it would be the last time.
The door slammed behind him, louder than anything he’d heard in the intense silence surrounding him.
The lights were off in the staircase.
He took a single cautious step past the threshold and paused. When he closed his eyes, he couldn’t tell the difference. That was how dark it was.
There, in the silent darkness of the stairwell, the reality suddenly struck him. His heart started pounding in his chest. The anxiety hit him like a tidal wave. His pulse skyrocketed and his skin felt cold and clammy.
He’d had it together back in the office. He’d been vaguely planning this for years, or at least considering the possibility. He had some gear at home, and he had a plan, unlike a lot of other people. He had enough food for over a month.
But suddenly, none of it felt like it would be enough.
And he was all alone, the silent, dark staircase reinforcing this thought.
Was he really better off than anyone else, or would he become trapped like the rest of them, left to die a slow death of hunger, or perhaps something worse? After all, he still had no idea what had happened.
Max tried to reach into his pocket for his LED flashlight, hoping against hope that it hadn’t been affected by the EMP. But his hand was trembling too much, and he couldn’t even slide it into the pocket of his jeans.
Shit. That was all he could think: shit. His mind was stuck in a loop of panic.
2
Mandy
Mandy had taken the day off from work. She’d managed to wake up early enough to call in, doing her best impression of a sore throat. “I can come in if you really need me,” she’d said. “But I think I might be contagious. You don’t want to see what I just did to the toilet.”
“All right, all right, spare us the details,” her boss had said, laughing. “Come in tomorrow if you’re feeling better. Make sure you call me at the end of the day to let me know how you’re doing. I’ll have to get Rachel to cover your shift, shit…”
Mandy had let out a big sigh of relief and let her head fall back on her pillow. She’d fallen back into half-drunk dreams, where nothing seemed to happen and everything felt static and strange.
At noon, she woke up again, her head pounding from the beers she’d had the night before at the bar. She knocked over the lamp from her nightstand getting out of bed, and stepped right onto a glass of water that she must have left on the floor the night before.
Stumbling into the bathroom, she flicked the light switch, but nothing happened. That was weird. Maybe the bulb was out. She pulled open the blinds to let in enough light to find the aspirin bottle in the medicine cabinet.
She shook out a handful, not bothering to count them, and swallowed them with a glass of water that had been sitting out for probably a week.
She stumbled into the kitchen, where she flipped the light switch. No lights again. She cursed under her breath. The power must be out again in the apartment building. It hadn’t happened in a while.
The last time it had gone out, she’d been living with Ted, her boyfriend of five years, who she’d just broken up with.
She shuddered at the memory of her and Ted huddling under a blanket, playing cards with a flashlight propped up like a lantern.
The memories were still fresh and painful. That was why she’d been out drinking last night with some friends from her old job, who’d promised to take her out and make her forget all about her problems. It hadn’t quite worked out like that, and the main thing Mandy remembered from the end of the night was crying in someone’s arms, drunkenly sobbing about Ted. Ted was long gone, out somewhere in California with his new girlfriend.
Despite her headache, the power outage, and her breakup, not to mention the shitty job she was barely holding onto, Mandy was a woman of internal resources. She decided right then and there to get things going today. She surveyed the apartment, which was a disaster. Normally clean and pristine, it was now full of ice cream containers that she hadn’t even bothered to throw out. The dirty dishes piled up out of the sink and onto the counter.
She poured coffee into the automatic coffee maker and hit the button before remembering that the power was out.
There was a knock at the door, loud and forceful.
“Who is it?” she said sleepily, winding through the mess on the floor of her apartment towards the door.
“Who is it?” she said again, peering through the peephole.
“Mrs. Kerns,” came the reply.
Mrs. Kerns was an older retired woman who lived on the same floor as Mandy. It was just the three of them on the second floor: Mandy, Mrs. Kerns, and a single man named Max, who Mandy hadn’t ever exchanged more than a few words with. He always seemed so serious, and perhaps a little too disgruntled to have a friendly conversation with.
Mandy groaned internally. She didn’t want to deal with Mrs. Kerns right now. Sure, she was a nice old lady, in most respects, but she was not the type of person that Mandy wanted to deal with when she was hung over. And surely Mrs. Kerns would want Mandy to contact the landlord or something.
Mandy paused before opening the door, trying to fix something of a smile on her face. Then she remembered she shouldn’t be waking up at noon, and she sure as hell looked like she’d just woken up. She remembered vaguely calling work and pretending to be sick, so she tried to fix her face into whatever a “sick” expression was before opening the door.
“Mrs. Kerns,” she said, try
ing to make her voice sound a little scratchy, opening the door wide.
“What’s happened to you, dear?” said Mrs. Kerns. “Did you lose power too? Why aren’t you at work?”
Mandy felt immediately overwhelmed with the peppering questions, and wished she’d just pretended she hadn’t been at home. Why didn’t she think of that? It wasn’t like Mrs. Kerns would have seen that the lights were on.
“I don’t have power either,” said Mandy, after a long pause. “I’m sick.”
She hoped that would cover her disarray.
“Might I come in, dear?” said Mrs. Kerns, in that pushy way that older ladies could sometimes so naturally be.
“Um,” said Mandy. “It’s a little messy.”
“My back is killing me, and I left the cane in my apartment.”
Sighing, Mandy stepped aside to let Mrs. Kerns into the apartment.
“My God!” exclaimed Mrs. Kerns upon seeing the horrible mess.
“Yeah,” said Mandy. “Sorry about the mess… It’s been a tough week.”
“Oh, yes, I almost forgot… I heard about Ted.”
Did the whole building know her personal business? Did everyone know that she’d caught Ted cheating on her, talking to his online girlfriend over the internet? Did they all know that Mandy wasn’t exactly sure who’d broken up with who, whether Ted had left her or whether she’d thrown him out of the house?
The two of them sat down on the couch. Mandy hurried to move aside her half-opened laptop and some old magazines that she’d partially torn up in a bad mixture of anger and depression.
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