by ML Banner
“It will be alright,” Stacy’s friend said, calmly squeezing her hand and the hand of the boy sitting next to her.
Someone yelled something unintelligible, followed by another, and then another, now screeching the same declaration, “FIRE.”
Stacy looked to her left and saw through two of the window seats that the wing on their side was on fire.
Then, everyone could feel it. Their inertia had given way to the greater force pulling on them, gravity. They started to descend, first, a little, then a lot. Within a few seconds, they were spiraling out of control, the planes electronic controls unyielding to the pilot and co-pilot’s physical exertion to keep the plane airborne.
Stacy squeezed her friend’s hand so hard it was turning it blue. She closed her eyes and starting praying the only prayer that came to mind,
“Now I lay me down to sleep
I pray my Lord my soul to keep
And If I die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take.”
33.
Hell Breaks Loose
5:20 A.M.
Rocky Point, Mexico
Most sunrises on their beach, were similarly stunning, with almost imperceptible differences in the new day’s light, breezes, or the ocean waves. This dawn was different, a foretelling already seen by many, but soon by everyone else. The sky sported an extra deep hue of magenta, more common during cloudy mornings, and an unnatural shade of lime. There were no clouds, but for the slight wispy red and green ropes; leftovers from the evening auroras. These heavenly ethereal cords slowly dissipated as the sun stood its ground, as if to command them away, at least for now.
With that, a new day started. It was to be a day no one on Earth would forget.
Max had been up for hours. Troubled first by his dreams, vivid visions of death and destruction, then last night’s light show, both events seemingly predicting what was coming. From what he understood, the CMEs that hit last night were pretty big, but not big enough to cause the destruction he had been most worried about, including their technology. Unfortunately, that was the mission of their much bigger brothers, traveling on their heels. They were due to hit the Earth at any moment. Unlike solar flares, which carry excessive radiation, coronal mass ejections were large clouds of plasma that weren’t directly injurious to humans, but were deadly to just about everything electronic. This one was supposed to be a doozy, potentially many times worse than the Carrington Event of 1859 was.
Because he prepared for this for years, and last night giving Bill and Lisa their instructions, there was little he could do but wait.
His lack of patience for the end of the world to hurry up and get here tickled his desire to find out how much damage the already arrived CMEs caused elsewhere. While the world still had power, he wanted to watch some news. He turned his TV on, which like his computer equipment, was connected to a set of twenty-five back up batteries, charged by the multiple solar roof panels, and shielded along with his office behind the bookshelf. However, because both television and Internet were receiving their signals from satellite, Max doubted the reception would be good due to the electromagnetic waves from CMEs. It showed nothing but static.
Okay, what next? He rolled over to another table further back in the warehouse, and blew the dust off an SSB receiver and fired it up. Rotating the Kenwood’s dials clockwise, his forefinger and thumb eloquently seeking out any human voice, he could find almost no commercial or ham radio stations. He expected this, since geomagnetic storms also adversely disrupted radio signals. The only somewhat discernible station was a French news broadcast. He was somewhat sure the alluring female voice said that Paris was burning, but his French was rusty and the signal was worse.
He searched his shelves for something, anything that was connected to the world. “Cell phone,” he yelped, remembering that he could connect via a Telecell data plan on his phone, which he never used because the cost seemed too expensive. It wasn’t a sense of frugality, but a sense of fairness that prevented him from using his data plan. He did not want to support a company that milked the poor people of Mexico. The end of the world was a worthy exception. He stood up from his desk and reached for his iPhone, noticing then that the phone’s light was on as if a call, email or text had recently come through. It was on the shelf above his desk so he hadn’t noticed it until now and he forgot he still had the mute switch on since El Gordo’s call a few hours ago. More importantly, it occurred to him, he hadn’t checked it since he left the WIFI signal from his ranch. He examined the screen and saw five messages:
> Email (25h ago): Cicada Protocol – Open immediately
> Email (24.5h ago): CMERI Bulletin – A Carrington Event is Coming!
> Breaking News (8h ago): Power out in New York – Fires reported
> Worldwide Alert – Killer solar storm coming (16m ago)
> Text (10m ago): Max my friend we are coming to kill you and your f…
He already read the first message on his computer, which heroically gave its own life to the Cicada cause. He wanted to read the second, third and fourth items, but then saw the last message’s urgency and clicked on it. The text read:
Max my friend we coming to kill you and your friends. We leaving in few minutes. They know you selling guns to Ochoa. Run! God be with you. Pappa.
Ten minutes ago? He grabbed a .45 Glock, one of the many weapons resting atop his workbench. Slipping the clip of the scabbard gloved to the pistol, over back of his pants, under his shirt, where the coolness of the weapon against his back provided comfort. He grabbed an extra clip, shoving it into his back pocket while he ran down the hallway, sliding in his stocking feet. Shit. No time to grab my boots. Punching the door release with his palm, he shoved it open, pivoted and then just as quickly closed it. Stopping for just a moment, thinking of one last thing he might have to do. He grabbed an empty journal book from his bookshelf and walked over carefully to his little Mexican work desk, across from the bookcase, situated so he could do work and see the ocean. Quickly, he scribbled something on the first page, closed it and placed it on top of a shelf just below the desk surface, making sure it was obvious to anyone who looked for it. Finally, he dashed over the threshold of his patio, to reconnoiter hurriedly with Bill, Lisa, and Sally before Rodrigo’s men arrived. He hit a wall of realization, momentarily stopping to assess and let his mind catch up with his eyes. There were two major problems besides their being on a drug kingpin’s hit list.
First, his backyard, patio, and pool area were a mess. Scattered among the debris of what was his tidy patio were the mostly dead carcasses of many various ocean birds. A pelican’s giant body, laid face down, with one colossal bloody wing sticking straight up and through what used to be the glass top of a metal patio table. Blood, glass, and other organic matter pooled below its frame, a memorial to an event that puzzled him. At least a dozen other dead birds lay scattered all over the patio, and another dozen or so in the pool, which had a rosy hue to it. The body of a seagull, floated, its dying twitches causing slight undulations in the pool’s water.
Second problem was that his house and patio lights were out. All should have been on right now even though it was daytime. He flipped a switch confirming there was no power, except of course in his office, which was on a different circuit.
These puzzles were for later.
He leapt into a run, mentally taking an s-shaped route around the debris. His footfalls muffled by their wet sock coverings, made plat-ploof, plat-ploof sounds as he negotiated around the obstacles, slipping slightly around each turn. Passing two stacked chairs overturned in a muddle of reddish water dripping into the pool, he heard buzzing, followed by something sharp biting his wet mop-like feet and right arm, like several pinpricks at once. He bounded past the assault, rubbing his arm, uninterrupted. Leaving wet footprints on the few dry areas of his pool decking.
A noise from the ocean drew his attention. A scream from a kayaker held her paddle up with erect arms, her body convulsing, and he
r hair more rigid crowned a face locked in pain. Then it hit him, electrical current.
"Lisa, move away from the electrical box!" Screaming over their walls. Lisa, turned towards the scream, her finger poised a foot from their outdoor breaker panel. A snake-like arch of current, inches away, ready to strike at its soon to be newly found ground source.
"Get the fuck back," Max yelled this time. Lisa obliged, looking at their bushy haired friend as he cleared the coffee gate in one stride - a gold medalist making record time - running and yelling at her.
A glint of light serenaded her eyes over Max's head. A growing whistle noise, like a train announced its arrival, coming quickly. Its silver coat reflected the sun and the greenish sparkling clouds, fragments of yesterday eve. It was a plane with a tail of black cords, trailing the corkscrewing fuselage. The whistle sound and fuselage were heralding what was now unmistakable.
"The plane is going to crash," Lisa announced her realization, adding an exclamation mark with her extended right finger and arm, which followed the doomed aircraft’s trajectory until they both met the horizon. Her arm and finger were defeated, unable to save the plane. A bright red-orange mushroom cloud rose in the distance.
Max, now at her wing, and Lisa silent.
Then the words poured out, "Oh God. That hit the port. That could be Darla and Danny. We need…"
Max grabbed her roughly and ushered her to the patio door. "Hey. That hur…"
"Where are Bill and Sally?" interrupting.
Crossing the threshold, he demanded, "Where?"
"Did you flip the switch?" Bill was walking towards them from the kitchen, providing half the answer.
"Where's Sally?" ignoring Bill’s question.
"I think..." Noticing his wife's tears, "What's wrong, honey?"
Shaking like a leaf fluttering on a tree in the wind, she was consumed by grief. “They’re all dead." .
"Who’s dead?" Bill asked, unsure what Lisa was talking about.
Frustrated, Max yelled, "Where the fuck is Sally?"
Bill went silent, and Lisa was still sobbing, arms crossed around her chest. Both looked at their yelling friend.
"I'm here, Uncle Max. It just happened, didn't it? We just got hit by a Carrington Flare again, didn't we?” Sally saw her mother’s anguish and rushed over to her, Bill already there. “Mom, what’s wrong?"
Max tried to get their attention back. “It doesn't matter now, just listen…”
“Oh God, Dar and Danny, everyone on that plane, the Kayaker, they’re all dead,” Lisa shrieked hysterically, sobbing now in Bill and Sally’s arms.
“Lisa, that wasn’t Dar and Danny. It was some other plane,” Max stated emphatically.
“How do you know?” Bill asked the question now on all their minds.
“It was coming from the wrong direction, and I don’t think their plane even made it up in the air.”
Another explosion interrupted. This one was much closer.
Bill, Lisa, and Sally stopped listening, craning their heads around the limits of the back windows, attempting to add a visual answer to the illogical clues which was assaulting their senses.
“Please, I need your attention,” Max yelled.
Monroe Michigan
Uta Parkington was running faster than in any marathon she had ever run. When she did run marathons, it was with a clear head and lots of time to think. Now she was running for one reason, fear. She figured she had a minute, maybe less, before the Monroe Power Plant blew up.
Only ten minutes ago, everything at the board went crazy. That is when the first anomaly occurred, a spike in the current readings in the Number One. Then, there was a spike in the Number Two. Finally, the whole board went red. She had never before seen this happen.
When the Number One caught fire, she was perplexed, having no idea how this could even happen. The coal used to fuel each of the burners is separated until it is needed to limit fire damage potential. So, other than what was fueling the burner and a small supply outside of it, there was nothing to combust.
Then the Number Four and Five started spiking at the same time. It was then that she knew they were in big trouble because their output hit 125% of capacity: a figure that was impossible to explain. They were only supposed to generate a maximum of 3,300 megawatts, but somehow, they were now at 4000.
Then she remembered the bulletin a staff member printed and brought in from the CME Research Institute. It predicted a Coronal Mass Ejection, which would induce current, causing over capacity in power plants, even those properly shielded from EMPs. They were not properly shielded.
“Punch up camera one-six for me, Val,” she asked a bald man sitting at a keyboard in front of a couple dozen monitors mounted on the south wall of their control center. An image flickered for a minute, and then the cam from the parking lot showed its image in full color. They could see the secondary parking lot and Lake Erie in the background. It looked like the sky was on fire.
Most of the control room staff stopped their frantic scurrying around the control room, and each tried to make sense of what they were seeing.
Val put the feed up on the main panel screen, twenty feet by twenty feet of vivid color.
In the distance, the transmission lines appeared to be a rope of fire, with the fire coming towards their screen. It was like some sort of gargantuan fuse, and they were the explosive.
“Val, hit the alarm and make the announcement. We need to get out of here, now.”
That was maybe two minutes ago.
Uta rounded the last corner, followed by a dozen of her staff, mostly from the control room. An alarm blared in the background and a red light flashed above their heads every 20 feet. There was only 50 feet to go before they would be able to exit and clear the facility.
We might actually make it, she started to hope to herself.
With more violence than what was generated from the sum of all bombs dropped on Dresden, Germany at the end of World War II, the entire Monroe Power Plant exploded.
Clear Lake, Michigan
Fred was worried about his granddaughter and grandson. Darla was supposed to send an email or text to let him know they made it on their flight and should have arrived in Tucson by now. He turned on his desktop computer, set up by his eldest granddaughter Sally a couple of years ago and waited for it to boot. He always found this to be funny terminology to describe the turning on of the computer.
He opened his email. There was nothing.
He pressed the home button of his iPhone to turn it on. It was another marvel of technology. He swiped his forefinger across the screen to unlock it, and then he dialed her cell number. “The number you have called is not available at this time,” said a stranger’s voice, probably from her provider.
There must be something wrong with the network.
He started typing a new email to Dar and then the computer shut down. He raised his hands and arms up, instinctively wondering what he touched to cause this. The inside lights were out as well, along with the refrigerator compressor, which always made noise. Its silence was noisier to him.
He pressed the Home button on his iPhone again. It was dead too.
He smelled something burning. Standing up, he walked slowly towards the back patio and saw the wood roof of his metal shed was on fire, as was his neighbor’s house.
“Freddie, the house is on fire,” yelled his wife upstairs as he ran outside.
34.
Death is Coming
Rocky Point, Mexico
His driver opened the hood, feeling a sharp pain on his fingertips. Letting go quickly, it closed, the latch engaging again. Rodrigo and two of his men stared at him and the car.
“What is the problem, punto?” Rodrigo yelled at the driver, who was sure the engine to the Cadillac was not the only thing that was dead.
“I don’t know, Rodrigo. All the engines are dead, and I just got shocked. It doesn’t make sense,” the driver replied, sweating profusely even though it was early morning.
After turning from Fremont onto Camino Playa Encanto, a dirt road two and a half miles from the beach and his target, all their trucks died at the same time. It had to be some sort of trick. Maybe Thompson was onto their plan. Maybe somebody tipped him off.
“That punto, Max Thompson is not going to stop us with his tricks. Grab your guns. We walk the rest of the way.”
~~~
“Again, I don’t think Darla and Danny are on any planes. I think they haven’t taken off – it was more of a hope but he wasn’t about to tell them this - and at this moment, we don’t have time to discuss it.” Max pleaded with Bill, Lisa, and Sally in the King’s living area. Lisa had finally settled down a little bit, her body still shaking.
“You’ll remember I told you last night that I was pretty sure that we would be hit by a coronal mass ejection from the sun. Well, we are experiencing this right now. All power is out everywhere and none of your electronics will work. And, you must watch out not to get electrocuted, which is possible around large sources of metal and water. We will survive this because I have about two years’ worth of supplies for all of us. But you have to listen to me carefully.”
Lisa already looked at her watch and then held it to her ear, just to make sure it wasn’t working. It was a gift from Bill a couple of years ago, a combo digital and regular faced watch. The digital display was definitely not working. Sally examined her iPhone and after pushing the side and top buttons, she looked up at Max. Bill was banging on the emergency strobe/radio/flashlight contraption he bought from an airline magazine last year, hoping that repeated beatings would prove Max’s words wrong.
“I know, they don’t work,” Max emoted, making plain his frustration. “I’m sorry to say this, but they may never work again. The world you knew is over. From this point forward, we all need to understand one thing and one thing only: survival.” Max looked at each of the Kings again to make sure his friends were paying attention to how serious he was at that moment.