Solar Storm (Season 1): Aftermath [Episodes 1-5]

by Marcus Richardson

  The firefighter sniffed and rubbed his soot-streaked face, revealing white skin. “Christ buddy, the whole world is fucked. We got word from the state when we still had diesel for the genny—the Feds are in lockdown and word has it only a few little piss-ant countries down in the Caribbean are still up and running. Can you believe that?”

  “But…” Jay flexed his hands, in part to keep them warm and partly to keep from screaming. “What about the military? The National Guard?”

  The firefighter laughed. “Who knows? I haven’t heard shit in 72 hours now. Could be World War III going on out there,” he said waving a hand at the desolation, “and we wouldn’t have a damn clue about it.”

  Jay sighed, watching his breath cloud the air for a moment before dissipating on the wind. “So what do I do with the girl?” he asked.

  “Pray,” said the firefighter. “Me and the last of my crew are heading out. There’s only a few holdouts left now; too stubborn or old to leave.”

  “But…”

  The firefighter put a hand on Jay’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, pal, I really am. The hospitals are war zones—people fighting over drugs, right? You’re trying, I’ll give you that. Just make her comfortable and…”

  Jay stared into the stranger’s blue eyes. “And what?”

  “Make sure you dispose of the body when she dies. If you get sick…” He looked at the huddled forms of the passengers in the cruiser. “You’re doing right by your kid—no one will blame you for that. But if you can, switch cars. We heard reports of cops getting a little rough with people in Ohio before the generator crapped out. Some might shoot first and ask questions later. Every man for himself, right?”

  Jay felt his spine go to ice, the cold radiating out to his limbs. He looked at the car. “I didn’t do anything—”

  The firefighter turned to leave. “I believe you. I don’t know what your story is, but you’re not a bad guy—I can see it in your eyes.” He waved at the kids in the cop car. “Listen, I don’t know where you’re heading, but stay off the interstates—we got word they’re mostly parking lots now. People are running out of gas and the cars are piling up, you know?”

  “But…”

  “You want a nickel’s worth of free advice?” asked the firefighter as he climbed aboard the rumbling fire-truck. “Find what you can use, take it, then get the hell out of here and head south. That’s what we’re doing. Stay away from the FEMA camps.”

  “But I thought that’s where we were supposed to go?”

  The firefighter shook his head. “Trust me—stay away from the FEMA camps.”

  "Why?" asked Jay, but the driver put the big truck in gear and rumbled down the street. As it turned the corner, the siren wailed once in farewell and a moment later the only sound he heard was the whistling wind.

  Jay turned back and stared at the kids in the cop car. Three scared, tired faces stared back at him. Leah huddled under a blanket. The cold air blew right in through the busted rear window.

  What the hell do I do now? We’ll freeze to death in this thing before we hit the state line…

  CHAPTER 4

  THE NOISE AND FRANTIC scrambling in the back seat forced Jay’s eyes off the snow-dusted road once more. Leah shifted positions with Hunter as they attempted to perform chest compressions on the poor girl in the blanket.

  “Are you even supposed to be doing that?” asked Thom.

  “I don’t know!” Leah shot back. “I’m just trying to keep her alive.”

  Thom didn’t say anything but everyone in the car knew his silence asked the question they all needed an answer to—whether they wanted to hear it or not.

  Why?

  Jay focused on the treacherous road. Since leaving campus, the roads—though less traveled—became more and more susceptible to winter weather. Jay clenched his teeth as he maneuvered the rattling police cruiser around another accident scene.

  He wondered how long it would be before they saw horses and bicycles on the road.

  Jay grunted as he felt the right tires slip off the roadway on the soft shoulder. He held the car there, perched on the edge of the asphalt until they’d cleared a quintette of burned vehicles, then jerked the wheel hard to the left. The passengers in the back lurched with the car and Leah cursed.

  “Dammit, Dad, she’s dying! Can’t you hold it steady up there?”

  Jay ignored his daughter’s outburst and slowed the car to a shuddering stop.

  “Thanks,” she muttered.

  “Hey man, she’s not like, breathing…look,” whispered Hunter.

  Jay blinked. The sight before him made his chest tighten. He’d cleared the accident scene, but stretching west toward Indianapolis as far as he could see, hundreds—maybe thousands—of abandoned cars lay stacked nose to bumper, all dusted with snow.

  “Oh, my God,” whispered Thom. “How long have they been there?”

  “Long enough,” Jay said, shocked at the sound of his own voice. “This is the mess Mac and I plowed through last week…coming the other way.”

  “She’s not breathing,” called out Hunter. "She's not breathing, man!"

  “I know!” replied Leah. “Breathe into her mouth or something,” she suggested, spitting her words between grunts as she tried in vain to keep the girl’s heart going.

  “Like, kiss her or…?”

  “Just…” Leah said, “…put your mouth against…hers and breathe…for her…”

  Jay opened his door, ignoring the squealing hinges and the exercise in futility in the backseat. He propped an arm on the roof of the car and sighed, letting the vista sear his soul. They could go no further west on this road.

  “Thom, help me!” cried Leah.

  “Oh, God…oh, God…”

  “That’s not helping,” Leah snapped at Hunter.

  “Leah,” Thom said from inside the car.

  Jay closed his eyes. What do I do now? He heard the firefighter’s admonition one more time in his mind.

  "Make sure you dispose of the body…"

  Jay moved to the rear passenger door and opened the crumpled sheet of metal. Inside, he saw Hunter pressed against the far door as if trying to avoid a spreading toxic waste spill—the boy practically crawled up the door.

  “Dad—”

  Jay put his hand on Leah’s shoulder. “Honey, it’s over.”

  “No!” Leah shrieked. She savaged a lock of sweaty hair that fell across her forehead. “No—we can’t…she can’t…”

  “She’s gone, priya,” he murmured, squeezing her shoulder. “It is time for us to leave, too.”

  “Your dad’s right, Leah,” Thom mumbled. “We can’t go any further—”

  “You’re just going to give up, too?”

  Thom sighed and turned away from her. “I don’t know what else to do.”

  “It’s not fair, man—it’s not right!”

  Jay looked at Hunter. He pitied the boy, really—despite the abject uselessness he’d seen from the pothead thus far, Jay could see the girl’s death meant more than just another life lost to senseless post-Impact violence. Becca had become the symbol of their struggle against fate. They were writing their own destiny in a stolen police cruiser, no longer beholden to whatever may come knocking for them, holed up in a burned-out dorm building. They'd struck out into the unknown and to hell with the consequences.

  Jay glared at the leaden sky with its gray, pregnant clouds scuttling overhead. Some consequences you can’t outrun, I guess.

  “We can’t just leave her,” Leah muttered.

  Hunter opened his door and stood, his bloodshot eyes poking out from a tear-streaked face. “We gotta have like, a funeral or something, right?” he asked in a pinched voice. His eyes shifted to Jay’s face. “What do you think, Mr. Leah’s Dad?”

  Jay stared at the kid. You don’t even know our last name?

  “We need to find shelter.” Jay appraised the cloud cover like he’d seen his father do countless times. “There’s snow coming, and we won't be able to k
eep going in this busted jalopy—not with that back window shot out.”

  “We’re sleeping in the car?” sputtered Hunter as he staggered from the car. “With…with her?”

  “We can’t leave her,” Leah pleaded as she exited the vehicle. She smoothed her bulky winter coat and sniffed. “Right, Dad?”

  Jay watched Thom exit on the other side. “We don’t have a choice—”

  “We should at least bury her,” Leah insisted.

  “With what?” Jay asked. “The ground has been frozen for weeks—it’s hard as a rock.” He held up two bandaged appendages that looked more like claws than hands. “Ask me how I know.”

  “How do you—” began Hunter.

  “Oh, shut up,” snapped Thom.

  “Guys, listen,” Jay said with more patience in his voice than he felt. Every part of him screamed to run, to get away from the body, to forget her death spasms and focus on getting home, finding shelter—surviving.

  “Dad,” Leah began.

  “No, listen. I know this is hard for you—for you all—but we can’t waste time taking care of your friend. She’s gone—we may count her one of the lucky ones in the coming days or weeks—and there’s nothing we can do for her. Nothing.”

  “But—’’

  “Honey, I know you want to do something, anything—but we can’t bury her: the ground is too hard and we don’t have a shovel or anything we can use to make a hole. I don’t even know if we have anything we can start a fire with, and that'll be a lot more important to us in the next two hours. Now look, did your friend care about you?”

  “I…don't know…” Leah looked down. “I don’t even know her last name.”

  “Hanse,” Hunter offered. “Becca Hanse.”

  Jay looked at his daughter a moment. “Honey, she cared about you—all of you. From what you told me, there was a group of your classmates who left the dorm before the fight, right?”

  “Yes,” replied Thom when no one spoke. He tightened his hood, staring at the unending line of cars in front of them.

  “Well, that means she cared enough about you all to risk her life to help save yours.”

  Leah looked up at her father. “But she died and we didn’t…”

  Jay sighed. “All that means is you shouldn’t waste the gift she’s given you. Live—and in doing so, honor her sacrifice.”

  Jay counted ten heartbeats before Leah sniffed and rubbed at her nose. She nodded. “I guess…”

  “Can we get moving? I think the wind’s picking up,” observed Thom.

  Jay hugged his daughter, embracing her through their bulky hodgepodge of winter gear.

  “It’ll be okay, sweetie, I promise.”

  “You can’t make that promise, Daddy,” Leah said in a small voice. “Nothing will ever be okay again.”

  Jay hugged her tighter and closed his eyes to fight the upwelling of grief that threatened to swallow him. "You don't know that." He forced his mind away from thoughts of Kate only with a supreme effort that left him trembling.

  “Besides—whatever happens, we’ll be together.” Jay knew the words rang hollow, but he didn’t have anything else to say that wouldn't sound depressing.

  The world was ending, civilization falling apart around them—right before their eyes—and his wife was probably dead. What else could he say that wouldn't be patronizing? Leah was far too smart for mere platitudes.

  He smiled in the face of the cold wind—his daughter was smart. She’d rallied the kids in her dorm and they fought off attackers who’d already killed people across the street. How many other students had done that?

  Jay pulled Leah back to arm’s length and looked into her red-rimmed eyes.

  You look just like Monica. When did my little girl turn into such a woman?

  CHAPTER 5

  KATE WOKE TO A gentle nudge at her shoulder. "Dearie, wake up—I think you need to see this."

  For a split second Kate didn't know where she was. She sat up and her hand went to her waist, groping for the chef’s knife. In a panic, her heart beat faster when her hand grasped nothing but cloth. The fogginess that enveloped her head evaporated, and she found herself in the inside of an RV. The serious-looking little old lady in front of her snapped back into focus.

  The first thing she noticed was the burning smell of gas fumes in her nose. They'd all but disappeared the night before, true to Maggie's words. While moving—with the windows down—fresh air forced the fumes out the back.

  "What—what time is it?" Kate asked in a voice thick with sleep. "Why did we stop?"

  Maggie cackled and adjusted the thick glasses on her nose. "Almost noon. You slept all night and half the day away." A frown creased her wrinkled forehead. She pulled her own bandana up over the lower half of her face.

  "It's no wonder you're so thin, child. You’re exhausted."

  Kate rubbed her eyes and sighed. She took her own bandana and tied it around her face. As Maggie turned toward the front of the RV, Kate slipped her hand under the pillow and retrieved her knife. She stood and deftly draped her shirt over the blade at the small of her back.

  I wonder how long it takes after this thing stops for the fumes to build up like this? She moved forward behind Maggie, tiptoeing past gas cans and supplies that took up every inch of space in the big vehicle.

  Kate moved up front, stepping into what felt like the cockpit of a large airplane. Jonathan sat behind the oversized steering wheel, the blue bandana covering what had to be a mighty frown, judging by the set of his brow. Maggie perched on the edge of the passenger seat and they both stared out the massive windshield.

  "That's more cars than I've seen in the past week," Kate muttered.

  Jonathan grunted. "Been sitting here for the past ten minutes. No one's moved. Somebody came walking by with news the National Guard is somewhere up around the bend, couple miles ahead."

  "Well, it's about time they got their act together," Kate said.

  "You might not say that when we reach the head of this line," Jonathan replied. He turned and cast a rheumy look on Kate's disheveled appearance.

  "They're checking papers, turning people away from crossing the Mississippi. Far as I know, this road," he said, pointing a thick, sausage-like finger at the windshield, "is the only route across the Mississippi for 50 miles in either direction—north or south."

  Ice trickled down Kate's spine. "They're not letting anybody across?"

  "I'd assume the traffic would move faster than this if they were."

  Kate chewed her lower lip. Now what the hell was she supposed to do? Just a few miles ahead, somewhere around the corner through the pine trees, lay the Mississippi River. The last major obstacle in her path, keeping from reaching Jay.

  "Go on, then. Tell her the rest," Maggie said, without taking her eyes off the mother of all traffic jams.

  Jonathan sighed. "They're confiscating vehicles and taking supplies and gas from people who cause trouble."

  Kate gripped the seats in front of her with white knuckles. "Are you serious?"

  Jonathan shrugged. “So I've heard. Could be true…wouldn't put it past the government…”

  "You're worried they're going to take your RV?"

  Jonathan glared at Kate. "Miss, we've got ten times the fuel anyone in their right mind actually needs. Plus an extra vehicle. You think they're going to just wave at us? We've screwed."

  He turned from her and stared at the car next to them. A small child, nose against the window, made a face.

  "That's the scuttlebutt, at any rate."

  "Annnd…" prompted Maggie.

  Kate was so lost in the new worries cropping up in her mind she almost missed Jonathan’s statement. She blinked and looked down at the older men.

  "Wait—what? You're giving me your car?"

  Jonathan cleared his throat. "Well, it's not like I've been able to fit in that thing for the past couple years anyway and she doesn't drive it anymore. I don't know why we even brought the damn thing—"

 
; "Jonathan! Language," snapped Maggie.

  "…and besides," he continued, as if trying to get the words out before he changed his mind. "If they're gonna take it from me, I'd rather have it go somebody who can use it. If the Army takes it, they'll just give it to some damn politician…this way I get to flip them the bird. Greedy bas—” He paused, looking at his wife. Clearing his throat, he continued. "They won't be able to steal our stuff if we give it away first."

  Maggie turned in her seat and placed a paper-thin hand on top of Kate's. Despite the fragility of her hand, the warmth came through strong as sunlight. "What my not-so-eloquent husband is trying to tell you, dear, is that we'd be happy to let you have it. You're in the same boat we are, but you're a far sight worse off.”

  * * *

  Kate looked at the tiny Smart Car's dashboard. She still couldn't believe Maggie and Jonathan had given her the vehicle. However, she had more pressing concerns than how to pay them back. The wall of cars in front of her was just as effective a barrier to getting home as the soldiers at the end of the line of cars or the river beyond. While she had been decoupling the car from the RV, a few people in nearby vehicles offered opinions on what they thought was going down to pass the time.

  More than a few wondered at the strong smell of gasoline that poured out from the RV. Kate and Jonathan ignored them all and tried to focus their attention on what might be happening at the front of the line.

  The consensus seemed to be that the National Guard was implementing a federal ban on interstate travel. Until the government could get back on its feet, the White House issued an executive order that, while not declaring outright martial law, basically did the same thing.

  So travel across state lines was prohibited until the situation was in hand—or at least understood. Rumors flew back and forth down the line of cars, and there was more than a little debate over whether or not the earth would get hit with a second round of CME blasts or if the worst was over.

  Others figured the governor had called out the National Guard to protect the state from a horde of people trying to flee St. Louis. They talked about all kinds of damage and chaos radiating out from the state's biggest city as the people trapped inside fought and struggled to escape.