He scanned the horizon to the west, which was the only basic direction, other than the cove’s entrance, that was not obscured by the looming cliffs and massive trees of Jewell Island. A brilliant, undulating reddish glow immediately drew his attention, completely throwing his mind into overdrive. For another brief moment, he became thoroughly disoriented. Was he looking east at the rising sun? Logically, he knew this didn’t make any sense, but he couldn’t help but wonder. Nothing he had felt or seen since opening his eyes this morning had registered within normal parameters. Of course, he assumed it was the morning.
Alex checked his watch. 5:01 AM. He decided to close his eyes and start over. Sunrise was at 5:50. Morning Nautical Twilight began twenty minutes ago. He looked over his shoulder due east and could see a slight difference between the blackness above and the sky showing between the trees. The sun was rising. Good. He turned to stare at the surreal light show to the west, noting that it resembled a smaller, more menacing version of the aurora borealis. The reddish-purple spectacle changed shape and appeared to pulse over the entire southwest horizon.
He began to rub his face, but stopped and stared through his fingers, arrested by a single thought. Is this possible? A cold shiver raced through him, followed by an emotion he hadn’t experienced since the pandemic. Sheer dread. He lowered his hands to the boat’s starboard lifeline and shook his head.
“No. That’s not right,” he said, stepping into the cockpit to set his mind at ease.
He stepped aft, positioning himself behind the wheel where he could examine the boat’s floating gyrocompass dial. He pressed a small, rubber weatherproof button to illuminate the display, but the light failed to activate. Shit. He took a small LED flashlight out of his pocket and prayed that it would work. If not, they were definitely fucked. The light bathed the gyroscope, but didn’t ease his fears. The gyroscope was frozen one hundred and twenty degrees off from what he knew to be the right magnetic direction.
Slightly panicked, he fumbled to activate the digital chart plotter and navigation system mounted above the wheel. Nothing. The boat appeared to be dead. He reached for the engine ignition panel next to his right foot and opened the Plexiglas hatch. He turned the key and held his breath, not sure what would happen. The engine sputtered for a moment, but quickly turned over and started. The forty-horsepower Yanmar diesel engine hummed, vibrating cockpit and ruining the cove’s tranquility. He pulled the engine kill lever, manually stopping the flow of diesel to the engine and shutting it down. He was relieved the engine started so easily. With the engine working, they could reach the inner Portland Harbor in an hour and a half.
A light from the forward berth suddenly illuminated the cabin, flickering back and forth as the source drew closer to the cabin door. He closed the ignition panel, leaving the key in place, and stepped forward in the tight cockpit to intercept Kate at the screen door. Awoken by the unexpected engine start, she would no doubt be in a hurry to investigate. The door slid open just as he arrived, and he helped her up into the cockpit.
“Why did you start the engine? Did we slip anchor?” she said, shining the light in his face.
“We’re right where we should be…”
“Something is wrong with the lights,” she interjected, turning off her flashlight.
She was in rapid fire, question mode, no doubt brought on by her sudden wake up. Kate was a notoriously deep sleeper, who did not respond well to being jarred awake, under normal circumstances. On the boat she was an entirely different person. She understood the fluid nature of boating, which required quick action and made harsh demands on the body. Boats slipped anchorages, storms arrived unannounced and equipment failed…often in the middle of the night, always the least opportune time.
She’d grown attuned to the kinds subtle, out of place sounds that would have no chance of waking her from a foam mattress induced slumber on Durham Road. On the water, Kate and Alex were equals, waking up to the slightest changes in the boat’s orientation or splashing outside. She came back from these trips utterly exhausted, getting a brief, transient taste of how Alex felt year round.
“What do you think that is?” he said, pointing to the bright red and purple aura to the west.
She stared off into the distance, shaking her head slowly before finally shrugging her shoulders.
“Looks like the northern lights, but the wrong color. That’s not north, is it?” she said, finally rubbing her eyes and yawning.
“Southwest,” he stated, gripping her hand.
“Why did you start the diesel?” she insisted, still mesmerized by the colors dancing playfully above the southwestern horizon.
“Because I didn’t think it would start. I’ve seen pictures of that before. In 1962, the U.S. detonated a one point five megaton nuclear device four hundred kilometers above the Johnson Atoll in the Pacific. This is what they saw nine hundred miles away in Hawaii. None of our electronics work,” he said.
“Fuck. You don’t think that was a nuke, do you?” she said, stepping off the cockpit bench.
“I don’t know, but I saw a massive flash of light from the south,” he said, pointing over the island off the starboard side, “then I felt a strange tingling, like I was about to get hit by lightning.”
Kate let go of his hand and descended the cabin steps. Her flashlight illuminated the main cabin as soon as she hit the deck, and Alex heard her try to activate the VHF Marine Radio at the navigation table.
“The radio is dead. So is everything else at the nav station,” she said.
“All of the navigation gear is either connected to the radio antenna or the GPS receiver…all located at the top of our mast. An EMP wave would travel right down the wire and fry everything,” he said.
Kate directed the beam from her flashlight at his face in response to his statement.
“Will you stop blinding me with that damn light?” he said.
“I’m sure you’ll be fine. Have you checked the portable electronics?” she said.
“No. Grab the handheld VHF and GPS plotter. That stuff should be fine. Get the cell phones too. I’m going to see if I can restore electrical power to the lights and a few other systems,” said Alex, approaching the cabin door.
“I wouldn’t worry about the lights. It’s almost dawn. Get the water pumps and the head working. What about the bilge pump?” she said.
“It’s hardwired to the battery bank, like the engine. Should be fine, but let’s check,” he said.
Alex waited for Kate to gather the handheld electronics from a cabinet above the navigation table and move to the small couch across Emily’s bed. Their daughter had begun to stir in her sleep, but hadn’t made any major movements. He really hoped she would stay asleep until they made a comprehensive assessment of their situation. They needed a little more time to think before adding a panicky teenager to the mix.
He illuminated the electrical panel and noticed that all of the breaker switches had been tripped. Alex expected to see this. He flipped all of the switches and tried the light mounted to the navigation table. Nothing. He knew it wouldn’t be that easy. The electrical surge generated by an EMP didn’t give surge protectors or breakers time to react to the change in current. Unlike a lightning strike or home surge, which builds up over the span of a few micro-seconds, the EMP surge is a front-loaded wall of energy that overwhelms these basic protections before they have time to “react. By the time the breaker trips or the surge protector closes the circuit, susceptible equipment down the line is damaged.
Beyond the microwave oven, radio and the navigation equipment, most of the gear connected to the boat’s electrical system didn’t contain any of the sensitive microchips susceptible to an amplified EMP wave. The lights should work, unless the breaker mechanism itself had been damaged by the intense current passing unchecked during those critical micro-seconds. He suspected this was the case, which meant that they would have to do without the electrical system on the return trip to Portland.
“The brea
ker appears to be damaged. We’ll have to use the manual pumps to draw water. As for the head, I’m not sure what we can do. I don’t think it works without electricity,” he whispered.
“Not a big deal. We’re not that far from Portland. The handheld stuff seems to works fine. Can you tell if we are getting a signal?” she said, holding up the illuminated GPS plotter screen toward him.
He was relieved to see that the device functioned. Expert opinion vastly differed on the impact of an EMP on small electronic devices. Some claimed that everything with a microchip would fail, while others thought that devices disconnected from the power grid, or a long wire, stood a fair chance of remaining functional. He took the GPS unit and examined the screen. The small satellite icon in the upper right corner indicated that the unit received a satellite signal. He navigated through a series of onscreen menus to get more information.
“It says we’re tracking six satellites. That’s good news. See if you can pick up anything on the radio. Let’s take this topside so we don’t wake the kids,” he said.
Kate followed him up the steps and into the cockpit, where a refreshingly cool sea breeze greeted them, evaporating the small beads of sweat that had formed on Alex’s forehead in defiance of the chilly, coastal air. Despite the relatively calm demeanor he projected, he was terrified by the prospect of what lie ahead for them. He had little doubt that society would collapse. Confidence in the government’s ability to handle a major crisis was at an all time low.
The 2013 pandemic had exposed the nation’s essential service infrastructure to a slow burn, which caused a rapid, critical failure across the board, launching the country into chaos. While the northern most states and the upper Mid-west added freezing temperatures and winter storms to the disaster already unfolding, the warmer regions were hit the hardest. The harsh winter weather dampened and eventually extinguished the widespread rioting, looting and violence that continued unabated in cities like Atlanta, Dallas, and Los Angeles. Even the mid-Atlantic cities saw their share the devastating civil unrest that ultimately claimed just as many lives as the H16N1 virus.
Not much had changed on Capitol Hill. The likelihood of another pandemic virus striking in our lifetime was a statistical impossibility, claimed the epidemiologists…and they were probably right. Funding for national emergency preparedness remained level and consistent with pre-2013 levels, with few politicians willing to suggest cuts, especially with over twenty-six million deaths attributable to the inadequate pandemic preparedness budget authorized by Congress in the years leading to the Jakarta Pandemic. Of course, with the U.S economy making slow, but steady gains, even fewer politicians were eager to increase disaster preparedness funding or spend money infrastructure improvement programs. Major natural disasters had been shrugged off for decades, given a flurry of attention for a month and pushed to the sidelines.
Alex and Kate understood that United States could not weather another nationwide disaster, and had taken the appropriate precautions to ensure the safety of family and friends. They would all converge on the isolated farm in Limerick, Maine, where they could live off the grid indefinitely, until society settled back into a routine. Standing in the open cockpit of their boat, staring at the blood red, man-made magnetic aura spread over the continental United States, a sudden realization struck him, nearly buckling his knees. Ryan. He took a seat next to his wife and spoke.
“We have to get back fast. I give it two, maybe three days before all hell breaks loose in Boston. We need to get Ryan out of there and…” said Alex.
“If it hasn’t been nuked,” interrupted Kate.
“I don’t think…”
He stopped to consider the flash of light that had woken him. It had come from a different direction than the red atmospheric aura. Was it possible that the United States had been attacked with nuclear weapons? One flash. That was all he had seen. He expanded the scale on the handheld GPS plotter to make a quick calculation. He created a waypoint over Boston and started the navigation function. The system plotted a straight course from the boat to the waypoint. He stood up and compared what he saw on the GPS chart to their physical orientation in the cove.
“The flash was centered there,” he said, pointing his entire hand directly south. “Boston is almost twenty-five degrees to the right of that. If it was a nuke, they’d detonate it directly over the city. That was somewhere pretty far off Cape Cod,” he said, not completely convinced by his logic.
“I hope you’re right,” she said.
He placed the GPS receiver on the top of the cabin and pulled used both hands to pull her off the bench. She came reluctantly, the grim nature of their circumstance weighing her down. He embraced her tightly, but kissed her neck gently, followed by her ear. He drew his face even with hers and stared into her eyes.
“I’m just as scared as you about Ryan. He’s going to be fine. We’ll get this boat back to Portland, and I’ll bring him home to you. I promise,” he said.
She nodded and met his lips for a brief moment, before placing her head on his shoulder.
“I know it’ll be fine. We’ll be fine,” she said, sitting back down and rubbing her face.
“I think we should wait until there’s enough light to see the lobster pots on the water. The last thing we need is to get tangled up and kill the engine. It’s 5:09 right now. Sunrise is at 5:50. We get underway fifteen minutes after that. That give us plenty of time to get our shit together, secure for sea…maybe try to raise someone on the handheld radio. I wish we one of the satellite phones. If the GPS satellites are still working, there’s a good chance the SAT phone network is intact. That’s all high orbit stuff...typically hardened against radiation,” said Alex.
“Remind me why we don’t bring a SAT phone out on the water?” she said.
“Because we don’t go far enough out to need one. We never leave Casco Bay,” he responded.
“I think we need to add them to the required equipment list,” she said.
“If we take another sailing trip, I’ll make sure to throw one in the bag. Anything else?” said Alex.
“I’ll wake the kids and start tidying up below,” she announced.
Kate stood up next to him, just as the wind picked up. The boat started to swing on the anchor line to face the new wind direction, which pointed directly where he had seen the flash of light. He heard a few trees snap in the distance before he reacted.
“Get below! Now!” he yelled.
Through the clear vinyl window of the dodger, he saw the lead edge of the airwave explode through the trees along the low cliff. He pushed Kate the rest of the way down the stairs and ducked his head into the cabin, moments before a dark wave of rocks and tree limbs pummeled the sailboat with thunderous jolts. Kate pushed Emily back into the L-shaped couch serving as her bed and jumped on top of her to keep her down. The boat lurched sideways with the initial blast, knocking Alex into the galley, where he tumbled to the deck, smashing his elbow against the counter. Within seconds, the debris shower abated, leaving them in absolute silence.
“Ethan! You alright back there!” he yelled through the open hatch a few feet away behind the galley.
“I’m fine. What the hell happened? The lights don’t work,” said Ethan.
“Grab your flashlight and get dressed. I need you out here in thirty seconds. Emily, change in the vee-berth. All hands on deck immediately. We have a problem,” said Alex.
“You think?” said Kate.
“You have no idea. We need to go topside to clear the mess and assess damage. We don’t have much time,” said Alex.
“I thought we weren’t leaving for another hour,” she said.
“I don’t think that’s an option anymore. Talk about this topside?” he said, pointing at the open hatch at the top of the stairs.
When Alex’s head emerged through the cabin hatch, the first thing he noticed was a half-inch thick layer of dirt covering every horizontal surface in the open cockpit. The second anomaly to catch his attentio
n was a jagged ended, two-inch diameter branch protruding above his head, blocking him from standing fully erect and stepping into the cockpit. He pushed the branch to the right and maneuvered through the opening.
“Be careful,” he said to Kate, who squeezed through and joined him to survey the scene.
The branch had penetrated the left vinyl window of their dodger, stopped by the thick tangle of smaller branches that struck the dodger’s thick, aluminum frame. If he hadn’t pushed Kate out of the way to get down the ladder, the shredded edge of the branch would have impaled him. The sheer randomness of his survival reminded him of his combat tour in Iraq. The odds always caught up with you. A sick feeling rose from the pit of his stomach. He wanted to take a seat, but there was no time to for it. He stood on the cockpit bench and assessed the situation.
In the monochromatic, dark blue lighting, he could see the rest of the fifteen-foot branch hanging over the port side of the boat, straining the lifelines. His flashlight penetrated the darkness, exposing the rest of the boat. Kate’s light joined the effort and they scanned for obvious damage.
“I see a few branches and rocks, but nothing else. How’s your side?” he said.
“Same. This branch is the worst of it,” she said, directing her light at the fresh wood exposed at the torn end.
“Jesus,” she whispered, touching the sharp edge of the branch.
“Jesus is right,” he said, moving quickly aft to back of the cockpit.
He searched the murky water for their dinghy, hoping that he hadn’t expended all of their luck avoiding the deadly branch. The gray inflatable bobbed in the water along stern and appeared undamaged. He stepped out of the cabin and onto the swim deck, pulling the dinghy next to the boat.
The Jakarta Pandemic Page 49