Digital Winter

by Mark Hitchcock

  Jeremy hadn’t thought of that. He wondered what else he hadn’t thought of.

  “Regions with enclaves of survivalists and anarchists will be particularly dangerous. Survivalists have been preparing for just this kind of emergency, and they’re armed, which means they can take what they want from others. In the cities, gangs and criminal mobs will have power equal to the police, maybe greater. Do you want me to carry on?”

  “Is FEMA prepared for this?” Barlow’s face suggested he already knew the answer.

  The director of FEMA didn’t hesitate. “No, sir. Not by a long shot. We have stores of food, but not for 315 million people. We have some generators, but they weren’t hardened. We have a lot of work to do to get those things running. My best guess is that only a quarter of my staff and field workers are available.”

  “You’re guessing?” Grundy furrowed his brow.

  “Yes, Mr. Vice President. We all are. I can’t communicate with my office in DC, Security, or our ten regional directors.”

  The president’s eyes traced those around the table. “Monica will be in soon. We found her at her office. Not much she could do there, but she wouldn’t leave the helm. Maybe she has some Homeland Security info for us.” He took a deep breath. “Do you have suggestions for us, Dr. Rouse?”

  “Yes, but I imagine you’ve already considered them, and if not—well, I don’t think you’re going to like them.”

  “I don’t like any of this,” Barlow admitted.

  Rouse pursed his lips. “First, the obvious. I recommend doing whatever is necessary to protect the strategic oil reserves and the fuel reserves at our military bases. It will take a fair amount of fuel to keep generators running once they’ve been repaired. And once this is over—if it ever is—it will be some time before oil production and transportation are back online.

  “Next, thought will need to be given to protecting food reserves and farmland. For the first time in history, our farmers could be in danger from hungry hordes. Most will be safe for a while because many farms are somewhat isolated and transportation is limited.

  “Then…” Rouse took deep breath and exhaled. “I also think you need to prioritize areas and cities vital to recovery and write off the rest.”

  “I don’t think I like where you’re headed with that.” Barlow’s words were cold.

  “I don’t either, Mr. President, but emergency personnel know they can’t save everyone. It’s fine to want to, but it can’t be done. Survival and recovery of the country is at the top of the list. Let’s not fool ourselves. People have died, and many more will die. There isn’t a thing we can do about that, but we can save many. We need to designate areas as camps for refugees fleeing crime-riddled neighborhoods, places where we can protect people.”

  “You know about the conspiracy theories that say your organization has concentration camps for US citizens.” Grundy’s gaze was steady.

  “Yes I do, Mr. Vice President. The claims are bunk. We have staging areas for our workers, and that’s it. We need a presidential order and a directive to the military to allow us to use large buildings—office buildings, college campuses, sports arenas, anything and everything where we can put people for their safety and where we can feed them. We can’t go door-to-door to every home and apartment. Once we have enough vehicles working, we can start transporting any who are willing to go with us. But…” For Rouse to pause wasn’t a good sign.

  “Just say it, Dr. Rouse.”

  “We need to start with areas populated by well-educated people, food suppliers, and workers who can get things done.”

  “And those who don’t fit those categories?” Grundy pressed.

  Rouse simply shook his head.

  Barlow inched forward in his seat. “You’re asking me to designate certain populations as more important than others. We don’t do that in this country.”

  “Sir…” His face reddened. A moment later he slammed his notebook shut. His next words came out rapid-fire. “I don’t enjoy this, Mr. President. I’m facing an impossible situation. It’s the Wild West out there. In a few days we have gone from being a world power to being a third-world country. Money is meaningless. No banks are operating. No ATMs work. Babies are crying for milk, and I can’t do anything about it. All I have is limited information and research that barely applies. I’m open for ideas. Anyone think they have a better feel for this than I do?”

  Grundy started to speak, but Barlow put a hand on his arm. Silence followed the outburst.

  A moment later, Rouse said, “I apologize, sir. I guess I’m a little stressed.”

  “You’re doing a great job, Wade.” Barlow spoke like a father. “We’re all dealing with things beyond our worst nightmares. I can’t argue with anything you said. You’ve helped clarify things for me. This is chaos theory at its worst.”

  Something occurred to Jeremy. “Dr. Rouse, I haven’t seen your family here. As a cabinet member you have a right—”

  “They’re dead.” The man stared at his closed notebook.

  “Wade…” Barlow began. “I hadn’t heard. I—”

  “They were on an airliner. My wife was flying back from London. She had the girls with her. They were already in the air over the Atlantic when the order to ground all craft went out. The first wave of EMP pulses hit before the plane could turn back. They never arrived.” He stood. “I need a moment, Mr. President.”

  “Of course, Dr. Rouse.”

  20

  Roni’s Choice

  Only the most life-threatening conditions warranted surgery. Still, there were too many of those. Some surgeries could be delayed. Even cancer surgeries, except those of the skin, had to be postponed. Appendixes, however, cared nothing about the lack of electricity. Neither did stab and gunshot wounds. Those operations were performed under battery-powered light. Key vital signs were monitored the old-fashioned way: Blood pressure was monitored with manual sphygmomanometers and stethoscopes. EKG monitors were replaced with two fingers on the carotid artery. When possible, surgeries were done under spinal anesthesia and other chemical means.

  The greatest weight fell on the anesthesiologists, who had to sedate and monitor patients. Scalpels worked with or without power. Electrocauterization was out. Small-vessel bleeding had to be handled in other ways. IVs dripped fluid without help of pumps. Roni was beginning to feel like a field surgeon during World War I.

  Her last patient had come through fine, but Roni and her team felt as if they had just finished a marathon. Surgery had become an entirely new experience.

  She stripped off her gloves and surgical gown and exited the OR. Dr. August Pickett waited for her. With him were three uniformed men. US Army.

  “Did the surgery go well?” Pickett smiled. It seemed fabricated.

  “Not the way I like to do business, but he should be fine. Who are your friends?”

  “They haven’t said. They just asked for you.”

  Roni’s heart stumbled as if it forgot its natural rhythm. She assumed this had to do with Jeremy, but she didn’t know if the news was good or bad.

  A young man with sergeant stripes asked, “Are you Dr. Roni Matisse?”

  “I am.”

  “Would you please tell us your husband’s name?”

  “Colonel Jeremy Matisse, United States Air Force.”

  The young man nodded. “And where is he stationed?”

  “I don’t know where he is now. Normally he works out of Fort Meade.”

  “Very good, ma’am. I know I sound overly cautious, but do you have ID?”

  “You could have started with that and skipped the questions,” Roni said.

  He offered a patronizing smile. “No ma’am, I couldn’t.”

  “I have my hospital ID. My driver’s license is in my locker. Don’t have much use for it this week.”

  “No ma’am, of course not. Hospital identification will be fine.”

  She showed the plastic laminated ID with her picture and name.

  “Thank you
, ma’am.”

  “How is my husband?” She had resisted asking the question as long as she could.

  “He is well and has asked that we bring you to his location.”

  “Which is?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t say,” the sergeant said as he glanced at Pickett.

  “I don’t understand. How do you plan to get me there?” Roni took back her ID.

  “We have a vehicle, ma’am. Some military vehicles are still working.”

  She didn’t ask how. She was sure he wouldn’t say.

  “If you’ll follow me.”

  He turned and took two steps. Roni didn’t move. Her mind, however, hit top gear.

  The soldier turned. “Ma’am?”

  “Hang on, Sergeant. Give me a sec.”

  “My orders were to bring you right away.”

  “I get that. Sit tight for a second.” She studied the shine of the corridor floor.

  Pickett stepped closer. “You should go, Roni. We’ll get by.”

  “I know.” She felt as if she were wearing concrete pants. Thoughts buzzed like bees in a jar. “I have a boy with me.”

  The sergeant retraced his steps. “Excuse me, ma’am? I was told you didn’t have children.”

  “We don’t. It’s…” How to explain this. “The social system in the area has failed. I can’t send the boy to foster care.”

  “You didn’t tell me this, Roni.” Pickett looked to be somewhere between peeved and puzzled.

  She smiled as sweetly as she could. “That’s because I’ve been keeping it a secret from you.” Pickett didn’t return the smile. “Look, the kid lost his mother when this all started, and his father was a cop who had been killed in the line of duty. He has no family. Social services is dead in the water, and sending him to some home that has no power and rotting food in the refrigerator would be cruel. And…he’s kind of grown attached to me.”

  “And you to him, it sounds like,” Pickett said.

  “I suppose. I haven’t thought about it that way. Not until now.”

  “Ma’am, my orders are to find you and deliver you to the general.”

  “General? I told you my husband is a colonel.”

  “Not anymore, ma’am.” He looked at Pickett. “Doctor, will the boy be safe here in the hospital?”

  “As safe as any of us are. Most of us can’t get home. We have others in the children’s ward—”

  “Forget it.” Roni raised her gaze. “I can’t leave the hospital. I won’t leave the boy.”

  The sergeant smiled. “The general mentioned you might say that. I’m under orders to ask you to reconsider, ma’am.”

  “Tell my husband there is nothing I want more than to be with him, but I can’t leave now. We’ve already lost too many doctors and nurses. I refuse to leave patients on their beds. I can’t. I wouldn’t be able to face myself when all of this is over.”

  “Understood, ma’am.” The sergeant held out his hand, and one of the other soldiers handed him an envelope. “He asked me to give this to you if you refused to accompany us.” He passed the missive to her. Her name had been written on the envelope—in Jeremy’s hand. Her heart skipped, and she wanted to hug it like a junior-high girl with her first love note.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, ma’am.” The sergeant looked around the corridor. “I see your generator is out.”

  “Yes,” Pickett said. “The wiring is destroyed, and we think something happened to the mechanics.”

  “That’s possible,” the sergeant said. “A lot of generators, especially those tied to computer systems, received greater damage. If you’ll show us to the generator, we’ll take a look at it. The corporal specializes in such things.”

  “That would be wonderful.”

  “It was General Matisse’s idea. He figured Dr. Matisse would refuse our invitation. He also knew you could use a little help.”

  “The whole city needs help.”

  “Yes, sir, but we are limited in what we can do.” The sergeant turned to Roni. “I imagine we’ll be here a few hours, ma’am. If you change your mind…”

  “Thank you, Sergeant.” Roni turned and moved to her office as fast as she could. It wouldn’t do for the others to see her cry.

  Roni vacillated between fury at herself and calm assurance that she’d made the right decision. The hospital needed her. She didn’t come to medicine for the money or prestige; she wanted to help people, to make them whole and well. So her decision was correct. Still, it just felt utterly wrong. She had just turned down the opportunity to ride out the situation with her husband. She didn’t know where he was, but she assumed his setting was better than hers. He wouldn’t have sent for her otherwise.

  Leaning back in her desk chair, she stared at the envelope on the desk. It was plain white, no letterhead printing, inexpensive stock. In the return address spot were a pair of initials: JM. Her name and nothing more appeared in the address area of the envelope. No clues as to Jeremy’s location. At least he was alive—something she didn’t know until the men in uniform showed up.

  She took the envelope in hand again, feeling its texture. The back flap was sealed. The correspondence was meant just for her. A personal note. It took another full minute for her to call up enough courage to open the letter. She removed a letter-sized piece of paper. Like the envelope, it was unremarkable. It had the feel of copier paper, not fine stationary. It was folded in thirds.

  An inner voice said, It’s not too late. They’re working on the generator. You still have time to change your mind. To see Jeremy. To hold him. To inhale his scent. To know that whatever happens will happen while you two are together. The voice appealed to her heart and to her mind. The words made perfect sense.

  “No.” She spoke to an empty room.

  A knock on the door jarred her. She jumped as if her chair had been wired. “Come in.”

  August Pickett swung the door open, entered, and closed it behind him. He sat in a chair next to her desk. The chair wasn’t much to look at. Few people entered her office. She used the room to fill out forms, read e-mail, and review notes about pending surgeries. She took occasional breaks here between surgeries. The space was functional but had the decor of a limestone cave.

  Pickett fixed his gaze on Roni like a father scrutinizing a teenager. “You okay?”

  “Sure. Fine.”

  “That’s good…good.” A brief pause. “Just one more question—are you nuts?”

  “Some have thought so.” The question hurt, but she didn’t let on.

  “I’ve just joined their ranks. You should go. We can get by without you.”

  Roni kept silent.

  “Dr. Matisse…Roni, the hospital was here before us and will be here long after we’re gone. We can manage without you.”

  “You know how to make a girl feel special.”

  “You know what I’m saying. Go. Go to your husband. He may need you. I know you need him.”

  “I can’t, Dr. Pickett. I may not be the keystone that keeps everything going, but we need every pair of hands we can get. We’re short of doctors and nurses. Some are leaving to walk home. I can’t blame them for that, but I can’t be one of them. I’ve done three surgeries since sunup, and we have a backlog of patients. We have them doubled up in rooms and lining the halls.”

  “I’m aware of that, Roni. I’m the hospital administrator.”

  “And I’m the head of trauma surgery.”

  Picket pulled at his ear. His lips tightened. “What if I relieve you of your position? Will you go then?”

  “No. I’ll walk to the next hospital and offer my services. I’m pretty sure they’d take me up on it.”

  “You are the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met.” His jaw tightened.

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t get glib with me, Doctor. I’m trying to help you.”

  She softened her tone. Roni respected the hospital administrator. He was a man of science, a fine doctor, and a superior
executive. He also had a soft heart. When tragedy struck one of the hospital staff, Pickett was there. He attended every funeral and visited every hospitalized doctor, nurse, and janitor. “And I’m trying to help the people who come to the hospital.”

  She set the letter down and turned her chair so they could talk face-to-face. “Look,” she said. “I know it’s not fashionable for doctors to take ethical oaths these days. Many med schools have done away with the Hippocratic Oath, but I take such things seriously. We have damaged people here, and more are probably on the way. This is going to get worse before it gets better.”

  “You can’t know that, Roni.”

  “It’s a pretty good guess. Look outside at the strange colors and falling stars. I know they’re not stars, but you know what I mean. Anyway, something has gone really wrong. This isn’t just a failure of the power grid. If it lasts long, we will have a lot of injured people coming in.”

  “I can still do surgery.”

  “I know. I’m putting you on the rotation list. If the soldiers get the generator running, we can do more than do-or-die surgeries. And we need to prepare for the generator to go out again. Getting fuel for it will become an issue soon.”

  “You know that much about generators?”

  “No, sir, but I’m almost as smart as I am stubborn.”

  He huffed. “That makes you a genius. Let me ask this: Is it the boy? Would you leave if you hadn’t bonded to this kid?”

  That stopped Roni. She didn’t have an answer. Was it Cody and not her ideals keeping her planted in the hospital? “I don’t know.”

  “You asked if the boy could go with you, didn’t you?”

  She had. “It was just a question.”

  “Questions reveal our thoughts. You want to go. You should go.”

  Roni leaned back. “You really want me to leave, knowing you’ll have one fewer surgeon?”

  “Yes.”

  “Liar.”

  Pickett sighed. “Okay, you got me. Of course I want you to stay, but I believe you should go. Now get out of here.”