by W. B. Martin
Amanda had climbed into the back seat to watch the kids with Meredith. Matt rode ‘shotgun’ with the rifle leaning against the seat.
Paul watched as Ed disappeared around a large rock outcropping. The river was on their left now and the highway narrowly skirted the cliff up ahead. Paul eased the Chevy around the turn and quickly hit the brakes.
About a hundred feet up ahead a log barricade had been placed in the road and Ed stood with his hands raised.. Paul turned off the car, and climbed out. With hands raised, he stood next to the open door.
“Who goes there? And what’s your business?” a voice from behind the barricade yelled.
“I’m General Ed Gale of the Idaho National Guard. We’re trying to get back to my command in Boise.”
“You don’t look like no general, Mister. Where’s your uniform?”
“I was on vacation when the lights went out. My family is in the car. Will you let us pass?” Ed asked.
“Advance. I assume you got some ID. And no funny stuff or Virgil here will drill you,” the voice said.
Ed walked slowly up to the barricade. He carefully announced in loud terms that he would reach for his wallet to pull out his military ID. He turned sideways so that the guards could watch his hand as he retrieved his wallet.
Taking out the photo ID, he held it up high so the men could see it. One of them stood up and climbed over the barricade.
“I can’t see it so well from over there,” the man admitted as he walked up to Ed. “Yep, General Edward Gale. That looks like you. Who else is with you?”
“Doctor Paul Kendall and his family. They were floating the Salmon when things went out. We’ve teamed up to get back to Boise. Any word on the road south, Sir?” Ed asked.
“There’s plenty of trouble around McCall. All those rich folks down there are attracting all sorts of problems at a time like this. What those bastards are going to do with all that stuff they’re stealing is beyond me, but all hell broke loose.”
“More reason I need to get back and get things under control,” Ed said.
“Then I’d be taking the back way. There’s a road down through the valley between McCall and Council that should be fine. Regular folks down there,” the man offered. “Here, we’ll get the log moved so you can drive around.”
“Any news from the Capital?” Ed asked about Boise.
“A couple on mountain bikes came through here two days ago heading north. They’d left Boise the day after the bang. Said it was scary as people realized what had happened and they descended on the grocery stores. Said it was getting out of hand as they rode out on Highway 55,” the man said. “But that’s the only news we’ve had.”
“Thanks. Has the Washington County Search and Rescue responded here yet?” Ed asked.
“Who do you think we are? Been here since we set up the roadblock the day after yesterday. We’ve got more people down by McCall keeping an eye on those bastards. They try to head up here, they’ll be surprised,” the man answered.
“Good work then, carry on,” Ed said. These men were technically now under his command if the governor had officially declared a State of Emergency. And if this wasn’t a State of Emergency, Ed couldn’t imagine what would be.
“Yes Sir, General. Glad to have you pass our checkpoint. We’ll be waiting for the real troops to come and relieve us, Sir.”
“Soldier, you are the troops protecting Idaho now. All of you Search and Rescue people. That’s what you’ve been training for. Good luck,” the general said. He saluted the guards and motioned Paul to drive around the logs. The guards made a good attempt at saluting back, except for one quiet soldier in the back.
Ed looked at him and the man snapped a perfect salute. He appeared to be in his sixties and carried a Colt AR-15, like he knew his work. As Ed studied the man, the man spoke.
“Sergeant Frank Bowers. Fifth Marines, Sir. Pleiku, Vietnam. You can rely on these boys. I’ll make sure of it.”
“USS Scorpion out of Subic Bay, Philippines myself. Long time ago, Sergeant. Carry on then. They’re in good hands.” Ed returned the salute. “Semper Fi.”
“Hoorah, Sir,” the old sergeant returned.
Paul pulled the car around the road block and stopped. He got out to let Ed drive. Everyone took their positions as Ed put the car in gear and pulled away. The guards struggled moving the log back into position and returned to watching the road to the north.
Driving through the center of New Meadows drew stares from the few locals out. Ed kept the Chevy moving slowly as he maneuvered around the dead vehicles clogging the road. The center had been busy the evening the lights went out. Now, nonfunctional vehicles were half shoved to the side of the road.
Finding the road suggested by the guard, Ed turned down the highway. They made good time as they traveled south through the quiet valley. Farms and ranches spread out on either side of the road. It was hard to imagine that such a peaceful scene hid the true extent of the sun’s attack.
Here in the daylight everything looked normal. Cows were grazing and horses ran through their paddocks. You just had to ignore the fact that there were no vehicles moving except their Chevy.
Suddenly the Chevy started knocking loudly. Ed hit the brakes and pulled it onto the shoulder. He switched off the engine as everyone piled out of the car. Ed reached under the hood for the latch, opening it to a stream of smoke coming from the side of the engine.
Oil was still squirting out of a crack onto the hot manifold and vaporizing instantly. Oily smoke wafted up under the hood and out into the open.
“Looks like the engine block split. Must have been split before, but the hot driving cracked it open. I’m afraid our ride just died,” Ed said.
Everyone groaned. They had all been excited about riding all the way to Boise. They gathered up their backpacks and formed a line. Ed took the point and started off.
“Look at the bright side. At least we rode halfway there,” Paul said. They all agreed that seventy miles of riding was way better than three days of hard walking. Everyone settled into a steady pace down the valley.
By noon the grandkids were done in. Ed started to load up the four-year-old boy to carry him when Paul stopped him. “You are our security. You can’t be encumbered if we run into trouble. Matt and I will carry the grandkids.”
“And don’t forget us,” Amanda and Meredith both chimed.
“Thank you. If they get to be too much, we’ll stop,” Ed said.
They shifted their loads around and then took two cloth shirts and made head straps to put around each child's bottom. With the load distributed onto their heads, Matt and Paul leaned into their load and started walking.
“Hey Matt. Remember those pictures from my trip to Nepal years ago? Now you know how they felt carrying those big baskets with nothing but their heads,” Paul said.
“Yeah, Dad, I’ve been holding my breath ever since I saw those slides to experience this,” Matt said.
As the sun approached the top of the ridge, they made camp by a creek. They pulled out their food supplies and decided to make a one pot concoction over Ed’s backpack stove. Mixing all sorts of ingredients together, they cooked it up into a stew. Everyone agreed that it was the best meal they’d ever eaten.
Since it didn’t look like rain, everyone rolled out sleeping bags onto pads and settled in for the night.
“Anyone notice something?” Amanda asked as the stars came out.
“There’s no Northern Lights tonight. It’s really dark,” Matt answered.
Everyone stared at the night sky and wondered what this meant. Paul wasn’t sure that it meant the sun calmed down, or that it meant things would start to return to normal.
* * *
In the morning, they all awoke with a start. A vehicle approached their little wayside. A vehicle that was backfiring, but moving. They scrambled out of their sleeping bags and rushed up onto the road.
Approaching from the south was an old 1940’s Ford flatbed truck. It backf
ired again as it pulled to a stop beside them. The driver switched off the engine and the truck let out one last large bang. About ten people in the back stood up over the stake bed sides to look down on Paul’s group.
The driver climbed out of his cab and stretched his back. “Where you folks coming from?”
“We were all at Riggins when the light went out,” Paul said. “Where you coming from?”
“Boise. Left there early this morning. Finally got this old timer running, but as you can tell, it ain’t running too good.”
Excited for news of Boise, Ed and Paul both stumbled over themselves getting the next question out. “What’s happening in the city?”
“Lights came back on last night. Although they were off again soon after. Seems they were testing things out. I guess the Northern Lights finally settled down and they could put the power back on.”
“That’s great news then, isn’t it?” Meredith asked. “With power, things will get back to normal, won’t they?”
“Hardly likely, honey,” the driver answered. “I ‘spect the water will be running and maybe the sewer will flush and the lights may come on a bit, but all those refrigerators and stoves and microwaves and phones and TVs and radios are all history. Dead as a bug.”
“What? How can that be? What good is electricity if there’s nothing to run?” Meredith asked, her teenage mind trying to grasp what the new world looked like.
“Hopefully we’ll have basic services. With water, we can drink and irrigate crops. With crops we can eat. With sewers we won’t all catch diseases and get sick. Eventually new electronic stuff will get built and slowly we’ll get some of our old life back,” Ed said. “People need to realize that’s all going to take time.”
“Yeah, and in the meantime, all those people who never did a lick of work in their life aren’t getting those government checks anymore. As if there is anything left to buy. They’re the reason we’re heading back to the old homestead. The big cities have some sorting out to do before they’re safe,” the driver said.
“I’m afraid you’re right. We have developed a whole class of people who take and take from those who work. With the gravy train stopped, they’ll be out looking to take and take, only now with a gun,” Ed said.
“Well, good luck to you. You’ll need it if Boise is your destination,” the driver said. He fired up the old Ford and with a series of explosions, headed north.
“We forgot to tell him about Riggins. He left so fast,” Matt said. “Maybe the guards in New Meadows will tip him off.”
“Hope so. Hate to have them drive into trouble,” Ed said.
“So, General, what do you make of lights in Boise?” Paul asked.
“Well, from the work I put in with the EMP Planning Team over the last four years, it makes sense. I just hope they control the mobs before they destroy what’s left. We need to get a move-on people.”
They packed their bags, ate a quick breakfast of dry cereal and headed south. As they went, Paul would pull out some yellow plastic tape and tie off a long stretch on each five mile marker. He would then write something on it with a felt marker he carried in his pocket.
“All right, Doc. I’ve been watching you do that since Riggins. You’d asked me to stop the car and now you’re still doing it,” Ed said. “My curiosity has maxed out. What the hell are you doing?”
“It’s a signal I worked out long ago with my brother. If we ever got in this situation, we would mark our progress home with yellow tape. Always carry a roll when I travel,” Paul answered.
“And you expect your brother to come along and find you?”
“We both have been expecting this sort of thing for quite some time. Actually, I figured on a financial collapse of the Federal government first, being an economics sort of guy,” Paul said.
“And your brother?” Ed asked.
“An astrophysicists. He’d been betting on what has happened, although he wished for a financial collapse. More people would survive,” Paul added.
“You two must be all yucks at parties. I can see the crowd gathering around to discuss the benefits of financial doom versus electric Armageddon now,” Ed laughed.
“You sound like my ex-wife. She used to say the same thing.”
“Daddy, there’s smoke on the horizon. A lot of smoke,” Meredith said. The concern in her voice was palpable.
The two men stopped walking and stared at the horizon. Large columns of smoke climbed over the ridge into the sky. They were still a couple of days march from Emmett, but the warning signs from the Treasure Valley were announcing themselves.
* * *
Two days later they were still not yet into the Payette River Valley. The smoke continued, but each day it would vary. There was no mistaking that things were burning around Boise. Paul continued his five-mile marker exercise to Ed’s amusement.
As they slowly climbed the last hill that should take them into Emmett, the group struggled with thirst. They had been away from any stream for the day and their water had run out. With the hot weather of summer beating down on them, Paul called for a break under one of the few trees near the road. Everyone flopped down exhausted.
Their food was almost gone and the adults had been passing on their share to feed the growing kids. Paul pulled his shirt up to look at his flat stomach. It hadn’t been this flat since his days playing baseball in high school.
Amanda walked up from behind and wrapped her arms around his middle. “Feeling pretty buff, big guy. I thought only twenty-somethings had stomachs like this.”
“Twenty-somethings and prisoners of war. Starving takes on a sexy look. At least until your backbone starts protruding out your front. Then it’s not so cute,” Paul said.
Paul heard it first as he stood with his ear aimed north. There was definitely a vehicle coming their way. No other car had passed them since the old truck. Paul whistled to get everyone’s attention and pointed in the direction of the noise.
They were waiting by the side of the road as they saw a white 1958 Chevy Bel Air four door sedan slowly climb the hill. He knew even from this distance the cars particulars - even the license plate number.
Soon Matt and Meredith where jumping up and down. The others looked at them quizzically. Matt and Meredith ran to their dad and wrapped their arms around him. Amanda moved back from the crowd, but Paul gathered her into the group. This was an event for all of them to share.
The Bel Air pulled up to a stop and switched off the engine. Paul walked over and opened the driver’s door. The driver leaped out and hugged Paul.
Ed looked on in amusement. “Don’t tell me, your brother?”
“The one and only. General, may I introduce Doctor John Ewing, lately of Eugene, Oregon. And that looks like my nephew, Isaac, riding shotgun,” Paul said proudly.
“Boy, you’re hard to find. Luckily we ran into someone in an old Ford flatbed that recalled talking to you. From his description, I figured it was you. The yellow tape on the five mile markers confirmed it,” John said.
As John climbed out of the old Chevy and stood, Amanda stared at the giant before her. She turned to Paul as the others all busily hugged each other.
“You never said you had a giant in the family. And why does John have a different last name?” Amanda asked.
“My Mom was married before she met my Dad,” Paul explained. “John’s father was killed in a bar room fight while he was still a baby. My Mom moved back to Bruneau. My folks were old school friends and my Dad raised John as his own.”
“I can tell the gene pool was different.”
“Sore subject. John is 6’5” while I top out at six feet even. The high school basketball loved him. At least I got the hair gene,” Paul smiled.
Amanda ran her fingers through his hair as they both stared at the bald head of his half brother.
“And I’ll take hair over giant anytime,” Amanda said. They walked over and joined the others. Paul fell into telling their personal stories of survival, as the res
t all broke out the food and water Isaac took out of the trunk. After Paul’s story, John started his.
The CME had hit as expected on Pine Mountain, but he had already left. With a two to three hour warning, he had called Isaac to put their plans in motion. John and Isaac had worked on their survival skills over the last few years so things were ready.
But first John’s wife, Mary, had to be diverted. John called her with a bogus errand to run for him. While she was on the phone, he gave her one last chance to change her mind.
They had argued numerous times over what they should do in the event of societal collapse. She had always remained adamant that she would not leave her sister and father in Oregon. She even said at one point that she wasn’t sure if she wanted to survive if society went over the cliff.
After enough arguments over the subject, John let his wife have her choice, but he wasn’t about to let his three kids risk the same fate. That was why he only told Isaac. He wasn’t sure that his daughter Brittany would leave her mom.
John and Isaac had worked up the ruse for Brittany that their grandfather had taken ill and that they needed to head to Idaho right away. Mom would follow them later.
Isaac was familiar with the old family car. The Chevy Bel Air had been John and Paul’s father’s car forty years ago. Like all good Idaho farmers, he had parked it in a shed years ago when the newer car came home. Eventually it had stopped working, but he had never sold it.
When Paul and John started preparing, they both realized the value of the old Chevy. They refurbished it with new tires, hoses, a battery and a little work on the engine. John had taken it to Eugene, as he had the furthest distance to go to their father’s ranch.
Located in Bruneau, Idaho, about seventy miles south of Boise, the ranch had everything they would need. Located by the Bruneau River, they had a source of fresh water and hydro power. Since Bruneau was south of the Snake River in desert country, there weren’t any nearby population centers to contend with in a crisis.