Solar Storm (Survival EMP Book 1)

by Rob Lopez

  “Scott! Can you hear me?” yelled Rick.

  Scott appeared beside him in the gully. He’d come via a different direction. “I think everybody can hear you,” he said.

  “Tell Leroy we’re moving out. My radio’s stopped working.”

  “Mine too,” said Scott. “And my goddamn watch has stopped.”

  Rick checked and found his had also. “This is just weird.” He shook his head. “Get to the bottom of the gully with the others. I’ll tell Leroy. We need to reach that pilot before ISIS do.”

  Rick crawled up the gully until he reached Leroy, slapping him on the shoulder. “Time to go,” he said.

  Leroy quit firing. “Tried to call you but my radio’s stopped working.”

  “Yeah, I know. Seems to be all the rage at the moment. Let’s move while they’re distracted.”

  Apart from the lightning cracks, the battlefield was silent. Even the fighters at the farm had ceased fire. One of them, manning a machine gun on a truck, pointed upwards. Other fighters came out of the building compound, gazing nonchalantly up at the sky.

  Rick felt compelled to join in their focus. What he saw froze his insides.

  A Boeing 707 spiraled down in a flat spin.

  “Cover!” shouted Rick.

  The JSTAR aircraft smashed down onto the hillside, bursting apart. Undercarriage wheels, engines and every other heavy component bounded away in all directions. Wing tanks ignited and flaps scythed like blades across the packed dirt. Seats and body parts tumbled in their wake. Face down in the gully, Rick and Leroy were buried in an avalanche of debris that swept away their damaged pickups.

  7

  Lauren woke with a start in her hotel bed. Thunder rocked and crashed outside, and her room lit up with flashes through the thin curtains.

  Rolling over with a groan, she pulled the pillow over her head. It had been hard enough finding the hotel, and harder still paying almost two hundred dollars for a non-smoking room that stank of cigarettes and a carpet that smelled like it had been laid in the Civil War. Rooms were at a premium when so many people were forced to wait for the next day’s flight.

  Even shitty rooms.

  With loud music from the room above and the noise from the elevator next to her room, she’d found it difficult to get to sleep. At least the music had stopped now, and the elevator was quiet. It must have been late.

  Grabbing her phone from the night stand, she pulled it under the pillow to check the time.

  She threw the pillow off when she couldn’t get the phone to work.

  Dammit. She needed to charge it. Getting out of bed, she padded over to her bag and found the charger. When she plugged it in, however, she still couldn’t get the phone to work.

  Outside, the mother of all storms continued. Lauren opened the curtains, marveling at the light display.

  She didn’t realize they had storms like this in New Jersey. It wasn’t like anything she’d seen before. The cloud base glowed red, and she thought at first it was dawn. The baleful hue, and the flashes of light, brought to mind another image: Baghdad in 2003.

  Operation Iraqi Freedom. She’d been attached to a recon unit as an interpreter back then, and with orders to halt outside the city, she’d watched as the air force bombed Baghdad. Streaks of anti-aircraft fire laced the heavens, and fires lent the city a hellish glow. For the first three months after she finished her tour, it was the one thing she had nightmarish flashbacks about.

  She couldn’t understand why, as she thought it looked beautiful at the time. She had much the same thought now, in spite of the interrupted sleep.

  Somewhere in the hotel, someone was banging on a wall and yelling.

  Lauren opened the window and immediately felt the static in the air. There was a strong smell of ozone. Looking down she saw the street lights were all off. She couldn’t see a light anywhere in the city. She was thinking it was a pretty impressive power cut when she realized that the traffic wasn’t moving either. On the road below, the vehicles had stopped and people were milling about.

  “What the hell’s happening, man?” she heard someone shout.

  The banging in the hotel continued. It was coming from the wall by the elevator shaft.

  Lauren tested the switches in her room, just to be sure. Nothing worked, so she got dressed in her gym gear, grabbed her key and left her room.

  The door opposite was open, and Lauren saw the dim silhouette of a woman with a girl beside her.

  “Are you out of power as well?” asked the woman.

  “Yeah,” said Lauren. “Looks like the power’s down for several blocks.”

  “Do we have to evacuate, Mummy?” said the little girl.

  “No, honey,” said the woman. “We don’t need power to sleep. They’ll have it back in the morning.”

  “Excuse me, do you know what time it is?” asked Lauren.

  The woman looked at her watch, then sighed. “It’s stopped working. Honey, can you get my phone?”

  The girl disappeared inside and returned with the phone.

  “I can’t believe it,” said the woman. “This isn’t working either. Do you have your phone, honey?”

  The girl went back into the room, then called out. “I can’t get it to switch on, Mummy.”

  “Well, isn’t that the strangest thing?”

  Lauren certainly thought it was. She walked over to the elevator and pressed her ear to the door.

  A muffled voice was yelling for help.

  Lauren made her way down to the lobby, where the polished floor was lit up by the lightning flashes outside the glass walls. At the marble-effect service counter, a black dude in shorts and a vest remonstrated with a young black concierge.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t do anything about the blackout. It’s a storm. It’s a natural event,” said the concierge.

  The dude was apoplectic. “My TV done blown up in my face! Boy, that ain’t no natural event.”

  In the back room behind the counter, Lauren saw the smoking remains of a computer covered in white powder, with a fire extinguisher nearby. “Excuse me,” said Lauren. “I hate to interrupt, but there’s someone trapped in the lift.”

  “I’m sorry, miss, but the phones are all down. I can’t call anyone.”

  The young man, no more than college age, looked worn out. His graveyard shift had turned into a nightmare, and he was alone.

  The dude in the vest turned to Lauren, looking for support. “Can you believe this guy? I report an explosion in my room, and the first thing he tells me is I can’t get no refund. Like it’s my fault.”

  “Sir, that’s not what I meant.”

  Lauren left them to their argument, wandering over to the revolving doors. On the street, delivery vans and cabs stood on the road. The drivers stood around, sharing cigarettes and exchanging opinions. Under the hotel entrance canopy, a homeless guy approached Lauren.

  “You got any money?” he said.

  Lauren waved him off, walking over to a man standing by his bakery delivery van, still trying to get his phone to come to life.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “That’s a really good question,” he said. “Shame I ain’t got no answers. One minute I’m driving along, the next, she cuts out on me. I can’t even get the engine to turn over. It’s like the battery’s dead. Only it happened at the same time to every single vehicle here. What the hell causes that? The lightning’s way up there, and I never even got struck.”

  Lauren had an idea what might have caused this, but she didn’t really want to entertain it, as it made no sense. She remembered the army lectures about nuclear EMP attacks. That was the only thing that could explain the loss of personal electronic devices along with the grid and vehicles cutting out. There was nothing in the lectures about the weird light effects, though.

  “Was there anything on the news last night about us being at war with someone?” she asked.

  The delivery man snickered. “We’s at war with just about everybody,
but no, I didn’t see nothing special on the news last night. Just some stuff about a solar eclipse, or something. Or a solar flare, I can’t remember.”

  “A solar flare?”

  “Yeah, they was grounding flights and talking 'bout interference on cell networks. But they never mentioned this. They were talking about some guy called Carrington.”

  “Carrington?”

  “Yeah, some English dude. Maybe he owns shares in the networks.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Lauren, biting her lip.

  Oh my God, she thought. A Carrington event? Seriously?

  “I’ve got four hours to deliver all this bread,” said the delivery man. “After that, customers are gonna be hungry. And pissed.”

  Back in the hotel, the residents were out of their rooms and hogging the corridors, complaining about the blackout. On her floor, Lauren found two men forcing open the elevator doors with a fire axe. The lift shaft was pitch black.

  “Anybody got a light?” said one of the men.

  Somebody produced a box of matches, and one was lit and dropped into the shaft.

  “I see the elevator,” said the other man. “It’s half on the door of the next floor down.”

  “Don’t worry, buddy,” shouted the first man down the shaft. “We’ll soon get you out.”

  The two men moved purposefully to the stairwell.

  Lauren entered her room. Her hands shook as she grabbed her bag. Please, please, please, she thought. Don’t let this be what I think it is.

  Tying her hair back, she took a deep breath. Disconnecting her phone, she packed it in her bag in a conscious attempt at denial. Picking up the canapé box, she pushed her way through the people in the corridor, dropped the key off at reception and strode through the revolving doors.

  “Got any money?” said the homeless guy again.

  Lauren ignored him, intent on getting to the airport.

  The homeless guy didn’t like that. “Fuck you, bitch! What do you want all your money for? The world’s coming to an end. Are you saving for something?”

  “Hey, motherfucker,” the delivery man shouted at the homeless guy. “Watch your mouth!”

  The atmosphere on the streets was mixed. For some people, it was a welcome change to the routine, like a major snowfall that stopped everything but which everyone knew was temporary. It was a chance to talk to strangers without having to introduce themselves first, because everybody was connected now by the freak occurrence.

  Others wanted to bitch, because the change to the routine was a hindrance to them. But then, they were the kind of people who bitched about everything, and this was just one more opportunity.

  And then there were others who were unsure about these events, like it might be a bad omen. They were the quiet ones, watching and wondering.

  Lauren passed a group of such people gazing upwards at the Prudential office block. Lauren stopped and joined them for a moment, seeing the flames that licked the windows of the twenty fourth floor. Lauren could imagine the banks of computers and servers there, and realized there could be more fires in the other blocks that hadn’t shown themselves yet. It was strange to see the flames and not hear sirens, and Lauren thought that probably everyone in the group understood they weren’t going to hear them any time soon.

  At the top of the building, their nation’s flag flew, limp against the backdrop of the storm. Lauren didn’t like the portent and hurried on down Broad Street.

  At the next intersection, a Prius burned, flames licking out from the battery compartment. A truck driver took a fire extinguisher from his cab and went to help the Prius driver put it out while a gathering crowd watched. Today, at least, they weren’t using their phones to film it for YouTube, and they looked kind of lost, like they should really be recording this somehow.

  By the time she made it out of the downtown area, Lauren had counted three vehicles on fire, including a vintage station wagon that shouldn’t have had any electronic engine management systems that were vulnerable to an EMP. The weirdness of the situation spurred her on faster.

  The taxi that had brought her from the airport had entered the distRickt from Highway 21. Normally, it would have been illegal for her to walk up the exit ramp, but right now all the traffic was stationary and people meandered the highway lanes, unwilling as yet to completely abandon their cars, but uncertain of what else to do. Because she seemed to be walking with a purpose, everyone she passed asked her what was happening.

  She didn’t want to be frank – nor admit her fears – so she feigned ignorance and kept up her pace.

  After an hour of walking she arrived at the airport. Smoke rose from behind the terminal, and groups of people with suitcases gathered at the entrances, prevented from going further by security staff.

  “All flights are canceled, people,” shouted one of the security guards. “Go home until we sort this out. We’ll message you.”

  “How?” shouted a passenger, holding up a dead phone.

  “I have no idea,” replied the security guard, “but nothing’s happening here. All systems are down.”

  Irate passengers offered further opinions on the situation, none complementary, and Lauren grew more concerned when she looked around and noticed stewardesses and pilots in their prim uniforms in the crowd too. They weren’t going anywhere, either.

  Anxiously, she thought about her children, five hundred miles away.

  8

  “Harold!” was what Josh heard. An incredible scream that seemed to tear right through the house. It didn’t sound like his grandma’s voice, but it was.

  He’d gotten used to a voice that was always so casual, and so certain in its authority, whether she was praising, berating or just offering her cast iron opinion on things. Everything was what it was to Grandma Daisy, and no amount of protesting was going to change that.

  Josh had never heard his grandma call her husband Harold before. It was always a calmly dismissive 'Harry’, or 'your grandpa’. Hearing his grandpa’s real name screamed at the top of his grandma’s lungs frightened him.

  Josh froze, then remembered his mom wasn’t at home to take care of things. Lizzy sat bolt upright next to him, looking like a startled rabbit. Josh realized he was the only other person in the house who could do anything.

  Tumbling out of bed, he tripped over the charging lead of his smoking 3DS and staggered into the hallway. Flashes of light from outside lit the interior of the house like a horror movie. Still not fully awake, Josh careened down the hall, banging his shin on an ottoman. Cursing and hopping, he entered his grandparents’ bedroom. Grandma Daisy was crouched on the bed in her nightdress, looking like she was making love to Grandpa Harry. Except she was screaming and shaking his shoulders, while Grandpa clutched his chest.

  “Josh, call an ambulance!”

  In the strobing light that illuminated the room, Grandpa’s face was like twisted rock.

  Josh ran out of the room and flicked on the hall switch.

  Nothing happened.

  Darting into the kitchen, he grabbed the phone and started to dial 911, thinking about what he should be saying. He’d never called emergency services before and found himself thinking about the number of cranky calls they received every year. Weirdly, he felt he had to get the words right.

  He didn’t notice there was no tone on the line.

  Seconds passed as he recited what he should say before he realized the phone was dead. Letting the receiver fall from his shaking fingers, he ran into his room, looking for his cell phone. He cursed out loud when he saw that was dead too and ran back into his grandparents’ room.

  “The phones are out,” he gibbered.

  Grandpa was struggling to breathe and grimacing with pain.

  “His pacemaker’s stopped,” said Grandma. “Please, Josh. Go to Elena. Ask to use her phone. We need an ambulance right this minute.”

  Still in his shorts, Josh unlocked the front door and sprinted out into the street, heading to the Seinfelds’ house.
Banging on their front door, he waited impatiently for Elena to get to the door. Instead, it was Max.

  “Can I use your phone? Grandpa needs an ambulance real bad.”

  In his dressing gown, Max rubbed his face to wake himself up. In his hand he held his new .38 revolver. “Sure, kid. Through into the kitchen. Elena! There’s problems with Harry.”

  Josh barged in and grabbed the wall phone.

  “This one’s dead, too!” he cried.

  Elena appeared, her hair in rollers. “What’s happening here?”

  “Grandpa’s sick. He needs the hospital and all the phones are down.”

  Elena paused for a moment to process that, then took charge. “Okay, calm down Josh. Max, get the car started. We’ll take Harry down ourselves. I’m going over to give Daisy a hand. And put that silly gun away.”

  While Elena strode over the road, Max went to get his keys, muttering to himself. “Get a gun, she says. Only now it’s a silly gun. Wasn’t my idea, but now it’s my dumb hobby. Why does she always turn things around so it’s on me?”

  Josh waited on the porch, restless.

  “It’s okay, kid, I’m coming, I’m coming.” Max lumbered out. He was a big man and Josh had never seen him move fast. “We’ll get your grandpa to the hospital. He’ll be fine. He’s a tough old bird.”

  He clicked the key fob to unlock the car, but there was no answering chirrup from the vehicle. Max clicked again and again, but no change. “Can you believe it?” he said. Waddling to the car, he manually opened the door, lowered himself heavily into the driver’s seat and put the key in the ignition, turning it.

  Nothing happened. “Goddamn it,” he said. “Of all the times.”

  “Why won’t it start?” said Josh, frantic.

  Max shrugged. “I don’t know. It was fine yesterday. Let me get the charger out of the garage.”

  Josh watched him lift himself out of the car and walk slowly to the garage. He couldn’t believe things were taking so long. Grandma had given him the responsibility of getting help, and nothing was happening.