Solar Storm (Survival EMP Book 1)

by Rob Lopez

  Someone could take it as easily as she did – more easily, in fact – and bad as it was, cycling was still better than walking. She’d begun the journey optimistic, but was now appalled at the thought of how far she had to go. Keeping the bike safe, therefore, was imperative.

  A mile ahead she could see an SUV, but it took her an age to get to it. When she finally got there, she was relieved to see it was empty. The owner, however, had locked all the doors manually before leaving it.

  Lauren tested the tailgate. It opened fine, the owner having neglected to check it. Since the advent of powered door locks, it was easy to overlook. Crawling inside, Lauren lowered the back seats and pushed the bike in, pulling the tailgate shut. She settled into the front passenger seat which, after the saddle, felt like bliss. She even found a pack of candy in the glovebox.

  Reclining the seat, she lay back, closing her eyes for a moment.

  When she woke again, it was pitch black outside. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep, and for a moment she forgot where she was. She sat up, startled, and cracked her elbow on the door. Her legs ached, but when she tried to stretch them, she hit the footwell.

  Lauren lay back down, bringing her knees up to her chest to relieve the cramps. She was in a ridiculous situation, stuck in someone else’s car, with someone else’s bike, and no idea where she actually was.

  Knowing her luck, she’d wake again in daylight with planes flying overhead, vehicles moving again on the freeway and a state trooper tapping on her window. She could then explain how she thought that, with the end of the world and all, she could just help herself to whatever she wanted and go where she liked, and no, officer, I don’t have registration documents for this vehicle, I haven’t been taking drugs and oh my God, I’ve missed my flight!

  She clicked open the door and listened to the silence. It was almost reassuring to hear nothing at all. Stepping out onto the asphalt, she spun slowly on the spot, looking for any sign of life. Nothing moved around the indistinct boxy shapes of the other abandoned vehicles, and the horizon was devoid of any urban glow.

  The distant crack of a gunshot made her flinch. She wasn’t as alone as she thought. Straining her ears, she tried to pick out any follow up sounds, but nothing came.

  Fencing lined the freeway, so she wasn’t sure when she stopped whether she was still in the suburbs or in a rural area. She had a feeling there wasn’t much rural in this part of New Jersey, but she really didn’t know. She couldn’t hear any voices or dogs barking. She couldn’t even hear crickets. Uneasy, Lauren stayed out of the car, waiting for another clue, but the night didn’t utter another word.

  She wished she had her gun. Rick had bought her a beautiful Colt 1911 on their fifth anniversary – not exactly a typical gift, but she wasn’t into flowers and stuff – and she’d been a regular on the range with it. But that was a while back, and since then it’d stayed in its locked box, hidden away from the children and promptly forgotten. She wouldn’t have been able to take it on the plane anyway.

  She got back into the car, clicking the door slightly closed. When it was this dark, staying quiet was the best thing she could do. Rolling slowly over on the seat so as not to squeak the suspension, she tried to get some more sleep.

  *

  Josh couldn’t stand the silence. It only made the fact of a dead body in the house more ominous. The transition to the idea that it was just a corpse and not Grandpa had come quickly to Josh. Grandpa was gone. That thing in the house had no right to be there anymore.

  It wasn’t going anywhere soon, though. Elena and Max had remonstrated with Grandma in their own, contradictory ways, but Grandma didn’t budge. That thing was her husband and she wasn’t done mourning him yet. When the authorities gained control of the situation, he’d be dealt with in a decent manner. Max’s suggestion that he be laid in the garage didn’t fit that criteria, any more than the wheelbarrow did.

  Grandma was sleeping in the spare room now, and that thing had the bedroom to itself.

  Lizzy slept soundly, shielded from her imagination, but Josh remained staring into the darkness, getting angrier at the ineptitude of adults. It was obvious to him that things weren’t about to get back to normal the next day, or the day after that. Nobody in the street had been able to get their car started, a couple of wooden houses in the next block had burned to the ground, and the chairman of the neighborhood association was openly carrying a shotgun, checking on each house. Josh had answered the door to him and, when asked, had told him everything was fine, even as Grandma argued with the Seinfelds in the background. The guy had shrugged and said, “I don’t know when we’re getting the power back, and I think the water supply’s going too. Fill up any containers you might have, and if you’ve got food in the freezer, eat that first. But make sure you cook it right. If I hear anything, I’ll try and let everyone know.”

  Josh filled a couple of jugs before the tap went from a dribble to a drip. Didn’t even try to open the freezer since there was no power to cook with, and he had little idea how to cook anyway. If his mom didn’t prepare it, he resorted to blitzing packaged slop in the microwave. It all tasted the same.

  So the day was spent eating cookies and finishing off the milk.

  Josh could bear it no longer. If no one was going to do anything about the decomposing corpse in the house, then he’d do it himself. There was no way he was going to sleep, otherwise. Getting himself dressed, he groped his way to the kitchen where Grandma kept her candles. Finding the matches next to them, he lit a candle, casting a flickering shadow of himself that caused him to turn, thinking there was something behind him.

  A shiver ran up his spine at the thought of what he was planning to do, and his resolve melted a little. The idea of going back to bed and just lying there, knowing what was on the other side of the wall, stiffened him up again.

  He had to do it.

  Taking a deep breath, he counted to ten, then exhaled forcefully, inadvertently blowing the candle out. Feeling for the matches, he lit it again.

  Letting himself quietly out the back door, he crossed the lawn to the garage. Inside, he found the shovel and took it out, lodging the candle on a post. The smell of burning lingered in the air, totally different from the odor of the barbecue Grandpa had tended yesterday.

  Josh felt a moment of sadness, realizing he’d never see that again. But he reminded himself that the thing inside was no longer Grandpa.

  Taking another breath, he steadied the shovel, then dug it into the turf.

  The ground was dry and hard, and he didn’t penetrate very far. Pulling on the handle, he ripped up a clump of grass.

  It was no bigger than if he’d pulled it up by hand.

  This was going to take longer than he imagined. He’d started, though. Before he could change his mind, he dug the shovel in again, more forcefully this time. Little by little, he etched out the shape of Grandpa’s grave.

  The labor took him a long time, and it was hot work. He kept returning to the kitchen to drink water from the jug until eventually he decided to bring it out with him. As the hour drew by, the hole deepened, the pile of discarded soil getting higher.

  He kept thinking he was crazy, that he might be making a mistake. What if the authorities did sort things out? What would happen then?

  Well, if they came for the body, they’d know where to find it. Driven by his increasing mania, he dug harder and deeper, ignoring the blisters growing on his hands. When at last he thought it deep enough, he leaned on the shovel, trembling from the exertion.

  I’ve done enough, he thought. Surely I can’t do this next part?

  But he’d started it, and it would be dumb to walk away now, leaving an empty hole in the garden.

  Besides, he wanted to sleep. He was exhausted, and no way was he going to do it with that thing in the house. It wasn’t right.

  Dropping the shovel, he entered the kitchen, went down the hall and stopped before his Grandparents’ door.

  His heart thumped like a jackh
ammer.

  How many times had he stood at this door in the past, knocking to wake them up for his breakfast, waiting for the voice telling him to wait a minute?

  Breathing rapidly, he put his hand on the door handle and turned it.

  The void opened before him, and a sickly sweet smell floated out.

  Josh hadn’t been sure what to expect, and realized he wasn’t thinking straight.

  Going back out into the garden, he retrieved the candle. Back in the kitchen, he grabbed a cloth and tied it over his mouth, then gingerly entered the bedroom.

  Grandpa was in exactly the same position as Josh had seen him last, though the face was more relaxed now. Josh’s heart was racing so much, he could barely breathe.

  It’s not Grandpa, he thought. It’s not.

  One foot in front of the other, he approached the bed, almost swooning. With quivering fingers, he grabbed one side of the bed cover and threw it over the body.

  That was almost too much for him, and he had to rest for a moment, but at least he couldn’t see the body anymore. Walking over to the other side of the bed, he took that side of the cover and threw it over to complete the loose shroud.

  From the closet, he took a blanket and threw it on. He should have tucked it under, but he couldn’t bring himself to risk touching the body. Gathering the fabric at one end, he pulled it towards the end of the bed.

  The body was heavy, and again Josh realized what a stupid thing he was doing. He wouldn’t be able to carry it to the garden.

  He’d have to drag it. Wishing he could just stop now, he doubled over, tears in his eyes. None of this was meant to happen.

  “Please, God,” he said, “let this be over soon.”

  With a desperate, angry heave, he pulled the sheet, walking backwards towards the door. The body slid off the bed and landed with a sickening thud, one arm flopping out from under the blanket.

  Josh dropped to his knees. “It’s not fair,” he said, sobbing. “It’s just not fair.”

  There was a creak in the hall and Josh looked round to see Grandma in her nightgown, a heavy look on her face.

  “I had to do it, Grandma,” said Josh. “He’s got to be buried right.”

  Grandma never looked as old as she did just then. She touched Josh’s head. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured. “And no, it isn’t fair. Harry wouldn’t have wanted you to have to do this. He loved you so much.” Grandma wiped her cheeks. “And I’ve been feeling sorry for myself.” She took a breath. “He was a man of dignity, and it was my duty to look after him, just as it was his to look after me. I wouldn’t have forgiven him if he’d left it to my grandchildren to lay me properly to rest. And I know he wouldn’t have.”

  “I’m sorry, Grandma.”

  “So am I, Josh. I can’t do this alone though. I wish I could send you to your room, but I need your help, even if it isn’t right.”

  “I’ve dug the hole.”

  “I know. I watched you. I am so ashamed, but you’ve been so strong. I should have acted sooner.”

  “The garage wouldn’t have been right for him, Grandma. That’s where you store junk.”

  Grandma broke into a strained smile. “No, you’re right. Come on, let’s do this together, before Lizzy wakes. I don’t want her to see this, bless her.”

  Between the two of them they dragged the body through the kitchen, over the rough grass and into the hole. Josh filled it in as best he could, and Grandma took a handful of soil and scattered it over the rough mound. “Got no flowers for you, my love,” she said quietly. “But I’ll tend to you until they can move you to a better place. For now, you’re home.”

  15

  The old man took Rick and his team to the Tishrin Dam in his horse and cart. He didn’t have much of a choice. Rick told him he could either accept cash for taking them, or Rick would take the horse and cart himself. They set off in the early hours, trundling over dusty tracks. By the time they reached the hill that overlooked the dam, the sun was high in the sky, the haze gone.

  The old man refused to go any further, and dropped them there. Rick thought he looked wary of whoever might be holding the dam.

  The dam stood at the end of a long causeway. At the beginning of the causeway was a checkpoint with two guards and a truck mounted anti-aircraft gun. The guards were armed with AK47s, but Rick saw no sign of black ISIS flags or armbands. Through his binoculars he could see scorch marks on the concrete above the hydroelectric generator vents. Cables dangled limply off the transmission towers at the nearby substation. The large transformers were blackened hulks, a debris field of twisted and melted metal spread beneath them. A few personnel were present on the dam, hanging around near a five story administration block on the other side. A parking lot of pickup trucks sat behind that, some with their hoods raised.

  Rick handed his binoculars to Scott. “I’m going down alone. Stay here until I give you a signal. If anything bad happens, you’re in charge. Try and make your way north to find another crossing point if I can’t get back.”

  Scott peered through the binoculars. “Okay, it’s your funeral,” he said.

  “Thanks, Scott.”

  “Can’t cover you from here. You’ll be out of range.”

  “I know, but it’s got to be done.”

  “Rick, you’ve got kids. Stay here and I’ll go down.”

  Rick slapped him on the shoulder. “I appreciate that, but I need you here. Besides, you’ll probably scare the shit out of them, one look at you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem.”

  “Good luck.”

  “You too.”

  Rick made his way down the scree slope to the modern road that ran towards the causeway. He’d considered leaving his M4 rifle behind, so as to present less of a threat, but decided against it. With his cargo pants, T-shirt and body armor, he looked every inch a Westerner. If ISIS had recaptured the dam, it meant they would shoot at him sooner, while he was still some distance away.

  Which was preferable to being right up close. Even with the fearsome twin barrels of the anti-aircraft gun pointing in his direction, it at least gave him a chance.

  It was a long walk. It wasn’t exactly High Noon, but it was uncomfortable enough. The two guards at the checkpoint straightened up at the sight of the lone figure in the heat haze. Rick waved a couple of times in a feeble attempt to show he was friendly, but they didn’t wave back. He kept his hands clear of his gun, letting it dangle on its sling, but it was cocked and ready, and it wouldn’t take him long to snatch it up if he needed it. There was nobody in the cab of the truck, and the AA gun was unattended. Rick maintained a casual pace down the center line of the road.

  When he got to within hailing distance, he shouted, “Salaam.”

  The guards gave a kind of half nod in reply. They looked mildly curious at his presence. They didn’t, however, appear to be particularly welcoming of their supposed ally.

  Rick guessed they were from the Arab contingent of the SDF. He hadn’t worked with them much and had heard rumors that their alliance with the Kurds wasn’t always congenial. They were here to fight against both ISIS and the Syrian government, but they could be touchy about the Kurds advancing so deeply into traditionally Arab territory. With the US heavily backing the Kurds, the Arabs were suspicious of American motives.

  Propaganda efforts by the Turkish backed Free Syrian Army were often aimed at getting the SDF Arabs to change sides and fight against the Kurds instead. It made for a sectarian and ethnic soup that was difficult for outsiders like Rick and his men to navigate through.

  Rick approached the barrier. “Peace be upon you and your family,” he said: the usual Arab greeting.

  “And on yours,” said one of the guards, a young man.

  “The storm two nights ago damaged our vehicles, and we have had to walk.”

  “There are more of you?”

  “Yes, they are coming. One of our men requires medical assistance. Can you help him?”

 
The two guards exchanged glances. “You will have to talk to the commander,” said the first one.

  “Very well.” Rick turned and waved to the others.

  The guards watched the figures appear on the hillside.

  “Why do they hide?” said the second one. “Do you not trust us?”

  Rick turned to him. “Did not the Prophet say that you should trust in Allah but tether your camel first?”

  It was meant as a joke to break the tension, but the guards didn’t appear amused.

  “ISIS has retaken Ain Issa,” continued Rick. “I do not know where else they have advanced, so I had to be sure.”

  The guards shifted nervously. “Are they coming here?”

  “I do not know. I will inform your commander. You may need more mujahideen here.”

  When the others arrived, Walt was pale and sweating. Thanking the guards, Rick led his team past the checkpoint and along the causeway. “You okay?” he said to Walt.

  “Still alive,” said Walt stoically.

  “Okay, listen up, all of you. I don’t know what the situation is here but I’m not getting good vibes. If they won’t help us, we’ll move on. Watch your backs.”

  The walk across the dam was sobering. Rick saw the extent of the fire that must have raged here. Melted globules of wire protruded from the disfigured connectors, and long cables dangled in the sparkling blue waters of the Euphrates. The hum and churn of turbines was absent, and Rick caught the sound of distant mortars. Militia men hung around the administration building, looking anxious. Another was working under the hood of a pickup. All the pickups were modern – courtesy of funds from the US and the EU – and their sensitive electronics rendered them useless.

  The administration building was spartan inside, the furniture long gone. The partition glass in the lobby remained damaged from old bullet holes. The commander sat cross legged on the floor, looking over a tattered map, and fighters lounged around, waiting for orders.

  The commander, a middle aged man with a trim beard, glanced at Rick’s boots as they appeared by his map. “And who might you be?” he said in perfect English.