Lights out in America's Dairyland: An EMP Adventure

by Victor Marbury

  “No, they had it coming, but I have never seen somebody apply that kind of violence with such force and speed, I have to admit it was an unnerving thing to witness.” He then turned away and began to walk towards the bodies to place them in the hole.

  We threw the corpses into the hole and began filling it without talking. While I was laboring away, I was turning Robert’s words over in my head….From his description of the skirmish, I appeared to be an iceman, killing without compunction or remorse. I frightened him despite his lukewarm claims to the contrary. I decided to revisit this at a later time when I could approach the issue from a different direction. After filling the hole in, we turned back towards the store. We stored the shovels where Robert found them, and entered the rear of the shop where hot showers were waiting for us.

  After the showers, breakfast was waiting for us. Simone joined us from the extra room Mitch provided for her. She was drying her short hair with a thick towel, and she had changed from her uniform to a pair of tan cargo shorts and sky blue top. She was wearing her cycling socks and carried her cycling shoes in her left hand as she made her way to the breakfast table. She took a seat, and Mitch served us all a generous breakfast of eggs, hash browns, and toast. A large bowl of mixed berries sat in the center of the table along with smaller bowls for individual servings. We all ate heartily, knowing that we needed as much energy as we could store up for the trip ahead. As we ate, I noticed Mitch becoming more subdued, and he appeared to be a little sad that we were going. When the meal ended, Mitch gathered the plates from each of us and made his way to the sink to wash and stack the dishes.

  I grabbed a dish towel, “Let me give you a hand there Mitch." He grunted, and I took my place beside him to dry the plates as he washed.

  “Mitch, what’s wrong, you seem a little down.”

  “Well, I don’t know you guys at all, but Rommel and I will be very sorry to see you go. I think it is going to get quite lonely around these parts as well as dangerous.”

  I looked at him, and he appeared to be a lonely old man. A plan started to form in my head, but I had to discuss it with Simone and Robert. I continued to dry the dishes in silence while I mentally worked out the details.

  Once we finished, I went back to my bike and began preparing it for the trip into Whitewater. We had about 60 miles to go, and the route I planned took us away from most population centers and through hilly farm country. As many times as I’d done this ride for charity, the stretch from Whitewater to Madison was the toughest….hill after hill after hill. I was usually at the end of my rope when we rolled into Madison to the finish line and the party that awaited us. I knew it would be even harder on a fully loaded mountain bike as opposed to the carbon fiber dream machine I rode during those charity rides. I finished up securing the remainder of my stuff, and re-entered the house to find everybody gone. I listened closely and heard muffled voices, and made my way over to the stairway I spotted last night. I saw the lower part of Simone’s legs and heard her talking to Mitch in excited and happy tones. I went down the stairs to the rest of the group and was surprised beyond words by what I saw.

  At the base of the stairs, there was a large heavily fortified door that led into a larger chamber. Inside the chamber was what appeared to be at least ten years of supplies. There was food, medicine, clothing and shoes, and even a massive supply of toilet paper. Mitch had an old style safe bolted to the floor, and after working the combination he opened the door and it was overflowing with gold and silver coins. Mitch suddenly looked like an old pirate opening his personal treasure chest, “the gold ones are krueggerands and the silver stuff is all per-1964 American change. At least we’ll have something to trade with while we are on the road. Against the other wall, I saw an arsenal that rivaled most major metropolitan police departments and small military units. Carefully stacked crates of ammunition lined one wall separated by caliber, and carefully concealed at the end of the 25-foot row were seven wooden ammunition crates about four feet long with Cyrillic writing on them.

  All I could say was, “By the power of Grayskull.” to crib a line from one of my favorite buddy cop movies. I motioned to the long crates, “Are these filled with AK-47’s or RPG’s?”

  “RPG’s my curious friend…guaranteed to get you out of a jam, big or small! I have four launchers and 29 spare rockets.”

  “How on earth did you get them?”

  “Well, let’s just say that I did a couple of favors for an Eastern Bloc Business partner. He showed his appreciation by giving me these rockets. It’s amazing what you could get out of the Port of Milwaukee in the 1980’s.” He snickered at his own inside joke.

  “I got the gold coins from another shady deal I made in South Africa during the Apartheid years. I guess you could say I did business where I was going to be paid. At least I wasn’t one of those junk bond assholes that nearly crashed the economy in ’87.”

  I openly marveled at the array of other weaponry that made my AR-15 look like an insignificant toy. Mitch had rifles, pistols and several other tools of death including .50 caliber bolt-action rifle.

  Mitch gave me a semi-serious look, “Are you going to arrest me officer?”

  I smiled and said in a mock serious tone, “I think I’ll let it slide thanks to your generous hospitality, but don’t push it.”

  He laughed, “If you like that, then you are going to like this.” He produced a key and led us upstairs to an apparently disused outbuilding and popped open a padlock securing the two doors. Inside the darkness of the shed, I made out the shape of a couple of cars made useless by Mother Nature’s trick. Mitch pulled a chain, and the shades on two massive skylights pulled out of the way, flooding the room with light. Once again, I was surprised to see two vintage Volkswagen Things from the early 1970’s. The Thing had a brief run in America and was pretty ugly, but for me, they were the ultimate must have car when I was a child. I loved the boxy, militaristic style with the stamped sides and wild colors. I remember they came in vibrant yellow, orange and basic white. I always coveted them and wanted to restore one if I had the chance. Mitch’s Things sported the red, green, gray and black paint scheme known as alpenflage. Mitch went over to a large metal cabinet and removed a car battery from one of the shelves. He opened the rear compartment of the car and placed the battery in the cradle, hooked up the wires, and walked to the front of the car and opened the driver’s side door. With a mischievous twinkle in his eye, he cranked the engine, and that familiar rattle of a VW’s engine filled the barn.

  My eyes widened, “Why is the car running Mitch, this shouldn’t happen.”

  Mitch replied, “Well this has no electronic controls, just a distributor, plugs, and points, so it’s impervious to an EMP.”

  I remembered reading something about that in my studies, and Mitch’s purring Thing proved that some machines can still run after an EMP if they are not dependent on electronic ignition controls. Unfortunately, most modern machines from the simple generator to the modern car have some electronic component to them rendering them useless in this new world. Mitch killed the engine as the blue smoke from the tailpipe began to get a bit thick in the garage, and motioned us out into the fresh air.

  Once outside Mitch stroked his beard and faced me, “I would like to come with you if that’s ok, Rommel and I will never make it here alone.”

  I was both happy that Mitch wanted to come but also a bit apprehensive, with the cars we will make excellent time to Whitewater and be able to carry a ton of gear, which could be used for barter or to secure a place in a strong group. But I wondered if we would get attacked if a rival group saw us riding in cars. We have already experienced how quick people became predators after a few hours without power, it has now been a full day, and I was concerned that people were now in full panic, and panicked people do very stupid things.

  I nodded, “Ok, but how are you going to secure your stuff? You have a ton of useful things, and we certainly can’t move them all even with the two cars.”

/>   Mitch said, “I have a few tricks up my sleeve young lad, come with me.” Mitch motioned me to follow him, and we went back into the house. Upon arriving in the living area, he went over to the staircase. He then removed two pins that held the railing in place and pulled it out of the floor. He then pulled on a hole in the joist and pulled and a small hatch slid out from the floorboards and locked into place over the hole leading to the basement. From the corner of the bookshelf, he removed a rolled up oriental style rug and rolled it over the trapdoor.

  With a flourish of his hands he intoned, “Abracadabra, the basement disappears!”

  I was impressed by how he made the stairwell vanish. To emphasize his point he stood on the carpet and jumped up and down, he did not fall in, and the floor made no strange sounds to betray the fact that there was a void under the floor.

  Mitch re-opened the trapdoor, ”Let’s move as much stuff down there as we can, I can come back for it later when I can move it.” I brought Robert and Simone back into the room and laid out a plan for the remainder of the day. We were all concerned that with this course of action, we would lose another day, and Society would become a bit more savage, but the huge amount of supplies we would be able to transport outweighed our concerns. While Simone, Robert and I worked on moving the supplies to the secret room, Mitch worked on selecting the gear we would take and pack the cars and the trailer. Rommel played his part too; he acted as Mitch’s alarm and security force.

  We spent the rest of the afternoon and the next day moving supplies and anything else that we considered to be valuable into the basement, virtually filling the room to the rafters. Mitch loaded a small trailer full of additional ammunition, food, some gold and silver, a few guns and an RPG into the cars, whichhe affectionately named Thing One and Thing Two.Robert drove Thing Two with me riding shotgun. Simone was going to ride with Mitch and Rommel in Thing One as security so we could respond to any threat we encountered.

  We also removed the majority of the stuff we could from the store and gave it a looted appearance. Our thinking was that if roving bands of zombie bikers or other miscreants came across the store and found it looted they would move on without doing damage to the structure or conducting a search for abandoned supplies. We bid the store farewell on the 4th day from the event for the time being and headed east toward Whitewater and Robert’s home base.

  Chapter 5

  The first 15 miles passed without too much trouble. We stuck to the back roads, re-tracing the route I had ridden in the past with the MS charity ride. The back roads took us through farm country between fields with not much in the way of structures to block our immediate view. I drove the Thing with a mixture of care and delight. I couldn’t believe that I was finally behind the wheel of one of my dream cars, but I knew a breakdown would cause lots of trouble for our little band. I kept it under 50 as we whizzed down the poorly maintained roads of Dane and Dodge County.

  We had seen no one, apart from an errant group of cows and their keepers in the distance. We never came within 300 yards of any living person. I assumed that people are in either full panic or shutdown mode and taking steps to either hide or fortify their locations. I knew that in the cities the large majority of miscreants were more than likely looting and taking the biggest TV’s they could find. Smarter predators were going after the gold, guns and food. The rest of the population were more than likely in a desperate scramble for the last remaining supplies they could find at the rapidly emptying stores.

  I felt bad for my friends in the city. If they had any brains, they already decided to bug out and protect their families, but I knew that there would be a few that would hold out to the bitter end due to misguided loyalty or simply not having any other place to go. I only hoped that they had the forethought to strip the district of weapons and other useful equipment and damage the cells so they couldn’t close. The last thing we needed was some asshole declaring himself king or warlord and take the station for his own purposes. I mused upon people declaring themselves king for a moment. Sooner or later, there would be charismatic leaders popping up everywhere and attempting to fill the void left by our non-functioning government. It happens everywhere throughout history…every society has their own Hitler, Stalin, Idi Amin, or Robert Mugabe just waiting in the wings to take advantage of a situation just like the ones we were experiencing now that would take advantage of the situation and declare that the old world was dead, and they owned the new world. It happened over and over again throughout human history. Followers would adhere to these leaders out of a sense of agreement or for just basic survival. There would be clashes between groups in pretty short order, and with the amount of sophisticated weaponry scattered around the country unguarded and easy for the picking, that meant lots of bloody conflict in the very near future. I shuddered to think what our great country was going to look like in six months, with all of these self-declared monarchs running around.

  As we exited Dane County for Dodge County, I spotted a squad car blocking the road, and several men posted around it. I saw one man in uniform and the rest of the crew milling about each end of the car. The officer was a giant of a man, with large hands and dark obsidian skin. He moved like a professional, and it was obvious that the people around him deferred to his orders. When they saw us, they formed up into a skirmish line in front of the vehicle and went to port arms, not pointing their weapons at us, but not pointing them away either. I stopped my car about 100 yards from the makeshift roadblock. I walked back to Thing 2 and said to Simone, “Why don’t you come with me, maybe you know some of these guys.”

  I told Robert to take over the driver’s seat in case they had to make a quick getaway, and Simone and I walked to the roadblock. We proceeded towards the men with our hands away from our bodies, giving them no reason to assume that we were hostile. Once we got to within 25 feet, the uniformed officer shouted, “That’s far enough, state your business!”

  I waved my identification above my head, “I’m a Milwaukee Police Officer, and she’s a Waukesha County Deputy Sheriff, we’re just trying to get home!”

  The Officer looked at us dubiously, “Throw your identification down in front of you." Simone and I removed our badge holders from our pockets and threw them to the ground. A couple of the men from the roadblock scurried forward and retrieved the wallets and brought them back to the man in charge. The officer took his time examining them, removing the badges from their cases and turning them over in his hands. He then nodded to himself and said, “Come on forward, and call your vehicles up as well.”

  I was reluctant to call the cars forward because we were easily outnumbered and outgunned, and we could be stripped of all of our supplies in an instant. I decided to roll the dice and see how this played out. I raised my hand in a pre-determined signal, and Robert and Mitch slowly drove up to the roadblock. Mitch exited the vehicle with Rommel so he could stretch his legs and sniff, and Robert exited his vehicle and joined us as we met the local cop.

  The officer was about six feet of solid muscle with catcher’s mitts for hands. He offered one of those mitts to me, “I’m Officer Grinker, Cambridge Police, but you can call me Grink.” His hand enveloped mine, and he applied enough pressure to imply he could crush my hand to powder if he so chose.

  “Hi, I’m Ben." I motioned back towards my compatriots, “And this is Simone, Mitch and Robert."

  He raised his free hand, “Howdy folks.” Then turned his attention to me once again. He released my hand, “What brings you out here to the Styx? Are you trying to avoid the highways?”

  “That’s about the size of it Grink, we’re headed to Whitewater to drop Robert off, and then headed to Waukesha for Simone, and then I’m continuing to Milwaukee.” I stood back on my heel and continued, “All we want is to pass through your roadblock and continue on, we aren’t looking for trouble. Could you let us by?”

  Grink looked me up and down, assessing whether he wanted to trust me or not. “I got no beef with you Ben, you can continue when y
ou’re ready to go.”

  I was intensely relieved, with a wave of his hand he could have taken us to town and robbed us of all of our stuff, but he was a decent sort, and decided to remain true to his Law Enforcement ethos and leave us be.

  I shook his hand once again, and said in a low voice, “Do we have anything you need Grink, we can spare some food and ammo if you’re low.”

  Grink stayed in close and said in a quietly, ”I need some 5.56, we only keep 50 rounds in the car, and I got the feeling I am going to need much more before this is over.”

  “Let me see what I can shake loose.” I walked back to Thing 1 and told the others what we should do. They agreed, and we waved Grink to the rear of the trailer.

  Grink ordered his men to remain at their posts, and we gave Grink a bag containing six 50-round boxes of 5.56 for his weapon. I was surprised when he choked up, “Thanks brother, I don’t know what to say, I think you may have saved my life.” With ammo in hand, he walked back to the roadblock and ordered the men to push the car aside so we could pass. As we prepared to leave, Grink took me aside, “You might want to stop at the police station in Cambridge and see the Chief, maybe there will be some news there.” Grink provided us with a note stating who we were and to give us safe passage through town. As we drove past Grink and his men, they all waved and wished us luck on our journey.

  So far, the trip had gone smoothly. We were about 20 miles as the crow flew from the store, but the roads were now taking us into the first population center since the beginning of our journey, the town of Cambridge. I was looking forward to seeing how small town America was faring four days into the new word.

  Chapter 6

  As we rolled into Cambridge, it looked like things were normal. People were walking the streets; a few were riding horses through town and despite the absence of any moving cars on the road, the town gave off the vibes of a place that was secure, content, and trouble-free. We got some curious looks as we passed by in our vehicles, but nothing that registered alarm bells in me or the rest of the group. I saw the police station and waved our little convoy to stop; I wanted to see if there was any way I could get a message to Milwaukee and ascertain the condition of the city at that particular moment. Robert, Simone and Mitch stayed with the cars armed with the note provided by Grink, and I proceeded up the stairs to what appeared to be some WPA building that is common to central Wisconsin that often passed for a small town police station. There was an armed officer at the door, and he greeted me pleasantly while trying not to look over my shoulder at the only running cars he has seen in the last few days.