Lights out in America's Dairyland: An EMP Adventure

by Victor Marbury

  “What can I do for you sir," while stepping in front of the doors.

  I stopped abruptly and smiled, “I was wondering if I could have a word with the person in charge, I’m a police Sergeant from Milwaukee trying to get home, and I’m looking for some news if you heard anything.”

  The officer, whose nametag said “Clanton,” said “I’ll see if the boss has a moment, wait here.” He retreated into the building. A few moments later, he re-emerged and waved me inside, giving me directions to the Chief’s office. To say that this was the cleanest police station I have ever seen was an understatement. The floors gleamed the walls appeared to be grime free and the countertops, made of brass sheet metal shone brightly as if rubbed down with new-r-dull on a daily basis. I walked to the closed door that had “CHIEF” painted on the stippled glass and knocked. I heard a feminine voice call out, “Come in." I entered and made my way to the desk, where the owner of the voice sat in a chair facing away from me.

  “Ma’am, I’m Ben Clark and I’m a Sergeant from Milwaukee. I got stranded in Madison during this whole thing. I’m making my way home along with a couple other cops and was wondering if you have heard anything from there.

  The chair swung around and revealed a handsome woman in her early 40’s, with salt and pepper hair styled in an angular bob that framed her heart-shaped face perfectly. She gazed at me with wide brown eyes and looked me up and down, missing nothing. She rose from her perch and stuck out a well-manicured hand sporting blood red polish, “I’m Chief Elaine Krusk, pleased to meet you.

  I took her hand and was surprised at her grip strength; it was not a crushing grip, but the grip implied strength that belied her form. “Coffee?”

  “Sure, I would love a cup.”

  She walked from behind her desk and moved to an old style percolator and poured a cup of coffee. She wore a black uniform skirt that ended just above the knee with gold stripes down both sides and black hose on her legs ending in 2 inch wedge heel pumps. The Sam Browne belt that encircled her tight waist completed he outfit. I have never seen a female police officer wear a skirt before except during my time in England with the Air Force. I could see that this was a woman who took meticulous care of herself. As I looked her over while she was turned, I thought that she was rather attractive. She offered me some coffee, which I accepted and then carried herself back to her chair, heels making hollow sounds on the ancient, but well maintained hardwood floor.

  She looked me over once again, “I have a question for you Ben. How did you make your way from Madison to this lovely little burg?”

  “Well, we started off on our bicycles, my colleagues were doing some bicycle training in Madison. Then we met up with our new friend Mitch, and he drove us here in his Volkswagen Things.”

  “You have a couple of cars that work?” Elaine appeared incredulous.

  “Yes we do. Apparently since these cars rely on no electronic controls, they were unaffected by the EMP.”

  “Hmm.” She perched herself on the corner of her desk facing me, crossed her ankles and said, “Now, to answer your question; we’ve heard nothing about what’s happening. I started to get complaints of vandalism from various residents about their cars not starting a few days ago, along with the lights not working and whatnot. When we realized whatever happened was bigger than the town, my concerns turned to worry. We’re a very small Department. I only have eight full time officers, and we don’t have a lot of weapons. If the crisis continues and people start to get desperate, I’m not sure if we can maintain order.”

  She continued, “One of my more anti-government residents says it was some EMP attack, and the President was going to use it to take away all of our guns and send us to FEMA camps.” She made the crazy gesture with her free hand. She snorted, “Since I haven’t seen anything flying for the past couple of days, including black helicopters, I’m not inclined to lend any credence to that particular theory.”

  I leaned back in my chair, “Ma’am I think your anti-government type got one thing right; it was a solar flare which caused an EMP, rendering all electronics useless. I suspect that the Federal Government is no longer functioning, so I wouldn’t expect the DHS or any other government agency to show up with help in the near future.”

  “Please, call me Elaine, after all, we are colleagues.” She smiled at me and gave me a long look before coming off the desk and making her way to her chair.

  As she was taking her seat, the officer guarding the front door burst in, “Ma’am, Grinker is under attack at roadblock one by a substantial force and requests assistance.” If you listened hard enough, you could hear distant pops of gunfire from the direction of the roadblock.

  Chief Krusk frowned, “Shit!” She looked at me and asked, “Could you help us out by taking me and some reinforcing officers there in your car?” The pleading look on her face was all that I needed, “You got it Elaine, let’s go!” She opened the small closet and grabbed AR-15 and assault vest containing extra magazines that were on a hanger, and we made our way outside with her barking orders as we left the building. I passed Robert, Mitch and Simone and yelled, “Mitch, I’m taking thing 1 to the roadblock there’s trouble! You guys hold the fort!” I started the car and whizzed out of town towards what sounded like a pitched battle.

  Once we arrived we saw the battle I expected in progress between the defenders and what appeared to be about 30 people on horseback, foot, and bicycles. The defenders, all local farmers, and a few reserve police officers were calmly lining up their hunting rifles and AR-15’s and squeezing off shots from cover with devastating effect. Attackers fell where they stood, struck with well-aimed shots. From my observations, it was obvious that these raiders had no training in the concepts of cover and concealment. Chief Krusk was also doing her part, she bailed out of the car, dropped to a knee behind one of the barricades and began firing her rifle at the attackers. I watched her score hits with every pull of the trigger. When she ran dry, she reloaded smoothly and concentrated her fire on the men and women on horseback. The raiders fell from their horses to the ground with no equine casualties under Elaine’s accurate fire. It appeared that the attackers had no real discernible plan and were hoping on overwhelming the roadblock by sheer numbers. Despite the din of battle, I heard the sound of what I thought was a diesel truck over the screams of pain and the popping of rifle rounds. A large truck made its way around the bend of the road and lined is massive plow on the string of defenders, It its first life, the dumptruck was a Dane County snowplow; now it was filling in as a makeshift armored vehicle for the attackers. Several people took up positions in the dump truck portion waving their guns and screaming. The truck belched black smoke from its twin exhausts as it barreled towards the roadblock.

  Knowing that this truck would make short work of the barricade and give the attackers the advantage, I decided it was time to deploy one of Mitch’s toys to level out the playing field. I went to the rear of Thing 1 and removed the RPG I had stored there. I dropped a rocket into the launching unit and locked it in place like Mitch showed me how to do. Bracing myself on the hood of Thing 1 and lined up the sights on the front end of the truck. I yelled, “Backblast area clear!” and pulled the trigger of the RPG. The rocket made a whooshing sound and left the tube, streaking towards the improvised tank. It struck the blade and exploded with a flat crack. The shaped charge of the rocket penetrated the blade with a loud explosion sending a molten jet of copper through the blade, the engine and into the cab of the truck, setting everything on fire. There was a large WHUMP as the fuel ignited and the truck exploded, sending debris and bodies flying out of the bed and into the air. A small group of raiders were seen trying to flee the area but were cut down by the defenders before they got away. A stillness came over the field as the last of the attackers fled or fell where they stood.

  Chief Krusk yelled, “Cease fire!”

  I went over to her still carrying the RPG launcher, “Are you ok?”

  “Yes. Where did you get that c
ontraption Ben?”

  “My friend Mitch has lots of tricks up his sleeve Elaine, looks like this saved our collective bacon.”

  “I think you’re right Ben.” She called out, “Anybody hurt?”

  A chorus of “No, were Ok, and other declarations to the negative came from the troops at the roadblock.

  Officer Grinker revealed himself from his position of cover beside his vehicle and walked over to the Chief and I.

  He saluted smartly, “Ma’am it looks like we won this one; I would like permission to take Ben here and look for survivors.”

  “Permission granted Grinker.” She looked at me, “Are you willing to do that Ben?”

  I nodded, and we made our way out into the battlefield in the search for survivors under the cover of the farmer’s guns. It didn’t take long to find a severely wounded man in a ditch. His attire of loose pants belted at mid-buttocks and flannel shirt with a bandana wrapped around his head identified him as an urban gang member. Unfortunately for him, his left arm was missing above the elbow, and he was rapidly bleeding out. I applied a length of paracord to his arm to stanched the bleeding. Grinker sat him up and slapped him in the face. The dying man’s eyes sprung open, “You motherfucers killed me.”

  Grink looked down at the dying man, “You’ll live if you give us some information. Now, why did you attack us?”

  The thug swallowed hard, “The city was going to shit man, and my crew followed a guy named Delquan out. We knew it was important to get as much shit as we could, so we left Madison to raid small towns like yours….you was supposed to be easy pickings.” He coughed and a massive gout of pink foam shot out of his mouth. I looked at Grinker and he nodded, this guy was a goner, so we needed to press him for more information before he died.

  Grinker grabbed him by the shirt and slapped him again, “How many more of you are there?”

  The kid smiled and began to chuckle, “Man, when Delquan finds out what you did to his truck…..he’ll come for you and burn you and your shitty town down!” In mid-laugh, the kid’s eyes went glassy and vacant, and he slumped against Grinker never to rise again. A quick search of the battlefield revealed that the Farmer’s were a bit too good at their jobs, and all we found were bodies with single chest and head shots.

  We returned to the roadblock, and collected a group to help clean up. Salvageable weapons from the battlefield and bodies were stacked in a nearby field for cremation. The burning hulk of the snowplow eventually burned itself out. Several farmers regained control of the frightened horses and gathered them in a group. In an hour, we had the road cleaned up like nothing had happened. Fresh guards arrived from town, so we returned to Cambridge to hold a meeting…. We needed to know whom Delquan was, and what he was up to fast,or we might not be so lucky the next time we ran into some of his people.

  Chapter 7

  Cleotha Jones was not stupid. When he was sent with the raiding party to attack the roadblock and take the town on the orders of Delquan, he stayed in the rear. He knew all those white farmers were experts with rifles from his time on the honor farm in Dane County as a delinquent youth, so he made himself a small a target as he could be as the failed attack progressed. Sure enough, his stoned and drunk compatriots fucked the attack up, and were subsequently shot to pieces by old men with hunting rifles. When he saw the truck they were able to start explode into a million pieces, he decided to hit the road and head back to camp. He justified his cowardice by saying to himself, “Better to be a live dog than a dead lion” and steeled himself for the trouble he knew coming when he delivered the news to Delquan. He also had to report that there was a large black police officer helping the other side. “So much for the brothers throwing off the chains of the oppressors.” Cleotha thought ruefully.

  Cleotha staggered back to camp and came across two sentries stationed a small distance down the road from their camp.

  He approached the sentries, “Man, I got to see Delquan right now…..the attack failed!”

  One sentry led him to the McDonnell’s farmhouse where Delquans band had set up camp after disposing of the McDonnell’s in a rather brutish fashion. Cleotha shuddered to himself as he relived the tragic end of the entire McDonnell family at the gang’s hands.

  Delquan sent Aquanetta to the door of the home to pose as a distraction. After knocking, she took a step back to allow Delquan and Cleotha to attack from both sides of the door.

  An eye peeked out from the lace curtains, and the door opened, “What can I do for you Miss?” Mr. McDonnell stood in the doorway.

  “My car broke down right outside your farm. Do you have a phone I could use?”

  The man appraised the stranded motorist, “I hate to admit it, but the phone doesn’t work for some reason. Why don’t you come in and rest yourself, we can work something out I’m sure."

  Mr. McDonnell moved aside, and Aquanetta entered the cool house. As Mr. McDonnell fell in behind her, Delquan struck. He grabbed Mr. McDonnell from behind and pulled him out of the house. Aquanetta pulled the pistol she had concealed in her purse and surprised Mrs. McDonnell and her daughter, June, who were canning pickles in the kitchen.

  Aquanetta stepped through the doorway, her pistol out in front of her, “All right you bitches, hands up!”

  The McDonnell women complied and were led out of the kitchen by Aquanetta to the front of the house where Mr. McDonnell knelt with a pistol to his head.

  Mr. McDonnell pleaded with his captors, “Just don’t hurt my family, and you can have everything you want mister, we don’t want this kind of trouble!”

  Delquan struck Mr. McDonnell on the side of the head with his pistol, “Shut up you old muthafucka!”

  The McDonnell women joined their patriarch kneeling on the driveway in front of the house, covered by Aquanetta and Cleotha.

  Delquan waved his pistol at the McDonnell’s, “I think I like your place, it’s mine now…Got it!”

  Unbeknownst to Delquan and his crew, Eight year old Jason McDonnell saw the commotion occurring in his driveway. He also knew in his heart that these bastards were going to kill them all no matter what his dad said or did. He decided to fight; that’s what his dad would have done if given the chance. He braced the small barrel of his .22 rifle on the window sill and took aim at the silent giant standing behind the group. He assumed it was the leader because the clown threatening his father did not appear to be a leadership type. He squeezed the trigger on his trusty Chipmunk which gave him a little kick in the shoulder and a loud CRACK as the rifle fired. The bullet struck Delquan’s lieutenant, a smooth looking character named Mustafa Jenkins in the left eye, destroying it. The bullet continued at a slightly downward angle and popped out just under his left earlobe, missing the brain and carotid artery. Jenkins fell to the ground screaming in pain and covering his ruined eye with his hand. Delquan’s group quickly identified where the shot came from and shredded poor Jason with a hail of bullets from their pistols

  Delquan pointed his pistol at Mr. McDonnell, “You treacherous fuck! How dare you harm one of my men!

  Mr. McDonnell looked up at him and smiled, “Thought you could fuck with farm folk huh? Rest assured you heartless pimp, you are most certainly going to get yours!” To emphasize his point, Mr. McDonnell spat directly in Delquan’s face.

  The gob of Red Man laden spittle burned as it landed in Delquans eye, and he howled in pain, furiously pawing at it. Aquanetta took the initiative and shot Mr. McDonnell in the forehead, dropping him to the pavement as the women screamed in terror.

  Delquan wiped is face, “Well done Aquanetta. Now give the women to our soldiers….I’m sure that they will entertain them.” Delquan’s men dragged the women away towards their grisly fate, screaming and fighting for all they were worth.

  An EMT who had joined the group as they left Madison tended to Mustafa and Delquan took Aquanetta’s hand and led her into their new home. Over the next two days, they set up their base and successfully raided a couple of nearby farms and stripped them of s
upplies to feed and equip Delquan’s army. Once they discovered Cambridge, the plan switched to taking the town over and staying there for the winter. One of the sentries jabbed Cleotha in the back with his rifle, Jarring him back to the present. The message he was about to deliver was not going to be well received, and the deliverer of the message might have a bad day, Cleotha thought ruefully.

  As Cleotha approached the house, his fear increased. He knew that Delquan would not take this news well, and likely punish the person who brought it. Being tortured on the orders of Delquan in the barn was not a thought Cleotha relished. His boss had a stable of big sadistic men that he collected over the years as one of Madison’s biggest heroin dealers to do that for him. He stopped outside of Delquan’s bedroom and knocked, he heard a voice call, “Enter” and he opened the door and entered the room.

  Delquan sat behind a large desk with his female companion, Aquanetta, lying on the bed in the corner of the room. Mustafa glared at him from another corner of the room, his white bandaged eye with angry red stain looking vivid against his obsidian skin. Delquan looked up, beckoned Cleotha like a dog and said, “Sit” directing him to a chair directly in front of the desk. Cleotha sat, took a deep breath and started to deliver his report to his leader.