Mrs. Sanchez and her two children were seated on the couch with their rosary beads, murmuring prayers to an indistinguishable saint.
One girl about my age stood in front of the windows in shock, staring at the nearest fire with wide eyes.
The confusion on her face laced with wonder. Many other faces just stared out into the unknown.
Several of the apartment staff that lived in the building were gathering a small group together to discuss the best course of action.
I avoided them all and rushed past them. The glass crunched under my hiking boots. I stepped through the glass frame and into the street.
I could hear screaming about 20 yards off. Shadows from a fire played across a large piece of twisted metal jutting out of a second story apartment across the street.
Several people were wandering aimlessly, calling out names of friends or family.
A man walked past me with a jagged gash lacerating his forehead. Blood seeped down his face as he stumbled past me.
“Samantha!!! Sam!!! Samantha!!!” He just continued screaming it over and over and over.
I stepped around him and walked down the street to my car. The windows were blown out. I did a round about, checking the tires and the engine.
No internal damage. I grabbed my keys and tried the ignition. Nothing. Not even the click that comes with a dead battery.
It didn’t come as a surprise, though. Just confirmed suspicions. I got out of the Jeep, warily, searching the streets for Matthew and Liza.
I headed to the back and opened it up to grab my extra backpack and the tire iron. Yes. I carried an emergency pack in the car, too. Prepper grandfather. Remember?
“Place the pack on the floor board and step away from the car,” an intense, cruel voice behind me hissed.
I felt cold hard metal pressed into my back. Bone on metal, unsteady hand, the gun was shaking against my shirt.
I dropped the pack, but didn’t step away. One hand went to my face.
“Please. Please. Don’t hurt me. I’m so scared. What’s happening? Take what you want, but please don’t hurt me. Don’t leave me here with nothing, though. I’m all alone. I don’t have anyone in the city, and I don’t know how to survive.”
I pleaded and begged, wiping tears from my eyes and collapsing onto the pack, half bent over and sobbing.
I felt the gun slowly pulling away from me. The man shifted to my right side, the gun lowered and pointing to the ground.
“Look,” he started reasoning. “I’m just going to take your packs. I need them, too. I won’t hurt you if you coop . . .”
He didn’t have time to finish his sentence.
As he reached to lift the pack from the car, I swung the tire iron at his head as hard as I could. A sick cracking sound resonated down the roadway, and his body went rigid as it hit the pavement.
Blood spilled into a widening arc. The firelight gave it a sinister glow. I looked down at my hands, the tire iron dripping dark splotches of blood on the pavement.
My body refused to move until I felt a hand settle on my shoulder. I swung around wielding the tire iron in a vice grip. Matthew jumped back just before it clipped him on the shoulder.
“Holly? Are you okay?” His voice seemed small and frightened.
Matthew, I . . . I am sorry.”
But he was no longer looking at me. His face was furrowed, lined with worry and a touch of fear.
He stayed several feet back, unsure what to do. His eyes fixated on the blood still filling our half of the street and the body attached to it.
I steadied my voice and hid my trembling hands behind me.
“Matthew, look at me, please.”
He slowly pulled his eyes away from the man and up to my face.
“It was him or us. We are going to need every supply we have and more. This wasn’t a random accident. I think it was an EMP attack. That means we are on our own, and people are going to show their best or their worst. We have to survive. That’s our job now.”
“What’s an EMP attack?” he asked.
I said nothing, too scared and my mind too busy to come up with any rational description.
What’s your plan, Holly, because obviously you are preparing to do something,” Matthew’s eyes were deadlocked with mine; he was unsure and probing.
“One step at a time. Let’s get Liza and get off the streets as fast as possible. Where is she?”
Matthew cleared his throat. “Liza is in the lobby. There’s been looting on the street. People breaking into cars and stores. I told her I’d check it out.”
“Okay,” I said.
I wiped the tire iron off on the Jeep’s carpet and closed the hatch.
I began the walk back to the apartment lobby, Matthew’s footsteps falling into place beside me.
CHAPTER 3 (Holly)
“Holly! Pay attention! Disaster scenario number 13. What is it?”
Norman’s gaze penetrated my distracted thoughts.
“Geez, Grandpa,” I started.
“No, Holly,” he spoke resolutely. “What’s my name? Rule number 2?”
“No-er-ma-nuh, Nor - man,” I said it through clenched teeth, drawing out each syllable dramatically.
“That’s right,” Norman assured. “Now go on.”
“Okay, “ I rolled my eyes before continuing. “Scenario number 13 is Norman Carter takes his moody 13 year old granddaughter to Six Flags for a carefree fun summer day like normal grandfathers do. He showers her with fun park gifts, like funnel cake, cotton candy, and a souvenir Bugs Bunny hat. He springs for the really expensive one with the cute bunny ears sewn on.”
I sat back in his cushy office chair, crossing my arms, and sticking out my tongue.
“Cute, Holly,” Norman grumbled. “But I don’t think Bugs Bunny is going to help you find clean water, build a fire in the woods, hunt, and find food. In fact, I’m pretty sure he can’t fight the bad guys by playing kid tricks on them when they are actually trying to kill him. Now, scenario 13 - for real. Recount it and then, recite the first five rules again since you keep forgetting.”
“Scenario 13,” I began. “High Altitude Electromagnetic Pulse Attack. Attack meaning man-made, not a naturally occurring EMP. Results conjectured to register similar to a geomagnetic storm or solar flare. All electronics hooked to the power grid would be fried, possibly across the entire U.S. Cards made before the mid to late 80’s with no electrical components would still run, like your 1984 J40. Survival tools include a HAM radio in a faraday cage along with the inverter for the solar panels you and I will be adding to the grounds this summer, unlike a normal kid’s summer vacay with dear old Grandpa. Also, a generator with no electrical parts and lots of fuel are a must. Happy?”
I threw up my hands in surrender.
“And the rules, Holly?” Norman sat up expectantly, raising an eyebrow.
“Rule 1, always stash emergency packs in the car and at home. Rule 2, never call someone by relationship, Norman. Rule 3, get out of congested urban areas ASAP. Rule 4, trust yourself only, unless Norman is with you. You can trust him, too.”
I grinned at him before continuing.
“And last, but not least, Rule 5, Carry a well-plotted map. No main roads. Stay close to water when possible and out of crowded areas.”
“And why no Grandpa?” Norman sat back with his arms crossed, patiently waiting for my answer.
“Because,” I cast my eyes down at his feet. “People use family for leverage, and it can get their loved ones killed.”
“Okay, let’s add Rule 6 today. Get to the cabin. Promise me, Holly. The first place you go is to the cabin. We rendezvous here. Promise me.”
I met his eyes.
“I promise.”
CHAPTER 4 (Holly)
Matthew and I stepped back into the lobby where he took the lead.
He walked over to the front desk and whispered to a shadow that slowly emerged from behind it.
I stood in the shadows near the entrance, dis
tractedly rucking through the front pocket of the Jeep’s pack.
My hand felt the smooth, thin paper I’d been searching for.
I zipped up the pack and stood. My eyes skirted back across the lobby where the congregation had swelled from about ten to fifty.
Mostly men, heightened voices yelling above the din. All scrambling to take charge of the growing mob.
Two camps were emerging. Those who wanted to stay, fortify the complex, send a small contingency for supplies, and wait for emergency services.
The second camp consisted of residents who wanted to leave, find provisions, and travel to a less populated area to avoid the predators who had started terrorizing the city.
Children and their parents stood at the very edges of the group. They hung back, calculating best options, holding little hands tightly. Many of them needing comfort and reassurance from their parents.
Some children bawled loudly and uncontrollably while others stood absolutely still, confused and waiting for the nightmare to pass.
My gaze drifted back to Liza. When I first moved to Atlanta, Liza and I had met as competitors for the same junior journalist position for CNN at the Turner Broadcasting Network.
We had both interned at small news stations each summer during college to prepare for a big city job. We sat next to each other the day of the interviews.
They had gathered a room full of fresh-faced hopefuls, college graduates searching for their big break. No one wanted to speak for fear of crossing enemy lines.
In a room full of monochromatic young men and women dressed in dark suits and ties, plain colored heels and oxfords, no originality or personal fashion sense, Liza and I definitely stood out.
She wore vibrant canary yellow, fitted slacks and a silky white blouse that settled neatly into a collared bow at the neckline. Her platinum blonde hair was pulled up into a stylishly crafted messy bun, and red-rimmed cat-eye glasses perched upon the perfect slope of her nose.
I looked down at my own attire, pleated, high-waisted. black and white pin-striped slacks. They tapered down to show off my ankles and candy apple red heels.
I had paired them with a cream colored chiffon blouse, tucked in to sport the high, thin waist line. My hair hung in loose curls down my back, and of course, I, too, sported cute glasses, wide, round, jade-colored frames.
My lucky charm was the vintage leather briefcase Norman had given me on my eighteenth birthday. It had been his father’s, and he had wanted me to start off my college career ready to write.
Liza and I just happened to catch each other. Both of us were sizing up the other one, and we burst out laughing.
Everyone else in the room avoided our friendliness and looked in every direction except for the two giggling girls in the corner.
“I noticed you wore glasses today, too,” I grinned widely. “Is that for journalistic flare, or are they actually prescription? I like the red, nice touch. It’s very Lois Lane of you.”
“Well, I don’t think I can beat the briefcase,” Liza replied. “It says ‘hardcore journalist ready for action’!”
“Well, you know, we journalists have stories to uncover, goliaths to slay, and lives to save!”
We both erupted in laughter, and that was it.
We made plans to meet at the pub after our interviews, enjoyed toasting each other into an oblivion that evening, and sealed our friendship the next day over Bloody Mary’s in her apartment.
It was fate or coincidence that we lived in the exact same apartment complex. Floor five for me. Floor two for her. We had been inseparable for the past four years.
Oh, and she got the job. I always teased her about the red glasses. We both say they cinched the deal . . . and no, they weren’t prescription.
I shouldered the extra pack and met Liza and Matthew at the desk.
Unfolding the map, I spread it across the desk and shined my light across it.
“Okay,” I pointed to the Piedmont park area. “We don’t have much time if the looting has already started. We are roughly here.”
Matthew nodded and I continued:
“We need to get here, past Buford Dam and into Cleveland. It’s up north, and a friend of mine has a cabin up there. It’s equipped to handle this. I have maps for each section we will cross. I’ve mapped out supply stops along the route. We will be trekking a little over 70 miles since we aren’t taking the direct route. If we can clear at least 10 to 15 a day, we should get there in seven days or less. We need to keep our eyes out for any older model cars that aren’t being used as well. We’ll stick to the back roads and alleys in the city. Once we get out of the urban areas, we stay as close to water sources as possible. Lake Lanier is north of us when we get out of the city, and there are large rivers along the route here and here.”
I pointed to the Chattahoochee and the Etowa further up the map.
“And there are a ton of tributaries that feed into them along the way.”
“Let’s get questions out of the way, now.” Matthew interrupted me, putting his hand over the map. “How do we know this is the best plan, Holly? You act like you’ve been preparing for this your whole life. I’ve known you for a couple of years, and this side of you is a mystery. Why don’t we hunker down here and wait for help?”
“You are welcome to stay, Matthew, but I guarantee in this type of situation, you’re taking a risk aligning with a large group of people you barely know,” I responded. “What happens when one of them thinks it’s a good idea to bring a gun, or when a group of criminals decides to storm the lobby. There are too many variables and leverage points when you get attached to a big group. You’re exposed. There’s no stealth, no hiding, and that makes you vulnerable. I’m almost positive this was an EMP attack. Everything is down and won’t be up for a very long time. The entire power grid is shot which means emergency services has no way of reaching us. We are on our own, but you can certainly stay here if you want.”
I stood with my hands planted on the desk, our eyes meeting, neither one willing to back down.
“What’s an EMP attack?” Liza’s thin voice broke through our stalemate.
“Electromagnetic pulse attack, possibly widespread,” I answered, my voice and demeanor calmer this time in contrast to earlier when Matthew had asked me the same question. “It’s like a nuclear bomb exploding hundreds of kilometers above us. The pulse from the fallout in the atmosphere wipes out the power grid and fries any electronics connected to it. My phone is fried because it was charging at the time of the EMP attack. Matthew’s wasn’t plugged in and turns on, but there isn’t any service because everything is down. Planes were falling from the sky because the pulse eliminated all electrically powered vehicles. Welcome to the Dark Ages. Now, Matthew, you have a choice to make. Liza, you and I need to get moving. Take my extra pack and stuff your clothes into the top. Everything else you’ll need is already in it.”
I slid the backpack toward her and grasped her hand. She offered a weak smile.
“We can do this, Liza,” I tried to assure her. “Remember, we have stories to uncover, Goliaths to slay, and lives to save.”
That had become our motto the past four years. I grinned at her, and she pulled me into a hug.
“Let’s do this,” she whispered back.
Matthew sighed, “Okay. I’ll come along. You girls are going to need someone to help out on the road. That’s a lot of miles, and someone’s gotta look after Wonder Woman over here.”
CHAPTER 5 (Holly)
After the late discussion, we decided to begin the long trek that night and rest for a couple of hours during the day.
Traveling at night in the city would provide more cover. The most difficult task would be finding places to hunker down during the daylight hours.
We didn’t realize how terrified people in the city had become. Sharks and fish . . . that was the layout.
Terrified people gathered together in great clumps, and the danger seemed to herd them into buildings for the taking.
Many of the store windows were empty cavities, shattered glass littering the sidewalks.
Future criminals were stepping out of the shadows, invigorated by the chaos. This was their hunting ground. You could see the contrast on the faces of people you passed.
Those with malevolent intent wore a look of hunger and excitement, which was opposite of the panic and worry and furrowed eyebrows of the majority.
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