Both men were startled when Jason appeared behind them saying, “Good morning, Misters Westin,” a broad smile on his face. “You don’t mind if I join you, do you?” It was obvious he had no inkling of what they might encounter that morning; but then, maybe Bishop and Tanner didn’t either.
Jason fell right into step with the two men and followed their gaze as they surveyed the burned out apartments and condos. “Looks a lot worse in the daylight, doesn’t it!” Jason exclaimed. Both men nodded in agreement. No words were necessary.
Jason was wearing jeans and a dirt-colored tee shirt that read, Sedona Rocks. It had a drawing of Bell Rock with musical notes instead of clouds. A double-meaning if ever there was one, thought Bishop. Jason also had on an Arizona Diamondbacks baseball cap—and sandals. “You need to be careful where you walk, Jase, or you’ll end up with more than leather thongs on your feet,” Bishop directed.
Bishop deliberately used Jason’s nickname to make him feel welcome. “And,” he added, “as long as we’re all going to be working together for a while, you might as well call us Bishop and Tanner.”
Jason visibly puffed up and held his head high. He was one of the guys, one of the men; sidekick to the leader of the pack, he thought.
◘ ◘ ◘ ◘ ◘
When they got to Verde Valley School Road Bishop suggested they turn right toward 179. As they did it became evident that most of the Estados Apartments had been destroyed and, when looking across Verde Valley School Road toward the Wild Turkey Townhomes, the portion they could see had been dealt a hit-and-miss blow with some units still standing, others totally demolished, and some still partially intact. Naked chimneys were evident on the horizon, the only thing left of many of the condos.
As they walked past the IGA they were amazed to see that the entire shopping center was unscathed by fire. Where before there had been no signs of life, there was now plenty. The doors and plate glass windows were broken out and people were carrying armloads of whatever they could carry and pushing shopping carts loaded with merchandise. Tanner noticed with some amusement that much of the merchandise they were carrying or pushing still consisted of beer, pop, and snack foods. The smarter ones were moving cart loads of canned goods and bulk products to their cars. They seemed to be almost oblivious to anyone else around them as they helped themselves.
Bishop remarked that he needed to stop at the market pharmacy on their way back home to see if there might be a supply of his eye drops still available in the pharmacy. He knew that without the eye drops to treat his glaucoma it would only be a matter of months before his eyesight would be recognizably diminished and maybe only a matter of two years before he would be unable to see with any clarity.
Whereas the shopping center was untouched, the Chase Bank and the adjacent Desert Quail Inn were totally destroyed. All that remained was the bank’s vault, standing like some lonely sentinel in the middle of burned debris, and the Inn’s swimming pool, full of water and debris. Bishop made a mental note that the water, though not potable, could come in handy for non-drinking purposes, if that became necessary, and from the looks of things it just might.
Across the 179 traffic circle stood the gnarled remains of the electrical transfer station and across Jacks Canyon Road from that were the smoldering remains of the Prime Outlet. When the super-hot shrapnel from the exploding relay station had hit the closest outlet store it had set it on fire. And that set the adjacent stores on fire, and so on. When the flames reached the deep fryers at Taco Bell and the Marketplace Café they accelerated the fire until there was nothing in the mall left to burn. The fire had jumped Oak Creek, behind the mall, burning the open field and burning part of the apartment complex adjacent, but again, had inexplicably stopped short of moving on into the single-family neighborhoods beyond.
As far as they could see up and down 179, it looked like some weird continuous metal sculpture made of cars and trucks, with an occasional motorhome thrown in. Those vehicles that were moving at the time of the solar storm had lost their electronics and their engines stalled, impeding the operation of their power-steering and power brakes. Not realizing what was happening they were slow to react and they just slammed into each other in one long chain reaction before their vehicles could slow to a stop. Some had tried to steer to the sides but had no time to do so. The bigger vehicles and those going at faster speeds climbed up the backs of smaller ones; and large trucks, that had more forward momentum, crushed the vehicles in front of them. At the traffic circle they were piled up in one large heap coming from all directions. Without electronics the airbags failed. There were bodies still strapped in their seats where they had died of their injuries, while the doors of other vehicles were open and the occupants had evidently escaped to heaven knows where. Empty child seats testified to the fact that families had been involved. It was a gruesome scene.
When he looked up the opposite side of 179, he could see that the Views Inn Motel, Coyote Station, with its Shell Station, Wendy’s, Subway, and Los Betos Mexican Restaurant, and then the Ace Hardware and the popular Blue Moon Café were all unscathed by fire; whereas, on his side of the highway nothing had escaped the inferno. The numerous motels, restaurants and businesses that made up the core of the Village of Oak Creek were nothing but ashes. He wondered what twist of nature, stroke of luck, or other element had caused so much damage on one side and not the other. As with Weber’s, numerous people were helping themselves to the merchandise at the Coyote Station Store. Bishop wondered who they were and where they had come from. He didn’t recognize any of them. Possibly they’re from the cars that are wrecked on the highway, he thought.
As they turned up 179 they were assailed by the acrid smell of burned plastic and the unmistakably strong smell of burned flesh. It seemed to permeate their senses like a fetid cloak. Tanner immediately put his neckerchief around his nose and mouth. Jason covered his nose and mouth with his hand, which did almost no good. Bishop offered his neckerchief to Jason. Bishop had learned to endure the smell of burned flesh in Vietnam and knew he could handle it now.
◘ ◘ ◘ ◘ ◘
As they approached Castle Rock Road they saw that the Castle Rock Plaza, with the popular Desert Flower Bakery and the Yavapai County Sheriff’s substation had burned down. And then Bishop finally understood why the inferno was so great on that side of the highway: Chapman’s was no more. Parts of the gas station’s red, white, and blue aluminum roof were scattered yards away in every direction. A huge hole gaped from what had been the pumps and storage tanks. What was left of a gasoline delivery tanker sat mangled on the vacant property just beyond the station; its tires still smoldering. Bishop knew immediately that the gasoline tanks had somehow ignited and spewed thousands of gallons of flaming fuel up and down 179. He had seen the destruction of fire when they used flame throwers on villages in Nam. Here, too, it wasn’t pretty and nothing was spared; not even the steel structure of the service station and repair shop; testimony to the heat of the conflagration.
Burned cars and the remains of burned people were scattered about what was left of the asphalt pad that had been rippled by the heat, and in the service bays of the repair shop. This was too much for Jason and he began vomiting. Tanner comforted him as best he could, but he knew he just had to let it run its course before Jason would be upright again.
Bishop was distracted. Parked on Castle Rock Road, adjacent to the former Chevron, was an unscathed white Nissan Frontier pickup truck with the distinctive magnetic sign on the door that read, Chapman’s Chevron & Car Care, Village of Oak Creek, AZ. in a circle around a picture of Bell Rock. He knew immediately that this was Philip Chapman’s truck. When he had gassed up the previous morning the whole Chapman family had been working at the station. He assumed, looking at the demolished facility, that all had perished. But, then, the truck would not have survived unmarred. Then he saw a figure stand up, back in the auto repair service bay; it was Philip.
Philip spotted Bishop at almost the same time and they starte
d toward each other with deliberate speed. His face was covered with soot and there were broad streaks down his face from the tears he could not control. They hugged each other and Philip sagged in Bishop’s embrace and the sobs and tears came with alarming strength. Bishop had known him since he was born and it was this familiar presence that allowed Philip to finally release the anguish and grief he was feeling.
“I found a body with dad’s boots,” he lamented, “and another one with mom’s rings. They both were burned beyond recognition,” he sobbed. “There are at least nine bodies in and around the station. What could have happened?” he queried to no one in particular.
As Bishop continued to hug him he responded that it appeared that the gasoline tanks had exploded and destroyed everything. “I don’t think they suffered, Philip. I think it occurred so quickly none of them knew what happened. Come on, let’s go; there’s nothing more we can do here. You can come to our house.”
“What about their bodies?”asked Philip. “Don’t we need to bury them or something?”
“If you wish, son,” Bishop responded, “we can come back later with shovels and bury them in the field. I’m afraid, from the looks of things, there won’t be any funeral homes operating to take care of this.”
“There’s a shovel in my truck,” said Philip, “let’s do it now.”
Philip got the shovel and, with as much care as they could they lifted each of the bodies Philip had identified as his parent’s, one at a time, onto a blue tarp he also had in the truck and carried them to the vacant field behind the station. They took turns digging the pit and, when they finally had it deep enough, which took almost an hour, they laid both bodies in the pit and filled it in. Jason, who had known “Chappie,” Philip’s nickname in high school, found two large wrenches in the service area and stuck them in the soft backfill, like an “X”, so they could find the grave later.
It was a very thoughtful thing for him to do, thought Bishop. I know for sure there’s a lot more to this young man than we might have thought before.
“Thanks, Jace,” Philip whispered to Jason, as they stood by the makeshift grave.
“Sure, Chappie,” responded Jason, “I’m really sorry about your folks.”
They all stood with their heads bowed for a few minutes, Bishop with his arm around Philip’s shoulders, while they each said goodbye to the Chapmans in their own way.
◘ ◘ ◘ ◘ ◘
“I would have been in the garage with Dad had he not sent me to Flagstaff for some parts for the Beemer we were working on,” Philip offered. “While I was in the parts house, the power went out and there were some explosions nearby. When we went outside to see what was going on we could see smoke rising all around the city. None of us knew what was happening, but we knew it wasn’t good. One of the parts guys said he had heard something on the radio about a solar flare or something like that, but hadn’t paid much attention. I knew from some of my studies that solar flares could affect electrical systems but the electricity should have come back on and it didn’t. We could see accidents on the main road outside the parts house but couldn’t figure out why there were no emergency responders showing up. When they tried their shop phone and cell phones, they found that none of them worked. I immediately tried to call my folks here at the station but my cell phone didn’t work, either.
“I was worried about my folks and wanted to leave but, George, an old friend of my dad’s who owns the parts house, said I should stay with him since it was nearing dark, and then head home in the morning when we might have a better idea what was going on. I reluctantly agreed and spent the night at his house with his family. They didn’t have any power and we ate dinner cooked on his propane barbecue. There wasn’t any water service either but they had a good stock of bottled water to share. We used the toilets sparingly and, when we did need to use them, we shared flushes whenever possible.
“This morning, as soon as the sun was up, I left Flagstaff and headed home. I was amazed at the number of fires burning in every direction around ‘Flag’ and some major blazes to the west in the National Forest. The roadways were a mess. There were stalled and abandoned vehicles everywhere and signs of accidents. When I saw people still strapped in their vehicles, but obviously dead, I really freaked out.
“I decided to take 89A down through Oak Creek Canyon to Sedona rather than continue on 17 until I got to 179. To my surprise, there were not as many abandoned vehicles on 89A. Again, there was some traffic headed up the Canyon toward Flagstaff but none headed down the Canyon, as I was. As I passed the small motels and resorts along the highway they appeared empty, maybe abandoned. The campgrounds still had tents pitched and some families were busy eating breakfast, seemingly unaware of what was happening outside their little world. In fact, there were people swimming at Slide Rock; probably having come down from the campgrounds.
“From the Trout Farm on into Sedona I began to see more abandoned vehicles and signs of small fires and, as I came around the last corner into Uptown, I saw that major portions of the city were burned. I saw a lot more wrecks and abandoned vehicles and even saw some bodies lying in the road. I still didn’t know what had happened and I was really scared.
“The Hyatt looked like a ghost town but was untouched by fire; and as I crossed the ‘Y’ and headed down 179 I could see that West Sedona had not fared as well. There were fires burning everywhere.”
He said that Tlaquepaque, the most popular arts shopping area in Sedona, seemed to be untouched, as were the other businesses on both sides of the river there; just more abandoned vehicles in the road for him to wind his way through and around.
“It took me three hours to drive down from ‘Flag’ in what normally only takes 50 minutes, and when I got here to the station I knew my worst fears had been realized. I got here only about 15 minutes before you showed up; at least I think it was only that long. My watch stopped and the clock in the truck has been broken for a while now.
“What happened, Mr. Westin? What could have done so much destruction in Flagstaff, Sedona, and here?”
Bishop was impressed with the concise and unemotional story Philip had told, but really didn’t know how to respond.
“I don’t know what really happened, Philip, but I can tell you what I do know. They announced a News Alert on TV yesterday morning that a CME, a Coronal Mass Ejection, kind of like a large solar flare, was going to hit earth around 4:00 p.m., and it did. This CME affected the electromagnetic field of the Earth and caused major electrical surges that exploded many of the transformers and electric substations. I have to assume the same things happened everywhere and probably wiped out the electrical grids nationwide.
“Jack Lloyd explained to me that the US has three electrical grids, all inter-connected by, and controlled by computer. If the CME didn’t overload the grids first, the computers controlling them would have been fried, which would have caused an imbalance in the grids, overloading one or more, and they would have exploded.
“When the transformers and substations exploded many would have started fires and, without pumps to keep up the water pressure, fire trucks and hydrants quickly ran out of water to suppress the fires and they just burned until they burned themselves out. As I said earlier, I don’t know what caused the explosion here at the station but I’m sure it was directly related to the CME. Unfortunately, I don’t know any more than that, but from what I have observed, I think our little community is in a world of hurt. I hope that helps some, Philip, but I know it doesn’t give you the answers you really want.
“Why don’t you and Jason take your truck and go to my house. Tanner and I will be there shortly,” he suggested.
Philip nodded his head and then Jason put his arm around Philip’s shoulder and walked with him to the truck. Though Philip was three years older than Jason, they had known each other all their lives, and the bond between them was now sealed even stronger than before.
“If you don’t mind,” Philip turned and said, “I think I’d just
rather stay with you right now, Mr. Westin.”
“Okay, Philip; and why don’t you just call me Bish or Bishop.”
“And you can call me Chappie, if you want,” Philip responded.
Bishop agreed and they all climbed into Philip’s truck: the two boys in the front and Tanner and Bishop in the rear bed. They drove past the Wild Turkey Townhomes, which were burned at random, as if the fire couldn’t decide which way it wanted to go. As they approached Verde Valley School Road, Bishop knocked on the rear window and pointed to the IGA shopping center to the left. Philip nodded and turned left and then left again into the shopping center parking lot.
◘ ◘ ◘ ◘ ◘
Most of the looters appeared to have moved on somewhere else and the parking lot looked like a tornado had been through it. There were shopping carts, boxes, miscellaneous food containers, store displays, and shopping bags scattered willy-nilly across the pavement. There was even a cash register lying there, abandoned after it had been emptied of its contents. Bishop could only wonder what some feckless individual had thought the money would be good for, given the circumstances. Maybe, for a while, he thought, people will exchange food or water for money, but I don’t think it will take long before everyone realizes that good old greenbacks are worthless, even if they do say they’re backed by the U.S. Treasury, if it still exists. Hell, he thought, I don’t even know if the U.S. Government still exists, if the damage in Washington is anything commensurate with what’s happened here.
The plate glass windows and the glass in the sliding doors were all broken out; some leaving jagged edges to snag the unwary. Bishop suggested they all wait for him in the truck while he went inside to see if the pharmacy was accessible.
The inside of the store was a shambles as if people had helped themselves to whatever they wanted but had pulled down the shelving and left the products in piles resembling moguls, just without the snow. He climbed through what remained of the door and turned left toward the pharmacy, where he had been doing business for at least three decades. He knew the pharmacist and all the assistants as hardworking, caring individuals and felt sorry that all their hard work was now destroyed. As he passed the shelves of over-the-counter medicines and medical products he could hear noises from the interior of the pharmacy. Though the metal screen was pulled down over the service counter, as it normally was during non-operating hours, the door to the work area had been kicked in and, as he approached it, the voices got louder.
Sinagua Rising: A story of survival after a worldwide catastrophe Page 9