End Days Super Boxset

by Hayden, Roger

  Mila stepped into the car cradling her cell phone. Rob told her that it wasn’t worth it—that her phone had been destroyed. “Magnetic waves are designed to destroy the internal circuitry of electronics, not to temporarily disable them.”

  “Does anyone really know for sure?” she protested.

  “I’d say we’re seeing evidence of it now,” Rob conceded. He revved the engine, and its roar was like music to the ears. After looking at the fuel tank gauge, he felt a sliver of panic.

  “No. That’s not going to work. We need more fuel.” He slammed his fist on the steering wheel in frustration.

  Mila touched his shoulder. “We might make it there at least,” she said in a comforting tone.

  Rob stared ahead, gripping the steering wheel with both hands, searching for a solution. He then snapped his finger as a bulb went off.

  “Of course! The Kia,” he said. He stepped out and walked toward his tool bench behind the car. In the corner was a long black hose and a five-gallon fuel can.

  He grabbed the can and house and walked by the car window. “I’m going to have to drain all I can,” he said.

  “Need help?” Mila asked.

  “Nah. I have this,” he responded, walking off.

  He knelt next to the Kia’s tank, took off the cap, and threaded the hose inside. He held up the other end of the hose to his mouth and paused. He hadn’t siphoned gas in years. The first and last time he had put the art of siphoning into practice was so that he could write about it on one of his prepper blogs. Now he was doing it for real, and the stakes were much higher.

  One deep breath, hose to his mouth, and then a long, hard suck until the nauseous taste of gasoline rushed through. He spit and hacked as fuel poured from the hose and into the can at his feet.

  “Disgusting,” he said, spitting. A couple more times, and they’d be good to go. He gave Mila the thumbs up and ran back to the car. He placed the can and hose in the trunk, and then hopped in the front seat, ready to go. He spit the awful taste of fuel out of his mouth as Mila handed him a bottle of water.

  “Was there anyone around?” she asked.

  He swished the water in his mouth and then spit it out the window, starting the car back up. The sound of the engine was music. He put the car into gear and pulled out of the driveway.

  Mila volunteered to step out to close the garage door. Rob waited as she got out and scanned their still-quiet neighborhood around them. Mila returned, and they were ready.

  “New York City, here we come,” he said.

  The Datsun sped down the street, already gaining looks from nearby residents. The most challenging task of their day was ahead.

  On the Road

  On an average day, the drive to New York City from Nyack took about an hour, depending on traffic. But with the roads literally at a standstill, such estimates were no longer valid. Despite that, driving presented a litany of challenges, although they were different from the usual ones.

  Gas stations for miles were without power and unable to dispense fuel. Vehicles already at the pumps hadn’t moved. Lines at convenience stores were growing as people tried to scrape together some cash, because the loss of power prevented stores from processing transactions. How long, Rob wondered, before people began looting?

  In the age of digital currency, credit cards, debit cards, and online bank accounts, not having a way to pay for anything created helplessness and frustration. But such a realization was only the beginning.

  In response to the power outage and their inability to continue working, shopping, or driving, most people reacted with agitation and annoyance, even fear. Left stranded, their only option was to wait. Wait for the power to come back on. Wait for their phones, computers, and vehicles to begin working again.

  Leaving Nyack behind, Rob could see that the entire town was powerless—a massive blackout which spread to unknown distances. Somewhere, he felt sure, government officials and representatives from all agencies and branches were scrambling. Had they been prepared? What measures had been put in place? What procedures had been implemented for schools, hospitals, and prisons? Was the country at war? And if so, with whom? Rob didn’t have the answers, but he hoped someone did.

  Avoiding cars stopped along the way, he managed to merge onto Interstate 87 South, toward New York City, roughly forty miles away. Mila was glued to the window, watching nervously. People walked down the highway in droves. Many remained at their vehicles. Others pushed their cars in desperation.

  Rob kept to the right shoulder of the road while remaining mindful of the dangers ahead. They had received plenty of curious looks from people they passed along the way. Before they reached the main bridge out of town, an anxious police officer ran at them from his downed-vehicle, waving his gun in the air.

  “Stop! Police! I need your vehicle!” he shouted as they passed him by, and they watched him grow smaller in the rearview mirror.

  They drove past bicyclists and people on foot, and from their expressions, Rob sensed trouble brewing. The sooner his family found refuge the better. Judging by the number of those still on the road waiting, it was clear that, for them, the magnitude of what had happened hadn’t fully settled in.

  The route was predictably congested with both pedestrians and stranded cars. And Rob knew that the closer they got to New York City, the worse things would be. He was consumed with thoughts of the dangers ahead. Traveling to one of the largest cities in the world after a potential EMP strike was among the most foolish things anyone could do. Yet they had no choice but to continue on I-87 South.

  Stranded pedestrians repeatedly waved them down, but there was little Rob could do for them but avoid them and pass. Mila had a road map open, tracking their route.

  “Almost there,” Rob said, scanning the area ahead. A road sign said New York City was twenty-five miles away

  Mila nodded. “Thank God. I’ve heard the expression sitting on eggshells before, but this is ridiculous.”

  Rob took her hand and squeezed it.

  They passed more gawking groups of people at their steady speed. He maneuvered around vehicles dead the road, randomly moving between three lanes of traffic. Mila cracked her window and let in a fresh breeze. A motor-like whopping sound caught their ears from above.

  “Is that what I think it is?” Rob said pointing up.

  Helicopters flew in the distance. Three military Apaches. He’d never seen anything like it, certainly not around upstate New York. The four-blade, twin-turboshaft helicopters trailed off and became small dots in the sky. They were headed south, toward the city—a sign of the chaos that most likely awaited Rob and Mila.

  In the long run, the city didn’t have a chance, he believed. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe instead of mass panic and fear, they city would remain calm and civil, though Rob thought it unlikely. Martial law was inevitable. And then what?

  They neared a line of cars spread along the right shoulder of the road. There had been an accident. Rob slowed as Mila looked up from the map, concerned.

  “What is that? A traffic accident?” she asked.

  There were no people around. An abandoned four-door Nissan Sentra had smashed into the side of a Volkswagen Jetta in its front quarter-panel and pushed it to the side of the road. Plastic and glass were strewn across the pavement. The third vehicle, a Ford F-150, was parked behind the other two, unscathed.

  They proceeded past the accident with caution and came upon a clear stretch of road, which provided temporary relief. They were entering a rural stretch of road where fields and trees and farmhouses flew by. Far up ahead on their right was an eighteen-wheeler semitruck, parked to the side. Its trailer had a giant Target logo.

  As they passed, Rob scanned the truck with deep interest. Both rear doors were closed and bolted shut, and there was no sign of the driver. The desire to investigate was there, but they were on a time crunch.

  Maybe on the way back, he said to himself.

  He turned to Mila and spoke. “You know, once s
upplies begin running out, people will be raiding these trucks like wildfire.”

  “I know,” she responded.

  “Pretty soon the shelves in the stores will be empty, food will run out, and people will grow desperate. And that’s when everything starts.”

  “What about air travel?” Mila asked. “Can’t we just get out?”

  “I don’t know,” Rob answered. “The obviously have helicopters, and I’m sure there are still planes flying around. From my understanding, electromagnetic waves travel down, not up.”

  Mila took his hand in hers. “Or how about we just take a rocket and go into outer space?”

  “I’d liked that,” Rob said with a smile, keeping his eyes forward.

  The Datsun barreled down the mostly open road, nearing the end of their scenic route and edging into a more populated area, closer to their destination. One large green traffic sign indicated that New York City was less than five miles away. They were closing in, determined to face whatever the city had in store for them.

  Big Apple

  From Manhattan to Brooklyn to Queens to the Bronx to Staten Island, New York City was already in a state of disarray. A massive power outage had occurred across all five boroughs in a stunning fashion. Normally busy roads frequented by millions of commuters daily were completely clogged and at a standstill. The same gridlock could be found on the Brooklyn Bridge, the Queens Expressway, and the New Jersey turnpike.

  The vibrancy of Times Square—all its thousands of flashing signs, giant screens, and Broadway ads—diminished in an instant to blank screens. Massive skyscrapers from the Chrysler Building to the Empire State Building to the One World Trade Center were dark. Every office on every floor of every building was without power. Noisy road construction from all over the city, normally blaring from every direction, had stopped, as equipment sputtered, failed and went silent.

  Yankee Stadium, Madison Square Garden, JFK National Airport, the United Nations Headquarters, and every other major landmark, locales known throughout the entire world, was without power. Media centers, publishing companies, public libraries, museums, restaurants, tech firms, schools, hospitals, and prisons all suffered the same fate. The switch had been flipped off. The cord unplugged. But loss of power throughout the city was just the beginning of an immense national nightmare.

  On the ground, the scene was chaos defined. From Times Square to Wall Street, the financial center of the world, everyone faced a crisis similar to that in Nyack, ten times worse. The New York Stock Exchange was in a storm of disarray. Millions of vehicles throughout had just stopped working and the exasperation among commuters was staggering. Taxi drivers were helpless to explain to their passengers why they weren’t moving. The NYPD struggled to keep up with the mounting chaos. Their own backup generators had failed. Nothing seemed to be working—from vehicles to communications—and the department was in a panic.

  Theories abounded after a white flash exploded over the Manhattan skyline at 9:35 a.m. Witnesses saw a clear link between the aerial blast and the sudden loss of power and mobility. The most stunning personal realization, among residents and tourists alike, was the effect on their personal electronics. Cell phones, tablets, laptops, and computers no longer functioned. It was inexplicable and frightening at the same time.

  From Park Avenue to Columbus, most people were in a state of denial. Some rightly suspected an EMP blast, but they were stuck on foot like everyone else.

  Under the towering skyscrapers, oceans of people flooded the streets, leaving vehicles, offices, stores, and schools—desperate to find loved ones and get home. As mass confusion spread, a sizable fleet of Apache and Black Hawk helicopters flew toward the open city skyline.

  “Your orders are to take control of this city before it’s too late,” the flight commander’s voice said into the headphones of his pilots.

  ***

  Rob exited I-87 and merged onto Harlem River Drive. He could already see the noticeable increase in traffic ahead, all of it at a dead stop. There were more people—stranded at their cars or wandering around—than both he and Mila could count. They passed Yankee Stadium. It looked empty, but there were hundreds of people outside. It looked to be about eleven or noon, by Rob’s estimate. His watch no longer worked.

  Mila’s concern and impatience grew the closer they got into the city. She kept a close eye on their map for the quickest route to the Metropolitan Museum of Art on the eastern edge of Central Park. Roads in the city were confusing enough, many of them narrow one-way or only two lanes.

  “We might have to consider finding a safe place to park and travel the rest of the way on foot,” Rob said, looking ahead.

  Mila studied the map while running her finger along its surface. “If you take Harlem River to Park Avenue, it looks almost to be a straight shot from there to the museum.”

  Rob nodded and pulled to the right shoulder of the highway to avoid a stopped line of vehicles. People, it seemed, were growing more aggressive by the hour. A half-mile ahead, two large men blocked their path and waved him down. Rob continued his steady pace.

  Mila looked up. “Be careful,” she said.

  “Relax,” Rob said. “They’ll move.”

  The Datsun got closer and the men hadn’t moved an inch. They shouted for Rob to stop.

  “Rob…” Mila said, clutching the dashboard.

  “Don’t worry,” Rob said. His eyes were locked ahead—unwavering.

  “Pull over!” the man on the left shouted.

  His friend gave up and moved out of the way.

  Twenty feet away and getting closer, Rob stared back into the face of the remaining man’s stubborn defiance.

  Inches, away Mila screamed and closed her eyes just as the man jumped onto a nearby guardrail. The Datsun’s front end clipped his leg as he leapt. Rob didn’t slow one bit. He didn’t even look back.

  Mila slowly opened her eyes and turned her head to the back window. The man was standing up and brushing his jeans off.

  She whipped her head around to Rob. “Don’t ever do something like that again!”

  “What else am I supposed to do? Let them steal it?”

  “You need to be more careful, especially after we get the kids,” she said.

  Rob shrugged. “We have to be prepared for more encounters like that. Once we get to the city, it’s a guarantee.”

  She pointed her finger at him. “You’re not hitting anyone with this car. Do you understand?”

  Rob glanced in the rearview mirror and nodded. They continued on, getting closer to the Park Avenue exit. A blurry line of vehicles rushed by the tinted windows. Face after face turned to watch them pass. They were in an uncompromising spot and woefully outnumbered. Harlem and Madison Avenue. That was where they needed to be. He wanted to find a parking garage. Someplace safe and out of sight.

  “Imagine that,” he said. “We can park anywhere we want and we won’t get towed.”

  Mila looked at him, unamused. “Well, I’m glad you can find some humor in this terrible situation.”

  “Me too,” he responded.

  They went off Exit 34, Manhattan and Queens, driving to the side of two lanes, avoiding all the cars in the way.

  “Hold on,” Rob said, taking a sharp turn over a median to their right. Mila clutched the door’s armrest as the car bounced up and sparked as the tail end came down and hit the pavement.

  The hit was jarring, like going over a speed bump too fast, but Rob maintained control and veered the car off the exit and onto the street. He glanced to the side and saw hordes of people standing around, near vehicles, attentively watching him drive by.

  Mila looked around, trying to get her head right. The museum was a few blocks away along the congested streets before them.

  Rob took another sharp turn down an empty alleyway between two abandoned buildings. He drove past a large green dumpster and several crates, coming to the back entrance of a three-story parking garage—just what he was looking for. They coasted past the un
manned guard shack and up to the second floor, where he slid into a space along a row of other parked cars.

  “What is this? How’d you know about this spot?” Mila asked, catching her breath.

  “Just a hunch,” Rob said. “I still remember some places to park around here.” He shut off the engine and put the keys in his pocket. “So I guess it’s on foot from here.”

  Mila nodded.

  “Do me a favor,” Rob said, pointing. “Could you check the radio again, please?”

  Mila opened the glove box and pulled out the emergency radio. They repeatedly had tried to get a working frequency during the drive, but had failed. Nothing but static for miles. Rob took the radio, cranked the knob, and turned the dial slowly as the speaker crackled and hissed.

  “Come on…” he said impatiently. “This is ridiculous. Surely the government put measures in place to protect emergency broadcasting.” At the height of his frustration Rob heard a high-pitched emergency tone.

  “Massive power grid failure along the East Coast…” a faint voice said over the radio.

  “We got something!” Anxious, Rob held the radio up and closer to his ear.

  “Residents advised to stay indoors… utility companies are working with government officials to fix issues…”

  The signal disappeared again. “Damn it,” he said, setting the radio to the side. He looked at Mila. She was nervous and fidgety.

  He took her hands in his. “We’re halfway to our goal. All we have to do is get the kids and get back here.”

  A slightly forced smile came across her face.

  “You have your gun, right?” Rob asked.

  Mila patted her side. Rob pulled his Beretta from under the seat and pushed it into his pocket. “Let’s do this,” he said, pulling the bottom of his short-sleeved plaid shirt over his pocket.

  They stepped out of the car and closed their doors. The sound echoed throughout the quiet garage. Rob circled the car, inspecting the tire pressure and searching for leaks. Everything looked good. The last thing they wanted was to be stranded in the city, helpless as everyone else.