“What are we going to do?” Mark muttered out loud. “What in the hell are we going to do?”
He thought of their food storage in the basement and how most of it was expired. He thought of their money, their assets, and their online accounts. He thought of ATMs, and not having in cash, and looters. The banks would soon be the most chaotic places imaginable, next to the supermarkets and gas stations. The bug-out house was a consolation to his worries. Mark considered their options. He needed Janice's input. Traveling to Milledgeville and leaving their home behind was a huge step, but a necessary one if things got worse.
Mark went to their backyard shed. He opened the wooden double-doors and found their bug-out parked inside, covered with layers of dust and grime. They owned an American classic: a red 1970 Plymouth Road Runner with a rear spoiler and lots of attitude. The door squeaked open, and Mark climbed into the driver's seat.
He wasn't surprised to find that the car wouldn't start. He hoped simply because the battery was dead. For that reason, they stored three car batteries on a shelf in the shed along with ten five-gallon cans of reserve fuel. Frustrated, Mark popped the hood and grabbed some tools to disconnect the dead battery so he could install a replacement. He was confident that the car would start in the end. If it didn't, then he would have to rethink his entire strategy. He was not looking forward to riding his bike to Janice's office in ninety-degree heat. He swapped out the batteries and ensured that the replacement was tightly connected. He sat at the wheel, placed the key in the ignition, and paused. He really didn't want to find out. If the car didn't start, he would be devastated. "Please," he said under his breath. "Please..."
He turned the key and felt the miraculous roar of the Plymouth's engine.
"Yes!" he shouted, hitting the steering wheel with excitement.
He revved the engine methodically then held the gas pedal down. He had always kept the car below half a tank to prevent corrosion. Now he had to fill it up with twenty gallons worth of fuel reserve. Out of ten fuel cans, he would have six left. He hoped that would get them to Milledgeville, if there were no gas stations operating. He shut the door and idled out of the shed onto a path that led him to the front yard. He waved again to Mr. Harper and sped off down the street in hopes of finding Janice. Mr. Harper waved back and smiled, still unaware of anything out of the ordinary.
Janice paced back and forth the parking lot in front of her building, wrestling with her options. Without a car, she didn't have many. She could walk home under the hot sun, or she could wait, and hope that Mark would soon arrive. She thought of their bug-out car, and wondered if there was any chance that it still ran. Perhaps an EMP had nothing to do with anything going on. Maybe it was all in her head. Her coworkers wandered dazed through the parking lot examining their cars and trying to get their cell phones working.
The highway was a sight to behold. Commuters walked down the highway like some kind of mass protest. Janice was caught between a desire to maintain her routine, and the realization that things were different now. She decided to wait. The power company had to intervene at some point. They would have the protocols in place to deal with such a thing. The government as well. She thought of the hospitals, prisons, schools, gas stations, and banks. There had to a plan to deal with a crisis of such magnitude.
She looked out toward the highway again and there, right before her eyes, saw the results of an aerial electromagnetic pulse. If an EMP had been launched, it meant America was at war with someone. Janice thought about their home, their investments, and lives. Her head spun with panic. She looked back to the office building. More people had walked out, and were chatting with each other. She could feel sweat building on her back, under her shirt. Only ten feet away from her building, and dehydration had kicked in. She walked back to the building and stood under the shade of a nearby oak tree.
Mark drove the Plymouth through back roads to reach Janice's office. He wanted to avoid the highway as much as possible. Too many cars as roadblocks, and too many people. The back roads were not without their share of wanderers and broken-down vehicles either. He felt no satisfaction passing anyone,but he had his hands full as it was. He was only a few miles from Janice's building.
The Plymouth crept down back roads, its loud motor gained attention from everyone in its path. Mark drove slowly; cautiously attentive to whatever obstacles might be in his way. The paralyzed traffic created an eerie silence, pierced only by the sound of Mark's car, which could be heard miles away.
Janice heard the sound of Mark's Plymouth in the distance. She was standing under a nearby Oak Tree next, as many others convened outside the building. She saw the mysterious Plymouth as it turned into the parking lot, confounding every bystander along the way.
"Hey, man!" a young man covered in tattoos shouted. He held his arms out as if flagging Mark down. "Let me get a ride!" he said as Mark passed him by. The man jogged after the car, and soon others joined him. Mark looked in his rearview mirror and saw that he was being followed. A large group of desperate people trailed behind him. He would have little time to get Janice if she was still there. He gripped the steering wheel, and his eyes swept the parking lot as he searched for his wife.
Janice’s attention was drawn to the odd sight Plymouth. People were following it like parishioners after their prophet. The car sped up, but couldn't shake them loose. Suddenly it dawned on her that the Plymouth was no ordinary car, it was Mark's bug-out car coming to get her.
A sudden sense of relief and happiness swept over her. Mark slammed on the brakes in front of the building and kept the engine idling. He looked frantically for Janice in the crowd. Against his better judgment, he pressed down on the horn as it sounded a muffled blaring. Janice ran toward the car, away from her perplexed coworkers. The mob behind the Plymouth had gained ground and had almost reached the rear bumper when Janice flew to the passenger's side. Mark leaned over and pushed the door open for her, his face filled with both anxiety and relief. Others were crowding closer.
"Janice, thank God!" he said, and reached across to help her inside. "Hurry up and get in!"
She swung her legs inside, and plopped down into the seat. Her door swayed open as Mark pulled away from the building and drove in the opposite way, trying to lose the mob following them.
"Come on, asshole!" a sweaty man billowed out in raspy breaths. "Give us a break here!"
Janice slammed the door shut, and hunkered down in the seat. The mob tried its best to keep up, but soon the Plymouth moved out of range, bumping over a parking median and onto the main road. They weaved between perfectly still vehicles in their way. Mark feared that their path would soon be blocked by a pack of frustrated motorists.
"We have to take the back roads," Mark said. "The highway is much too dangerous."
"What's going on, Mark? Is this an EMP?"
Mark kept his eyes on the road, taking a moment before answering. "Pretty damn good chance," he responded.
"What are we going to do?" she asked. "My friends at work are stranded. I didn't know what to tell them."
"Right now it's the only thing that makes sense. We have to assume the worst. We have to be prepared. This is what it's all about, Janice. We knew something bad was coming."
"I know, but─" Janice began. She stopped and covered her face with her hands, grief-stricken.
They pulled off the main road, going back the same way Mark had come. It was longer than taking the highway but safer. Mark looked at Janice sympathetically and trying to think of how to console her.
"How are you holding up?" he asked her. "Are you okay?" He reached over and placed his hand on hers.
Janice looked up and sighed. "I was sitting at work, talking with one of our applicants when the power went out, just like that." Janice snapped her fingers.
"Same thing happened with me."
"At first I didn't think much of it,” said Janice, “like it was just a downed power line or something, but as soon as I saw the cars, I knew it was something di
fferent. Then the cell phones and everything else went."
"Electromagnetic pulses. That's what they do," Mark said.
"Yes, but for how long?"
"What?" Mark asked.
"How long will it be like this?"
Mark couldn’t answer. He looked around and took the next turn towards home. Their windows were down allowing in cooling gusts of wind. They passed stranded motorists by the dozens, careful not to make eye contact. It felt wrong to leave them, but there were far too many.
“There's nothing we can do for them right now. Right now it's just you and me," Mark said.
"How long will everything be like this?" Janice asked.
"It could be days, months, or years. The government is supposed to have taken measures to minimize the effects of an EMP blast. There's no telling what they came up with, or what sort of emergency plan they have in place."
Suddenly in the creeping silence, Mark and Janice heard helicopters in the air; an army of helicopters it seemed. Janice looked into the sky and saw them coming into view. They were painted blue and white, and looked to be law enforcement. Mark grew paranoid at the presence above, as they would clearly identify their Plymouth as one of the few, if not the only, cars moving on the road. However, they flew over them without a care, and over the horizon, out of view.
They made it back to the house, without any clear answers. Janice was shaken, where Mark was focused. He felt that they needed to get to the bug-out house as soon as possible. As they pulled into the driveway, Mark looked over to Mr. Harper's front porch. His neighbor was no longer there. Only an empty swing remained. They parked, and Mark helped Janice out of the car, holding her hand as they walked back into the house.
"Silly question," she said, "but our house... is it...?"
"No power, sweetheart. Just like everything else." Mark led Janice inside. The house was stunning in its silence, and humidity. Mark walked through the living room, shutting the blinds to block any view from outside. Janice sat on the couch, and looked at her silver shiny wrist watch. The hands weren't moving. It had stopped at 9:10 a.m.
"Thanks you for getting me," she said. “I guess you were right about that old car.”
Mark turned from the window to look at her. “I never knew for sure. We're very lucky.”
The smile on Janice's face vanished as a distressing thought came to mind. "Our finances," she said. "What about our money?"
Mark walked to the couch and sat next to her, placing a hand on her knee. "I'm not going to lie, honey; right now it doesn't look good. Our gold investments should be okay. We have a few thousand in cash stored in the safe. As far as our savings, I just don't know. The banks are down. We can't call them. The ATMs aren't working. Even if we showed up there, they can't do a thing until the system is up. In another day or two the banks will probably be either the most secure or dangerous places on earth. Everyone is going to want cash, and once they realize their credit cards are worthless, they're going to get angry and desperate."
Janice rested her head on Mark's shoulder, and for a moment they were just quiet.
"Is it Milledgeville, then?" she asked softly. After doing the math in her head, Janice, like Mark, had soon came to the conclusion that the bug-out house was the place to be.
"It's looking that way," Mark said. "Why don't you rest for a minute? I'm going to try to get in contact with James."
Mark got up and walked toward the basement. Janice looked at him curiously. "How are you going to do that?" she asked.
"I'm going to try him on the radio," Mark answered and continued walking toward the stairs.
Oh, well. Good luck with that. Janice stretched her legs out on the couch and lay back. Her mind raced in a million different directions. She looked up at the popcorn ceiling and became paralyzed by her thoughts.
Mark found the radio, secured in a thick metal case. Once it was set up on the table, it looked like something from an old war movie. The 500Hz main transceiver sat in the middle, fitted with plastic knobs and buttons. At the end of an attached, coiled cable was the receiver. Mark flipped the power on and could hear static through the handheld microphone. The radio ran off of a 12-volt battery attached inside. It was an ideal means of communication in emergency situations. Mark trolled the frequencies, moving through its digital display, searching for anything resembling radio activity. He reached 1407, which was a station he knew James sometimes frequented.
"Red Raven, Red Raven, this is Badger Beast, do you copy?"
He released the button on the handheld mic and waited. There was nothing but static. Mark continued. "Red Raven, come in Red Raven, this is Badger Beast, do you copy? Over."
A sudden sound crackled over the mic. "Badger Beast, this is Red Raven. Over."
Mark was elated. As a result, he fumbled slightly with the receiver.
"Awesome! So glad you're there. Over," Mark said, foregoing any type of radio etiquette.
"How you holding up on your end? Over," James asked.
Mark held down the button on the handheld and spoke. "It's pretty bad here. Possible EMP strike occurred early this morning. All power is out. All devices. Bug-out vehicle is operational. Over."
"Same here. EMP has spread to Milledgeville and beyond. Over."
"What is the status of our rally point? Over." Mark asked.
"Rally point is a go. Over."
"Great, we'll leave first thing tomorrow morning. Over."
"Sound good. Over."
"Will see you soon. Over and out," Mark said.
Mark switched off the radio and set down the hand mic, pondering their urgency. He estimated that they had at least a week or two of normalcy, waiting for emergency assistance like everyone else. But even before the black out, things had reached a tipping point. All the economic problems and general discontent going on throughout the nation only needed one match to light the fire. Driving to Milledgeville days after the fact would almost guarantee trouble at the hands of an even more desperate mob. They had to leave soon. Mark went to the living room and stood over Janice as she lay on the couch, still deep in thought.
"I think we should leave tomorrow morning," he said.
Janice sat up and stared at Mark, considering his suggestion, but she looked more worried. "What about our house? All of our stuff?"
Mark sat down next her, sinking into a plush cushion. "We’ll take everything we possibly can. We’ll hide our valuables, or pack them up. It's going to take some work, but we can do this."
Janice seemed wary of Mark's suggestion. "Do you really think we need to leave so soon? We don't know what could happen. They might have the power back on in a few days. Like you said, they have protocols for this sort of thing."
"Janice, we need to do what we've been planning for all this time. We have to take advantage of the bug-out house. We're not going to stay there forever, but it's going to be safer in the long run. Think about it. The longer we wait, the more dangerous it's going to get out there. The more dangerous it gets, the more unlikely our chances are to ever make it to Milledgeville." Mark paused. “Listen," he said, leaning in closer. "I talked to James. Milledgeville's almost two hundred miles away, and they're going through the exact same thing we are. We have no idea the scope of this."
Janice nodded but still couldn't feel the same urgency Mark did about leaving. "If we waited a couple of days, we could then leave late at night if we had to. It would be safer out. Fewer people, fewer everything."
"We can't sit here and wait for them to come for us. You saw how many people chased after my car in your parking lot. That was, what, a few hours after the attack? How do you think those same people are going to react after three days with no power?"
Janice said nothing as Mark placed his hands on her arms and looked into her eyes. "I don't want to do anything that you don't want to do. Just consider it. Think about what I'm saying. I'm only concerned about our safety. You're my wife, and I can't do any of this without you."
Janice felt her eyes wate
r but tried to not to get more emotional. Everything she had dreaded was happening at a frightening speed. She looked into Mark's eyes and tried to arrive to an answer.
Pandemonium in Atlanta
Monday, September 21, 2025 8:45 A.M. Atlanta, GA
Interstate 75 was a nightmare, typical of Monday morning rush-hour traffic. Terrance had left his house a little later than planned and was on his way to Dearborn, Michigan, in his eighteen wheeler semi. As of now, the forty-foot trailer hitched to his glossy red cab was empty. Thirty pallets of copper wire awaited him in South Carolina then on to the Wolverine state. By his own estimate, he was an hour behind schedule, which, in the trucking business, was not a good thing. He knew I-75 would be a pain, it always was. Once he found himself in the thick of it, he tried to think of alternative routes, but few existed. He called other drivers on CB radio, asking them how far the gridlock extended. The news wasn’t good, and Terrance soon found there was no way around it. Traffic was going to be crawling no matter which route he took. He only had himself to blame for any delays. If only he’d gotten out of bed earlier and hit the road.
He thought back to that morning. The cool bedroom, the soft pillow tucked under his head. It was still dark outside, and then the alarm clock buzzed. "Ten years," Terrance muttered under his breath as he finally sat up in bed that morning. "Ten more years and I'm done." He had a lot of years on the road. Could he do ten more?
Terrance felt the absence of his family every time he left home. He believed, over the years, that he would get used to it. Having a steady job, after all, wasn't something to take for granted. Even with Christina working, they were making just enough to get by.
His boys were in high school now, and all Terrance and Christina asked and hoped for was that they graduated. If they could make it that far, their parents would feel they had done their jobs. Terrance stared ahead, squinting against the rising sun. The light was blinding, even with his sunglasses on. Traffic clogged the road as far as he could see. "Dammit," he said, downshifting to a crawl. Terrance hated to be late, especially when it involved his haul, but had little control of the situation. He held the CB microphone in his hand and spoke, hoping someone was listening.
End Days Super Boxset Page 167