End Days Super Boxset

by Hayden, Roger

  "Any way around this cluster in the Big A?"

  A static-filled voice replied over the radio. "Clears up in about six miles," the man said.

  "10-4,"Terrance said back, "You see the 85 exit up there, Big Boss?"

  "That's a go," the man responded.

  "Good thing. Got to get to the Carolinas before noon."

  "What's your 99?" the man asked.

  "Dearborn, Michigan."

  "Good luck with that, buddy," the man said.

  "Thank ya' much," Terrance said as he hung the microphone up.

  He had left the house later than planned. Just a few more moments with the wife and kids had cost him dearly, but his next three weeks on the road would be lonely. In the end, he thought it was worth it. Terrance decided to crank up the radio and listen to some old-school R&B, which only made him think of Christina. He tipped the bill of his hat down to deflect the sun's blinding beams and took a sip from his large, steaming coffee cup. He’d picked it up at the 7-Eleven where he had fueled up before starting the journey.

  The coffee tasted good, and it looked to be a nice, ordinary day, when suddenly, everything changed. Suddenly a bright flash streaked across the sky like some kind of all-encompassing lightning bolt. Following the flash, Terrance noticed silence on the radio. His switched to his CB radio, and heard nothing, not even static. His engine sputtered out, and a thin, wavy line of smoke rose from under the hood. Terrance stomped on the gas pedal, but the truck didn't respond. He shifted to neutral and coasted a few feet before applying his brakes to avoid hitting the station wagon in front of him. He shifted into park with a quick jerk of the stick and then applied the parking brake.

  "Shit," Terrance said, removing his hat and wiping a thin layer of sweat on his forehead. His truck had died, and he wasn't even out of Atlanta yet. Of all the unpredictable bullshit in the world, he hadn't expected it. Maybe it was a blown gasket. Maybe the battery had failed. Something, somehow, had triggered a shutdown. In all his time driving, Terrance had never experienced a complete and random shutdown in the middle of the Interstate. He gripped the wheel with one hand and turned the key repeatedly in the other. He heard mechanical clicking noises from the steering column and little else. Then he heard nothing. The truck was deader than a twelve-hour roadkill.

  He shifted from neutral to park to reverse and tried to start the truck in each gear. He was afraid for a moment that he was holding up traffic behind him and pushed the hazard light button on his dashboards. The lights didn't work anymore than the radio or anything else inside or outside the truck worked.

  Terrance glanced into his side mirror, and then looked ahead. Traffic had stopped in both directions. An overhead traffic sign which had flashed “Heavy Congestion Ahead” a moment before was completely blank. Every car was frozen in time. Terrance rolled down his window manually and looked outside. A motorcyclist passed slowly in between lanes, gripping his handlebars to maintain balance as he doggedly pushed the bike forward with his legs. Terrance watched as the cyclist inched down the interstate. Drivers in cars around his truck appeared riddled with confusion.

  Hundreds of engines had shut down in unison. Drivers were left at the mercy of their once reliable vehicles, stopped dead. It was only morning, and already hot. The weather forecast predicted peaks in the high nineties throughout most of the day. Terrance saw no coincidence in any of it, and believed something major had just happened.

  To get a clearer picture, he decided to get out of the truck. No matter what he did, or how many times he turned the key, the truck wouldn't restart. Terrance climbed down the steps onto the pavement of the interstate and slowly walked in between cars on the five-lane highway to see if was any better up ahead. Other drivers and passengers had the same idea. Hoods opened, children cried, frustrated drivers cursed under their breath, and all the while, Terrance observed everything, trying to get an idea of what was happening.

  "Just stay in the car, Linda, I'll handle this," a nearby man said. He sounded confident but looked totally dumbfounded as he examined the engine of his white four-door Buick Regal. His wife ducked back inside and sat anxiously watching from the passenger's seat.

  "Son of a bitch!" another man shouted as he fiddled with the connectors of his car battery.

  "What the hell is going on?" A woman asked a girl who was standing next to her. They stared at their smart phones in disbelief.

  "My phone's out," a man said.

  "Mine too," another responded.

  Terrance hustled some distance down the road before he stopped and turned around. He reached into his pocket to pull out his older model flip phone. He was a man who still used road maps. Even his modest flip phone was completely dead, like the other more recent models of the people around him. He held down the power button, waiting for the screen to flash on, but nothing happened. He opened it from the back, took out the battery, then placed it back in. No results.

  "Ma'am, is your cell phone working?" Terrance asked a sharply-dressed woman leaning against the side of her Volvo, wearing an exhausted expression. Her eyes looked away from her phone and up to him for only a second.

  "I've got nothing," she said.

  "No bars?" Terrance asked.

  She looked back at him with a hint of annoyance. "No, I mean I can't even get the phone to come on, which is totally crazy, because I just charged this thing this morning."

  "Thank you," Terrance said, walking back to his truck. The simultaneous loss of vehicles and cell phones were linked in some way he hadn't quite figured out yet. He had a handheld two-way radio in his truck. It was the same one that he had asked each member of his family to carry in case of emergencies. If the radio still worked, it would be the first time he had ever used it to contact them. The first time in which it had been necessary.

  “Can't be true,” Terrance thought, shaking his head. “There's got to be another explanation.”

  He suspected an EMP strike. It seemed plausible. The morning's events had hit him unexpectedly and hard, just like everyone else around him. He climbed back into his truck and searched the glove compartment for his handheld radio, wrapped in layers of plastic and aluminum foil. The added precaution was to ensure that the radio would function after such an attack. He’d read about it on a prepper forum. To protect a piece of electronics, they said, the item must be wrapped in a non-conductive material. Again, Terrance had no way to know for sure if the theory would work, but it had seemed worth the try. He had placed the radio in a Ziploc bag and wrapped it in aluminum foil. He then placed the wrapped radio in another Ziploc bag and, again, wrapped it in aluminum foil. For the final step, he placed the radio in a small brown paper bag and sealed it.

  Terrance unwrapped the radio in anticipation, and once exposed, he quickly switched it on by the turning the volume knob. A red light came on, and static sounded through the speaker. He felt a flash of happiness and relief and was genuinely surprised to find that the radio had power. It was powered by four AA lithium batteries. He hoped that his wife and children had taken the same precaution and kept their handheld radios wrapped as well.

  The semi sat in the middle of the highway, motionless, already an artifact in a sea of other disabled vehicles that showed no indication of moving anytime soon or possibly ever again. Terrance gathered the rest of his belongings—a backpack with snacks, bottled water, some clothes, soaps, some cash, and lastly, his snub nose .38 revolver. He closed the glossy red door of his prized semitruck and patted it gently. "Goodbye, Deborah," he said, while running his hand across her side. They had spent the last ten years together and had seen most of the better part of the entire majestic USA. With his backpack slung over the shoulders of his plaid shirt, Terrance walked down the highway, heading in the direction from which he had just come. His only option was to get back home and get his family together. He just hoped they had their radios on them.

  The extent of what was happening, how it happened, and what was in store was not known by Terrance. He could only speculate. A
s he moved at a brisk pace, every other commuter on the road seemed engulfed in confusion. Some stood by their vehicles staring into their hoods in desperate anticipation of answers. Others paced, muttering under their breaths. Some, like Terrance, abandoned their vehicles all together. Others sat in their cars waiting for help that would never come. He came across a station wagon, at least ten years old, and found an elderly woman at the wheel, nearly passed out from the heat. Terrance lightly knocked on the side of her car to get the woman's attention. Her eyelids opened, and she glanced at him from behind the thick lens of her vintage-framed glasses.

  "Excuse me, ma'am, are you okay?" Terrance asked.

  "I..." she began.” I don't know. My car... it just stopped. I don't know what to do."

  Terrance opened the long, squeaky door with care, so as not to alarm the woman. "Your car isn't going to start again," he said. "You need to find yourself some shade and hydrate. Here," he said. He then swung his bag around and pulled out one of his bottled waters and handed it to her.

  The woman took the bottle and smiled. "Thank you," she said.

  "What's your name, ma'am?" Terrance asked.

  The woman thought for a minute, almost confused for a second. She took a drink from the bottle then answered. "My name is Maya," she said.

  "Hi, I'm Terrance," he said, taking Maya's arm. "Let's get you into some shade."

  Maya was apprehensive about leaving. "But, my car. We can't just leave my car there. It's not safe."

  "Everything is going to be okay," Terrance answered. "Your car will be fine for the time being. It isn't going anywhere."

  About a quarter mile ahead, they found a police car amidst the traffic. The uniformed officer stood outside his car, messing with his police radio. A small crowd had gathered around him, trying to get answers.

  "People, people," the office said with his hand in the air. "I have no clue what's going on. I'm trying to contact the station and get some answers. Just bear with me here."

  The questions came from all sides as Terrance approached the officer.

  "This woman is in need of assistance, sir. She was very dehydrated when I found her. It's got to be at least ninety-five degrees out. Can you keep an eye on her? Make sure she stays in the shade?"

  The officer looked at Terrance, startled, then to Maya. Clearly, he wasn't sure what to say. His stress level seemed to rise in sync with the rising red flush on his face. "I don't know. I guess I can try to... hold on," he answered while messing with the palm-sized mic in his hand. The officer turned back to them, flustered. "Just, just have her sit over there in the shade. I'll try to get her some help."

  Terrance led Maya toward a large wall on the side of the road that divided the highway from the opposite lanes on the other side.

  "Just stay here and hydrate," he instructed. The old woman nodded and leaned against the cement divider wall of graffiti while gripping the water bottle in her hand. "The officer should be able to help you soon," he continued. Still confused, she didn't respond but managed to give Terrance a smile. "Take care, Maya," he said.

  He continued down the highway having five miles to clear on foot to his neighborhood. If the Atlanta Police Department were unprepared for an EMP strike, Terrance believed that rioting and looting weren’t too far off. Maddening frustration was in the air, especially over the decimation of their cell phones. People were throwing their phones on the ground in a rage, smashing them to pieces. No one seemed to know how to cope. Tensions were high and would soon grow higher.

  Christina sat in the kitchen of their house about to light a cigarette when she hesitated, lighter in hand. She quit six months ago. That was her story. Only now the power was out, and her 1996 two-door red Chrysler LeBaron wouldn't start. It was 9:30, and she was thirty minutes late for work. What she hadn't told Terrance was that she kept a pack hidden in the kitchen drawer, stuffed behind a heap of junk mail.

  Tobias, Richie, and Paula were all at school, their third week of a new grade, and for the most part, they seemed to be doing well. She didn't know what to make of the sudden power outage. It unnerved her, as did her car not starting or her cell phone not working. Christina walked outside, put the month-old cigarette between her lips, held the lighter up, and lit it.

  Three miles from the house, Terrance tried the handheld radio once again. He turned the frequency knob—with numbers in intervals of ten from 1 to 100, searching for a signal that would allow him to call Christina. In the past, he had told his family to always go to channel 40. He had no better luck on 40 than he did on any other channel. He had no way of knowing if any member of his family even had their radios on. As he got deeper into the city, he saw the inner workings of pure chaos in the making. It wasn't just cars and cell phones. Power was out through the entire city. Shops were hastily closing their doors. People on foot marched through the streets aimlessly, trying to find a bus or taxi to take them home. Those who had been on buses soon ventured out and joined the others walking.

  The city was no place to be. Once those grappling with the loss of power or transportation realized that things were not going to go back to normal, it would be a much more dangerous world. That was Terrance's thinking.

  "The end is here! The end is finally here! Do ya’ hear me?!" an unkempt vagrant shouted, jumping in front of Terrance.

  Terrance pushed him aside and kept walking. He saw the familiar off-ramp exit a mile ahead, the one closest to his neighborhood. The likelihood that Atlanta had been hit with an airborne EMP seemed greater with each moment. He thought of the bug-out van. If his handheld radio survived the EMP blast, there was a chance the van had too. Terrance remained positive. It was his motivating factor to getting back home on foot.

  Christina had just finished her second cigarette. She was wearing her green work polo shirt, and black slacks, but going to work seemed unlikely. She wanted to see if the power outage extended beyond the neighborhood. She hadn't walked her neighborhood streets in some time. A slew of recent breakins had made her neighbors paranoid and antisocial. She looked at her smart phone again. Its lifeless screen gave no solace. She couldn't charge it any more than she could drive her car to work. She walked back inside and sat in the kitchen, trying to wrap her head around everything.

  She thought of Terrance on the road, wondering if he was okay. Wondering if he was stranded somewhere on the highway. Then she remembered the radio, the embarrassingly bulky radio, bundled in Ziploc bags and aluminum foil, which she had been carrying in her purse for so long. It could be her only way of getting in touch with him. She grabbed the radio from her large green vinyl purse on the kitchen table left the kitchen, tearing away the protective wrap.

  She swung open the screen door and walked down the steps of their front porch onto the modest patch of lawn. She held the radio up in front of her and switched it on. The sound of static was like music to her ears. After stepping over Paula's bicycle in the middle of the lawn, Christina fiddled with the knob trying to remember which channel Terrance had told her to use. After a frustrating start, she heard what sounded like a voice. She froze and held the radio as still as she could in the air.

  "Robinson family. Are there any Robinson family members out there?”

  Christina's eyes lit up with joy. It was Terrance. She brought the radio to her lips. "Terrance, Terrance, it's me, baby. It's Christina." Her heart was pounding.

  A pause. "That you, Christina?" His voice was muffled, but it was him.

  "Yes, it's me! I just told you that.”

  "I'm coming..." his voice faded slightly. Christina held the radio to her ear then brought it back to her mouth.

  "What'd you say? I'm losing you," she said.

  His voice came back louder. She could hear that he was breathing heavily.

  "I said I'm coming home,” he repeated. “Truck broke down. Power's out everywhere. I'm on foot and will be there in about an hour. I’m exhausted. The sun’s killing me."

  "But the bug-out van, I could come get you," she said.
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  "No. Don't touch it. Just wait for me to get home. We have to get the kids."

  "You crazy? You're not gonna last an hour in this heat." she said forcefully.

  "Already walked a couple of miles. I'll be fine. Do not take the van."

  Christina didn't know where the keys were, anyway. Terrance could have them, for all she knew.

  "Call the kids..." Terrance said. "I gotta save power on my end. Keep trying the kids until we hear something."

  Christina thought it unlikely the kids would have their radios on, but she agreed to try calling them anyway. "Terrance..." she paused. “Terrance, what's going on?"

  "EMP sweetheart; it's taken out all the power."

  "Are you sure?" she asked, her voice trembling.

  "No. I'm not. But it's the only thing that would explain it. Atlanta is gonna turn real bad real soon."

  "What are you saying?"

  "I'm saying we need to get the hell outta the city."

  "But, Terrance," Christina began.

  "Just listen to me. We're gonna get through this. Together. It's the only way. I gotta go. Get the kids on the radio." Terrance was off the channel, leaving Christina with only static. He got under her skin at times, especially when he was short with her, but she wanted to trust his instincts.

  Terrance had made it a long way, the walk nearly bringing him to his knees as he inched his way toward their neighborhood street, Maltby Drive. Drenched in sweat, his hat doing what it could to shield him from the merciless sun, he pushed on. The backpack sagged heavier with each mile. It dug into his shoulders and had trapped the heat and sweat on his back. He had already downed two bottles of water with only one left.

  "Richie, Tobias, Paula, are any of you there?" Christina called into the handheld. She was outside pacing throughout their tiny lawn. A couple passed by on the sidewalk and gave her a strange glance. Her voice grew more desperate by the moment. After five minutes of calling, she heard a voice of a teenage boy on the other end. She couldn't tell which son it was at first but was ecstatic nonetheless.