“Brace, brace, brace!” yelled the attendants over the growing screams of several hundred panicked passengers.
“It’s working!” breathed the captain, now sweating with exertion.
Kate took her eyes off the moonlit waves outside the window and watched the altimeter slow to a crawl. “We’re doing it!”
“Holy shit,” the captain said, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “We’re leveled off at 300 feet…”
“Starting to climb…” Kate announced. She didn’t relax enough to pull her hands from the wheel until they passed back through 5,000 feet.
The captain threw the last of the switches to cancel all alarms and then smiled at her from his seat. “That was quite the stunt you pulled back there.” He throttled back to a safer operating range.
Kate smiled. “Well, I figured, what the hell? If we burned up the APUs, we wouldn't have too much time to be upset about it…”
The captain laughed. “Go on, make the announcement. You deserve it.”
Kate cued her mic. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is the flight deck”. She waited a second for the noise behind the door to quiet down. “We just want to let you know we're back to full power and the plane is stabilized.”
She had to stop—the cheers and shouting in the passenger cabin were too loud—they’d never hear the rest of the statement. Kate waited with a face-splitting grin until it calmed down a bit. “Thank you all for adhering to emergency procedures. We're going to do our best to get us all on the ground nice and smooth in Los Angeles in another hour or so.” Another round of cheers made her pause again. “Flight attendants, recover from emergency operations, please."
Kate leaned back in her seat and unbuttoned the top two buttons on her uniform as the passengers cried out in joy one more time. “I never want to do that again.”
"What the hell was that?" growled the pilot as he reviewed his altimeter and fuel gauges.
Kate glanced out the windows and sat up when she realized the lights she’d spotted on the horizon winked out and never returned. She checked their heading and speed—everything was spot on for a return trip to Los Angeles.
"Where did L.A. go? Are we still on the right heading?" Kate asked, staring out the cockpit windows.
“What do you mean? Yeah, we’re still on track…” The captain checked his gauges before he looked up. "Holy shit. Were did it go?"
He was right. Kate looked up and down the coast and where you could count upon seeing the twinkling jewels of cities and there was nothing but blackness. She’d never seen a power outage that widespread before.
That was when she saw the first hint of pink in the northern sky. "What's that?" she asked, pointing north.
"Nothing good," muttered the pilot.
As they watched, the tentative pink haze that looked like a false dawn, grew stronger and stronger, spreading south and arching up over them as it did so. The light manifested itself in rippling ribbons of energy that danced around overhead. Within a matter of minutes it had spread over most of the sky and didn't appear to be slowing down. Further to the north Kate saw hints of greens and yellows.
"That was one hell of a solar flare," muttered the pilot.
It all made sense—the sudden electrical overload, the lights going out all along the coast, it all added up to one thing: "That was the CME."
The captain shook his head. "FAA said that wasn't supposed to hit until tomorrow night."
Kate glanced at the pilot. "You ever hear of the weathermen getting a forecast wrong?"
"Touché," he admitted. “See if anyone's still home.”
"Mayday, Mayday, Mayday,” Kate called out, hoping the fear she felt wasn’t transmitted in her voice. “LAX control, this is Aloha 3684 on emergency approach. I say again: Mayday, Mayday, Mayday, Aloha 3684 on emergency approach.”
Kate continued to make her calls, with a brief pause in between each announcement of Mayday for almost 5 minutes before the radio crackled and a voice replied through the static.
"Thank God," muttered Kate, then louder: "LAX control, say again please?"
"Aloha 3684, LAX control. What's the nature of your emergency?"
"We just recovered from a total power failure at 30,000 feet, LAX, we’re coming in at 5,000 feet after a mid-air restart," replied the captain.
"Fuel status?" snapped the no-nonsense controller.
Kate checked the gauges and reported to the captain. "We’re at 35%.” He relayed the info to ground control.
“LAX control, be advised: we've got plenty to make it back, but I sure don't want to be circling for too long."
"Copy that, 3684. Give me a second,"
"Give me a second?" Kate asked the captain.
"Control, Aloha 3684—what the hell else do you have going on?" demanded the captain.
"We’re on emergency backups right now—all of Los Angeles is out. I got flights all over the place requesting emergency landing. Just give me a second to reroute. I'm putting you at the top the list."
"Much appreciated, ground," he replied. Kate shrugged.
By the time ground control sorted out the order of landing and directed them to the appropriate runway, dawn had arrived and pushed back the auroral display. The landing went smoothly, but Kate still found herself exhaling in relief as the nose gear touched down with a squeak.
When they parked at the darkened terminal, she looked at the captain and smiled as clapping and cheering erupted from the passenger cabin.
"I'll stay with the aircraft to get the maintenance going, you want to see what you can find out?"
"If it's as bad as I think it is, I think both of us—and everyone on board—need to get the hell out of here."
"I live in Seattle,” he said. “I'm not going anywhere. I got a buddy downtown—I'll go crash with him. What about you?"
Kate unstrapped from her seat and stood in the now claustrophobic cockpit. All she could think of was getting off the plane, booking a rental car and getting the hell out of Los Angeles. She didn't even want to imagine what the streets would look like in a few hours when the 10 million residents of Los Angeles woke up and found out the sun had knocked them back into the nineteenth century.
"I'm going to rent a car. I live in Illinois—I've got a long road trip ahead of me."
"Road trip? No, you’ve got to be ready for the return flight," the captain laughed as he powered down the plane.
"There won’t be a return flight, if I’m right," Kate said as she grabbed her flight bag. "Look, the thing that hit us was the CME.”
He leaned over his seat and watched her. “How do you know?”
“I've never heard of northern lights in Los Angeles, have you?" she snapped.
"Well, no…" the captain drawled. "But—"
"We lost power in midair, then we saw all the lights on the coast go out. We've got northern lights in Los Angeles, for Christ's sake! This thing is big.”
“But—”
“It was a lot bigger than anybody thought. If I'm right, the power’s going to be out for a long time. You need to think about getting home to your family."
He laughed. "Hey, it's your career. I thought they were a little crazy to put a rookie up on a long-haul this early, but…"
Kate ignored him as she grabbed her jacket from the coat locker and stormed passed the surprised attendants at the aircraft's forward hatch. She paused, taking a quick glance down the length of the airplane at the confused and relieved faces of the passengers peering around dangling oxygen masks.
"Ma'am?" asked the senior attendant under her breath as she smiled at the passengers. “What the hell is going on?”
"The power’s out in L.A. and it’s not coming back for a long time. It's going to get bad out there,” Kate whispered to the attendants. “Make sure you stay safe. If you can, get out of the airport and get home."
“But…” said one attendant.
“It’s the solar flare, isn’t it?” asked another.
Kate nodded as she slung her f
light bag over her shoulder. “I’m afraid so.” She stepped out of the way as the first of the passengers disembarked.
“Where are you going?” asked the senior attendant, a glint of worry in her expression.
Kate stepped into the crush of people trying to get off the plane. “I need to find a car."
TO BE CONTINUED…
CHAPTER 1
JAY STARED OUT MAC’S kitchen window at the glowing sky, splattered reds and pinks. He tore his eyes away and looked into his mug at a jet black substance more related to crude oil than coffee.
"You're telling me this is the end of the world?"
Mac grunted from the kitchen table. "As we know it, yes." He sat there and stared unblinking at Jay under unruly eyebrows. "The only thing that matters right now is how you react to it."
Jay shook his head before taking a sip from his mug. He winced and put it down.
"This can’t be real,” he said, clenching his fists to keep his hands from shaking.
Mac stood and glared down at the pile of equipment on the table. "It's simple. That shit outside," he said pointing at the window, "means we're all without power. Everywhere, everyone—maybe the whole planet. No power means no gas at gas stations, no water in our pipes, no refrigerators, no food, no emergency deliveries…"
Jay raised his hands. "I know, I know. I understand what you're saying. I just can't…" He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. "She's not dead."
Mac stood, the scrape of his chair on the linoleum floor loud in the silent house. "I know you want to believe that—God knows I do too. I always liked her. She's a helluva gal, and I don't care who hears me say it."
Jay watched as the old man picked up a map from the table and sighed. "Fact of the matter is, nobody knows what this shit will do to an airplane. We just don't know."
Jay took a step forward. "Then you admit there's a chance she could have made it to Hawaii."
Mac shook his head. "Only the Almighty knows and he ain't talkin’. Look, think of it this way: Is there anything—anything at all—that you can do right this second for your wife? Anything?"
Jay pulled his phone from his pocket. He looked at the screen for the hundredth time in the last few minutes—no new messages.
"I can't even contact her…"
Mac nodded and held the map out for Jay. "So focus on what you can do. Sitting around thinking about what ifs and maybes is the best way for you to do one thing."
Jay looked up from his phone. "What's that?"
"Nothing." The old man nudged Jay with the map. "Take it."
Reluctantly, Jay took the map, but looked at his phone instead. "I know what you're trying to tell me. I need to get my daughter—I understand that and I will—once I figure out if this is a nationwide event or something that makes the risk of bringing her home outweigh the fact that she's already in a safe spot."
Mac laughed, a chopped, bitter sound. "Are you kidding me? We're looking at the northern lights, not just on the horizon but over the whole fucking sky—in the middle of Illinois! You think somehow Indiana hasn't been affected?" He put his fists on his hips and frowned.
"If I can give you irrefutable proof this is a nationwide event, will you do something?"
Jay frowned. "If you can prove she's in trouble, if you can prove she's without power—and that this isn't going to be over anytime soon—then I'll go get her right now."
Mac nodded. "I was hoping you'd say that." He turned around and pulled a cardboard box the size of a toaster from the counter. Jay watched in silence as the old man ripped open the packing tape and removed a metal cage made of copper and chicken wire, surrounding an olive green ammunition can. Jay took a closer look and saw the can once contained .50 caliber ammunition.
"Bullets?"
Mac laughed. "I love that you didn't even question the ammo can inside a metal cage."
"Well…"
"Skip it," snapped the old man. He opened a multi-tool and hesitated. "I don't know how long this mess will last, but I assume the worst of it is over if what we see outside is any indication," he gestured with the multi-tool toward the window. A few judicious snips and the top of the metal cage came off. Mac reached in and removed the ammo can and pulled the lid back.
Despite himself, Jay leaned over to see what was in the can. Mac produced a small rectangular package, hardly bigger than two or three cell phones taped together, all wrapped in aluminum foil. With a flourish, he ripped off the aluminum foil and produced a hand held radio.
"Not just any radio," Mac crowed, "this is a HAM radio. Amateur radio operators are the first ones back on the air in a disaster. Doesn't matter if it's blizzards, hurricanes, or…" He glanced at the window. "If anybody out there is still broadcasting, it'll be HAMs, I guarantee it."
Mac flipped a switch and the little screen on the face of the radio glowed orange, displaying different frequency digits and volume settings.
"Did you know that would work?" Jay asked pointing at the cage and ammunition can.
Mac grinned. "Nope, never had a way to test it. Looks like that shit I read on the internet worked…"
"…telling you this is it! TEOTWAKI, SHTF, you name it—we're on the threshold of hell, brother. This is gonna set us back big time—I hope you're ready. Over," a scratchy voice said.
“It worked!”
Mac waved Jay to silence and frowned, pointing at the radio.
"You damn right I'm ready," came another voice through the ether. The sound modulated up and down as if fighting through a lot of interference, but they could understand the words just fine.
"I've been waiting for this my whole life. I got enough food and weapons to last me 50 years. How far south you think it goes? Over."
Voice 1 returned: "I heard from a guy near Galveston…" the sound faded into static then came back a moment later. "…said all of Mexico is out too, over."
"Gettin' some bad QRN," reported Voice 2. "Did you say Mexico, over?"
"Yeah—I think them lights up there are really screwing things up. Yup, Mexico," mused Voice 2. "This is real bad, brother."
"What's 'QRN'?" asked Jay.
Mac tossed a little notebook with handwritten codes at Jay. He stared at the radio while Jay flipped through the papers. "Sweet Mary in heaven," muttered Mac. He looked up. "Mexico…If these guys are telling the truth and no one has power clear down through Mexico, then I was right."
"Not necessarily," Jay countered in an attempt to convince himself Mac was wrong. "There's more than one power grid in this country—oh, 'QRN' stands for natural radio interference—”
Voice 2 interrupted him: "…thank God I live out in the woods. Can you imagine what it's like in the big cities right now? Poor bastards...no one will have a chance out there if they don't get out of the city in the next 24 hours. Over."
"Jee-zus. Talk about a nightmare. When the food and water dry up, things're gonna get medieval. You think we'll see a Golden Horde? I'm getting ready to bug out. Buffalo is quiet, but it's too big for comfort, you ask me. Over."
Mac gently placed the radio on the table and picked up his coffee mug. He took a long sip, staring out the window and he raised a hand for silence when Jay opened his mouth.
"I don't know," mused Voice 2. "Everybody thinks that, but I looked at bad situations in the past—earthquakes, hurricanes, and shit. Never found a Golden Horde before. You ask me, I think it's more tinfoil hat shit. Everything’s A-OK outside DFW. It's still early yet, but I'm not planning on leaving. Over."
As the two HAMs continued to compare notes about their local situations, Jay had to admit the event was bigger than he’d imagined. All of North and at least most of Central America seemed to have been knocked back into the 1800s.
"Satisfied?" asked Mac. He picked up the radio and switched it off.
Jay leaned against the counter, bracing himself against the sudden blow of reality. If the CME was powerful enough to knock the continental electrical grid offline he saw no way that Kate could have survived 30,0
00 feet in the air when it hit. He closed his eyes, at last giving himself to the grief he'd been trying to hold in his heart.
"Jay," Mac said. "I understand what you're going through—I've faced this situation on the battlefield more often than I'd like to admit."
"Oh, you've faced the end of the world," snapped Jay, "you've faced the loss of everything you know and love on the battlefield?"
"Not exactly like what we're looking at here, but I have lost several men—not knowing if they were alive or dead—and had to choose between launching a costly rescue mission to find them, or go after the men I knew desperately needed my help. It's a lose-lose situation, but like I said, I've been there."
Jay looked at the floor, ashamed. He'd never pried into Mac's military history like Kate and Leah and now felt ashamed he hadn't gotten to know the man who lived next-door better.
"I'm sorry…"
"I am too," the old man muttered. "But that doesn't change the fact your daughter is still out there, alone in the dark, in another state—" he said, pointing east.
"I need a minute to grieve for my wife, damn it."
Mac slammed his coffee mug down and stepped over to stand in front of Jay. "You listen to me and you listen good, you sniveling little shit," barked Mac. Jay stiffened and tried to step back, only to find himself blocked by the counter. Mac pressed his advantage.
"I've lived alone for more years than I deserve—I shoulda died a long time ago in some flea-bitten sand pit on the other side of the world, but I didn't. For the longest time, I couldn't figure out why God chose to keep me alive, but I think it was for this moment." His voice lowered. "That little girl of yours is like the daughter I never had and I will be God dammed if I allow you to stand here and cry while she needs help. Your wife may or may not be dead—we don't know, and we might never know!"
"But—" began Jay.
"No!" shouted Mac. "Standing around crying about Kate is not going to do your daughter any damn good at all. You need to make a fucking choice, Cantrell. Do something!"
Solar Storm: Season 1 [Aftermath Episodes 1-5] Page 10