Solar Plexus

by Victor Zugg

  SOLAR

  PLEXUS

  A Dystopian Novel by

  VICTOR ZUGG

  SOLAR PLEXUS

  © 2018 by Victor Zugg

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to real people, living or dead, is coincidental and was not intended by the author.

  solarplexusnovel@gmail.com

  CHAPTER 1

  Tiffany Conway wound down her workdays by watching the late night talk shows. Sometimes she agreed with what the hosts had to say and sometimes she didn’t. But either way, the guests were usually interesting.

  ‘Tiff,’ to her friends, on this night sat on the sofa cross-legged, wearing baggy bottoms and a sports top. She cradled a small bowl of popcorn in her lap.

  She listened to the monologue as the host ranted about something he thought the president was doing wrong. In this instance, Tiff agreed with the president; although, that wasn’t always the case. On this particular issue, at least, she thought the host was especially insulting with his beat down.

  After a couple of minutes of his berating, Tiff finally pulled at her close-cropped blond hair with both hands, yelled, “Asshole,” and threw a kernel of popcorn at the TV screen.

  At that very moment, the screen went dark and then immediately went to a wide image of the president sitting behind his desk in the Oval Office shuffling papers. There were other people in view off to the side.

  Tiff sat up. “What the fu…?”

  A man wearing jeans, a polo shirt, and earphones motioned to the president, silently counted down with his fingers—three… two… one, and pointed. The image zoomed. The president filled the screen.

  “My fellow Americans, I come to you tonight with grave news that will affect everyone on this planet.”

  Tiff fixated on the screen.

  “A few hours ago the surface of the sun released a massive storm of highly charged particles that are heading directly for us. These particles, called a coronal mass ejection, will strike our atmosphere in less than four hours. Solar storms of charged particles are common and strike our atmosphere regularly. Most are small and relatively harmless. But this one is massive. It is the largest and fastest ever recorded, and it is expected to punch through our atmosphere with relative ease. These highly charged particles will cause serious electrical surges in almost all wiring and circuits even if the devices are turned off and unplugged. For most people, this means no lights, no A/C, no phones or any kind of communications, and no running water. Except for very old models without circuits, vehicles, boats, and aircraft will not work. Fortunately, most military vehicles are shielded from the effects of these charged particles. Our troops will be able to operate.”

  Tiff was familiar with this phenomenon. An increase in solar storm activity had been reported in the news over the last year or so. She didn’t think much of it at the time, no one did. She did remember thinking that there wasn’t much that could be done if the sun decided to strike. She focused back on what the president was saying.

  “Also, several years ago we began taking steps to ensure nuclear power plants would remain safe during such an event. They can be brought back online with only minor repairs. The problem will be the transmission of power. All transformers are expected to be destroyed. Because it takes so long to build a transformer, even in the best of circumstances, we expect it will be many months, possibly years, before power can be restored to everyone. Most other countries will be equally affected, so they won’t be able to help.”

  Tiff wondered which countries would come to our aid with no strings attached even if they could. Canada and Mexico would likely be equally affected. England and Australia would help, maybe Germany and France, but that would be about it. Tiff perked up with the president’s next words.

  “We don’t have a lot of time, but we’ve already taken steps to preserve as much as possible. I declared martial law an hour ago. All state governors have been notified. I’ve nationalized all guard and reserve military units. I’ve grounded all airlines. State and Federal agencies with access to protected facilities such as bunkers, underground compounds, and even caves, are loading them with critical supplies and equipment. I will be moving, along with much of my staff and cabinet, to a secure facility in Virginia. The military command Authority will be moving to a similar facility in Pennsylvania. I will be able to communicate with the military, along with some government heads around the world, and several of the state governors.”

  This sounds serious, Tiff thought. She picked up her cell phone and pushed some buttons. The phone came to life. She held onto the phone as she turned her attention back to the president.

  “We will begin our recovery efforts immediately, but most of you will be on your own for months, perhaps longer. The only thing I can do for you right now is ask and pray that you do not turn on each other. No matter your skin color, culture, religion, or financial status, we’re all in the same boat. Protect yourselves and your families. Help your neighbors. No matter what, we are Americans and we will persevere. God bless you and God bless these United States.”

  The screen went dark again. A few seconds later the talk show host resumed.

  Tiff stared at the screen. “Maybe this is a joke,” she mumbled to herself. She was aware that decades ago, back when there were only radio shows for entertainment, one radio station broadcasted a war-of-the-worlds scenario so realistic that people actually thought the planet was being invaded by aliens. Maybe this was simply a similar joke on the public, she thought. But then the television screen went dark again.

  A few seconds later the NBC national news desk popped on the screen. A newscaster sat behind the desk as two other people fiddled with his earphone. They left the newscaster’s side, and he looked up. The screen zoomed to his image.

  “This is NBC News in New York. I’m Bret Callaway coming to you with an emergency notification. You’ve just heard directly from the president. This is not a joke. This is a very grave situation and we have almost no time to react. Soon we will be off the air, but until then we will provide as much information as possible. As you heard, a massive solar storm is heading directly for our planet. The consequences are expected to be significantly life altering.”

  As the newscaster continued in the background, Tiff dialed her cell phone. After a few rings, an older woman’s voice answered with a hello.

  “Mom, have you seen the news?” Tiff asked, as she stood up and paced the floor.

  “No dear, your father and I were about to go to bed,” the voice on the phone replied. “What’s going on?”

  “The president says there’s a solar storm coming that will knock out power and water for months—for everyone. It’s supposed to even knock out our phones and cars, we’ll have no way to talk or travel.”

  “Honey, are you sure, maybe they’re exaggerating like the news always does.”

  “This is for real Mom, I just listened to the president, it is happening.”

  “Will it affect us here in Ohio?”

  “Yes. Ohio, here in Florida, the whole country. In fact, the whole world. You and Dad need to go to the store right now and get plenty of water and canned food. If what they say is true, the storm will hit in four hours and we won’t be able to talk on the phone anymore. And your car may not work. If you don’t get food and water right now, there won’t be any by tomorrow.”

  “But what about you, dear, what will you do down there all alone?”

  “I’m going to pack some stuff in the car and start driving toward Ohio. If the car conks out, I’ll hike. I have
all the gear I need. It may take a while, but I’ll get there.”

  “That would be dangerous, maybe you should stay there.”

  “Mom, if what they say is true, Orlando will be out of food and water in a couple of days. This is no place to be when the people have no food or water. I’ll be better off heading out. I’ll stay off the main roads.”

  “Okay honey, you’ve always been confident and determined. We’ll pray for you.”

  “Okay Mom, got to go. I love you. And tell Dad I love him.”

  “We love you too.”

  Tiff ended the call and looked around the room. “Let’s see, hiking gear, tent, food light enough to carry, water—“

  ***

  Water bottles and a couple of one-gallon jugs full of water sat on the kitchen countertops of Tiffany Conway’s apartment. Tiff was ferrying equipment from the two bedrooms to her makeshift staging area in the middle of the living room floor. She paused for a moment, thought, disappeared into the spare bedroom, and returned with a small nylon bag in one hand and a rolled up sleeping bag in the other. “Tent, sleeping bag, some food, water, hiking equipment, what else… toiletries, first aid,” she mumbled.

  She added the tent and sleeping bag to the growing pile of equipment, disappeared into the same spare bedroom, and returned with a large backpack. She sat down next to the pile and started stuffing items.

  Tiff grabbed two medium-sized nylon bags from the pile, stepped to the kitchen, and began opening cabinets. She went through the cabinets and pulled out food items that were light and compact. She had just opened the pantry when there was a knock at her front door. She ran to the door, checked the peep hole, and then slung the door open.

  A slim, athletic woman, about the same age as Tiff, rushed in. “Tiff, my god, what will happen?” The woman glanced at the pile of gear on the floor. “Where are you going?”

  Tiff closed the door behind the woman. “Ohio. Mom and Dad will need me there. You’re welcome to come. I could sure use the company.”

  “I can’t Tiff, my family is here. How will we stay in touch?”

  Tiff stepped back into the kitchen. “I don’t think phones will work. I’ll be back though when this is over.”

  “Looks like you’re planning to hike the whole way.”

  “I’ll drive until the car stops. Hopefully, I’ll be well out of the Orlando area.”

  The woman inched closer and hugged her. “Tiff, how can you walk to Ohio?”

  Tiff returned the hug and then stepped back still holding the woman’s arms. “Meg, I was a marine, remember? Two years ago I was slugging through deserts, swamps, and all manner of crap. I’ll be fine. Right now I need to get moving, so I’ll have time to make it out of town. Can you help?”

  ***

  Tiff stepped off the apartment building stairs lugging the backpack and shuffled to an older white Honda Civic parked nearby in the lot. The muscles in her arms and bare calves down to her leather hiking boots rippled and flexed from the strain. Meg followed carrying two jugs of water and various nylon bags.

  “Can you carry all this?”

  Tiff tossed the pack into the back seat. “I’ll manage.”

  She turned to Meg, took the items from her and threw them in the back seat. Tiff dug in the front pocket of her shorts and handed Meg a key. “Take the remaining food, water, and anything else you might need from the apartment. Your family will need it. And if you guys stay here you need to stay at your Mom’s house. It’s well out of town. Don’t trust anyone you don’t know. And be wary of the people you do know. It’s going to get bad.”

  Meg’s shoulders drooped. She started to speak but choked up instead.

  “I’ve got to go, Meg.”

  They hugged for a full minute and then stepped apart.

  “Are you carrying a gun?” Meg asked.

  “I’ll be carrying my XDs 9 from now on. You should carry too, everywhere you go.”

  Meg nodded. “Be safe Tiff.”

  “You too, best friend of mine.”

  Tiff checked her wrist watch. “One o’clock, I should be able to make it well out of town before the storm hits.”

  Tiff opened the driver’s door, hopped in, and closed the door. She reached through the open window for Meg’s hand. “You might want to hook up with Tom from work, he was in the army and he’ll know what to do when things get bad, which will be soon.”

  “Tom Castor! The old guy in shipping?”

  “Trust me, he’s a good guy, he’s alone, and he’s not that old. You could even invite him to your Mom’s house.”

  “I don’t know,” Meg replied.

  “Call him now and tell him I said to get in touch, he’ll take it from there. I think he likes you. Just do it.”

  “Okay, okay, I will,” she said, as she pulled out her cell phone.

  Tiff started the car. “Gotta go.”

  “I know. Take care Tiff, I love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  Tiff stepped on the gas and sped off with a wave out her window.

  CHAPTER 2

  Sam Pratt shuffled papers and placed them in neat stacks on his desk. It occurred to him that he actually enjoyed paperwork. Being on top of things, being organized, instilled a sense of order. It was a natural form of Xanax. People could eliminate anxiety if they would just get organized. He had been this way his whole life—fifty years—and it had served him well. He often lauded the fact that he could do in half a day what it took most people a full day. That’s what being organized could do. Which is why he spent a couple of hours nearly every evening preparing for the next day—generally staying ahead of the paperwork that came with the job.

  That’s what he was doing this night. Still dressed in his slacks and polo shirt, with no television and no distractions, he pulled more papers from his briefcase and arranged them with the stacks already on his desk. He picked up one of the stacks and tamped the edges on the desk to align the pages. As the stack hit the desk for the second time he heard a loud boom outside. Sam jumped at the sudden noise. He jerked his eyes to the window over his desk and saw sparks rain from the transformer onto the cul-de-sac. Then the power went out, and he was plunged into darkness. That’s when he noticed the lights.

  He’d only seen the northern lights on YouTube, but there was no mistaking it. This was them. Sam laid the stack of papers on the desk, got up, and stepped to the window. With his thumb and index finger, he separated the open horizontal blinds for a better look. The sky was full of bright bands of green and red, pulsating into different shades of both and arcing from horizon to horizon. The light show was beautiful, but wrong, he thought. The auroras should not be visible from Daytona Beach, Florida; they were a far north phenomenon.

  Sam picked up his iPhone and pushed the home button. Dead. He picked up his landline handset. Dead. He glanced around the dark room for a moment and then made his way to a credenza. He felt around inside a drawer until he found the cylindrical body of a flashlight. He pushed the switch. Nothing. He sat the useless flashlight on the credenza and made his way to the kitchen. There, he rummaged blindly through a drawer. Finally, he struck a match and touched the flame to a candle wick. The room flickered with dull light. He put the candle on a saucer and carried it to the living room where he placed the saucer and candle on the table next to his favorite chair.

  Sam opened the front door and stepped outside. It was dark and unusually quiet—not even normal street noise. No one was about. Of course, that would be expected at two in the morning. None the less, something was definitely wrong. Sam admired the light show in the sky a few moments more and then stepped back inside and closed the door. He glanced around the room at the shadows dancing on the walls. He took a seat in his chair, relaxed, and waited for the power to come back on.

  ***

  A frantic pounding on his front door catapulted Sam from a deep sleep. He stood, rotated his shoulder to get some blood flowing, and shuffled to the door half asleep. At five-ten, one-seventy-five, he mi
ght be in great shape, but he wasn’t as agile as he once was. He glanced at his silver diver’s watch on the way. It had stopped at 2:07.

  He checked the peep hole and saw a tall slender man about Sam’s age, short gray hair, a full beard. Sam opened the door.

  “Dammit Chet, what the hell time is it?”

  Chet, breathing hard, his shirt spotted wet from sweat, rushed through the doorway to the middle of the room and spun around to face Sam.

  “Don’t know,” Chet said. “My watch stopped. Everything has stopped!”

  Sam closed the door. “What do you mean?”

  “Everything has stopped working. Didn’t you hear the news and the president last night? He declared martial law.”

  “Martial law? What’s going on?”

  Chet followed Sam to the kitchen. “Bud, life has changed in a big way. Our trip to Dallas and the security seminar today is definitely off. The president grounded all flights. I guess he didn’t want planes falling out of the sky. The planet was hit by a giant solar storm last night, around two. The northern lights were in our southern sky. All electricity around the world is off and expected to stay off for months, maybe years. Nothing works—no power, no water, no phone, and worst of all, no car.”

  Sam, with an empty coffee pot in his hand, opened the refrigerator. The light was out. He flipped the wall switch. No light. “Are you serious?” he asked, as he put the coffee pot on the counter. “How did you get here?”

  “Rode my bike.” Chet looked down at his t-shirt and pulled at the dark spots to separate the wet cloth from his skin.

  Sam peered out the kitchen window. “What do you mean, months?”

  “The president said months, maybe longer. It’s probably around six-thirty, and already it’s chaos; people have descended on the grocery stores like locusts.”