Inception of Chaos: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Story

by Holden, J. J.

  As Mary’s voice trailed off, Christine nodded at her, moved around the kitchen island to where she stood, and embraced her. “You should stay here. Just for a few days. I’d feel a lot better knowing you’re okay.”

  Mary stood stiffly, at first, but then returned the embrace. “Thanks,” she whispered into Christine’s ear.

  Pulling away, Christine saw Darcy opening one of the pantry doors, and a sense of urgency washed through her. “Darcy, stop.”

  “Just getting some chips, jeez.” Darcy closed the pantry door. “Now we can’t eat, on top of no internet. Any other injustices I should know about?”

  Sigh. The girl could be a tad overwhelming with her angst, at times. “Of course you can eat. But first, we should inventory what we have. Also, if the power goes out, the fridge won’t work, so we should leave stuff like chips until the perishable food is gone.”

  Hunter planted his tongue into the inside of his cheek and huffed. “The store is, like, three blocks from here. We can buy more, you know.”

  In a quiet, tiny voice, Mary replied, “That may not be true.”

  All eyes turned to Mary, and she looked down at her feet.

  Christine struggled to keep her expression neutral. There was no use freaking out until there was a need to… “Why do you say that?”

  Mary didn’t look up. “You can’t run credit cards without an internet connection, assuming the card readers themselves aren’t just fried. If they’re open, stores will only take cash.”

  “Crap.” Christine pulled her wallet out from her purse. Money! She felt a moment’s surge of relief. But only a moment, because there in her purse, she found only eighty dollars. “This won’t last long. Mary, how much cash do you have? Hunter?”

  While Mary looked into her purse, Hunter looked up, mouthing silent words, and then said, “I think…fifty bucks, maybe? I’ll go get it.” He rushed out of the kitchen and headed upstairs.

  Mary said, “Only fifteen dollars. One-forty-five still won’t last long, but it’s better than fifteen. Thanks for letting me stay. Are you sure you want to do that?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re my friend; of course you can stay. We’ll figure everything out, and anyway, we only have to ride this out for a few days.”

  Darcy put her fists on her hips and squared herself to face her mother. “Then let’s start inventorying all the food. I don’t want Hunter sneaking off with anything, so I want to know how much we have of everything.”

  “Everyone’s going to help. Even Hunter. You can start by going back to the basement and grabbing the basic toolbox—that’s the orange one—and a box of nails off the wire shelving down there.” She turned to Mary and smiled. “Would you please go tell my son we need him to bring in a bunch of two-by-fours and any plywood we have in the shed out back?”

  “Sure. Why?”

  “After what we saw before picking up the kids, I want to be ready to barricade the place if things start to look scary out there, especially after hearing on the radio about the response delays.”

  Darcy glared at Christine, and hadn’t yet taken a single step toward the basement door.

  Christine glared right back. Kids didn’t need to look at their parents like that. “Watch it, Darcy. You don’t get to look at adults in that tone of voice. Why don’t you just tell me what’s bothering you? I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me.”

  “Are you kidding? Barricade the house?”

  “I am not.”

  “Fine. Then can I go get the wood and let that butt-kisser upstairs do your inventory thing for you?”

  Mary spoke up before Christine could, surprisingly, and said, “Your brother isn’t a butt-kisser. He’s polite, which is something you should learn. You catch more flies with honey than vinegar.”

  Christine cut in before Darcy could reply, which, judging by the look on her face, would have been something that got her in trouble. “No, you may not go outside. Hunter is older, bigger, and stronger, and the last thing I want is for you to get hurt right now when we can’t even reach 9-1-1. I know you just want to go outside so you can lounge around doing nothing, but that’s not happening, either. It’s not safe out there.”

  “In our own yard?” Darcy opened her eyes wide, staring into her mother’s eyes. “Are you for real?”

  An angry ember began to smolder inside Christine, then, as her irritation with her unruly daughter rose. “Your usual tweenager attitude needs to stop, child. Right now, I need you to do what I told you. I need to keep us all safe—”

  “Fine! I’ll count your stupid cans of corn, or whatever. But it’s not fair, keeping me locked up in this house. What if I walk to my friend’s house? Her dad has a gun. I’d be safer there. Plus, they have a huge pantry full of stuff you won’t buy for us.”

  Christine caught herself just in time to avoid snapping back a response she’d surely have regretted. She turned away from Darcy, facing the sink, and clutched the counter’s edge with white-knuckled pressure. “Basement. Inventory. Now.”

  Relief flooded through her when she heard the basement door open and close without another word said. Maybe she’d been so obviously upset that her daughter didn’t want to upset her anymore… Yeah, right. Darcy probably just hadn’t wanted to get yelled at or punished, and it had taken a virtual sledgehammer over her head to get her to even notice her mom’s agitation.

  A hand set gently on her shoulder. Mary said quietly, “She hit Teenager early, that’s all, sweetie. Every teenager I ever met is an asshole. I know I was. She’ll outgrow it, and she’ll realize all the things you did for her, the sacrifices, and appreciate them before it’s too late.”

  Christine’s eyes began to burn, and she blinked rapidly to fight away the overwhelming emotions. “I hope you’re right. Either way, though, I’m not letting her out of my sight until the phones are back on, and the cops are showing up on time again.”

  Mary wrapped her arms around Christine’s waist, standing behind her, and rested her head on Christine’s shoulder without saying a word. Just holding her.

  When she pulled away, Christine’s eyes were dry again, her roiling feelings under better control. Until things got back to normal, she had to be strong for her family, especially for the one who seemed on the outside to need her the least—her willful daughter.

  7

  Saturday, May 30th

  The day grew uncomfortably warm. Wiley kept away from the freeway and main roads as he walked toward Denver—it wouldn’t go well for him if some random person driving by spotted him in his “prison tuxedo,” the iconic uniform of Colorado prison inmates.

  And although one of the transport van guards had nicely provided a decent wad of cash—rent money the guard would never get a chance to pay, now?—Wiley could hardly risk approaching someone to buy new clothes, or food, or anything else. Too risky.

  If it became necessary, he decided he’d go to any lengths to get what he needed to survive, but for the moment, he looked for things useful to his escape that he could easily take, while he walked westerly.

  That stretch of Colorado east of Denver-Aurora, however, was stark and mostly barren, outside of a few farms dotting the brown countryside with patches of verdant green. Those would have workers, he figured, so he avoided them, too.

  He was moving carefully through a greenbelt that edged a side road, keeping out of the sweltering sunlight, when shouts drew his attention. He couldn’t make out words, but the tone was one he recognized—anger and fear. He cocked his head and listened; it was coming from beyond the strip of trees on the far side.

  He had learned early in life that other people’s conflicts could be the opportunity he needed. He made his way through the trees and bushes to get a look. Instinctively, he moved from cover to cover to avoid being spotted by anyone else in his thin strip of forest, or those passing by on the nearby road who might see him through gaps in the greenbelt coverage.

  Reaching the far edge, he moved closer to the noise until he found the so
urce. A family of three scurried around an old station wagon, while a brand-new pickup sat with its doors wide open in their driveway. As Wiley watched, the teenage boy crossed his arms and leaned against the car, leaving a pile of their possessions sitting in the driveway. The man and woman stood facing each other, screaming.

  Closer now, their words were clearer. Apparently, the boy was refusing to pack the car if they weren’t going to take the air-conditioned truck. The woman, his mother, begged the man to just give her a minute to talk sense into her son, while the man bellowed in her face that he’d leave them there if her “lazy-ass brat of a son” didn’t start helping. She, in turn, screamed in his face that it wasn’t her son’s fault he had a useless step-dad who didn’t know how to be a man and fix the truck, which had worked just fine yesterday. Apparently, the husband had been the last to drive it, so it must be his fault it didn’t work.

  Wiley watched the exchange for a couple minutes, but in the end, the boy started packing when his mother screamed at him that he was old enough to care for himself if he didn’t want to help, but she was going with her husband.

  The whole exchange was highly amusing. Teenagers could be stubborn and stupid. Such people’s petty concerns were a fond memory for Wiley—back before his arrest.

  Once they raced away in their sputtering station wagon, Wiley looked up and down the otherwise empty road. Only once he was pretty sure no one else was around did he emerge from the tree line and head for the house, which was actually rather isolated. Beyond it stretched a green farmland. Maybe this was, or had been, a farm worker’s home.

  Of course, all the doors and windows were locked, so Wiley went to the back door. It flew open with one well-placed kick, the door frame splintering. He stopped and listened for thirty seconds, but when he heard no one coming in response to the commotion he’d created, he went inside.

  Tearing the house apart with practiced ease took only five minutes. Searching through their clothes took longer, but he found jeans and tee-shirts in the man’s closet that were only one size too big. That was better than his prison tux, so he donned one set. A pair of expensive sneakers from the boy’s room fit him perfectly, though, so he tossed his ratty, cheap shoes aside and wore those, instead.

  He also found a nice backpack in the kid’s closet, bigger than the little one he’d taken from the guards. It was a black tactical pack, too—the kid had probably thought it looked “cool.” Well, it did. Wiley swapped packs, and the new one had room for an extra set of clothes.

  The rest of the house had nothing much of use to him. The jewelry was gone, no cash, no cigarettes. Nothing small and high-value for him to take to trade when his cash ran out. No firearms, either. No flashlights, no camping gear. It seemed the family had taken anything they thought might help them survive out there, wherever they were going.

  Just as he finished stuffing the spare set of clothes and extra socks into his new backpack, the lights flickered, came back on for a moment, then went out. They never came back on. Wiley used up all the remaining hot water taking a leisurely shower—a luxury unknown in prison, which left him feeling like a million bucks—and ate as much as he could of the food they’d left in the fridge.

  Then, he walked out the front door without looking back, not bothering to close it behind him.

  8

  Christine nudged Mary awake.

  Her friend, lying on the couch, cracked open one bleary eye.

  Christine smiled at her. The poor lady had been having a rough time, and she had mentioned late the previous night, after the kids had gone to bed, that she missed her own home and her own things.

  She hated having to bring Mary bad news, and the least she could do was to deliver it after a minute to wake up.

  Christine hadn’t gotten to the store yesterday like she’d planned, and this morning, she had used the last of her coffee grounds to make the pot of coffee. Since the power had yet to come back on after it went out the day before, she gave Mary the cup with the last of her milk. Mary liked a lot of milk in her coffee.

  Usually, Christine refused to put that much milk in it for her, just on principle. But when she’d gone to make the coffee, there hadn’t been enough milk left for a bowl of cereal. Again, she cursed herself for not getting to the store before the blackout. She saw no reason not to squander it on a makeshift latte, given Mary’s rough mental state—small comforts could work miracles, as Christine had discovered during her divorce.

  Mary spotted the mug in Christine’s hand and smiled. “For me?” When Christine nodded, she took the mug, and the moment coffee hit her lips, her still-bleary eyes went wide in surprise. “Oh, this is heaven. Thanks. Was that the last of it?”

  “Yeah.” Christine sighed. When the power hadn’t come back on in an hour, the day before, the two had inventoried all their food, starting with the perishable stuff. Discovering just how little actual food remained, so soon after the CME, had been a startling revelation, and disheartening.

  Unfortunately, Mary ate out all the time and had little food at her house. Also, the radio reported that conditions outside in Denver were worsening hour-by-hour. In the end, they’d agreed that the risk of traveling to Mary’s house outweighed any reward. No food coming from there, in other words.

  All of which boiled down to mean this day was the day… The one where Christine had to leave the safety of her home to brave the outside world. She hadn’t yet told Mary her plans, though.

  Once Mary sipped down half her cup, she looked a bit more awake. Sitting fully upright, she held the mug under her nose with both hands, smelling it with a blissed-out expression, as if it was the last cup of coffee in the world. It might well be the last, for all they knew, at least for them.

  “So, I take it this means you’ll be ignoring the radio’s advice?” Mary asked, surprisingly. She must have come awake enough to start thinking clearly and connecting dots, again.

  “Yes. In case you didn’t notice last night, we don’t have much here. And the milk is all gone.”

  “They said it’s dangerous out there. They said people should stay in their houses…” Mary’s voice trailed off as she arched her eyebrows and leaned forward a scant couple inches, looking Christine right in the eyes.

  Christine mirrored the expression. “Yeah, but they probably didn’t think they had to tell people not to starve if they had other options. There’s a grocery store only three blocks away.”

  Mary hid her expression with the coffee cup as she took a sip, or perhaps only pretended to. “I wish you wouldn’t go, but I know you won’t let me talk you out of it, not when your kids are going without potato chips.”

  “Smart-ass.” Christine half-playfully kicked at Mary’s foot under the coffee table.

  “So, have you decided whether you’ll take the car when you wander out into the crap-storm?”

  Christine still held the mug in front of her face, masking her opinion of that, but it was probably not a favorable one. She rose to her feet and walked back and forth in front of Mary, her hands clasped in front of her. “Walking and driving both have risks, but it’s harder to mug me if I’m driving in a car. And since the roads are mostly vacant, except for a few cars the C-M-E did fry, I won’t have to worry about slowing down enough to get car-jacked.”

  Mary frowned, but nodded. “I still think it’ll draw too much attention. Have you noticed how noisy the silence has been?”

  Christine’s pensive expression vanished, her cheeks brightening as she laughed out loud and then clasped both hands over her mouth as she looked up the stairs. They both paused to listen, but Christine didn’t hear any stirring from the kids, upstairs.

  “Don’t laugh at me.” Mary grinned back. “You know what I mean. There’s so much noise in the city, all the time, that I wasn’t even aware of it. Now that it’s actually quiet out there, it’s…noisy.”

  “Its sudden absence stands out in stark contrast.” Christine sat on the couch, leaning back and resting one arm along its back cushio
ns. Something had felt truly off-kilter since the CME. It was a bit hard to believe the cause had been so elusive to her, much more so that Mary would be the one to figure out it was as simple as a lack of city background hum.

  “Sure. You sound like a dictionary. Too bad you aren’t smart enough to know driving is a bad idea. I’m going to worry.”

  “Wait.” Christine cocked her head. “You aren’t coming with me?”

  Mary frowned. “Sorry, but no. What’s out there terrifies me, and you’re just asking for trouble by driving. Plus, with a car, you won’t need me to help carry groceries home. Most of all, though, if anything happens to you, someone has to be here for Hunter and Darcy.”

  Christine let out a sharp breath. That was a morbid thing to say. It was good she was thinking ahead, but how bad could things get? Many cars still worked, and probably some of the gas stations, too. If they hadn’t already, trucks would soon start rolling in to restock stores, just like they always had.

  Once things went back to normal, she could go back to work. She was a bit worried her boss would try to dock her pay for the days she’d missed, but he probably wouldn’t. If he did, it’d be hard to keep current on all the bills without taking one of those horrid payday loans.

  Time enough to think of that later. One of the kids had begun to stir, up there, and would soon be down. “I’ll hit the grocery store once both my kids are awake, and I have the chance to explain the plan to them both, and to take their food orders.”

  The supermarket parking lot had only four other cars when Christine arrived. Though only a couple of carts were outside in the return racks, the parking lot itself had trash strewn about, as well as a crazy amount of gravel and small rocks. She parked near the only open sliding door, which was locked in the open position, and headed in.

  Just as Mary had feared, a sign on the door proclaimed they accepted cash only—no credit or debit cards, no checks, and the ATM wasn’t working. On the bright side, maybe there would be a lot of things on the shelves, since many people carried only $20, or even no cash, reducing her competition…