EMP Survival In A Powerless World | Book 21 | The Darkest Day

by Walker, Robert J.

  The Darkest Day

  Robert Walker

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  1

  Mary stepped back from the Firebird and wiped the sweat off her brow with the upper section of her right sleeve. She stared at the big V8, smiling with quiet satisfaction; the rebuild was almost complete, and soon the muscle car would be running as smoothly as the day it had rolled off the factory floor back in ’74, ten years before she’d been born.

  She took a moment to look around the large workshop, converted from an old warehouse in a formerly industrial area of this city. These days much of this neighborhood had been gentrified with art galleries, restaurants, and cafés, but Mary was proud to work in this haven of gasoline and steel, which still held part of the area’s formerly proud and stoic soul.

  Gleaming muscle cars, vintage trucks and jeeps, and even a few truly ancient pre-WWII cars filled the workshop, and except for one or two that Mary had yet to work on, they were all running, like-new vehicles. A smile broke across her face; she was immensely grateful that she was able to do something she was good at and passionate about for a living. She took in the sight of the rows of beautiful old vehicles with pride, drinking in their proud lines, seductive curves, and gleaming, perfectly restored paintwork until an unexpected voice interrupted her and jolted her from this trance.

  “Excuse me, miss, but can you point me to someone who can help me with my car?”

  With a jumpy start of fright, Mary turned around, her fingers curling tightly around the large wrench in her hand. She’d been in a stable job and a safe environment for over fifteen years now, but dark memories from her past still made her jump every time someone snuck up on her.

  The man she saw behind her was the furthest thing from a threat she could have imagined, though, a small, mousey fellow in his sixties with coke-bottle glasses and a pink golf shirt tucked into denim shorts, pulled halfway up his bulging belly.

  “Of course, sir,” she said, putting on the usual sweet smile she wore for customers. “What car is it?”

  “No offense,” the man said, somewhat snootily, “but I’d like to speak to someone who’s a specialist.”

  She resisted the urge to roll her eyes; she was accustomed to comments like these and had long since learned the value of having a thick skin in this business. At five and a half feet with a petite build, long, auburn hair, and a soft-featured face, she didn’t exactly look like a master mechanic, even if she dressed like one and her hands and wrists were black with oil and grease

  “I’m the head mechanic here, sir,” she said, her smile unwavering. “I’m pretty sure I can help you with your car if you’ll just tell me what model it is and what the problem is.”

  The man looked her up and down, and his face crumpled into an expression of blatant skepticism. He folded his thin arms over his pot belly, still scowling, but answered her questions, albeit reluctantly. “It’s an AMC Javelin AMX,” he said, almost sneering. “It’s a rare model, you probably—”

  “1974, with a 335 horsepower 6.6-liter V8,” Mary answered confidently, still smiling. “They’re pretty light as far as classic muscle cars go, but that motor packs a powerful punch. Has yours been modified with a Borg-Warner T-10 stick-shift gearbox?”

  The little man raised both eyebrows, and his scowl turned to a look of surprise. “Oh yeah, that’s right. It um, it stalled out at that gas station about a mile down the road, and it won’t start again.”

  “I can get one of the boys to pick it up with our tow-truck right now, sir,” Mary said, “and we’ll get it running for you right away. Let me guess you hadn’t used it for two or three weeks before taking it to the gas station?”

  “Actually, yeah, you’re right. And uh—”

  The man stopped mid-sentence, for the workshop was suddenly plunged into gloomy shadow as all the lights went out.

  “Ugh, sorry about that, sir,” Mary said. “Looks like a power outage. Anyway, I think I know what the problem is with your AMC. Hold on, let me just text Alex. He’s out with the tow-truck right now. He isn’t far, so he should be able to pick up your car right away. Hmm, I wonder why the backup lighting hasn’t come on yet?”

  She pulled off her oil-stained gloves, squirted some cleaning foam onto her hands, and after drying them off, took out her phone. Alarm bells immediately began to peal in her mind when she saw that the device was off; when she’d last looked at it around half an hour ago, the battery had been on ninety percent. She held down the power button, trying to restart it, but the phone seemed to be completely dead.

  She looked up at the man, peering through the gloom. “Uh, sir, could you check if your phone is on?”

  “What? Why are you asking me that?” he asked, annoyed. “Are you going to call your truck or not?”

  “My phone’s dead, sir, and I’d just like you to see if yours is too,” she said. Her voice was calm, but as the man reached into his pocket, her pulse started to race, boosting surges of icy, anxiety-laced blood through her veins. She suspected that this was something far more sinister than a mere power outage, but she was praying that she was wrong and hoping that she’d see the man’s phone screen light up in a second or two.

  “I don’t see why your phone being dead would have anything to do with me,” the man grumbled, but nonetheless, he pulled out his cell. When he looked at it, though, his grimace of annoyance turned into a look of surprise. “What the– how the hell is that possible? This stupid thing was fully charged an hour ago, and I just bought it last week! It’s not even turning on or showing the low-battery symbol! What in the hell is going on here?”

  Mary’s mind was now racing, and her grip on the big wrench in her hand inadvertently slackened. The heavy tool hit the floor of the workshop with a loud clatter, making the man jump with fright.

  “What’s wrong with you?” he demanded.

  “You need to get home,” she said bluntly, her tone and attitude completely reversed. “Forget about your car; I don’t think it’s ever going to run again.”

  “What?” the man gasped. “Are you insane? Well, screw you, missy, I’m taking my business elsewhere!”

  Mary didn’t bother to respond and didn’t wait to watch him storm out in a huff. A million thoughts were crashing through her brain. Her extremities were tingling, and she felt as if she were about to start hyperventilating. Her father had told her this day would come; twenty years ago, on the day she’d last seen him, those had been his exact words: “It’s coming, Mary. Mark my words. The day I’ve been preparing all of this for. You think I’m crazy, everyone thinks I’m crazy, but I promise
you, the day is coming, and when it arrives, everyone who isn’t prepared is gonna be in for one nasty surprise.”

  A spear of guilt and emotional pain stabbed through her guts when she thought about her father. His relentless obsession with this doomsday scenario and his complete rejection of new technology and modern society—something that she had been desperate to be a part of—had been what had ultimately driven her away from home as a teenage runaway all those years ago. She’d rejected all of his ideas and theories, and convinced herself that he was delusional and crazy, but even so, a small part of her had continued to believe that perhaps there was a chance that he could be right. Therefore, as unlikely and ridiculous as such a scenario as the one he’d envisioned seemed to her, she’d kept a bug-out bag in her apartment and had always had a contingency plan in the event of something like this happening.

  There was one more test Mary wanted to run before she could be one hundred percent certain that this was, against all the odds, the exact scenario her supposedly crazy father had predicted. She strode briskly over to one of the newer vehicles in the workshop—an 80s-era BMW saloon that she’d just finished fixing up—and she climbed into the driver’s seat. The motor had been purring like a kitten just two hours ago, and she knew there would be no reason for it to fail to start.

  She held her breath as she turned the BMW’s ignition key.

  Nothing happened at all. Not a single dash light came on. The vehicle, which had just been running like new, was completely dead. “I can’t believe it,” Mary murmured to herself, floored by the realization that had hit her like a speeding truck. “An EMP attack. It’s gotta be an EMP attack.”

  Her shock and disbelief quickly crumbled away, though, replaced by a surge of fierce determination. Her daughter was out there, stuck in school, and Mary knew that it wouldn’t be long before the city descended into complete and utter chaos. That rusty, dust-coated plan shelved away at the back of her mind would have to be pulled out, dusted off, and put into action. And she would have to do everything in her power to get herself and her daughter—her only family—out of this city before nightfall.

  With her heart drumming madly in her chest and her mind racing at a million miles an hour, Mary jogged up the steel stairs to the office. Everyone else was out to lunch; Mary usually held down the fort during the lunch hour and then took her lunch break after the others came back. She grabbed her jacket and put it on, snatched as many water bottles and sports drinks from the fridge as she could carry, and shoved a bunch of chocolate bars and packs of peanuts into the bag too. Then she took the .45 ACP pistol she always kept in her bag and slipped it into one of the large thigh pockets of her mechanic’s coveralls. She didn’t know how soon things would start to get chaotic and violent, but she knew it would likely happen before she was able to get herself and her daughter, Ann, out of the city.

  Mary was thankful that transport was not going to be a problem for her, despite the fact that almost ninety-nine percent of the vehicles on the road were now dead and could never be revived. Outside in the workshop were over a dozen vehicles manufactured before the early 70s that would still work despite the effects of the EMP.

  “Okay, okay, think about this, Mary, just think for a sec,” she said to herself, now that she was ready to leave. “We take one of the cars, head straight to Ann’s school, pick her up, head to the apartment, grab the bug-out bag and as much other stuff as we can in five minutes, and then, we head out of the city to…”

  Her face fell, and she trailed off; even talking to herself, she couldn’t utter the name of the place she now intended to go to—a place she’d sworn to herself she’d never again set foot. “To that place,” she eventually muttered.

  Mary hurriedly browsed the car keys, which were hanging on a rack. Considering that she’d need to be doing some off-road driving once she got out of the city, she figured the early ‘50s Army Jeep would be the most sensible choice. She grabbed the Jeep’s keys, jogged down to the workshop floor, and hopped into the vehicle.

  “I hope you were right about this, Dad,” she whispered as she slipped the key into the ignition. “These old vehicles will still work, won’t they?”

  There was only one way to find out. She turned the key and smiled with grim triumph as the motor roared to life. She whispered a silent prayer of thanks, then put the Jeep into gear and drove to the back of the workshop, where the vehicle entrance was. Leaving the Jeep idling, she jumped out and started hauling on the chain to open the roll-up door.

  As soon as she got the door up, though, a punch of bitter disappointment slugged her in the stomach. Completely blocking the exit was a huge eighteen-wheeler that had died right in front of the gate. Mary laughed bitterly and shook her head; here she was in a warehouse full of vehicles that would still work just fine while all the others on the road were dead, and there was no way to get any of them out.

  Still, she wasn’t about to let this setback stop her from rescuing Ann and getting out of this city. She killed the Jeep’s motor and set off on foot, praying that she would be able to get to her daughter before all hell broke loose.

  2

  The eighteen-wheeler had pulled up very close to the walls and gate—as they usually did to get into position to reverse into the warehouse across the street—and Mary had to crawl under the massive vehicle to get out onto the street.

  When she emerged from under it, she saw the trucker fiddling around with the motor with an expression of complete confusion. Because this was a quiet side street, there were no other dead vehicles nearby—aside from those parked on the side of the road, which would never start again—and the man thought that this was just a regular breakdown. He noticed Mary’s coveralls, with the vintage car workshop logo on them, and shot her a guiltily apologetic look.

  “I’m really sorry about this, ma’am,” he said. “I hope y’all don’t need to get any cars outta this place any time soon. Damndest thing, she was running just fine when I pulled up here to back into the place across from y’all. Then she up and died, just like that. And what do ya know, my damn phone and CB radio are dead too! Like I said, I’m really sorry, but I can’t move a damn inch until I figure out what happened.”

  Mary considered for a moment whether she should explain to him that this was no ordinary breakdown and that his truck would never run again. She didn’t want to waste time by stopping and talking to people, but she figured he had a right to know. “That truck isn’t gonna be going anywhere,” she said to him. “Because it didn’t break down. It was killed, like everything else around us that relies on electronics.”

  The trucker’s frown of consternation intensified, and he put his hands on his hips. “Killed? By what? What are you talking about?”

  “I’m pretty sure that what’s just happened was an EMP attack. Electromagnetic pulse: a sophisticated weapon that can knock out entire cities, states, or even countries, depending on how large and strong it is. Everything electronic gets fried and will never work again.”

  The trucker’s frown deepened, and he started to say something, but then stopped himself. Suddenly, his frown morphed into a broad grin, and he belted out a bout of laughter. “You– you almost had me there!” he laughed. “EMP attack killing all technology and sending us back to, what, the pioneer days? Hahaha! What’s your next theory about my truck, an alien invasion from outer space? Or maybe you think that a terminator from the future is about to appear next to my rig? Hahaha!”

  Mary sighed, shook her head, and walked away without bothering to say anything else. She should have known that he would think she was crazy. Part of her own mind was still having trouble accepting that this was, in fact, an EMP attack; how could she expect people who had never heard of anything like that to believe her? She resolved not to waste any more time by talking to people. She had to get on with her mission with laser-like focus.

  Her plan had changed now that she had been forced to go on foot. Her first stop would have to be her apartment, which was only a mile
from the workshop. She’d have to get her bug-out bag and supplies for herself and Ann, and then head over to Ann’s school, which was a few miles from the apartment. After that, she’d have to figure out a way to get herself and Ann out of the city. She prayed that things wouldn’t have become too chaotic at that point.

  Any doubts she might have had about this being an EMP attack, however, were immediately erased from her mind when she got off the side street and onto one of the main roads. Indeed, when she rounded the corner, she tripped and stumbled, almost falling over with shock at the sight that greeted her eyes.

  Stretched as far as her eyes could see in both directions, lining the long, straight road, was a seemingly endless stream of dead cars. It looked like any other traffic jam, except that aside from the clamor of human voices, it was completely silent. Not a single engine was running, and no horns were blaring. There was nothing but utter, dead silence from the thousands of vehicles.

  Masses of people were milling around in confusion. A few were still sitting in their vehicles, desperately trying to start them, and more than a few had popped the hoods and were futilely messing around with their motors, but most had gotten out and were standing next to their cars or sitting on the sidewalk.

  People were already figuring out that not only their phones, but everyone else’s phones were dead, and Mary could sense the first hints of fear and panic beginning to buzz in the air. A few people were striding briskly away, and one or two were running along the sidewalks with looks of fear and terrified confusion on their faces. Mary knew that this was the calm before the storm and realized that she had to move fast.