The Collapse

by E S Richards

  ***

  Date: 09.09.2032 : 1554h

  Clearance Level: 002

  Action: Yellow

  Coronal mass ejection detected on the sun’s surface. Interference expected with electronic devices and possible satellite disruption. Emergency power on standby. Public broadcasts to be delivered – warning level three.

  Wilson read over the scarce words carefully. Every report was the same, only saying what it needed and not leaving anything up for debate. From the sounds of things though the mass ejection didn’t seem too serious. They happened from time to time, never yet in Wilson’s lifetime but he had read about them all the same. Their satellites and astronomers had picked up some interference the previous evening, but it hadn’t been reported as anything severe enough to take action on. This seemed to be the continuation, but Wilson didn’t regard it as anything serious to concern himself with.

  For the action color to only be yellow he knew he needn’t worry. This country could survive a couple of hours without cell signal, it might even do the youth a bit of good. His daughter was always glued to her cell; she never had the time to engage in a real conversation anymore.

  He filed the report away in his drawers, picking up the phone on his desk and holding down the number two. The dial tone in his ear told Wilson that the CME hadn’t hit yet, telephone wires would likely be the first to overheat when it did.

  “Report received,” he spoke curtly, his role within government often leading him to liaise with the press office. “Proceed with public broadcasts. Minimal panic please, just fair warning where necessary. And continue to monitor satellite reports.”

  Wilson didn’t wait for a response before he put the phone down, knowing his orders would be relayed and adhered to. His role as President Bruce’s chief of staff meant managing communications and information flow was a key part of his day-to-day routine. Those that worked closely with him were aware of the short temper the man carried. Disobeying or delaying his orders was foolish at the best of times.

  Leaning back in the chair, he looked at his watch. 1611 hours; he was due to meet the president at 1630 hours, just enough time for a quick glass of scotch. Sliding the bottle from his bottom desk drawer he looked up at where he knew the security camera to be hidden. He wasn’t supposed to drink on the job, but somehow he always found time for an afternoon scotch.

  Swirling the brown liquid around his glass he brought it up to his nose to smell. So refreshing. Why the president never indulged was beyond him, more for him though he supposed with a smirk on his face.

  A sharp rap on his office doors brought Wilson’s attention away from his drink. 1618 hours; he still had some time before his meeting. Irritated, he downed the remaining contents of his drink and placed the bottle and glass back in his bottom desk drawer.

  “Yes?”

  “Another report sir.”

  Dixon was back, his shaggy blonde hair blowing in the breeze from Wilson’s open window. He was an attractive young man when you thought about it, Wilson’s own daughter once swooning over him when she’d attended a public event about a year ago. Dixon was much too old for her though and Wilson had made sure his daughter was aware of that. She hadn’t joined him at any public events since.

  All in all, though, Wilson had nothing against the young soldier; he’d been working with him for the best part of three years now. He found it rather odd he’d never advanced from the role of military liaison but didn’t question the matter. Apparently Dixon had done a couple of tours, but preferred working within the government, acting as security to some extent.

  He beckoned Dixon forward with two fingers, taking the report from his hands before it was placed down on his old oak desk. Only when the door was firmly closed again did he open it, immediately noting the change at the top of the page.

  Date: 09.09.2032 : 1616h

  Clearance Level: 002

  Action: Orange

  Coronal mass ejection detected on the sun’s surface. Possible collision with Earth. Severe interference expected with electronic devices and satellite disruption. Emergency power on standby. Public broadcasts in process – warning level three.

  Wilson stroked the stubble on his chin. Warning level three still didn’t concern him, even if the action color had increased. Checking his watch again he pushed himself to his feet. He’d be damned if these reports were going to make him late for his meeting with the president.

  Striding down the hallway Wilson made his way to the Presidential Suite, the latest report tucked under his arm. When he reached the large, ornate double doors he checked his watch for a final time, 1629 hours. Standing perfectly still he watched the second hand tick around the black background, his knuckle only meeting wood at the precise time he was expected.

  “Mr. President,” Wilson spoke as the doors opened inwards for him, the man on the other side quickly disappearing to leave the two men alone.

  “Come in Jared,” the president spoke informally, gesturing to one of the two fine leather chairs in front of his desk.

  Wilson stepped forward, familiar with the friendly air he and the president shared although not entirely comfortable with it.

  “How’s Melissa? And little Mary? Although not so little these days, eh?”

  “Both fine sir, thank you for asking.” Wilson followed the pleasantries as expected, confirming his wife and daughter were still in full health.

  He had the same meeting with President Bruce every week and every week the same question was asked. Wilson preferred to keep his family life out of the public eye, however, and even discussing them whilst on duty made him feel slightly uneasy.

  “Glad to hear it,” the president smiled. “Now, how are our troops doing?”

  Wilson let the corner of his mouth twitch up in a smile. This was more his area of expertise. Placing the second report Dixon had brought him on the desk without another thought he leaned back slightly and began to give the president his update on how the armed forces were doing.

  The war in the Middle East had been raging for years. In the wider picture very little had changed but the miniscule details were what Jared Wilson was interested in. He received reports almost every hour due to his role, all information that was to go to the president having to pass through him first.

  Keeping the press office fully informed was also high up on Wilson’s list and another part of his role he took very seriously. For matters of state security, the press office would always defer to him before making public broadcasts. Especially as Wilson often had more inside information from his negotiations within congress and external political groups.

  ***

  Dixon was panicked. Taking one report update in such quick succession wasn’t unheard of, but to take a third version within the same hour? That hinted at something serious.

  The atmosphere in satellite command told him just as much. Officials were speaking rapidly into headsets, new information printed off with every passing second. There were so many reams of paper flying around the room that Dixon’s next report was still waiting to print, despite the severity of its nature.

  “Come on,” he muttered under his breath as he stood next to the printer. “Hurry up.”

  As the familiar headline font started streaming out Dixon let out a sigh of relief. Although the chief of staff hated being interrupted, he hated receiving late information more.

  “What the?” Dixon exclaimed irritably as the printer suddenly jammed, his report half revealed and half trapped inside the electronic box. He slammed a fist on the top, hoping to make the machine start up again when the whole room plunged into darkness.

  The lights returned a second later, the emergency power immediately rebooting the system. But the computer screens covering every wall did not. Instead walls of static appeared, black and white lines vibrating in every direction.

  The ranking officer on duty snapped into action, pulling his satellite phone from his waistband and typing in some numbers. Dixon watched in shock as the offi
cer struggled with the phone, somehow failing to acquire a signal. Satellite phones never break.

  The officer moved over to another man in matching uniform to Dixon’s—although of a higher rank—showing him the satellite phone with a confused expression on his face. Hushed words were spoken amongst a shaking of heads. Neither man looked to understand what was happening.

  As if that was a catalyst for the room to ramp up a gear, voices started shouting across the command center to one another. The door was ripped open and the ranking officer ran out, flanked by several of his men.

  Dixon looked down at the report that had half printed for him, icy tendrils of fear starting to creep through his mind as sweat slowly formed on his forehead.

  Date: 09.09.2032 : 1651h

  Clearance Level: 001

  Action: Red

  Coronal mass ejection detected on the sun’s surface. Confirmed collision with Earth. Total interference expected with electronic devices and complete satellite disruption. Emergency pow…

  The printer cut off the rest of the report, but that was more than enough for Dixon. Not even a full hour had passed since the first report Dixon delivered, but he knew already the earlier predications had been way out.

  Ripping the paper from the useless machine Dixon dashed out of the room, forgetting the protocol and leaving the official folder behind. Wilson would be in his meeting with the president by now; he would have to go straight to the top.

  His feet skidded on the overly polished hallway, not designed to be moved down at such a pace. The emergency lighting was in full effect, ominous red bulbs guiding his way. Turn right by the bust of George Washington, left at Roosevelt’s wall hanging, past the Eastern Suite and Wilson’s office.

  Sliding to a halt outside the Presidential Suite, Dixon paused for a moment. His hair was sticking to his forehead with sweat, that haircut he kept avoiding now desperately overdue. With a deep breath he clenched his fist and rapped on the door to the Presidential Suite.

  ***

  Wilson himself ripped open the door a second later, unsurprised to see Dixon standing in front of him. He grabbed the half-crumpled piece of paper from the boy’s hand and shut the door, turning to face the president.

  “Action red sir, we need to evacuate immediately.”

  Chapter 6

  Muffled voices woke Len a few hours later. He wasn’t sure how long he’d dozed off, but the ache in his back told him he’d been out for a while. As he let his eyes adjust to the bleary darkness he searched out the voices, keen to discover if anything was going on.

  He found most of the underground residents asleep, save for—as he should have expected—Rory, Carter and Theo. The three men were huddled next to the stairwell speaking in hushed tones, their backs to Len. Remembering what Rory had said the night before about going to check outside in the morning Len, forced himself to his feet and quietly walked toward the trio of men. Carter spotted him first.

  “Morning. Sleep well did you?”

  Len wasn’t sure if the question was a jab or not and was uncertain whether the three men had stayed awake all night so he simply offered Carter a nod in response.

  “Managed to get a few hours at least,” he mumbled. “What’s going on here?”

  “Rory wants to go check the surface,” Carter continued. “We think it’s too dangerous though, it’s only been about six hours since we came down here.”

  “Sitting down and waiting another six won’t do anything for us though,” Rory grumbled in response. “I feel like we should’ve heard something from up there by now.”

  Len’s curiosity peaked, “Like what?”

  “Fire crews or something,” Rory shrugged, “it’s been too quiet these last couple hours.”

  “Quiet is good, surely?” Theo questioned, his face clearly showing that he didn’t want to make the trip out of the parking lot.

  “Quieter is good,” Rory debated to himself, “silence isn’t.”

  “Well I think it’s too soon,” Theo quickly rebuffed, his brother Carter agreeing immediately with him.

  “What do you reckon Len?” Rory turned his attention to the slightly older man, looking him up and down to try and assess whether he would be up for a journey upstairs.

  Len paused for a moment, biting his lip. He wasn’t filled with confidence from what the three men had told him, but if he was going to reach his son he needed to make it out of the parking lot. Going up was the only way.

  “I’ll come with you,” he spoke as confidently as he could manage, earning a grin from Rory and surprised looks from the brothers.

  “Good man,” Rory clapped him on the back softly, still being careful not to wake anyone else in the parking lot. “Let’s get going then.”

  Len’s eyes grew wide for a second; he hadn’t expected their departure to be so sudden. But then, they weren’t exactly waiting around for anything else.

  “In a bit then,” he nodded to Carter and Theo; both still shocked by Len’s agreement to leave the safety of the parking lot.

  “Good luck,” Carter smiled. “Don’t forget to come and get us if everything is suddenly hunky dory.”

  “Don’t worry, guys,” Rory oozed effortless confidence, “everything will be fine out there I’m sure.”

  As Len followed the younger Fire Marshall through the stairwell door, he wasn’t so sure. As soon as they were enclosed in the stairwell the temperature rose immediately. The heat wasn’t as aggressive as it had been the day before, but a sheen of sweat still quickly formed on Len’s brow.

  What worried Len most was the total silence. He expected to still hear people screaming or running to safety. He expected vehicles to still be exploding, buildings to be falling down and the roar of fire to be burning his eardrums. As Rory forced open the door to what had once been his building’s lobby, the sight Len saw before his eyes was unlike anything he could have ever imagined.

  Juliet’s receptionist desk that had been made from varnished oak with a marble top finish was now nothing more than a pile of splintered wood and rock. The waiting area, which had featured several plush armchairs and a coffee table in the same design as Juliet’s desk was completely destroyed, a small fire burning at the base of an old bookshelf.

  The mirrors that had adorned the lobby were all shattered on the floor, shards of glass coating the once pristine wooden floors. The floor itself was torn up in places, holes were visible where the wood had given away or simply been blown off, revealing a layer of dirt beneath.

  What was even worse though was the number of bodies Len saw. There had to be over fifty people in the small lobby area alone, some piled up on top of one another from the force of the blast, others lying alone. The stench of death was heavy in the air and Len had to pull the collar of his shirt up over his nose to stomach it.

  Half of the bodies weren’t even whole. There were scattered limbs everywhere, whether they were a result of the explosion or the shrapnel it had sent swirling through the air Len couldn’t know. He didn’t want to know.

  Rory stepped out ahead of him, picking his way between corpses as he headed toward the street. Or what was left of it. Len could already see all the other buildings had gone the same way as his office. Whichever way he turned, Len could see farther than he ever had before, the inconvenience of walls no longer a problem. The office building next to his was completely obliterated and the coffee shop opposite was gone, the chairs and tables tossed into the road like toys.

  Fires continued to burn everywhere, but not in the life-threatening way Len had experienced them the day before. These blazed softly, each seemingly confined to its own area instead of rushing together to consume everything. It was probably because, Len realized suddenly, there was very little left to consume.

  While he and Rory were walking around unscathed, not a single other person was in sight. Chicago had become a wasteland, only the crackle of fire present to distract Len from his pounding heart.

  “Wow…” Len heard Rory mutter ahead of
him and turned to see what the younger man was looking at. He found his eyes staring up at the sky and when Len cast his gaze upwards, he too uttered the word in amazement.

  He’d seen pictures of the Northern Lights before, videos of them on television or scenes in an online series. They were something he’d always dreamt of traveling to see when he was older, something that had been on his bucket list since he was a little boy.

  But now he was seeing them. The Northern Lights were in central Chicago. Len watched the sky, mesmerised as the lights danced above him. Vibrant greens, reds and purples twirled in the sky, a deep, dark blue the backdrop to the magical display.