Sol Survivors

by Ken Benton

  “The Super Bowl isn’t going to wipe out the power grid and make cars stop working,” Jessie replied. “What exactly are you going to do at work tomorrow, anyway?”

  “In all probability, watch the readings on our equipment rise, go crazy, and finally stop working. Then we can leave.”

  “How stupid! For that you are going to stay behind and chance being stranded?”

  “My truck will work,” Archer said. The confidence in his voice perked Joel’s interest.

  “How can you be so sure?” Joel asked.

  “I protected it by turning my garage into something called a Faraday cage, which basically means I surrounded it by grounded metal. It’s big enough for two vehicles.”

  “Really? What did you make it from?”

  “Metal screening and blankets, mostly. A little crude, and hastily thrown together, but it is fully enclosed and grounded by wire. My house is close to the observatory, so we can walk home.”

  “That’s impressive,” Joel said. “I know what a Faraday cage is. Put my computers in one, as a matter of fact, in case the aluminum siding around my office trailer fails to do the trick. You must frequent the same survival websites I do.”

  “No, I don’t.” Archer finished the last of his coffee. “It’s just common sense to me.”

  “There is one thing I still don’t get,” Joel said looking from Archer to Debra. “For you two, this is the event of a lifetime, by your own admission—yet you are high-tailing it to Tennessee to stay with us on an extended leave of absence. Won’t the subsequent conditions of the Earth also offer you the opportunity of a lifetime, for study? I mean, aren’t you guys the ones who are supposed to be monitoring everything and letting the rest of us know when things get better again?”

  Archer and Debra exchanged sad faces before Debra answered.

  “Our department is a hundred percent government funded. The U.S. Geological Survey, the entity which employs us, actually operates fourteen geomagnetic observatories. Ours is closest to DC, so we get more fanfare. But we always have to sweat every new federal budget debate. So far we’ve been lucky, regardless of which party has been in power. But now, with an unparalleled disaster expected, our superiors have asked for volunteers from more than half the staff to take undetermined leaves of absence after the approaching event hits, in anticipation of budget issues and the need for fewer employees. They are being smart, in my opinion. All our field equipment figures to be destroyed in the recording of the event. The number of geologists it will take to simply read and report the gradually declining numbers afterwards is far less than the number who will remain.” Debra motioned towards Archer. “Archer could have stayed on, as he has tenure.”

  “But I would not do that without you, sweetie,” Archer said. The kissy face that Debra returned him appeared merely ceremonial to Joel.

  Archer turned back to Joel. “Well, we should let you guys get some sleep. Heck, us, too. You want to write me out those directions?”

  “Yes.” Joel stood to find a pen and paper.

  When he came back, he noticed a concerned look on Debra’s face. Her eyes were fixed on Jessie. Joel then discovered Jessie’s eyes welled with tears.

  “Honey,” Jessie said. “I want to wait, and all go together.”

  Debra and Archer politely objected.

  Joel sat down and put his arm around her. “I appreciate that, honey, but it’s not a wise gamble.”

  “So what are you saying? My friends aren’t going to make it?”

  “No, but—”

  “Joel, I can’t do it. You go on ahead. I’m going to stay behind and come with them.”

  More objections from the friends, although not issued all that forcefully, while Joel wrote the directions out. The best argument came from Archer when he told Jessie it may be a little cramped in the backseat of his truck. That failed to dissuade her. They were going to have to straight up refuse to accommodate her.

  They didn’t, so it was up to Joel. He did his best to reason with Jessie without getting angry, but was still unable to convince her. So, he got angry.

  “We better leave you two to discuss this,” Debra said. “But Jess, it really is needlessly risky to stay. I recommend you go with your man. If you insist, though, we will fit you in.”

  “You can even come to work with us in the morning if you want,” Archer added.

  Joel glared at him. He wasn’t helping.

  Archer noticed, and began back-peddling.

  “…if you insist on being stupid and staying, that is. I just meant that I can get you in, so you don’t have to deal with all the craziness outside if you come to the observatory.”

  “What craziness?” Joel asked.

  “Oh, it’s going to be a total circus there tomorrow.” Archer waved a hand southward. “You haven’t’ heard?”

  Chapter Four

  It was one of those moments when a third personality of Joel emerged. This one didn’t show up often. His voice was closer to that of the accountant in him than the salesman, but he didn’t always approve of everything the accountant did, either. He most often played the role of a judge or neutral arbitrator.

  Right now he demanded a full accounting.

  Not because Joel lost the argument with his girlfriend. The arbitrator accepted that part as inevitable. And not because Joel was here, at this ridiculous scene, instead of crossing the Tennessee border by now. The arbitrator didn’t really care what the course of action was. He just wanted to make peace. In order to do that he needed confessions, validations, or resolutions. Preferably all three.

  Joel was not at peace with himself.

  So how had it come to this? And why did the present situation have to be a source of internal turmoil? Jessie didn’t even want to be around him until the matter was settled. She went inside the inner fencing with Archer and Debra earlier, along with the VIP guests—which included, impressively, the Vice President of the United States and an entourage of Secret Service. The Vice President waited inside the largest white structure, where all the geomagnetic data was centrally processed. White House correspondents and celebrity media personnel joined him, with their accompanying camera crews. It must have been crowded in there, because even the largest structure wasn’t that big. The rest of the actual observatory consisted of a series of smaller shacks, positioned around the perimeter of an oval-shaped field.

  No one treaded on the oval field. The scientists and other employees stayed outside it when moving from shack to shack. It, along with the surrounding fields, was green but cut short and meticulously maintained. Exactly how such a layout could be used to monitor and report on the geomagnetic field of Planet Earth was way beyond Joel. The grounds did not, honestly, look like a very comfortable place to work.

  Then again, Joel was perfectly content working inside two mobile home trailers set on a large asphalt parking lot.

  Outside the inner fencing, another area had been enclosed by a temporary fence with a small opening. Lesser VIPs and lower-rung media members were admitted there. A sound stage had been erected in that section. Perhaps the Vice President or other significant figureheads would be speaking from it. Two privileged food trucks did business feeding those inside the temporary fence. Joel could have been admitted to that area, but he refused Archer’s invitation. He needed more space to walk and gather his thoughts.

  Out here with the riffraff, other food trucks had also set up, along with vendors in booths selling everything from T-shirts and dark goggles to marijuana paraphernalia and scented candles. The vendor booths were not positioned in organized rows. They just sprung up like mushrooms in places, so probably were not officially sanctioned. The National Guardsmen patrolling the swelling crowd seemed unconcerned about anything other than a potential riot.

  Joel didn’t think there would be one. This was coming together more like Woodstock than Attica. Some bikers gathered along the roadside near the jam-packed parking lot, but they probably wouldn’t be coming in to mingle with the nut
s holding “end of the world” signs and wannabe preachers babbling atop of milk crates. Hippies in tie-dye shirts and eastern-religious types wearing long robes also dotted the landscape, but they were the minority. Most folks here today looked downright normal. Many schools decided to close for the day, so families spread picnic blankets and fathers played catch with sons. It was as if everyone expected to see something historic at noon, such as a solar eclipse.

  Joel checked his watch. Half past ten. Somehow he’d already killed two hours, not counting the walk over or the time spent at Archer’s house prior. He decided to make another wide circle through the simmering melting pot of humanity and tell himself he wasn’t an idiot another dozen times. Being safe but alone wasn’t necessarily a better choice than having companions and a battle to fight. Was it?

  When he came back to the same spot, Joel noticed some musicians had taken the stage and were doing sound checks in preparation for a performance.

  A freaking band. Seriously?

  The lead singer, a balding baby boomer in a Hawaiian shirt, spoke into the microphone and welcomed everyone as if this were a weekend festival.

  He then took a more serious tone.

  “We’re all here because something might happen to our beautiful planet today,” the singer began saying. “Exactly what, no one really knows. I look around and I see people of all different types coming together for one undeniable and ultimately unifying reason: we are all residents of Earth. I’m told the solar event is probably not directly harmful, and that the worst case scenario is we’ll lose some of our favorite toys for a while. But the truth is that humans have been living on this planet a long time before any of those toys were ever invented. So whatever happens, let’s remember we are all neighbors. And as the people of Earth, we are, in reality, one big family—and should help each other the best we can. If we live by that philosophy, nothing can ever truly harm us.”

  Cheers came in response, from both inside and outside the fenced area. The singer waved at the guards standing in the gateway, which apparently was a signal for them to step aside. Anyone could now come inside the temporary fencing and get close to the stage.

  “With that in mind, let’s celebrate the day!” the singer said.

  The cheering grew louder as the band launched into a rendition of Here Comes the Sun. It wasn’t bad. Joel stayed in place and found the performance strangely comforting.

  During their second song, Walking on Sunshine, a sound from above drew Joel’s attention to the sky. There a private single-engine airplane flew over at low altitude, slowing as it passed and tipping its striped wings at the crowd.

  “Fool!” a voice next to Joel exclaimed.

  Joel turned to encounter an oddly-dressed man shaking his head at the plane. His shoulder-length white hair appeared freshly-groomed, as did his long mustache, but his week-old beard remained scruffy. In similar style, he wore pressed dress slacks, sandals with green socks, and an untucked starched shirt missing a button or two.

  The man returned Joel’s scrutinizing and looked Joel up and down. Joel tried to smile and took a casual step sideways away from him.

  But the man came closer again. “You’re one of us!” he said with relief in his voice.

  “I’m sorry?” Joel responded.

  “Don’t be,” he said pointing around at the crowd. “There’s not enough of us here. Not a good place to be.”

  “Well,” Joel said slightly amused, “I’m just waiting for someone.”

  “Ah.” The man nodded. “Your wife.”

  “Girlfriend.”

  “A blonde with a pure heart? You’re a lucky man.”

  “Redhead, actually.”

  Now why in the world was Joel bothering to correct some crazy ragamuffin? And worse yet, revealing details about his personal life? He tried to walk slowly away again.

  But his new friend kept following.

  “Remember the children,” the man said.

  “Don’t have any.” Damn, did it again.

  “Children are not bound by the camp of their parents,” the man expounded. “They get to move their own way when the time is right.”

  Joel stopped and looked him in the eye. “Sir, I am living proof of that.”

  “Yes, you are. As we all shall be in the end. Beware of those masquerading as angels seeking only to satisfy their own appetite.” He spread his arms wide. “The sun shall shine forth truth upon all. The time is short. Good will to you!”

  And with that he ran off, thank goodness.

  But Joel soon found himself missing the ragamuffin, for some strange reason. Perhaps simply having someone to talk to was the therapy he needed. As the band launched into Seasons in the Sun, Joel realized he felt better. The arbitrator within him was gone. Joel had managed to make peace with the circumstances, dire as they may prove to be. Having to meet your girlfriend’s friends at a restaurant, and then not bugging out in time to avoid a harrowing path of danger and mayhem—those were just inevitable parts of being in a new relationship.

  He laughed to himself and wandered inside the fence opening, alongside mixed company that included children holding balloons. The music filled the atmosphere. Everyone near the stage danced in place and smiled at one another, many with gleeful abandon. Even the National Guardsmen appeared relaxed.

  All these people would incur the same fate today. They all drove to what essentially would be ground zero in this part of the country, to accept whatever befell them. Some were outright flippant and refused to believe the warnings, like Sammy back at the lot and that airplane pilot up there still circling. No doubt Joel was better prepared than most for a worst case scenario.

  Did that make him a higher class citizen? The ironic thing was it very well could, within a matter of days, weeks, or months. But it didn’t now. Not at this communal moment. As the lead singer had alluded, everyone here was in the same boat. They all shared the same fundamental physical and emotional needs, and all had the same core vulnerabilities. Sure, individual strengths varied from person to person, as did the ability to cope with challenges. Not one could stand against the force of nature. All are humbled whenever it chooses to remind us of just what it is we depend on in order to continue living, and how little control we actually have of maintaining our environment. A wind-fed forest fire does not distinguish between the homes of the rich and poor, wise or foolish, prepared or unprepared, good marksman or poor.

  The band finished its set with I Can See Clearly Now, followed by an acoustic sing-along of You are My Sunshine. Joel sang along with the crowd during the last song. What the hell.

  That’s when he spotted Jessie on the other side of the inner fence. She stood there beaming at him with her hair in the usual clip. Joel laughed, shrugged, and continued singing. She blew him a kiss. Everything was going to be okay—at least with Jessie.

  She wasn’t the only one who’d come out to join the party. Many of the scientists had also, along with most of the media. The Vice President himself could now be seen standing close to the inner fence near the stage. Joel thought he spotted Debra up around that area as well.

  When the band stopped, only the lead singer left the stage. Another man stepped up on it and made a cumbersome approach to the microphone. A half-dozen TV cameras followed his movements. Smartly dressed, he held a tablet computer and some papers, shuffling them before introducing himself to everyone as the senior geomagnetic scientist at this observatory. The scientist’s voice did not inspire joy as the lead singer’s had.

  “We are expecting the approaching geomagnetic storm to arrive any moment,” he flatly stated. “While we cannot know the extent of its effect, nothing has changed to make us more optimistic of a near miss. Our projections suggest severe damage to the power grids of all nations in the northern and western hemispheres, and quite possibly elsewhere as either a direct result of the impact or chain reactions from worldwide electrical surges. Our magnetometers have reached extreme levels in the last few minutes, which we have never
seen the likes of before. So in one sense, it has already arrived. We should soon know the full consequences.”

  Dead silence. The senior scientist made a solo funeral march off the stage as the lead singer scrambled back.

  “All right all right,” the singer shouted. “We know the situation is potentially inconvenient, but there is nothing we can do about it, right?”

  Only a few isolated cheers and verbal affirmations came back.

  “I said there’s nothing we can do about it, right? Well there is one thing we can do. We can get back to singing and enjoying each other’s company on this historic day, come what may!”

  More cheers rewarded his effort this time. People turned to each other with smiles again, nodding.

  “And now ladies and gentleman, it is my extreme pleasure to welcome our very special guest, Ms. Sheryl Crow! Let’s hear it for her!”

  The crowd went wild as a petite blond woman—possibly the one Joel had just mistaken for Debra—bounded onto the stage, strapped by an acoustic guitar.

  “I think you all know what song I’m going to play, don’t you?” she shouted. Hands went in the air and people began jumping up and down screaming.

  “So let’s all sing it together!”

  The previous sing-along proved nothing compared to the crowd belting out Soak Up the Sun with Sheryl Crow.

  For Joel, however, the moment had passed. He was suddenly sober, and wanting to get the heck away from this place. But when he turned back to Jessie, she was gone.

  A new sound drew Joel’s attention back to the stage—just in time to see huge sparks explode from the amplifiers. Screams and gasps replaced cheering in the audience. The electric guitar and bass players threw down their instruments. Both then clasped their hands to their chests. The bass player fell into a fetal position.

  The only remaining sound was Sheryl Crow faintly continuing to play and sing, now unplugged, as she turned to look behind her.