36 Hours: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Fiction Series (22 page)

His text messages to Madison and Alex gave him newfound resolve despite their lack of response. In his gut, he knew they were safe. It had been a long, stressful day. Seeing the Mississippi river and the lights of Memphis reminded him that he was back where he belonged, even if there were still two hundred miles to go.
I don’t care, I could walk from here
, he tried to tell himself.

He had another route decision to make. Interstate 40, to his left, went straight through the heart of Memphis—a dangerous proposition. Although shorter, the city was crime-ridden on a good day. With the reports of chaos nationwide, the inner city was no place to be.

He studied a map he’d bought at T Ricks as he approached the split in the highways. His other choice, a longer route, was to take I-55 to the south, loop down through northern Mississippi and back up to Jackson via the backroads. He was less likely to encounter rioters and looters, and he didn’t think local law enforcement would be setting up roadblocks to enforce the President’s curfew. If the cops were smart, they’d be home taking care of their families, as he was trying to do.

Approaching the divided highway, he saw flashing blue lights at the base of the arched Hernando de Soto Bridge, which crossed the Mississippi River into Memphis. The bridge was named after the famed Spanish explorer who navigated up the river in the sixteenth century and died near here. It appeared a roadblock was being established, preventing people from entering the city. He chose the less-traveled Interstate 55 route instead.

The Wagoneer had an AM radio and an under-dash-mounted cassette player. Colton wasn’t sure cassettes were even available to purchase anymore except on eBay. Bubba was kind enough to leave Colton with his copy of Lynyrd Skynyrd’s greatest hits. It reminded Colton of his father, who grew up on Southern rock and roll. Country music was trending in that direction as well. Country-pop crossovers were the norm rather than the exception now.

Colton glanced at the Memphis airport to his right, and all flights were grounded. Traffic on the interstate was virtually nonexistent. This worried him somewhat because he wanted to fly under the radar now, a big change from his high-flying attitude in the Corvette. He couldn’t afford the loss of time resulting from another traffic stop or a government-mandated roadblock.

His trip from DFW had begun as a race against time. Based on the news reports, an ETA of 11:00 p.m. had been established for the arrival of the brunt of the storm.
What if they were wrong on the news about the time of impact
?

He knew it would be close, but he had some comfort in knowing this ’69 model Jeep would keep running. Still, in the event it quit, every mile ticked off the highway was a mile he didn’t have to walk to get home to his girls.

Welcome to Mississippi
, the sign read as he drove alone on the eastbound highway. He drove with the windows down, mostly because the air-conditioning didn’t work very well and because there was a ghastly smell coming from the back of the Wagoneer. Bubba had either deposited a dead deer, or a decomposing body, in the rear at some point. Regardless, it was awful.

The smell of the gasoline didn’t help either. He’d purchased three five-gallon cans and filled them up. Although they didn’t leak, the fumes would have proved deadly with his windows rolled up. If the pundits were correct, gasoline would become a valuable commodity after the power grid collapsed.

He would have just enough gas to get home in the twelve-mile-per-gallon behemoth. When it was introduced in 1969, gas prices were thirty-five cents per gallon. Colton’s father told stories of competing gas stations having gas price wars. The stations would battle each other for the lowest price at an interchange. Quarter-a-gallon prices were not unusual. But then, OPEC felt it was being cheated and they started squeezing production, gradually quadrupling gas prices. Once prices hit a dollar a gallon, there was no looking back.

Colton’s mind was wandering again when he let off the gas pedal, but not because he was speeding. The Wagoneer had a governor on the accelerator, of sorts. As soon as the truck reached seventy miles an hour, the front end would shake uncontrollably because the wheels were out of balance or the front end was out of alignment—or probably both.

He thought about how comfortable life was for Americans. Technology gave them the opportunity to make automobile tires spin at high speeds without vibrations. Computers could be attached to a vehicle’s computer and diagnose every aspect of its functionality. Information was at their fingertips via the Internet. They could fly from coast to coast in less than seven hours—a trip that took the early settlers, using a horse-drawn carriage, months.

The experts on the radio warned this one giant burst from the sun would strip those modern conveniences in a given moment. It would change everything. Technologically, it would throw America back into the 1800s.

Colton suddenly became very thankful for his family and the good things he had. He promised himself he would never take them for granted.

Chapter 40

2 Hours

9:00 p.m., September 8

Bolivar Highway

Jackson, Tennessee

The barricades crossing Bolivar Highway and the two police cars blocking the road stood in direct contradiction to the sign Colton was parked next to, which read
Jackson Welcomes You, We’re Glad You’re Here
. This was clearly not a welcoming committee.

He turned off the truck and took out the small LED flashlight he’d purchased at T Ricks. He turned the page in the
Rand McNally Road Atlas
and studied his alternatives. He was immediately upset with himself. He should have studied back-road options before getting in this predicament.

About fifteen minutes ago, he’d crossed Highway 100, which would take him directly to Nashville. There were dozens of small towns in between, any of which could pose a roadblock problem or potential looters, but at least it was progress. With no viable options around the city of Jackson, Colton closed up the map and turned around. He found the first side street headed east and made his way through the neighborhoods.

It was an odd sight. People were talking in their front yards, some cooking on their grills. In some respects, it resembled a Fourth of July block party. Many of the men were carrying rifles slung over their shoulders. As he drove by, he garnered their attention. None of the residents made a threatening move toward him, but he was clearly being watched.

As he turned south on US 45 and made his way back to Highway 100, he thought about his neighbors. Their home was not conducive to neighborhood social interaction. The houses were spread apart with long driveways to a private garage area. Although Harding Place had a sidewalk to encourage walking, jogging, and bike riding, the road itself was heavily traveled as an east-west route from Belle Meade to Interstate 65 and beyond to the Nashville airport. As a result, the types of block parties Colton just observed didn’t exist. They rarely held get-togethers with their neighbors. Even Friday night’s soiree would be made up of primarily business acquaintances, with the exception of a couple of neighbors.

Colton easily passed through the small town of Henderson and sped up Highway 100. He felt he was on the home stretch. He looked at the inexpensive Timex Camper watch he’d purchased from T Ricks for its actual retail price of thirty-five dollars. He thought it would be handy if the solar storm ruined his Apple watch, which would be worthless in any event.

It was just after 9:00. Colton tried to call home.
All circuits are busy
. The phone was fully charged now, but he kept it plugged in. From what he heard on the radio, the phone would be fried anyway, but he thought he’d keep it charged just in case it wasn’t. He tried a text message. It left his phone with a
swoosh
.

C:
East of Jackson. Love you guys!

Colton held the phone for several minutes, anticipating a response. It never came. Colton was unaware that text would never go through.

As he drove northeast toward the small town of Decaturville, he tried to reach Madison several times but the
all circuits are busy
recording was working overtime. He was within hours of home, but the brunt of the solar flare was already bearing down on the planet.

It was dark on this deserted stretch of highway as he passed towns like Jack’s Creek and Lick Skillet. The fertile lowland of the Tennessee River basin in West Tennessee was prime real estate for growing cotton, soybeans, and other crops. Colton leaned forward in his seat and looked up at the sky. It was beginning to exhibit the early aurora effect as promised by the weather watchers.

The bright dancing lights of the electrically charged particles from the sun were created as they entered the earth’s atmosphere. At this point, the faint colors of blue and green engulfed the sky in a thin cloud or veil. The full moon began to rise over the eastern horizon and took on psychedelic colors as its reflection mixed with the hues of blue and green.

Colton wondered how something so beautiful could be so potentially deadly. Then he came to a realization. It wasn’t the sun’s particles and the beautiful aurora it produced that were going to be deadly. It would be man’s reaction to the aftermath—just like his granddaddy said.

Never underestimate the depravity of man
.

He pressed down on the gas despite the shaking of the front end. He didn’t care if the truck shook out all of his fillings. He needed to protect Madison and Alex.

Chapter 41

Zero Hour

11:00 p.m., September 8

Ryman Residence

Nashville, Tennessee

The solemn CNN news team of Wolf Blitzer, Jake Tapper, and Don Lemon continued their commentary as their Countdown to Impact Clock
approached 0:00—
Zero Hour
. The scene at Times Square in New York was reminiscent of a New Year’s Eve countdown without the revelry and deprivation.

The satellite newsfeed became erratic. DirecTV would frequently become frozen and pixelated, as if a serious thunderstorm was passing over Nashville.
Error Code 771
would appear frequently, and then the programming would continue. The World Wide Web had ceased to function consistently about an hour ago as power outages affected web servers around the world.

Madison wrapped all of their small electronic devices in heavy-duty aluminum foil. Then she placed their cell phones, laptops, and portable radios in the cardboard-lined galvanized trash cans purchased at the hardware store. She explained to Alex what she read about Faraday cages. The plan was to shield the electronics from the massive burst of energy created by the solar storm.

They sat on the sofa, held hands, and prayed together—something Madison and Alex hadn’t done as mother and daughter for years. They were anxious. Alex kept reminding her mom that the clock was arbitrary. The sun didn’t send a memo to the stupid news networks announcing the arrival time of the solar flare. Yet the Impact Clock ticked toward zero anyway.

Where is Colton?
The Impact Clock was winding down. Under three minutes. Earlier, Madison stopped looking out of the windows after Alex got annoyed. She had been up and down off the sofa constantly for an hour.

Their eyes were fixated on the television monitors. The eyes of the crowd in Time Square were glued to the digital screens and billboards all around the most famous stretch of cityscape in the world—the intersection of Broadway and Seventh Avenue. What had once been dubbed
The Center of the Universe
became a mass of humanity—waiting, hopeful, and full of apprehension.

As the Impact Clock hit 2:22, the bolt lock on the kitchen door snapped. Then the door handle wiggled before the door flung open.

Frightened, Madison jumped and quickly turned to look toward the kitchen.

“Did you miss me?”

She flung herself off the couch and ran around the furniture in that direction. Alex hopped over the back and hit the wood floor in a sprint.

The impact of the two hugging Colton knocked him against the kitchen island. All three of the Rymans were sobbing, holding each other tight, eyes clenched shut. Words were not spoken, but ample tears streamed down everyone’s faces.

“I love you guys so much!” Colton managed to say through his sniffles.

“We love you, Daddy!”

“Colton, you have no idea how much we need you. I never want us to be apart again!” said Madison as she buried her face in his chest.

After a moment, Madison pulled away and looked down to hide her bruised face. The attempt to cover bruises and scabs with makeup was erased by the tearful outburst.

“What happened to your knees?” she asked through her sobs as she examined his bloodstained, torn suit pants.

“I hit the pavement and had to scramble away when the gunfire started,” he replied.

“Real gunshots?” asked Alex, through the tears.

Colton took his hands and gently lifted Madison’s face up to kiss her. He saw her bruises and scrapes. “Oh, honey, what happened?”

“I’m okay,” replied Madison. “I got mugged at the ATM today.”

“What? Are you hurt elsewhere? Thank God you’re okay.”

“I beat him with a golf club, Daddy,” Alex proudly added.

“Which one?”

“Which one what?” Alex began to ask and then answered her own question, “My sand wedge.”

“Good club choice, sweetheart,” replied Colton as the laughter helped ease the tension, and the tears. “Thank God you’re both okay.”

They began to move into the living room when Alex exclaimed, “Hey, look! The clock stopped at zero and nothing happened.”

The CNN cameras panned the mass of humanity as a spontaneous eruption of joy and relief filled the packed crowd. The trio of news anchors couldn’t contain themselves as they exchanged hugs and handshakes. Jubilation accompanied pandemonium in Times Square, the so-called
Center of the Universe, as the bright neon lights from the McDonald’s logo to the Bank of America sign continued their dazzling display. Then—