36 Hours: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Fiction Series (5 page)

The author was signing books and chatting up his readers. “How would you like me to address it?” he asked.

“My name is Lesley Prentice Henry. That’s spelled L-E-S-L-E-Y. You can skip the Prentice part.”

“Okay, Lesley,” the author said, laughing. He looked up at her under the bill of his camouflaged hat, which had a lightning bolt streaked across the front. “Are you a prepper?”

“We’re working on it,” she replied. Then she added, seemingly embarrassed, “It’s overwhelming and expensive.”

“I understand,” he said. He stopped writing and focused his attention on her. “I tell everybody to concentrate on the simple things, namely beans, Band-Aids, and bullets. In the back of my book, you’ll find an appendix with a detailed checklist and links to my website. Take baby steps, Lesley. If you ever have any questions, just email me. I’d be glad to help.”

“Well, thank you, sir, for your advice,” she said. “May I ask one more question?”

“Of course,” he said, smiling to the next person in line as if to apologize for the delay. Those waiting didn’t seem to mind.

“You’ve written a lot of books about prepping,” she started. “What do you fear the most?”

The author laughed. “Great question. First of all, I don’t fear anything.
Why?
Because my wife and I are ready for every potential scenario. That said, I believe the biggest threat our nation faces is any catastrophic event that results in a collapse of our critical infrastructure.”

“Like what?” asked the next person in line.

“Our country faces many threats, both natural and man-made. Any of these could cause our power grid to go dark, and the result would be societal and economic collapse.”

“What’s most likely?” Lesley pressed him for more information.

“Cyber attack is at the top of my list,” the author replied. “The attack could come from within or without our nation’s borders. It could be orchestrated by a nation like Russia, a terrorist group like ISIS, or a pimple-faced kid in his momma’s basement. Properly implemented, a cyber attack on just nine key substations across the country could cause a cascading effect of grid failures nationwide.”

“You mentioned natural threats. Do you mean like hurricanes?”

“Not really, although I believe it’s just part of being a responsible adult to prep for natural disasters like hurricanes and tornados,” the author replied. “In my opinion, the biggest natural threat we face comes from our sun in the form of a massive solar flare. Like a cyber attack or a nuclear-delivered electromagnetic pulse, a solar flare has the potential to destroy the grid as well. We live in an interconnected world full of tiny circuits and electronics. These devices are not capable of absorbing the tremendous influx of energy that is generated by a major geomagnetic storm. With little warning, we could be thrown back into the 1800s.”

“Gee, thank you, I guess.” The woman chuckled. “I mean, thanks for signing the book for me.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied, and then added, “Don’t be afraid, Lesley. Be ready.”

Madison had never heard the term
prepper
before. She certainly didn’t know how it related to beans and bullets. She walked toward the magazines, searching for
Us Weekly
, and decided to look up the definition of a prepper. Google happily obliged with a result.

A person who believes a catastrophic disaster or emergency is likely to occur in the future and makes active preparations for it, typically by stockpiling food, ammunition, and other supplies.

Okay, she thought. Being a prepper sounded like something a grown-up Boy Scout might do.

She scrolled through some of the other search results provided by Google. Websites like the Atlantic Monthly, the NY Times, and Mother Jones demeaned preppers as being conspiracy theorists, part of the tinfoil hat crowd, and generally fanatical.

She took another glance at the line, which had grown longer, and then she glanced back to the author. Maybe these people were onto something. He certainly didn’t look like a wackadoo.

Chapter 7

27 Hours

8:00 p.m., September 7

ALMA

Atacama, Chile

Dr. Stanford walked through the rows of cubicles and monitors in the ALMA control room. A few personnel were monitoring the JUNO spacecraft, which was entering the atmosphere of Jupiter. The project, launched five years ago, was designed to study the formation of Jupiter’s gravity and magnetic fields, as well as it evolution. The data received from JUNO about the gas giant could provide valuable insight into the solar system.

“We have another one, Dr. Stanford,” announced one of the JAO Team.

“Talk to me.”

“It’s odd, ma’am,” he replied. “This appears to be another C-class flare.”

“What are the details?” she asked.

“This was released from the lower right quadrant of AR3222. It peaked approximately two hours ago. Preliminary data indicates a moderate C3.2 solar flare.”

“What about speed?” she asked.

“It emanated as a steady, relatively faint, but asymmetrical, full halo coronal mass ejection. It is fairly slow, only measuring about four hundred kilometers per second.”

“That’s barely faster than the background solar wind,” quipped Dr. Stanford.

She was puzzled by this active region. The coronal hole at the heart of AR3222 was massive, yet it hadn’t produced even a minor disturbance. Throughout the day, the JAO Team reported several inconsequential C-class solar flares from the remainder of the region.

“Do we call it in?” asked the analyst, interrupting her thoughts.

“Like the C-flare from yesterday, I doubt there will be any geomagnetic storming from this event due to the slow speed of the CME. Just keep monitoring, and please, don’t get lulled into a false sense of security.”

Dr. Stanford needed some air. The sun would be setting over the western edge of the Andes and would be a beautiful sight. At the end of most days, she would head home, only to renew her monitoring in the morning. Tonight, she planned to sleep on the sofa in her cramped office.

She walked into the rapidly cooling night air. The temperatures rose well into the nineties by late afternoon, but would be in the low thirties within hours.

Ordinarily, watching the sunset would calm her. People paid big bucks to travel to the beach, dig their toes in the sand, and watch the ball of fire sink into the ocean. To most, it was comforting that the sun would be back the next day, bringing with it light and life. As the sun began to fall over the westernmost peaks into the horizon of the Pacific Ocean, she talked to it.

Dr. Stanford was skeptical. “What are you up to? I feel like you’re waiting for something.” She stared as the fireball slowly disappeared. She brushed the hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ears.

She stared at the dormant volcanoes that blended into the landscape of the Andes Mountains. These sleeping giants would roar to life again someday. The molten lava and gasses of a volcano would increase in pressure until it was vented, resulting in an eruption.

The sun worked on the same principle, although no lava was involved. The hot gasses and ionized particles swelled until the plasma was released. A chill ran over her body, and she unconsciously hugged herself, still staring at the bright orange star as it disappeared over the Andes. Then it dawned on her.

“It’s building.”

Chapter 8

27 Hours

8:00 p.m., September 7

American Airlines Center

Dallas

Outside of the American Airlines Center was a sign containing the letters—VIP. Fans of the NBA’s Dallas Mavericks and the NHL’s Dallas Stars walked past the dedicated entrance every game, but few of them got to enter the Lexus Garage allowing access to the premium seating. Admission to the luxury suites didn’t just mean you got to separate yourself from the rest of the madness that accompanied a large-scale concert like tonight’s. The perks went further than that. Attendees in the luxury suites got specialty foods and cocktails, concierge-level service, private restrooms, and features including multiple HDTV screens streaming the concert as well as any channel available on DirecTV.

Colton was beginning to enjoy the perks of his status as one of the premier talent agents in the nation. Soon, he would be sought by promoters of events seeking access to his client base, as opposed to the other way around.

The concert was in full swing, but most of the guests of Jerry Jones engaged in conversation and drinks. Joining them tonight in the luxury suite were Rudy Gatlin of the Gatlin Brothers, Kelly Clarkson of
American Idol
fame, and Colby Donaldson, who became known for his runner-up appearance on the second season of
Survivor
on CBS. He subsequently appeared on the
Survivor
reality show in two more seasons.

“Pretty incredible, don’t you think?” said Donaldson to Colton.

Colton took another bite of a buffalo chicken sandwich and nodded with his mouth full. “Yeah, it is,” he replied, swallowing fast. “I saw a Nashville Stars game in one of their suites, but the level of luxury wasn’t close to this. While walking through the AA concourse, I recognized a lot of local celebrities.” Despite his career, Colton, who had a humble upbringing, was still starstruck at times.

Donaldson put down his Bud Light and grabbed another one out of the refrigerator. “Want one?” he asked Colton.

“No, thanks, this IBC is fine.” Colton didn’t drink beer, opting instead for his longtime favorite
roost beer
, as he’d called it since childhood. “Do you come up here often?”

“This is my first time in Mr. Jones’s suite. I’ve been providing members of his family some firearms training.”

“I’ve caught a couple of episodes of
Top Shot
,” said Colton. “Six years is a pretty good run.”

“Thanks,” smiled Donaldson with a tip of his beer. “I was thrilled with the opportunity that the History Channel gave me. Between the various challenges and the variety of contestants, I have the chance to provide decent entertainment for their viewers while informing people about the safe use of firearms at the same time.”

Colton polished off his sandwich and chased it with the last of his IBC. He thought about the raging debate in America over the ownership of guns and the Second Amendment. Colton believed in and supported the Constitutional right to bear arms. He was also convinced that guns didn’t kill people but, rather, people killed people. Like most Americans, however, he hated to read about mass shootings and the deaths that resulted. As an emotional issue, the debate created a political divide in the country, which Colton tried to avoid. Politics and business didn’t mix very well.

“Well, congrats, Colby,” said Colton. “You’ve really parlayed your appearance on
Survivor
into something great. Your success takes initiative, which can’t be taught in school. Keep it rollin’!”

“I will. It’s nice to meet you,” said Donaldson, who suddenly turned his attention to the television monitor showing CNN. “Dadgummit! I’m supposed to fly to Anchorage in the morning for filming.”

The monitor contained closed-captioning of a reporter discussing a breaking news announcement from the FAA. Colton pushed his way past the overstuffed leather chairs to get a better look at the details from the report.

CNN’s headline read
Geomagnetic Storm Warning
. Colton considered turning up the volume to hear the details, but only he and Donaldson were watching. The closed caption would have to suffice.

“
The FAA, after receiving reports from NOAA, has redirected dozens of flights that were routed from Alaska to some of the northernmost regions of Canada. All flights scheduled to fly across the north pole have been rerouted.

“
NOAA advised the FAA that one of its satellites witnessed an ultraviolet flash from a solar eruption and data indicated it to be a C-class solar flare. Although relatively common, the FAA felt it was necessary to reroute the flights out of an abundance of precaution.

“
Stay tuned to CNN for further updates.
”

A voice interrupted Colton and Donaldson as they watched the report. “We knew that some of the Air Canada flights would be affected by this,” said Martin Hart, a sitting member of the American Airlines board of directors and also a guest of Jerry Jones. “Several airlines didn’t fly polar routes today, and we adjusted the flight pattern of a few of our flights as well.”

Colton turned to greet the man. “I’m Colton Ryman,” he said, extending his hand.

“Marty Hart, I’m on the board of AA.” He shook Colton’s hand. “How’re you, Colby?”

“Fine, sir,” replied Donaldson as the men exchanged handshakes. “Will my flight to Anchorage be affected?”

“Probably not. We’ll take a more southerly route on most flights as we continue to monitor the situation. These solar flares happen all the time. Most of them are G1 or G2 storms which usually accompany a C-class solar flare like this one. But even the G2s can impact low Earth satellites, radio comms, and cause navigation issues. We adjust accordingly.”

“That’s good,” said Donaldson. “I was supposed to fly out this morning but chose to hang out with you guys. My friends at Pilgrim Studios would turn me into a range target if I missed that flight.” The men laughed, but Colton turned his attention back to the television monitor.

The advisory scrolled across the bottom of the screen. He was due to fly home on Friday morning after the football game, and he missed his girls. Surely this solar flare would be long gone by then.

Chapter 9

27 Hours

8:00 p.m., September 7

Ryman Residence

Belle Meade, Tennessee

Madison scrolled down the iPad through her Facebook news feed and mindlessly clicked the like button on her friends’ posts. Her mind was elsewhere, and Madison probably would have chastised herself for
liking
the post of her neighbor who announced the loss of her father.
Liking
a post concerning the death of a loved one seemed like bad form without some accompanying comment of support.