Hideaway (Book 1): An EMP Thriller Page 3

“I'm serious, Raul,” she snapped.

  Raul hopped into the back of the van, ignoring her. Dean sat on the sidewalk with his camera in his lap, twisting a top port with his screwdriver. They didn't seem to get it. The severity of the situation was outweighed by their own denial. They insisted on fixing that which could not be fixed. But Marla knew she couldn't just leave them, no matter how stubborn they behaved.

  She sat on the edge, arms crossed, and looked out into the clogged street of people and vehicles. With all engines ceased, conversation filled the air, drowning out any other sound. Gone were the blaring emergency sirens, distant horns, and drilling of unseen construction crews, though the thickening haze had spread even further. Marla held hand to her mouth, coughing as Dean stood up and placed the camera into the van. It looked nearly dissected. “Circuitry's fried.”

  “What?” she asked.

  “That's what it looks like to me,” he said.

  “Of course,” she said in a stunned tone. “Something powerful enough to disable our electronics.” She knew the term. She'd done a report on it before, years ago: electromagnetic pulse or EMP. But that was the weaponry of science fiction.

  Dean backed away from the van in defeat. “Are we walking to the station or what?”

  “No!” an even-determined Raul shouted from inside. “I'll get this van running, okay?”

  Marla and Dean exchanged skeptical looks. He was persistent, but she didn't know how much longer she could stand there, especially as people shuffled past them, some limping by in each other’s arms like wounded soldiers on a battlefield. She buried her face in her hands, wiping her eyes, and then climbed back into the van and approached their monitor station. Raul squeezed past her, finding his missing tools, and told her she was wasting her time. “So are you!” she said.

  She began twisting the knobs and flicking on switches just to make sure. It had run on its own power unit, separate from the engine, and she hoped just maybe that it had been unaffected. But that didn't seem to be the case. She leaned back in her chair, hidden within the van, as the chaos of the city surrounded them. They waited for what seemed like an hour, trying to figure out what to do.

  Suddenly, a familiar voice called out to her from outside. It got her immediate attention. She turned and saw her husband, James of all people, charging toward the van. He halted between Dean and Raul, nearly flying into the van. He was in a sweaty, panicked state, rapidly breathing as though he had run a marathon. Marla crawled out of the back and got out. He threw his arms around her, pulling her close. All she could do was ask him what he was doing there.

  “Thank God you're okay. I came to get you,” he said, out of breath.

  Marla didn't understand. He was supposed to be on the road to his writer’s retreat. It didn't make any sense. Nothing did. He was quick to pull her away from the van and light on the details. The attack had spread far beyond downtown St. Louis all the way to their home fifteen miles away. But James had a solution. He had a working vehicle, his 82' Pontiac Firebird Trans Am, one of the few vehicles for untold miles that still worked. He couldn't explain everything. He only knew that they had to leave. So, they did. She followed James with Raul and Dean reluctantly in tow. They would escape the city together, and James even offered to drive her team home.

  They hurried past City Hall as more people filled the sidewalks, moving around cars that had drifted from one lane to the next. Fortunately, James had parked away from the Hudson Building as it continued to burn. His Trans AM was well hidden, he explained. They'd have their challenges in getting out of the city, especially with so many people walking on the roads. James even expressed concern over the possibility of getting mobbed. As they continued walking amidst the crowd of lost, confused people, James assured that it wasn't much farther.

  They passed another crowd of people with their cell phones raised high in the air as though they were moments from offering penance. The angrier among them tossed their slim, expensive phones onto the pavement. Hoods were propped open on nearly every vehicle they passed. Everyone needed help. No one seemed to know what to do, though James remained focused on the mission at hand.

  He pulled her along, not slowing down in the slightest. She turned and saw that they were beginning to lose Raul and Dean in the crowd. She begged him to slow down, but James wouldn't listen. In one split second another blast rang out, and all her fears were confirmed. This time it was a small vacant building right along their path. An explosion ripped through it, spraying brick and glass through the air. Marla was thrown to the ground, losing James’s grip in the process. A wave of heat and smoke soon followed and then silence, further muffled by the ringing in her ears. They'd never get out of the city alive.

  But Marla and James did survive. The explosion had torn a hole through the three-story building, but caused only a few injuries, some greater than others. They had lost Dean and Raul, and though Marla searched frantically through the rubble and drifting haze, she couldn't find them anywhere. Worst of all, James came to her with the news that his car would no longer start.

  They were stuck like most everyone else, forced to flee on foot. Marla's Toyota Camry was parked at the station, a good distance from downtown. James's Pontiac Firebird wouldn't start. But Marla had an idea. She knew a man named Larry who she'd done a segment on a month before. He ran a survivalist shop downtown not far from where they were at. He might be able to help them, or he had long left his store behind. They had no idea what to expect. After walking five blocks through chaotic downtown and a long stretch of road near the industrial sector, they found Larry Atwood loading a vehicle with supplies. He was closing his store, in no mood to entertain them or anyone else. He was driving an old Buick station wagon, one he claimed still ran.

  Evacuation

  James and Marla miraculously made it home, escaping the city in Larry's station wagon. He had reluctantly agreed to drop them off as their house was in the direction of his travels. Larry hadn't planned on hanging around for long, but he did plan to wait until evening to continue his fifty-mile journey north to Willow Creek, where his cabin awaited. The roads were dangerous enough with their hazards and obstructions, vehicles blocking lanes and stranded commuters everywhere.

  Driving home through the wreckage of the highway, they had seen maybe one or two moving vehicles, a pick-up truck, and a Chevy Camaro that looked about as old as Larry's 1983 white Buick Regal station wagon. The blackout had spread to their quaint neighborhood of Summerland Heights.

  James had his theories like anyone else: an EMP attack or solar flare. What else could have caused a massive power outage, disabled vehicles, and destroyed electronic equipment? No one knew for sure. St. Louis was lost and cut off from the outside world. All James and Marla could do was wait. In addition to helping them get home, Larry soon offered to let them stay at his cabin in Willow Creek, just over fifty miles north. They'd be safe there, he explained.

  Larry and his wife were going to hunker down until normalcy returned. To James and Marla, the plan sounded crazy. Next on Larry's list of theories came the implementation of martial law.

  “And what would be wrong with that?” James asked.

  “They'll completely take over. Don't you get it? Say goodbye to your rights. They'll round us up like cattle and put us in camps.”

  “Don't you think you're being extreme?” James asked.

  Larry huffed with indignation. “We're at war. Everything changes, starting today.”

  As they sat in the house, behind closed doors and covering their windows, they faced another problem with their neighbors, Vernon and Rita. Rita took daily dialysis treatments for her kidneys. The power outage had disabled her machine. They needed help, and that burden fell upon Larry to drive them somewhere. After a brief refusal, he relented. But just as they were about to leave, the night took a sudden turn.

  A dozen working military cargo trucks drove down their street and stopped. Before anyone could tell what they were doing there, soldiers were already bloc
king off the area as government officials did the talking. Most of their neighbors had already been outside for hours, waiting for help or for loved ones to return.

  The street had turned into a public square of sorts where theories on the blackout spread with increasing unease. Military intervention seemed to have come at the right time, quelling the general restlessness in the air. The large trucks arrived with their headlights beaming and engines rumbling. They looked like Vietnam-era vehicles or older. The tense, frenzied mood of the neighborhood changed to relief with their arrival. Uniformed soldiers climbed and filed out of the backs of the trucks with civilian counterparts and government officials pacing the area.

  Larry warned James about going outside. Marla and Vernon, however, wouldn't hear of it. They had to get Rita help as her life depended on it. James stood in the living room as Marla pushed Rita outside in her wheelchair. Larry had enough and vowed to leave everyone behind. James even heard the station wagon start from the garage.

  He turned from the front door, torn on who to pursue. Marla continued down the driveway, pushing Rita, while the unseen station wagon's engine revved. He stepped outside just in time to hear a voice call out from a bullhorn among the government officials gathered by the trucks.

  “My name is Everett Watson, deputy assistant with the department of Homeland Security.”

  James stepped outside and walked down the driveway, catching a glimpse of the official in his suit and tie and holding a bullhorn. His voice echoed over the low rumble of the idling trucks parked in a long line down the street.

  “A state of emergency has been declared for the city and its surrounding area, and you are now under a mandatory evacuation by the state. Residents are urged to assemble promptly and come with us so that that we can bring you to a safe and temporary living area.” The deputy walked back and forth as people watched from their yards and driveways. “We're here to help. The power grid has been disabled throughout the state. This area, among others, has been deemed unsafe and a potential target for another attack.”

  Gasps rang out, followed by a slew of questions from residents, each drowning out the other. James turned upon hearing his garage door roll open with Larry behind it.

  “What are you doing?” James asked, charging toward him. “You can't leave now.”

  Larry shook his head in an exhausted manner. “I've got to go, James. That's final.”

  James rushed inside the garage and pulled the door down. “Hold on! Just listen to me.” His eyes suddenly noticed Larry's hand move toward the pistol holstered at his side, under his flannel jacket.

  “Nothing personal,” Larry said. “But I can't keep my wife waiting any longer.”

  “We'll go, okay?” James said, arms out. “But we've got to be smart. They-they could confiscate your vehicle. Did you think about that?” He stood inches from Larry's bearded face, desperate for anything that would work. “All I'm asking is that you give me some time to convince Marla that this is the right call.”

  “Good luck with that,” Larry said, snickering.

  James stepped back with his head down, increasingly frustrated. “I'm trying to assess the situation,” he said, looking up at Larry in an earnest fashion. “I don't know what to make of this evacuation business. It's fishy.”

  Larry crossed his arms, waiting as the wagon idled. He then went to the driver's side and stuck his arm through the open window, turning the ignition off. He pulled the keys out and nodded to James. “Ten minutes to get your shit together.”

  At that moment, James knew what his decision would be. He followed Larry back in the house as the Homeland deputy's voice echoed from outside. James watched from the living room window as residents lined up near the trucks with their bags packed with whatever meager possessions they could throw together. He saw Marla among the crowd, pushing Rita's wheelchair down the sidewalk.

  “Better get your wife before she hops on one of those trucks,” Larry said as he sat on the couch.

  “I'll be right back,” James said, hurrying to the front door. He swung it open and rushed outside toward the trucks. The deputy continued his instructions as more and more people eagerly left their darkened homes. “The threat is imminent,” he said. “But we must maintain a calm and orderly evacuation.”

  Despite his words, panic began to unravel through the street. People pushed their way to the trucks, shoving each other and shouting. Several soldiers soon intervened, separating people and establishing single-file lines to each truck. James hurried down the sidewalk and nearly collided with another government official, who simply stared at him with blank indifference through aviator sunglasses.

  “Keep moving along, sir. The trucks are filling fast.”

  “Where are you taking everyone?” James asked him.

  The man answered with slight hesitation. “A secure area far from the city.” He stepped away, waving a line of people through. James didn't have a good feeling about any of it.

  The Homeland deputy walked beside the trucks, bullhorn to his mouth. “We have food and water and enough generators to power the entire camp. The sooner everyone loads up in an orderly fashion, the sooner we can leave.” He then stopped and observed the trucks as families climbed aboard. “This evacuation is mandatory,” he continued. “Residents stay behind at their own risk, and the government will not be responsible for your well-being.”

  James passed a distraught woman talking to a tall, brooding army officer. “I haven't seen my husband all day,” she said. “My children had to walk home from school, and my oldest daughter hasn't made it back yet. What do we do?”

  The officer placed a hand on the woman's shoulder as people shuffled past them. “Not to worry, ma'am, we're conducting another pickup in a few hours.”

  “What is the threat, exactly?” James asked, cutting in. His need to know momentarily distracted him from getting Marla.

  “A foreign entity,” the officer answered, stone-faced. “Please keep moving.”

  “An EMP, right?” James said. “It had to be. What else could explain all this?”

  The officer nodded and waved James along. “Our orders are to evacuate the city.”

  There was a clear uncertainty he saw on their faces, military and civilian alike. They knew more than what they were saying, but James didn't expect the full truth. Specifics would only create more panic. James continued to the third truck where he found Marla, leaning against an empty wheelchair. Two soldiers were helping Rita onto a wheeled gurney with Vernon nearby. He was speaking with another government official, a woman wearing latex gloves, a lab coat, and a surgical mask hanging off her face.

  “She's past due for her kidney treatment,” Vernon eagerly explained. “You need to help her.”

  The woman nodded as she checked some boxes on her clipboard. “We'll do our best, I promise.” Vernon threw his arms around the woman, thanking her. “There, there, sir. Don't mention it.”

  “Where are you taking her?” James said, stepping forward.

  The woman turned to him as Vernon went to Rita's side. “We have a remote treatment center where hospital patients are being evacuated to as we speak.”

  James couldn't believe what he was hearing. Hospitals too? It seemed that no part of the city had been unaffected by the blackout. The woman left before he could ask her anything else. A solder pushed Rita away as Vernon remained by her side. Wasting no time, James gripped Marla's hand and pulled her close. “We've got to get out of here.”

  “I know,” she said, distracted and looking around. “I hope we have time to pack before the trucks fill up.”

  “Marla, listen to me,” he continued, tilting her face up to his. “We don't know where they're taking everyone. Not a single official or soldier will tell me.”

  “So what?” she said, dismissing his concerns.

  “I have a better idea.” He paused, bracing for her objections. “We should go with Larry.” Marla immediately shook her head as he pleaded his case. “ He knows what's going o
n. He offered to let us stay with him until we can figure this thing out.”

  Marla backed away. The mere suggestion of leaving with Larry was apparently beyond the pale. “This is serious, James. We need to listen to what they're saying.”

  “I know, but--”

  “And we're not going with Larry!” Marla said, walking away.

  They received a few passing glances from soldiers walking by. She hurried back to the house as a ten-minute departure warning sounded from the Homeland deputy. Marla walked inside and closed the front door behind her. James chased after her, swinging the door back open. He went through the foyer into the darkened living room where candles were lit, surprised to see Marla talking calmly with Larry.

  ”Perfect time,” Larry said from the couch as James walked in. “I made us some tea. Let's all sit down and discuss our options.” His good-natured veneer was suspicious, but James agreed to a chat. He sat down on the couch beside Larry as Marla took a cup and blew on the tea.

  “How'd you make this?” she asked, sitting on a nearby sofa chair.

  “Just used a match and the propane left in your stove.”

  She held the flower-patterned cup and then carefully sipped. James drank from his cup, not expecting to like it, but Larry had brewed it well in record time. A relaxing silence passed between them, far removed from the chaos outside. Larry crossed his legs and sipped on his tea, addressing Marla directly with his pitch.

  “You would be much safer at my cabin. I understand your doubts, but let me assure you. It's not an offer I make lightly. And had you not come to my store, seeking my help, who knows where you and James would be now.” He paused and cleared his throat as the relative calm between them remained. “The truth is, Marla, I could use the help. Living off the land is not an easy task, and Carol and I aren't getting any younger. The power grid could take months to get back online.”

  Marla looked at Larry and then James. “We do appreciate the offer, but we'll have to pass. The military is here, and they seem to have a handle on things.”