Survive (Day 1) Read online

  SURVIVE

  Day One

  By: A.R. Wise

  Cover by A.R. Wise

  Photo sourced from istockphoto.com

  Kindle Edition, License Notes

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  SURVIVE

  Day One – 5:15pm

  Day One – 5:41pm

  Day One – 6:50pm

  Day One – 7:23pm

  Day One – 8:05pm

  Day One – 8:33pm

  Day One – 11:12pm

  Day One – 11:39pm

  Day One – 5:15pm

  A framed picture of a happy family sat atop a duffle bag filled with guns. The father, a stout, bearded man in his mid-thirties, was packing.

  There was a cell phone on the dresser attempting to connect a call. It was set on speaker so he could hear if the call went through. It stayed silent. Every few minutes a droning voice would announce, ‘We’re sorry, but your call can’t be connected at this time. Please try again.’ Each time the call failed, the father would redial before heading off to collect more gear.

  The only television in the house was in the living room. The volume was up loud enough that it could be heard from the bedroom. A male newscaster gave the definition of a CME, ‘Coronal Mass Ejection. It’s like a solar flare, but stronger. Plasma and magnetic fields shoot out from the sun at an incredible speed. Is that right?’

  The father rolled up a long-sleeve shirt as tight as he could, and shoved it into the duffle bag. The guns and ammo rattled. He positioned the shirt as padding between a couple pistols.

  ‘Sort of. The first thing to remember is that these happen frequently, and they almost always miss us,’ said a female solar astronomer who’d been brought on the news to explain what was happening.

  ‘Will this one miss us?’ asked the newscaster.

  ‘More than likely, yes. At this point, all we know is that a large solar disturbance occurred two days ago. It was most likely both a solar flare and a coronal mass ejection. And a big one at that. One of the biggest we’ve ever seen.’ She couldn’t hide her glee. Scientists have a tendency to get excited about things that other people find terrifying. ‘Solar flares and CMEs happen all the time. Sometimes several per day, depending on the solar cycle.’

  The newscaster interrupted, ‘So we have nothing to worry about?’

  Porter laughed, mocking the question.

  ‘I didn’t say that,’ said the solar astronomer. ‘We might have a lot to worry about. It all depends on the direction that the… I’ve got a good way to explain it. Think of a gun. All right? Imagine someone is pointing a gun at you from across a football field in the middle of the night. Imagine they fire. You see the gun flash. Pow! That’s sort of like the solar flare. But it’s not the solar flare you have to worry about, it’s the bullet coming at you. The bullet’s like the coronal mass ejection. Does that make sense? Except instead of a bullet, we’re talking about solar plasma and a magnetic field. Right now, we saw the muzzle flash, and the Chinese are saying that the bullet’s headed our way.’

  ‘The Chinese?’ asked the reporter.

  ‘Yes. They’re way more advanced when it comes to solar science than we are, sadly. Our government hasn’t prepared for this sort of thing, even though they’ve been warned over and over.’

  ‘Are the Chinese scientists right? Is it headed our way?’

  ‘Oh, it’s definitely headed our way. We’ve already seen the effects of the solar flare on satellites. The question is if the magnetic field will hit us directly.’

  ‘And will it?’ asked the reporter, his frustration beginning to show.

  ‘We won’t know for certain until about a half hour before it gets here. That’s when it’ll pass by our ACE satellite. At that point, we’ll have a better idea of where it’s headed.’

  The father carried a duffle bag filled with clothes to his front door, and then headed back to the bedroom. He paused by the television mounted above the fireplace to watch.

  ‘What happens if it hits us directly?’ asked the reporter. ‘Should we be worried about radiation?’

  ‘Not here,’ said the solar astronomer as she pointed down. Then she pointed to the ceiling and added, ‘But up in the atmosphere we might. That’s why they’re grounding all flights, just in case we do get hit. That being said, if the CME hits us directly, radiation will be the last of our problems. If we suffer a direct hit…’ She shook her head.

  ‘What?’

  ‘If we have a direct hit, there’s a chance that our electrical grid will go down. We’ll lose most of the satellites, which means our communication capabilities will be severely crippled. And if the CME is strong enough, it could actually melt copper inside of transformers, shutting them down. That’s what we really need to worry about, because we’re not prepared for that.’

  ‘We’re not?’

  ‘No. Not even close,’ she said. ‘We could be facing a blackout on a scale we’ve never seen before.’

  ‘And how long before we can get things working again?’

  “Tell him the truth,” said Porter to the television as if daring the solar astronomer.

  ‘We really don’t know,’ she said.

  Porter grimaced and muttered, “Liar.” He clicked off the television and headed for the bedroom.

  He paused to look at the framed picture of his family that he planned on taking with him. The glass was broken. One long crack stretched from left to right, slicing through the four of them. His brunette wife had a smile so wide and intense that it caused her eyes to narrow, her dimples on full display. Their two sons stood in front of their parents. Mark was only nine, and hadn’t hit his growth spurt yet. Anthony, who turned thirteen a month earlier, was nearly as tall as his mother. Porter stood higher than all of them, in the back, center frame, with a smile wide enough to show through his thick beard. Happier times.

  He set the frame upside down on the bed, took off the back, and removed the photo. He paused to study their faces, and then placed the picture in a side pocket on the bag. Mary was never comfortable with the number of guns Porter owned. It felt wrong to put her picture in the same bag with the guns, so he took the photo out and stuffed it into a pocket on the inside of his coat.

  It was hot outside, and he didn’t need his jacket, but the more clothing he could wear the better. No telling how cold it would get at night on the journey.

  The doorbell rang. Porter placed his hand on the pistol at his side. The front door opened without invitation.

  “It’s me,” said his brother, Red.

  Porter eased. “I’m in the bedroom,” he said as he zipped up the duffle bag. He picked the bag up by its strap and gave it a jiggle. Metal clanked against metal. He set the bag down again, unzipped it, and started to rearrange the contents, packing the weapons tighter, and padding them better.

  “I’ve been preparing myself for your shit-eating grin all day, bro,” said Red. “Go ahead and give it to me. You’ve been waiting your whole life for this, haven’t you?”

  Porter lifted his duffle bag and shook it again. This time the guns stayed silent. He turned to face Red.

  His brother was shorter and thinner than Porter. He was clean shaven, with the square jaw and full lips of a male model. His hair was black and sleek, shaved on the sides but long on top, and today he had it tied in a bun. He was wearing an old flannel with rolled up sleeves, a thin V-neck t-sh
irt, and jeans that’d been purposefully aged by the manufacturer so stores could charge fifty dollars more than they were worth.

  “Go ahead and give it to me,” said Red. “Tell me how you’ve been right all these years.”

  “You should’ve worn something thicker than this,” said Porter as he pinched his brother’s tattered flannel.

  “Have you been outside? It’s hot.”

  “You should wear thicker clothes for now. It’ll save space in your bags.”

  “Whatever,” said Red.

  “We’re taking your Jeep,” said Porter as he held out the duffle bag to his brother. “Mary’s got the truck.”

  “She left you the hybrid?” asked Red with a snicker. He took the bag from his brother and was surprised by the heft.

  Porter nodded. “Her car will be useless in about four or five hours.”

  “Is that how much time we’ve got before the CME hits?” asked Red.

  “That’s what they’re saying, but they don’t know what the hell they’re talking about half the time. They’ve never had to track anything like this before. Nothing this big.”

  “Shit, man.” Red shook his head and took a long breath. “I hope you’re wrong about all of this.”

  “I’m not.” Porter walked past his brother into the living room. He pointed at other bags and supplies he’d placed near the front door. “Do me a favor and start loading up the Jeep. Put the bottled water on the bottom, and stack the bags on top. I’ve got to run across the street to talk to my neighbor.”

  “The douchebag?” asked Red. “I thought you hated that guy. What do you need to talk to him about?”

  “He’s got kids,” said Porter as if that explained everything.

  Porter passed a hole in the wall near the front door that was the same size as his fist. His home was in pristine condition except for several fist-sized holes in the muted grey walls.

  The knuckles on his right fist were still raw. The damage fresh. His ankle had suffered as well, and he was limping slightly, although he tried to hide it. The fact that he hurt himself kicking the sofa was too embarrassing to admit.

  Porter left his house and headed down the driveway. He lived in an unincorporated area on the outskirts of town. His ranch-style, 1564 square foot, three-bedroom home was walled off from the neighbors and society by a thick wooded area. His nearest neighbor, Kyle Winter, lived across the county road they shared. Their driveways faced one another, and the only times they commiserated were the rare moments when they happened to get their mail at the same time.

  He trekked up the path that led to Kyle’s front door. He passed a few bikes and other toys the Winter children had left outside. He rang the bell, and then waited.

  He could hear children yelling at each other inside, and wasn’t sure if they were playing or fighting. After a minute, he heard their father tell his children to hush as he approached the door.

  “Porter,” said Kyle when he answered the door. “What’s up?”

  “You heard about the CME, right?” asked Porter, wasting no time.

  “Yeah, crazy, right?” said Kyle. He was an overweight salesman in his mid-forties. Better suited for a house in the suburbs than one in Porter’s neck of the woods. The property had been willed to him, and Kyle was waiting for the market to go up before selling. “Are you and Mary sticking around here?”

  “Mary and the kids are in Texas.”

  “Oh really…”

  Porter interrupted before Kyle could ask why. “Hey, listen, can we talk?”

  “Sure. What’s up?” asked Kyle as he walked out of the house. His kids were still yelling at each other inside, in the midst of some game on the brink of turning violent. Kyle closed to door to quiet them. “Everything all right?”

  “No,” said Porter as if the question was ludicrous. “I need to show you something. Can you come over to my place for a minute?”

  “Yeah, I guess. Let me get my shoes.” Kyle stepped back in for a moment. Porter heard him yell at his kids to stop fighting, and then he came out with a pair of sandals on. “What’s up?”

  Porter started walking down the gravel driveway as he said, “This is going to be a lot worse than people think.”

  “The solar flare?” asked Kyle. “You really think so?”

  “I know so. Trust me, it’s as serious as it gets. And it’s a coronal mass ejection, not just a solar flare.”

  “The experts are saying that…”

  “I don’t care what the experts are saying,” said Porter with enough aggression to put an end to Kyle’s convivial tone. There was an awkward pause before Porter continued, “Trust me, Kyle, this is bad. Real bad.”

  “Okay,” said Kyle, his tone softened by uncertainty and apprehension.

  They reached the road that separated their driveways. Porter pointed up at a nearby telephone pole. “See that transformer.”

  Kyle looked at the metal contraption at the top of the pole. It resembled a garbage can. “Yeah.”

  “Those are going to start to break the second the CME hits us. When those go down, the power’s going with them.”

  “Life without air-conditioning,” said Kyle as he gripped the collar of his shirt and palpitated it to fan his chest. “Sounds like hell. Don’t worry about us, we’ve got a generator. We’ll be fine.”

  “No you won’t be,” said Porter, his intensity a stark contrast to Kyle’s blasé attitude. “It could be months or even years before they get the transformers replaced. And even if your generator still runs after the CME hits, I know you don’t have a year’s worth of gas for it.”

  “Years?” asked Kyle with the cavalier expression of total disbelief. “Come on, Porter. Don’t you think you’re being a little extreme?”

  “No.”

  Porter continued across the street, but Kyle stopped at the end of his driveway. He wrung his hands and fumbled forth a statement, “I should probably get back to the kids. Did you need something? Or…”

  “Trust me. You’re going to want to see this.”

  “What’re you planning on showing me?” asked Kyle with a smile that displayed discomfort instead of cheer.

  “I’m going to show you how you and your family are going to survive.”

  “Man, you’re really…” Kyle stammered. “Really serious about this, huh?”

  Porter nodded. “Come on. I’ve got you and your family covered. You’re going to be fine.”

  He started walking, and Kyle followed.

  “I’ve got plenty of food, if that’s what you’re worried about,” said Kyle. “I’ve got a deep freezer stocked with venison from my trip to Arkansas last month. We got ourselves two…”

  “You’ll want to unplug your freezer when you get home,” said Porter. “I can’t guarantee it’ll still work after the CME hits, but it’s worth a shot. As a matter of fact, unplug all of your appliances.”

  “Okay,” said Kyle. “Is that because of a power surge?”

  Porter nodded. “Yeah, but the CME might fry them anyways. Hard to say. We’ve never been hit by anything like this before. At least not in modern times.”

  “On the news they said that Canada got hit with one a while back.”

  Porter walked up his driveway, but not towards the house. Instead, he headed to the backyard. “Yeah, it was a small one, and it knocked out power to Quebec for nine hours. This is a bigger deal than that by a long shot.”

  “No shit?” asked Kyle.

  Porter paused at the gate that led to his garden. “No shit.” He opened the gate, and invited Kyle in.

  The garden was made up of seven long, wide rows of planters. The space between was filled with cedar chips that crunched beneath their feet. The sturdy wire fence was four feet tall, with underground spikes to prevent intrusion from determined pests. The smell of tomato vines dominated the air, overcoming the subtler aroma of corn, melons, lettuce, and other healthy vegetation.

  “Impressive,” said Kyle as he inspected a stalk of corn that stood ne
arly as tall as him. “You’ve got enough food for all of us.” He assumed that Porter had brought him here to show off the bountiful fruits and vegetables, and offer to share them.

  “This way,” said Porter as he continued to the other side of the garden. He reached three identical, wide black boxes that came up to his waist. “These two are compost,” he said as he placed his hand on the two boxes to the left. Each of them had a lock keeping the lid on tight. “This last one’s different.”

  Porter took out his keys and undid the padlock. He stepped aside. “Open it.”

  “Why?” asked Kyle with half a grin and an uncertain stare.

  “Just try to open it.”

  Kyle stepped forward and gave the handle a tug. It didn’t budge. He tried a second time, and then a third with both hands. “Is it stuck?”

  “Not exactly,” said Porter. “Here, let me show you.”

  He brushed aside some of the cedar chips from the front of the container to reveal a hidden lever on the ground. He pushed the lever to the side, and covered it back up. “Now try.”

  Kyle stepped forward, his curiosity piqued. He gripped the handle, but paused before lifting. “What the devil are you hiding in here, Mr. Law?”

  Kyle opened the lid.

  Porter answered, “Survival.”

  Day One – 5:41pm

  The lid yawned, and as it did the front of the bin inched forward. Kyle stopped, gawked, and then let out an amused gasp. “What the heck?”

  It wasn’t a compost bin.

  “Is this one of those…” Kyle stared into the black abyss. “What do they call them? Fallout shelters?”

  “Something like that. The light switch is there on the right.”

  Kyle knelt to turn on the lights. They flickered, hummed, and revealed the steep, steel staircase. He hesitated.

  “Go down,” said Porter. “I’ll show you where everything’s at, and how it all works. We don’t have much time. I’ve got to go soon.”

  “Go where?”

  “Texas.”

  “You’re leaving town? Then why are you showing me… When are you coming back?” Kyle’s befuddlement led to a mishmash of queries. “Are you…” He looked back into the shelter, and then at Porter. “Are you coming back?”