The Pulse: An EMP Prepper Survival Tale (7 page)

"What should we do?" Ryan asked.

"I would go home and stay indoors for the
day. Just lay low until the problem is fixed. If you're able to
stop by the store, see if they have any power. If not, stock up on
what you can with cash."

"Cash?" a girl said laughing.

"Yes, cash."

The ultimate question entered James's mind.
He wanted to go to the parking lot and see if his truck would
start. He wanted to see if any vehicles were working. "Class is
dismissed for now. Everyone stay safe and keep in touch with me,
that is, if you can get your cell phones working. I'm hoping this
will all pass soon."

The students slowly got up, grabbed their
bags, and left the auditorium, still in a great state of confusion.
Cell phones, smart phones, tablets, Wi-Fi, and the Internet. They
couldn't imagine life any differently.

James walked down a hall towards the parking
lot when the Faculty Director, Dr. Ron Keppler, stuck his head out
of his office and called him in. "James, can I talk to you for a
minute?" he asked. James stopped, and entered the office. "Please
have a seat," Dr. Keppler said. There were two vinyl chairs in
front of his desk. An enormous bookcase stood against the wall
behind him. James sat on the chair farthest to the left as Dr.
Keppler studied him.

"What's going on?" James asked. Dr. Keppler
wasn't his favorite person in the world. Though they got along
professionally, Keppler was often condescending, even though he was
ten years younger than James.

"That's what I was about to ask you," Dr.
Keppler said in response to James' question. Keppler stared at him
though a pair of wide-rimmed glasses that rested on his nose.

James stammered slightly. "Well, I know that
the power went out in the middle of my class, and it hasn't come
back on. I know that my students’ laptops and phones have been
disabled. Other than that, I'm not sure. Do you know anything about
it?"

"I haven't a clue, but I'm sure it's only
temporary," Dr. Keppler answered. He smugly leaned back in his
office chair, and James sensed a juncture in their conversation. "I
noticed you dismissed your class early," Dr. Keppler said.

"Yes, that's correct," James answered.

"Do you think that was a wise move?" the
Director asked.

"I don't see why not. The power outage was
very distracting."

"And you told them it was an electromagnetic
pulse attack?"

James paused, unresponsive. Dr. Keppler
continued, "I spoke to a few of your students on their way out.
Seems you have some pretty outlandish theories about the whole
thing."

"I believe an EMP is a possibility,
definitely. It would make sense," James said.

Dr. Keppler laughed. "I don't doubt your
conviction, James, I really don't." His chair squeaked as he leaned
in closer. "I just don't think we should be filling our students’
heads with wild scenarios, calling this a terrorist attack and
such."

James felt offended. "I never said it was a
terrorist attack."

"All the same," Dr. Keppler said, waving a
hand in the air. "The point is that the students are worried, and
this EMP talk has them in a frenzy."

"They should be worried," James said
defensively. "There's a very high probability that all these
disabled electronics are linked to an EMP attack. I've done plenty
of research on the matter."

"Ah yes, your research. In that cabin you
have in the middle of the woods, slaughtering animals, and
preparing for the apocalypse?"

"Excuse me? I think you're way out of line
with that comment," James said, his anger rising.

"I'm sorry, James," Dr. Keppler said. "I
didn't mean to offend you. I just don't want the students to be
worked up into some kind of panic."

"What panic? They left the class in an
orderly fashion. Are they confused? Yes. There's no reason to keep
them in the dark about anything."

Dr. Keppler smiled. "Nice pun. Let's just
wait and see what happens before we go spreading any more wild
tales."

"Very well, but in my professional opinion,
this school needs to take appropriate action to plan for weeks, if
not months, without power."

Dr. Keppler rose from his chair. "I
appreciate the advice, James, but what I'm concerned about most is
creating a panic." He pointed at James sternly. "You are not to
tell this theory of yours to any other students or faculty members
whatsoever. This is a matter of safety."

James sat silent for a moment, feeling
himself being pushed into a corner. "You're issuing a gag
order?"

"Take it however you want to take it. This
college has a reputation to keep. You're a good teacher, I give you
that, but I would advise you to keep your personal life—the
hunting, doomsday prepping, and end of the world theories off this
campus. Good day, James." Dr. Keppler stretched his arm toward the
door, indicating it was time for James to leave. There was nothing
more to say. James rose from his chair, and left the office. Dr.
Kepler sat down, satisfied to have put James in his place.

James's fears were confirmed as walked the
parking lot, carrying his satchel over his shoulder. Several
faculty members stood over the open hoods of their cars, all
clueless as to why their cars weren't starting. The hot Georgia sun
provided no mercy on the dry, cloudless day. The lack of air
conditioning had already been evident in the building, was actually
cooler outside. He spotted his truck and walked a few rows
over.

"James! There you are," a voice called
out.

James turned around and saw one of his
colleagues, Denise, a professor of U.S. Political and Cultural
Studies. She was frazzled and breathing heavily. Her blonde pageboy
hairstyle blew in a quick and welcome breeze that suddenly swept
by.

"I've been looking for you; I just came from
your classroom."

"Denise, hey, what's up?" James answered,
putting his sunglasses on.

"I saw everything, James," she said
emotionally.

James walked closer to her. "What are you
talking about? What did you see?"

"Your students, I passed one of them, her
name was Amber. She said you told them that an EMP blast in the sky
caused the power to go out."

James attempted to correct her. "I said I
believed that could be the case; I don't know for sure at the
moment."

"Well, I do," Denise said. "I saw a large
blast in the sky about twenty minutes ago. It was more like a
flash, actually. It took only a second and practically threw me to
the ground. I was on my way to my car to get some files. I thought
maybe an airplane blew up or something. I just don't know."

"I believe you, Denise, don't worry. From
what you're telling me, it sounds like you witnessed an aerial
nuclear explosion. It's probably how the electromagnetic pulses
were deployed. From what I know, it takes only seconds."

"I tried to start my car, but it's dead. My
phone. My laptop. They're all dead," Denise said.

She was shaken up, so James put his hand on
her shoulder and tried to calm her.

"Everything is going to be okay. I'm about to
try to start my truck, and then I'm out of here. If you're having
car troubles I can give you a lift home if you want."

Denise smiled. "That would be great," she
said, touching his arm. They walked to his truck, as James hoped
for the best. Off in the distance, near the bus ramp, a bus was
stopped in the middle of the street with several students standing
around it. Others zipped by the scene on bikes. James and Denise
approached a beat-up F150.

"All right, let's see if this works," James
said, entering the driver's side.

Denise looked at the vehicle in wonder.
"Wow," she said. "This car is an antique."

"Sure is." James placed the key in the
ignition, and put his foot on the clutch. He cranked the engine
while holding onto the stick shift. The truck roared to life
without issue. James let out a heavy sigh in relief.

"It starts. I can't believe that it starts!"
Denise said, looking into the truck through James' side window. He
grinned and looked over at her.

"Go ahead and hop in; I'll take you
home."

She got in and looked at the minimal interior
of the truck in awe. There was no carpet. The long bench seat in
the front was old and worn, and the radio looked like something out
of the 1950s.

"How did start it?" she asked while shutting
her door.

“I just turned the key,” James said.

He moved stick shift into reverse and backed
out of the parking space. They fled the lot while drawing the
curious attention of several nearby onlookers. All the traffic
lights were out, and motionless cars were blocking both lanes.
James did his best to maneuver around them. Stranded commuters
barely took notice, as their attention was focused on their own
vehicles.

"Not all cars are susceptible to EMPs,” James
said to Denise. “At least from what I've read. I'm sure that
military and law enforcement vehicles are designed to withstand the
attack. I sure hope they are. I know the government has taken some
precaution in that regard. My truck was designed before computer
circuitry became a standard part of the engine. This is a 1975 Ford
F150. Is it old as hell? Yes. Is it invincible? No. Is it
completely safe from an EMP? I don't know. It's running now. I
mainly got it because it's diesel and the engine is reliable."

"Why diesel?" Denise asked.

"Because in the event of massive fuel
shortages, you can use alternate measures in lieu of diesel
fuel."

"Like what?"

James thought for a minute. "Like vegetable
oil, for instance."

Denise laughed. "Yeah, right!" she said.

"It's true. I tried it before. Truck runs
just the same."

"That's crazy," Denise said, staring
ahead.

"Let me know where I'm going here," James
said.

"Oh, I'm sorry, take a right at the light up
here." Her voice dropped when she how many cars were in their path.
At least ten alone blocked the road to her neighborhood street.
James drove on the side of the road to get around them.

They arrived at her house, located in a
quiet, nearly empty neighborhood. She exited James's truck visibly
shaken. She closed her side door and walked to James's side.

"Thank you so much, James. I really don't
know how to thank you."

"You just did," James replied. The thought of
inviting her to his bug-out house crossed his mind, even though he
knew that she was married. He couldn't help it. "Good luck and stay
safe."

"Do you think things will go back to normal
soon?" she asked.

"I'd say it depends on the extent of the EMP
blast and how prepared emergency teams are for it. Just make sure
that you get plenty of food, water, and supplies from the store
before their shelves are emptied. A couple of days of this will be
all it takes."

"But how?" Denise began.

"Ride a bike. Walk if you have to. I can't
stress it enough; you have to be stocked up."

Denise touched James's hand. "Thank you
again," she said, turning to her small one-story three-bedroom
house. She waved and walked in through the front door. James waited
until she went inside, and then drove off.

Twenty minutes later, roughly thirty miles
away from Denise's, the Ford flew up the winding and bumpy dirt
road leading to James' bug-out house. It was time for him to take
the first step in preparing for the lengthy and treacherous
aftermath of what was a probable EMP strike. He was not surprised
to enter the house and find it without power. He was also not
surprised to find his cell phone lifeless and inoperable. He had
generators stored in the shed with more than fifty gallons of fuel
on hand. Some of the house ran on solar electricity, including the
outside lights and some electronics. He had also routed the back-up
power of his kitchen refrigerator to the solar system, which would
keep it running for a little while longer. He also had large
12-Volt batteries stored for essential appliances in case of an
emergency. The kitchen oven ran off propane. Many things in the
house were designed to run in the event of a power outage, and
James felt vindicated for all of his hard work.

He filled his bathtub with buckets of water
to have on-hand for washing and cleaning. He fished out all the
flashlights, battery-operated radios, and batteries and placed them
on the kitchen table. The radio in his car didn't pick up any
signal, and he had no better luck with the portable radios or
television. It seemed as if they'd all been fried. Through all of
this "quick prepping," it never occurred to James to go to the
police or emergency service to find out what was going on. His
first instinct was to get to the bug-out house and get in contact
with his prepper pact. For the time being, they even took
precedence over his son and grandchildren.

James walked down into the cellar, light
beaming in through the small windows, and retrieved a large
protective metal case. He placed the case on a table and opened it.
Inside was a radio transmitter, similar to a Ham radio, that he
began to set up in haste. The radio ran off lithium batteries. The
protective case was meant to shield the radio from electromagnetic
pulses, and as he completed assembling its components, the radio
turned on without a problem. James sat and clutched the microphone
in his shaking hand. He moved the knobs to reach the proper
frequency where he could communicate with his prepper pact. He used
their call signs, holding down the transmitter button.

"Blue Sixty, Blue Sixty, come in Blue Sixty,
this is Red Raven," James said. "Blue Sixty" was Terrance's call
sign.

James continued. "Badger Beast, Badger Beast,
come in, Badger Beast." "Badger Beast" was Mark's call sign.

He heard nothing. He tried again and again,
having faith that they would soon answer his call. It was the only
way he could find out how far the attack had reached.