Through the Storm(2)

“Stay home and watch the aurora,” the announcer advised with a practiced smile.

Neal lowered the television volume to a normal level and booted his computer. As a backyard and warm weather astronomer, he knew where to find answers. When the browser filled the screen, Neal logged into his favorite astronomy forum. There, a dozen professionals discussed the solar storm that hurtled toward the planet.

Most scientists on the forum argued the storm would be no worse than G4; a few others warned of a G5 occurrence. One scientist, Arthur Blake, compared it to the Carrington Event of 1859.

“That solar storm created aurora around the world, as far south as the Caribbean,” Blake had typed on the forum page. “But it also caused sparks and shocks along the telegraph system. What will this do to modern electronic technology?”

While the size of the storm remained under debate by the astronomers, the course and speed had been calculated. It would hit the Earth’s magnetosphere in ten hours.

The talking heads on TV were still predicting limited power and communications outages and advising to wait it out at home. If this was their typical overreaction, he had nothing to worry about, and might even enjoy the aurora. However, if this was a Carrington Event, power and communications might fail across huge parts of the planet. Other systems, even cars, might fail. Neal grabbed his phone and tapped the number for home.

He heard only a busy signal.

He called his older son’s cell phone, but the call forwarded to his voice mail. Again he remembered their argument before he had left home Thursday afternoon. Conner had wanted to go hunting over the weekend. Neal had insisted he stay home and keep an eye on Drake.

“Why do I have to babysit while you go to Vegas?” Conner’s face grew redder with each word.

“I’m your father and I need you to do this—so do it.” Neal had stormed from the house.

Again he tried both numbers and received the same unwanted results. With a flick of the hand, he tossed the phone onto the bed.

Within hours, modern civilization might be shaken to its core. No, don’t overreact. Tonight will probably be a minor footnote in history.

As he continued to watch the news and monitor the online forum, he evaluated what he knew for certain. The CME was large and would hit Earth in ten hours. Those were all the available facts.

Using the computer, Neal plotted his route home. The quickest way would take just under ten hours. Should he drive all night? More than one friend had accused him of being paranoid, but what he knew concerned him.

When the final meeting of the financial planning conference in Las Vegas ended, Neal had reluctantly prepared to drive home. He had little reason to hurry. Since Beth had died, home had been a place of tension. His two teenage sons seemed distant, even cool. How could he bridge such a gap?

Beth had always been his guide to raising the boys. She had been the outgoing, loving, and empathetic one. He had been the breadwinner. Those traditional roles had worked for them. When they went out, she smiled and talked. He tried to grin and did a lot of listening. Neal often joked that he was her stoic bodyguard.

Then, in a flash, she had died, leaving him alone. He should have been there. He should have protected her.

Since he wasn’t eager to return home, a place of so many memories, heartache, and tension, he had planned to visit an old navy buddy on his way back. He shook his head. It would be best to be home, near his sons, and sleep in the bed he had shared with Beth. He pushed the heartache from his thoughts.

A check of airline schedules revealed a long list of canceled flights. Neal leaned back in the chair. How serious is this situation? He checked the rail schedule. No trains left for Portland or Seattle in the next two days. Perhaps driving was the best option. If nothing terrible happened, he would arrive home tired but with his car. He tried to phone his boys again but with no success.

A glance at a clock showed just past seven. There would be no rest for him tonight, and he would need copious amounts of coffee for the trip home.

Neal packed his bags and tossed them into the trunk. Then, he pawed through the old rucksack that housed his bug-out supplies: water bottles, basic tools, small camp stove, P-38 can opener, matches, emergency radio, tarp, first aid kit, and more. He inspected more for reassurance than to inventory items. When he felt the pistol, he stopped.

Neal removed the Sig P250 and placed it in an inside pocket of his jacket, along with some ammo. He checked out of the hotel, drove to the nearest ATM, where he withdrew five hundred dollars in twenty-dollar bills, and then filled his thermos with coffee from a nearby kiosk.

Amply caffeinated, Neal drove north on Highway 395 out of Reno. With each mile, the electric lights of civilization gave way to the darkness of night. However, this was only the natural transition from urban Reno to rural Northern California. He wondered if he would even know the moment when the CME hit the Earth.

For nearly two hours he drove north, sipping coffee and switching between satellite and local radio stations. Eight hours remained before the event, and he had learned little more.

The darkness hid the surrounding countryside, but Neal knew the route along the secondary highways, through the dry scrub brush, scattered pine, and wildflower landscape.

South of Susanville, Highway 395 veered east, but Neal continued straight into town. Spotting a small roadside diner, he pulled into the nearly empty parking lot, walked inside, and stopped at the counter.

A gum-chewing waitress in her early thirties rang up a customer and then turned to Neal with a smile. “How can I help you?”