Through the Storm(39)
As they walked down the hall the realization hit Neal. “Lights. You have lights.”
Pool smiled. “Yes, the electric grid is down hard, but we have several large generators on the post.”
They entered a gleaming white conference room. At the opposite end, a gray-haired man in an army combat uniform stood on a podium. Neal spotted the single star on the chest insignia that identified him as the general. As if in pews of a church, about twenty-five people sat in rows along both sides of the room. Pool pointed to chairs in the back and they both sat. Neal turned his attention to the general pacing back and forth.
“We don’t have the manpower to maintain control of the city so we’ve secured the area around the University of Portland, part of the port, and a large residential area. There are two other, smaller posts near here.”
“So, later on, do you plan to expand this area?” a woman asked.
“We hope to restore order to all of Oregon, but food, fuel, and manpower will determine what we do in the near future.”
“It’s been five days,” someone in the group stated.
The general frowned. “A lot has changed in five days.”
Neal nodded.
“Some panic-buying began on Saturday with the first announcement about the coming coronal mass ejection.” The general sighed and stood in silence for a moment. “Sunday, after the first CME hit, the electric grid went down and we lost most communication. That’s also when everyone realized they needed more food, candles, matches, and much more. However, with the power down, stores took only cash. By Sunday night, widespread looting broke out. Police and our soldiers tried to contain it.” He shook his head. “Looting continued until there wasn’t a grocery store in Portland that had anything left. As I mentioned, we have three positions in the city with plenty of food and MREs for the next few months.”
“What about after that?”
“That’s exactly the problem. Most people live in cities, but food production is difficult in urban areas. For now, I’m waiting for orders and doing the best I can.”
A soldier raised his hand. “General, you mentioned waiting for orders. Do you have communication with command centers?”
“Yes. Relaying messages through Military Auxiliary Radio and civilian ham operators, we have contact with several bases in California and across the country to the Washington, DC, area.”
“Do you know if the solar storms are still going on?”
“The University of Portland uses our communication facilities to maintain contact with several other universities and observatories. They all report the same thing. Large solar flares continue on the sun. Several CMEs have hit the earth over the last few days, destroying most modern electronics.”
“So this is happening worldwide?” someone asked.
The general nodded. “No one can help us because we’re all in the same boat.”
Neal felt like he had been punched. While he expected that the solar storms had hit the entire world, the confirmation stunned him. He raised his hand. “Do you have communication with any military or civilians in Western Washington State?”
General Sattler shook his head. “Other than sporadic comms with Lewis-McChord, no.” After several more questions, he dismissed the group and turned toward a side door. Lieutenant Pool hurried to the general as Neal followed at a slower pace.
“General, sir, this is Neal Evans. He has a message from Major Franklin.”
Neal pulled the envelope from his pocket and handed it over. “I also have a message for Major Franklin’s family.”
With lips pressed tight and a slow shake of his head, General Sattler read the message. He looked at Neal with a stone face. “Thank you for delivering this. Major Franklin’s wife, Carol, and his boys live on this post now. Lieutenant Pool, take our guest to them.”
“Yes, sir.”
“General, sir, do you have outposts north of here?” Neal asked.
“Yes.”
“Could I get a ride with a convoy to your most northern post?”
General Sattler stared at Neal for a moment. “You asked the question about communication with Western Washington state.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You have family there?”
Neal nodded.
“We owe you that much. Lieutenant Pool, when you two are done at the Franklin home, take him to the Interstate bridge over the Columbia River.”
*
Rural Lewis County, Washington, Thursday, September 8th
A second shot boomed.
Drake dropped the bags just inside the door of Ashley’s home and ran several yards toward the shot and scream.
“Stop,” Pastor Wayne shouted. Then, in a lower voice, he said, “That wasn’t a shotgun and I don’t think the voice was anyone from our homes. Get the stuff for Ashley. I don’t want to have to come back this way.”
Drake retrieved the sacks and together they crept along the road.
An old man across the street hurried back into his house. They hadn’t spoken to people up this street and those that saw them looked with fearful eyes as they moved, hunched over, along the fences and among the trees and bushes.
Drake focused his attention to his right in the direction of the blast and scream. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he asked, “Didn’t it come from over there?” He pointed toward the shot. “Should we move in that direction?”