Through the Storm(6)

He looked north and south along the highway but couldn’t see or hear another vehicle. Soon people would be hiking along the freeway looking for food and safety, but now only the breeze rustled in his ears. It might be safer to be alone, but he needed to be home, and that meant moving. He tapped the Sig P250 in the holster compartment of his vest. I sure hope I don’t need it.

Neal strode to the back of his vehicle, opened the toolbox, and pulled out two crescent wrenches. This was at least worth a try.

He had read somewhere that during an electromagnetic pulse, a latch-up, or short circuit, could occur in car electronics. One way to correct the problem was to momentarily disconnect one of the battery cables. He returned to the front of the car. That would reboot the systems and allow the vehicle to restart. He hoped.

Staring at the two battery cables, he couldn’t recall which needed to be removed, so he removed both and cleaned the posts with a rag. He shook his head. Why clean them? The car wasn’t going to start.

Another glance along the freeway revealed no vehicles or people within sight. Alone on this forested section of highway, he felt like the only person left on Earth. He reattached the cables, slid into the car, and turned the key. The roar of the engine surprised him. Thrilled, he dropped both wrenches on the passenger seat and hurried north.

*

Rural Chelan County, Washington, Sunday, September 4th

Beneath the tarp, a mother and child lay beside each other. The deep cuts, compound fractures, and burns told Conner what he needed to know. They were dead.

He gagged at the sight, stumbled back, and turned away, but the image of the mangled woman and child remained fixed in his mind. He coughed and spat. After several moments, he pulled the tarp back over the bodies, being careful not to look at them.

He climbed to the road, wondering what to do. As he reached the pavement, his thoughts coalesced into a plan. Someone, probably the husband and father, had placed the bodies under the covering. If he had gone to the parking lot at the lake, Conner would have seen him. So, he must be hiking back toward the town in search of help. Conner hurried to catch up with the unfortunate man and give what aid and comfort he could.

As he trotted, Conner listened, gazed along the river to his left and into the trees on his right. He spotted a few deer and a bald eagle but no other humans. Eventually, he slowed his pace and thought about the morning’s events. The idea that the only two cars in this rural area were both out of commission seemed extraordinary. Also, this was a holiday weekend. There should be some traffic.

He stopped and listened. No hint of a car engine in the distance. No plane flew overhead, only a hawk using an updraft to soar. Often he had been alone in the forest, but it had always been a good feeling. More like solitude than alone. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but this isolation made his skin crawl.

Minutes later, Conner spotted a dark smear on bramble leaves beside the road. With one finger he touched it. Sticky and red. Blood? He wiped the finger on his pants.

Several yards beyond, he noticed a similar smear on dirt along the edge of the pavement. At a run, he rounded the next bend. Ahead, someone lay unmoving on the gravel shoulder. “Hey, are you okay?”

He rushed forward and knelt beside a man just a bit older than himself but about the same weight, stocky build, and similar brown hair. The blood stains on his shirt and pants seemed to confirm he had been in the wreck.

Conner rolled him onto his back.

Blank expressionless eyes stared into the sky. Conner touched the body, already cool to the touch, but still checked for a pulse. He found none.

Are you the husband and father? Did your wife and child die up the road? Were you going for help? Conner wondered if the entire family had died due to one tragic accident. Such thoughts, the blood, and the blank eyes overwhelmed him. He fell backward onto his rear as bile climbed in his throat.

*

Rural Josephine County, Oregon, Sunday, September 4th

As he drove, Neal pulled out his phone, dialed, and prayed that his sons were safe.

Nothing happened.

He stared at it in anger. No bars filled the corner of his screen.

He corrected his drift toward the center of the highway and dropped the phone on the passenger seat with the wrenches. He glanced around for cell towers. Surely some were within range, but had they survived the events of last night?

Neal recalled that just before the solar storm strike, the GPS advised that he had five hours remaining on his drive, so he still had more than four hours of worry ahead of him.

He tapped the device to turn it on. The display appeared, but it showed an endless search for his location. Neal wondered if the device had been damaged by the solar storm or whether the satellites had been destroyed. Perhaps both. He left it on, hoping that it might function at some point. If needed, he still had paper maps in the glovebox.

Wanting to hear another human voice, Neal turned on the radio. Static crackled from the speaker. The pre-sets had been lost when he disconnected the battery, so he had it search. As he drove along it looped through the AM dial without pause. He tried the satellite radio with no success.

As he rounded a gentle bend he spotted three vehicles on the road. A sedan sat on the highway shoulder a hundred yards ahead. Two other vehicles stood motionless in the road a quarter mile beyond. Neal wanted to speed by them, but he felt some obligation to stop and assist. The hood stood open on the nearest car. Jaw clenched, Neal slowed as he drew near.

Inside, a woman about Neal’s age fiddled with a cell phone. A man with thin graying hair stared over the engine. As Neal pulled to a stop in front of the disabled auto, the man stood erect and kept a wary eye on him.