Tim Washburn: Powerless

“ ‘Dismal’ doesn’t accurately describe it, Don. Dr. Blake, Major Garcia—any way to narrow the timeline for arrival of the main storm?”

“It’s just guesswork, sir,” Major Garcia says, “but I do think the seventeen-hour scenario is too generous.”

“What’s your estimate?”

She blots the sweat from her face. “Ten, maybe twelve hours.”

“Christ, a few hours to prepare for an event we have no conception of,” the President mutters, but he’s overheard by everyone. “Dr. Blake, you seem well versed on what the effects of the storm might be. Explain what might happen to our power grids.”

Sam Blake’s face fills the screen. “It’s not what might happen, sir, it’s what will happen. The geomagnetic storm will produce power spikes—enormous amperage—that will basically melt the transformers. The longer the length of the high-voltage lines, the more vulnerable we are. Unfortunately, our country has thousands and thousands of miles of high-voltage wire.”

“Why can’t we just replace the transformers and resume electrical service?”

“I’m not an expert on electrical power, Mr. President, but from the reading I’ve done, there may only be a few extra transformers in the whole country. We’re talking huge, expensive, and complicated equipment. It takes anywhere from fifteen months or longer to manufacture just one. Not only that, but just transporting the massive devices is a long-term process. Increase that one to hundreds or even thousands, and it would take years to rebuild the electrical infrastructure.”

The President turns his attention to the FEMA director. “Don, why don’t the electrical companies maintain a supply of these transformers?”

“We’ll need to ask them, sir, but I believe the issue is economics. As Dr. Blake said, these transformers are extremely expensive, and unfortunately our grid is so diverse most of the parts aren’t interchangeable between systems.”

“What if we force the power companies to switch off all power, at least until the worst of the storm passes?”

The secretary of commerce says, “Mr. President, even the loss of a few hours of electrical power would cause the loss of billions of dollars to our economy.”

“If that’s the toll for a few hours, Ed, what do you think the economic impact will be after a year or more without electricity?” the President snaps.

“Sir, if I may,” Major Garcia says. “As Director Carter said, the electrical companies have already suggested a switched-off system may be no less vulnerable, but I would err on the side of caution and force them to hit the off switch. But I believe, regardless of the effects on the electrical grid, our primary focus should be activating the National Guard. We’re looking at chaos on an unimaginable scale.”

Aura Hydroelectric Power Station

Sunndalsøra, Møre og Romsdal, Norway

Wednesday, September 29, 10:37 A.M.

Hard against the southern shore of the Sunndal fjord in northwest Norway lies one of the country’s most advanced hydroelectric plants. A majority of Norway’s power is generated by water, and most of the power plants are dug in along the coastline of the Norwegian Sea. Their distance from the more habitable southern portions of the country results in the need for long runs of high-voltage electrical lines to reach the more populous areas.

Engineers Lise Brekken and Baldor Amundsen are a couple of hours into their shift manning the minimalist control room of the massive power-generating plant when a flurry of alarms begins blaring. Lise, thirty-two, is a tall and athletic woman who has the Nordic features of her ancestors—well-defined facial structures with a square jaw, icy blue eyes, and long blond hair twisted into a ponytail. Her face tightens with concern.

“What the hell?” Baldor shouts over the noise. Lise glances at him and shrugs. She turns her focus to the keyboard in front of her, searching for the source of the alarms. Baldor, whose hairline only stopped receding when it ran out of real estate, picks up the phone to notify the plant director, then joins in the search on his own computer.

There had been an occasional alarm during their tenure, especially during periods of increased solar activity, but nothing like this.

They both glance up when their boss bursts through the door. Alrek Dahlmen, a short man who is nearly as tall as he is wide, hurries to where the two engineers are sitting and looks over their shoulders as the alarms continue.

“Shut it down,” he shouts. “Shut everything down.”

“But, sir, that will leave most of Oslo without power,” Baldor says.

“Shut the damn thing down, or Oslo will be without power for the next year.”

Lise and Baldor begin the process of shutting down the massive generators, but the three main generators stop suddenly of their own accord. The control room goes dark until the battery-powered emergency lighting flashes on. All of the computer screens flicker and go black as the alarms stop. The three of them stare at the dark monitors.

“What the hell happened?” Dahlmen says.

“We don’t know. The instruments recorded several power spikes before the alarms started going berserk,” Lise says.

Alrek, notorious for his disdain for women in the workplace, dismisses her comment and turns to Baldor. “Explain, please.”

“I can’t, sir. It’s like Lise said. Everything was fine until it wasn’t.”

Dahlmen plants a fisted hand on his hip. “How severe were the power spikes?”

“On the edge of acceptable limits, but nothing we haven’t seen before, sir.”

Dahlmen turns to leave. “I want a full report, and I want it now,” he shouts over his shoulder as he exits the control room.

Lise and Baldor stare at each other in the dimness of the dead control room.

“What the hell are we supposed to put in the report he demands?” Baldor says.

Lise sighs. “Better yet, how the hell are we going to produce a report? Every computer in the building is dead.” Lise turns to Baldor. “How long do you think we’ll be without power?”

The Marshall home

Zeke slams the phone down and starts fumbling through the medicine cabinet above the stove. His hand lights on a bottle of aspirin and he yanks it from the cabinet as several other medications rain to the floor. He grabs a bottle of water from the refrigerator and hurries out the door, Lexi running alongside. The beauty of the day goes unnoticed this time as he runs down the path and kneels next to his mother.

“Has he said anything?” Zeke works to pry the cap off the aspirin bottle.

“He moaned a couple of times, but I don’t think he’s awake. What’s wrong with him, Zeke?”

“I don’t know. Has he had any health problems lately?” He finally gets the lid free and dumps three aspirin into his sweaty palm.

“No, but you know how your father is. I’m not sure he’d tell me if he was having any symptoms. He’s so dadgum stubborn sometimes.”

“Mom, open his mouth so I can slip some aspirin in.”

She lifts her husband’s head and pries his mouth open. Zeke slides the three aspirin inside. He gently places the water bottle to his father’s mouth and dribbles enough water in to begin dissolving the pills.

“Why the aspirin, son?”

Zeke fiddles with the cap to the water bottle. Then he covers his mother’s hand with his own and turns to face her. “Aspirin will help to thin his blood if he’s had a stroke or a heart attack.”

His mother moans and looks away. Zeke checks his father’s pulse again, and it might be wishful thinking, but his pulse seems stronger. He wipes the sweat from his father’s brow. In the distance, the sound of an approaching siren.