Ray Gorham: 77 Days in September

The Senator’s hand fell from her hair, and she reached out for her desk as she dropped into the imposing leather chair that dominated the space behind her desk. “Was it one of our embassies? Please tell me that people haven’t been hurt.”

“No, Senator, I wish it was that simple. The country has been attacked. The entire country.”

“What are you talking about, the entire country? Was there another terrorist strike? I haven’t seen anything indicating any new threats in my reports…”

“Christine!” The general cut her off, uncharacteristically calling her by her first name. “Senator,” he corrected himself. ”Do you remember the briefing we gave Congress in January, the one we give every January after an election? One of the things we discussed was an electromagnetic pulse, an EMP. Do you remember?”

“That’s been awhile, but yes, I remember. Why?”

“Look out your window, Senator. What do you see?”

“Not much, just cars and people. We’re having a blackout right now, so traffic lights…” she paused as the dots connected inside her head. “Michael?!”

“That’s right, Senator. We’ve been hit, and hit hard.” The general spoke in rapid fire staccato, a trait completely foreign to him, but that only served to give added weight to his words. “Missiles were launched off both coasts at exactly 1600 hours. There are also unconfirmed reports that there might have been a third missile down in the Gulf, but we’ve yet to see firm evidence on that. Of the two that we know about, it appears that one malfunctioned and broke up before it detonated. The other was successful. It has only been a few minutes, but it appears that things will be as bad as we were told to expect. The assessment could change, but there isn’t going to be a positive way to spin this.”

Senator George struggled to maintain her grip on the telephone. “How bad is it going to be? Where was the military?” she asked incredulously. “How could this happen?”

“We had no warning on this,” General Fletcher barked into the phone. “It was a complete surprise. As things stand, there is nothing we could have done. Perhaps if there had been some warning, or if we had other weapons in our arsenal, we could have tried. As for how bad it’s going to be, we don’t know, and we’re not going to know the full extent of the damage for years. One is all it takes to bring everything down.”

“Why wasn’t there any warning? I’m the head of the Intelligence Committee and I’ve heard nothing. How could this happen?”

“Like I said, Senator, there was no warning. They kept this one quiet. It had to have been years in the making, but it wouldn’t have taken many people to pull it off, a couple dozen at most. It’s likely that none of the perpetrators ever set foot in our country, and there’s only so much we can know. NORAD picked the missiles up just after they were launched; that was the very first indication we had. Both missiles were launched from non-military boats off our coasts. We had no chance to react.”

“What about shooting them down? I thought we had systems to protect us. That’s what we spend all that money on the military for, isn’t it?” Senator George spat the words into the phone, her temper rising as the magnitude of the problem sank in.

“We’ve been working on some systems, Senator, but you know what’s happened to our money. Those things aren’t free. Thanks to our elected officials, everything that can be cut has been, and then some. If we’d had even a day’s notice, we could have attempted something, but on this one, there was no chance to get a shot off, let alone two.”

The senator sat in silence, contemplating General Fletcher’s words along with her role in diverting money the military had said it needed. The scenarios the military had talked about, had even threatened congress with, seemed so remote, so unlikely. How could they justify spending billions on weapons that, in all probability, would never be needed? Surely the voters wouldn’t hold her accountable for this. At least fifty-seven other senators had voted with her on each measure to reduce weapons money.

“Senator,” the general said, interrupting her thoughts. “I’ve got other calls to make. I need to go.”

“Michael,” she said, barely able to choke out the words. “How bad do you think it’s going to be?”

“It’s hard to say, Senator,” the general answered in the steady, cold monotone that she was used to, the anger from seconds ago already dissipated. “Everything before today has, for the most part, been theory. My guess is that casualties will be around fifty or so. I might be wrong, but some of our estimate range to eight times that.”

“Fifty thousand?” Senator George gasped. “You’re kidding, right?” It was more of a plea than a question. “You can’t be serious. It’s just electricity. People will adjust.”

“Senator, the United States, Canada and Mexico have all been affected, and that’s close to half a billion people. By the time this is over, I think we are looking at fifty million casualties. I hope it’s much less, but that will all depend on how people react. The first wave is today: accidents, loss of medical care, fires, airplanes and such. Next will be weeks of chaos and lawlessness while people adjust to the realities of having no power, no functioning government, and no civic control. It will be much worse in the cities, so if you have someplace to go to, out of town, I highly recommend that you leave quickly. In this stage we’ll also lose everyone dependent on doctors and medicine to stay alive. That will be followed by a relatively quiet period of starvation as people run out of food and no longer have the energy to cause trouble and contribute to the chaos. In the north, people will freeze once winter hits. In three or four months, maybe not until spring time, we’ll be faced with large-scale anarchy as those who do have food and weapons try to piece together some semblance of tribal order.

“I just hope there’s a country worth saving after all of that,” the general continued. “I truly hope I’m wrong, but I don’t think I am. We’ve game-planned this one out quite a bit.” The general paused to let his words sink in then continued in his gravelly monotone. “Have a good day, Senator. You know how to get in touch with me if you need to, assuming this phone system that we’ve spent so much money on manages to hold up.”

The line went dead and Senator George let the phone drop from her hands. She knew General Fletcher didn’t care for her but had been obligated to call because she was the head of the Intelligence Committee. She didn’t particularly care for him either. He didn’t appreciate the difficult job politicians had of trying to keep constituents happy and making things work in Washington, all while working to get reelected. But despite her opinion of the general, she knew he was honest — blunt, but honest, and not one to say things for effect. As she spun in her chair to stare out the window, Senator George tried to imagine how the chaos that General Fletcher threatened would descend on her beloved city. The images that came to mind sent shivers down her spine. Then she noticed a dark plume of smoke ascending skyward from an older neighborhood to the north.

George Bush International Airport, Houston, Texas 16:12 EST

Kyle returned to the row he had been sitting in and gripped the shoulders of the lady across the aisle who was still dabbing at her face. “Get off the airplane!” he yelled as he shook her and pointed to the exit. He then turned to Ed, still slumped over and unmoving. After confirming that Ed had a pulse, Kyle grabbed Ed under his arms and heaved him into the aisle. Dragging Ed behind him, Kyle backed down the aisle a half dozen steps when he bumped into someone and could go no further. He turned to see the flight attendant attempting to rouse the unconscious man who had been traveling with his daughter.