William Stone: How We Survive: EMP Survival in a Powerless World

“I would hate that. But it’s probably heaven for you, as much as you like camping.”

“Well, I like camping, but after a while, you want to come home and watch TV again and have a microwave burrito and stuff. I’m telling you, it sucks.”

“Awww.”

“The worst part is not seeing you. Or my other friends.”

“And your dad never explained why you’re doing it?”

“He goes on some stupid rant about being self-sufficient and all that, but he doesn’t explain why. I don’t want to go on about me, though. What are you up to tonight?”

“Missing you.”

Lying back on the bed, he gazed up at the ceiling, picturing Michelle. But the picture was incomplete. “What’s your hair look like right now? And your clothes. Are you wearing that black miniskirt that hugs you real tight?”

“Trevor!”

“I’m serious. I need an image so I can remember you.”

She started talking about the adorable sweater she’d just bought and the new haircut she’d gotten, and he got lost in the words, the sound of her voice. It felt like sweet torture, like drowning in his favorite brand of soda.

Then the door flung open, and within seconds, the phone went dead. In the doorway, his dad was there, holding up the cord he’d yanked from the wall.

“Dad!”

His father’s face was hard as granite, eyes sharp and jaw clenched. “That’s right. Come here, son.”

“Yes, sir,” he said, springing to his feet, head down as if expecting a blow.

“What is the phone used for in this home?”

“Emergencies.”

“That’s right. Emergencies only. Not to sneak phone calls to some girl back home. Do you have any idea how important it is to live in a manner that does not make us reliant on modern technology?”

“Yeah,” he groaned.

“Excuse me?”

“Yes, sir,” Trevor said, shoulders up, smirk gone.

“Do you know what an EMP attack is?”

“No, sir. I don’t.”

“You will. Someday, you and the rest of the world will come to regret your unthinking reliance on the creature comforts of the contemporary world.”

Trevor turned away and groaned under his breath, “Yeah, I bet.”

“Excuse me?” his dad demanded.

“Well, you keep going on and on about this attack! But it hasn’t come so far, has it?” The kid’s heart was racing now. He’d never before spoken like that to his dad. “We don’t even know what to be looking for.”

His father stepped forward, his tone like a machine gun’s rattle. “Here is what you should be looking for, young man. Whole cities going dark. Not houses, not blocks, not neighborhoods. But an entire interconnected grid simply going down, no longer available to anyone. That means everything with a microchip, everything you rely on to eat, to stay warm or cool, to communicate—becomes non-existent. That is why you will see panic in the streets. Because there will be no one to call for help, no plan B, no government, and no structure to society. It’s called an electromagnetic pulse attack. It impacts everything, and it will spark sheer chaos. Traffic backed up, confused onlookers. The only people who will be prepared will be people living off-grid. Do you hear what I’m saying?”

“Yes, sir,” Trevor said, his voice compliant but dragging.

But Trevor was only half-listening. The words stayed lodged in his head, but not the worries that were supposed to come with them. The whole thing sounded crazy, like some made-up science fiction movie.

“And since you’re in such a curious mood, there’s something on the underside of the trailer you need to investigate. There are a rag and bucket of water to help you clean things up. Now get to it before you have more chores piled on top of that.”

“Yes, sir.”

As he watched his father step back into the trailer and slam the door shut, he wondered how much more of this he could take. No more Michelle. No more friends. No more TV, fast food, phone calls. Trevor gave the trailer a long stare, knowing it was only a matter of time before he’d find the courage to take off and leave all this crazy talk to his parents. If his mom wanted to go along with all this, that was her sad story. He had to get away. Somehow.

Laughter echoed through the welding shop for another fifteen minutes. A poker game had started, and Wychek had taken his acoustic guitar out of the locker to see if he could remember the chords to some old Aerosmith song. It turned out he couldn’t, which sparked a debate over what song he was trying to play.

But Hatfield stayed at the doorway, watching the cars sit there. There were odd arguments, general confusion, but no violence… yet . “Just a matter of time,” he muttered to himself.”

“What’s just a matter of time?” a voice from behind asked.

He turned and found his boss there, face as relaxed as ever. “Well, Brian. I’m sure this sounds crazy to you, but it’s only a matter of time before things get chaotic.”

His boss exploded into laughter. “You’re starting to sound like my crazy uncle Zeke. Spent his whole life living in a tiny shack in the desert, telling everybody they needed to end their wicked ways, return to the ways of the Bible!”

A tiny grin landed on Hatfield’s face. Brian’s mocking tone reminded him of the way he used to laugh at his dad. “I suppose ending wicked ways wouldn’t be a bad idea. But did he say anything about preparations?”

Brian shook his head. “Jesus will provide. That was all he said.”

“If he thought the Bible was all that was needed, he may have actually been crazy.”

They shared a chuckle, but then some troubling thoughts raced through Hatfield’s mind. His family needed him. With his kids still at school and his wife at home, it would take some time to orchestrate everything to get to a safe place. “I have to get out of here, Brian. We all do, really.”

“I’m sorry, Trevor,” he said with a pat on his back. “We need you here, buddy. As soon as the power comes back on, we’ll need you to make sure the kid is instructed on—”

“Brian, the power is not coming back on. Not today, maybe not ever.”

Hatfield’s strong tone caught his boss off-guard. He pulled back a little as if afraid of him. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”

“It’s not me that’s serious. The situation is serious.”

Brian lifted his hands in a playful surrender. “Hey, look. I suppose I can’t stop you from leaving if you feel it’s an emergency, but I will have to dock you the day’s pay, so whatever it is, I hope it’s worth—”

But Hatfield was already gone by then, weaving through the stalled cars and puzzled pedestrians.

BEFORE LEAVING FOR WORK, Hatfield found himself in the middle of a standoff. Justin and Tami stood across from each other in front of the family computer in the living room.

He’d just eaten breakfast, then sat at the kitchen table gazing at a stunning sunset. The rays washed over the distant skyscrapers and the highways below, somehow making all those soulless machines beautiful. Much as he tried, he couldn’t lift his eyes away.

After five minutes, Jess stooped to his ear and whispered into it, “I know the man upstairs does lovely work, but if you spend all day admiring it, you’re gonna be late.”

Just like that, he’d dragged himself out of the kitchen. Nobody had accused Hatfield of being a genius, but he was smart enough to avoid an argument with his wife before leaving for work.

But now, he’d found himself in the middle of a war. “What’s the problem this time?” he groaned.

They both launched into their respective tirades simultaneously, their rage overlapping into a tangle of incoherent words.