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

“What does that mean?”

“It means we won’t know who to trust—except each other.”

Jess turned away, shaking her head slowly, eyes huge. This was the look she got whenever bad news was delivered to her.

He pulled her into a reluctant hug, tried to caress her face. It was cold, and she’d gone sheet white. “Honey, we really have to hold it together for the kids. Do you understand that?”

She gave him a silent nod, eyes still wide and breath still heavy.

“Okay, let’s pack and get out of here. For now, the school is probably a safe place for them to be, maybe a little chaotic, but they should be fine, and most importantly, we need to get to them before that changes and the world gets pushed into anarchy.”

Jess swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “Okay. Keep it together for the kids. We have to stay calm, not go crazy.” She was talking to herself, really, providing a much-needed pep talk.

“What I need from you, honey, is to get that bag in the basement we’ve prepared.”

“The bug-out bag?”

“That’s right,” he said. “That should give us all the basics we need.”

WITH THE SCHOOL only a few miles away, the couple raced there, backpacks in tow. They drew strange looks from the drivers and pedestrians along the way. It must have looked weird to have two people walking with purpose while the rest of the world stewed in confusion.

Traffic congestion had doubled in the time it took them to pack and take off. People were growing angrier and less patient. A few loud screams even echoed from the distance, bringing more worry to Jess’s already-panicked eyes.

Hatfield grabbed his wife’s hand, hoping to ease her down. But the mild tremor in her hand threatened to make him as nervous as she was. “We can get through,” he told her. “Just remember that. As long as we have each other, we’re fine.”

Biting her upper lip, Jess managed to nod. “Of course.”

But blocks ahead, as they approached the downtown area, flames shot into the sky as entire buildings were rocked by an explosion.

Screams from all around filled the air; pedestrians turned and stared in horror. “My God, no! No! No!” Jess sobbed.

“It’s okay,” Hatfield said. “Whatever that was only got a part of the school.” His words may have been calm, but his voice and demeanor weren’t. He picked up the pace, scurrying toward the building, hoping it wasn’t too late.

As they neared Roosevelt Middle School, they were dragged off course by a series of screeches just ahead and a round of gunshots. A blur of bodies raced toward them, but Hatfield grabbed his wife and yanked her behind a dumpster before the image could become clear.

They held their position, motionless. Jess clung to him, her breath hard on his face, her body throbbing. He lifted a finger and put it to his lips, signaling “quiet” as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his gun. As silently as he could, he pulled back his Sig Sauer’s hammer.

Jess swallowed a gasp, shaking her head in disbelief. She mouthed the words, no, no, no! Having a gun in the house had always filled her with uneasiness, and the feeling only faded when her husband assured her he’d probably never have to use it.

Gesturing for her to duck to the ground, he turned slowly, gun poised. A scamper in the distance drew the weapon, but it was nothing but a squirrel leaping out of a dumpster. Gun still up, he spun slightly, finding nothing in the other direction.

He unloaded a relieved exhale but had a feeling the relief would not last long. Somebody was out there. Probably more than one somebody. And probably armed. The couple had luckily evaded them for now, but if they were going to get to Tami and Justin’s school, they would have to take a detour.

After holstering his gun, Hatfield took his wife’s hands and lifted her from the ground. Without a word, he gestured for them to move in the opposite direction. They did, her body as tight around him as a second layer of skin.

Another explosion rang out in the distance. Jess turned, mouth and eyes wide. He leaned in and whispered, “Didn’t seem like it came from the school.”

She eased up a little but remained alert as they ducked through the streets, the sun beginning to tuck itself behind the horizon. With night falling came more danger. He knew this and could sense his wife knew this, too.

Moving toward them was a lone older man on a bicycle, pedaling as fast as his overworked legs would allow. Fatigue dragged his face, and sweat coated his T-shirt. Hatfield guessed his story was a sad one. Maybe abandoned by his family in this dark time of need. Or maybe just another bad planner, somebody who thought the government would take care of him when things got tough.

He huffed, lips hanging loose and chin only inches above the handlebar. It looked like he was almost home. Hatfield hoped he’d make it.

It wasn’t going to be easy.

Out of nowhere, someone leaped at him, shoving him from the bike and pushing his drained body to the asphalt in an exhausted whimper. The thug had been crouched behind a dumpster, probably waiting for an opportunity like this.

Jess came unglued with a scream.

The thug howled like a jackal as he climbed aboard the bike, then sped toward the couple. As he neared, they could see a knife in his hand, swinging wildly. Not a trace of fear in his eyes.

Hatfield drew the Sig Sauer, held it tight on him. But the thug was unmoved. It was as if he could read the hesitation behind the gunman’s eyes. With a high-pitched laugh, he veered away and raced into the night.

Another desperate hug from Jess as they stepped toward the old man. “You okay?”

The old-timer nodded. “I guess I’ll be fine. No way to get home, though.”

Jess helped him to his feet, caressed his face once he was up. “Things are crazy,” she said. “You really shouldn’t be out here alone.”

He nodded, then offered a weak, “Thank you,” before stepping away.

Hatfield watched him hobble into the distance, almost certain he wouldn’t make it home safely.

Jess brought their eyes into uncomfortable contact. “What’s going on, Trevor? What’s happening to the city?”

“It’s not the city,” he said. “It’s the world. It’s everything.”

They shared a wordless stare, then turned and started walking again.

An unnerving thought came to him. He would have been well within his rights to shoot that thug—and it might have been a good idea. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

Shooting was something he’d done all his life. He learned it from his dad, kept doing it at the range even after leaving home and falling out with his dad. He shot with his friends, his neighbors, even tried to teach Jess to shoot before he could see there was no way that would happen. But a real target was a different story. When the time came, he couldn’t.

Another series of gunshots slapped through the air, sending the couple into a gap where a wall had been blasted out. Faraway explosions followed, along with screams of horror and howls of delight. It felt they were sharing a nightmare. Jess’s fingernails dug into his shoulders as she sobbed.

“Shh!” he urged, not sure what other kind of danger could be out there for them, ready to pounce.

A few moments of silence followed. No screams, no shots, and seemingly no violence. He knew it wouldn’t last, but it didn’t matter. It felt good to get a break from the unending torture of the world spinning to hell.

Hatfield leaned back against the wall, his pounding heart easing up a little. “Wonder what my dad would’ve said about this.”

His wife gave him a sympathetic smile. Having never met the man, she couldn’t answer the question. She could only grip her husband’s hand as he launched into a memory.