EMP Catastrophe Box Set | Books 1-3 Read online

  “I can’t see anything wrong,” David said slowly. “Probably left an interior light on that drained the battery. Happens to the best of us. You’re low on washer fluid.”

  “What should we do?” Matthew looked around and saw that despite the exodus of people from the shop, a lot of cars still filled the parking lot. “Call a tow?”

  “If you have signal. Honestly, we should go back inside and see if anyone can give us a jump.”

  “Good idea.” Matthew smiled at his father. “I’m sure someone will help us out.”

  David patted Matthew on the back, and together they turned to head back inside Wilson’s Antiques.

  2

  Heading back into Wilson’s Antiques was like stepping into a completely different store. Before, customers milled about, the soft tones of the oldies played through the store speakers, and everyone offered a hello or close-lipped smile when you passed them. Now, abandoned baskets clogged the walkways, items lay askew on their shelves, the music had been cut off, and people stood clustered in tight groups, all in a state of high-strung irritation. Some had their cell phones out, focused intently on the screens, asking each other if they’d turned their devices off and on.

  Matthew ignored David’s anxious look and decided to approach two women talking in angry, hushed whispers to each other.

  “Excuse me,” he said, and the two women glared at him through narrowed eyes. “I’m looking for some help. My truck died, and I wondered if you’d be able to help me jump it.”

  “You’re not alone,” one of the women said, pushing her thick-framed glasses up her nose. “My Prius is completely dead too. I can’t even get ahold of a tow truck to help me. We can’t help you.”

  “Do you have service?” her friend asked, holding her bejeweled phone out to him. For a moment, both women looked at him with hope.

  Matthew shook his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t.”

  They turned away from him with a glare of displeasure. “Sorry,” the bejeweled-phone owner said, her tone conveying she was anything but. “Like I said, we can’t help you.”

  Matthew shot David a helpless glance. He moved to ask another group, getting the same brush-off: Nope, can’t help you, sorry, too bad so sad, we don’t even have service why do you think we could help you?

  Finally, he approached a cowboy standing near the cash register. He'd ask everyone in this store if he had to—at some point, he was bound to find someone with a soft spot who could help him.

  “Hi, sorry to bother you,” he began, “but my truck died, and I wondered if you’d be able to help me jump it?”

  The man turned to him, cowboy hat cocked over his head. “Mine, too,” he said. “Can’t get out of this godforsaken place, either. I think most everyone in here is stranded. Cars won’t start. Phones won’t work.”

  Matthew hid a disappointed sigh and took a moment to really take in the scene around him. The store had the energy of an irate hornet’s nest ready to explode. Another woman looked close to tears. “I just want to get home,” she shouted to her friend. Matthew had been so focused on finding help, he hadn't really considered the oddity of everyone's electronic devices being unavailable. He shook off his unease. After all, losing power and cell service wasn't unusual. It was simply annoying.

  “There’s no way this is just a power outage,” the cowboy drawled, tapping the counter with the tips of his fingers. “You’re not the only ones with car trouble. My truck won’t start, same as everyone else here. This feels like something happened, you know? Something bad.”

  David sidled up close to Matthew. “I wondered that myself, actually.”

  Matthew gave his father an incredulous look. He’d been suspiciously quiet as Matthew had tried to find help, growing more reserved the ruder people became. “You did?”

  Uncertainty crossed David’s face. Uncertainty of Matthew. “I don’t live under a rock, Matt. The news has been talking for weeks about cyberattacks happening all over the country. Attacks that have been happening for months. Allison ranted about Facebook and the Tumbles and that tweeting website—”

  “Twitter, Dad. Twitter and Tumblr.”

  “—Twitter being down for days. Called it a ‘blackout day.’ She said some anonymous hacking group was responsible, trying to prove that they could easily overthrow corporations simply by overtaking their platforms. Then there was that senator who had his confidential information leaked. Patton told me how his teachers were shocked that we could see everything he’d been doing: his GPS location, his search history, tracking him through his phone use, collecting his bank information just from his finger swipes on the app. And then remember that celebrity? The gal that acted in that thriller movie? Her bank account was frozen because she hadn’t donated to some cause or other. Who's to say people like that aren’t responsible for this?”

  “You think some hacker is personally making sure my car can’t start? For what? Opening a hotel business in Illinois?” Matthew scoffed and crossed his arms. International squabbles came and went. There was always something going wrong, negotiations falling through, agreements backed out on, but how did that centralize around a power outage in Madison?

  The cowboy nodded in agreement with David. “I read that a lot of those cyberattacks are foreign, mainly coming from North Korea.”

  “Are you serious?” the woman with the glasses asked, creeping closer to their conversation. Awe painted her voice. Matthew raised an eyebrow at her. “I had no idea that was happening. I heard about the bank freezing out accounts for no reason, but I never thought something like that would happen here! Oh my god, do you think we’re under attack?”

  “We’re always under attack,” David said gravely. “This is just a war we can’t see.”

  “Dad, stop scaring people.” Matthew narrowed his eyes at David, somewhat shocked his father had followed all of this when he had no idea. “I can’t imagine North Korea caring about Madison enough to mess with the power and cause an outage. They’d attack somewhere with more impact to make a statement, like Washington D.C.”

  “Oh gosh, you’re probably right.” The woman in the glasses uttered a high-pitched laugh. “It’s just there have been so many outages this spring, it seems weird. Like, why can’t the electricity company get it together, you know?”

  Matthew smiled tightly at her. “Losing electricity isn’t an international crisis, but we should try to stay calm and help each other out.”

  David looked away, his eyebrows raised in disagreement.

  “Sure,” the glasses woman said and scooted away now that the group had no further information to give.

  “I’m only relaying what the news has been saying,” David said.

  “Ever heard of the boy who cried wolf, Dad?” Matthew said under his breath to David. The other customers in the store had gone quiet, listening to their ongoing conversation. Matthew, noticing the attention, turned to face them, and asked in a loud voice: “Is there anybody who can help me jump my truck?”

  Silence met his inquiry, followed by suspicious looks.

  “Unlikely,” one young man finally said.

  “Don’t look at me,” an older woman hissed and tossed her hair over her shoulder.

  “No luck here, either. I already asked everyone here, and no one can help.” The cowboy shrugged an apology and shifted his attention to his useless phone, effectively ending any conversation between them.

  Matthew spread his arms in frustration. David was quiet behind him, uncannily so for an Army vet who always had an order to give or a suggestion to impart. Matthew took a couple of deep breaths. He needed to stay calm. People were scared and that made them selfish. That was no excuse to let his fear and worry overwhelm him. Someone would be willing to help him, he just had to figure out who.

  A door squeaked open. A balding man entered from the back room into the space behind the counter—Bill, Manager, by his nametag—and offered them a strained smile.

  “I’m sorry to ask,” Matthew said, catching
Bill’s attention and deciding to try one more time. “But would you mind helping me jump my truck?”

  Bill paused but then walked around the counter. “Sure thing. I can take a look for you.” He smiled, making the crow’s feet deepen around his brown eyes. “Not sure I can do much, but I know my way around a car. I’ve got a voltmeter that will tell us if your battery is completely dead. I know it’s been a stressful situation for everyone here, and we’re trying to figure out what’s going on with the power as soon as we can. Where’s your truck?”

  “Thank you so much,” Matthew said, relief painting his voice. People have good hearts under everything. “You have no idea how much I appreciate this. I’m just outside in the parking lot.”

  “Lead the way,” Bill said and ducked back behind the counter, tucking a small machine under his arm. The digital scale looked like a Geiger counter, with small red knobs on the metal front and two different colored wires hanging off the side. Together, they left the store.

  “Hey, if you get your car started let me know! I need a ride,” one of the customers shouted at him as they opened the front door, hearing the welcome bell ring. David snorted in derision.

  Outside, cars still filled the parking lot, only now most of the vehicles had their hoods popped open. A few anxious owners surrounded their vehicles, in a similar state to Matthew, trying to figure out what was wrong. Uneasiness filled Matthew as he noted the jump cables extending between two cars at the far end of the lot and their owners waving their arms up and down in a clear display of an argument.

  The sun felt hot and oppressive. The store was surrounded by other establishments, and Matthew could see other stranded vehicles in their parking lots. David took in a couple of deep breaths from behind him that had Matthew wanting to turn and look at him with concern, but he held back. He couldn’t start acting like a mother hen now, of all times.

  "You know, you're the first person who asked me to help them nicely," Bill said as they strode across the lot. "The rest of them honestly didn't ask me to check their cars, only demanded to use my landline, but that’s out too. Can't believe how rude people have become."

  "Well, we sincerely appreciate your help. My truck is just over here,” he told Bill and led him over to the silver vehicle.

  Popping the hood, Bill put his hands on his knees and peered at the engine block. “You’re out of washer fluid,” he pointed out.

  “Yes,” Matthew said. “Someone told me that very same thing earlier.”

  “Someone smart,” David said, nudging Matthew and grinning at him. “Someone with a clear head on their shoulders.”

  “Can you try and start the car for me?” Bill asked. Matthew obliged, hopping back into the car and going through the same motions from earlier when he’d discovered the car dead. Bill motioned him to come back outside, and Matthew complied. Then Bill held the wires of the voltmeter to the battery, hooking the colored wires to their associated nodes. The needle on the readout oscillated up and down. Bill made a soft sound of disapproval and then unhooked the voltmeter.

  “I can’t hear your alternator,” Bill said, closing the hood with a loud thump. “I don’t think the problem is with your battery. It looks like you have some kind of charge, so theoretically you should be able to start the truck up. Usually, if the battery was out, you’d be able to hear a kind of humming.” Bill stepped back from the silver truck and crossed his arms as he continued his explanation. “This truck has got to be, what a 2017? 2018?”

  Matthew nodded, feeling a ball of dread form in his stomach.

  Bill nodded to himself. “Yeah. Usually, these newer cars run completely on computer software. Since you can see a battery charge, most likely the problem is with the computer system. A mechanic can simply hook up the engine to let another computer run diagnostics to pinpoint any problems. What’s going on here is something that I can’t fix. I’m sorry to have to tell you that.”

  “It’s all right, I appreciate your honesty.” Matthew put his hand up to his forehead. The day had suddenly spiraled into the unknown. He needed a moment to process everything that was happening. He’d started the morning with a strong pot of coffee and a smile, excited to spend the day one-on-one with his father. Now, his truck might be busted, they hadn’t gotten the furniture for the hotel, and he couldn’t call anyone for help.

  He wished he could talk with Kathleen. Hearing her sternly walk him through the facts and figures of the day would be like hearing longed-for music. She was the realist to his dreamer, and even if she didn’t know what to do in this situation, she’d be able to give him advice or help him feel better.

  He had to remember he wasn’t alone. Everything that had happened was happening to everyone else—the power outage, the cars not starting—was all a collective experience. As long as he could find the good underneath the bad, the helpful within the unhelpful, he could do anything.

  He took a deep breath and met eyes with his father. Bill wished him luck and headed back inside the shop. As it stood, there weren’t many options left to them. Getting home to Galena was over eighty miles—there was no way they could walk that far. They could try to call a cab, or find a bus stop, but Matthew knew little to nothing about the city’s public transportation options. They couldn’t call Ruth, who was working to make the hotel ready for opening day. They couldn't do anything.

  They were, at the moment, stuck.

  3

  “How are you holding up in here?” Kathleen asked and reminded herself for the fourth time that she would not cry.

  Max shrugged, hunched over the round table in the visitation room. His dark brown hair, usually styled and long, had a clipped, uneven look to it. “It’s not a family vacation, that’s for sure. All I do is pace and sleep and try not to get into fights. I read a lot.” He shot her a brave, if wobbly smile, his eyes darting down to Allison as if to say, Not in front of the kid, Kathy.

  Kathleen followed his line of sight, glancing at her daughter. Allison kept her eyes on her painted fingernails, which picked at the edge of the concrete table. Her phone had been confiscated along with Kathleen’s keys and jewelry when they'd entered Chicago's Metropolitan Correctional Center, all to be given back when their visitation ended. That, more than anything, had made Allison's attitude plummet from compassionate and excited to sullen teenager. She’d begged to come and see her recently incarcerated uncle—but now Kathleen knew Allison’s real motivation was the chance to hang out in Chicago and see her friends before they headed back to Galena. Allison and Max had been close, once upon a time, with Allison always saying how cool Max was, how his easy smile charmed anyone. How little did they know that Kathleen’s baby brother was moving up the ranks from small-time dealer to drug mule, carrying who knows what over borders. First offense, easily caught, confession acquired, and now his easy smile looked hunted after being locked up as he awaited sentencing.

  Kathleen took in a deep breath and knew she had to be strong. For however long they could stay with Max, she would be the pillar he could lean on. She could break down later, in the safety of her car.

  “Do you have any idea where they might send you?” she asked, leaning close. They weren’t supposed to touch, but she let her hand fall open-palmed next to his so at least he knew she was close to him.

  That shrug again. “I have no idea. It’s always last minute. One guy in the same block as me suddenly got transferred to Indiana with only a day’s warning. I’ll make sure I send a letter, though, if anything happens.”

  “I’ve put money on your phone account,” Kathleen said, a balloon of worry expanding inside of her stomach. She could tell him she loved him in a million ways, but this felt like one that counted. A link to the outside. To family. “Just let me know when you need something. I know Galena is far away, but honestly, I’ll drive to you wherever you are.”

  “I guess Galena is pretty far away, huh?” Allison said, picking at the table harder.

  Kathleen closed her eyes. Uprooting Allison from their
Chicago home in her sophomore year of high school had been a decision full of promises: more family time, an investment for all of them, a place to build their future. Still, Kathleen knew that in Allison’s mind, it was a betrayal of the highest order: making her give up her friends and activities in exchange for being the new kid in a new school.

  “It’s far away for Max,” she said, her tone stern. “We’re only two hours away for you.”

  Allison grunted and crossed her arms. She had the same light coloring as her father: sandy blonde hair up in a ponytail, same blue eyes narrowed in annoyance. How many times had Matthew shot her that look when they were in a fight?

  “Tell me about the hotel,” Max said softly, drawing Kathleen’s attention back to him. “I want to hear all about it.”

  Kathleen gave him a warm smile and spoke about how the run-down hotel was nestled in the slope of a mountain, how the sun cascaded over it in rays of white and gold, how the air smelled clean and good. She explained about the work to get the place running, how she and Matthew had invested their savings, how Ruth and David had contributed some of their retirement funds. How she’d crunched the numbers in a ledger, keeping meticulous records of profit versus loss, kept a close eye on her own personal records of hope versus expectations.

  “It sounds beautiful,” Max said. “I bet Matt is excited about the whole thing. You guys have talked about doing something like that for so long.”

  Kathleen faltered. “He wishes he could be here.”

  Max gave her a wistful smile. “Sure, Kathy.”

  “I hate it there,” Allison piped up. “It smells like a retirement home. All dust and mold. I don’t know why we didn’t invest in a high-rise in the city. That would have been a better idea, not something as far away from culture and human interaction as possible.”

  Kathleen shared a look of exasperation with Max. The windowless visitation room had blank gray concrete blocks that felt like a cage, but Kathleen hoped she’d brought a spark of cheer to Max’s internment. For a moment, it almost felt like the past year hadn’t happened. Around them, other inmates and their visitors smiled and chatted happily, some wiping away tears. Above, the long industrial lights that usually sent a garish yellow glow flickered—and then suddenly went out, plunging the room into darkness.