Instant Darkness Read online

  Instant Darkness

  EMP Crisis Series: Book 1

  Mark J. Russell

  J.J. Holden

  Copyright © 2019 by JJ Holden / Mark J. Russell

  All rights reserved.

  www.jjholdenbooks.com

  Kindle Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  About Instant Darkness (EMP Crisis Series: Book 1):

  A massive solar flare is about to bring the country to its knees.

  When Abram Patterson learns about an impending solar flare, every moment matters. Loaded up in his trusty 1976 Land Cruiser, he must get his wife and daughter from their home in New Hampshire to their remote retreat in Central Vermont. But can he reach his bug out location before civil unrest makes travel all but impossible?

  A father who must protect his children from certain death.

  Nick Caulfield, a single father of two, is always in work mode. But when the country is on the brink of collapse, he must focus on getting his children to safety. His neighbor, Abram, has left in a hurry, and he quickly realizes that the region will soon be plunged into chaos. He discovers that his son has acquired directions to his neighbor’s compound, but he suspects they will not be welcomed.

  A harrowing journey with an uncertain outcome.

  A Good Samaritan takes a risk to aid a man and his teenaged son and young daughter, but when his services go unappreciated, he feels slighted by the man. Will he take the high ground and be the selfless man he strives to be? Or will he seek revenge, allowing his morals to crumble as humanity quickly unravels?

  The solar flare is only the beginning. What would you do to protect the ones you love?

  Instant Darkness is book one in the EMP Crisis Series, a post-apocalyptic survival thriller series about regular people struggling to survive after a solar EMP.

  Join the JJ Holden Reader Group, and get a free copy of the unreleased short story, Ready Watcher One (A Dark New World Story)!

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Want to help out?

  Also by JJ Holden

  JJ Holden Reader Group

  About the Authors

  1

  The shortwave radio squawked again, and Abram Patterson whipped his head toward the workbench. The voice cut through the static: “This is delta whiskey seven tango, do you have your ears on, Abe?”

  Abram picked up the microphone, repeating his call sign and frequency. “Danny, you’re going to get fined by the IARU if you don’t use protocol. What do you need?” he asked, booming voice echoing through the cavernous basement of his home in Manchester, New Hampshire.

  “Yeah, yeah. Need to be sure you know about the event,” Danny said through the static.

  Abram keyed his microphone and ran thick fingers through his dark hair. “The CME?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I heard this solar storm is nothing to be worried about. Only expecting low-level fields coming at us.”

  “Negative, Abe. The Feds are cautioning the news outlets about creating a panic. I’ve seen the images of the sun; this is not a low-level occurrence. I’d say we have less than three days to a major event.”

  “Are you sure about this?”

  “Dead sure, man. I’m on my way out of town. I recommend you do the same, if you can.”

  Abram’s lips flat-lined as a floorboard creaked overhead. His wife, Shelly, was probably setting the dining room table, though he only heard one pair of shoes plodding about. Their teenaged daughter, Emma, was likely somewhere else in their two-story colonial. Both Shelly and Emma were unaware of the life-changing event that was coming—soon, they would learn that their world would be turned upside-down.

  Taking a deep breath, Abram could practically taste the musty air. He’d spent way too much time stocking the metal utility shelves that lined the far end of the basement, and less time worrying about the aroma of the dingy space. Abram exhaled slowly as his finger moved to key the mic again, but before he could reply, the man’s voice interrupted him: “Listen, Abe, time’s running out. Gotta go. D-Dog out.”

  The channel went silent except for the low buzz of static, and Abram stood, thinking. Then he hurried to his laptop that was also on his workbench, the sweat on his brow chilled by the cool air. He pulled up some images on his computer—not government images, but pictures of the sun that scientists he respected had posted. Scientists who, like him, believed in being prepared for catastrophic events. He shook his head at what he saw and felt sweat forming on his forehead.

  “Damn,” he said, his throat feeling dry as burnt paper.

  He rushed across the cement floor toward some of his supplies, held in a Faraday cage he’d constructed years ago, when he first started preparing for such an event. He’d long held the belief that most of the things that needed to be kept in a Faraday cage in the case of an electromagnetic pulse, either natural or manmade, would be useless in the long run, but he’d recently changed his mind. Or rather, his wife, Shelly, had changed his mind. She had explained there were certain items that could come in handy—even before the power grid had been restored—and that would make his teen daughter’s life more bearable, and thus make Emma easier to live with, so he had decided to build a Faraday cage out of a steel garbage can.

  He opened the can and peered into it. He’d lined the can with cardboard, padded it with some old towels his wife wouldn’t miss, and added a desiccant to absorb moisture and additional electronics he’d purchased for this purpose. Also in the can were a second-hand HAM radio, a laptop (mostly for Emma), a solar charger, and extra batteries, which probably didn’t need to be in the Faraday Cage, but it seemed smart to have them stored in the same place. He’d also found an inexpensive video drone—the most recent piece of equipment added—along with a second set of four handheld two-way radios.

  Gazing at his stock of essential supplies, he took a deep breath and sighed at the thought that his foresight was now going to come in handy. He steeled himself as he pondered the most efficient way to load the gear for their journey—a journey they’d have to take all too soon.

  Clearing his throat, Abram marched to the bottom of the basement stairs and craned his neck back, lo
oking up the stairs to the cracked-open door above.

  “Shelly?” he yelled up into the main house.

  “Yeah, dear?”

  “Make sure Emma’s bug-out bag is stocked.”

  “What are you talking—”

  His booming voice cut through his wife’s question: “We’re leaving, and this is not a drill.”

  Nick Caulfield placed the paper on the dining room table as silverware clinked against plates intermittently, the only sound that could be heard in the room. His teenaged son and six-year-old daughter munched on their meals in silence as Nick waited, pensively. He didn’t like the idea of the grilling that would ensue, but as a single parent, it was the best he could do.

  He glanced at his offspring in turn. They both bore a striking resemblance to his own appearance—light brown hair and eyes contrasting their pale skin, a testament to favoring the indoors, especially during the frigid New Hampshire winters. His daughter’s hair was done up in pigtails; they bounced as she tinkered with her food. His son’s, on the other hand, was unruly.

  His daughter peered over at the paper, a quizzical look on her face. “What’s that, Daddy?”

  “Rae Ann, this is Corey’s report card. Finish your veggies, now.”

  Corey kept his eyes on his plate, neither looking at his father nor at the report card that sat between them like an exposed dirty secret.

  “I don’t like broccoli,” Rae Ann continued, breaking the silence. She lifted her stuffed bear from her lap and set it next to her plate. “But Louisa does.”

  “No toys at the table, honey,” Nick said, still focusing on Corey, who hadn’t raised his eyes.

  Rae Ann sighed and placed Louisa in her lap. She looked at her broccoli and then at her father, who tore his gaze from Corey and raised an eyebrow at her. She squirted ranch dressing on her plate and dipped the tiny green trees in it. Rae Ann was much easier to keep in line than her older brother.

  “Corey,” Nick said, “look at me when I’m talking to you.”

  Corey shot a look at his father and huffed. “If Mom were here, she wouldn’t make a big deal about me failing that class. Nobody even speaks French around here, so what does it matter?”

  Nick took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. It had been five years since the passing of his wife, and the pain hadn’t gone away. He doubted it ever would.

  A knife screeched against a plate, the sound halting abruptly, but Nick’s teeth were still on edge. “You know the rules, Corey.”

  “I know,” Corey said, looking back at his uneaten mashed potatoes and veggies. “Get at least Cs—”

  Nick finished his sentence, “—or I get the game console. And no social media.”

  Corey suddenly looked back up. “But I got an A in math, Dad.”

  “Let me make this very clear: a failing grade in any class is unacceptable.”

  “I forgot to turn in a paper—”

  “Not good enough. I’m taking the game box—or cube, whatever it is—until I get a call from your French teacher saying you’re caught up again. I don’t want you failing the eleventh grade. Do you understand?” Nick narrowed his eyes at the boy.

  “It’s not fair,” Corey said. He stood up and shoved his chair under the table. He began to stomp away, but Nick called him back.

  “Clear your dishes, Corey,” he said.

  Corey worked his jaw as he picked up his dishes and delivered them to the kitchen sink. Nick watched his retreating back and sighed inwardly. Had Corey just forgotten a paper, or was it more than that? If he wanted the truth, Nick was going to have to call the school on Monday. Corey wasn’t an unreasonable kid but wasn’t beyond manipulating the truth to his own advantage. He had the feeling that these last two years of high school and getting Corey into college was going to be hell on wheels.

  “Finish up, honey,” Nick said to Rae Ann. “I need to get back to work.”

  “Can I have ice cream?” Rae Ann asked, chewing the top of a broccoli floret.

  “You know we only have dessert on Friday nights,” Nick said. “Finish up and clear the table, please.”

  Satisfied that most of the vegetables had been eaten, Nick stood up and cleared his own plate. He rinsed the dinner dishes and placed them in the dishwasher—it was Corey’s job, but he just didn’t feel like another argument this evening.

  “Is your homework done, honey?” he asked.

  His daughter was sitting at the kitchen table again, talking with her stuffed teddy bear. That toy was her constant companion.

  “I’m only supposed to read out loud to you, Daddy.”

  “That’s right. It’s Saturday.” Nick shook his head—was work consuming him so much that he’d forgotten what day it was? Looking back at Rae Ann, he continued, “Get your book, honey, I’m almost done here.”

  Nick grabbed a soap pod from under the sink and started the dishwasher. By the time he’d dried his hands on the dishtowel, Rae Ann was back with her book.

  He bit his lip and listened patiently about a porcupine named Fluffy, while Rae Ann read. His instincts said to correct her, or to make her reread passages until she was fluent, but her teacher had told him in no uncertain terms that he was to keep his mouth shut and only praise at the very end. She would do the teaching, all he had to do was listen. But it was excruciating.

  Once she finished reading to him, Nick praised her and sent her upstairs to get ready for bed. He made his way through the front room to his office and heard the faint noise of a TV that had been left on in the living room. On the TV, a man was droning on about some phenomenon happening on the sun. Flares, it looked like from the images.

  Nick turned it off as he strode by and tried to mentally prepare for the long night of work ahead of him. It didn’t take long—work-mode was his default mode.

  Standing in his garage, Abram felt his cell phone buzzing in his pocket. Outside, the faint sound of a basketball bouncing against the blacktop of a neighbor’s driveway started up—whoever was playing was oblivious to the dangers that would soon engulf the region. Now was not the time to be playing—it was the time for action, plain and simple.

  He pulled it out and answered the call. “What’s up, Gary?”

  He heard his best friend’s voice on the other end: “You all packed up?”

  Abram stepped toward his 1976 Land Cruiser and peered into the cargo area. He was sure that everything was there—the bug-out bags, the Faraday cage, and several pieces of equipment that were too expensive to keep an extra at the compound, like his night vision goggles.

  “Everything I planned on taking, yes,” Abram said. In truth, he had been planning on stowing an extra can of fuel in the back but knew Shelly and Emma would complain about the lack of leg room during the entire journey. Besides, the five hundred gallons he stored at the compound would probably suffice.

  “Good,” Gary said. “I’m leaving now. I want to get out of here before the general public gets wind of what’s going on and starts clogging the roads. It’s bound to get out soon, if it hasn’t already.”

  “You’ll probably make it to the compound before I do.”

  “When are you leaving?”

  A fly buzzed by Abram’s ear, and he swatted at it, missing narrowly. “I have to wait until my sister-in-law gets here.”

  “And when’s that?”

  “Near dawn.”

  “You need to leave as soon as possible, man. Middle of the night is ideal—less suspicion from the neighbors and all.”

  “Maggie’s insisting on working her last shift at the hospital, and Shelly refuses to leave without her.”

  “I’m so glad I don’t have a wife to kowtow to,” Gary said. “You should just tell them what’s what. Order them into the car.”

  “A little hard to do when there isn’t any hard evidence, and no, some pictures from the internet don’t count when the news all says it’s nothing to be worried about. The ladies trust the authorities not to mislead us.” Abram sighed. “I’m glad I’m not that gullible.�
��

  “And irrational.”

  “They aren’t irrational, Gary. They are just not as informed as you or I. They might point out that our sources could be called unreliable.”

  “Whatever you say—I’m not getting into that again. Listen, I’ll meet you up there. Just get up there as soon as you can, man.”

  “Will do. Open the cabins when you get there, will you?”

  “Yeah. And I’ll gather all the fresh produce I can. What we can’t consume, we can preserve.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  “See you tomorrow, Abram.”

  Gary hung up, and Abram pocketed his phone. He stared into his vehicle’s cargo area again and furrowed his brow, thinking of any last-minute supplies he could cram into any available space.

  The door to the house opened, and Abram turned to see Emma walking out into the garage. At sixteen, she was looking more and more like a woman every day.

  “Are you ready to go, Em?” he asked.

  “I’m ready, Dad.”

  “I’ve got your bug-out bag, but if you have any personal items you want to bring, you should get them ready to go.”

  Abram looked at his daughter and noticed the unease painted on her face.

  “What’s the matter, Em?”

  “I’m worried about Corey. We have room, and—”