Colder Weather
Foreign & Domestic
Part IV
Colder Weather
Foreign and Domestic, Part IV: Colder Weather. No part of this publication may be used or reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the Publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information, address DJK Publishing House at djkpublishinghouse@gmail.com.
First DJK Publishing House edition published 2019.
Copyright © 2019 by David J. Kershner
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organization(s), and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Cover Art designed by Pintado
Cover Art Copyright © 2019 David J. Kershner
Disclaimer: There are several survival and sustainability concepts expressed in this work. These topics and descriptions are not meant as instructions for the construction, use, or tactic of any concept noted. Readers should seek proper training with regard best practices when employing any concepts noted herein especially with regard to the safe handling of weapons and explosive materials and, if at all possible, become certified from an accredited training facility or institution.
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by
DJK Publishing House
ISBN 978-1-796-32431-0
Print and Electronic Distribution by Kindle Direct Publishing.
Foreign & Domestic
Part IV
Colder Weather
By: David J. Kershner
A Note from the Author
It pains me to say it, but many writers within the fiction and dystopian genres are doing their readers a huge disservice, in general, when it comes to writing about EMP’s. Willingly, knowingly, or unknowingly, many of the descriptions used fictionally to illustrate the after-effects of an EMP strike, more often than not, tend to only include the topics that are most likely to be relatable to the reader’s imagination (death, disease, starvation, etc.). Readers have seen and heard PSA’s, infomercials, telethons, pleas on the radio for donations after the latest tragedy (earthquake, tsunami, hurricane, tornado, etc.). These are images that are already seared, conceptually at least, into their mind’s eye by the latest A-list celebrity.
However, a key topic that is often not included, or at a minimum is glossed over while offering as few words as possible, in any sort of post-apocalyptic dystopian work, are the effects of an EMP on our nations’ nuclear reactors. I wanted to take this opportunity to provide a statement and some context regarding this potential hazard.
It is not in dispute that the United States electrical grid is vulnerable to an EMP. However, no one ‘publicly’ knows what will happen with regard to a nuclear power plant and its ability to shut down gracefully. The first commercial energy-producing reactor came online at the Shippingport Atomic Power Station, located in western Pennsylvania, in December 1957. Shortly thereafter, from April 1958 to November 1962, the United States performed ten successful atmospheric nuclear tests. None of these tests were designed to determine any sort of correlation between the atmospheric blasts and land-based electrical generation and transmission. The concept of an EMP, the actual physics behind combinations of altitude, yield, ionization, gravitational fields, and phases was not discovered until the Starfish Prime detonation on July 9, 1962, which blew out several low orbiting satellites. Plus, we, as a nation, have never been targeted by a foreign or domestic actor with one of these weapons.
Many scientists, scholars, and government agencies believe that, due to the large diesel reserves for the backup generators at the reactor site (typically between 50,000-75,000 gallons), the operators will have no trouble shutting down the facility gracefully and avoid a meltdown; ala Chernobyl, Three Mile Island, and Fukushima.
Conversely, skeptics decry the government’s assurances, and their abundant faith, in the generators. This skepticism is derived from the widely-known principles (E1, E2, and E3 phases) for electrical disturbances that accompany an EMP. Plant owner/operators have not disclosed whether or not the generators are adequately shielded from an EMP. If they have, it is buried in the vaults of the United States Nuclear Regulatory Commission.
Skeptics also point out that, even if the generators are properly shrouded and the reactors are shut down gracefully, the limited fuel capacity coupled with the inability to replenish exhausted fuel supplies due to E1-E3 phases shutting down transportation, the plant's operators are merely delaying the inevitable. Believing, instead, that once the fuel runs out, the pools used to keep the rods cool will eventually evaporate, thereby resulting in a full-fledged uncontrolled meltdown.
Scholars, scientists, skeptics, and government officials are all in agreement, that should we be stricken by an EMP, given the placement of nuclear reactors within the continental United States, a cascading series of meltdowns would have a devastating effect. So much so, that most of the continental United States, from the Mississippi River east to the Atlantic, would be rendered an unimaginable radiological wasteland as only 9 of the 99 reactors lies west of the Mississippi.
Nuclear Reactor Sites - Image from U.S. Nuclear Regulatory Commission
I tend to lean more on the side of the skeptics. Not because they are skeptics per se, but rather because I have a great understanding of the physics behind the E1-E3 phases of an EMP.
As a result, it is my assertion that, because of the potential for so much widespread radiation leakage, a large swath of the population will contract some form of radiation sickness and likely perish. Frankly, this is the sole reason I do not address it in my series… it’s just too damn depressing to conceive and contemplate, let alone write about.
Just know that this author has read up on it. I fully understand, conceptually at least, exactly what the effects of a meltdown would be with regard to the immediate reactor site, as well as the down-wind vicinities. I am choosing not to address it because the inclusion of this truth would prohibit the writing and creative process as a whole.
That being said, I hope you continue to enjoy the series.
Prologue
On Monday, January 30th, 2023, the United States of America ceased to exist. In the pre-dawn hours of that cool winter morning, three W78 nuclear warheads were jettisoned from their LGM-30 Minuteman III intercontinental ballistic missile launch vehicle and sent speeding through the lower reaches of space toward their target coordinates and detonation altitude.
At 5:28 am EST, the first of the three multiple independently targetable reentry vehicles (MIRVs) detonated three hundred and seventy-five kilometers above Pierre, South Dakota. At 5:30 am, the second detonation appeared in the early morning sky above Rochester, New York. Seconds later, the Pacific Northwest was awash in green, yellow, and red bands of light as the final warhead detonated just west of the Rockies near La Grande, Oregon.
The perpetrators of this heinous act of terrorism, two jihadi brothers, lost their lives shortly thereafter.
While the bulk of America and her citizens slept, mass transit systems, long haul truckers, transcontinental railroad lines, and cars of various makes and models slowly came to a stop. If it couldn’t run solely on its carburetor, plugs, and wires, it was instantly scrap metal.
Hydro-electric dams, nuclear reactors, as well as gas, water, and sewer pumping and treatment stations across the U.S. ground to a halt and blinked out of existence. Most standby generators failed to initiate. Those that did start, ran until the fuel ran out. The Internet, smartphones, and advanced computer systems instantly became shiny artifacts from a by-gone era. The sum of their parts was harvested for their copper and lead components, metals necessary fo
r reloading ammunition.
Passengers aboard pre-dawn flights plummeted to the Earth. The patient’s dependent on machines to live coded and died. Anyone with an older style pacemaker simply didn’t wake up. As a result, several million people in the care of hospitals and convalescent homes never had a chance to see the dawn of a new day. Those that were hospitalized, but required round the clock monitoring, lasted as long as the staff showed up and their medications held out. Millions meet their end painfully, hundreds of thousands by their own hand.
The Prozac Nation further plunged the country into bedlam and anarchy when they descended like a tsunami upon the hand that had fed its habit for so many years. Once the anti-depressant, anxiety, addiction, and psychotic meds were exhausted, no one was safe from their wrath as they searched for suitable replacements.
Amid all of the chaos, America managed to fend off an invasion of UN troops hell bent of looting the nation’s federal reserve banks and gold depositories. Only a small cache of what was once a vast fortune remains, still hidden to this day, buried under metric tons of soil, rock, and debris somewhere in Southeastern Ohio.
With the last of the foreign troops retreating back across the sea, what remained of the Federal Government attempted to exert its control by implementing martial law. Familial and regional clans, fed up with government incompetence and an even greater intrusion into their lives, flowed into Washington D.C. in whatever vehicles they could find that still ran. They robbed and pillaged every gas station on their route with hand crank siphons, sentries, and heavy weapons.
Members of Congress were hunted down throughout the District of Columbia, northern Virginia, and southern Maryland. If they weren’t shot or hung on sight, they were put through mock trials and then executed. Not one single member of Congress that had been caught survived.
As the UN troops retreated, aid flowed in from France, Spain, the Netherlands, and India. Israel, while on the outs publicly after neutralizing Iran’s nuclear ambitions with low kiloton tactical nuclear weapons decades earlier, sent what they could. Then one day, that aid stopped.
Vast migrating hordes, desperate to survive the winter, fled the northern cities and headed south toward Mexico. In their wake, they left a trail of destruction and devastation not seen since the Plagues of Egypt descended on the Pharaohs. Those that survived the brutal journey, and managed to overcome the relatively new border wall and the Rio Grande River, were slaughtered by re-enforcing Mexican troops unaffected by the EMP.
Without federal representation, State Governments became the defacto form of government nationally. Governors verbally sparred over resources in the form of water and timber rights, stockpiles of oil, gas, diesel, and coal, grazing lands, and assorted military assets. While very little of the military assets were hardened to withstand the electrical onslaught, states were quick to claim any functioning property as belonging to their National Guard units.
A Second Civil War ensued as Statehouses ratcheted up their saber rattling and began forcibly exerting their rights. Regional militias began springing up to do the bidding of their Governor’s office. The Second Civil War didn’t end with a formal surrender or any sort of capitulation. Disenchanted by renewed political malfeasance in the Statehouses, the militias merged and morphed to form region states thus beginning the Clan Wars. Bounties were placed on the heads of patriots that had honorably fought to stave off the UN forces. Hundreds of thousands were hunted down, many went into hiding. The last of the warring came to a vicious end in the Northwest Territory roughly ten years after the first high altitude nuclear explosion (HANE) appeared in the pre-dawn sky.
As agreements were being struck between the regions, a lone shadowy figure stepped in and usurped national power. A well-placed munition not only relieved the country of the sitting President but his predecessor as well. Stealing elections became a way of life as a former gang banger from the Bronx assumed the Presidency.
President Alejandro Calderon quickly established Tammany Hall-style politics nationally. Favors were granted as backs were scratched and one hand fed the other. Friends, and friends of friends, were given cushy government level jobs as they were dispersed into Regional Provost's offices nationwide. The harshest forms of law and order were implemented by revoking the bulk of the United States Constitution and the Bill of Rights. A kangaroo court system was established where punishments were handed down not based on codified law, but by gross generalizations, evidence that was barely circumstantial, aplomb, and a fair amount of sadism. Confessions were attained through a variety of brutal means. Neighbor turned on neighbor with giddy abandon for nothing more than extra rations and potential placement in one of Calderon’s protected enclaves.
Convictions for stealing food from government distribution centers or falsifying identification cards were felonies and an automatic five years. A second conviction got you twenty. Possessing a firearm, operable or not, was a ten-year ride for the first offense. Robbery cost you fifteen-years. Murder and rape were capital crimes where the sentence was held for at least ten years so ‘the state’ could benefit from a decade of free labor.
Convicted criminals were sent to forced labor camps where Calderon’s wardens worked them for a purpose, usually farming and industrial style labor. The most infamous among them was the North Texas Rehabilitation Center for Men, commonly referred to simply as NorTex. There, they dispensed a special brand of justice where prisoners were routinely flogged, beaten, and whipped. Many prisoners took their own life. Dissenters, potential political opponents, and free-thinkers were sent to re-education camps.
Safe haven towns were established where the loyal Tory like residents lived a life of luxury, never wanting for anything. Meanwhile, the bulk of the population skimped and scraped to eke out a primitive existence. Calderon was unabashed in his proclamations that the convicts in his labor camps provided for the favored.
With Washington in ruins, President Calderon placed the new capital in what remained of Richmond, Virginia. For his personal estate, he claimed a six-hundred-acre tract of land along the James River known as Tuckahoe Plantation. Low-level criminals staffed the working plantation and worked the fields and kitchens. His security detachment, which he aptly named Praetorians, patrolled the grounds constantly and were never more than a few feet away. Many spent years being trained across the country in the hopes of one day being allowed to protect the President. These ‘Praetorian’s in Training’ were commonly referred to as PITs.
Years into his administration, wind-powered vessels full of refugees from across the sea began arriving on the shores. The citizenry, as a whole, was unaware of the lengths to which his administration would go to keep information from seeing the light of day. As the first refugees came ashore, proclaiming some form of electrical disturbance plunging countries into chaos worldwide, he had the refuges shot and all future arriving ships sunk at sea.
For twelve years, the American people suffered under the yolk of Calderon’s oppression. Finally, after twenty years of a near constant struggle just to simply stay alive, many were ready to rise up and throw off their bonds of servitude and start the American experiment anew. The people were finally ready to follow someone, anyone, a leader… to fight back. They didn’t care if it was a twenty-something amnesiac on a cross country jaunt to find a father he couldn’t remember or a seventy-plus-year-old retired Marine Colonel who was starting to suffer from the symptoms of Alzheimer’s.
All they needed was someone willing to lead.
Chapter 1
Deeks Calhoun awoke sticky from the days long fevered perspiration. His body ached all over. Without moving, he began looking around the room, listening. He didn’t hear his mother’s usual humming. The tiny shack-like cabin structure was eerily quiet. With a groan, he rolled out of bed and groggily made his way toward the smell of food. A low flicker remained in the open fire kitchen. On the rough-hewn table, he saw the beginnings of soup and threw a log on the embers to keep it going.
The cloudl
ess spring sun shone brightly. To Deeks, it only served to accentuate the dingy, dirt covered window… something he knew his mother would have him out there cleaning as soon as he was able. Even through the grimy window, off in the distance, he could clearly see the extinct cinder cone of Pilot Butte. A soft early spring breeze was swaying the treetops, but the cold lifeless limbs of the hardwoods were beginning to release their viselike grip on dormancy. Tiny buds were beginning to appear.
Finally, he thought, grateful for the coming spring and the bounty it would provide.
He turned and headed into his mother’s room. She wasn’t there either. Her bed was neatly made and the first flower of the season had been placed in a glass of water on her nightstand.
Deeks suddenly became gripped with fear.
Had she gone out without me?
He quickly left the doorway that had been holding him up and checked for her pack and bow. They were gone. The young man hastily stumbled his way back to his room and dressed; forcing his body to cooperate with each painful movement. As Deeks bolted through the front door, he grabbed his slingshot.
Declan “Deeks” Calhoun had learned the hard way that the tiny weapon and its arsenal of rocks was no match for an angry, starving wolf. He could pick off squirrels and chipmunks easy. If he was close enough and his aim was true, he could stun a rabbit for a short while until he was able to pounce on it. He should have known better than to check his traps with only the rock chucker in his pocket though. His mother, Sonja, had saved him from the mauling and certain death by skewering the emaciated beast. His wounds from the attack had become infected though. Deeks had no idea how long he had been unconscious.