He was completely panicked now. If he could only speak, people would know what he knew. However, they were all playing with their phones, and tablets, and laptops, oblivious to the fate that awaited them. Then, he realized he couldn’t even breathe. He tried to take in air, but he was unable. The lack of oxygen made him dizzy. He stumbled to his knees. No one looked his way, or even gave him notice, as if he were invisible.
To draw attention, he tried to beat on a seat in front of him with his fists. The knocking sound of his fists on the metal frame of the seat barely pierced the din of the idle chatter around him. He tried again, this time with all his strength, making more sound, but not enough. Shockwaves of pain now started pulsating through his hands, wrists and arms.
He looked up and could now clearly see the fire out the windows on both sides of them. The flicker of the fire’s light reflected off the inside windows and ceiling of the train. It was strange mixture of red and green. The passengers were still oblivious to him, the fire and light around them, and their pending doom. They were only interested in their texting, game playing, and in whatever else they were doing on their electronic devices.
“It wouldn’t be long now,” he thought. It was inevitable. He would die and so would everyone else on this train.
Gasping for air, he felt faint. He banged on the seat again, this time with little authority. The train car swooned around him. He was suffocating. Out of focus…
Max sat up in bed, his forehead and armpits drenched in sweat. He took in deep breaths of air, relishing the feeling. His heart was racing, beating heavily in his chest, but at once, it started slowing as he realized it was only a dream. He pushed aside the panic that still wanted to hold on.
Taking another breath, he started to relax, before recognizing that his bedroom had a weird glow. An eerie green luminescence invaded through the gaps of the closed blinds on both his bedroom window and sliding glass door. The panicky feeling still had a grip on him.
There was knocking on the metal frame of the sliding glass door. A muffled voice yelled out, “Max, please get out here. You have to see this.”
It was Bill.
The knocking and voice were much louder than he would have liked. Each rap on the door felt like an icepick being pushed into his head. The pain was horrible. He felt nauseous. He was still hung over.
“What happened?” He thought to himself. He remembered telling off that miserable prick Clyde, saying way too much about his prepping consuming way too many mango margaritas and excusing himself and going right to bed. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200. “Should have taken some aspirin,” he said groggily to himself while carefully holding his head. He looked at his alarm clock for some reference. It read 9:10. “Is that AM or PM?” He asked it. His head pounded some more.
“Max, are you there?” Bill continued.
Max swung his legs over the bed with much effort and stood up. The room spun, but he steadied himself on his nightstand, still knocking something over in the process. First, he took one step, then two, tripping over his boots, steading himself on the wall. He drew the vertical blinds all the way open and took a step back.
What he witnessed seemed as surreal as his dream, as if this was all still part of his dream. But, sobering reality hit him instantly. He knew this was real. The night sky was ablaze in what looked like a green fire.
“Bill.” He unlatched the door and slid it open. “Holy Christ, Bill, how long has this been going on?” Max asked as he stepped onto his patio. Bill was standing a few steps in front of him, head craned upward toward the green pulsating sky.
Bill turned to him, his face somewhat contorted in fear. “What is this? Is this the CME you told us about? Are we in trouble?”
“I don’t know, Bill, but it looks bad.” Max noticed he was resting, more like holding himself up with one of the pillars of his patio.
This was an aurora, he was sure of it. Like waves of water in the ocean, but instead of foamy white waves, the sky was filled with waves of green and some wisps of red. From what he read, Mexico had never had an aurora, so it had to be a CME. However, where were the explosions? A CME as large as this one was, which was making auroras as far south as Mexico, should be damaging the power grid and shorting out everything electric. However, he could see his lights were still on, and so were the others on the beach.
“What the hell is going on?” Max yelled out.
28.
More Bad News
Max gave Bill, Lisa, and Sally specific instructions, trying his best not to scare them too bad, since having them hysterical wasn’t going to help any of them. He followed his own advice, first gathering up any stray electronic devices and placing them in his protected office/workshop. He left the flat screen TVs untouched in the living room and bedrooms, along with few other electronics, such as alarm clocks also for show, so that anyone who entered his home might not wonder if he knew something before they did.
When he felt satisfied that he gathered all that mattered, he closed himself in his secret office/workshop and turned on his computer and his iPhone which was plugged in and fully charged, since it ran out of juice before returning to Puerto Penasco. Both beeped, letting its owner know they were waking up from their long slumber.
Then, while standing over his desk thinking about what he needed to do next, it occurred to him that he didn’t have any other weapons in the Beach Warehouse. This was just plain stupid. If they had to make a stand there, they would need far more than the one sniper rifle. He had a crate of new military issue M4 rifles resting unopened by the far wall, one of two he spirited across the border; the other going to El Gordo’s men as payment for smuggling both. It had the stamp of El Gordo’s Mexican shipping company prominently displayed, which told any handlers, “Keep your hands off this.”
He dragged it across the concrete floor to the center island workbench and turned on the workbench light directly overhead. Grabbing a crowbar, he pried the top of the crate off, its nails crying out loudly and releasing a gun oil smell that he found satisfying. Max removed one of the M4s. Pulling the hammer back, he examined the ejection port in the upper receiver to make sure it was empty, while pointing the front of the barrel at the light to make sure there were no obstructions. He then examined the sights. Reaching into the crate, he grabbed an empty magazine and fed it into the rifle, hearing the desired click sound, he released the hammer aimed and pulled the trigger, which made a clicking sound. Satisfied with his dry fire test, he released the magazine, letting it drop a few inches from the rifle into his hand. Check, he said mentally, placing both on the workbench.
He grabbed three others M4s and seven other magazines and placed them on top of the workbench. Then, replacing the top to the crate, he dragged it back to the far wall, returning with an ammo can filled with the .223 rounds needed to feed his hungry dogs of war. He loaded each brand new 30 round clip, feeding a loaded magazine into each empty weapon and placing the spares beside them. “Now, a few side arms,” he said out loud, unaware that his webcam light had been on for the last few minutes.
The two men sat in a dark room only a few minutes’ walk from Max’s home. “Idiot. You forgot to turn the light off,” the larger of the two said.
The smaller man started typing a few key strokes and the program they were using indicated Señor Max’s webcam would now appear to be off.