The reflection of a solitary figure grew in the polished glass of CMERI’s front door. A man with features wrinkled from a lifetime of too little sleep, crowned by gray hair and a fedora, sporting a full grey beard more common to men of a century ago, stopped arm’s length from the handle. Pulling a single page and masking tape from a leather saddle bag he wore like a backpack, he quickly pasted the page to the door and stepped back. He considered his immediate work and its message. Then he gazed admiringly at his lifetime of work, represented by this building. He would probably never see his building again. A lifetime of work was completed. Now time to move on to his next two jobs: surviving and getting to Cicada.
He turned and walked with purpose to a recumbent delta trike parked in the middle of the complex’s private driveway. There was no fear of blocking traffic that would never come again. He mounted the seat and pulled down on the fedora’s brim, to keep the winds from taking it. Pushing forward he began his next journey, the long pedal of over five hundred miles from Salt Lake City to Boulder, Colorado. He was thankful the world ended during the summer.
The page taken from his stationary at home usually carried a Trebuchet font. On this one, he had written by hand in careful block writing.
From the Desk of Dr. Carrington Reid
THE END HAS ARRIVED. ALTHOUGH I HAVE BEEN PREDICTING THIS DAY WOULD COME, EVEN I WAS UNPREPARED COMPLETELY FOR ITS ARRIVAL.
WE EXPERIENCED A WORLDWIDE MULTIPLE CME EVENT. OUR SERVERS, AND WE BELIEVE, EVERY COMPUTER IN THE WORLD, EVEN THOSE WHICH WERE PROTECTED, HAVE BEEN DISABLED OR DESTROYED. ALL ELECTRONICS, INCLUDING ALL SENSORS AND TESTING EQUIPMENT HAVE BEEN RENDERED INERT.
CMERI’S EXISTANCE SERVES NO FURTHER UTILITY, SO WE HAVE CLOSED INDEFINITELY AND HAVE LEFT TO BE WITH OUR FAMILIES.
MOST SCIENTISTS, LIKE ME, ARE OUT OF A JOB. THE SKILLS WE LEARNED ARE NO LONGER NEEDED IN THIS WORLD. I WISH I KNEW HOW TO FARM OR HUNT. IT MAY BE AT LEAST A GENERATION OR TWO, BEFORE WE CAN START USING 21ST CENTURY TECHNOLOGY AGAIN.
I AM GOING TO TRY TO MAKE IT TO COLORADO, TO AN EXISTING COMMUNITY OF HAND CHOSEN INDIVIDUALS WHOM I BELIEVE WILL HAVE THE RESOURCES AND KNOWLEDGE TO REBUILD OUR SOCIETY.
IF ANYONE READS THIS, I’M SORRY I DIDN’T DO MORE TO WARN MORE PEOPLE TO PREPARE. I TRIED.
GOD BE WITH US ALL,
41.
Powerless
The auroras were gone for a full day now and it was dark out. The first total darkness they had experienced since the auroras started. The sky was a carpet of stars and nothing else. The length of the beach, usually lit up like a Christmas tree in December, was as dark as the night. They could still hear occasional gunfire, but it was otherwise silent.
The Kings were careful not to turn on or use any electronic devices, in case there were any induced currents lurking around. Before plugging anything into the house’s electrical line, Bill used a current tester to test the line: Nothing. Although Max warned them that their solar panels would be slightly degraded because of the solar storms, he said they should work, if the storms passed. However, it was dark now, and the panels would provide no help for the next test. Feeling safe, Bill pulled the batteries stored in their safe room and connected them in parallel to the incoming line from the solar panel’s control box. Max said they had been fully charged a month ago, so they should still be holding a charge. The other batteries hooked up to the system during the Event were already fried.
They each plugged in a couple of lights around the house. Lisa and Sally stopped in the kitchen, lit by candlelight, they held their collective breaths and both had their arms out and fingers crossed, with expectant expressions on their faces. Bill walked outside to the circuit panel, just outside their patio door. There was nothing more to be said, so Bill flipped the switch.
The lights flickered, and then they turned on.
Like a beacon of an old lighthouse casting it’s light out to sea, the light from their house cut through the blanket of darkness inside and out, sending beams of brightness seemingly everywhere.
All the Kings yelled in excitement, jumping up and down, and holding onto each other.
Bill was ecstatic. This was it. Maybe many lives would eventually go back to some sort of normal. Maybe it wasn’t going to be as bad as Max had told them.
Air conditioning. Computers. Cold beer.
It might take a long time to restore what was lost, and undoubtedly many will still die, but maybe, just maybe, it would be something like what they had before.
Bill kissed Lisa, knowing she had similar thoughts.
The lights blinked. Then they flickered. Then they went out, this time for good.
They all stopped just as abruptly, frozen in place, afraid to move an inch.
They waited.
There was silence and stillness all around them. Even the waves barely moved. It was a quiet that seemed unfamiliar.
Two of the lights they had just plugged in popped, their bulbs exploding outward. This sudden noise startled all three of them, especially Bill who was standing closest to one of the two.
Then they heard something, a strange noise coming from the distance. With the noise came a bluish light, then more orange-like, and now green. This light, along with the noise, was coming from outside the house.
Like zombies from a bad movie, they all started moving in slow motion, ambling towards the large patio door leading to the beach. They held hands, bound together to face what waited for them outside.
Once through the doorway, they all looked up to the sky, walking still further.
Streaks of colors, bisected by rivers of multiple colors, and muted wispy clouds undulated like waves towards them in the sky. The colors were in concert with a strange whooshing sound, like a breeze.
It then occurred to all of them that the lights might never turn on again. As Max had told them all in his letter, this was the worst-case scenario. The sun would forever send massive electro-magnetic pulses into the atmosphere, generation after generation, rendering all electronics useless.
This was the new normal.
They would forever reside in a new Stone Age.
42.
July 5th, 1860
Russell Thompson reached over and opened up the drawer of the wood table beside his bed. With his bandaged left hand, he pulled out a leather-bound notebook given to him by his mother years ago. With his uninjured right hand, he loosened the leather binding ties and opened the book for only the third time. He glanced at the first page’s inscription, The adventures of Russell P. Thompson III. His deceased mother had written this in careful script. He beamed at the memory of his mother giving him this book when he was a teenager, after announcing that he was going to travel the world as an explorer. His father never tempted his desires, calling them, “fodder for idlers.” His mother rejoiced in his ambitious desires of travel, adventure, and prospecting.
Skipping past a page of writing to the next was a drawing of a cicada. He drew it a week ago; meticulously studying and copying in pen one of the millions of those flying around him. It was a sign of his rebirth. A cicada first comes out of the ground every decade or so before being reborn to fly. Similarly, his crushed body had come out of over ten months of therapy. He was in his larvae state before coming out of his hospital bed, reborn. Now he was ready to take flight.