He entered the break room at the sheriff’s department without a word. It was five in the morning, and the overnight shift was winding up their workday. His deputies had settled in for a few hands of shotgun poker.
At the sheriff’s office, gambling for money was forbidden, so the deputies improvised. The currency of choice was ammunition. Red twelve-gauge shotgun shells were the lowest value. Next came the nine-millimeter rounds used in the Smith & Wessons that had been the department’s service weapon for years. Tonight, the guys had raided the ammunition lockers for a couple of boxes of Speer Gold Dot hollow points.
Sheriff Mobley had just received an order of several Glock 17 Gen 5s for his patrol deputies, which were outfitted with Trijicon suppressor night sights. Otero County was generally crime-free, as it enjoyed a low unemployment rate and a stable economy. However, U.S. Highway 50 was often traveled by transients across Colorado, requiring his deputies to be well equipped for every eventuality.
“Can we deal you in, Sheriff?” one of the deputies offered as he reached behind him and slid a chair up to the wood-grained table. Another deputy slid her chair back to the refrigerator and grabbed her boss a V8 Sparkling Energy drink. Sheriff Mobley had been pulling long shifts and enjoyed the boost to keep his wits about him.
“Nah, and I hate to tell you, but I need you to do something for me even though your shift is ending,” he replied.
“Sure, Sheriff. Name it.”
“Okay. We’ve had a call from Polly out at the Collins Ranch. There was some kind of weather deal overnight. She said she’d never seen anything like it. The temperature dropped fifty or sixty degrees in just minutes.”
“Dang, Sheriff. Did she lose any of their herd?”
“Some, but I’m worried about more than the livestock. A lot of folks don’t have the heat sources to withstand that kinda shock to their surroundings. Y’all take the Jeeps and head up fifty. Stop in and check on people. I’ll cover the overtime.”
The group of four deputies didn’t hesitate. They pushed away from their chairs and cleaned up the poker game. After grabbing their gear from their lockers, they retrieved the keys to the department-owned Jeeps from their peg hooks.
Sheriff Mobley was a Jeeper, a term used for aficionados of the classic American utility vehicle that dated back to World War II. He personally owned two vintage Jeeps, both CJ5 models. They were made for going off-road, but most importantly, as it turned out, the pre-1972 models’ lack of electronics provided him transportation that was immune to the debilitating effects of an EMP.
During his term as sheriff, he’d begun to search the region for similar Jeeps from the sixties and early seventies. Some were wrecks, and others were in need of parts. It became a labor of love to purchase project cars and restore them. The results of his efforts paid off. The department had a fleet of four fully restored Jeep CJ5s that still operated despite the EMP. Coupled with his two personal vehicles, his deputies were able to travel throughout the county, helping their neighbors and providing the safety of law enforcement during a time when looting was rampant around the nation.
He made sure the deputies took fully charged Bao Feng ham radios with them to communicate with the base unit at the sheriff’s department. He’d been diligent about protecting electronics from the pulse of energy as well.
In a vacant lot across the alley from the sheriff’s office, six semitrailers had been parked side by side. These were used by the City of La Junta to store supplies, and one of the trailers had been assigned to his department. As part of his preparation for a catastrophic event like this one, Sheriff Mobley had purchased six large and a dozen small galvanized trash cans to create Faraday cages.
A Faraday cage, an invention developed by a nineteenth-century scientist, was an enclosure formed by a conductive material like steel or steel mesh used to block the damaging electrons dispersed when an EMP detonation occurs. When electronic devices are placed within the protective shield, the massive burst of energy that was ordinarily too strong for the delicate wiring of modern electronic devices was spread around the container, and none passed into it.
The sheriff had placed a backup of every electronic device used by his department inside one of the galvanized steel trash cans. He’d wrapped each item in heavy-duty aluminum foil and then cushioned it inside the trash cans with two-inch-thick padding like that used in chair cushions. Finally, he’d sealed the lids in place with aluminum tape used by heating and air-conditioning contractors.
When the EMP hit near Boulder, the electromagnetic pulse didn’t penetrate the makeshift Faraday cages. As a result, Sheriff Mobley had the ability to communicate with his deputies when on patrol. He was also able to replace the solar charge controllers and other electronic equipment associated with the department’s rooftop solar array.
He’d even secured various types of medical equipment donated by the Arkansas Valley Regional Medical Center in town. As they replaced older, still-operating equipment with newer models, Sheriff Mobley asked to keep the discarded devices. He had also protected this equipment in the larger trash cans. When the EMP destroyed most of the life-saving equipment at the small medical center, he was able to provide them something to work with.
Soon, Sheriff Mobley would learn whether his efforts could help save the lives of a group of strangers who just happened to be passing through his county.
CHAPTER SIX
Thursday, October 31
U.S. Highway 50
Near Fowler, Colorado
Otero County deputies Susan Ochoa and Adam Hostetler followed each other to the westernmost part of the county into the town of Fowler just as the sun was beginning to beg its way through the ash-filled skies. They split up as they drove the residential streets, using the external loudspeakers affixed to their Jeeps to let people know they were in the neighborhood. They asked them to check on their neighbors when the conditions permitted.
The feel of death surrounded them. There were very few birds that inhabited the area, and those were frozen, their carcasses strewn about, lifeless eyes staring toward the sky. Sadly, cats and dogs had fallen victim to the flash freeze as well. Owners, unable to feed their animals, had sent the domesticated creatures out of the house to fend for themselves. Cats were better adapted to the inclement weather, as they squeezed themselves under home foundations or deep into barns. Dogs were another matter. Loyal to their owners, they waited on the porch next to front doors, knowing they’d be let inside eventually. They weren’t.
Ochoa and Hostetler made their way west on U.S. Highway 50 toward Pueblo. They slowed at the entrance to the stockyards to see how the cattle had fared. Hostetler pulled in first. However, as he did, Ochoa had another thought and raised him on the radio.
“Adam, I’m gonna make a quick ride out to the Pueblo County line. There are a couple of farms on County Road 1 that I’d like to check on.”
“10-4. This won’t take long. Let’s meet up here when we’re finished.”
Ochoa continued down the snow-covered highway, which had been partially cleared by the gusty headwinds she faced. A half-mile-long freight train had stalled at the moment of the EMP detonation. Its cars had been filled with cattle heading from Pueblo to the Texas Panhandle. It had been a herculean effort by local ranchers to off-load the railcars and drive the cattle into the Nepesta Valley Stockyards owned by the Lucero family for safekeeping. She wondered if the bone-chilling conditions that had struck the west part of the county killed them all.