Sunstrike

SUNSTRIKE

Bev Robitai

On Smashwords

Copyright Bev Robitai September 2013

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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ISBN 978-1301227778 (epub edition)

Post-apocalyptic, crime, New Zealand

Author’s note

By the second decade of the twenty-first century mankind can observe the natural world as never before. But the technology that allows science to observe and anticipate the effects of solar activity can also be destroyed by it. Two important facts: the maximum warning of a major solar event is eight minutes, and the current eleven year solar cycle peaks in late 2013.

Scientific research on the effects of solar flares on earth is worryingly inconclusive. It’s agreed a major eruption on the sun’s surface would send large quantities of electro-magnetic energy streaming past the earth causing severe damage to high-voltage transmission lines, and that alone would stop the provision of electricity for months if not years. For the purpose of this book I’ve chosen to use research that says the flares would also knock out anything containing a circuit board or transistor. It makes a more dramatic story – this is fiction after all.

Let’s hope it stays that way!

B.R. August 2013

Chapter One

The sudden utter silence made me realise something was wrong.

At first I thought it was just an ordinary power cut. The radio fell quiet and the desktop computer went off so I knew it was a power outage – the only question was how long was it going to last? I sat and twiddled my fingers for a few minutes to see if it would come back on. It didn’t.

Since it was half past ten in the morning and I was gasping for a coffee, I pulled out my phone to ring the café down the road to see if it was operational. Under the circumstances it would be perfectly acceptable to escape from my non-functioning desk to take a caffeine break. The article I was working on would keep for an hour or so until the power came back on.

The cellphone was lifeless. Had I forgotten to charge the damn thing again? Well duh. I couldn’t use the landline of course with no electricity, so I decided to walk down and see if they had power on. A little bit of exercise would do me good and ease the stiffness in my legs. I hadn’t found time for the gym lately with the pressure of researching a major medical article that was due the following week.

Once I was outside, I realised how utterly quiet everything was. I knew from the soft noises of birds chirping and wind rustling the trees that my middle-aged ears hadn’t suddenly failed, but there was none of the usual susurration of sound from the motorway, no motor mowers around the neighbourhood, no traffic of any kind in fact. The whole North Shore district seemed to have shut down.

I zipped up my winter jacket against the cold wind and ambled down the road to the café, happy to see my favourite barista behind the counter.

Hi, have you guys got power on here? I’d kill for a latte.

Sorry Averie, we’re out of action. I can sell you a juice, but only if you’ve got cash. Can’t even do EFTPOS I’m afraid. Let’s hope it’s just a short one. Some idiot probably drove into a power pole and they’ll have to rig up a new one. Pop back in an hour or so.

He laughed at my disgruntled scowl. He knows I don’t function well without my caffeine fix.

Right, if you can’t give me coffee I’m off to find someone who can. I’ll drive clear across the city if I have to. Somebody somewhere must have electricity and a working coffee machine. I grinned at him and power-walked back up the hill to my place in an effort to keep warm.

The car wouldn’t start.

I turned the key but nothing happened. Not even a click. What the hell? Were all these machines out to get me or what? There was nothing I could do besides poke vaguely around the battery to see if it made a difference. It didn’t. Guess I wasn’t going anywhere, especially as I didn’t know how to open the garage door without electricity.

I ignored my vague feeling of unease and cast about for something else to do to pass the time until power was restored. Housework. I opened the hall closet to haul out the vacuum cleaner and stopped with a muttered ‘idiot!’ Good old-fashioned dusting and cleaning then. No electricity required, and the house certainly needed the attention. That task kept me occupied for a couple of hours.

Time for some lunch. I debated whether to fire up the barbecue to boil water and heat some leftovers, but decided a sandwich and cold drink would do just fine. I’d save the barbecue for later.

Then it occurred to me I might miss my son’s Skype call later in the evening if the power was still out, and that moved the situation into the serious category. I relied on Bradley’s weekly chat. It was the most important thing in my dull, undemanding life. My brilliant, adventurous, talented son was off diving in Indonesia and having a ball with his friends, earning great money at the dive school and posting tantalising tropical shots on his Facebook page every few days. I loved seeing his suntanned face and dark curly hair amid the turquoise seas and lush green foliage. His deep brown eyes were always alive with life and I envied his passion. Once my latest project was finally done I was due to join him for a week of R&R as a reward and I couldn’t wait to feel the hot sand between my toes and catch up on six months’ worth of hugs. Taking a break from the winter chill in Auckland would be a bonus.

If there was power available in the big wide world beyond our street, I was going to find it and take my laptop there to receive his call. It was even more important than coffee.

I walked up to the top of our quiet road where it joined the busy main street. There were cars stopped as far as I could see and I wondered what the hold-up was. Then I noticed most had no drivers in them. People were milling about aimlessly, chatting in small knots then moving to other groups. I approached the nearest people.

Any idea what’s going on?

Not really. Our car just stopped, about two hours ago, along with all the others. Nobody can go anywhere and no-one seems to know what to do. The sandy-haired man looked lost. I’m supposed to pick up my kids from school in an hour and there’ll be hell to pay if I’m late.

How far away is it? Can you walk there in time to meet them? At least they wouldn’t be left waiting at the gate for you.

He stared at me as if I was mad. How would I get them home without my car?

It looks as if you might have to walk them home and pick up your car later once the blocked traffic has cleared.

A young woman gave me a pitying look. You don’t see the problem, do you? All these cars just stopped working, simultaneously. And there’s no electricity in any of the houses round here. Doesn’t that suggest something fairly major is going on?

What, like Martian death rays or something? Could she be any more patronising? I’m just looking at the practicalities of here and now. This guy needs to meet his kids and the car doesn’t go, so he needs to walk. The rest he can sort out later.

She shrugged. I suppose so. It doesn’t explain anything though.

A fluoro-wearing cyclist came into view further along the street so I stepped out and flagged him down as he approached. He told us the traffic lights were out as far as the next suburb at least, and he’d seen cars stopped all the way across the harbour bridge.

We looked at each other in the deepening realisation that this was no ordinary blackout. It might involve the whole city.

On the assumption something serious had happened somewhere and that we’d better be prepared, I went back home to check my emergency supply box, but first I had to make sure my elderly neighbour was all right.

He was bustling around his kitchen when I opened his back door and called out to him.

Hi Ken, how are you doing?

Hello Averie, come on in. I can’t offer you a cuppa I’m afraid but would you like a cold drink? He pulled out a chair at the Formica dining table and invited me to sit.

No thanks, I just wanted to check in. Have you got everything you need to cope without electricity for a while? It looks like a widespread outage. Got food in the cupboards?

Oh yes, I’m all right. There are enough packets of ready-meals in the freezer to see me out, I reckon.

I frowned. His freezer contents would probably start thawing in a couple of days unless the problem, whatever it was, got fixed. Should I worry him with what might happen or wait and see how things worked out?

Have you got tinned food too? Just in case?

I have, but it’s not much good to me without a can opener, is it? I can only use the electric one these days with my arthritis. It’s wicked in the winter damp. He rubbed his gnarled hands with a wince.

Fair enough. You can always give me a call and I’ll pop over and open a can for you if you want something.

His eyes clouded. But I can’t call you, Averie. The phone won’t work.

All right – hang a tea-towel in the window if you need help and I’ll come over as soon as I see it. How’s that?

I made a mental note to glance over to his place regularly but wasn’t entirely sure I’d remember. My brain seemed to have been steadily turning to mush for the last few years and I had little faith in my ability to recall things. Something about living alone since Bradley left had dulled my faculties and sometimes even a good jolt of coffee didn’t sharpen them up. Without it, who knew how hopeless I’d get?

It’s very sweet of you, dear. I know how busy you are. Now let me give you an orange juice to keep you going, all right?

He took a glass from the cupboard to rinse it in the sink, but the stream of water from the tap sputtered to a slim dribble. We looked at each other.

That’s a bit of a worry. I suppose with the power off all the pumping stations are out of action too. Looks like we may not have much water either for however long this thing takes to fix. I thought a bit longer. Oh God, that means no sewerage services either, doesn’t it? No water to flush the toilet, and no drainage pumps to take the sewage away.

Ken grinned. Looks like we’re back to the old days, dear. A good deep long-drop in the backyard!

I shuddered. Oh no, anything but that! I always hated the inconvenient part of camping.

Well, keep a bucket in the bathroom for peeing in and tip it round your lemon tree – it’ll do wonders for your fruit. The other stuff you’ll have to dig a hole and bury.

Eeuuuwww! Surely it won’t come to that? When there’s a major emergency the authorities bring round Porta-potties or something, don’t they? They can’t expect us all to fill our gardens with excrement.

His faded blue eyes gleamed. Takes me back to the war years. Back when I was a kid, we took all our household waste down to the allotments to put on the veggies. Digging for Victory, we were. Our patch had the best rhubarb in the district.

Aw Ken, that’s gross! Even the Romans had running water and indoor plumbing – surely we don’t have to be less civilised than they were?

You do what has to be done, my girl. That’s life, isn’t it? You know that already. He looked at me kindly. When you lost your Andrew, you carried on because you had to look after young Bradley. You might have wanted to hide away and cry but you had to do your duty and care for him.

Of course I did, he was all I had left. He’s so like his dad, you know. If you look at photos of them at the same age you’d be hard pressed to say who was who. I smiled wryly. And now the little wretch is following his father’s footsteps in the diving world. It’s just as well he checks in with me every week otherwise I’d go nuts with worrying about him. If he ever went missing the way his dad did, I don’t know what I’d do. I made a move towards the door. Speaking of which, he’s due to Skype me tonight so I’d better get going and figure out how I can find somewhere with electricity so I can talk to him. My laptop battery is shot so it only works if I can plug it in. I’ll see you later, OK?

All right, nice seeing you my dear. If you need water just come and get some from my rain barrel. I’ve got plenty, there’s no need to scrabble about in the stream for it. But if I want to open a can I’ll have to get your help. Remember to look out for my signal, won’t you?

Yes, of course. I made a mental note and underlined it twice.

God, I needed coffee.

Back at my place I bustled about for a while, trying to ignore the nagging message from my subconscious saying if power was out all across the area and cars had stopped working, there was more going on than a simple power cut. I couldn’t face believing that. Not with my only link to Bradley reliant on electricity. He’d call me when he knocked off work for the week at four pm Friday Indonesian time, and we were five hours ahead. I had till nine o’clock to figure it out.

But first I had to pee. After eyeing an orange laundry bucket balefully for several minutes I attempted to squat and aim an accurate stream into the large receptacle. I left the results for later disposal, closed the lid firmly and went to wash my hands. No water. A damp facecloth was the best I could do. I thought about hand sanitizer but decided it wasn’t really necessary – best to save it for later.

It occurred to me, after mulling over the power problem for some time, the big office blocks in the next suburb would almost certainly have emergency generators. Many companies had installed them after the massive outage we’d had a few years ago when the major power cable to the city had been cut and central downtown had been offline for weeks. And there was an internet café there where I could contact Bradley and let him know what was going on! Brilliant!

Spurred by my delight, I grabbed some snacks and a water bottle from the pantry, put them into a backpack with my laptop, and laced up my best walking shoes ready for a brisk stroll of about half an hour.

I wasn’t the only one out walking. All along the main road there were people trudging along, some carrying heavy loads of groceries, others with laptop bags or cardboard boxes. It seemed every stranded motorist was completing their journey on foot with whatever they needed to deliver.

When the office park was in view away in the distance, I noticed an elderly lady struggling with her shopping bags so I ran up alongside her and offered to help.

Have you got far to go with these?

Just as far as Milford, she panted. I got my weekly groceries at the supermarket up the road and it’s taken me nearly an hour to get them this far. God knows what’s happened to everyone’s cars. Just a jolly nuisance for us pensioners who can’t walk the way we used to. It’s all right for you young things.

I smiled to myself. There I’d been thinking I was over the hill when I was apparently still a young thing after all. Perhaps her eyesight wasn’t what it used to be.

I can carry them as far as the turn-off to Milford if you like. I’m going to the Smales Farm office park.

Oh thank you dear, it’s very good of you. Painfully she unwrapped the plastic handles from her bent and twisted fingers. As I took the bags she straightened up with a groan. Oh that’s better. I’d never have bought so much if I’d known I’d have to carry it all home, that’s for sure. Oh well, at least I got my groceries before the cash registers were turned off. Lots of folk didn’t get their shopping at all.

I kept her spirits up as far as the turn-off and handed the bags back, after making a handle by wrapping them round a stout stick.

There you go, take it easy and you’ll get there OK.

She trundled off after thanking me politely, although I suspected she’d wanted me to carry them all the way home for her.

Right, now to see who had electricity.

I went to the first office block, a curving glass-fronted structure, and peered into the foyer. It appeared to be deserted and the front door wouldn’t open at all. Not surprising if there was no power, but it did suggest that they had no back-up either.

How very disappointing.

I walked around the outside of the building, listening intently for the sound of a diesel generator.

Nothing.

At the entrance to the underground parking there was a security guard leaning against the doorframe. He straightened up when he saw me.

Sorry but there’s nobody left in the offices, he said. Everyone’s been evacuated and sent home.

Isn’t there any back-up power system then?

There’s supposed to be, but nobody could get it started. I’m just here to make sure nobody tries to get back in. He sighed. Can’t imagine why they would. Sent home on full pay – I’d be off fishing if it was me.

I thanked him and walked across to the other office block, an unlovely rust-coloured building with what would have been a delightful water feature out front if the fountain had been working. There were small shops around three sides of the ground floor, including the internet café I was hoping to find operational. My heartbeat increased as I rounded the corner of the building and saw the door I was looking for. Were they open? Could I get a message to Bradley? My mouth was dry as I hurried to the entrance.

The shop was dark.

I banged on the glass door as hard as I could without actually smashing it.

Hello? I yelled. Is anyone in there?

The shop was silent.

I could see rows of computers on the tables, blank-screened and dead. Surely somebody could crank up a generator and get one of them working for five minutes? It wasn’t such a big request, was it? I banged on the door again but the shop was clearly unoccupied.

Annoyed now, I paced along the other shops trying a hearty knock on every door.

Oh for God’s sake, I muttered, what is this, the Marie Celeste? Where the hell is everyone?

I’d have killed for a decent bowl of latte but the caffeine on top of the adrenalin in my system would probably have caused a meltdown. And besides, the coffee shop on the opposite corner was just as firmly closed as the rest of them.

I sat down on a bench by the non-operating fountain and tried to rethink the problem.

Who would have to have a non-interruptable power supply in case of emergencies?

I looked up. In the distance was the square bulk of the North Shore hospital. They would!

I bounded to my feet with a grin. It might take a bit of persuasion, but if I could talk my way through the door I could surely plug in my laptop in a quiet corner and send off my message. They might throw me out on my ear afterwards if I was caught but it would be worth it. I sprinted over there.

I almost sobbed with relief when I saw the main doors were wide open and people were going in and out. Thank God!

I hurried towards the entrance and slipped inside. The foyer was darker than I expected and no lights were on anywhere. The only illumination came from the windows and it didn’t reach far into the building. Harassed nurses were guiding people to the furthest waiting room by candlelight. Candlelight? My heart sank. Clearly if they were reduced to using candles there was no back-up power here either. And if there was none here, where it was most needed…

Are you all right? A passing nurse heard my stifled moan and stopped to check.

Do you have any information about what’s happened to the power supply? I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

Not a clue. It went off at 10.30 this morning. There wasn’t even a flicker from the back-up generators and we’ve had nothing since. It’s chaos. Sheer bloody chaos. She peered at me in the dim light. Look, if you’re not sick or injured you should really get out of the way. Sorry, but we have to focus on the patients.

Of course, sorry. Good luck, I called to her departing back.

I’d just have to harden up and accept that I wouldn’t be contacting my son that night. He was a big boy, he’d get over any disappointment in seconds. I, on the other hand, would be fretting relentlessly until normal service was restored.

I pulled on my metaphorical big girl panties and slowly walked home.

By four o’clock a caffeine-withdrawal headache was building behind my eyes. The vision of a froth-topped bowl of creamy latte floated in front of me, teasing and tantalising. I imagined the taste, rich and dark, a hint of caramel from the crema at the edge. Oh for the jolt of energy from that first sip – the sudden clarity of vision as tired eye muscles snapped into shape when the caffeine hit them. I needed a coffee so badly it really did hurt.

In desperation I grabbed a handful of whole coffee beans from a packet in the pantry and smashed them to powder with a pestle while a pan of water heated on the barbecue. It made for a very rough grind but I figured the mesh on the coffee plunger could handle it.

The scent as hot water poured into the pot was heavenly and it was hard waiting for the mix to brew to full strength before I could press down the plunger and pour the brown elixir into my biggest mug. I added milk and took a sip. It was good enough.

Once fortified and feeling more human, I decided to take stock of my emergency supply box, on the assumption that shopping was going to be difficult for a while. It would be a longish walk over the hill to my nearest supermarket and I didn’t think they’d be functioning at all until power was restored.

I opened the pantry and pulled out the battered cardboard food box that had sat there as long as I could remember. I did try to check through it every year and replace expired products but it might have been a couple of years since I’d done it. In fact it would have been when Bradley was still living at home. I distinctly remembered his groan at seeing packets of dried vegetables and other things he didn’t like to eat. I’d told him he’d be glad to see them if he was starving. If I’d known what the future held, I’d have willingly filled the box with pot noodles and chocolate biscuits if it meant he was here to share them.

The box yielded a stack of canned food – meat, vegetables and fruit, all looking in good condition. There were several packets of the despised dried vegetables and potato flakes. A bar of chocolate – yay! Several cartons of long-life milk well past their use-by dates. A hand-operated can-opener – that would be useful. Powdered soup packets, boil-in-bag rice – uninspiring but good staples to have. A whizz-bang wind-up torch/radio/phone charger that Bradley had given me last Christmas. A box of candles, matches, a lighter, a small stash of cash, and a set of ziplock plastic bags. A bottle of hand sanitizer completed the contents. Of course there was all the usual food in the pantry as well; cans of vegetables, packets of pasta and couscous, bottles of sauce and dressings. Hopefully my supplies would last well past the regulation three days that the government survival adverts recommended.

While I was at it I hauled out all the containers of water to check them too, mildly guilty that the dates scrawled on the lids were three or even four years ago. I unscrewed the tops and sniffed each bottle cautiously. To my surprise all but one seemed fine, even after three years. The sour one