Aftermath [Book 1] Read online

  Aftermath: EMP Post Apocalyptic Fiction- Book 0

  J.S Donovan

  Contents

  1. 8:36 A.M

  2. 9:11 A.M

  3. 11:57 A.M

  4. 2:01 P.M

  5. 4:17 P.M

  6. 7:12 P.M

  7. 9:45 P.M

  8. 11:00 P.M

  About the Author

  Copyright 2017 All rights reserved worldwide. No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, by any means without prior written permission, except for brief excerpts in reviews or analysis.

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  1

  8:36 A.M

  Hands buried deep in her coat pockets, Naomi waited at the edge of the platform. Even underground, she couldn’t escape the harrowing chill of the freezing January day.

  Peering into the dark tunnel, she waited.

  Listened.

  The faint clacking grew louder.

  Faster.

  The sound matured into a powerful rumble, like the thunderous hooves of a thousand wild horses. Golden beams of light sliced through the tunnel’s darkness. A dirty chromatic subway emerged.

  Its brakes screeched.

  The train slid to a stop, its middle doors halting in front of Naomi. After a brief lull, the doors parted.

  Naomi stepped back. The horde of people sharing the platform flooded past her, funneling into the narrow entrance and quickly filling the train car. Face locked on his phone, a straggler knocked shoulders with Naomi as he slipped inside. After the last had gone, Naomi entered. Her act of selflessness caused the closing double doors to bite her. She escaped the mechanical jaws with a bruise on her upper arm.

  People from various walks of life squeezed together. Within seconds, nearly every eye was glued to a smart device or other small screen. A man wearing a facemask checked his vitals on his phone. Muffled music leaked from an angsty teenager’s ear buds. A young mother with heavy make-up over her blackened right eye cradled a skinny baby. There was no father in sight.

  Slipping through the crowd, Naomi claimed a tight spot in the middle of the car. She grabbed ahold of one of the weathered plastic rings dangling from the ceiling.

  An automated voice said, “Departing.”

  The brakes released with a sharp hiss. The train lurched forward.

  Reeking of alcohol, a greasy-haired, wobbling businessman pressed against Naomi. Distancing herself, Naomi bumped into the frail elderly woman in front of her. The woman said something with her tiny voice, but the clattering wheels muted the words.

  The subway gained momentum.

  Apart from the occasional cough and sniffle, no one spoke. No one smiled. It was worse today, no thanks to the cold gnawing at their bones. Naomi checked her smart watch. The thermometer read sixteen degrees Fahrenheit; it had been one of Philadelphia’s coldest winters since ‘94.

  The few people who weren’t hypnotized by their devices eyed Naomi with perplexed expressions. They’d recognized her from various TV specials, the backs of books, and even on a few billboards. Instead of flaunting her fame, she rode the Broad Line to the heart of Philly as she had since her days studying Psychology at the University of Pennsylvania eighteen years ago. She pursed her lips and smiled at them. One smiled back. The rest averted their eyes.

  At thirty-nine years of age, Naomi stood five foot six inches tall. A hooded blue insulated winter jacket conformed to her lean frame. Black pants and boots covered her lower half while a small purse hung from a strap on her shoulder. Her face matched her mother’s: diamond-shaped, but homely with an air of quiet wisdom and a wide, heart-warming smile. Her eyes were her father’s: a tired blue with a ring of golden flakes around the center.

  The train rumbled onward. The interior lights flickered.

  Naomi ran through the day’s schedule. Mason would be waiting outside the office. The troubled twenty-year-old always showed up early. His overbearing and abusive father conditioned him that way before Mason set the man’s house on fire. At 10:30am, Naomi had a session with Philip Greenguard, a suicidal banker who couldn’t decide if his millions were the best thing that’s ever happened to him or the worst. After him, Naomi had three couples’ counseling sessions back to back. Marriage in twenty-first century America was never easy. She would argue marriage in any decade wasn’t easy. The day would finish out with six more personal therapy sessions before Naomi got home and made dinner for Calvin and Trinity. She reminded herself to pick up the zucchini, salmon, and goat cheese for the spinach salad. She typed the grocery list into her phone and allowed it to sync up to her smart watch.

  Faster than a blink, every light in the train shut off.

  The subway screeched, coming to an unexpected, harsh stop.

  Screaming, everyone smashed into each other, knocking heads and bodies.

  Taking the old lady with her, Naomi slammed to the ground. Her chin bounced on the cold floor as the drunken businessman crushed her back. She gasped, tasting copper.

  Groans of pain and curses sounded throughout the lightless, motionless car.

  “What the hell was that?”

  “Can someone get a light on, please?”

  “Why are we stopping?”

  More curses.

  Gasping.

  “Someone get a light on in here!”

  A baby’s cries invaded everyone’s ears.

  A mother shh’d her.

  The crying worsened.

  Breathless and in pain, the drunkard rolled off Naomi. Tasting copper, she rubbed her throbbing chin and grimaced. It felt like she’d knocked every tooth loose. Groping aimlessly, she grabbed the old woman’s ankle before finding a vertical pole. Gloved hands slipping, she heaved herself up, still not having adjusted to the dark.

  A man yelled. “Where’s the conductor?”

  Someone banged on the door to the next car over. “Hey, I have work in twenty minutes. Let’s get this thing moving!”

  The baby screamed.

  Mouth filling with blood and spit, Naomi looked out the window.

  There was no light in the tunnel.

  She tapped her smart watch. Unresponsive.

  “My phone is not working,” someone said.

  “Neither is mine,” another replied.

  Naomi’s chest tightened.

  A lighter flicked on.

  The small amber flame danced, casting a dim amber hue across worried faces. The teenager holding it raised it high above his head, illuminating the car. Every eye tracked the flame. Blood twinkled on the forehead of the elderly woman on the floor. Forgetting about her smart watch, Naomi quickly knelt down and shook her shoulder gently. “Hey. Hey. Can you hear me?”

  The woman’s mouth opened and closed as she struggled to talk. The gash above her brow leaked crimson across the dirty floor. Her eyes clenched shut in pain. Naomi turned back to the crowd. “She needs a doctor.”

  The crowd quieted down.

  Wide-eyed, Naomi looked around for any takers. No replies.

  The baby cried.

  “Is anyone here a medical professional?” Naomi asked, her face turning stark white.

  No reply.

  “Aren’t you a doctor?” someone asked.

  Naomi’s mouth dried up. Not that kind, she was tempted to say. She clasped the old woman’s frail hand.

  Tension filled the car.

  By the looks of it, the woman was riding alone. No one bothered to claim her. Naomi checked her phone. The screen was black.

  Something about this felt very wrong.

  People looked over each other’s shoulders, checking to see if their electronic devices worked. Nothing.

  Naomi turned her attention back to the elderly woman. “Can someone give me a hand?”

 
After a moment of hesitation, a thuggish-looking man, a balding man with a crucifix around his neck, and a conservatively-dressed woman helped Naomi get the elderly woman to her feet. Naomi directed them to the mechanical doors. Shuffling past a few people, she put her fingers in the gap and attempted to part the doors. Face turning red, she opened it an inch before a few people joined in and pried it the rest of the way. Cold air rolled through the dark tunnel and chilled Naomi’s face. She shuddered.

  “What are you doing?” someone asked.

  “Shouldn’t we wait for help?” another questioned.

  Naomi gestured for those supporting the injured woman to exit first.

  “Hey, I’m talking to you,” a man said.

  Naomi twisted back to them, the fire illuminating her determined face. “This woman can’t wait.” She dropped onto the track and signaled for the boy with the lighter to follow.

  Feeling eyes on him, he turned his gaze to his feet and exited cautiously. After exchanging unsure looks, more people followed Naomi out into the dark tunnel, the nursing mother among them.

  The boy with the lighter stayed ahead of the crowd.

  Murmurs, complaints, and the baby’s cry echoed off the curved walls of the long corridor.

  The teen with the lighter looked nervously ahead at the tracks and then looked to Naomi. “What if a train comes?”

  Naomi kept her eyes forward. “It won’t.”

  After minutes of walking, they reached the boarding platform.

  There were no lights here either.

  Naomi assisted the elderly woman up the ledge and then up the stairs to the ticketing hall. The rest of the passengers moved at their own pace. Some of them hurried ahead while others lagged behind and whispered amongst themselves.

  “You think it’s an electrical problem?” one asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe a satellite went down.”

  “My boss is going to kill me if I’m late again.”

  “We should’ve stayed in the subway car and waited for help like the rest.”

  Naomi passed by the ticket-collecting booth. No one worked the counters. No security workers stood by. No emergency exit signs glowed. It appeared that the rapture had come and Naomi missed it.

  Natural light spilled down the stairs.

  Faint sounds loudened with every step they conquered.

  The conservatively-dressed woman swallowed her fear. “What’s that?”

  Naomi slowed her ascent. She listened.

  Distant shouting.

  Screams.

  Muffled cries of pain.

  Naomi left three helpers with the injured woman, and she rushed up the stairs.

  As she neared the exit, sunlight pierced her eyes. She cupped her hand over her brow. A gust of chilling wind splashed against her as she stepped out. Chill bumps speckled her body. Her jog ended as her jaw fell open.

  The others from her exodus journey gasped.

  “God help us,” one said.

  At the heart of morning rush hour, a sea of cars were smashed together . Bodies jutted from broken windshields. Screams escaped from vehicles crushed like soda cans. Skyscrapers and streetlights were blacked out. A man with a cut head staggered aimlessly through the wreckages. Others broke off a bent door to save a woman. Many tried their phones, getting violently frustrated at the lack of function.

  The spire of Town Hall stood in the distance. The destruction spread down all streets and for miles in every direction.

  Naomi’s world spun as she put the signs together. Only one thing could cause so much destruction in a matter of seconds.

  An EMP.

  2

  9:11 A.M

  Crashed cars. Bloody people. Yelling. Screaming. No cops. No sirens. The wind chill kicked up. Bleak iron clouds covered the sky.

  Naomi’s mind went to her thirteen-year-old daughter.

  Behind her, the frail old woman moaned in pain. Those supporting the lady looked to Naomi for guidance.

  She buried her fear behind intense focus. “There’s a hospital not far from here,” she said, forming a mental image of the city. She pointed to a street up ahead. “This way.”

  The thuggish man gestured to the countless injured people strewn across the road. “What about them?”

  Naomi’s stomach twisted. “Someone else will have to help them.”

  Wanting to escape the horrors, Naomi quickly got off Broad Street and started for Pennsylvania Hospital. She navigated cluttered back roads and side streets. Moving at a brisk pace, Naomi assisted those who were injured directly in her path, telling them about the hospital as she helped them to their feet. A small portion of selfless people trailed behind her, assisting those whom she missed. She made sure to never stop moving for more than a few seconds.

  Staggered, dazed, and injured, a crowd of seventy followed Naomi by the time she reached the private 534-bed hospital. A statue of William Penn, dressed in colonial attire with a charter paper in hand, stood on a pedestal surrounded by a manicured but frostbitten lawn. Large, colonial-style pillars pressed flush against the face of the main brick building. America’s first medical library and surgical amphitheater resided within.

  Naomi walked among the injured. Some of her unnamed helpers carried the weak. Others lent moral support. Most were at a loss for words. Naomi pushed open the hospital’s doors. Emergency lights glowed in the corners of the waiting room, meaning they had active back-up generators. Receptionists scrambled. Nurses rushed in and out of various doors. On-the-move doctors spoke to each other with quick, complex medical jargon. The environment was tense, chaotic, and moved like a machine with dozens of moving parts. It was about to be bombarded by seventy new people.

  Just as Naomi told her people to be orderly, they rushed by her and swarmed the desk.

  The desk workers shouted over their complaints. “The hospital will be at capacity within the hour! We implore you to find another medical facility!”

  “We’re bleeding here!” one of the men shouted.

  More jeers followed.

  Naomi pressed through the crowd and stopped in front of the head receptionist. Terror, dread, and stress bleached the woman’s face.

  “These people need your help,” Naomi told her firmly.

  The receptionist batted her eyes around the room. “We lost power to the ICU less than an hour ago. Do you understand how many lives were lost, even in the few seconds it took for the emergency power to activate?”

  Naomi couldn’t even imagine. She spoke softly, coming to terms with the reality that she’d need to lead these people to another hospital. “Are you sure there’s nothing you can do?”

  The receptionist sighed deeply as she looked at the frail old lady, the young mother with the screaming child, and the many more in varying states of duress. “I’ll talk to the doctors, but until we get power fully restored, we’re moving at a snail’s pace.”

  “It’s better than nothing,” Naomi said, able to breathe again.

  The receptionist shouted over the loud crowd. “But, we won’t get anywhere if they don’t calm down!”

  Naomi turned back to the crowd. She mustered her courage and yelled. “Listen up!”

  The people bickered louder.

  Naomi stepped onto a chair and cupped her hands around her mouth. “Hey!”

  Her voice quieted the room and brought all eyes to her.

  “The medical staff is just as freaked out and confused by this situation as the rest of us. And like the rest of us, they want to get home to their families. Nevertheless, they have chosen to sacrifice their time and security to help you. So, please, calm down and let them do their job. They will get around to you, but only if there is order. Make sense?”

  The crowd grumbled. They didn’t like being bossed around, let alone by a woman.

  Naomi continued nonetheless. “Please let the children and elderly with pressing injuries go first.” She waved in those with broken bones and signs of internal injuries to take the lead. When some sembla
nce of order had been established, she stepped down from the chair and approached the frail old lady seated nearby. A nurse patted down her head wound with gauze. The thuggish man, the cross bearer, and the conservatively-dressed woman stood by her.

  “Thank you, guys,” Naomi said with a tired smile.

  “No, thank you,” the conservatively-dressed woman replied. “I would’ve gotten lost if I had gone by myself.”

  Naomi lowered herself to eye level with the frail old lady. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  The old lady gave Naomi a weary smile. “You’ve done enough, darling. Run along now. I’m sure you got a handsome man and a few little ones waiting for you.”

  Naomi looked up at the others, silently seeking their permission to leave.

  They nodded.

  Straightening up, Naomi thanked them and hurried out the door. By the time she was outside, she was sprinting across the lawn.

  Her mission was her daughter, knowing the city would be in complete pandemonium within hours.

  Loosely following in the footsteps of psychologist Jean Piaget, Naomi believed that environment influenced a person’s development far more than genetics. But, the true master influencer was personal perception. Once people realized that law enforcement was crippled, a new wave of crime would erupt. Car crashes were just the beginning of the trouble. If Naomi’s EMP theory was correct, every heater had just died. Food would start to spoil and water would be shut off. All planes would be landlocked. Communication would be severely limited. Most people would be trapped inside the city for weeks or months.

  The cold would be the deadliest killer.

  Naomi tried to remember what her brother Allen had said about this type of doomsday scenario. Being a retired Navy Seal/prepper, he was a credible source that Naomi regretted not taking seriously. She’d love to ask him for advice right now, but he was in Virginia, four hundred miles away.