That evening he went over to her house and helped her select things to go ahead and take up the first chance they had. He added a few things to her bug out bag and went over a few procedures in case she did have to go up by herself.
Buddy sweated out the next couple of days. He’d ordered a windmill generator and a solar photovoltaic system. With the things going the way they were, he wasn’t sure if he’d get them before something else happened.
People were postponing jobs on him right and left, though there were a couple of rush jobs. Buddy had the time to do a little more shopping himself. Stores were running out of many things, but he was able to pick up most of what he wanted. Most of it was things that he would wind up using anyway, even if nothing more serious happened.
Charlene wasn’t getting much business so she took the day off when Buddy was ready to take another load of things up.
On the way home that evening Buddy was explaining the whys and wherefores of some of the items that Charlene had helped him shelve that afternoon when the radio station they had on, low, announced a special bulletin. Buddy quickly pulled over to the side of the road when the first announcement came of the tremendous earthquakes in California and Missouri and Illinois. Buddy turned up the volume and they listened to the report.
Charlene gasped when the reporter stated that terrorists had used nuclear weapons to create the earthquakes and destroy the United Nations building. She looked over at Buddy, her alarm obvious in her face. “Buddy…” she asked tentatively.
“It’s okay. Doesn’t sound like it’s a general attack. Just terrorists.” Buddy shook his head. “Did I just say that? Just terrorists? I want to get home and see what the news networks are reporting. I’ll drop you off so you can…”
Charlene cut him off. “Buddy, I don’t want to be by myself. What if there are more attacks?”
“Okay. You can stay at the house tonight. I’m not sure how much sleep we’ll get. Because you’re right. This could be the start.”
Buddy took Charlene home the next morning when there were no reports of further terrorist activity. He made her promise that if something really bad happened and she couldn’t get hold of him she would go up to the shelter by herself.
Buddy was finishing up a job, literally putting the final polishing on the sink he’d just installed when the lights went out in the house where he was working. Suddenly the room was flooded with light. When he hurried out of the room he yelled for the lady of the house to get away from the windows, but it was too late.
He dove back into the bathroom, into the bathtub. He heard the glass breaking and the woman’s scream, then the loudest sound he had ever heard. He gave it a few seconds, and then carefully made his way out of the bathroom.
There was nothing he could do for the woman. She was obviously quite dead. The blast wave from the nuclear explosion had shattered the window through which the woman was staring. The broken glass literally shredded the flesh from her bones before it threw her against the far wall. Buddy heard the house creaking. The blast and wind had damaged it severely. Buddy hurried out.
The mushroom cloud was still glowing with heat. None of the houses seemed to have been destroyed, but all looked like they had received moderate to major damage. Buddy tried to start the plumbing truck, but the starter wouldn’t even click. “EMP,” Buddy muttered.
It took only a couple of minutes to get out the mountain bike he’d taken to carrying in the truck. The bike was equipped with a handlebar bag, and panniers hanging on either side of the rear tire from a stout rack. On the rack was strapped a medium size duffle bag.
There was enough equipment and supplies on the bike, Buddy hoped, to get him to the shelter. However, when he climbed on the bike he headed for home, rather than the shelter. The bike would get him to the shelter, but if he could get there with the truck, and more supplies, so much the better.
Buddy cut his eyes toward the mushroom cloud. It was still growing. He stopped long enough to feel the wind on his face. It was from him toward the cloud. The weather pattern should keep it that way. But Buddy was unsure how the nuke blast itself might affect the local weather pattern.
It was a good bike, with good tires. Despite the occasional plea for help from those milling around outside their houses, Buddy knew that if he stopped to help anyone, much less everyone that might be helped, he’d never survive. He changed to a higher gear and sped up, weaving around obstacles.
It took a while, but he was only six miles from home. An hour later he was at the house. Buddy crossed two fingers of his left hand, and turned the key of his truck with his right.
He breathed a sigh of relief when the truck started right up. The EMP had not destroyed the ignition components. He wasn’t worried about any of the other electrical components. As long as the truck would run he was happy.
Buddy quickly set the bike into the back of the truck. It took only a few minutes to add the equipment cases he’d packed and stored in the garage. Just in case. He added the fuel cans from the shed, along with a few other items he kept there.
He heard the survey meter sitting on the seat of the truck began to tick occasionally. He saw some activity at his neighbor’s house on his left. Buddy ran into the house for the last few items he was going to take to the shelter and ran back out. He was glad he had. When he came out his neighbor was just starting to get into Buddy’s pickup.
One of the things Buddy had retrieved from the house was a Stoeger double barrel Coach shotgun. “I don’t think so,” he said forcefully, striding up and blocking the man from closing the door of the truck. “Get out!”
Hands in the air, the man slowly slid out of the truck and stepped away. A few steps, and then he turned and ran back to continue loading his car with what looked like to Buddy, totally useless household items.
Buddy took another moment and strapped on the UM-84 holster rigged tanker style for his primary handgun, a Colt 1911A1. He set the shotgun and the rest of his small collection of weapons in the cab, along with a musette bag with ready ammunition for the pistol and rifles. He added four fifty-caliber ammunition boxes full of additional ammunition to the truck.
He tried to reach Charlene on the FRS radio. No response. Buddy put the truck in gear and pulled out of the driveway, headed toward Charlene’s shop. It took only a moment to read the note taped on the front door. “Gone to the house to get Big Bob.”
She done the identical thing that he had done. Her car wasn’t in her regular parking slot so Buddy assumed the EMP hadn’t damaged it. He drove over to her house and found another note. It was simple. “Shelter.”
Wishing she were with him, instead of on her own, at least Buddy knew she was alive and heading for the shelter. He headed that way himself. The survey meter was still clicking, but Buddy took a moment to glance at the meter. Still under 0.5 R/hr. If it didn’t get much worse for a bit he would be okay.
The roads were jammed. Like quite a few others Buddy put his rig in four-wheel-drive and left the pavement. He’d made careful observations on several different routes out of different parts of the city toward the shelter. He knew where he could stay off pavement and get somewhere and where he had to use the regular roads.
Once he had to use the truck to help push three vehicles off the road that were not working. He didn’t ask if it was lack of fuel or EMP damage. He and another man in a pickup just used their front bumpers to get the vehicles out of the way.
Buddy did a double take when he saw Charlene’s car up ahead. Charlene was taking a bike similar to Buddy’s off the rear rack where she carried it when Buddy got up to her. As horns honked, Buddy stopped and jumped out of the truck to help Charlene load the bike into the truck.