Fried Grids

The birds were chirping, but it was unusually quiet as the sun rose over home. It's not as if I was sleeping, because I don't do that anymore. Well, not like I should. As I lay there, desperately wishing I had gotten more than two hours of sleep, I noticed my fitness watch was dead. At least I'd have a good reason not to pay attention to it today.

I'm Jack. And I had a lot to do. They say when you retire, you should keep busy. What they don't tell you is that you'll be busier than you were in the past few years of your working life. I'd traded one hustle for another. And while I planned on enjoying life, there were days I wanted to vegetate, watch an old movie, and let the world pass me by. But that was not to be.

Like most mornings, I got out of bed and made breakfast. It was nothing too fancy. Four pieces of turkey bacon, two scrambled eggs, and whole wheat toast with butter. I poured a cup of orange juice and took breakfast out to the deck to sit and eat. Even as I ate, it was unusually quiet.

I wondered, where is the garbage man? It was Wednesday. Wednesday was garbage pickup. Usually, they were already through with my street by now. As I ate, I enjoyed the morning sun on my face. This had become my routine unless it was raining, which was nearly constant by the end of the summer. But the rains always seemed to come about in the mid-afternoon.

Old man Charlie walked by, taking his little Taco Bell dog for a walk. He hated the dog, but it was his now late wife's, and he'd promised her. We made small talk as he walked by with Herbie on his leash. I didn't mind the little mutt. He was friendly. A little neurotic for my tastes, but that wasn't a big issue outdoors.

"It's a nice day," Charlie commented as he walked down the street, Herbie stopping to sniff around my fence line.

"Aye, a beautiful day. It's a little quieter than normal," I commented.

Charlie and Herbie wandered off, heading south from our adjacent corners. As he did, I instinctively looked at my watch, then remembered the battery issue. It was near seven or later, I would guess. I began to wonder why it was so quiet.

"What's the date?" I asked myself.

One thing about being retired is losing track of the dates. It happens as you get used to not having to get up and go to work. You get reminders, particularly when a bill comes due, or it's one of the kids' birthdays. Otherwise, the smaller dates tend to blend into the rest of your more lax routine.

As I finished breakfast, I headed into the house and heard the first noise of the day. Sirens? It made me wonder: what idiot didn't know how to drive? From my deck, I could tell that the rescue squad, a fire engine, and two patrol cars were headed north along Henderson Street.

I didn't want to sound like an old man, but those dammed kids should be taught to drive better than they are. There was an accident once a week on the stretch of Henderson that crossed Fremont, and it was always because of teenage drivers. I went inside, put my dishes away, and changed into my sweats and a T-shirt.

I'd given up running. But some light jogging or a regular walk was good for me at 57. I'd always go from home toward the main drag on my side of town. As I walked, a couple of teenagers who lived down the street stood in their yards. They looked...confused.

I walked to the corner to get a coffee and visit with the store staff. Several older types had the same routine. We'd get coffee, check our lottery tickets, indulge in our vices, and converse with the girls who worked the store. The group included a retired railroad employee, a retired Sheriff, and a couple of city workers who were retired on duty.

When I arrived at the corner, I noticed the oddest thing. People were standing around, with desperate and confused looks on their faces.

"What the hell is going on?" I questioned.

Hmmm...

The store was closed. It was unusual, but if I'd missed a holiday or something, it would explain why the garbage hadn't been picked up and why the kids weren't walking to school. I had yet to see a single yellow bus. Which, by September of 2027, we all knew was a bad sign. Kids were getting dumber each year. They didn't need more time out of school.

I walked home, and as I did, I heard even more sirens. The sirens were beginning to overlap, and from nearly every direction. As I got to the house, I decided to turn on the television.

"Nothing but static," I said, flipping through stations.

That was odd. The way people were acting, the constant static across all the channels, and the roaring sirens that sounded like they were everywhere all pointed to a real problem. But what could it be? I was fine. There wasn't a civil alert

Oh well, I thought. Whatever it is, I'm sure it'll pass. I went out to my garage and started my 67 Impala. I cranked up the radio and drove. About five minutes from my house was a BP station.

As I rolled into the station, all the pumps were down. I went to the door, and there was a sign reading, "Closed."

I thought, " So much for getting gas."

As I pulled out of the gas station lot, I noticed some kids walking, their hands nervously shaking. They weren't headed to school. If I liked people, perhaps I'd have stopped and asked what holiday it was. Instead, I drove out to the lake and went for a walk.

When I got home later, the cable was still out. I hopped on my computer and tried to see what the news of the day was. As I did, I heard a commotion outside, followed by a burst of weapons fire.

I grabbed my Glock and ran toward the door. Looking outside, there were two patrol officers and an eighteen-year-old lying on the ground. Later, I'd learn the kid had flipped out and attacked her mother with a kitchen knife. They'd only lived in the neighborhood for six months, but I hadn't seen any indication this was possible.

"Dammed world's lost its mind," one of the officers commented as they asked questions about the neighbors.

"Yeah, I noticed. What's going on?"

The officer looked at me, a puzzled expression on his face. He asked if I'd tried using my cellphone today, which I hadn't.

"Honestly, sir. You're one of the luckier ones. If you didn't have the solar set up, you wouldn't have power. If you didn't have an older car, you wouldn't be able to get anywhere."

In the middle of the night, while the world rested in darkness, a massive coronal mass ejection had wiped out the cell towers, and satellite systems were mostly fried. Power was out across most of the state. And there were reports of massive panic over the lack of cellular connectivity.

"We've been to three accidents, five disturbances, a riot, several domestic calls, and all of it over people panicking."

The officers got another call and excused themselves. I sat there, in disbelief. As the ultimate horror show unfolded in my city, I hadn't had a clue. All I'd noticed was the eerie quiet and something in the air. That something was the odor of trouble.

I grabbed a small bag from the bottom of my closet. It had a shotgun, another Glock, and six boxes of ammunition. With the solar system, I'd have power and wouldn't need to worry.

Putting the bag next to me, I sat in my favorite chair and picked up a novel. I'd been meaning to read Under the Dome by Stephen King. Now seemed like the perfect time. A massive CME making it close enough to the surface could have fried everything. Fortunately for those who know how to deal with people without a device, we'll be fine.

And now, on to Chapter One.