He sat down for a moment at his desk, setting the flashlight on end so that the beam pointed to the ceiling, filling the room with a reflected glow. The office had always driven Mary crazy. She expected "better" of a military man to which his retort always was that she had also married a professor. Stacks of paper were piled up on either side of his desk, filed, he used to say, by "geological strata.
The other walls were lined with photos, his framed degrees, Mary's degree, pictures of the kids. He stood gazing at the bookshelf for a moment, pulled several books from the outer layer aside, found what he wanted, and fished the volume out. He had not opened it in years, not since leaving the war college.
Sitting down and propping the book on his knees, he held the flashlight with one hand, checked the chapter headings of the work, a mids dot-matrix computer printout, then sat back and read for half an hour. He finally put the report down on his desk. Behind him was a locked cabinet, and opening his desk, he pulled out a single key, unlocked the cabinet, and swung the door open.
He reached in, hesitated for a second, deciding which one, then pulled out his pump gauge bird gun. From the ammunition rack he opened up a box of bird shot, and slipped three rounds in. The bird shot was not a killing load, except at very close range, but definitely a deterrent.
Next was the pistol. It was, he knew, an eccentric touch. A cap-and-ball Colt Dragoon. A big, heavy mother of a gun, the sight of it enough to scare the crap out of most drunks. John had actually been forced to use it once for real, back in his undergraduate days, before he met Mary. He was living off campus, in a farmhouse shared with half a dozen other guys, all of them rather hippieish that year, long haired, the year he definitely smoked a little too much dope.
Some local good old boys had taken a distinct dislike to "long-haired faggots" living nearby and one night did a "drive-by," blowing out the kitchen door with a load of buckshot, yelling for the faggots to come out and get what they deserved.
His roommates were freaked, one of them cried that they were in the middle of Deliverance. But their attackers had not counted on one of the "faggots" being from New Jersey, already into Civil War reenacting, and someone who knew guns. He had come out, Dragoon revolver in hand, leveled it, and fired off two rounds of his cannon. Not aiming to kill, just to make them duck a bit. After pumping out the two rounds, he lowered his aim straight at the chest of the redneck with the shotgun.
The rednecks piled into their truck and disappeared in one helluva hurry, his buddies standing on the porch, in awe as he walked back, feeling more than a little like Gary Cooper in High Noon. What had truly scared him? The realization that he was ready to kill one of the bastards if they had tried to venture another shot.
Reflecting on it later, he didn't like that feeling at all, and hoped he'd never have it again. The following morning, a Saturday, the landlord had come over with a case of beer, asked to see this now-legendary gun, and said that "you boys got some respect now.
John recognized him, there was a tense moment, and the redneck broke out laughing, brought John a beer, and told everyone the story, concluding with "this Yankee boy's OK," and they shook hands. Damn, even then he did love the South. The revolver was already loaded, and he put it on his desk. He suddenly realized someone was in the room and looked up. It was Jen in the doorway. Without taking his shoes off, John stretched out on the sofa in his office, laying the shotgun down on the floor by his side.
It was a long couple of hours before he finally drifted to sleep. As he began to fall asleep, Zach disengaged himself from Jennifer's embrace, came out to the office, and with a sigh settled down by John's side. He fumbled for the shotgun, got half to his feet, and heard Elizabeth cursing. Jennifer was sitting up, Rabs tucked under her arm, smiling.
Coffee, damn it, coffee. He pulled the foil bag down, the paper filter, made the coffee extra strong, filled the pot up, poured it in, and flicked the switch. He stood there like an idiot for a good minute before the realization hit. Fumbling in his pocket, he got out a cigarette and lit it. Though he was watching the pot, it finally did come to a boil, and a minute later he had a cup, doing it the old way he had learned in the Boy Scouts: throw a couple of spoonfuls of coffee into the cup, pour the hot water in, and to hell with the grinds.
He mixed a second cup and she looked at it with disdain. She went back into the kitchen and opened the fridge, sniffing the plastic jug of milk after opening it, then came back out on the porch, taking a sip. Never liked those Mr. Coffee machines.
The coffee and cigarette were working their magic, bringing him awake. Unlike the vast majority of men who had made careers in the army, he had never adjusted to early morning rising and hated all those who could do it, especially the cheerful ones. His instinct always was to be a night owl, to go to sleep around two or three, then wake up at nine or ten for his first lecture at eleven. The college had learned that quickly and never scheduled a class for him prior to that time.
But he did have to admit, mornings were beautiful and he regretted missing them at times. Mary had been a morning person. He thought about her. The memory was too painful and he let it drop. He nodded. The flame had spread out, a plume of smoke flattening out, then drifting down towards the Asheville reservoir in the valley below. Looked like a hundred acres or more. Far in the distance, out on the distant horizon, he saw two more plumes of smoke from fires. The world was silent, no traffic; down in Black Mountain nothing was moving.
Nothing had changed. Jennifer came out on the porch as well, Rabs tucked under her arm. She looked so adorable. When asleep, or half-awake as she was now, there was still that certain look, the eyes of a baby still there. Everyone will be down there; I want to see what's happening. It's the 20 gauge, so don't be afraid of it.
The safety is off, but I don't have a round chambered in it. So if need be, pump and then shoot. I think something serious has gone down. There's no power, nothing. But if it's a stranger, I want you to stand in the doorway, but use the frame to cover yourself.
Let them see you have a gun pointed in their direction. Don't take any bullshit or con lines. I don't care how pathetic they might look. If they're looking for a phone, water, help, just tell them to walk on into town and there'll be people there to help them. Got it? None of this warning-shot crap.
You aim straight at their midsection and squeeze. If it's more than one man, drop the one closest to you, or anyone armed. And remember what I said about what was most dangerous.
Mary had always said it was such a sexist line. You make it clear you're not taking," John hesitated, "not taking any shit and chances are you'll go through life and never have to pull a trigger. Keep Jennifer close by; if Pat comes up to play, so much the better.
Jen was inside. I think you used to call it past first base. All the "female"-related issues he had left to the care of Grandma Jen, including "the talks," other than the traditional old-style father routine of glaring at any boy who started to hang around.
John knew he wasn't much of a father for this new century, maybe a bit old-fashioned, but that was the way he was raised. We lost Mom, but you lost your wife, your friend and companion. Jennifer and I, we're filling in for some of the loss, and down deep you hate the thought that we're growing up and, in doing that, eventually we're moving away from you as well.
But it's the truth, Dad. It's OK. He sniffled a bit, nodded, then smiled. Wise beyond her years. Used to throw Tyler for a loop sometimes. It was cooling, but that didn't matter, though two cups and two cigarettes without a breakfast did make his stomach feel a bit jumpy. The road was empty, except for a lone trucker, sitting in his cab, door open, puffing on a cigar, the driver waving to John. It was the guy from the night before, and the sight of him was a reassurance.
John felt a bit of relief, fearful that something ugly might have indeed happened down here during the night, but all was quiet, no sign of any problems. Coming up State Street, he passed the elementary school. The front door was propped open, and for a second he wondered if indeed school was open today but then realized that all the school buses were still parked in the lot. There was a hand-lettered sign out front: "Emergency Shelter. Typical of Pete, always there for the town.
John honked and Pete looked up in surprise, as did those on the line, and Pete waved. The light up ahead was off and John had to slow down, half a dozen cars blocking the road. It forced him to swing over to the eastbound side and he came to a stop first, looking both ways. It felt absurd doing it. Of course there was no traffic in sight other than all the stalled cars at the intersection. He weaved around, turned right, and pulled into Smiley's convenience store, got out of the car, and walked in.
Two days after "that day" the FBI had shown up and arrested him, claiming that there was a report that he had made a statement in support of the attack and would love to help out if anything was tried locally. The arrest, to John's delight, had triggered a firestorm. The town turned out, rallied support, harassed the daylights out of the district's congressman to investigate, and finally Hamid had returned, a block party being held for him.
On the morning after his return, a huge hand-lettered sign was plastered across the window of his store. God bless a l l of you, m y friends. People coming in from the highway. It's been nuts. Hamid shook his head. John rattled off several more brands until finally he got a hit with Kool Lights. You've always been a good guy to me. I'm not even sure about giving you money at the moment. Things might be a whole lot worse than it looks right now.
You're kidding? At the moment he'd have emptied his wallet for one pack, but now he could take them without feeling guilty. Nearly all the beer was gone, most of the soda as well. Munchies, chips, pork rinds, all gone. Hamid laughed. Must have a couple thousand in cash here. Maybe for strangers from the highway, but my friends here?
Stash them away; from now on, if you want to sell them to friends, do so just one pack at a time. The fire station and police station were on his right and there was a moderate-size crowd there, all looking in his direction. He pulled in, got out of his car, this time locking it and pocketing the keys. He was also a long-standing member of their Civil War Roundtable and often John's chief antagonist when it came to debates about the Constitutional justice of the Southern cause.
John looked around at the open parking area. All the fire engines were hangared inside the building along with the ambulance.
Charlie shook his head. It's been a difficult night. One overweight out-of-shape guy walked in from the highway and collapsed right here, right where we're standing. I have no ambulance, nothing. We got Doc Kellor over, but the guy was already gone. Tyler's OK, though," he added quickly. Everything, landline phone, radio. I have not heard a word from Asheville and I'm in the dark.
Jim pulled up by John's Edsel and got out. The sight of Jim always cracked John up; it was as if he had stepped out of a time machine from , raggedy jeans, collarless shirt, headband like the kind Willie Nelson used to wear, the only giveaway of time passage the fact that Jim's chestlength beard and short-length hair were nearly all gray.
Jim smiled. The Mayan Prophecy. They were saying December , but somebody obviously got the date wrong. He raised his voice a bit. The Day of Doom, just like them Mayans predicted. Jim's right, this could be it. Wait until you see what happens to the sun. Jim looked at him confused. You want to scare the crap out of them at a time like this? Come on, my friend, chill out, let parents tell their kids in their own way. If his friend tried to collar Jim and make a scene, it just might very well start the panic rolling.
Charlie got the message. Just I don't want the kids getting frightened any more than they already are. So do us all a favor, and don't talk about this Mayan stuff for right now. Got it. Also the old Jeep down at Butler's Garage still runs, though. We've got that out on the highway now, checking on some emergency cases that people reported.
Guess he's stuck in Asheville. John stepped between Jim and Tom. Though most of his career in the military had been spent behind books or up front in a classroom, he had led troops in the field and still did remember a bit about command voice, and he used it now.
Tom bristled slightly, but Charlie smiled. The mayor's inside; let's go to her office. You know you're a hair up Tom's butt. Keep an eye on the cars. Help keep people calm and no more of this stuff about prophecies. John walked into Mayor Kate Lindsey's office and she looked up from behind her desk, blearyeyed. They were old friends. Kate and Mary had grown up together. Never should have run for a third term. Damn thankless job at the best of times, and now this. Did Tom tell you that someone came down from the nursing home?
They've got three dead up there. The boy had been a freshman at the college. Car accident three years ago, the usual story, a drunk who walked away from it, had left the boy in a vegetative state, kept alive by a respirator, his parents clinging to hope.. Well, that was finished. Those folks up there are going to be facing one helluva lawsuit," Kate snapped.
I had a bit of a confrontation with a drunk last night. You want to press charges or anything? Kate looked out the window and then back to John. No one listened, of course, other than the officers taking our classes. I kept a copy as a reference. What you want is chapter four on EMP.
Glad you came in, in fact was hoping you might know something. Are you saying this is some sort of terrorist thing? Electromagnetic Pulse. It's the by-product of a nuclear detonation. We got to start moving on that right now. This gets a little complex.
When you got some time, read the article; that will explain it better. Is this a war? I know as much as you do at the moment as to what is going on outside of right here, in Black Mountain, but that alone tells me a lot. I'm starved and could use a little more caffeine.
Kate made it a point to remain firmly in her chair, not budging an inch. That bolt is maybe packing thousands of amps the microchip in your computer runs on hundredths of an amp. It just cooks it off. Not much back then with those primitive weapons, but it was there.
And here's the key thing: there were no solid-state electronics back in the s, everything was still vacuum tubes, so it was rare for the small pulses set off by those first bombs to damage anything. It becomes like a pebble triggering an avalanche, the electrical disturbances magnifying. It's in the report. It's called the "Compton Effect. When we did those articles back in the nineties, we were getting word that the Chinese were doing a helluva lot of research on how to boost the EMP from a nuclear blast, making it a helluva lot more powerful.
Maybe even the Pentagon doesn't know yet. Did the Pentagon exist? There was no news. One scenario that his group had kicked around was an initial EMP strike to take down communications, then selected ground bursts of nukes on key sites to finish the job. It was maddening; John just did not know. You pop off a nuke that sends out this strong electromagnetic wave, it fries off communications, and a lot of other things, then either sit back or continue.
The frightful thing we realized was that some third-rate lunatic, either a terrorist cell member or the ruler of someplace like North Korea or Iran, with only one or two nukes in their possession, could level the playing field against us in spite of our thousands of weapons.
That's what is meant by 'asymmetrical strike. Our electronic equipment was getting more and more sensitive to it. She looked at it, thumbed through it. It's OK, Kate. EMP doesn't really hit unless you blow off the bomb above the atmosphere. Again the 'Compton effect,' and believe me, I've read about it, but don't have a real grasp on it myself; I need a tech head for that.
Just that the burst above the atmosphere sets off an electro-disturbance, kind of like a magnetic storm, which cascades down into the lower atmosphere like a sheet of lightning and bango, it fries everything with electronics in it.
That same thing now sits in the palm of my kid's hand when she's playing one of those damn games. If so, no regrets there at least. For that matter, anything hooked into our electrical web goes as well. Electrical lines are like giant antennas when it comes to EMP, and guide it straight into your house, through the sockets, and, wham, right into anything hooked up.
Seems like this EMP moves a lot faster than ordinary power surges like from lightning. Not faster in terms of speed, just that the impact hits and peaks faster, three or four times that of a lightning bolt hitting your electric line.
So fast that the relay inside the surge protector doesn't have time to trigger off and boom, the whole system is fried. That's why it's so darn dangerous. It fries out all electronics before any of the built-in protections can react.
That's why. I saw an article on the Web about this a couple of months back, and it was a lot worse than what we were talking about just two years ago. Some people who don't like us have apparently been spending a lot of time and money to get a bigger bang for the buck. She was so damn right. And besides, a lot of people i n high places, well, they just glazed over when the scientists started with the technical jargon, the reports would go into committees, and.
John nodded, frustrated. This, though, it didn't have the hype, no big stars or politicians running around shouting about it. No computers in the engine, and vacuum tubes in the radio. The surge had nothing to fry off; therefore, it still runs.
Now everything in a car is wired into some kind of computer. Better living through modern science. Kate was glaring at him, as was Tom. The town had a no-smoking ordinance for all its buildings. John hesitated, but damn, he wanted one now. It was Mary's dying that had snagged him back into smoking after being clean for ten years.
The army had started getting uptight on it, and amongst all the other aspects of grooming for the star, smoking was a checkmark against him with some of the bean counters and actuaries in the Pentagon who argued why invest the effort on a guy who might die early? He hated leading someone back into sin, but on this day.
He lit her cigarette. She leaned back in her chair, inhaled deeply, let it out, and sighed. Damn, is it good. All of it was waiting to get hit.
Done something about it. The president, Homeland Security. Hell, I was getting e-mails damn near every day on terrorist alerts, training on what to do if they hijacked a truck loaded with nuclear waste, even a drill with the hospital last year if they unleashed some sort of plague.
I got twenty bio and hazmat suits in a storage closet. Never even heard about this thing being talked about. It was off most people's screens. Seemed too sci-fi to some of them. But that doesn't matter now. Tom shook his head. It's an old tube radio. I checked it last night.
Static from one end to the other. If this thing was local, if they had popped a bomb over Atlanta, Charlotte, we'd still be picking up radio stations from the Midwest and Northeast," "Why? Line of sight, like I said. I'll guess it was one to three nukes, lit off a couple of hundred miles up above the atmosphere, covered most, maybe all, of the United States.
Fallout is a by-product of rubble blown up into the atmosphere from a bomb going off. Pop an EMP above the atmosphere. That caught John slightly off guard. Charlie was strict Southern Baptist, and for him to say that. You know that one of my nephews is with the navy out in the Pacific. I sure as hell would like to know who they're fighting. If it was the Chinks, my nephew will be in it.
The rag heads and it's my son. You said they were the ones doing the research. Doubt it. They are just as vulnerable to EMP as we are. Do it to us and we'd flatten them and they know it. What the hell do you think the threat was to Saddam back in ? Charlie, you were over there then, same as me; you remember.
Again, just like a solar flare, usually the upper atmosphere absorbs the magnetic disturbance of a solar flare and up north we see that as the northern lights. But if it's big enough, the disturbance hits the ground and starts shorting things out.
They didn't, so we didn't. Remember, it's line of sight. Twenty miles up, our forces in Saudi Arabia would have been below the horizon. Besides, all our equipment was hardened against EMP to varying degrees. They spent a lot of money on that back during the Reagan years.
That's the gist of the report I just gave you. Every administration since Reagan's has placed hardening of our electronics on the back shelf. Meanwhile the equipment kept getting more delicate and thus susceptible and the potential power of the burst kept getting one helluva lot stronger.
Remember how we were all wowed by the high-tech stuff back in That equipment is now as primitive as a steam engine compared to what we got now. And in constantly making computers and electronics faster and better we made them smaller, more compact, and more and more vulnerable to an EMP strike.
As for the warhead, we all know there's enough of those left over from the old Soviet Union that sooner or later someone would get their hands on, if for nothing else than the goodies inside that go bang.
Iran and Korea were hellbent on making nukes as well. But they'd be crazy to throw three or four at us when we could make the rubble glow for a hundred years with a thousand fired back in reply. But turn them into EMP weapons.
Get that close and even an old Scud could just about get the package high enough. One like I said, maybe two or three, and you've just castrated the entire country.
Hell no. The leaders will survive; they're most likely down in bunkers a thousand feet deep laughing their asses off right now. Hell, if we flatten them, they'll tell their own people that survive that we struck first and then they got millions more followers. John looked at him and smiled. He will attack where you are weakest. If you do not know your weakest point, be certain, your enemy will. It's what happens here in Black Mountain that does.
Or even from Raleigh or Asheville? Yesterday, her biggest concern was the hot argument in the town about who would be grand marshal this year for the Fourth of July parade, that and the continuing wrangle with Asheville about water rates. I've got five hundred strangers from the interstate on my hands this morning. What the hell should we do with them for starters. John did not reply. John realized that for the last fifteen hours they had been waiting for "someone else" to tell them what to do.
The reality was beginning to hit, that there just might no longer be "someone else. We don't have any means then of pumping more back up to the tank. Most of the town will be dry within a day. The dam face is at twenty five hundred feet above sea level, so at least here in town we'll get some, but anyone above that elevation line is screwed.
At least we have the pool, thank God. It was Tom. I'll give you a lift home, but I do need it. You declaring martial law? Just try. Just a bit of advice, Kate. You better go over to Smiley's and get several cartons. Cash only. If Hamid says he doesn't have cartons, pull rank on him. He's hiding them in the back of the store. You better load up now 'cause you're going to need them. Tom hesitated. I haven't slept since yesterday. Sorry about back in there," and he extended his hand. John took it.
I know I might not be the brightest lightbulb in the pack. You're the smart guy. I like my job, though, and try to do what's right. This third novel in the series will pick up a month after One Year After ends, emersing readers once more in this story of our nation's struggle to rebuild itself after an electromagnetic pulse wipes out all electricity and plunges the country into darkness, starvation, and death" This trend of self-reliance is not merely evidence of the American belief in the power of the individual; rather, this pragmatic shift away from expecting government aid during a disaster reflects a weakened belief in the bond between government and its citizens during a time of crisis.
This ethnographic study explores the rise of the urban preppers' subculture in New York City, shedding light on the distinctive approach of city dwellers in preparing for disaster. A rich qualitative study, Bracing for the Apocalypse will appeal to scholars of sociology and anthropology with interests in urban studies, ethnography and subcultures. Hans Bethe's lectures dealt with two themes: the astrophysical importance of neutrinos in supernova outbursts and a theoretical account of neutrinos through observations of the neutrino flux from the centre of the sun.
Anyone interested in understanding the processes involved in the collapse and explosion of a large star would certainly find this book enlightening.
Alan H. Guth's lecture dealt with the various aspects of the origin of the universe — a topic which never fails to intrigue. The originator of the inflation scenario for the Big Bang theory, Guth has included his latest observations on the COBE satellite and their theoretical interpretation in this lecture. Anyone wishing to grasp the essentials of these ideas, will find in Guth's lecture a wealth of knowledge.
A special study reveals interesting facts on the callaboration between Oskar Klein and Yoshio Nishima in and further, surprising facts on the treatment by the Nobel Committee for Physics of the prize to A H Compton in Some translated autobiographic texts have also been included to acquaint the reader with Klein's interest in cosmology and his attempts to find the driving force behind the expanding system of galaxies, what Klein termed the Meta-galaxy.
The idea of a computer program is considered, along with data banks and the movement and storage of information. Advances in computer technology are also discussed.
Comprised of nine chapters, this book begins with an assessment of the interaction between computer developments and social pressures. The interplay between the exciting possibilities of computer networking and the social implications of computer technology is highlighted by focusing on planning networks and public information networks. The next two chapters provide a basic understanding of computers and programming by describing key concepts such as computer graphics, networks, microcomputers, and program design.
The next five chapters give a comprehensive overview of the impact of computers on the cybernetic society. The final chapter explains how hardware works and describes the circuitry that computers use to execute a program at the level of machine-language instructions. This monograph is intended for both students and instructors in the fields of computer science and cybernetics.
But what about relativity? Physics professor Chad Orzel and his inquisitive canine companion, Emmy, tackle the concepts of general relativity in this irresistible introduction to Einstein's physics. A lively romp through one of the great theories of modern physics, How to Teach Relativity to Your Dog will teach you everything you ever wanted to know about space, time, and anything else you might have slept through in high school physics class.
As the bitter weather of late fall descends on Minneapolis, Detective Nikki Liska is restless, already bored with her new assignment to the cold case squad. She misses the rush of pulling an all-nighter and the sense of urgency of hunting a killer on the loose. Most of all she misses her old partner, Sam Kovac. Meanwhile, Minneapolis resident Evi Burke has a life she only dreamed of as a kid in and out of foster care: a beautiful home, a loving family, a fulfilling job.
But a danger from her past is stalking her idyllic present, bent on destroying the perfect life she was never meant to have. We do not guarantee that these techniques will work for you. Some of the techniques listed in One Second After may require a sound knowledge of Hypnosis, users are advised to either leave those sections or must have a basic understanding of the subject before practicing them. DMCA and Copyright : The book is not hosted on our servers, to remove the file please contact the source url.
If you see a Google Drive link instead of source url, means that the file witch you will get after approval is just a summary of original book or the file has been already removed. Loved each and every part of this book. I will definitely recommend this book to fiction, apocalyptic lovers. Your Rating:. Your Comment:.
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