EMP Causality

  EMP CAUSALITY

  Michael Kravitz

  Copyright © 2018 by Michael Kravitz.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.

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  Ordering Information:

  Quantity sales. Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address above.

  Printed in the United States of America

  Library of Congress Control Number 2018946889

  ISBN-13: Softcover 978-1-64348-043-5

  Pdf 978-1-64348-044-2

  ePub 978-1-64348-045-9

  Kindle 978-1-64348-046-6

  Rev. date: 06/22/2018

  Dedication

  To Ricky and Laurie Waters, whom I have both known for a long time. Also, to my brother Barry Kravitz, Jane Moshy, and Nick—all of whom encouraged me to write this novel.”

  Introduction

  The snow and freezing rain was coming down at a pretty good clip. I was on a plane at the Moscow international airport. Out on the tarmac, there was a single operator with a handheld hose. It took him several minutes to defrost the one wing. The knot is my stomach began to churn. Is this surreal or what? The freezing rain seemed to be falling as fast as he was defrosting it. Next, he moved his cart to the other wing. At this point I could have used a stiff drink. You know, my last rights. Instead of “Sully landing in the Hudson,” I imagined Michael ending his journey in a fiery crash while departing from Russia.

  Sitting next to me was a Swedish businessman. I asked him if this is normal.

  He said, “Once the jet is in the air, the ice will dissipate. Things could be worse; we could be flying an aeroflot airplane. Kidding.”

  I looked at him. “Do you like playing Russian roulette?” He smiled. We talked at length. It was his impression that many Americans like to know what a person does for a living. They judge people by their wealth. He prefers to know the person, the places they travel, their hobbies, languages, education, type of family, etc.

  I traveled to Russia in the winter. Being saddened after being let down by people I trusted, and deeply in debt, I needed to get away for a new prospective. Yes, a nice Caribbean trip, drinking a pina colada would be relaxing. The old saying “Misery likes its own company.”

  Traveling alone, I saw a lot. Taking a train ride from Saint Petersburg to Moscow, I met an old lady who spoke broken English. I hired her to be my translator.

  For over ten days, I met a lot of normal Russian people. Their dress code was usually gray and a little depressing. At train stops, I saw military veterans looking for handouts, many of them with missing limbs due to the Afghan war.

  The government had very little funds to take care of them the right way.

  I have also traveled throughout Europe, Scandinavia, and Africa—never as a tourist but alone or with friends. Traveling as a tourist can be educational and safe. Still, you lose the real flavor of the people and their culture.

  My third book, An EMP Casualty, is a sequel to my other two books,

  Boston Darkens and Boston Flickers. I have met a lot of ordinary people both here and abroad. Using characteristics from these people, I decided to throw them in a large bin. Slowly, like a Christmas grab bag, I found a place for each different character.

  Using a cookie-cutter approach, I cut a little section in a Boston metro west town. Actually, it could be any town in the USA. The story involves a major catastrophe: an EMP blast that sets our way of life back to the 1800s. With a few twists, I could have chosen an upper class, lower class, or maybe just people without any kind of class (we all know them). I chose mostly the lower-middle class, the forgotten Americans.

  Do we really know our neighbors? Ever wonder who are these people who live near you? Do they have the same problems and desires as you? Hmmm, enquiring minds want to know. I feel you will enjoy the mixture of people that come together in this neighborhood Collaborative. Their sole purpose is survival.

  The union man, who feels the government is the be all and end all for the masses. The divorcee, with her daughter. After a bad marriage, she needs a better environment for her daughter. The construction man with his two strapping sons, salt of the earth. They do a hard day’s work and have a few beers at night. A “drunk” who lives like a hermit in a broken-down house. Yet no one knows why he drinks so much. The neighbors assume he is destitute. Their assumptions are wrong. A neurotic man. He eats like a bird and takes care of a challenged man. The challenged man. We all see them in our lives, but we don’t understand them. In this book, I have taken this challenge man, and showed you the reader how he might react to an EMP blast. I have also taken a mother and daughter, who have lived in the projects. They are ordinary Americans, of African descent, who are trying to better themselves. They are close friends with main characters in the books, the Randal family.

  As in the first two books, the Randal family are transplants from Nebraska, living the classic dream. Ben works as a microbiologist and his wife is a schoolteacher. Their son is a talented auto mechanic. The love of his life is his classic red Buick. Without a new electronic ignition system, it is one of only a few running vehicles.

  Trouble in paradise. Their daughter, Jessica, becomes involved with an older and refined man. The EMP blast has given this insecure teenager a feeling of being cheated. She wants to live the life of an independent woman. Without rhyme or reason, she sees an illusion of happiness and fulfillment with this man. The Randal family has been torn apart. Ben has enough on his plate. Ben founded the collaborative. It needs him for their survival.

  Besides the needs of the insecure teenager girl, there are also the needs of the challenged man. the needs of Camille, a close friend to the Randal’s. She is of African descent, a collaborative member whose sister lost her only son due to violence. There are road trips and encounters with thugs and biker gangs. The journey they take will not only be filled with emotion and drama, it will also captivate you to the end.

  I have used a little dry humor and a few times I have gone off the reservation. I do this to give you the reader a little break. Like in a Greek tragedy, humor is needed to keep us sane. Without further ado, let the story continue.

  Another EMP Casualty: An Uneasy Homecoming

  Jessica unleashed her backpack. The weight of it seemed to grow as she put the thing down to catch her breath. She and Joshua had been on a long roller coaster ride of emotions. All this was more of a wearing exercise than she was accustomed to. Gym class used to be just an hour of strenuous effort followed by a refreshing shower. But, since the EMP blast, everything slowed down to a strenuous standstill without the shower. Looking for food and surviving the various gangs were now the priority exercises. There was a lot weighing on Jessica`s mind. She missed her parents, school friends, and simple things that only electricity can provide. Without the distraction of light, it was difficult to hide from the void that went deep inside her soul.

  “Can I help you?” interrupted a tall and burly border guard. His fatigue uniform was cleaned and pressed. He hadn’t shaved in several days. With a rifle smartly strung over his shoulder
, he had the look of a seasoned soldier. When he approached, the effect was a little intimidating.

  “We are on a journey home, and we just arrived this morning from Tent City,” quipped Joshua as he watched Jessica undo her long hair. Putting his bag down, he had to be prepared both emotionally and physically for the next leg of his journey.

  The border guard held a clipboard in his hands. It outlined the bounds of the next portion of their journey. The small area that they were about to leave was like a green zone. It was a secured area extending from Boston’s government center (near the waterfront) to several miles outward. Here, within this “green zone,” one could get food, water, and current information.

  The outer wall was a demarcation of civility. Beyond the walls lay danger.

  It was the Wild West. Roving gangs, fires, and a littered landscape sent a strong signal, a feeling of dread for all who entered. The EMP strike caught everyone off guard. A huge reset button had taken a large part of the country into darkness. The grid no longer functioned. The government was unprepared to handle a disaster of this magnitude.

  Waiting for relief, minutes became hours. Hours became days. Soon, the good and bad of human nature bubbled up. A new reality had surfaced.

  Government became a skeleton of its original self. The logistics of feeding, providing medical services and security support for millions without a robust information update mechanism, was unrealistic. The nanny state had become unglued. You might say the circuits of government shorted out into a huge pile of poo.

  Ah Joshua, dear Joshua. He was a young and strapping man. In his early twenties, he had the gift of gab, the personality, and the looks to match. His self-confidence was false to the extent that it had not yet been tempered down by the test of fire. Speaking several languages led to an unfair advantage over other competing salespeople. Like his father, he was a people person. Selling came natural to him. Seeing the success of his father tainted him. College bored him.

  Joshua wanted to dive into deeper waters. That is what he yearned for. Paying close attention to his attire, he became a skilled hunter in pursuit of its prey. His customers were more enamored by him than his product.

  Jessica was more than he bargained for. Who was hunting whom? Joshua was her every dream in life. Romance, a provider, adventure, her sexual fantasies.

  Like a moth to a flame, she was drawn into his web of influence. The EMP strike made a wasteland, not only to a functioning society but to her hopes and dreams. Being an insecure teenager, Jessica knew she had to have Joshua. Her logic gave way to her impulses and desires. In her mind, the EMP strike was robbing all that was promised her. Like a thief in the middle of the night, she felt betrayed. The stage was set for the play to begin.

  Joshua looked at the guard, trying to focus on his next and final leg of the journey home. It was time to man up. Easier said than done. Jessica’s father was enraged that Joshua plucked his beautiful daughter from her nest. Before the rose could bloom, Joshua took the rose from the bouquet. She was the seed he had planted, nourished, and coddled since she entered this world. His emotions clouded all rational parental thought.

  Crossing the barrier would be a dangerous journey into a lawless land full of gangs and desperate survivors. Both Joshua and Jessica had traveled through these lands to come to this green zone. Now Joshua is gathering his wits and composure to traverse it again. He carefully checked his gun, making sure it was loaded. Ah, to walk through this hell, he thought, only to enter another hell. Once he got to their homes, he must face Jessica’s father (Ben Randal). On his last meeting with Ben, he was warned to stay away from his daughter, Jessica. If that was not bad enough, he still has to face his own father.

  “Sir! Sir!” shouted the burly guard as he looked at Joshua. “I need to record your names before you can pass through the barrier.”

  “W-what did you say?” Joshua exclaimed. He was really deep in his thoughts while trying to muster his courage for the journey ahead.

  “I have orders to record the names and time for all that pass through these barriers,” the guard continued in a slow and commanding voice.

  “Oh! I am Joshua and this is Jessica Randal. We just came from Tent City and we are now returning home. Jessica needed some medical attention,” Joshua replied with nervous hesitation. At this point, he pinched himself hard. Inside, his nerves now were exploding. How much stress can one man endure? What if the guard asks their ages. Maybe Jessica’s dad got the word out. Too many what-ifs,

  The guard started flipping through his clipboard. It must have held at least twenty pages. Jessica twirled her hair. Joshua knew that she too was nervous. After a few tense seconds, a smile appeared on the guard’s face.

  “I have it. Joshua and Jessica Randal. Do you know Officer Ryan?” the guard asked in a deliberate voice.

  “Of course we do,” Jessica said to bolster their position. “He is in our collaborative and a friend to my dad.” Jessica sensed Joshua needed a little help to hold off a full-scale inquiry.

  “I have orders to call Officer Ryan and give you a safe escort. He is within range of our CB communications. It is dangerous, especially for a young woman like you. Your dad will be happy to know you are all right,” the guard said with a smile.

  F——! thought Joshua. A police escort. He pinched himself harder. That’s good! Going through the “Bad Lands” will be easier. But now there is no way for Joshua to escape his personal “Stalag 13.” And that’s bad! Jessica’s dad had already given Joshua due notice about his daughter. Screw it, Joshua thought. It might be better to get it over with sooner than later.

  “Why don’t you two just sit over there?” the guard said as he pointed to a makeshift bench. “I’ll make the call and you are welcome to some sandwiches and real brewed coffee.”

  “Please don’t worry Joshua,” Jessica said as she grabbed his hand. “My dad needs to learn a lesson. I love him very much, but in a few months I will be of legal age. It is in his court. He must sense he will lose me forever with his stubborn attitude. I need to be a woman now and face up to him.”

  As they sat on the bench, Jessica saw the tension in Joshua’s forehead. She grabbed Joshua’s hand and held it with her two feminine hands.

  “Joshua, this is my doing, not yours. I came onto you. This EMP strike has changed all our lives. You have bought me a joy that I thought I would never experience. I thought I was cheated, and you came into my life. I have no regrets.

  You have protected me and now I will stand up for you. I will confront both my father and yours. They will listen,” she said with a gathering confidence.

  At this point, Joshua put his arms around Jessica’s shoulder to coddle her.

  “Funny!” Jessica commented with a smile.

  “What’s funny, Jessica?” he asked in bewilderment.

  “Your mother! I really hit it off with your mother. She really liked me,”

  Jessica commented as her smile grew even bigger.

  “That is strange,” Joshua replied as he shrugged his shoulders. “She doesn’t get along with anyone, especially my father. She definitely has a warm spot for you.”

  “Good news!” shouted out the burly guard. “I got a hold of Officer Ryan. He should be here in three to four hours.”

  “Yay! Great news,” Joshua said in a slightly sarcastic tone. At this point, Jessica just put her hands on Joshua’s thigh. It was a gesture of solidarity that she was with him all the way. It was time to face the music.

  As they sat there, one could see many others trying to enter this little green zone. It was a safe area to roam about. There was food, water, and medical supplies. One could pursue these supplies without the danger of encountering the various gangs. Most of the gang members are afraid to enter this zone. The border guards have the option to search and confiscate any and all arms. Martial law is in effect.

  “Joshua, I need to pee,” Jessica said in a soft voice as she got up and walked toward the porta potty.

  “Be care
—!” Joshua exclaimed as he caught himself. With the burly guard and his rifle nearby, they were in an extremely safe place.

  Most who came into the area were on foot with an occasional few on bicycle. Coming in was easy enough; it was leaving that presented a danger. Many of the elderly or frail were advised to wait for a state trooper or army personnel to escort them home.

  As Jessica closed the door to the toilet, Joshua walked over to a table that had coffee. They had skim milk and a bowl of sugar. Gads! Joshua thought. Not your Starbuck’s drive through. Both Joshua and his dad were used to the finer things in life. His dad has taught Joshua well. “When you are a salesman, there are certain rules to follow to be successful. Dress well and treat your clients to the better upgrades.”

  Like his dad, Joshua always treated people with some class. Taking notes on their conversations, he would recall names and habits for each client. This way, they all thought they got special attention from him. Joshua’s dad was born in Egypt. Being Jewish, he was always being bullied. It was no way to live. So Joshua’s dad became a survivalist by nature. He learned many languages, a gift for sizing up whether a person was going to be a threat. Eventually, his dad immigrated to Israel, and then to the United States. In the mold of his dad, Joshua also became very streetwise.

  Now Joshua had a different kind of streetwise challenge. He had to confront both his dad and Jessica’s dad. With his stomach tied up in knots, he searched for courage. Two very strong men, physically and emotionally; he knew they both were disappointed in him. In Joshua’s mind, the best thing to do is to let them both vent. Just be a man and let the chips fall where they may.

  Ah! The aroma of freshly brewed coffee pulled him out of the dread simmering in his brain. Joshua was never a smoker, but caffeine kept him alert and helped pass the time when waiting for clients. It was a small crutch. Not much flavor; one cup will do for him. It was just a nervous habit; something to sip on that’s a little tastier than water. His self-imposed one-cup limit kept him from having to excuse himself while speaking with a client.