Broken Lines- A Tale Of Survival In A Powerless World Read online

  Broken Lines

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  Table of Contents

  Broken Lines

  Steel Mill

  The Streets

  Hospital

  The Highway

  Home

  The Second Day

  Day Three

  Day Four

  Day Five

  The Night of the Fifth Day

  Day Six

  Day 8

  Steel Mill

  The floorboards creaked when Mike stumbled from the bed to the bathroom. He tripped over one of Anne’s heels and cursed under his breath, kicking the shoe out of his path. He turned around to make sure he hadn’t woken her up. She was still drooling on her pillow.

  Mike crammed himself into the tiny bathroom. His legs smashed up against the side of the tub when he closed the door. He splashed water on his face letting the cold shock him awake. Droplets of water speckled his reflection in the small mirror above the sink. He cracked his knuckles, wincing with each pop.

  He showered, shaved, threw his boots on, kissed Anne on her forehead, and did the same with his daughter, Kalan, and son, Freddy, then was out the door.

  Dirt and bits of rust and metal flew up from the cloth seats of his truck’s cab when Mike sat down on his seat. He pulled the handle of the glove box open. He shoved a small bag out of the way and pulled out a badge. He pinned “Yard’s Steel Mill” to his chest. Scraps of metal and steel rods rolled and clanked in the truck bed when the truck reversed out of the driveway.

  The blue digital lights of the dashboard clock glowed 6:11a.m. The view of the Pittsburgh skyline from the interstate was still outlined in grey without the morning sun. Mike’s fingers twisted the radio tuner, searching for a station. Static and scramble came through until he finally landed on an AM station.

  “Good morning, Pittsburgh. It’s a beautiful Wednesday morning here at 560 WFRB. Traffic right now is clear on highway 62. The first day of summer should be a hot one as temperatures are expected to get into the mid eighties this afternoon, so taking the kiddies to the pool to cool off might be in order now that school is officially over.”

  Mike pulled into the parking space of an empty lot outside a small, fading brown one-story building. He walked through the empty parking lot up to the automatic sliding glass doors. A smiling receptionist gave him a wave when he entered.

  “Hey, Mike.”

  “Hey, Nicole,” he said. “Is my dad ready to go?”

  “Should be. He was finishing getting ready when I walked past him this morning. I’ll give him a buzz.”

  “Thanks.”

  A few elderly folks with walkers emerged from the hallway into the waiting room where Mike sat. Their liver spotted hands gripped the steel-grey handles of their walkers. The green tennis balls at the bottom slid across the carpet propelled by their slowly shuffling feet.

  Ulysses walked down the hallway weaving in and out of the shrunken, hunched over, elderly obstacles and walked right past Mike without looking at him. The automatic sliding glass doors chimed open when Ulysses passed through them and headed for Mike’s truck.

  Mike’s eyes went from the exit back to Nicole, whose lower lip was protruding, still watching Ulysses walking to the truck. Hi

  “Pirates lose last night?” Mike asked.

  “Yeah,” Nicole replied.

  The sun was rising in the east, coming up over the skyscrapers in the foreground. Beams of orange light hit Mike’s and Ulysses faces through the windshield of the truck. Blinkers and taillights flashed in front of them in the thickening traffic. Mike flipped on his left blinker to merge. A horn blared and sent Mike swerving back into his own lane and sending Ulysses’ shoulder knocking into his.

  “Jesus Christ,” Ulysses said adjusting his seat belt.

  “You all right, Dad?”

  “I could have driven myself.”

  “The doctor said you wouldn’t be able to drive after the tests.”

  “Tests. Pills. Needles. Activity time. You know I helped construct half the buildings in this city?”

  “Dad, I told you to just come and stay with us. We have the spare bedroom.”

  Ulysses waved him off. He twisted a thick gold band around his wrinkled fingers.

  “I won’t be anybody’s burden.”

  The clock dashboard flashed 6:55a.m. when Mike pulled into the hospital’s drop off lane.

  “The doctor said the tests should only take a few hours. I’ll come and grab you on my lunch hour and take you back to the retireme-” Mike started, but Ulysses spun his head around. Mike knew he hated that word.

  “Back to your place. Okay?” Mike finished.

  “Yeah, okay,” Ulysses said.

  “Hey, and don’t give the staff any trouble if they have to bring you out in a wheelchair this time.”

  “If I can walk out on my own steam I’m going to do it. I don’t need a goddamn wheelchair.”

  Ulysses flung the passenger door open, climbed out, and slammed the heavy metal truck door behind him.

  ***

  The steel mill was already filled with the sounds of cranes, trucks, and the shouts of supervisors giving orders. Mike joined the line of men waiting to clock in. A solid row of hardhats and baseball caps were ahead of him.

  Paul White, an elderly man almost his father’s age, squinted down at a computer screen. His large hands fumbled with the icons on the touch screen.

  Don, a twenty-something man in a greasy jumpsuit, shifted from side to side. His eyes drilled into the back of the old man’s head.

  “You just hit clock-in, grandpa,” Don shouted.

  Paul stayed focused on the screen. His finger hovered over dozens of tiny icons. He jumped a bit when Mike placed his hand on his shoulder.

  “It’s usually easy to find my name, but I’ve never seen this screen before,” Paul said.

  “It’s all right, Paul,” Mike said.

  Mike pressed a few different icons and pulled up Paul’s name. He hit ‘clock-in’ and a large green check mark appeared.

  “Thanks, Mike,” Paul said.

  Paul hobbled off into the yard and Mike walked back to his spot in line.

  “I’m surprised you were able to figure it out, Mike. I figured once they got rid of that old punch card reader half the plant would retire,” Don said.

  “Let me know if you need help getting your welder running, Don. I wouldn’t want you to burn your hand again.”

  Mike grinned walking back into place listening to the rest of the line chuckling behind him.

  ***

  The lunch whistle blew. The continuous motion of loading of steel girders, pouring lava-hot metals, and welding ceased.

  White, yellow, and orange sparks flew into the air from Mike’s torch. Two pieces of metal he was working on fused together. He turned the torch off and flipped his welder’s mask up. He tore off his gloves and wiped the dripping sweat from his eyes, smearing dirt and soot onto his cheeks.

  The cafeteria’s tables were crowded with men, shoulder to shoulder. They dug into the lunch pails packed with sandwiches and leftovers. Their heads, hair flattened from their hard-hats, bobbed up and down over their food as they ate. Mouths full and laughing.

  Mike bit into his BLT, the crunching of bacon and crisp lettuce filling his ears, when sudden
ly the lights shut off and the cafeteria went dark. The humming of lights and machinery went silent. The men groaned collectively.

  Mike pulled out a small flashlight on his keychain and pressed the power button. Nothing. He could hear the clicking of the button, but no light came on, no matter how many times he hit it.

  Once Mike’s eyes adjusted to the darkness he joined the rest of the workers exiting the cafeteria. He looked up into the corners of the walls where the emergency lights were installed. Why didn’t the emergency power go on?

  The yard was eerily quiet. Steel beams being moved from the yard to trucks teetered in mid air from cranes. The hum of the furnaces was silent. Workers opened truck hoods checking the engines that stopped. A gathering crowd formed around Glenn, the foreman. He had his hands up trying to calm the men around him.

  “Hey, everybody, listen up. Power’s down for the entire block. By the looks of it, we’re probably going to be closed for the rest of the day, so everybody goes home,” Glenn said.

  “Is this gonna be paid leave?” Don asked.

  “Are you working?”

  “No.”

  “Then no.”

  The workers started heading for their cars. Mike walked among them watching everyone shake and tap their mobile devices. Don cursed, shoving the phone into his pocket.

  “Goddamn thing never stays charged.”

  Mike pulled out his own phone. The screen was completely black. He held the power button down, but the phone wouldn’t turn on. He knew it had a full charge this morning when he left for work.

  One of Mike’s co-workers smacked into his shoulder, rushing past him. He looked up from his phone and saw some men in the front of the group rushing toward the parking lot. Soon the rest of the group started running and Mike was caught up in the current of people herding forwards. Mike pushed his way to the front of the pack next to Don.

  All of the cars along the highway were completely still. Wrecks dotted the road for miles. People were outside their vehicles checking the engines. Some were walking toward the city while others sat on the side of the road expecting someone to come and get them.

  “What the hell?” Don asked.

  Mike thought of the back-up generators that hadn’t turned on, the machines in the yard that had shut off, and the dead cell phones. All of it added up to one thing.

  EMP burst.

  The Streets

  Mike was the first to break for his truck. A few other people followed him, but most people stood in the yard staring at the stalled cars along the highway. Gravel kicked up behind him. He stuck his hands in his pocket, fumbling for his keys in mid stride. The truck door flew open and he dug into the glove box yanking out the small bag inside. The hospital where he dropped his dad off was a few miles away. If he kept up a steady pace he could be there in thirty minutes.

  The factories and warehouses on the edge of the city slowly morphed into office buildings and small businesses the closer he moved to the hospital. The silence of everything was eerie. No engines running. No horns blaring. No power lines buzzing. Just the silent murmur of crowds piling into the streets looking confused in the motionless city.

  People held their cell phones in the air, looking around, asking questions to one another. Growing crowds surrounded the police officers stationed on corners. Mike could hear the bombardment of questions and pleas:

  “What’s going on?”

  “When is the power coming back on?”

  “Why isn’t my phone working?”

  “My car got hit back on 4th street and the guy took off!”

  “Help me.”

  Mike’s pace slowed. He squeezed in and out of the growing crowds piling into the streets. He could feel the restlessness growing in the people around him. He thought of what this mob would start doing once they realized what he already knew.

  Yesterday Mike watched two men get into a shoving match over a fender bender. On Monday when he was standing in line for coffee the woman at the front had an outburst because the barista said they were out of the white chocolate creamer she liked.

  Now, there were wrecks on every corner. There wasn’t even any power to turn on the barista’s coffee machines. There wasn’t Internet, or transportation, or a way to keep people’s food from spoiling. There weren’t any ATMs that were working, no way to call for help or to check to see if someone’s friend or family member was okay. The whole city was shut down.

  After twenty minutes of running, Mike clutched his ribs. A knife-like pain was digging into his side, running from his hip to his shoulder. The ring of sweat from the summer heat formed around the collar of his shirt. The crowds had grown so thick now there wasn’t enough space for him to run. He slowed to a brisk walk. He stared down at his feet, feeling the throbbing ache of running in boots.

  Mike stepped up on the platform of a street lamp to get a better view of what was in front of him. A large crowd had gathered in front of the precinct a block away. A line of police stationed outside were attempting to control the hordes of people rushing to get inside.

  Just beyond the precinct he could see the front of Allegheny General. Behind the crowd in front of the police station, on the other side of the street, a space had opened up where Mike could get by. He jumped down from the lamppost and made his way toward the opening.

  Mike pushed his way through crowds of people on the other side of the street, his fingers gripping the small bag in his hand. Elbows jabbed his side, shoes stepped over his boots, and shoulders collided with him. The summer heat combined with the sweaty bodies around him made the air thick and hard to breathe. The crowd was hot, uncomfortable, and irritable.

  An officer’s voice boomed through a bullhorn outside the station. He kept his hands up in the air addressing the crowd. Officers in riot gear appeared from the side of the station wielding shields and batons. The crowd hadn’t noticed them yet.

  “I need everyone to please remain calm. We are working with state and federal officials to figure out what’s going on and when the power’s coming back on. I need everyone to make an orderly line and I assure you one of our officers will be available to address each of your concerns individually. Anyone that does not comply and becomes disruptive will be arrested.”

  People on the outside of the crowd in front of the station started pushing their way to the front. One man grabbed a woman’s shoulders and threw her backwards. An officer in riot gear subdued him before he made it into the crowd. A teenaged girl had a backpack on and the woman behind her pulled the backpack down smacking the girl into the pavement. The riot officers grabbed the woman’s arm and cuffed her as well. All around the outskirts, shoves and punches started to breakout.

  One by one the mob outside the station was being curtailed, but others were showing up gathering behind the riot police and trying to get in the station.

  The shouts from the bullhorn faded behind Mike. He glanced back and could see the swarm of bodies overwhelming the officers. He still had his eyes on a man being thrown to the ground and handcuffed when the gunshot rang out in the alley behind him.

  Mike dropped low to his knees and the crowd around him ducked and scattered like cockroaches being discovered when a kitchen light turns on. A solid ringing went through Mike’s ears. The shot was close. He looked around; people were running in every direction. He rose from his knee and was smacked in the face by a stray elbow from the crowd around him. More bodies ran into him, tossing him around like a pinball machine. He could see a man in the alleyway, clutching his stomach, sliding down the wall of the building behind him.

  Mike stumbled forward, the ground seeming uneven beneath from the blow to his head. The ringing in his ears subsided and was replaced by screams and cries for help. He looked back to the man on the ground in the alleyway, his hands still over his stomach. Mike rushed toward him up river, against the crowd fleeing the area, and dropped to the ground next to the young man who’d been shot.

  “Guy f-fucking shot me. I d-didn’t even have an
y c-cash on me,” the young man said.

  “What’s your name?” Mike asked.

  The zipper of the bag tore open. Mike rummaged through it pulling out white bandages.

  “G-garry,” he said.

  Garry’s entire body was shaking. Mike lifted Garry’s hands off the wound he was covering and shoved bandages in its place to staunch the bleeding. Mike’s fingers slipped through Garry’s, which were warm and sticky with blood.

  “Garry, I need you to keep pressure on this okay?” Mike said.

  Blood soaked Garry’s shirt. The red stain grew larger. Mike kept both his hands over Garry’s, helping to keep pressure. Color faded from Garry’s face.