Through the Storm (The Solar Storms Saga Book 1)

  Through the Storm

  The Solar Storm Saga, Book One

  By Kyle Pratt

  Through the Storm

  The Solar Storm Saga, Book One

  By Kyle Pratt

  ebook ISBN: 978-0-9983756-3-2

  eBook Version 1.5 – September 25, 2017

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover Design: Inspired Cover Designs

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.

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  Details are at the end of the novel.

  Acknowledgments

  Creating a novel involves many people. Sure, I imagine the plot and write the manuscript, but as soon as I’m done, many more people become involved.

  First of all, I need to thank my wife, Lorraine. She reads every chapter multiple times before anyone else sees it. Without her support, ideas, and constant encouragement, I would not be an author.

  After Lorraine, the next to see any chapters are members of my critique groups. These include Robert Hansen, Barbara Blakey, Carolyn Bickel, Debby Lee, Kristie Kandoll, Pat Thompson, and LeeAnn Thompson. These people are more than fellow writers; they are friends and mentors.

  After the critique group finishes with the manuscript, a few dedicated beta-readers pore over the novel. For this book, the beta-readers were William Childress, Micheal Hurley, Jennifer Vandenberg, and Debbie Majoros. These detail-orientated readers look for problems in grammar, plotting, and continuity.

  Thank you all for making this book possible.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue: Events on the Sun

  Day Zero

  Day One

  Day Two

  Day Three

  Day Four

  Day Five

  Day Six

  Day Seven

  Day Eight

  Day Nine

  Day Ten

  Day Eleven

  Day Twelve

  Also by the author

  About the author

  If you like what you’ve read

  About the Newsletter

  Prologue: Events on the Sun

  Six storms churned on the sun. Over several weeks they grew to encompass an area fifteen times the size of Earth. Invisible magnetic lines of force danced, curved, and weaved above and between them. But on this particular day, as the magnetic fields bent and reconnected, a huge amount of ionized gas, called plasma, became trapped in the sun’s atmosphere.

  For the next few days, the plasma swirled and pitched in the corona region of the atmosphere, while it absorbed radiant energy and grew hotter than a nuclear fireball.

  Finally, the superheated mass reached a temperature of more than ten million degrees Celsius and exploded as a solar flare. Much of it fell back to the sun but, on the edge of the magnetic fields, several planet-sized clouds snapped like a whip, broke free of the sun’s gravity, and flung into space.

  Astronomers call these plasma clouds Coronal Mass Ejections, or CMEs. Each possessed more energy than an entire year of the world’s electrical production; these were hurtled at speeds faster than a bolt of lightning on a collision course with Earth.

  Day Zero

  Reno, Nevada, Saturday, September 3rd

  The world might end tonight and the last words Neal Evans had spoken to his oldest son were in anger.

  No, don’t be paranoid. Everything will probably be fine. But just to be sure, Neal hunted for the TV remote. When he finally located it in the chair where he had left it, he switched to a trustworthy news channel. There, talking heads discussed upcoming Senate hearings on a new crime-fighting bill.

  Such mundane stories rarely held his interest. Neal retrieved the toiletries bag from his luggage. Before heading to the shower, he turned up the TV volume so he could listen to the news.

  Several people at the conference had talked about the aurora borealis being visible tonight. In the hotel lobby, a young man spoke with others about an electromagnetic pulse that could end civilization.

  Neal glanced out the window. The sun drifted low in the sky, barely above the big box store across the street. He wasn’t that paranoid. Chances were that no aurora would light the sky tonight, and almost certainly no EMP would slam civilization to its knees. Well, at least not before he returned home tomorrow.

  He undressed and enjoyed the cool spray of the shower for a moment. Then he lathered head to toe, a habit from his navy days.

  It had been a long seven-hour drive from Vegas to Reno, and he didn’t want to worry, pace, or even think. He wanted only this cool shower and a mind-numbing action movie. He would start home to Washington state early on Sunday and arrive there in the afternoon.

  As he rinsed the soap from his body, the dong of a news alert sounded.

  “We have additional information about the lead story of the day. The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, along with the Space Weather Prediction Center, reported earlier in the day that a coronal mass ejection had occurred on the sun.”

  Neal turned off the shower, stepped onto the cold tiled floor, and grabbed a towel.

  “We have Dr. Jacob Becker on the phone. He’s a professor of astronomy at Stanford. Doctor, what is a coronal mass ejection?”

  “These are huge bursts of gas and electromagnetic radiation thrown off by the sun. They travel through space like clouds but at speeds of up to thousands of kilometers per second.”

  “Yeah, I know all of this,” Neal grumbled. He hung the towel over one shoulder as he walked from the bathroom. “Where is the plasma headed?” he asked the television.

  “Should we be concerned about this one?” the announcer asked.

  “Usually, no. However, this is an extraordinarily large CME, on the G4 or G5 scale, and it is on course to hit the Earth’s magnetic field.”

  Neal rubbed his chin. Local Washington state media often turned minor floods into biblical deluges, or two inches of snow into the storm of the decade, giving Seattle residents an excuse to stay home. The CME might be headed toward Earth, but was it large enough to do more than dance across the sky as northern lights? He continued to listen.

  “FEMA advises that due to the scale of this phenomenon, there is a likelihood of some power and communications failures.”

  The government might consider the loss of phones, Internet, and power for a day or two to be catastrophic, but Neal would be fine without them.

  “… of this, federal and state officials are urging people to stay home and avoid travel tonight.”

  “Stay home and watch the aurora,” the announcer advised with a practiced smile.

  Neal lowered the television volume to a normal level and booted his computer. As a backyard and warm weather astronomer, he knew where to find answers. When the browser filled the screen, Neal logged into his favorite astronomy forum. There, a dozen professionals discussed the solar storm that hurtled toward the planet.

  Most scientists on the forum argued the storm would be no worse than G4; a few others warned of a G5 occurrence. One scientist, Arthur Blake, compared it to the Carrington Event of 1859.

  “That solar storm created aurora around the world, as far south as the Caribbean,” Blake had typed on the forum page. “But it also caused sparks and sh
ocks along the telegraph system. What will this do to modern electronic technology?”

  While the size of the storm remained under debate by the astronomers, the course and speed had been calculated. It would hit the Earth’s magnetosphere in ten hours.

  The talking heads on TV were still predicting limited power and communications outages and advising to wait it out at home. If this was their typical overreaction, he had nothing to worry about, and might even enjoy the aurora. However, if this was a Carrington Event, power and communications might fail across huge parts of the planet. Other systems, even cars, might fail. Neal grabbed his phone and tapped the number for home.

  He heard only a busy signal.

  He called his older son’s cell phone, but the call forwarded to his voice mail. Again he remembered their argument before he had left home Thursday afternoon. Conner had wanted to go hunting over the weekend. Neal had insisted he stay home and keep an eye on Drake.

  “Why do I have to babysit while you go to Vegas?” Conner’s face grew redder with each word.

  “I’m your father and I need you to do this—so do it.” Neal had stormed from the house.

  Again he tried both numbers and received the same unwanted results. With a flick of the hand, he tossed the phone onto the bed.

  Within hours, modern civilization might be shaken to its core. No, don’t overreact. Tonight will probably be a minor footnote in history.

  As he continued to watch the news and monitor the online forum, he evaluated what he knew for certain. The CME was large and would hit Earth in ten hours. Those were all the available facts.

  Using the computer, Neal plotted his route home. The quickest way would take just under ten hours. Should he drive all night? More than one friend had accused him of being paranoid, but what he knew concerned him.

  When the final meeting of the financial planning conference in Las Vegas ended, Neal had reluctantly prepared to drive home. He had little reason to hurry. Since Beth had died, home had been a place of tension. His two teenage sons seemed distant, even cool. How could he bridge such a gap?

  Beth had always been his guide to raising the boys. She had been the outgoing, loving, and empathetic one. He had been the breadwinner. Those traditional roles had worked for them. When they went out, she smiled and talked. He tried to grin and did a lot of listening. Neal often joked that he was her stoic bodyguard.

  Then, in a flash, she had died, leaving him alone. He should have been there. He should have protected her.

  Since he wasn’t eager to return home, a place of so many memories, heartache, and tension, he had planned to visit an old navy buddy on his way back. He shook his head. It would be best to be home, near his sons, and sleep in the bed he had shared with Beth. He pushed the heartache from his thoughts.

  A check of airline schedules revealed a long list of canceled flights. Neal leaned back in the chair. How serious is this situation? He checked the rail schedule. No trains left for Portland or Seattle in the next two days. Perhaps driving was the best option. If nothing terrible happened, he would arrive home tired but with his car. He tried to phone his boys again but with no success.

  A glance at a clock showed just past seven. There would be no rest for him tonight, and he would need copious amounts of coffee for the trip home.

  Neal packed his bags and tossed them into the trunk. Then, he pawed through the old rucksack that housed his bug-out supplies: water bottles, basic tools, small camp stove, P-38 can opener, matches, emergency radio, tarp, first aid kit, and more. He inspected more for reassurance than to inventory items. When he felt the pistol, he stopped.

  Neal removed the Sig P250 and placed it in an inside pocket of his jacket, along with some ammo. He checked out of the hotel, drove to the nearest ATM, where he withdrew five hundred dollars in twenty-dollar bills, and then filled his thermos with coffee from a nearby kiosk.

  Amply caffeinated, Neal drove north on Highway 395 out of Reno. With each mile, the electric lights of civilization gave way to the darkness of night. However, this was only the natural transition from urban Reno to rural Northern California. He wondered if he would even know the moment when the CME hit the Earth.

  For nearly two hours he drove north, sipping coffee and switching between satellite and local radio stations. Eight hours remained before the event, and he had learned little more.

  The darkness hid the surrounding countryside, but Neal knew the route along the secondary highways, through the dry scrub brush, scattered pine, and wildflower landscape.

  South of Susanville, Highway 395 veered east, but Neal continued straight into town. Spotting a small roadside diner, he pulled into the nearly empty parking lot, walked inside, and stopped at the counter.

  A gum-chewing waitress in her early thirties rang up a customer and then turned to Neal with a smile. “How can I help you?”

  “Could you fill my thermos with coffee?”

  “Sure.” She retrieved a pot. “I’m guessing you don’t want decaf.”

  “No.” Neal shook his head. “I’ll be driving all night.”

  “Where’re you headed?” She twisted on the lid.

  “Washington state.”

  “Really?” Her eyes widened. “Are you driving that far because of the sun storm thing?”

  He nodded.

  She giggled. “I’m thinking this is a bunch of hype like Y2K. Do you think anything will actually happen?”

  Embarrassed by his worries, Neal shrugged. “I’ve got two boys in Washington state. I want to be home or close to it anyway.” After paying her, he stepped away and then stopped. “Where is the nearest gas station?”

  She pointed. “Just down the road. Good luck. I hope you make it home safe.”

  “Thanks.” Neal’s gut churned. Too much coffee on an empty stomach, or was it worry about the end of the world? He would eat at his next stop.

  Cars idled in line from the gas station pumps back onto the road. It seemed like a town meeting with people out of their cars as they talked and argued while waiting in line to top off their gas tanks.

  Should he leave or get in line? He let out a frustrated sigh and pulled in behind the last car. As he waited, he checked his watch, recalculated the drive for the fifteenth time, and tried to call home and Conner’s cell. Why couldn’t he reach his sons? He set the alarm on his phone for one minute before the predicted arrival of the CME.

  Over the next fifteen minutes, he edged forward until his car pulled to the pump. Minutes later he continued on his way with a full tank of gasoline, a hot thermos of coffee, and high spirits. He had even filled the gas can in the trunk.

  Traffic continued to be light and he remained ahead of schedule. He would be home before the CME slammed the Earth. Not wanting to be pulled over by the police, Neal struggled to reduce his speed to the posted limit, or just a little above. As he neared the town of Adin, flashing red-and-blue lights ahead caught his attention.

  A state patrol vehicle blocked the way.

  Neal checked his GPS and determined that the wide spot in the road must be Jupiter Junction. He had passed through it going to the conference but had taken little notice. On the right stood a small motel, and then his lights caught a strange teepee-like structure on the left. He thought the giant badminton birdie was actually some sort of industrial burner, but he didn’t have the time or inclination to investigate. Whatever the thing was, he knew of only one along the route so easily determined his exact location.

  Two officers stood on opposite sides of the road just beyond the junction with Highway 299.

  Neal tapped his brakes to slow the car.

  One officer approached as he pulled to a stop. “We’re encouraging people to stay home tonight. Where are you headed?”

  “Home. Washington state.” Immediately Neal wished he had said Adin, a small town just up the road, but the Washington plates on the car would have made that a tough sell.

  “I’m pleased you’re headed home, but there’s been an accident up ahea
d. A tanker truck and car hit head-on. The highway is closed to all but local traffic.” The officer pointed to Highway 299 that disappeared into the darkness to the west. “Probably best that you keep to the main roads tonight anyway.”

  “Why?” Neal asked, although he knew the reason.

  “Perhaps you’ve heard about the storm on the sun. If it causes electrical and communication problems, it might be best to be near other people.”

  Neal thought the opposite might be true but nodded to the officer as he tapped the information into his GPS. “That’ll reroute me southwest—over a hundred miles.”

  “But then you can get on the interstate and shoot straight north. This road is going to be closed for hours. If the sun storm causes car problems, like some are saying, help can find you much easier along the freeway.”

  If his car failed when the CME hit, Neal wondered why the highway patrol thought their vehicles would be spared. He stared longingly down the deserted highway ahead. If civilization crashed back to a pre-industrial era tonight, he would have preferred to be on a quiet backcountry road. However, the officer didn’t seem inclined to let him pass. If he hurried, sped, he might at least be near home before the solar storm hit.

  Neal headed down the directed road. After several moments he glanced at his watch. Less than six hours until … he didn’t know, and that scared him.

  * * *

  Even though traffic had remained light, and he had made good time, Neal’s gut churned with anxiety. In the city of Redding, he merged onto Interstate 5 and pressed the gas pedal. Now five hours into his trip, how long would it take to reach home? A few taps on the GPS screen revealed still more than seven hours of driving ahead. He glanced at his watch; less than four hours remained until the CME would hit Earth.

  Neal chugged coffee, turned up the radio, and tried to gain time as he sped north. For many minutes, he was distracted as he listened to the all-night conspiracy program on the radio.

  “This is the vanguard of an alien invasion,” a caller named Doyle proclaimed. “They want to destroy our technology and let millions of us die. Then they’ll come in and mop up the survivors.”