A/N: Welcome readers, to my next lengthy Far Cry 5 story! This story uses characters and situations as established in The Huntress and the Deputy, but takes place in an alternate universe.
Please enjoy and as always, let me know what you think.
Oh Lord, the Great Dark Age,
Won't be our end,
When the world falls into the flames,
We will rise again.
Deputy Morgan Rook looked up at his partner, Grace Armstrong.
"You seem done."
Grace took one last sip from her Snapple and tossed the empty bottle into the nearby trash can.
"Now I am."
"Great. Let's get going?"
"Hell yeah."
The two deputies got up from their seats at a picnic bench overlooking the Henbane River and walked over to the nearby Hope County Sheriff's Department marked Chevy truck to resume their patrol of the Holland Valley.
"You wanna drive?" Morgan asked as he got into the passenger's seat.
Grace chuckled.
"You didn't give me much choice," she remarked while turning the ignition key.
"Well, I was sure you'd say 'yes' because you're just so great to me," he replied with a smile.
Grace chuckled and rolled her eyes.
"Keep telling yourself that," she said while pulling back onto the main road.
Morgan rolled down his window and leaned an elbow out the window while staring out at the fields and forests beyond.
It was late September and he could not have asked for a more perfect day. The sky was blue, with a few puffy clouds drifting here and there. It was around 70 degrees out, which Morgan regarded as the perfect temperature. Today was perfect, no one way about it.
"Nice day out," he thought out loud.
Grace nodded.
"I hear ya. What are you up to later?"
"I think Jess and I will go to Nick and Kim's place for dinner."
"Well, that certainly sounds good. Is Kim making her chicken teriyaki tonight?"
"I think," he said with a nod. "You want me to ask Kim if you can make an appearance?"
"Oh, no, that's fine. I don't wanna intrude on your lovely couple's dinner."
Grace thought for a second.
"But… I would appreciate if you could get me a plate."
Morgan chuckled and nodded.
"I think I can arrange that."
At that moment, his phone vibrated in his pants pocket. Fishing it out, he saw the name Jess followed by several hearts along with a bow and arrow emoji.
"Oh, hold up, Jess is calling," he announced before answering.
"What's up, babe?" Morgan greeted his girlfriend.
Jess Black smiled at the sound of Morgan Rook's voice.
She sat on a recliner in their humble Fall's End home. Both of her hands were occupied with pushing on her boots, so she had her phone sandwiched between her cheek and shoulder as she talked to Morgan.
"Hey, how are you doing?"
"Well, I'm much better now."
Jess grinned as she felt her cheeks burn.
"I'm just going to go out hunting. Do you want me to bring back anything special?"
"Nope, I got nothing in mind. You just go out and do your thing."
"You fuckin' got it. Love you."
"I love you too, Jess."
Morgan ended the call and stuck his phone back into his pocket.
Grace was chuckling.
"What's so funny?" he inquired.
"Nothin'. Just that you're so damn cheesy. It's like I'm watching a teen rom-com."
"Oh, shut up and drive. It's not my problem you've chosen to to be spinster."
"Hey! You take that back. It ain't my fault most men are painfully mediocre and not worth my damn time."
"Okay, listen, Grace, your problem is-"
The truck shut off.
Both cops immediately stopped their conversation and looked around quizzically.
"What the hell? What'd you do?" Morgan asked her.
Grace shook her head.
"Nothing!"
"So this thing just shut off by itself?"
Grace turned the wheel and allowed the truck to coast to a stop on the shoulder of the road.
"Well, I certainly didn't do anything to it."
The suddenly powerless truck glided to a stop on the dirt. Morgan sighed heavily.
"Piece of shit," Grace mumbled. She turned the key one, twice, three times. The engine did not even turn over.
"Okay, I'll be the first to say this is really weird," Morgan said.
Grace opened the driver's side door and stepped out. Morgan opened his door and followed.
"We got this fucking thing checked last week," Grace said as she kicked a stone impatiently.
"I know. I know."
Morgan paused his movements and sniffed the air.
"Hey… you smell something… burning?"
Grace froze and took a deep breath.
"Uh, yeah. What is that?"
Morgan shrugged and walked over to the hood to the truck. He popped it open and was immediately greeted with a wave of acrid smoke wafting up from the engine.
"What the hell?" he cried between coughs while fanning away smoke.
Grace strode to his side and took a look at the engine. It appeared as if several components had melted and fused together. Whatever happened, their truck was not starting any time soon.
Both deputies looked at each other.
"You got any explanations? I got nothing," Grace said.
Morgan could just shrug.
"I- I don't know. I'm no mechanic."
"Well. We ain't moving, so maybe we should call someone."
"Yeah. Let me get on that," Morgan said as he drew his phone.
He pressed the home button, expecting the screen to light up as it usually did.
Nothing happened.
He pressed it again, same result. He took several moments to mash the home and lock buttons to get a reaction.
"Uh… I think something's wrong with my phone."
Grace turned on her feet and looked at him with an expression that showcased her disbelief.
"Are you being funny, Rook?"
"No! Try yours!"
Grace sighed and pulled out her own cell phone. Just as Morgan had, she found it would not come to life and impotently mashed every button on the phone, only to get no reaction.
"Mine's dead."
"This is impossible. I charged this shit an hour ago. I had over eighty percent battery left."
He ran both his hands through his hair in frustration.
"Alright. Our car's dead. Our phones are dead. We're in the middle of nowhere. Now what?"
When Grace did not reply, he turned to her. She was staring at something over his shoulder.
"Grace? Are you alright?"
Her eyes wide, Grace held up a single finger. Morgan turned and followed it.
There was a plane, a twin-engined airliner, about a mile or so away. It was spinning down to Earth, like a leaf falling to ground in mid-Autumn.
Morgan and Grace both stared, shocked beyond any words as the plane spun towards the ground. Morgan could only think a single thought, a seemingly random thought at that.
Why is it so damn quiet?
His thought, as well as the silence of the Montana day, were broken when the plane slammed into an empty field and exploded in a massive fireball that threw flame, debris, and smoke hundreds of feet into the air. The shockwave of the explosion smashed through Morgan's chest. He felt his legs weaken.
Someone slammed a hand on his shoulder.
It was Grace.
"Rook!" she shouted.
He stared at her.
"Rook! Let's go! We need to see if anyone made it out!"
He blinked once and was back to the real world.
"Okay, yeah. Try the radio!"
She shook her head.
"No good, I already checked the truck and my personal one. We need to get there, even if we gotta walk."
He nodded once and decided it was time for action.
Grace reached into the truck and grabbed her kit and rifle. Morgan grabbed his own bag and retrieved the Remington shotgun sitting in its cradle behind the two seats.
Her bag and rifle slung over her shoulder, Grace was already jogging down the road.
"Let's go!" she called, waving a hand forward.
Morgan took off towards the crash site with her.
Earlier
25,000 feet above Montana
Aboard a sleek, stark-white Gulfstream G450, Captain Jordan Beck eyed the GPS system before him. They had just crossed into Southern Montana and were behind schedule.
He sighed. He could already feel the passengers in the cabin growing antsy. Beck could only hope they would not take it out on Carolyn, the cabin attendant.
A former combat pilot of the U.S. Air Force, Beck would have taken dodging Soviet anti-air missiles over Iraq any day compared to his current job of ferrying rich, privileged assholes who could not be bothered to book a flight with poor people on it. Alas, Uncle Sam could not give him a paycheck that compared to the ones Executive Transport, Inc, gave him.
He heard obnoxious laughter emanate from the cabin. Rolling his eyes, he thought about the particular breed of rich assholes occupying his aircraft at the present time.
Rich Hubbard, a tycoon from Seattle who made his money on the telecom industry, or something, the bankroller of this little trip. His wife, Ellen, a dimwitted, painfully boring trophy wife who was indulging in plastic surgery at a relatively young age. Their two kids, fifteen-year-old Layton, who Beck could tell was already being molded into a quintessential high school douchebag, and seventeen-year-old Autumn. Beck did not have a rude thing to say about her. She was actually very kind and well-spoken, making her a virtual philosopher next to her family. Beck actually felt bad for her, having to share a lineage with those people.
Rich Hubbard had booked this flight because his equally wealthy father, living in Chicago, had died. Now, the Hubbard family was converging on Chicago for the funeral and to carve up his estate.
Maybe that was why Rich had taken not just his family on this expedition. He was also bringing his lawyer, an irascible woman named Irene, his bodyguard, a stoic and stocky Mike, and Rich's equally insufferable cousin Toby.
"How we looking?" his co-pilot, Ray Flores, spoke up, breaking him from his loathing.
"Good. Keep on this heading. Maybe descend down to fifteen-thousand in a few minutes."
Beck could hear Rich and Toby laughing heartily at some presumably crude joke. Toby was trying to convince Mike to drink some of the champagne they were getting buzzed off, but to no avail.
"I think Missoula control wants to talk to you," Ray said to Beck.
Nodding, Beck tapped the key for his radio and spoke.
"Missoula tower, this is Executive Transport Flight 650-"
At that moment, he had been idly staring at his instrument panel. The confusing jumble of lights, switches, and buttons would make most people's heads spin, but Beck was reassured by their lights, both flashing and solid. It meant his aircraft was still in the air.
Then, they went out.
It took a moment for him to register. Then, Beck noticed there was no static, no reply from his headset. Flores squinted over his own bank of instruments.
Beck doffed his headset and listened closely.
The characteristic rumbling of the plane's engines was missing. In their place was complete, utter silence.
And silence was the worst sound a pilot could hear.
Exhaling deeply, Beck nodded and dropped his headset.
"We've lost power," he stated matter-of-factly.
Flores shot a look at him, his eyes wide.
"We're a glider," Beck mumbled.
"Hey!" Rich called from his seat near the cockpit. "Our TVs went out! Is this supposed to happen?"
He heard the man rise from his seat and begin to walk towards the cabin. His meaty fist rapped on the armored door.
"Hey, can you hear me, captain?"
Flores was still staring at him. His co-pilot was trained, and trained well, but he had never in a million years expected this to happen. Planes just did not lose power thousands of feet above sea level.
"Captain!" Rich called.
Beck turned around, his mind catching up with him.
'Sir!" he shouted through the door. "Get back in your seat and tell everyone to fasten their seatbelts!"
"What? Why?"
"This plane has lost power and we need to attempt an emergency landing!"
For once, the man could not reply.
"Are you serious?" he asked meekly, as if a pilot would make something like that up.
"Yes, I am very, very fucking serious! Now sit down!"
Beck turned back to his controls, ignoring the cries and screaming coming from the cabin.
"Okay, Ray, I have a little play still in the flaps. This thing is gonna glide for some time. Hopefully, I can ease it just so we don't tail spin out. I'll find somewhere flat to set her down."
Flores was staring in shocked silence.
"Okay?" Beck said loudly.
"Yeah… okay."
Beck licked his lips and tightened his grip on the controls.
"Okay…"
Jess was barely outside of the house when it happened.
She hit the road out of town, shifting her bow and arrows on her back. Above her, the transformer of a power pylon suddenly exploded into a shower of sparks. Jess jumped at the sound and witnessed white sparks jumping out of the fried transformer.
"The fuck?" she muttered.
The cables snaking out of the pylon burst into flames. Flames shot up the length of the line, terminating only at the next pylon.
People were coming out of their homes and the Spread Eagle now, everyone taking a moment to gawk up at the sight they were seeing.
Jess jogged over to where Mary May Fairgrave had emerged from her place behind the bar counter.
"Jess!" she called.
Jess shook her head.
"The hell is this?"
Mary shrugged.
"I dunno."
Soon enough, the violent spectacle was over. A few power lines snapped, their trailing cables throwing out feeble sparks as they dangled.
"Well… I guess our power's out," Mary said.
"Look at you with the great observations," Jess said sarcastically.
"Ah, goddamn it!" Mitch Calhoun, owner of the general store, cursed.
"You okay?" Mary asked.
"Yeah, I'm fine, but my backup genny was getting fixed. I got no power and plenty of fresh meat and what not on display."
"I'll see if I can wrangle up something for you, okay?" Mary assured him.
"Thanks, mayor."
"Hey! Is anyone's phone working?" a townsperson asked anyone in earshot.
Mary and Jess both withdrew their own phones. To the surprise of both women, they would not respond to any input.
"I think my shit's dead," Jess said.
Mary nodded.
"Mine too."
"Okay… this is pretty fucking weird," Jess said quietly as she put her phone away.
The doors to the newly built Hope County Sheriff's Office were pushed opened. Earl Whitehorse, accompanied by a concerned looking Jenny the dispatcher, emerged.
Immediately, people began to bombard the sheriff with questions. He held up a single hand.
"Folks, I know as much as you do," Whitehorse said over the voices addressing him.
The crowd continued to chatter. Mary stepped forward to join the sheriff's side.
"Hey! All of you! Settle down and let's hear the sheriff!"
The townspeople obeyed.
Whitehorse nodded thanks at Mary.
"Right. It seems that we've all suffered a very large power failure. And yes, I know all our phones are dead. The radios in the station are dead, as are the laptops. Now, I want all of you to go back to your homes and make sure nothing's on fire. And see if anything still has any juice. We need to start figuring out just what the hell happened."
"Do you think something major happened?" a woman asked.
The sheriff could only rub his chin thoughtfully.
"I don't want to make any assumptions so quickly. Let's just get to the bottom of this and find what we can."
The assembled townspeople dispersed to set about their tasks. Whitehorse nodded to Jenny and they both headed back for the station. Mary and Jess were left alone in the street.
"So, Jess, got any ideas?"
Jess looked at her.
"How would I know?"
"You're our resident expert survivalist. Maybe you have a different perspective."
Jess contemplated it for a moment.
"Well…"
Mary hung on with anticipation.
Jess shook her head.
"Nah, forget it. It's kinda out there."
"No! Let me hear it!"
Jess shook her head again, more firmly this time.
"I'll tell you later. Come on. I'll help you check out the bar."
Morgan followed Grace as she bounded over a barbed wire fence that enclosed an open ranch where the plane had come down. He was breathing heavily, having carried all his gear over nearly a mile to reach the location. However, the adrenaline was freely pumping through his veins.
The wreck of the aircraft was consumed in a massive conflagration. Morgan could barely make out the skeleton of the fuselage under the smoke and fire. The heat being thrown off was enough to make him sweat, even several yards away.
He turned and saw Grace talking to a young man, who he assumed had arrived on the scene first. Morgan jogged over to join them.
"Morgan, this is mister Lucas White. He was first on the scene," Grace introduced.
"Mister White, do you own this ranch?" Morgan inquired.
Lucas shook his head.
"No, sir, I'm just a hand. The owner is mister Brockton. He and his wife went away for vacation, though, so I've been watching the place."
Lucas gestured at the crash site.
"Officers, I'm telling you, I didn't see no one come out of the crash!"
Grace solemnly shook her head.
"No one could have survived that," she mumbled.
Morgan nodded in agreement.
"Okay, did you call the fire department?" Morgan asked Lucas.
"Uh, no, my phone is broken."
"Broken? What do you mean broken?" Grace said.
Lucas just shrugged.
"I really don't know. It just won't work. Won't turn on. Nothing."
The two cops looked at each other.
"What about landlines?" Morgan inquired.
"Those are dead too. They're battery powered, but they're dead. So is everything in the house. The TV, fridge- everything. It's like we had a power failure."
"Did you try your car?" Grace asked.
"I did. Tried to get help. Wouldn't start."
They looked at each other once more.
"Wait, what's going on?" Lucas said warily.
"We were driving about a mile up the road. Our truck just died on us," Morgan explained.
"Speaking of, we need to get back to Fall's End. Is there any sort of transportation you can loan us?" Grace asked.
Lucas rubbed his chin in thought.
"Well… oh, wait! Horses. You can take two horses. I'm sure mister Brockton wouldn't mind."
Morgan smiled.
"Appreciate that."
"What about this?" Lucas asked, nodding at the plane crash.
"I don't know if the fire department can make it out here," Grace said.
Morgan nodded in agreement.
"Yeah. I guess… just let it burn. We'll deal with it after. The fire doesn't seem to be spreading. The ground is too bare."
Lucas looked at the inferno with concern.
"Uh, okay. If you say so. Come on, I'll set up some horses for you."
"Well… shit," Mary angrily mumbled.
Jess tried to give her a sympathetic look as she turned the key to her Ford F-150 truck a fourth time.
"I think it's time we admit defeat," Jess suggested.
Mary sighed and slammed a fist on the dashboard.
"I bought this fuckin' thing a year ago. And now it died on me?"
"I don't think this is a problem with your truck. I mean, almost everyone in town is saying the same thing. Their shit is DOA."
Mary pushed herself out of the driver's seat and walked around to Jess. She tapped her chin in thought.
"Well, one of Harry's quads is working just fine. And Tara's dirt bike works too."
"Don't forget that guy Oliver with the beater station wagon that sounds like a dying squirrel if it goes over twenty. That piece of shit is working just fine," Jess said.
Mary chuckled humorlessly.
"Can't believe it. The only cars that are running are antiques or junkyard rejects."
The two women walked back to the Spread Eagle, where the rest of the town was convening. The newly built town meeting hall was the official place for meetings, but the town watering hole remained the favorite unofficial location.
"Morgan's truck is dead too, right?" Mary asked Jess.
"Morgan has the keys, so I don't know. I'd imagine, though."
Mary excused herself and joined Sheriff Whitehorse at the head of the crowd, who had returned from their tasks. Jess fell in line with the group .
After a few minutes of conversing, it was clear that the situation was not looking good. Every building in town had lost power. A few were running off of whole house generators or single, gas powered generators. It seemed that just about every vehicle and electronic device in town was rendered unusable. Digital items like televisions, phones, game consoles, and laptops were complete write-offs, even if the item was not plugged in anywhere.
Simpler electronics were usable. Flashlights and electric lanterns had survived, as did most simple battery powered items like radios. A few people reported that chainsaws and lawnmowers still functioned, however useful the latter might be.
Vehicles from the 2010s and 2000s were rendered unusable. Some people were starting to walk into town, having reported that their cars simply stopped working in the middle of a drive. It seemed that the only vehicles that still functioned were vehicles manufactured before the 1980s, as well as motorbikes, ATVs, quads, scooters, and others that used simple gasoline engines.
At this point, the people of Fall's End were becoming increasingly worried. The sheriff and Mary were both being bombarded with questions they could not answer.
Most of them were very concerned with what exactly happened that could cause this sort of thing. It was clear some sort of event had occurred, but it was not sure exactly what that could have been.
"I got a ton of game in my freezer. I don't want that to all spoil!" Martin Blackwood, a local hunter, said.
Many others shouted their agreement with him.
"I checked the ice chests in the bar and they seem okay. I have a backup genny I can run a few hours a day to keep everything cool. But I don't have a ton of space," Mary replied.
"Sheriff, have you heard from the other officers?" Amelia Klein addressed Whitehorse.
The older man shook his head.
"All of our usual communications gear is down for the count. I can only hope they're all making their way here."
Jess felt a slight knot of worry in her stomach. Morgan. He was alright, she hoped.
"Have you heard any news from anything?" another townsperson from the back asked.
The sheriff shook his head once more.
"We have a few older radios in storage that we hope will work. In a little bit, we'll start scanning the airwaves for anything at all."
"What do we do now?" someone else inquired.
Whitehorse sighed softly.
"We wait."
Morgan and Grace headed down the road, side-by-side atop their borrowed horses. Morgan had received a golden coated female with a white face, while Grace rode a black dapple male.
"When's the last time you went horseback riding, Rook?" Grace asked as they kicked both their horses into a faster trot.
He laughed.
"Oh, man, uh… five years ago?"
"Well, you seem to be doing fine."
"It's like riding a bike. Except the bike weighs five hundred pounds and is a living creature that can easily kill you if it wants."
She chuckled.
"What do you think happened?" Grace asked a moment later
"What? With all of this? Beats me."
"Me too. I won't lie- I'm a little freaked out. Don't know what could cause a car to just stop and a plane to fall out of the sky."
Morgan held up a hand.
"Whoa. I hear something."
Grace bought her horse to a halt.
It was an engine. Soon, the two deputies saw a pickup truck crest over a low hill. It was driving down the road in their direction. Morgan and Grace kicked their horses to meet the driver.
"Hey, how are you?" Morgan asked once the driver slowed down.
The driver was a middle-aged man, dressed in a camo hunting jacket. Morgan did not recognize him and saw a large amount of boxes in the bed of the truck.
"Hello, officers. Everything okay?"
"Yeah, we're good. Is there any reason why your truck is running?" Grace asked.
"Beats me. She just started up no problem."
"That's interesting… what kind of truck is this?" Morgan inquired.
"A 1970 Chevy C10."
The man anxiously looked out to the road.
"Uh, is it okay if I get going? I have to go check my caches."
"Do you think something happened?" Grace said.
He nodded, showing uncertainty.
"Yes… I think so."
"Okay, thanks for your time."
The cops watched as he put his truck in gear and took off.
"That's interesting," Morgan observed.
"You're telling me."
"Come on," Grace called as she began to spur her horse, "we can wonder about this later. Let's get back to town."
Jess watched as the ancient radio unit Deputy Staci Pratt had dug out of storage was placed on the bar counter. Whitehorse pulled up a stool and took a seat as the residents of Fall's End crowded around him with mute suspense.
He picked up the microphone and slowly began to scan across the channels. Turning the dial, the listeners heard only static and interference at first, but Whitehorse quickly found the sound of a distant voice. Tuning more precisely, the ghostly whispering became more clear. A monotone male voice began to fill the room.
"We interrupt this program at the request of the White House. This is not a test. This is the Emergency Alert System. Please stay tuned for important information. An unknown enemy has attacked the United States. Two nuclear weapons were detonated high in the atmosphere, producing an electromagnetic pulse. There is no threat from thermal or radiation damage, but electrical services and utilities will be unavailable for the foreseeable future. Please ration your resources and comply with all instructions given by local authorities. Further updates will be broadcasted on this channel. Again, this is not a test. This message will repeat."
There was complete, utter stunned silence from the assembled crowd. Whitehorse slowly put down the microphone and rubbed his mustache.
Someone finally spoke up after what seemed like an eternity.
"Okay, what the fuck is an electromagnetic whatever? Is that why we got no power? Why our cars and phones are dead?"
"Yeah, it is," Jess said.
Everyone turned to face her, like they just realized she was there.
"Jess," Mary began, "you know what's going on?"
She nodded once.
"I had an idea, but I didn't want to start going around and saying shit that would get everyone all scared. Yeah, it's an EMP. Electromagnetic pulse. My granny told me about them back when I was living with her. They get created when the Sun releases large amounts of particles or whatever. They also get released when a nuke is detonated."
The mention of nuclear weapons certainly did not alleviate fears.
People began shouting over one another until Mary whistled loudly.
"Hey! It's like the radio said- there's not threat from fallout or whatever."
"But who the hell nuked us?" Mitch Calhoun said.
This started a new round of theories, full of the names China, Russia, North Korea, and Iran.
"Hold on, let's all calm down," Whitehorse called over the din, "we have nothing official and it's not doing anyone any favors to be throwing around whatever conspiracy theory you can cook up."
The crowd begrudgingly fell silent.
"So, when's the power coming back on?" asked Sarah Powers, a bank employee.
"It sounded like indefinitely," someone said back to her.
"But, it has to come back on, right?" Sarah said worriedly.
Jess stepped up, making herself the center of attention for once in her life.
"Look, the EMP, if that's what happened, has completely fried the power grid and anything more complex than a battery powered flashlight. That shit is gone. It's gonna be gone until we can get replacements."
"And how long will that take?" someone asked.
Jess shrugged.
"No fucking idea. Years?"
"Years?"
"Holy shit."
"We're gonna have no power, no nothing for years?!"
"Alright, everyone, calm down!" Whitehorse shouted.
"Are you all forgetting the war we fought and won just a few months ago? And you're all scared of a little power failure?" he went on.
"You are all forgetting where you're living. This is Hope County. We're used to being on our own. No matter how long this lasts, we'll make it through. We survived Joseph fucking Seed and his army of murderers and madmen. This EMP or whatever? We'll beat this too," Mary assured her residents.
The crowd was silent. Several people were nodding in agreement.
"So, what's the plan, sheriff?" a resident addressed Whitehorse.
"We wait for the rest of my deputies to get back here. I'd imagine they've all been stranded around the county and are doing everything they can to get back to town. In the meantime, I want all of you to take inventory of all your supplies. Any perishable food, bring it here and we'll see if we can fit it in the bar's freezers. Is that okay with you, Mary?"
Mary nodded once.
"Perfectly fine."
Most of the residents departed the Spread Eagle, chatting amongst themselves. Whitehorse took a seat in front of the ancient radio and began scanning the airwaves once more. Jess and Mary joined him. After a few minutes of browsing through interference, the sheriff settled on a channel comprised of short electronic beeps.
"What's that?" Mary asked.
"Morse code," Jess replied.
"That's Morse code alright," Whitehorse said, "being transmitted by someone who wants to go very low tech or who doesn't want to be listened in on."
Since no one was interested in translating the Morse, Whitehorse resumed his searching of the airwaves. Finally, a real human voice was found. Through the static, the three listeners could make out a Southern drawl.
"This is Kilo-Beta Five Charlie-Romeo-Echo, calling anyone, over."
Whitehorse picked up the mic and keyed it.
"Kilo-Beta Five, this is sheriff Earl Whitehorse of Hope County, Montana. We're reading you, over."
After a brief pause, Kilo-Beta Five replied.
"Howdy, sheriff. This is Beau Simmons of Tyler, Texas. How are you folks doing, over?"
"We're doing okay, mister Simmons. How is everything in Texas? Do you have power down there, over?"
"That's a negative, sheriff. Power went out about an hour and half ago. I saw a plane fall out of the sky. The emergency broadcast system said it was the byproduct of two high-altitude nuclear detonations. An actual goddamn EMP. Over."
"We heard the same thing. Grid's down. Most vehicles ain't running. Over."
"Same story here. I've been ready for this, though, as ready as I can be. I got a '69 Ford that's running like a beauty. Gonna pick up my wife from work, get my kids from school, and link up with some of my boys. We got a bug-out location all set. You folks are up in Montana, so I got no doubts y'all are ready for this, over."
"We can make do. We've been through much worse. I'll let you get going. Good luck to you, sir."
"Thank you, sheriff. God be with you and the people of your county."
They let the Texan prepper disappear into static.
"So," Mary began, "what do you think we should be doing, sheriff? What is the plan?"
"I'm thinking we should take stock of all the food and medicine we have on hand at this very moment. Then we take inventory of livestock and crops. I don't think we'll be getting any deliveries anytime soon. Once everyone gets back here, we'll talk about drawing up a system for rationing resources. I think we can work something out."
Mary nodded thoughtfully.
"Alright. Jess, what do you think?"
Jess looked at her oddly.
"What do you care what I think?"
"You're my friend. I want to know."
Jess shrugged.
"Uh, sounds fine I guess. I can always feed myself."
"It looks like hunting will be in your future," Mary said with a small smile.
Jess smirked back. That was not such a bad deal.
The first thing Beck smelled was jet fuel. That was usually a bad sign, but considering he was not smelling it in conjunction with smoke was a pretty good start.
His head throbbed in pain. His body ached. With a groan, Beck picked himself up from where his head had slammed into the control bank. He rubbed his forehead and felt slick blood on his fingers.
"Hey…" he mumbled to Flores.
His first officer did not respond.
"Hey, Ray, are you okay, brother?"
Beck slowly turned his head and saw Flores was in the seat next to him. A massive tree branch had slammed through the cockpit window and impaled through his co-pilot's face. The spiked barb of the broken branch took up most of his face. Blood steadily dripped down from where his face once was and stained his white shirt a deep crimson.
"Oh, fuck, Ray," Beck mumbled, reaching out before pausing.
There was no point. He was dead, no one way about it. Even if the firefighters and medics were right on the scene the moment they landed, there would nothing they could have done.
Beck decided to worry about himself his passengers, if any were still alive.
Beck had never had to deal with a situation like this. He had never had to land his massive jet like it was a flimsy glider. He remembered how he had managed to guide the crippled jet with what little power he had over the flaps and elevators. Beck had aimed for a field bordering a dense forest. It was the flattest surface he could find. The landing itself disappeared into a violent memory of noise and debris.
The fact they were not scattered into a million pieces over the Montana farmland was a good sign. He had managed to land the plane intact. Maybe.
Beck unsteadily got up from his seat, steadying himself on the various instruments and walls. He limped over to the armored cockpit door and unlocked it.
The plane's fuselage was indeed intact. A portion of it was missing, sheared off during landing. He saw Toby slumped in a corner, blood pouring out of his nose and mouth. Beck briefly checked and did not detect him breathing. Irene was thrown towards the back of the plane, her body contorted in an unnatural manner. Broken neck, amongst other things.
Beck saw that the main door had been opened. The passengers had managed to evacuate themselves. He hoped they had not gone far. They would not know what to do in this event.
He paused at a locked cabinet, which he unlocked using a personal key. Inside was a strongbox which contained a few essential supplies- a flare pistol, flare shells, a fixed-blade knife, a first aid kit, compass, whistle, and some fire starting supplies.
Beck groaned as he moved for the exit, clutching what felt like a bruise at his side. At least he hoped it was just a nasty bruise and not a broken rib.
Beck almost stumbled onto his face as he exited the broken aircraft.
"Hey! It's the pilot!"
He looked up and saw Autumn sprinting away from the other survivors, who were sitting on a knoll nearby.
"Sir? Sir, are you okay?" Autumn asked. The girl looked okay, save for a few scrapes and cuts across her face.
"Hey, miss. I'm okay."
"Captain, are you okay?" Carolyn the flight attendant asked when she reached him.
"I'm okay, miss McLane."
"And the first officer?"
Beck could only sigh and shake his head once.
Carolyn pursed her lips and gave a sympathetic nod.
"Right. It looks like just us, the Hubbard family, and their security guide made it."
"Captain!" Rich called as he walked over.
"Yes, sir?"
"What the hell happened? Where are we?"
Beck glanced around. They had come down in total farm country. He could not see a building in the area or a single car on the road several yards away.
"Montana. We lost power and landed somewhere in southern Montana. Don't ask me how, but we did."
Rich scoffed.
"Planes don't just lose power for no reason."
"You're right. They don't. Distress transponder should have activated the moment of impact. If not, we should try calling for emergency services."
"We already tried," Autumn explained, "most of our phones got destroyed in the crash. I had mine on me, but I think it's broken. It won't turn on or anything."
Beck looked over the group.
"Is this true for everyone?"
Everyone nodded or affirmed.
He reached into his own pocket for his cell phone. The screen was cracked, as was to be expected, but it still looked functional. Pressing every button present on his phone did nothing, however.
"Okay. Phones are indeed dead. Is anyone seriously injured, I mean like, can't walk or anything?"
"They're all good," Mike the bodyguard said.
"You checked them over?"
The massive man nodded.
"Indeed I did. We can all walk just fine."
"Thanks, I appreciate that."
"So, what do we do now?" Autumn asked.
Beck looked out to the horizon. He noticed just how quiet it seemed. Sure, it would probably be expected in this part of the country, but something was nagging at him. It was way too quiet.
"I guess we wait."
After what must have been two hours, the survivors were getting restless.
Beck did not blame them. Something was very off. Someone should have come cross the crash site by now. Rescuers should have been on the scene over an hour ago. But, it seemed like they were completely alone.
"We have to do something! We can't just sit here!" Ellen cried out.
"Ma'am, please, we need to stay put and wait for help. We're not in the middle of the Amazon Rainforest here. We're in a US state," Mike tried to reason.
"Look, Mike, my family is scared. We're lost. We should try to find help. Because I don't think it's coming," Rich said.
"Captain, what do you think we should do?" Autumn inquired to Beck.
He rose from his own spot, his body still aching.
"Maybe something is wrong. No one's come yet and they should've by now. I say we try to get our bearings. Try to see if we can find anything or anyone."
"That sounds good to me," Rich said with an agreeable nod.
"Alright, let me go see if I can find a road sign, street name, something," Beck said while he walked over to the road nearby.
It was a standard rural road. One with two lanes that obviously saw little use. He walked it for a few minutes, confirming his suspicions they had went down somewhere in the boondocks.
A small, green road sign was posted as the side of the road, one he had overlooked earlier. Approaching it, he saw that there was some legible white text printed on it.
"Hey, everyone, over here!" he called out.
The survivors assembled around him.
"Now, I don't know where we are… but we should head down this road. Reach this place. It's a bit of a hike… but it's better than nothing. Maybe we'll find something along the way, too."
They examined the sign he was pointing at.
"Twelve miles? Are we supposed to walk that or something?" Layton whined. The kid looked lost without his iPad to play Fortnite on.
"Looks like it," Autumn replied.
"Glad I bought my sneakers," Carolyn muttered.
Beck loosened the black tie he wore as part of his uniform and stuffed it in his pocket. Unbuttoning the top button of his collar, he began to walk forward.
"Let's get going then. Twelve miles ain't no walk in the park."
The rest fell in behind him. Beck was wearing only his black dress shoes and hoped they would find some help before his feet gave out.
"Where the hell is this place anyway?" Carolyn wondered aloud as she walked next to Beck.
The pilot shrugged in reply.
"Beats me. I've only flown over Montana."
The blonde flight attendant smiled weakly.
"Hope County. Sounds nice enough, I guess."