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“And if people panic?” Hallstrom asked.

“Then we’re screwed.” Guccio said.

“Agreed.” Charli looked at him. “So, our top priority is to keep people from panicking. If the stores are looted, and truckers head for the hills, we are indeed screwed.”

Young spoke next. “What about power? Electricity?”

“Same idea. I’ve learned that some plants can run for a while on autopilot until engineers are redistributed.”

Young nodded. “And law enforcement?”

“We have a big advantage there in that we can bring all our troops home and assign them to police duties. The National Guard and reserves will also be used for this. There are some constitutional issues on this that we are ignoring for now. This should be a top priority so that we can prevent riots or looting. There will be people who will try to take advantage of this situation.”

“No kidding,” Guccio said.

Hallstrom drummed his fingers on the table. “Okay we need to get to work. Recommendations?”

Charli read from her list. “Number one, tell people to check for orphaned kids behind locked doors.”

Young whistled.

“Two, get the troops in position and redistribute police. Three, check out the news media and make sure they are working so that you can, four, have a news conference. We need to show that we are running things, and we have to prevent panic. The Emergency Alert System, the EAS, is ready. It was designed specifically for a situation like this, and although it’s never been activated for a national emergency, it’s been used countless times for weather warnings and civil emergencies.”

“What about the internet?” McGraw asked.

“It’s working for most. Remember that the internet was originally designed to function despite losses of large portions of the underlying networks.”

Hallstrom stood up. “Okay, I have to go. We immediately announce the upcoming news conference over the EAS, plus the message that things will be okay if people don’t panic.”

Guccio stood up, too. “But they will panic.”

* * *

June 11, 2018

Because Lipton, Maine had had a widespread power outage on June 10, Marie Keller and her husband Earl hadn’t watched TV. They hadn’t surfed the internet or visited with friends. They hadn’t checked their phone messages when they got home from a day of hiking. Marie and Earl went to bed unaware that doing so could be problematic.

The next morning, Marie woke to find her sixty-one-year-old trophy husband dead and resembling beef jerky. No point in calling 911. Earl was clearly gone for good. This was no emergency. Her phone rang.

“Marie Keller.”

“Oh, Marie, I’m so glad you’re alive!” The police dispatcher, Claire Weber, had a touch of panic in her voice. “You have to come in right away.”

“Claire, Earl is dead.” Marie looked over at her former husband. “He looks like a piece of beef jerky.”

“I’m sorry. Many people are dead, Marie. The phones have been ringing non-stop. We need you here wicked fast.”

Marie sat up. “Many people are dead? What do you mean?”

“People all over the world are dying. Millions. Or more.”

Marie got out of bed. “And you want me to come in and help answer the phones?”

“No, we want you … you’re the sheriff now.”

“Hold on, Claire. Is Sheriff Roberts dead?”

“Yes, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

“And the deputies?”

“Yes, Steve and Ingrid are dead, too.”

“Well Jeez Louise, I guess I’d better get over there.”

“Yes, right away, please. And Marie …”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry about Earl.”

Marie looked over at Earl’s body. “I’ll see you in fifteen minutes.”

* * *

Marie listened to the news on the way to the sheriff’s office but only had time to understand that millions, perhaps billions of people had “woken up dead,” as one of the announcers put it. Two of the preset stations on her car radio were off the air, but WGAN from Portland came in fine. She pulled up to the office only fourteen minutes after she’d hung up her phone.

The people of Lipton had dedicated their new police station in 1953 with a parade and fireworks display. The brick building squatted on Commerce street, with two park benches and a Maine flag out front. Marie stepped in the rear entrance to the sound of ringing phones and the scent of popcorn. Sheriff Roberts had loved his popcorn.

Claire pointed to a second phone and mouthed the word “help.”

Marie shook her head, and when Claire finished with the current call, Marie said, “Let them ring for a minute.”

Claire wrinkled her forehead and bit the inside of her cheek. She had a beehive hairdo that was suffering from colony collapse. “But—”

“We need to get ahead of this. Are most calls reporting that someone is dead?”

Claire nodded. “Yes, almost all of them.”

“How are you handling those?”

Claire mimed writing on a pad. “I write down the information—”

“No. For now just tell them to sit tight and listen to WGAN for more information. Can you do that?”

“Yes.”

“I need you to locate volunteers to help you with the phones. It can be your sister Naomi or anyone you choose. If you can’t find someone, let me know. All right?”

Claire let out a big breath and nodded.

Marie said, “Okay. I’ll be in Sheriff Roberts’—in my office—making some calls. Is there anything else you need?”

“What are we going to do with all the bodies?”

“That’s something we can deal with later. If all the bodies look like Earl’s, they’ll keep. Claire, we can get through this if we keep our heads. You’re doing a great job, and I’m glad I can count on you.”

“How can you go on with Earl gone? Don’t you miss him?” Claire looked closely at Marie.

“I do miss him, and I’ll miss him more when I have some time later. I can get along fine without him, so let’s go back to work.”

Marie pushed into “her” office. She used her forearm to slide all of the sheriff’s mementos, photographs, paper piles, and an empty popcorn bowl onto the floor. She found a legal pad and started writing. Marie tuned the radio to WGAN and left it at low volume while she wrote.

1. Infants, kids, elderly—find. Register?

2. Get some muscle—Mike?

3. Announcement—Radio? Phone tree? Emergency broadcast system?

4. Get help from state police

5. Check out hospital—make sure someone is in charge

6. Power okay?

She picked up the phone and called her grandson’s house. Her great grandson, Mike, answered the phone.

“Mike, this is Nana—is everything okay over there?”

“No, Mom’s dead!” He started sobbing. Mike was a high school senior. He was about as sharp as a sack of wet mice but had a good disposition, was popular, and did what he was told. Marie called him because he was into bodybuilding, and it showed. He was also six-foot-five and the star of the football team. What he lacked in intelligence, he made up for in grace under pressure. Two years ago he’d saved the life of a child who had fallen through the ice. He’d acted fast while others hesitated. He dove in, found her under the ice, and pulled her out. Of course, he almost killed himself in the process.

“I’m sorry, dear. Mike, I know this is tough for you, but I need your help with the police department. I’m the sheriff now, and …”

“What are you talking about? What about Sheriff Roberts?”

“Sheriff Roberts is dead. A lot of people are dead. Mike, I don’t have much time. Can you help me?”

“Yes, I can, Nana.”

“I need you to come on patrol with me.”

“You mean like the prize patrol?”

Marie frowned. Had she made a bad choice? “No, ah, more like being a deputy. Get your sturdy boots and wait for me. I’m not sure when I’ll get there, but stay put. Can you do that?”

“Yes, I can.”

“Okay, thank you, Mike. I love you.”

Marie was looking for the phone book when the mayor of Lipton burst in.

Harold Myer was a small, nervous man who looked like Woody Allen on a bad day. “Marie, what the hell are you doing?”

“Good morning, Harold. Right now I’m being the sheriff.”

“What are you talking about, where’s John? You can’t be sheriff, you’re just a senior citizen patroller.”

“Sheriff Roberts is dead. So are both of the deputies.”

“Don’t you know what’s going on? Almost everyone in the country is dead, and the rest may be dead soon.”

“Yes, Harold. Please sit down.”

“This is literally going to be the end of the world. We’ll have lawlessness, the power will go down, food won’t be distributed, and if there are any fires, the fire departments won’t come.” Harold was a house painter and part-time mayor.

His last name, Myer, was probably what got him elected. Folks had looked forward to the fun of calling him “Mayor Myer.” His campaign slogan was “Mayor Harry Myer—Say it Three Times Fast!” As expected, he was a pretty lousy mayor and often turned the council meetings into shouting matches.

Marie held her hand out. “Hold on. It may not be that bad, but in any case, let’s just take things one at a time and act locally. We have good people in this town. And if we—”

Claire burst in to the office. “The phones are down.”

Harold pointed with a hand adorned with flecks of all-weather paint. “See what I mean? We need to get some real police here, right away.”

“I’m working on that, but for now, I seem to be it, and I’m going to do my job.”

“When the power goes out, the food is going to spoil—”

“Harold, shut up!” Both Claire and the mayor dropped their jaws, surprised at the strength of her command voice. Marie would need to think of something to keep Harold busy. Something he couldn’t screw up too much. “Claire—”

They all stopped when they heard the grating emergency alert system tone on the radio. Marie turned it up.

The tone stopped and President Hallstrom came on the air.

“My fellow Americans, we have experienced a terrible, tragic day. But that day has passed, and we must now resolve to move forward. We can, and will, persevere without fear. Without panic. Let us honor the memories of those we have lost by reacting to this crisis with steadfast courage and unselfish unity.”

Hallstrom went on to explain that although many had died, the crisis would be solved by redistributing workers and other resources.

He announced his upcoming news conference and ended by saying “Be assured that if everyone stays calm, we can reduce further disruptions and loss of life. Let history show that we confronted this, the world’s greatest crisis, with integrity and bravery.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

June 11, 2018

When he’d heard the news, late on June 10, that most of the population was dying and that death could be postponed—
prevented maybe?—
by staying awake, Louis Corby had looked up to the ceiling and said “Thank you, Jesus.” An overburdened police department and a skyrocketing demand for meth was an unimaginable gift from the Lord.

He’d called an emergency meeting of everyone in his company. His drug business was administered from an elementary school building purchased from the county. The auditorium still sported basketball banners and motivational posters made by sixth graders. One had a crayon drawing of Earth, with colorful lettering. “Don’t Let Drugs Ruin Your World!”

Fifty anxious faces studied Louis as he came out on the stage. Like all his meetings, this one was part revival service and part Fortune 500 stockholder meeting.

Louis scanned the room. “My children, the Lord has given to us on this day, a task and a challenge. We have little time. Let us give fifteen seconds of silent prayer to acknowledge this wonderful gift.” Everyone bowed their heads. Louis watched them. A full minute of prayer would have been an intolerable waste of human resources. After the prayer, he continued. “Our first order of business is to eliminate production bottlenecks.”

This was met with a scattering of “Amen” and “Thank you, Louis” responses. His employees went along with the fundamentalist shtick, since his was the most profitable of all the drug gangs and had the best benefits.

“Next, we are shifting all production to tablets. Tablets, tablets, tablets.” Louis did a few manic jumping jacks—one for each instance of the word “tablets,” then he crouched down and walked across the stage like Groucho Marx. “Customers who have never used drugs before are not going to be willing to snort or inject, but anyone can take a tablet.” He stopped and stood tall. “Anyone! Can I have an amen?”

“Amen!” All responded in unison.

Louis nodded, moving his chin high in the air and then all the way down to his chest. “I want a new name for these tablets, something to deflect the drug image and emphasize the ability to keep the user awake. We don’t have time for focus groups today. Call out your suggestions.” He leaned so far out over the edge of the stage that he almost fell and held his hand behind his ear. “Now, now, now. Let’s hear them.”