HOMEbound: Book 1

By Toby Adkins

What happens when America is suddenly plunged into darkness? Rob and Ann are about to find out.

Rob is a middle-aged man in Texas who is self-described as an "avid hunter, outdoorsman, and sometimes hiker." He is married with two teenage daughters. His oldest, Ann, has recently started college. He is on his way for a fall hunting trip when the unimaginable happens. An electromagnetic pulse has just crippled everything and everyone around him. Rob recognizes he cannot stay and wait for someone to come help. He sets out on foot, knowing he has a long walk home. His first thought is to reach his daughter Ann so they can make the rest of the journey home together.

Ann is trying to figure out what has just happened. She is an athletic and forthright young woman and soon starts finding herself at odds with others. Ann recognizes there is real trouble on campus and expresses her worries as a supplemental government arises around her. This government entity could change everyone's future.

The story unfolds when they each meet their own sets of problems, worries, and outright dangers as Rob and Ann journey home. Homebound explores each of these characters as they navigate a world no one ever expected to see. Rob and Ann will face hardships, fear, and a search for meaning in a world going into societal breakdown. Their story stretches the range of emotions and human conditions that plague our society today.

Homebound is an EMP adventure novel that will linger in the readers' minds long after they turn the final page.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fulton Books, Inc.
• Release date: Feb 28, 2024
• ISBN: 9798889826965

Book preview

Table of Contents

Title

Copyright

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Epilogue

Note to the Reader

About the Author

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HOMEbound

Book 1

Toby Adkins

Copyright © 2024 Toby Adkins

All rights reserved

First Edition

Fulton Books

Meadville, PA

Published by Fulton Books 2024

ISBN 979-8-88982-695-8 (paperback)

ISBN 979-8-88982-696-5 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Prologue

Rob

I think we're trapped, I say out loud. It's hard to stomach the fear and discouragement I hear in my own voice.

There's no response. No words of encouragement. No words of solace.

For some reason, I start second-guessing every action I have taken, even small decisions that seemed so inconsequential. What have I turned into? How is it possible for the people in the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave to turn to such savagery?

I tried to do this right, I think to myself. It's only been two weeks.

As I stand up to try and see a little farther out of the window, I slip in the fresh blood. My mind registers the gore in the room.

How many of them are out there now? I check my weapon one last time: full magazine, chamber loaded, safety off! To hell with them, let's roll.

Chapter 1

Rob

Two weeks earlier

I love Central Texas in the fall. The leaves have begun to turn color, you finally have a break from the incessant heat, and the opening day of deer season feels like a state holiday. That's where I'm heading. The Hill Country has had a draw on me for more than two decades. Growing up in small-town southeast Texas with the never-ending humidity and swamp makes the arid Edwards Plateau feel like my own slice of heaven. It feels impossible to explain, but the land out here feels alive, waiting to speak to those who have an ear to listen.

I'm also blessed with an understanding wife! Trish grew up in a family of hunters, so it's very seldom when she feels like the proverbial hunting season widow. Over the years, we've worked out a system of Okay, Rob, just tell me when you'll be home, and make sure you come back understanding. So far, I've held up my end of the bargain.

Hunting in Texas is definitely pay to play, and she has always been understanding of my indulgence…mostly. People still see Texas as one of the last frontiers and want to roam over the vast mileage that makes up our state. However, most of Texas is privately owned and good deer hunting comes at a premium price. Every opening weekend of gun season has three quarters of a million of us Texans loading up our favorite rifles with dreams of huge racks and backstraps. I laugh as I think this would be a terrible surprise if some foreign country decided to invade Texas on the opening weekend of deer season!

Less than thirty minutes west from home, I pass through Winnie on I-10 and marvel at the damage from our recent tropical storm. My mind wanders on my drive, and it's not a great memory. We were flooded two years ago and had to totally rebuild after our last major hurricane. It was a trying time for me, my wife, Trish, and our two teenage daughters, Ann and Christine. No flood insurance, questionable contractors, and FEMA promising they were only here to help us. Yeah, sure. As our life has begun to return to normal, I'm starting to see how much we've learned from the experience. Before, we didn't do much in the way of prepping, past having a small amount of food and water for the occasional power outages. I mean, come on, with today's technology, it's not like hurricanes can sneak up on you, right? We've had to evacuate a few times, but it wasn't so bad…but this last hurricane was a different story.

As our little individual towns in southeast Texas became totally isolated in the rising water, you could smell panic in the air. Gas was running out at all the stations, and food was only slowly making it to the grocery stores. The day we were evacuated by boat was surreal; all we currently owned resided in the backpacks we carried out of our home of twenty-five years. It really had us thinking, was there more we could have done to be ready for something like this? We are better prepared now but nowhere close to what I would like it to be. I've spent a lot of time reading on what else could happen too, not just on hurricane preparedness. This part of Texas is loaded with refineries and holding tanks full of who knows what. There are many things that can cause and go wrong in a grid-down scenario. That being said, there is a certain bit of confidence knowing we could hole up for several months, if we had to.

As I drive, I glance down at my get home bag and think of some of the changes I've made to my pack. As an avid hunter, outdoorsman, and sometimes hiker, I've always felt like I have the five Cs covered: cutting tool, combustion, cordage, container, and cover—it feels ingrained in me by now. Having to break into my own house after the flood has caused me to add a few things to my bag. A small pry bar, a few tools, as well as more food have found their way into my kit. Better keep my eyes on the road. Passing through the town of Anahuac, I let my mind slip a little more into neutral and get settled in for the six-hour drive in front of me.

Coming west out of Houston on Interstate 10 is the Katy Freeway; it happens to be the largest freeway in the world. I picture us from the air, slowly marching like ants in a line. How in the world can twelve lanes of traffic be at a standstill? Of course, when you have millions of people trying to escape their workday for home, things can get a little stressful. I pause at the reality of knowing that doing this every single day would literally take years off my life. A couple of sips of water and a handful of sunflower seeds later, I watch the sun set, and I'm reinvigorated by God's evening canvas. Just a few hours more to camp and the big 11 point on my game camera.

San Antonio is sprawling, not yet like Houston, but the construction seems nonstop and has only grown over the years. Coming out of Boerne, I pass the sign for the town of Welfare, almost to Comfort, and eventually Utopia, Texas. I always laugh at that. Welfare, then Comfort, and Utopia…sounds like an American fairy tale! As my mirth fades, my Ford just dies for no reason. Great. I bought this truck after the flood because it was all I could afford. Sure, it had some miles on it, but for a fifteen-year-old truck, it ran well. What's happening now? I navigate the now dead beast to the side of the interstate and glance at my watch. Just after nine at night, an hour's drive out of San Antonio, still over an hour to my hunting camp. Looks like this may be home for the night. My brother-in-law is a couple of hours away, just out of Austin. I may give him a call if I can't figure out the problem.

As I'm considering my options, it becomes apparent that there are no more headlights, no more traffic heading my way. I step out of my Ford, and the silence is deafening. There are no sounds of traffic, no honking or road noise, none of the noises normally accompanying the most traveled interstate in the country. What is going on?

I stop and tell myself to slow down and think, but there are voices rising in the cool night air. I walk a little way back east on I-10, and as I pass over the small rise, it's apparent that there are no streetlights to be seen for miles. I see a small group of people and flashlights not too far ahead; they must be doing the same thing I'm doing, just trying to figure out what has happened. As I get closer, I realize I'm totally wrong. A truck and two small sedans must have collided trying to maneuver their dead vehicles off the road. No one appears to be injured during the fender bender, but you can hear the emotions running high. As I draw closer, the word idiot comes floating to me in the breeze.

You have no business driving your gas guzzling behemoth down the road, and now look at what you've done! I hear the woman shrill.

The offending behemoth driver, who appears to be a man of about seventy, replies, You can't make my F-250 stop on a dime when all the power is gone, not to mention it's not gas. She runs on diesel.

It doesn't matter what your ice cap melting monstrosity runs on, you're paying for this, mister! is her response.

As I approach, the Keep Austin Weird and BETO bumper stickers on her Prius let me know this isn't going anywhere productive. The other driver, a long-haired young man in his early twenties, is just shaking his head, dumbfounded. You can tell he doesn't have much and just looks downtrodden as he stares at the crumpled front end of his old Honda. I ask if he's okay.

Yeah, man, it just happened so fast. Everything was fine, and just like that, everything stopped working. I don't have any insurance. I'm screwed, man.

Before I can respond, the woman's voice in the background hits a dolphin-level screech.

I'm calling the cops! she screams.

That reminds me, I better let Trish know what's going on. She'll be worried sick if I don't let her know I've made it to the deer lease okay. I pull my phone out of my pocket, and it's…dead. Nothing. I hold down the power button. Nope, nothing. It's as if the dolphin lady has reminded all of us of our phones. I look up, and everyone has the same confused look on our faces as we gaze at the dead screens in our hands.

I hear What the hell is going on? from the F-250 driver. My mind is racing. I don't want to believe it, but from everything I've read and know, there are only two options I can fathom, and either has the same result. With our vehicles down, no phones, and not a streetlight to be seen, my mind comes to two conclusions. The books would agree; this must be either an EMP (electromagnetic pulse) or a CME (coronal mass ejection). Either way, we're screwed.

I hear Honda boy ask, Man, what's happening? I don't respond. All I can think of is Trish and the girls. I turn and run back to my truck as fast as I can.

Half panicked and out of breath, I know this: I must get home. Trish and Christine are at home. They have food and water, and Dad is only a few miles away; they should be okay. However, Ann started Sam Houston State University just a few months ago. I hope she's alright. My mind starts to wander to worst-case scenarios. I hope she isn't panicking. If she's in her dorm, she probably just thinks the power is out. I have to put a game plan together and go get Ann as soon as I can. I glance again at my watch, 9:30. There's nothing I can really do now. It's extremely dark out with no streetlights, and even though my adrenaline is flowing, I realize I need to wait until the first light and come up with a plan to get home. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe it's just short term, and everything will come back on. Maybe this is isolated. I fight the urge to pack what I can, leave immediately, but I know it's my panicky animal brain talking. I start cataloging in my head what I have and where it is. Tomorrow, in the daylight, I will be able to find my gear quickly and get started as soon as possible. Sleep is a long time coming, and eventually it takes me, but it's fitful at best.

Just as the predawn light starts to crack through the foggy windows of my truck, I sit up, half asleep, groggy. I instinctively grab my phone, and when nothing happens, the realization of last night's events rushes on me like a freight train. The sudden wave of fear, and not a little despair, fills my belly like a stone. My truck feels cramped and claustrophobic. I reach for the handle. I need to get out of here now! I throw open the door. Gasping for breath that doesn't seem to come, I feel clammy. Sweat beads on my upper lip. Get it together, Rob!

I force myself to breathe slower and that helps, but the rock in my stomach is going nowhere. I stop and look around; it is eerily quiet in the low murky light. The sky is beginning to brighten in the east, and it calls to me. Head east, it says. You need to go home, it says. I suddenly stop, turn around, I have to try! I yank open the driver's side door and turn the key in the ignition, maybe…just maybe. Nothing. No click. No turn of the engine. Not even the ding of my open door. Breathe. Again. Better. I rub my face and think, Okay, let's see what we've got to work with.

I was heading out of town for several days of hunting, so I do have more gear than I typically would. Encouraging at first but I can't take it all with me. I open my duffel bag; I'll at least need a change of clothes and my heavy jacket. The cold front that's about to move through forecasts us to have close to freezing temps over the next few nights. Pants, a shirt, a couple of boxers, two more pairs of my Darn Tough wool socks—the best socks ever! Seriously, I've had them for two years, and they still look brand new. Not to mention, how many socks come with a lifetime warranty? I grab my pack and realize the extra gear is piling up fast. It feels good to be doing something though.

There's already several days of freeze dried food in my Kelty Redwing that serves as my get home bag, but I did bring food for the weekend, so I'll take what I can. I pop open my cooler and grab the sliced ham, the half loaf of bread I have (it probably won't make it, but I'll try), some American cheese slices, and the steak I planned to cook at the lease. At least the weather will be cool, and this will last a couple of days even without refrigeration. I look at the dozen eggs despairingly. No way those will last in my pack. Inspiration strikes. I pour out my half-empty water bottle and carefully crack them into it, not bad… Screw it, I'm taking the bacon too. I slide it behind my water bladder. The nuts and jerky get shoved into the various nooks and crannies of my Kelty. This won't last forever, but it's not a bad start.

I slip off my Adidas sneakers and put on my Timberland hikers. These boots have more than a few miles on them already. Okay, quick test, throw on the pack. Whoa! Definitely heavier than normal. The last twenty-five years of riding a desk at The Coin Company is going to haunt me. My athletic two-hundred-pound frame of the past has slowly evolved into some rounding, balding figure that I catch glimpses of in the mirror. I don't like him; two hundred pounds were a long time ago. I'm still active though, and knowing I need to get to my family is motivation enough. Last year, my brother Tom and I covered several sections of the Lone Star Hiking Trail, carrying more weight than I wanted. I've got this. With the pack on, I notice my 9 mm S&W Shield is pressing hard into my side. I pull off my HAWG Holster and clip it to the waist belt of my pack, that works. Alright, what else is coming?

I pull off my pack and look back over to what is left in my truck. I see the unopened pack of toilet paper and force two rolls into the top, hard not to take that! Over the years, I've stashed away a little silver and gold. I grab my little bartering kit that contains a roll of pre-1964 dimes, five small 2.5-gram gold bars, and a few other things I keep hidden in my truck for an emergency; those are coming along. These add almost no weight to my pack but pack a punch if I need them. Now the hardest part, my Remington 700 rifle in .308. It only survived the flood because I hid it in the attic before we evacuated. Customized by Texas Gun Works in San Antonio, my .308 has been my constant hunting companion for almost three decades now. The fluted heavy barrel and laminated stock make it an absolute joy to shoot but heavy. With the Leupold Vari-X 3 glass on top, I can cloverleaf my shots at two hundred yards when I do my part. Weighing in at thirteen pounds, it will be unwieldy with everything else I'm carrying. I just can't make myself leave it. So what's the plan?

I rummage through my center console and glove box. Where's my map? It's my own fault. I never use it anymore anyway. I'm already missing the Maps app on my phone! It really doesn't matter. I've traveled these roads for years. I can make it to Huntsville. If I stick to I-10 and hit 46 in Boerne and take HWY 21 to 190, it will lead me straight into Huntsville. I should make good time sticking to the highways. Not like there's going to be any traffic jams, I think snarkily. The reality is: this is going to be a long walk. It has to be close to 250 miles.

Well, last check. I already have my sleep system, Snugpak Jungle Hammock; cook kit, Sawyer mini water filter; and a few other redundancies in my bag. My BPK Kephart knife and 9 mm on my waist. I do need to look for a chance to fill my extra water bottles and bladder soon. Ha! Check your cooler. I bet enough ice has melted by now. Sure enough. I probably could do without it, but I go ahead and dig out the Sawyer and get everything filtered and filled except for about half of the water bladder. It's time. Oddly enough, I find it hard to just walk away. I start to second-guess and fight the urge to check everything one more time. Time to strengthen my resolve, I stop, turn east, and take my first steps toward home. I don't look back.

I haven't made it far when I've stopped. As I walk over the rise, I see Mr. F-250 and Honda boy sitting on the tailgate of the truck.

Well, you look loaded for bear, says the older man.

Yeah, I was heading out to hunt when all of this went down. I just want to go home now.

He says, The name's Ronnie, Ronnie Munden. We shake hands.

Hi, Ronnie, I'm Rob Anderson, it's nice to meet you. Who's your friend?

Honda boy looks up. I'm Dwayne Johnston. How ya doing, man?

Like The Rock? I ask.

He chuckles. "No, man, Johnston with a T. I'm more of a pebble!" We all laugh.

I ask, How are y'all doing this morning? Everybody okay after the fender bender?

Ronnie speaks up first. Yeah, it was a hell of a thing just losing power like that, didn't know if I could get the big girl stopped without crushing that tin can in front of me. She's lucky and doesn't even know it.

Yeah, she wasn't really happy about it either, I say.

Ronnie replies, We haven't seen her this morning, guess she's done lit out. Looks like you're on the move too. What's your plan, Rob?

I just want to get home to my family. I have a long way to go.

Where's home? Dwayne asks.

Ultimately, just north of Beaumont, but I want to get to my daughter in Huntsville first, I answer. She's at Sam Houston State, and I don't want her to be alone in this mess.

Yeah, I don't know what's going on, but it's dang sure like nothing I've ever seen before, man, Dwayne quips.

I'm noticing that Dwayne sure says man a lot, if you know what I mean, man. He seems nice enough, but his beady eyes remind me of a guy I used to work with. He was a rat-faced-looking idiot and got on everyone's nerves. It's not Dwayne's fault he reminds me of him. I'm becoming antsy and ready to go. Well, good luck to you, fellas, I'm heading out.

Dwayne reaches his hand up and stops me. Hey, Rob, if you're heading to Huntsville, let's head out together. I was going to my grandma's place in Livingston, Sam Houston is on the way, man.

I laugh and say, It's a small world, my dad has a camp in Onalaska.

Dwayne smiles. We're practically neighbors!

I stop him. I'd rather just go alone, and I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you were heading the wrong way if you're trying to get to Livingston! I chuckle.

Aw, man, I had to turn around. I missed the Love's and wanted some coffee. I needed a pick-me-up for the drive! Look, I won't be a burden. I've spent most of my life on my own. My grandma is all I've really ever had. Everything I own is in this Honda. You can trust me, I won't slow you down.

I really don't want to, but for some reason, I acquiesce. I ask, How long do you need?

A couple of minutes, man, not the first time I've had to kick rocks on the short.

I guess that means he'll be fast. When Dwayne is ready, Ronnie looks us over and wishes us both the best of luck. I shake Ronnie's hand one more time, and my journey with Dwayne The Rat-Faced Pebble begins. I laugh to myself and think, Man, I hope this isn't a mistake.

Exhilarated at first, I know I'm setting too high of a pace, but it's hard to escape the excitement of finally getting started. We take in the now waking public emerging out of their foggy vehicles. Far more people than I thought ended up car camping last night. As we stroll down the interstate, we are often asked if we know what's going on or my favorite question: Y'all know when the power is coming back on? I shake my head. Nothing is working. Every vehicle around you, every cell phone, every radio is out. You'd be lucky to get a string and two tin cans to work! People are acting like this is a rolling brownout and that the power is just about to come back on. Wow, sheeple.

Dwayne breaks into my reverie. Up to now, he's been less talkative than I thought he would. Okay, man. You look like you gotta theory. What do you think has happened?

I tell him what I'm thinking. It's either an electromagnetic pulse or a coronal mass ejection. Both of those events could release enough electromagnetic energy to bring down every electronic device it comes in contact with. It explains why nothing electronic is working, our cars and phones, etc.

He looks at me a little bug-eyed and says, You sound like that wild-haired alien dude on TV!

I chuckle. Well, at least I don't look like him. We both start laughing.

I go on. The best-case scenario would be a CME. This isn't exactly right, but it's like a giant solar flare that has knocked out power. Depending on how large it was, it could be localized to a few hundred miles or could wipe out the grids of many states. An event the size of this type of CME would most likely be known in the scientific community. In other words, we wouldn't have been caught off guard, people would know this was a very real possibility. You would have heard about it on the news.

He's listening and asks, So why is that best case, man?

Because if it is an EMP, we're really screwed. An electromagnetic pulse happens from the explosion of a nuclear weapon.

He stops me. Whoa, whoa, it's not like we saw mushroom clouds and explosions last night, everything just quit working. Sounds like it's that CME thing.

That's not what I mean. A nuclear explosion high in our atmosphere would not have the same effect as what you're picturing in your mind. Its purpose wouldn't be to kill but to disrupt all the electronic services and communications…like what just happened. This is why it's so scary. If it's an EMP, someone or a country or whoever had to deliberately set it off. It's an attack, plain and simple. Its purpose is to disrupt, not to kill. That means this is just the first step into something bigger. I see the weight of it hit him.

After a minute or two he replies, Okay, man, I see what you're saying. Yeah, that sucks.

I nod. Yeah, it does.

We put in a few miles in, and my Remington is taking its