Tertiary Effects Series | Book 2 | Storm Warning

by Allen, William

  “What’re you thinking about so hard, Bryan?”

  “Wondering how many homeless the governor could squeeze into the governor’s mansion,” I quipped, but Wade’s hard stare brought me up short. I held up my hands, serious again.

  “Wondering how many homeless we have in the state right now,” I said seriously. “Greater Houston area had a population of seven million. Then add in the people from Beaumont, Port Arthur, and Orange into the mix. Looking at another few million along the coast down to Corpus, and that’s a huge chunk of refugees. How long can the state hope to house and feed that many people? And where will they go?”

  Wade shook his head at the sheer scale of the disaster. If the rumors were true about the severity of the damage, most of those displaced persons would not find their homes habitable. With FEMA already overclocked dealing with the humanitarian disaster out west, I feared each state was on its own in coping with the next wave of disasters. That was the fear before the hurricane hit, and now that fear was becoming reality.

  “Think of it the other way, Bryan,” Wade said, his voice low and slow. “Just how many people did that damned hurricane kill? And how many vital industries just went off line? I’m worried, Bryan, because I just don’t know how bad this is going to get. We worried and planned, both our families did, but did we worry enough?”

  With that, Wade lapsed into silence as he rocked back and forth in his chair. Shortly after, I made my farewells and headed for the field, intending to take the shortcut through the newly-installed gate. I had a lot of thinking to do and all my earlier humor, though forced, was long gone.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The next day, I got up early and started working on some of the plans I’d tinkered together on that long walk home. I’d had some of the same thoughts as noted by Wade, but the full implications didn’t soak in at the time. Yes, we were screwed, but how badly?

  Charles was still waiting to hear back from his plant manager, for example, and I knew they would want his services as soon as the flood waters receded. Thoughts about his plastic-making plant and Wade’s reminder just spun around in my head. Just how much damage did Charlie’s employer take in the hurricane? How long before they were back up and running? What about the destruction along Refinery Row in Baytown? We’d made a point of keeping our fuel tanks topped off, but now I worried that we would never see another tanker show up at Harry Ludlow’s.

  Once again, I felt the sense of urgency driving my actions, and I decided it was well past time I started getting ahead of the unfolding events.

  Mike knew something was eating at me, so once he had seen Marta off for another long day at the hospital, he tracked me down in the storage shed where the methane cube components were stored.

  “What, you checking to make sure all the parts of your White Elephant are still in one place?” he jeered, chucking my shoulder as I sat on one of the boxes, nearly upsetting my perch.

  “No, I think we’re producing enough cow shit to make this thing worth setting up,” I replied testily. “Plus, you just reminded me this thing would make for a great body disposal system.”

  I’d purchased the entire kit from an online government auction website, not realizing at the time, the cost and the complications involved in erecting the twenty-foot-long by eight-foot-tall reactor. The entire system arrived on a flatbed trailer, and the cost of transporting the kit exceeded my bid price by a fair margin. The package had been sitting in the corner of the storage shed for over a year, but I’d never gotten past the instruction manual that came with it.

  Now I was studying the manual once again, trying to figure out what went where. The instructions were written by some Air Force author who had taken some technical writing courses, but the jargon just whistled past my head like shotgun pellets.

  “What seems to be the trouble?” Mike asked, quickly picking up on my sour mood.

  “This isn’t like the water bug generator, damn it!” I exclaimed. “You know I’m scared of electricity, but at least I could understand the instructions. This thing, shit, this thing…you need a degree in organic chemistry to even get it started. Listen to this, ‘…enzymes which hydrolyze polymeric materials to monomers such as glucose and amino acids, which are subsequently converted to higher volatile fatty acids’.”

  Thrusting the book at Mike, I gestured, “This is bullshit, man. I’ve got a liberal arts degree. All I want to do is convert cow shit into methane, then burn the methane to produce electricity. I don’t need no damn volatile fatty acids.”

  Clearing his throat, and probably trying not to laugh, Mike explained.

  “Ah, Bryan, that’s just part of the process. Hey, why don’t you let me take a look at this and you go…do something else. How about that?”

  Feeling defeated by the science in the manual, I waved my thanks to my brother and wandered out of the storage shed. Turning back, I offered, “Come get me when you get ready to put that thing together, okay? I may not get the science, but I still want to see if it works.”

  “You got it. What else are you thinking about?”

  “Telephone poles,” I replied seriously.

  Mike shrugged. “You got me there. Don’t know where you’re going with that one, but good luck.”

  Something Dorothy had said the day before, along with my conversation with Nancy and her revelation about the shortages at the Co-Op, reminded me that we had the resources locally to take care of one of their problems. With a spring in my step despite the wretched mud, I set about tracking down Nancy. Luck was with me and I found her in the living room with her daughter Lisa, going over some digital textbooks from my collection. In the background, I could hear others in the kitchen and I thought I heard Billy and Tommy laughing upstairs. Probably playing Xbox after finishing their morning chores.

  Even with school being out, if only for a few more weeks, parents had taken to using any spare time they had to work out lessons for their kids. In private, I had my doubts about the local schools reopening any time soon, and I was even more dubious about letting any of our children venture out of sight. We’d even gone so far as discussing opening our own school here at the farm, and even inviting Wade’s extended family to attend as well. That was an issue for another day, though.

  I paused at the doorway to the living room and I eavesdropped on the conversation between mother and daughter as they talked about the next module in the textbook Lisa would be studying. This wasn’t me being a sneak, but simply amazed at the subject matter. Typically, the lessons ran the gamut from traditional reading, writing, and math to some more practical skills, and this one was definitely aimed at a new day and age.

  “I think I get it, Mom. The purpose of this type of boobytrap is to not only disable the attackers, but also provide a warning to the defenders? That’s pretty smart,” Lisa commented, and though I couldn’t see the screen of the tablet, I thought I knew the chapter they were reviewing. Nancy’s next comment sealed the deal in my head.

  “Yeah, I really don’t like some of the names the author uses, but ‘toe-popper’ really is descriptive.” Nancy’s voice expressed a bit of distaste, but not as much as I might have expected. “I’m not sure we have the gunpowder necessary to make these, or if they’ll work with all this rain, but this is something we might want to talk to Mike or Bryan about making for the area around the fence lines where we expect trouble.”

  “Oh, we have the resources to make those,” I confirmed, watching in amusement as two blonde heads whipped around in unison at the sound of my voice. “You really should talk to Mike and Pat, though. I’m pretty sure Mike knows how to make them already, and Pat probably took a class on it when he was in the military. I understand they train those guys in Special Forces pretty hard on improvised munitions. He can probably whip up some dandy IEDs, too.”

  “Oh, Bryan, I didn’t hear you,” Nancy said, looking a tad nervous as she closed the tablet. “I hope this is okay for us to use. The discs, I mean. They were in with the other cases, and
Lisa got curious. I wanted to learn as well, so we’re going through the materials.”

  I held up a placating hand, smiling as I did so.

  “That’s why they were in the box, guys. Plenty of material there, and I’m glad you two are getting some use out of them. I had Pat look over some of those discs when I bought them, and he said most of the texts and illustrations were lifted straight out of some government publications.”

  “Our government prints books with this kind of stuff in them? I never knew.” Nancy seemed shocked, and I had to stifle my laugh.

  “For soldiers, Nancy. They have a book for just about everything you can imagine. In case you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m a bit of a packrat as well as a sucker for a good deal. That’s why I have so many sets of DVDs and books in the library. Some of them I’ve never looked at, while others I use regularly as references.”

  “Honestly, we started on the outdoor series, learning how to identify edible plants and building shelters and such,” Nancy admitted, “then we just went on from there.”

  “Like I said, they’re there to be used. If you want to put any of those woodcraft lessons to use, we can always go camping and make up some simple tests.”

  “Not until it stops raining,” Lisa interjected, then looked between me and her mother with her hand over her mouth. “Sorry, I just don’t want to ruin my sleeping bag.”

  I couldn’t help the laugh that came loose this time, and Nancy joined in while patting her daughter’s back.

  “Lisa, I don’t know anybody who enjoys camping in the rain,” I said, still smiling. “I’m sorry to interrupt your lessons, but I needed to borrow your mother for a minute.”

  Lisa tried to cast a skeptical eye in my direction, but she was still only twelve years old and didn’t carry it off very well. “Well, okay, but only for a minute. We’re on a timeline. Mom and I have to get going if we’re going to finish this chapter before our shift in the greenhouse.”

  Hearing the timeline comment, I couldn’t help but think about my brother Mike and his sayings. Turning my back to the room while I waited for Nancy to join me I didn’t make a sound, but I couldn’t help shuddering as the laughter ran through my body.

  Nancy gave me an odd look as she came into sight, then grinned when she figured out what I was doing. With Lisa being so serious, I didn’t want to chance hurting her feelings by laughing out loud.

  “Whatcha need, Bryan? Like Lisa said, I’m on the clock.”

  My questions and Nancy’s answers only took fifty seconds, but I could see from her expression that Nancy had at least figured out part of my plan.

  “You really think it’ll work?”

  “Our part, at least. If they can get the trucks down the road, we can get them to the fence line. Measure them at the site and then trim them up there before hauling them.”

  Nancy gave me a friendly pat on the shoulder and a warm smile before heading back to finish up her lesson with Lisa. Field Manual on Booby Traps, I thought in wonder as I headed for the driveway and my old pickup. I hoped we wouldn’t need them, but I already had the designs drawn out from another book. One that Pat recommended.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Nancy told me where she thought Walter might be working that afternoon, but I couldn’t get free to see him until the following day as I played hopscotch through the neighboring properties to discuss my idea. Before I made my first move, though, I needed to run my thoughts past the panel of judges made up of my immediate family.

  Our initial plan for riding out a collapse event, of laying low and trying to pass under the radar, was pretty much out the window. I’d killed that one graveyard dead when I’d shot three bandits trying to abduct a nurse from the Urgent Care Clinic next to my office, and then driven even more nails in the coffin by taking out a quartet of bank robbers at Wilson’s Feed Store. Yes, Mike had been there too, and probably even managed to kill one of the robbers with his freakishly accurate pistol shooting, but still, the attention had fallen on the Hardin family.

  We needed a new plan, and this was something my siblings and their significant others had been batting around for several weeks. The Hardin family was one with deep roots in Southeast Texas, but not here in Albany County. I’d managed to build up some goodwill in the community over the past four years by making my legal services available at very reasonable prices, and also for doing favors where I could. This calculated approach might sound mercenary, but I was not only running a business but also trying to secure a bolt hole for my family if the need ever arose. This farm was their rainy day fund, and my, how it had been raining lately.

  After they heard my most recent idea, Mike and Nikki thought the plan had some merit, along with the accompanying benefit of generating a little extra income. Pat wasn’t sold on the details, and Marta worried about attracting more attention to the farm, but eventually what I was coming to call the ‘brain trust’ agreed to endorse the effort.

  The first outsider I talked to, our nearest neighbor Wade, saw the utility of the deal, no pun intended. He was all for the idea, as was Mr. Lovett, a horse breeder who lived a few miles away. Wade even talked the enigmatic Byron Fitts into allowing him onto the Fitts property to harvest what was there. I also approached a few other neighbors to discuss my proposal, but they either didn’t have the required resources or had already handled the problem.

  Armed with the agreements in place, I lucked out in finding Walter at the Co-Op substation warehouse out by what locals called Old Martelle Highway. Unlike the nicely painted facilities in town which included the front office and public spaces, the substation warehouse was simply a walled, sheet metal pole barn built large, with a slightly sloped metal roof and big rolling garage doors and a ten-foot-tall cyclone fence encircling the property. I estimated the building was at least thirty feet tall and fifty feet wide, but I couldn’t tell the depth of the building until I pulled through the open gate, parked my truck, and stuck my head in one of the open doors. Shoot, the thing must be nearly two hundred feet deep, I thought.

  “Help you?”

  Walter was about medium height, with a thick chest and a bit of a beer belly. I pegged him in his mid-fifties, with a bald head and a wild fringe of greying hair. He had piercing brown eyes that regarded me with a suspicious tinge. Well, I wasn’t exactly wearing my best, and he didn’t know me from Adam.

  “Mr. Pine? My name’s Bryan. Bryan Hardin. I’m neighbors with Wade Husband, and his sister-in-law, Nancy Prentiss, told me where to find you. I understand you folks are running a bit short on power poles.”

  Mr. Pine still hadn’t said anything, and his eyes were getting darker as a scowl turned down his thin lips. I hurried to speak before the man could explode. Apparently, Walter felt like Nancy was speaking out of turn by discussing the shortage. I decided to head this off at the pass.

  “Now, anyone driving by can plainly see the stacks in town are empty, Mr. Pine. I only asked Nancy where I might find you working today. I have a suggestion, if you’d care to listen,” I said quickly, injecting as much confidence as I could into my words. When Mr. Pine made a ‘come on’ gesture, I continued.

  “Seems I recall there’s a creosote plant here in town, owned by Mr. Lundy,” I said, and Pine just nodded, his expression remaining stony. “And Mr. Lundy sells most of his creosote poles to you and the other utilities in the area, correct?”

  “You’ve been correctly informed, Mr. Hardin,” Walter Pine rumbled with frustration, “but that doesn’t make any difference now. Until the crews can get back into the woods, we can’t get any more trees over to Lundy’s, and Lundy can’t make us any more poles. With it raining like this, I don’t know when that could happen.”

  “Yes, sir. But you see, there are plenty of trees available, if you’ll just send out the crews to pick them up.”

  Walter Pine didn’t earn his position with his good looks. I could see his brain processing at high speed until he made the correct connection.

  “The blowdowns? Now
, how in the heck would I get them? If the wood crews can’t get in to process the regular trees, how do you expect them to get those trees out of the woods? And aren’t they going to be all torn up?”

  “In reverse order, yes, some are too damaged to salvage. As for your next point, I think I have a way to get the rough logs at least up close enough to the road for a loader to reach them, though I admit it’ll be slower than usual.”

  “And what is your solution?”

  “Same way lumberjacks did it for centuries. Use horse teams and chains, sir.”

  Walter gave me a lost look for all of ten seconds before he barked out a laugh.

  “Use horses? Are you nuts? Where and how?”

  “I’ve got two that’re trained to harness, and I know my neighbor Wade has at least two more. Who do you think pulls our wagons at the Bluebonnet Festival parade? Same with Earl Lovett, and I’m thinking he has even more trained horses to do the job.”

  “You know we can’t use every tree, right? Standard length is forty feet, which means we’re going to be rejecting a lot.”

  “Mr. Pine, I know I shouldn’t say this, but I’m going to anyway,” I replied, giving him my best ‘aw shucks’ grin. “I’m not trying to make money here. I’ll be happy to break even when you factor in the cost of fuel and wages, but we just want to get the trees moved and get the Co-Op back to work providing power.”

  “I guess we could send out a loader and a log trailer,” Walter mused, then snapped his fingers. “Look, I’ll get you the trailer, a loader, and three of my guys out there to work the site. You have any way to limb out these logs?”