by Bobby Akart
Blair stopped, smiled at the woman, and put her arm around her shoulder, a sincere, comforting gesture. “Listen, every decision we’ve made here is color-blind. The Haven is not intended to be exclusionary, nor is it a social experiment in which we check all of the boxes to cover every nationality and race. We live in dangerous times, as we’ve seen. Our goal was to bring together a group of people who share a common interest—the survival and protection of their family.”
The woman nodded, and Blair gave her an extra hug of encouragement before continuing. “What’s important to us, as well as y’all, is the fact that everyone has an important skill, a certain level of expertise, that will play an important role in the sustainability and longevity of our community. Ryan and I have developed the Haven with the capability of living here for decades if necessary.
“Keep in mind, this is where we live, too. We have a vested interest in your safety, as well as ours. Your strengths overcome our weaknesses. If we pull together, we can keep the madness at a safe distance while we find some semblance of normalcy in our lives.”
Several of the people on the tour added their opinions, and Blair continued the casual stroll, making conversation. They stopped at the Armageddon hospital, where she assigned one of the women who’d been a pediatric physician’s assistant for years.
Later, they struck up a conversation with Charlotte, Echo’s wife, who was logging in the newly received food and supplies into one of the Haven’s secured supply depots. Ryan had built several of these around the Haven. They were all block and brick structures designed to store food under cool, dry conditions. He’d constructed six of them, with a seventh in progress, in order to, as he would say, prevent all of their eggs from being in one basket.
One couple had experience with canning and growing a garden, so they were placed on Echo’s team. Blair talked about their sustainability program. “Throughout the Haven, we have many gardens and greenhouses that take advantage of the varied soils, hillsides, and shade trees that make up the landscape.
“Growing your own food is like growing your own money. And in a post-collapse world where grocery stores’ shelves are barren, the maintenance of these sustainable gardens becomes very important.”
One of the attendees raised his hand. “Do you think it will come to that? I mean, empty grocery stores.”
“It already has,” replied Blair. “We’re sending out teams twice a day, scouring the neighboring towns for any food and supplies that we will need for the future. Not everyone out there believes the events of New Year’s Eve will have a measurable impact on grocery deliveries. We disagree, as Echo’s teams can attest. Each run yields less.”
“Will the sustainable gardening harvests last?” asked one of the women.
“Forever, if we maintain them properly,” replied Blair. “There are several aspects to our program, but the most important has to do with the heirloom seeds we have stored and our harvesting procedures at the end of a growing season. We have sufficient seed packets in a wide variety of fruits and vegetables to last a decade. However, properly harvested, the heirloom seeds from the plant material can be reused the next season. The crops those seeds produce will produce new seeds to be used later.”
A young boy raised his hand. “Why do you call the seeds heirloom?”
Blair looked down to the boy and mussed his hair. “You’re here with your parents and grandma, right?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, that means there are three generations of your family at the Haven. Your grandma had a baby, then your mom had a baby, and one day you’ll meet a nice girl and you two might have a baby. Heirloom seeds work the same way. They’re grown in a tomato, for example. After we pluck it off the vine, we remove the seeds, dry them, and then store them for next year. Then we plant them and grow another crop of tomatoes. We do it over and over and over again, for years if necessary.”
“That’s pretty neat,” said the boy with a grin, as he enjoyed the attention from the boss lady.
“You know what, this is the type of thing you’ll learn in our new school,” added Blair. She pointed ahead toward the Little Red Schoolhouse. “Of course, you’ll learn the basics. You know, the three R’s—reading, ’riting, and ’rithmetic. However, you’ll also learn about practical, real-life things like growing food, basic first aid, and when you’re older, how to handle a weapon.”
Blair continued their walk and then paused as some of the famous buildings featured in the Hunger Games movies came into view. Thus far, the new arrivals, to their credit, hadn’t bugged her about the movie set. As a result, she decided to reward them and spend some time explaining the background.
She showed them the country store that had served as Mellark’s Bakery, and the Katniss Everdeen home, both of which had been restored and left intact. When she and Ryan purchased the property, they agreed that the history of Henry River Mill Village should be respected, and the prominence it received from the Hunger Games movies should not be forgotten. Several of the structures were renovated and put into use, but the exterior facades were left in their original state.
Blair pointed out several wells that had been dug to ensure that fresh water was available and also the solar arrays that had been installed to take the Haven off the grid. A tour of a large greenhouse and a look inside the school finished off the walking tour.
By the end of the two hours, everyone was enthusiastic about the jobs they’d been assigned, and any trepidation they had regarding life in a confined area disappeared.
Blair and Ryan had adopted a survival mindset years ago. It was one thing to buy supplies and fill up their closets. However, to survive for years during the apocalypse, they had to adopt a preparedness lifestyle, one in which sacrifices were made and approaches to everyday living changed.
Now their task was to instill this mindset into everyone who lived at the Haven. Their collective survival would depend upon it.
Chapter 38
The Haven
Ethan had spent an hour that afternoon learning all of the features and operation requirements of the quadcopters. Alpha was a very patient teacher, offering encouragement to the young man, who soaked in the knowledge. Eventually, he was left alone with the controller, and he practiced flying the drone around the Haven until he’d mastered its capabilities.
Toward the end of his training session, something was said that puzzled Ethan at first, and then angered him. As Alpha was leaving, Ethan’s attitude changed, and he successfully hid his aggravation from Alpha. As he flew the drone along the perimeter of the Haven, his mind recalled the exchange.
He’d asked Alpha if he’d been able to find a charger for his Android cell phone. He explained that he’d left his behind in Atlanta and that his dad would ask about one. Alpha knew nothing about it. To the contrary, he immediately offered one up out of an electronics cabinet in HB-1 that contained a variety of electronic devices and their accessories.
Ethan instantly became mad at his father for lying about the availability of the charger. After Alpha left him alone, Ethan took the charger from the storage and raced back to the Hightowers’ cabin to retrieve his phone. While he operated the drone, he charged his phone with plans to call his mother as soon as he could.
Once the phone was charged, he repeatedly tried to contact his mom or her boyfriend, Frankie, to no avail. This simply added to Ethan’s frustration, and the anger swelled inside him. As he stewed over his father’s lack of candor, he recalled the seriousness of the situation outside the Haven. His mind conjured up several horrific scenarios that could apply to his mom’s safety. He reminded himself that his father hated his mom, and that he’d be just fine without her in their lives.
All of these things compounded the teen’s anger until he decided he’d take matters into his own hands. He returned to HB-1 and shelved the quadcopter. He chose another one out of its cubby in the barn and took it for a flight. This time, rather than patrolling the Haven, he ventured beyond the property’s
borders in search of other homes and businesses.
It was more than idle curiosity. Ethan Hightower had a plan.
He’d picked up on the operation of the quadcopter quickly and now was highly confident in his ability to fly it around any number of obstacles. He’d also figured out how to adjust its programming. The first thing he did as he flew H-Quad-4 across the eastern perimeter of the Haven was to turn off its recording capabilities. He didn’t want anyone to come back later and see what he’d been up to.
Secondly, he slowed down his flight speed. Before, he’d enjoyed buzzing about at high rates of speed, caring little about the surveillance aspect of his job. He was playing, but now he was all business.
He began to surveil adjacent farms. There were only a few homes in the area, as this part of North Carolina was very rural. Ethan thought that might work to his advantage for what he had in mind.
It took him almost an hour, and several different quadcopters, until he found what he was looking for. Just past the bend in the Henry River, at the edge of the Haven’s property, there was an isolated farmhouse. A white, four-door sedan was driving slowly up the driveway from the road.
Ethan hovered high above the car and slowly followed it toward the garage. The driver pulled up short and stepped out. Ethan used the zoom function on the camera to get a closer look. An older man slowly exited the vehicle and walked around the trunk to the passenger side. He opened the door and helped an elderly woman get out. They leaned on each other as they made their way inside.
“Perfect!” Ethan exclaimed before he caught himself and stifled his exuberance. He looked around to see if anyone had heard him, but he’d been left to his own devices for hours.
He lifted the drone to a higher elevation and flew it back to HB-1, diligently making mental notes of the farmhouse’s location in relation to the barn.
Minutes later, the drone was stored on its shelf and Ethan meticulously put everything away so as not to draw attention. Then he thought about his next step.
He didn’t want to go back to their cabin, as he was afraid he might get trapped by his dad or sister. There was really nothing there that he needed. He had his favorite clothes on and he had his phone.
Ethan took a minute and walked around the barn. He tried the door handle to the conference room, but it was locked. He began to open up some wooden lockers on the wall adjacent to the conference room. Each locker had a backpack stored in it.
Ethan pulled one out and rifled through it. It contained some camping equipment, meal replacement bars, water purification supplies, and two bottles of water. Works for me, he thought to himself.
He put his arms through the backpack straps, took another look around, and began making his way through the thick woods toward the location of the farmhouse.
Yes, Ethan Hightower had a plan. It was not a good one. But he’d made up his mind. He was going to Philadelphia to get his mom, and he was gonna need a ride.
Chapter 39
Duke Homestead
Durham, North Carolina
“This is getting ridiculous,” Tom lamented as he tried one exit after another in search of gasoline. He didn’t want to wait until the fuel gauge hit empty, but despite his best efforts, he found gas stations closed or out of gasoline.
“This next exit seems to be an option,” added Donna, who pointed ahead toward the Guess Road exit off the interstate. Tom craned his neck and saw the Popeye’s Chicken sign across the street from an Exxon station. As he slowed to take the ramp, a Home Depot appeared on their right, and then several other familiar businesses could be seen.
“We’ll give it a try,” he said as he waited for the light to change.
Traffic was light, and he noticed that some of the businesses were closed despite being the middle of the day. He turned right onto Guess Road and smiled at the thought of a Quarter Pounder with cheese from McDonald’s. His hopes were dashed upon a closer look. The restaurant had closed, and a maintenance crew was in the process of boarding up the building’s windows.
“Do you think they’re having the same trouble that Richmond is?” asked Donna. Her nose was pressed against the glass as she watched the men work to secure the restaurant.
Tom was rubbernecking the activity as well, so when he pulled into the Exxon station, he didn’t notice that plastic bags covered all the pumps.
“Dammit!” he exclaimed out of frustration. The store had a single clerk inside and a couple of customers, but clearly, they’d sold out of gasoline. Tom pulled through the pumps and glanced in both directions on the four-lane road. Several businesses were closed, but Popeye’s and Bojangles’ seemed to be operating on all cylinders.
Donna leaned forward and turned the radio back on. They’d given up on listening to national news, as the networks had no definitive answers and instead supplied a variety of commentators who voiced their opinions via speculation.
Tom had avoided telling Donna about his morning conversation with Tommie. The fracas in Richmond had interrupted their talk and she never brought up the subject again. As they drove south, mostly in silence, the pundits raised all kinds of possible culprits for the terrorist attacks, but none of them suggested an inside job, as Tom considered it to be. The ramifications of Tommie’s revelations were enormous. He suspected the intelligence agencies would leak the information to the media at an opportune moment, depending upon the leaker’s agenda.
“I see a BP station a little farther down the road. Might as well give it a try.”
Donna didn’t respond, instead focusing her efforts on finding a local Durham news station to determine why the businesses were closing. Tom pulled into the BP station and beamed when he saw motorists pumping gas.
“Jackpot!” he exclaimed as he drove between a pickup truck and an old Buick in order to access the center pump. He was so ecstatic to be able to fill up, he shrugged off the price tag, which exceeded eight dollars per gallon.
He frowned, however, when he saw a cardboard sign taped on the pump that read CASH ONLY. He had no idea how many gallons the Yukon held, but he guessed at least twenty-five. Based on the yellow warning light on the truck’s fuel gauge, he calculated he’d need two hundred dollars’ worth. A record fuel purchase in his lifetime.
As he walked inside to pay, he pulled out his wallet. He only had a few twenties, so he dug into his emergency stash. When he was young, his father had taken him aside and taught him some of the basics to becoming a man. Some of the tips had to do with carrying a wallet.
First and foremost, his father had told him, always carry your wallet in your front pocket when in a crowd to avoid being pickpocketed. He rarely followed his father’s advice on that point. His father also said don’t stuff your wallet with anything unnecessary. A fat wallet was considered a prime target for thieves.
He was told to carry a condom at all times—just in case. This was old-school fatherly advice that Tom didn’t follow either. He was a rare young man growing up, opting to wait until he and Donna were married before he took the plunge into sexual activity. He laughed to himself as he wondered if there were any more like him today.
The other important thing he learned was to keep a secret stash of emergency cash, as his father called it. Back then, a twenty-dollar bill was sufficient. Over time with inflation, he had increased the amount he carried to two hundred-dollar bills.
He recalled explaining the logic to his son-in-law, Willa’s husband, one day. “I look at it this way. I think about what I paid for my first house. Then I compare that to what I paid for my new car. I paid more for my car than I paid for our first house. Twenty bucks barely gets you a number one at McDonald’s nowadays.”
Tom reached into his wallet and retrieved the crisply folded hundred-dollar bills and handed them to the clerk. She took his cash and told him to come back for change when he was finished.
He didn’t bother.
Tom was mesmerized by the fuel pump as the dollars and cents ticked away until he’d spent over a hundred doll
ars.
“Thirteen gallons so far,” he muttered, amusing himself over the outrageous price per gallon. He shrugged it off as he considered that Europeans had been paying these prices for years.
As the pump continued to dispense gas into the truck, Tom heard shouting from the direction of the interstate. On the other side of the adjacent Family Dollar, people were marching down Duke Homestead Road, shouting and yelling. They weren’t in trouble but were clearly agitated.
Expletives were hurled, and soon a hundred people or more had spilled out into the intersection of Guess Road and Duke Homestead Road. Donna turned in her seat and waved to get Tom’s attention. He rushed to the driver’s door and opened it.
“The president is declaring martial law!”
“When?”
Donna was quick to reply. “Right now. I just found it on the radio. Listen.”
Tom backed out of the truck and looked down the street just as the gas nozzle clicked, indicating the tank was full. He had thirteen dollars to spare on his prepaid amount, but he didn’t wait to squeeze a few more drops out. He returned the nozzle to the pump and climbed into the driver’s seat.
Tom wheeled the Yukon around two vehicles blocking the exit and jumped a curb in order to get back onto Guess Road. He pressed the pedal all the way to the floor, and the heavy truck roared to life, speeding toward the intersection, where a large group of people had gathered. Many were carrying signs and waving banners.
“Tom! You can’t run over them!”
“Hold on!” Tom kept his speed, and some of the group noticed him racing toward them. They didn’t yield and instead faced him down defiantly.
“Tom!”
“Here we go!” he shouted as he whipped the steering wheel to the right and raced through an office building’s parking lot. He bounced over a sidewalk and slid across the grass in front of the entrance to an adjacent church.
