Dissolution: The Wyoming Chronicles: Book One

by W. Michael Gear

  “Meaning?” Frank asked as he walked up from seeing to the horses.

  Shanteel rubbed her face, as if to reestablish feeling in her numb flesh. “When everything stopped, depending upon where you were, people would have reacted differently. In the more affluent part of town, they would have shrugged and said, ‘Yeah, well, they’ll fix it in a day or two.’ In middle class neighborhoods, people would have said, ‘See, things really are falling apart, this is the last straw.’ And in the poorer part of town, the blue collar and minority folks who walked to the grocery and got turned away, are saying, ‘I don’t have cash. What do you mean, telling me my card’s no good? My kids are hungry tonight.’ And that’s where it started.”

  She was firm in her use of the past tense.

  The look behind Shanteel’s dark eyes was nothing nice, as if she was seeing the rioting in her head. “You think tearing down the statues was bad? That’s when people start throwing things through windows and taking what they can. Now it’s going to a whole nuther level.”

  Danielle was wringing her long hair, twisting it through her fingers. “Come on, guys. Even in New York there are going to be people who say ‘Let’s hang together. Everyone pitch in. Throw in some cans of food. We’ll work together to get through this.’ I mean it happened the time the electricity went out. After 9/11 and then COVID. We don’t just turn on each other. We’re not animals.”

  Jon fingered his guitar. “Sure. People would have pulled together. But how long does that last?”

  Sam added, “And if your business depends on customers who don’t carry money, you just hit a cash-flow brick wall. The delivery trucks will demand cash. Payroll has to be met. They’ll be laying off employees immediately.”

  Amber’s expression had sharpened. “After that it all bootstraps, jacking up the pressure. I mean, who gets blamed? People show up at the local Krogers. Right there in front of them is a store full of food, but they’ll only let people with cash in the door. The store is stuck, right? They have to make income on product. Outside, people finger their worthless credit cards and stare at the ‘Cash Only’ sign where the security guys are guarding the door. The frustration builds until someone finally just shoots down the guards.”

  “And cities burn,” Sam whispered under his breath. Had it really come to that so quickly?

  “This is nuts,” Dr. Holly cried. “How can anyone destroy money. I mean, that’s what they’ve done.”

  Danielle’s expression had glazed, her dark eyes haunted. “We need to get home to our families.”

  “How?” Dr. Holly asked.

  “We’ll figure that out when we get there,” Jon said stubbornly. “There’s got to be a way. Put all of us in the van. Just the one vehicle, pool our cash, and maybe we can afford the gas.”

  Frank’s harsh laugh grated. “Yeah, right. People, the roads are closed! There’s a travel ban. Martial law. You seen any airplanes except the military flying over?” He stared from face to face. “How much cash do you all have? Will it really be enough if everything’s chaos?”

  Amber’s voice rose. “No one’s going home.”

  “How do you know?” Shyla asked, a tremor in her voice.

  “Because that’s how martial law works. Nobody travels without a permit that will allow them to get past the checkpoints.”

  Frank added, “And what about all the people stranded on the roads? They’ll be getting pretty desperate, looking for anyone who can still travel. Anyone moving must have enough cash to buy fuel and food. You won’t make it as far as Omaha.”

  Shanteel burst out angrily, “Shit! I’ve seen what happens when people start to riot.” Her face contorted. “People get shot. Innocent people. Buildings and cars get burned. Won’t be nothing like what’s coming down now.”

  “You want to get home, don’t you?” Kirstin asked anxiously.

  Shanteel blinked, seemed to flinch. “I don’t know. Not sure what I’d do...walking up that street. Seeing all the houses burned out. I tell you this, though. Any police? They’re going to protect the white neighborhoods. My part of town? They’re gonna let it burn.”

  “My family is back there,” Danielle cried passionately.

  “Barricades at the crossroads,” Amber said, a far-off look in her eyes. “Probably militia. Just like Syria.” She seemed to snap to, shooting Shanteel a knowing glance. “It’d be a lie to think we were any different.”

  “We need to go home,” Ashley said firmly. “We have to try at least.”

  Amber stood, staring around the fire. Voice crisp, she said, “No, you do not.”

  “Bullshit,” Jon barked. “You gonna stop us?”

  “Yes.”

  “How?” Ashley looked sullen.

  “All right,” Amber said, “I’ll give you all this: We’ll go down at least as far as Tappan Ranch.” She pointed. “Jon, Danielle, Kirstin, you’ll go with me. We’ll go into town and learn what we can. If anyone is able to travel, we’ll hear. If there’s an army detail, we’ll see what the procedure for a travel permit is.”

  She glanced around, fire in her eyes. “Is that a deal? I mean it, do you all agree? We’ll see what the situation is before any of us go charging off hell-bent to get ourselves captured, starved, beaten, and raped?”

  Sam didn’t think she’d realized what she said, or the tone in which it came out of her mouth: captured, starved, beaten and raped. Like had happened to her in Syria. God, she really thought that was coming down here?

  “Dr. Holly,” Jon cried, “you going to let her do this? I mean, you’re in charge here.”

  Dr. Holly pulled reflectively on his pipe, shot an evaluative look at Amber, and considered his words just long enough to make his point. “I’m backing Amber.”

  “Why?” Ashley’s voice was almost shrill. Her expression was stricken.

  A bitter smile lay on Dr. Holly’s lips as he said, “I’ve spent all of my life studying human adaptation to resources. Culture is a collection of behavioral systems that, when they’re functioning, ultimately provide for the needs of the individual. I doubt any of you have read David Aberle, Ralph Linton, or Anthony F. C. Wallace about what happens when the systems collapse. It’s called deprivation theory. And it’s all about how human beings react when they suddenly lose their security, or hope, or can’t feed their families. How they turn on each other, or toward a messiah figure offering salvation. Generally in return for total obedience.”

  Jon protested, “But, I mean, a total collapse of the system? What about cultural inertia? You know, how social institutions and behaviors perpetuate themselves? Americans won’t just turn on each other like flipping a light switch.”

  “Watched the news lately?” Amber asked. “So, Evan, tell my colleagues, here, about social inertia, and just how fast it can vanish.”

  The old professor nodded sagaciously. “Some of you anthropology majors will have studied the Lowland Maya, Chaco Canyon, Angkor Wat, or the end of Harappan civilization. Think about how quickly those systems collapsed. Like flipping a light switch? That’s a pretty good analogy, Jon.”

  He gestured with his pipe. “If Court’s right about the extent of the attack, then Amber knows first-hand what’s happening in the rest of the country. And me, I’ve spent my entire life studying what happens when systems break. The more complex a civilization is, the harder and faster it falls. ‘Ugly’ is a mild word to describe it.”

  He stared thoughtfully at the threads of blue smoke rising from the pipe bowl. “For the fall of ours, this is a pretty nice place to be. Clear up here on the top of a mountain. Far from any concentration of population. Safe. With resources beyond our dreams.”

  Dr. Holly pointed at Thomas Star and Willy. Then he indicated Frank and Pam Tappan. “We have friends here. People you can rely on who won’t slit your throats just to get whatever might be in your backpack. Advisors who can help you do what hundreds of millions will dream of and then die attempting: survive.”

  “Best listen to him,” Frank called
from behind Sam.

  “What if it’s not that bad?” Ashley asked. “Come on, the fall of civilization? This is America. Have a little faith.”

  “Hic Roma est! Roma aeterna! Urbs et orbis!” Dr. Holly exclaimed, raising his hands. “’This is Rome. Eternal Rome. City and planet.’ Those words were undoubtedly uttered in the Roman Forum in A.D. 410...just before Alaric and his band of barbarians broke down the gates and sacked the city.”

  He centered his understanding gaze on Ashley. “Faith is a fantasy. What you want reality to be. What we need, folks, are cold, hard, facts that portray reality as it is.”

  “I want to be with my family,” Ashley insisted. “Get it? I’ve got a girlfriend back there. Mom, Dad, my brothers and sisters.”

  Amber snapped her fingers for attention. “Come on, people. You came here as part of a scientific research project. To observe, formulate hypotheses, and test them. You came to do science, so let’s act like scientists. Let’s do the research, find out, as best we can, what’s going on in the country. Then we’ll make an informed decision about the best course of action.”

  I’m your only hope. Images from the nightmares Sam had had at the Tappan Ranch came back to haunt him.

  He stood, taking a position beside Amber. “If it’s as bad back there as I suspect it is, none of us, no matter how guilty or desperate we feel, want to be there. I know. My family is on Long Island.”

  He looked at Shyla, who’d been listening stoically. “Maybe Vermont’s dodged the bullet, but you’ve got to get across twenty-five hundred miles of...well, who knows what to get there. Jon, the same for you trying to get to Massachusetts; but if the cities are bad, Boston could be in flames. And Danielle, don’t you think your family would want you to be someplace safe? To know that however bad it is in Manhattan, that you’ll be out of danger until this is over? Kirstin, sure, your dad is in Switzerland and out of harm’s way, but the first place the government would protect is DC, so your mom’s probably okay. How would she feel if you risked yourself, and something happened to you out on the road? What would she tell you to do?”

  Sam searched their faces. “Come on, guys. Think! What would your families tell you to do if you could call them right now? What would you tell your own kids if the roles were reversed?”

  Awkward, clumsy, Court—of all people—stood and said, “I’m with Amber and Dr. Holly. If the rest of you aren’t, it sure as hell proves that computer science geeks are a whole lot smarter than anthro majors.”

  Dylan said, “Hey, my family’s seven hours down the road in Denver, and I’ve got my own truck. The rest of you do what you want. I’m going as soon as we get back to the ranch.”

  Kirstin crossed her arms. “I’m with him. I’m following Dylan to Denver. Anyone who wants can ride with me.”

  “Fool girl,” Amber whispered under her breath.

  Shyla took a deep breath, and Sam never thought she’d looked as beautiful as she did that night with the firelight glowing on her serious face. “I’m staying. Put me down with the smart ones.”

  “I’ve got to try and get home,” Ashley said angrily, rubbing the backs of her muscular arms.

  “Jon?” Sam asked.

  “Stay.” Then he paused. “For the time being.”

  “I...” Shanteel shook her head. “I don’t belong here. I just...” She threw her hands up. “I gotta think! That’s all.”

  “Danielle?” Amber asked in clipped tones.

  “Stay.” But she didn’t look happy saying it.

  “Well, can’t say I didn’t try.” Amber reached out, touched Sam’s elbow. “Thanks for the backup. We saved all but three.”

  He watched her walk away, legs stiff, back arched, fists knotted. That tone of resignation in her voice? Sam imagined that military commanders said that after a tough mission.

  He looked around the fire, wondering, Saved? From what? And for how long?

  An Identity of Division

  When I grew up, my grandfather made me read Dr. Martin Luther King’s “Letter from a Birmingham Jail”. And who didn’t have to listen to his “I Have a Dream” speech when they were in school?

  What Dr. King didn’t understand was that if people were to be judged solely by their personal merits—heedless of color, creed, national origin, gender, sexual orientation, or whatever—it meant they were just like everyone else. The success of a color-blind society meant a loss of individuality. To become one with the faceless mass. A negation of that “special identity” that made a person or group unique.

  And who doesn’t want to be unique? Distinct? But to be different, you must first set yourself and your fellows apart from everyone else.

  And when the collapse came, that made it so much easier to turn on those who were not “me and mine.”

  — Excerpt from Breeze Tappan’s Journal.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The last of the purple light was fading from over the high Absarokas to the west, and the mosquitoes were humming when Sam walked down into the trees to pee. Had he done the right thing?

  His urge to head home was so desperate it was like a physical ache in his soul. Who knew what was happening back in Hempstead? Long Island really was an island. If the bridges were closed and the ferries weren’t running, there was no way off, unless you were lucky enough to have a boat.

  Sure, he’d thrown his weight behind Amber and maybe convinced the majority of them to stay. At least for the time being. The sad truth was, he couldn’t believe his own advice. He figured that had Dad known, he would have jumped to his feet, shaking his fist, yelling, “Get your ass back here and help your mother and me keep the damn doors open! We can’t even hire a blind man if we can’t pay his ass. You’re our son, and we need you to get through this.”

  Walking back up the slope, Sam stopped at the edge of the trees, seeing Dr. Holly talking with Frank and Thomas Star where they sat at the fire. They didn’t have to fret; this was their back yard. Pam carried out a cup of something, handing it to Court where he sat next to Ashley. They were listening thoughtfully to whatever the elders were saying. Jon sat on the far side by himself, lonely cords rising from his guitar.

  Sam walked to his tent, surprised when Shyla’s dark form emerged from the gloom. Hesitantly she asked, “Can we talk?”

  “Sure.”

  To his surprise, she reached out, taking his hand. Her flashlight illuminated the way. The moment they were beyond the others’ hearing, she said, “I wanted someplace private.”

  Her destination was a stony outcrop on the slope a couple of hundred yards above the fire. Best of all, she held his hand the entire way. He was acutely aware as she turned it loose and seated herself. As he settled on the stony perch beside her, she produced a can of bug spray.

  “Best use it,” she said. “They’ll carry us away otherwise.”

  “Thanks.” Then he was surprised to hear myself say, “But it would be worth being eaten just for the company.”

  “Gallant, too, huh?”

  “Actually, I don’t know where that came from. I’m not known for saying witty things to beautiful women.” Sam looked down at his hands, smelling bug spray. “Maybe it’s a new me. Everything else is confused. I’m even seeing Shoshoni spirits on cave walls. Who knows what’s going to come out of my mouth next?”

  “You worried about home?”

  “Scared shitless.”

  “Somebody said ‘The times make the person’. If they’re right, we sure picked one hell of a time.” She shrugged, looking down at the fire below, her features barely illuminated. “I don’t think you’ve come to recognize yourself yet. Of all the graduate students in the department, you’re the smartest. In ways I don’t think you realize.”

  “That will be news to my committee chair.”

  “You’ve got a real-world feel for things. Call it an ability to see through the academic sophistry. I was thinking of that article on Neandertals going extinct because moderns moved into Europe with better winter clothing. Yo
u stood up in class and said, ‘Wait a minute. Neandertals survived in glaciated Europe for five hundred thousand years. If the weather was going to kill them, it would have done so long before the moderns moved in a mere forty thousand years ago.’ And then you added, ‘And if they’re extinct, why does fifteen percent of their DNA still exist in the modern human gene pool?’”

  Sam grinned. “That’s the trouble with so much of academia. It doesn’t get tested against the real world.” Which was probably his disconnect with his committee chair. The guy was almost desperate to jump on any new hypothesis and make it his own, but he’d never so much as produced a research design, let alone implemented one.

  Call it an epiphany.

  Shyla said, “That’s my point. You see through things better than the others do.”

  “Well...thank you.”

  “So, tell me, Sam. Is staying the right thing? I need to hear your take on it.”

  He hunched forward, staring down at the fire where its light flickered on the front of the wall tents. It looked magical and safe. “I was arguing that with myself when you showed up. Amber was right about one thing: We need to know what’s happening back in the world. After that I guess we think it through and give it the best shot.”

  “I think Court’s assessment of the situation, bad as it is, is probably more right than wrong.”

  “Hope not, otherwise we’re in a world of shit.”

  “Dr. Holly seemed to buy it.”

  “Down in the cave this afternoon that old medicine man told him that our world is dying. A spooky kind of place, that cave.” He paused. “I’d like to think Dr. Holly wasn’t superstitious, but he might have been predisposed to the contemplation of disaster.”

  Hell, Sam would have liked to think he wasn’t superstitious either. Curious, huh? Even as he sat beside the most enchanting woman he’d ever known, the image of Water Ghost Woman lurked in the back of his mind. Assuming a man actually survived an encounter with her—so the story goes—she was supposed to grant him power when it came to women. And here he was, sitting beside the one woman...