Charit Creek

by D A Carey

  The community had an excess of food and other perishables that would be difficult to preserve for long. Their storage was full, and Ellie wanted to help their neighbors. She wanted to open a trading post and had requested a meeting with other C-Town leaders to discuss her idea.

  * * *

  “I appreciate you all meeting with me. I know everyone is busy.”

  “Mrs. Weathers, we all know how hard you’ve worked since you got here. We’re happy to listen to whatever you have to say.”

  “Thank you, Don. You’ve all been so kind and supportive to Malcolm, Kate, and me. What I wanted to talk about was a trading post.” Ellie scanned the small group and was encouraged to find little skepticism. They appeared open, and Ellie forged on. “We have the farmers market that we open sporadically down by the blue bridge. My plan is to expand that to a full-time operation. There are buildings we can use and, if it’s successful, perhaps even add some walls down the road. Malcolm and Mike could open an auto or machine repair shop, and the Griggs could package up and trade for some food. Everyone knows Mrs. Bonnie is one of the best cooks around. I’m sure we could get a lot of what we need.”

  “Thank you, hon, but I don’t know about all that,” Mrs. Bonnie said self-deprecatingly. “I’m just a country cook in a diner.”

  “Sounds like an old western trading post in Indian country,” Don teased, and some of the others laughed lightly.

  “I suppose you’re right. There are more parallels to how the country is now and what it was like then than we care to admit,” Ellie admitted.

  “That’s true,” someone else said.

  “With that in mind, I feel we would all agree that our first allegiance is to our own community. However, if we have excess as we do right now, then trading with our neighbors could benefit everyone.”

  “I’m not disagreeing,” Don said. “I like the idea, though I’m curious to hear more about how you think the mutual benefit works.”

  “First, it’s morally right. We’ve set ourselves up as a moral and ethical society. This proves that. We aren’t a charity organization and aren’t giving stuff away on a large scale. Secondly, it gives us the chance to establish a standard barter trading rate and process. We can post sheets on what things are worth so people will know ahead of time. Thirdly, it relieves some of the pressure on our neighbors, and that should make this area of the country less prone to violence.”

  “Don’t you think it could actually make us more of a target for desperate, hungry people when we display the food and things we have available for trade?” one of the older men in the back said.

  “That’s possible, but it’s naïve to assume people aren’t already talking about us, though, and making wild assumptions about what we have behind the walls. Establishing barter rates, rules, and converting as many people in the area to our friends as possible far outweighs the risk of the few malcontents. We always have Don’s security folks to back us up in case of an extreme situation.”

  “Okay. I’ll buy into what you’re saying, although I’d prefer it was further away from C-Town to keep us more out of sight and out of mind.”

  “I understand that concern. I thought of it myself. The shops by the blue bridge are close enough to protect our people. They’re also close enough where a few trained snipers can provide overwatch from C-Town itself.”

  “Look at you! Using all that military lingo,” Don teased.

  “So what do we trade?” another lady asked.

  “First we go through the various community leaders and choose excess items, perishable food, or things that might go to waste. Once the barter rate is set, people in the community can trade their own goods. Down the road, we could even offer bounties for specific items we want.”

  The previous lady spoke up once more and asked, “A moment ago, you spoke of our moral obligation and not doing charity on a large scale. As part of our faith, wouldn’t it be proper to have some kind of soup kitchen down there? It would be the right thing to do and might bring in more traders.”

  “I know your heart’s in the right place, Cathy,” Don said before Ellie could answer. “I don’t think we can do that, though. A charity event like that would bring in more of the people who don’t work or won’t provide for themselves. That could snowball into something dangerous for our town and be very hard to handle.”

  There were murmurs of agreement in the room.

  “That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be charitable,” Don said in a softer tone. “Just not on a large scale, and it should be more of a hand up than a handout. If we want to give extra food to a mom trading to feed her children, then by all means do so. If a young man is hunting to feed his family and needs good boots, then we may give them to him or trade cheaply. We have to be careful.”

  “You’re right. I guess I wasn’t thinking,” Cathy said.

  “Don’t apologize. Like I said, your heart is in the right place. We need to be reminded by people like you to maintain our morals and ethics. Too many people in this country have been conditioned for too long to expect stuff for free. Now that the federal government has cut them off, they’ll be desperately searching for a new source. That could create a huge problem. Money is now worthless, and very few beggars have anything of value to offer either in trade goods, real world skills, or work ethics or they wouldn’t be hungry. Many of today’s beggars only had money or their fancy electronics before the current situation.”

  “I guess I never thought of it from that angle. In any event, I support Ellie’s plan, and I’d like to be down there helping.”

  “Excellent!” both Don and Ellie said in unison.

  One Step at a Time

  One Step at a Time

  “Don't judge each day by the harvest you reap but by the seeds that you plant.”

  - Robert Louis Stevenson

  << Vince >>

  As they neared Tucson, Liz studied the map.

  “Vince, I’m not sure about Tucson. It’s not big like Phoenix or L.A., and it looks more compact, but it’s hard to be sure from what I see on the map.”

  “Trust your gut. You have a good intuition. Don’t ignore it.”

  “I don’t know if it’s my gut or if I’m just nervous, but I don’t feel good about Tucson.”

  “Okay, so have you found a way around?”

  “Well, north of the city doesn’t look good. The mountains are too rough and the roads too few. That leaves south. If we’re going to head south, then we need to do it before we hit the Saguaro National Park and Tucson Mountain Park.”

  “Sounds good. Where do I turn?”

  “We need to keep an eye out for Sanders Road and signs for the Marana Regional Airport, then keep heading south until we get to Highway 86. That’s where I get confused and need your help.”

  “What’s got you concerned?”

  “Once we hit Highway 86 and head east, we’re back into the Tucson suburbs. Yet if we head further south, we’ll end up in the San Xavier Indian Reservation. I assume you don’t want to go through the suburbs, and the maps show hardly any roads through the reservation. I doubt those folks would have wanted us going through there in good times. I shudder to think how they’d react now.”

  “Let’s play it by ear. When we get to 86, let’s see what we can find to head south. You’re right that with the geography compressing the people and subdivisions tighter together, the tensions and violence will be higher too. You were right to trust your intuition. Good job.”

  Vince’s compliment warmed Liz, and she flushed with pride.

  Almost as if talking to himself, Vince supposed, “The mountains could be a natural retreat for the people of Tucson if they would use it that way. They’re filled with food and water and a way to get away from the crowds of people who’re the biggest threat right now.”

  At Highway 86, they used more valuable fuel going both east and west, searching for a way south. Not finding what they wanted, they were forced to head East on Valencia Road until they hit I-10 again
in the suburbs south of Tucson.

  It was already late in the day, so Vince found a hidden spot off the road a few miles before they reached the Casino Del Sol. The plan was to rest, eat, and move out around two in the morning.

  Tensions were high among the four of them as they started out. They passed the casino and went under I-19, expecting the worst. Nothing happened. As they approached 12th Avenue, things looked worse. Even though the lights were out, there were plenty of people, fires, and the occasional gunshot. Vince kept moving, and luckily they didn’t attract much attention. These people were more focused on victims of opportunity. Vince and his crew possessed things of great value in this new reality but gave the impression of being strong enough that they didn’t seem like a good group to attack.

  Passing the Tucson International Airport was a somber reminder of how far the country had sunk. It was a quiet, ghostly place. The only movement was wisps of smoke drifting up in the glow of fires in the background. It was easy to forget that in the modern world airports had become busy places that might slow at night but never fully stop. Seeing one this silent felt wrong at a visceral level.

  They hit I-10 going south. Everyone was quiet. As physically fatiguing as this new reality was, it was more soul tiring than they cared to admit.

  * * *

  Shortly after they got south of Tucson, they came on a Loves Travel Stop. It appeared deserted, except for about fifty tractor trailer rigs in the back and about two dozen cars. Vince slowly drove back to the big rig parking lot and eased the small gardener’s truck in between two tractor trailers.

  Junior and Vince worked opposite directions scouting the rigs to make sure no one was sleeping in the cabs. Vince suspected these cabs would have been full for a few days after the EMP until the food and water ran out. Their good fortune continued, and all the trucks were empty.

  Vince checked to make sure Liz and Carol were armed and prepared while he and Junior scouted the truck stop.

  “Vince, this isn’t some macho thing. We can scout, too,” Liz said.

  “Junior and I are trained in this. We can do this swiftly and be right back.”

  “Aren’t you worried we girls won’t be safe out here all alone?” Liz said somewhere between sarcasm and a tease.

  “I’ve seen you in action. You’ll be fine,” Vince said.

  It didn’t take Vince and Junior long to determine the place was clear of people. The one bonus was finding a couple of mountain bikes strapped to the roof of an electric car.

  Junior shook his head. “Obviously these people were environmentalists. Why wouldn’t they ride their bikes out when the EMP killed their car?”

  “Hard to tell. People do stupid things when they’re scared. They could have been killed or ridden out in a truck like ours with others. Why look a gift horse in the mouth? Let’s search the car for a pump and repair kit for the bikes.”

  Back at the truck, they got all four bikes strapped in and still had room for two people in the back.

  “Now we need to siphon fuel to refill our jerry cans,” Vince said.

  “These trucks are all diesels. Shouldn’t we check the cars up front?”

  “Isn’t there gas in the underground tanks?” Carol asked.

  “Getting to the underground tanks and siphoning will be harder than sucking through a tube from parked cars. Let’s try these vehicles first. There are a few RVs back here. Even if the fuel tanks are diesel, some will have gas generators with separate tanks, and we can check those.”

  “Sounds good,” said Junior.

  “Don’t forget we need to top off our water storage. The desert can be a dry place,” Vince said. “If we can’t find water in other places, we can drain the hot water tanks in the truck stop and RVs as a last resort.”

  An hour later, they were back on the road.

  It was a long, hot drive across Arizona and New Mexico headed toward El Paso. The daytime heat and nighttime chills that were so common in the desert also helped to keep the population scarce and their group safe. They dipped deep into their water and fuel supplies. At this rate, they would need to find another place like the travel stop to scavenge soon.

  As they neared Las Cruces north of El Paso, they had another decision to make. They clearly didn’t want to bypass the town on the west side. To the west was Mexico, and it had been such a mess prior to the EMP, there was no telling how bad it was after. Vince suspected this was the kind of world in which the drug cartels would thrive for a while. They probably had their eyes on taking over El Paso if they hadn’t already done it. It made sense, since the American police force was virtually non-existent in this area, and they hadn’t seen anything of the National Guard or military.

  The plan was to risk the suburbs along the I-10 corridor between Las Cruces and El Paso in the early morning hours then head east when they hit the 375 bypass. That would take them through the relative safety of Franklin Mountains State Park. The assumption was that the people headed to the mountains would be less of a threat than the ones who stayed in the urban areas.

  After El Paso, they had a long stretch on I-10 along the border and then through Texas. With this portion of I-10 running so close to the border and the Rio Grande, they had the water problem solved. Based on Bill’s advice, Liz’s panic room had included a couple of Katadyn water filters, so purifying water would be easy. Fuel was another matter.

  They siphoned a few gallons from cars along the way, and Vince thought if they found another few gallons, they should make Fort Stockton on fumes.

  As they neared Fort Stockton, Vince planned to go into the city to scavenge or barter for fuel. After Fort Stockton, it would be another long, lonely stretch through Texas on I-10 that would be impossible without a full supply of fuel and water.

  As the small Texas city came into view, Junior was driving, while Vince rode shotgun studying the map. The ladies were in the back.

  “I don’t see any roads going around the city on this map,” Vince grumbled. “All the roads appear to connect right into the center of the city. There have to be some small roads around the city, but I don’t have the local knowledge to know where they are.”

  “What do you want me to do, boss?”

  “I don’t know. If we had the fuel, I’d say let’s hit some side roads and poke around. We don’t, though, and it won’t help us to be stranded miles down some side road.”

  At that moment, they were roused by a thump on the top of the cab. Junior had been driving slow to conserve fuel and not rush into the city too fast while Vince studied the map. Liz was standing in the bed and leaned down to speak through the window in the back of the cab.

  “Pull over. I saw something up ahead the last time we hit a rise.”

  “What was it?” Vince asked.

  “It looked like an RV parked sideways in the road.”

  “That’s not too abnormal.”

  “No, but I’m sure I saw camp chairs around a fire pit in the road too.”

  “Okay, that’s not normal. Junior, let’s find a place to stash this truck, and you and I go do a scout.”

  “You men.” Liz shook her head. “Keeping us women behind.”

  “We’ve been through this, Liz. Junior and I are trained and work well together.”

  A few minutes later, Vince walked within hailing distance of the roadblock. Junior was hidden back a little ways in an overwatch position.

  “Hello, the camp!” Vince hailed, using the timeless phrase for those entering a camp in the west.

  “Who are you?” one of the men asked, while two other men hastily took up armed positions behind cover.

  “A traveler. My name’s Vince Cavanaugh. I’m not from around here. I’m trying to head east.”

  “The town’s closed. If you want to leave your weapons behind, you can come on up and we’ll jaw a bit.”

  Removing the Glock 41 and the DPMS AR-10, Vince set them gently on the side of the road in some grass. Even though they weren’t his treasured Springfield compe
tition .45 and Winchester SX-AR weapons he’d been forced to leave behind in Kentucky, they did what he needed. Vince approached the man, and as he was reaching out to shake hands, the man barked, “That’s far enough.”

  Vince lowered his hand. “Okay.”

  “You can’t be too safe these days. My name’s Cliff Hagan.”

  “Like the basketball player?” Vince asked, grinning and trying to break the ice to establish some common ground.

  “Never heard of ‘im.”

  “Well, I’m from Kentucky, and if you’d been raised there, you probably would have,” Vince said affably.

  “The town’s closed. You’ll have to go back or go around.”

  Vince decided to lay his cards on the table since Cliff didn’t appear hostile or crooked. “I can’t go back. I don’t think I can go around, or I haven’t found any roads on the map. And I’ll be honest, I’ve got an old truck back a ways that’s about out of fuel. I was hoping to barter for some in town.”

  “Like I said, the sheriff has this town locked down tighter than a drum. You can’t go through. Going back is your own choice, and as for going around, you may be right. There are some narrow roads and gravel cut-throughs that could get you around the city. I don’t mind telling you about ‘em, although I wouldn’t advise using them. We hear some of them are controlled by riffraff that the sheriff hasn’t decided are worth going after yet. Others are controlled by ranchers who may not be as scrupulous as us here in Fort Stockton.”

  “Damn,” Vince swore under his breath.

  “I do know the sheriff is trading for vehicles that run.” Seeing Vince bristle, he hastily added, “We ain’t stealing or confiscating. You do whatever you have a mind to. I’m only saying if you’re done with the truck, you could get some food, water, and probably even a place to stay for a while for the truck.”

  “I’ll let you know,” Vince said gruffly and turned to leave. Turning back, he asked, “Where do I go if I choose to trade?”