Killswitch Chronicles- The Complete Anthology

by G. R. Carter

  Nods, chuckles, and not a few frowns met his joke. Phil continued, “We face sanitation issues in town. We need to be able to run the pumps to get fresh water to your houses. Just as important, we need water to get waste away from your houses. I’m asking that each of you dig a hole in your backyard, and use a bucket instead of the toilet.” He waited for the noises of disgust and chuckles to dissipate. “Try not to flush if possible. We need to save what we can, and we cannot, under any circumstances, dump wastewater into the lake. We’re going to need that water and we’re not going to have enough chemicals to treat drinking water. At least not right away. Everyone on board with that?” Most were nodding, but Phil didn’t believe all would hold true to their word. “Start boiling everything, just to be safe.”

  Phil checked a notecard he’d jotted a few thoughts on. “If anyone has seeds, please bring them to the hospital. Anna, my wife for those who don’t know, is organizing volunteers to help there. Please, do volunteer. We’re asking those with colds and mild flu to stay home and rest. She doesn’t have any antibiotics left, so you’ll be wasting your trip and exposing everyone else.” That was another lie, Anna just wanted to save any medicines for those in dire need.

  “Sheriff Olsen has suggested moving in together. That saves heat and helps with security. The fewer houses he has to watch, the more security he can provide.” He looked back at Olsen, who nodded in agreement.

  “Any perishable food in your house, we’re asking you to bring to the hospital. We’re going to try and set up a soup line there, so if you can donate any supplies, I mean any supplies at all, please do. If you don’t want to bring it down, contact any member of the cooperative and we’ll come and get it.”

  He paused and looked at his notecard again. He could tell the crowd was getting restless for Olsen to speak. Everyone wanted to know the latest news.

  “Friends, it’s not just a question of surviving today or tomorrow. It’s a question of the life our kids and grandkids will have. Will they have a safe and decent world? Will they have a safe and decent country, or even a home? I know those of us living out in the sticks can figure out a way to survive. I wouldn’t want to be in any of the cities right now, not even smaller ones like Decatur or Springfield. But out here, we’ll figure a way to get by. At least for the first months or years. But what about after that? I want to see the next generation have a life. Get married, have a farm, maybe some kids. Build something of their own. If this really is the end of our world, what can we do to lay the foundation for their New World?

  “Cheap oil allowed humans to increase in population exponentially. Just a few could farm enough to feed everybody. Only corruption and inefficiency allowed poverty to exist. Now I’m not saying our soy diesel will be cheap or easy, but it will be local. And it will allow us to get across acres to farm. Fuel will keep the bitter cold out of our homes so our little ones won’t get sick, and we’ll be able to enjoy our elders a lot longer. That’s really living, not just surviving. We have to have a plan, we can’t just live like animals from meal to meal,” Phil concluded as his voice got a little raspy. He was typically a man who didn’t talk this long, this loud. “Besides, nobody I know has a bunker.”

  He went for the finale he had written, and rewritten, numerous times. “None of us wanted this, none of us chose this. But here we are, in the middle of the worst storm we’ve ever faced. Worse than any F5 tornado, worse than the economic collapse, worse than any world war our ancestors ever had to fight. I really believe that. But I also believe that if we stick together, as one people, we can stand against the storm.”

  Phil wasn’t sure what to expect when he concluded…what he got was complete silence. But in the silence, there were heads nodding, eyes focused, clear and bright and ready for whatever came next…which just happened to be their sheriff.

  Olsen gathered himself and stood. He walked to the edge of the stage and cleared his throat. “I didn’t think much of these outages when they first started. Happened a lot in the past. And I sure wasn’t too keen on private citizens taking matters into their own hands…for self-defense or electricity, fuel and what not.” He paused and tried to avoid making eye contact with Marianne. “But what I’ve seen, the authorities I’ve spoken to…” He looked like he was going to choke up.

  “Folks, we have got to figure out not just how to keep everyone warm but also safe…from thieves and from starving. This fuel idea is great, and it’s going to save lives. But at the same time, we have to keep from starving to death between now and next harvest. I mean, here we are near the start of winter. The crops are already out of the fields, mostly sold and shipped out. A few of you stored grain on farm waiting for later delivery or better prices. But most of the soybeans and corn stored aren’t really useful as food until processed in some way. Have you noticed how bare the grocery store shelves were even before the lights went out? With all the chaos in the cities, who knows how long it’ll be before a supply truck can get through?”

  Phil could see the crowd try to comprehend the information that now seemed obvious, but hadn’t really been a line of thinking they allowed into their minds. The gravity of life and death, of safety for their families from outside forces, made it real all the sudden.

  Olsen continued, “We’ve all got to face some very scary facts. I’m serious folks, we’ve got to face them today. I knew in the back of my mind that the situation could deteriorate, but even I didn’t think it would happen this quickly. Phil and his co-op guys were just up to Decatur. I tagged along with them. The police and the National Guard are already turning on each other. Can you imagine that, the police and National Guard fighting? And that's while we still have food and water and shelter and heat. What happens next month when the last natural gas flows out of the pipelines? When someone goes to turn on the tap, but the water tower is empty and the pumps aren’t running to refill it? Where will they go? What will they do when their kids look up at them and say ‘Mommy, I’m hungry?’”

  Sorrow and pain that filled Olsen’s face transformed into a harder resolve. “I guess by now you all know what happened to the Watsons. Bad people are out there trying to take advantage of this catastrophe. I got no idea if this is the end of life as we know it, or just some kind of temporary disaster. Either way it’s turned deadly for folks already. I’ll live with my failure to protect them for the rest of my life. I’m not letting it happen again. Not again, people, that’s not happening to my kids. And I don’t intend for it to happen to yours.”

  Stunned silence settled over the gymnasium. Clark thought he heard someone sobbing as he sat back down in his chair. He wiped tears off on his sleeve and looked over at Phil. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to carry on that way.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” Phil replied. “That’s exactly what I’ve wanted to get across to people for years. I never could, and you just did.” The room could have been empty at that point as a friendship was forged between the two men.

  “I think they all want to know what we need them to do next,” Clark said.

  “Oh right. Yeah, sorry,” Phil said. He stood up with a renewed courage, and he gave the town of Shelbyville their game plan for surviving the dark days dawning on the horizon.

  *****

  The co-op members counted about 200 people staying around to volunteer after Phil and Clark finished speaking, more than either could have hoped for. A thought briefly captured Phil – where were the others going? To make their own preparations? Some obviously still had working vehicles, would they make a run for family somewhere else? He pushed it from his mind and tried to focus on those offering to help.

  Olsen had a dozen men and women – mostly younger by the looks of them – surrounding him, listening to the sheriff explain what he was looking for in new deputies. Wonder how long they’ll listen when they find out their paycheck will be in paid in grain he thought. He cringed at his own naiveté. Food was precisely what they were there for, they were the ones smart enough to know that those enforci
ng the laws usually were the first to get fed.

  Food and fuel, fuel and food. The words kept coming up in every conversation. He thought they’d be able to scrounge up enough food for everyone, temporarily. He and Anna already made a list of everywhere extra food might be stored. Clark had agreed with them – privately of course – that securing anything not actually in people’s houses would be a good idea. He’d also agreed to post two deputies at the hospital at all time…the central location where they’d keep the food. By their estimations, it would be only 2-3 days before the pantries of local townsfolk went bare. That would have to be enough time to figure out a way to get some sort of soup kitchen set up.

  Phil already sent volunteer hunting and fishing groups off to gather their gear. Having a giant lake surrounded by woods right next to town would be a boon. Lots of gear available, and lots of experienced outdoorsmen might just be the break Shelby County needed to fend off hunger until new sources were found or grown. He’d left instructions for them all not to take more than could safely preserve. They’d dry some and jerk some, but most would go into the eternal soup pots they planned to set up at the hospital. Anna made salts and other preservatives high on their list of things to look for when scavenging through closed restaurants and abandoned houses – both of which Sheriff Olsen had also agreed to put on the list of now public property along with the Greenstem refinery.

  “Not very Jeffersonian, Mr. Founding Farmer,” Delbert had remarked with a wry grin when breaking into private property had been proposed. The words cut Phil deep, he was already failing his core beliefs, and the power hadn’t even been out a week.

  “Neither is raiding nearby towns,” Bob Ford had added when Phil had asked for volunteers to make a larger and more organized salvage trip back to Decatur.

  “We’re not raiding,” Phil had protested, but the words were hollow to him. That was precisely what he was suggesting. Even so, the experience of their previous trip told him if they waited much longer there wouldn’t be anything left of value to take in any city, large or small.

  He’d got about a dozen volunteers for their newest foray north. The list of items they needed, and wanted, was larger than the space available. Delbert had suggested, and all agreed, that if something went wrong on the trip they couldn’t afford to lose all their functioning heavy trucks. Modern vehicles were stationary obstacles at this point, their electronic brains fried by whatever had killed the electricity. Working tractors, the kind most considered antique curiosities just a short time before, were too valuable, also. If they wanted to get any sort of crop in come spring, they’d need every ancient piece that could run on biofuel and pull a planter.

  Phil’s mind ran to the tractor dealership on the edge of town.

  A dozen huge pieces of the most advanced farming equipment on earth sat dead still, waiting for their onboard computers to sync up with satellites to tell them exactly where to go. The Wizards already schemed ways to bypass the electronics on some of the older models, but the newest of the new might as well been children’s playground equipment for all the good they’d do when the weather turned warmer.

  No one was coming to help. Of all the realities uniting Phil Hamilton and Clark Olsen, it was that one bitter cold reality that forged them together in common purpose. They didn’t have to agree on everything. But at least each believed the other had the best at heart for Shelby County. That was something they could continue to build on. They’d each need someone to count on when they started convincing people to take on dangerous tasks, all for the greater good.

  Best that people are given a reasonable plan to approve instead of being asked for their own ideas, Phil thought bitterly. He hated politics, hated politicians, and would typically fall somewhere between libertarian and near-anarchist on the spectrum of beliefs. Yet it was easy to see how the ends might justify the means to someone who believed their mission was true. I just hope I won't have to make a habit of making life and death decisions.

  Ridgeview Hunting Lodge

  Morning of the Sixth Day

  Kara Bradshaw stood over Darwin King's bed. His breathing was labored, his bronze skin looked pale and thin.

  “Is he going to make it?” she asked the tall man seated on the bed next to Darwin King. He was working his way through the vital signs. A tube was still connected to King’s arm where they'd done an emergency blood transfusion.

  Heath Bohrmann nodded. “Tough bird, Mr. King is,” he said in an accent that matched King's. “Be a while before he's back on his feet. But if infection stays clear, we'll have our man back soon enough.”

  She smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “Glad you showed up when you did.”

  “Glad you didn't shoot us when we got here,” he drawled, returning her smile.

  She left Darwin's side and walked to the window. From the second floor of the lodge, she could see the entire grounds on this side of the property. She watched her brother Sy moving a pull-behind RV into place with their loader tractor. The white metal box on wheels took its place next to a few others. He jumped off and helped another man put blocks underneath the hitch and wheels. After he unhooked it, he jumped back on the tractor and headed for his next chore, still messing with his ear that Bohrmann had stitched up.

  “Not sure we would have been a match for your crew. Even if there were only five of you.”

  The Aussie said nothing in reply. She was likely right, but he was glad he didn't have to find out. “Just glad we found Mr. King alive. Didn't figure much chance for that we when started our trip. Reckon we got you to thank for helpin' keep him that way.”

  “Even if he was shot when you got here?”

  “Yeah, even so. Especially since one of the others we were aimin' to find was the one doin' the shootin'.”

  Kara still watched out the window. There were people camped everywhere on the lodge property, nearly two hundred by her last count…and that count was now several hours old. Stragglers were still showing up.

  “I'm torn between wanting to find him and hoping I never see JR Casey again,” she said to the window.

  “Don't guess he'll be back. Bad enough stealin' one of your trucks at a time like this. Worse him shootin' someone like Mr. King. He don't forget his friends, sure don't forget his enemies.”

  Kara wasn't sure how she felt about that. In the hours leading up to King being shot, she'd seen a different side of the man. She wasn't all together comfortable with knowing that Darwin King.

  The man sitting beside him struck her the same way. Reasonable, highly intelligent, possessing a cold and hard inner core. Not attached to anyone or anything outside his inner circle.

  “You must have a lot of loyalty for Darwin if you guys walked all the way from the St. Louis airport to here.”

  Bohrmann smiled as he checked the bandages on King's gunshot wound. King stirred a little and Bohrmann stopped. He seemed satisfied he'd done all he could for now, got up and walked over to his medical kit. “We didn't walk the whole way. Borrowed a car now and then to speed the trip.”

  “So it's bad out there?”

  “Yeah, Kara, it's bad out there. Just as bad in your town, I reckon. Though I wouldn't want to be in St. Louis still, and no doubt.”

  “You'll have to tell me about it sometime,” she said absently.

  “I don't think so,” he replied. “Not sure I want to remember it at all.”

  Kara watched out the window as her brother brought another trailer out with his tractor. She knew Sy hadn't slept much in the twenty-four hours since they'd made it back from Mt. Sterling. “Sy wouldn't tell me what happened there either. I guess he's trying to protect me from it.”

  “Or maybe protect his own self,” Bohrmann said. “Not much for religion, but I do figure a person has a soul of some kind. Weeks like this one can put a black mark on some men's souls. You saw that with Casey, didn't you? Some men figure it's best to forget.”

  She smiled as she noticed her son Max sitting on his Uncle Sy's lap, working
the controls of the tractor. If Sy would do anything for her, he'd do twice that and more for little Max. The sight made her hate JR Casey even more. “I guess a black mark is the only way to explain what Casey did. And to leave his son behind, just run like a coward…”

  “Best thing for that boy, from what you told me. He'll have men around here to look up to. Men doin’ what's right and proper.”

  “That's the same thing Darwin said,” Kara told him.

  Bohrmann walked over and joined her at the window. “So if you don't mind me askin', what's the plan?”

  Kara sighed. She'd wondered the same thing since the whole mess started. Now it was becoming clearer this wouldn't be just a simple power outage. Something really terrible had happened. Even if she found out what it was, it wouldn't change the fact she’d become responsible for the wellbeing of all these people. They were looking to her for the answers; she wasn't even sure what the questions were yet.

  “I'm glad you and Red Morton are here. I'm leaving security to you two.”

  “He's a good man. Glad I didn't kill him on accident at the prison that night.”

  Kara looked at Bohrmann to see if his words were a joke of some kind. From his expression, they weren't. She shook off a shiver. “Uh, yeah, me too,” she said.

  “We've already got a rotation for all the men, and any woman who volunteers, to stand sentry. We'll have eyes on every approach twenty-four hours a day.”

  “You really think we'll have trouble all this way out here?”

  “Without question,” he replied. “Like locusts. Seen it in Africa on a job we did there for Mr. King. Fifty miles away, like a dead zone all around. Human beings will travel for food, especially ones who don't know how to do anything but take from others.”