299 Days: The Community 2d-3

by Glen Tate

  Ron and Sherri had no idea what she was talking about. They shook their heads. Ron finally said, “Huh?”

  “Tell everyone about the food you little Mormons have,” Nancy yelled. “Oh, is ‘LDS’ the term you prefer?” she said sarcastically. “Tell us about the year’s worth of food that your Grand Pooh-Bah tells you to have in your home.” Nancy was screaming at this point.

  Ron and Sherri didn’t have a year’s worth of food. They didn’t follow all of their church’s teachings to the letter. They had no more food than anyone else.

  Ron was stunned. He could feel the eyes on him. “I don’t have any food. A year’s worth? Where would we put it?”

  “I don’t know,” Nancy said. “It’s your religion, your fundamentalist religion. Your macho shoot-em-up religion. You want to shoot people rather than share your food.” She went back to the condescending tone, “Not very ‘Christian,’ is it Ron? What would Jesus do? Shoot the hungry?”

  Ron could not speak. He could not believe what was happening.

  “Shut up, bitch!” Sherri jumped up and yelled. That stunned the room. Nice Mormon homemaker Sherri just dropped the “b” bomb.

  She started walking toward Nancy pointing her finger and saying, “You will not threaten my family. You will not turn everyone against us. I will not let you…”

  When she got close enough to hit Nancy, Cliff stepped between the two women. “Calm down. No one is threatening anyone,” Cliff said.

  “The hell she isn’t,” Sherri said. No one had ever heard her swear, even if it was a minor swear word like that. Sherri pushed the rather weak Clint aside and pointed her finger right at Nancy. The two women were about a foot apart.

  “Stay away from my family and don’t attack my religion,” Sherri screamed. “Understand? Understand?” Sherri was shaking with rage.

  Nancy stood there. Calmly. This was exactly the reaction she was hoping for from the fundamentalists. Poor Sherri, Nancy thought. She has been subjugated by the fundamentalist male power structure. She has been so subjugated that she was violent against someone like Nancy who was trying to help her be free from it.

  Nancy went with the concerned mom voice again. It seemed to be working well. “This is the kind of hostility we don’t need here.”

  Sherri turned around and walked out. Ron came with her. As they left, Nancy yelled at them, “People need to share now. We all need to sacrifice. You need to help the community with all your food. Don’t hoard it.”

  Len stood up. This was crap. “Nancy, you’re way out of line. The Spencers are good people. I’ve been to their house numerous times. They don’t have a year’s worth of food lying around.”

  “That you can see,” Nancy interrupted him. “That you can see. Their religion teaches them…”

  “Stop with the religious shit,” Len said. No one had ever heard him swear either.

  Three others stood up. One of them, Ken Kallerman the Fish and Wildlife Department biologist said, “We’re LDS, too, and we won’t tolerate this.” He pointed at Nancy and said, “Stop it right now.” No one there had ever seen Mr. Scientist raise his voice.

  Nancy was silent for a while, evaluating the field of battle to decide her next attack. Clint started saying something but, once again, Nancy put her hand up to him and he stopped talking.

  “You fundamentalists are free to leave,” she said to Ken. “We don’t need your intolerance here. Don’t try to leave with your food. It belongs to the community.”

  People were stunned. People had been worrying about food because there was the $200 limit at the store, but they still had several days’ worth. It wasn’t like they were starving.

  Finally, “Judge” Judy Kilmer, the administrative law judge who was tight with Nancy, said, “Nancy, what’s wrong with you? Are you OK?”

  With that comment, Nancy knew that her control of the Cedars was over. At least for now. Judy Kilmer, who was on Nancy’s side, said what everyone was wondering. It was obvious that Nancy had snapped under the pressure and stress of recent events. Everyone was on edge with all that was going on, but targeting people for their religion, trying to turn people against them, and telling them to leave was too much.

  Nancy knew she couldn’t turn the Cedars into what she wanted, at least not at this meeting. She had overdone it. Her intentions were good, she told herself. All she wanted to do was to prevent the fundamentalists from hoarding food and imposing their will on everyone else. But these stupid people weren’t ready for the cold hard truth, which was that the Mormons wanted to take over with their guns and testosterone. She needed to regroup for later, when the stupid people would finally see it.

  “I’ve been up for a few days,” Nancy said, quickly deciding to make a small political retreat. “I’ve been working so hard for all of you.” She started sobbing, which was genuine.

  She hadn’t had her depression medicine for several days either, but she didn’t think that was the problem. “I’m just trying so hard to make everything perfect for all of us.”

  Judy came over and hugged her. “You’ll be fine, Nancy. Let’s just get some rest for you.” Nancy was sobbing, but smiling inside. They were falling for it. Judy was one of the stupid people, too, Nancy thought. Nancy made a mental note not to trust Judy.

  Nancy had big plans and they didn’t include being slowed down by idiots. This was just round one.

  Chapter 95

  Jason’s Briefing

  (May 9)

  Jeanie had two good nights of sleep in a row. Whoa. That was a record. She hadn’t felt this good in about two weeks.

  She had her organic oatmeal and fruit for breakfast. The night before, they had veal kabobs with rice pilaf, which was very nice. They even had ice cream for dessert. Life was not bad at Camp Murray.

  Jeanie hadn’t seen her boss, Rick Menlow, since they got there. She had no idea where he was. All she knew was that she was working hard to get the State of Washington’s message out to the people through the media. She was very good at her job. She was proud to help with the effort. Lots of people were doing great things—some of them dangerous—to make life better for everyone, but those great things had much more impact if the public got to know about them. Keeping the public calm and upbeat was as important, if not more important, than a load of some spare parts getting up I-5 to some water treatment plant or whatever the crisis of the minute was there at the Command Center of the Washington Department of Emergency Management.

  As an insider, Jeanie was one of the people who got the 7:00 a.m. morning briefing. She was starting to actually look forward to the morning briefings. This was a fascinating time to be alive, and she was right in the middle of it.

  Jason was giving the briefings every morning. He was an interesting guy, who graduated from Yale and worked in Washington D.C. for several years for the State Department. He had only recently come out to Washington State. Jeanie thought it was odd that he had some important federal job, but now had come all the way out to Washington State.

  Jason was in his early thirties. He dressed very well, kind of East Coast. He was a handsome man, which reminded Jeanie that she hadn’t talked to her boyfriend, Jim, in several days. They traded texts that said they were OK, but that was about it. She missed him. But, she knew he was doing some important work with his National Guard unit.

  Jason started off pretty chipper that morning. “Well, more good news. We have pretty much got I-5 flowing with essential cargo. Same thing with I-90.” That was the interstate going from Seattle east to Spokane and connecting Western and Eastern Washington State. “Local police and, in some cases, National Guard are at the onramps making sure only approved loads move. Like fuel, food, water, medicine, essential parts, communications equipment, military vehicles, those kinds of things.”

  Jason put his hand up for emphasis. “The bad news is that civilians can’t travel on the interstates and they’re not real happy about that, which is why law enforcement and the Guard are there. There have been some inc
idents, but that’s not public information.”

  Damned civilians, Jeanie thought. Getting in the way like that. Didn’t they understand how important the government loads were? It was weird. “Conservative” Jeanie, who used to be ostracized for wanting smaller government, was rooting for the government. But she had decided that this government was OK. They were helping people.

  Then Jason dropped a bomb on them. “Here’s something that’s definitely not public information. One Guard squad on an onramp in Lewis County was ambushed. Seven killed, three disappeared. Probably taken prisoner.”

  “Prisoner?” National Guard troops were being taken prisoner?

  What? Was this a war or something?

  Jeanie let that sink in. She couldn’t process it, but she was starting to see that there was at least a war-like feel to all of this.

  Wait. A squad was ten troops, Jeanie knew from past conversations with Jim. Ten well-armed National Guard troops were ambushed, killed or captured, and there weren’t any bad guys found dead? Either the Guard squad didn’t know how to fight, or the attackers were very good.

  Oh crap. Then again, nothing would surprise her anymore. Some once-in-a-lifetime amazing thing seemed to be happening about once an hour.

  “Utilities are remaining on, which, I gotta say, is a little surprising,” Jason continued. “We are keeping parts and crews flowing to electrical and water plants. Hell, I mean heck, even sewage treatment is working.”

  “Gasoline and diesel are a really big deal,” Jason said. “The price on the open market…well, there isn’t really an open market. I’ve heard up to $100 a gallon, but there isn’t really any place to get gas. We are getting fuel to federal, state, and local fueling stations. Like a city’s gas pump for police cars. Places like that are getting gas. We have diesel, under guard at truck stops, so our vital trucks can refuel at all the usual places. The civilian truckers are not too happy. There have been some problems.” A dozen pissed off truckers were a formidable force, as some truck stop owners, local law enforcement, and Freedom Corps were finding out.

  Jason looked at his notes. “Speaking of trucks, we’re commandeering them. Oh, I mean ‘requisitioning’ them—thanks for the word of the day from yesterday, by the way. We don’t have to requisition them too often. Most of the truckers will run a load for us just to get the fuel to get closer to their homes, but they’re not the most trustworthy drivers now that most things they’re hauling have become worth 100 times what they were just a few days ago. We prefer to have people we can trust driving the rigs.” It sounded so stupid for uptight white-collar Jason, with his DC metrosexual clothes and hair, to call a truck a “rig.”

  “Food,” Jason said. “That’s a big one, too. The good news is that America has a bunch of food in warehouses. The bad news is that the warehouses are pretty far from where most people live, but with the interstates basically being turned over to the trucks, things are actually getting out. Perishable food is a little sketchy. There have been electricity outages periodically, especially in southern California where a lot of the goods are. But most perishables are OK and many trucks are refrigerated. We are focusing on staples and non-perishables. We’re getting food to government installations, of course,” that went without saying, “and we’re getting grocery stores in larger population centers supplied.”

  Jason checked his notes again and said, “More good news. On two fronts: fuel and food. Fuel is scarce but we’re, well, actually the Feds, are arranging for our domestic oil production to get to the refineries. We imported about two thirds of our oil before the Crisis. A good hunk of that came from Canada, who is still selling to us. Another hunk, unfortunately, came from Mexico and, um, obviously, Mexico is having trouble producing anything right now. So we have almost half of our oil from ourselves and Canada. But here’s the good part: oil consumption is a fraction of what it was pre-Crisis. No one is driving. No more fifty-mile commutes from the suburbs to the office. So, we actually have enough oil and refining capacity to run things. Well, essential things. We requisitioned the oil, refineries, and trucks to get the fuel out.”

  “There’s a catch, though,” Jason said, looking troubled. “Most of the oil and many of the refineries are in Southern states that aren’t exactly cooperating with the federal government right now. But the oil and refineries are run by companies who are loyal to the United States. More importantly, the Feds have extremely potent military strength in, and around, the oil and fuel facilities. So, bottom line, we have enough fuel now and in the future for vital uses, such as government.”

  Vital uses such as government, Jeanie thought. That sounds right. It used to sound wrong. But, now with the Crisis…

  Jason took a breath. He smiled as he began discussing the next topic. “Regarding food, this is a political gold mine. The Feds have basically nationalized the farms. Most are owned by big companies who have worked with us before.” That was an understatement. Federal farm policy, and subsidies, had made the giant agribusinesses very wealthy and powerful. They were now returning the favor to their friends in government. “The Feds are buying food on an emergency basis. We’re getting unemployed people to the farms and putting them to work. Kind of a jobs program. The regular farm workers realize they have nowhere else to go and, believe it or not, we actually think we can get some potatoes and wheat out of Eastern Washington and to some places for some processing. Not processing into french fries or chocolate cakes, but some food that people can eat in a few weeks. Mashed potato and biscuit mix and that kind of thing.” Jason smiled even bigger, “Courtesy of your government.” The political message was unmistakable.

  His demeanor changed. “Here’s the problem. The smaller areas, rural areas, the hick areas. Well, they’re a second priority for food deliveries, to be honest. We can’t do it all. If you’re on the I-5 corridor, you probably have enough food. If you’re in Hickville, where the teabaggers are pretty much revolting, then you’ll have to wait until the civilized people get a first chance.”

  Civilized people? That statement jarred Jeanie. But, then again, the government was doing the best it could to get the most supplies to the most people, and to the ones who supported the effort. Besides, Jeanie thought, the rural people were better equipped to take care of themselves. Seattle, with all the rioting welfare recipients who had been cut off, was a powder keg. Keep that place calm and let the teabaggers take care of themselves, she thought.

  Jason went on. “One big problem is medical care. The hospitals are overrun, and have been for quite some time. Most medical supplies have run out. Re-supply is a priority, and some have been getting through. So many Americans are on a medication of some kind. Most of them have run out by now. People are dying. They just are. We have no solution for this. There’s not much we can do.”

  He continued. “Crime is a problem, to put it mildly. Lots of people on mental illness medications are off their meds, as I mentioned.”

  Jason took a drink of water. “One thing that is a state thing is the rioting and looting. Downtown Seattle has a lot of it; mostly petty criminals. There are well organized gangs running pretty much wild in the larger cities. Kind of like the L.A. Riots, I’m told.” Jason was young enough to somewhat remember the L.A. Riots, but not really. “That’s a National Guard thing. We have that under decent control. We have control during the day. The freaks come out at night.”

  Jeanie raised her hand. “Is there media coverage of the night riots? I mean, I haven’t seen any video of it.”

  Jason said, “And you won’t. We have an arrangement with the broadcast media and the papers. They understand they shouldn’t show that stuff. It will just scare people and encourage the looters and terrorists.”

  “What about cell phone footage getting onto YouTube?” she asked.

  “YouTube and other websites are not a problem for us. We have arrangements with them, too.” Jason left it at that. The wasn’t any need to scare every one about how the Feds had a virtual switch—the “internet kill s
witch” as it was talked about before the Collapse—that could shut down any website they chose.

  Jason went on. “Oh, and the terrorists. Yes, there’s been some of that. The Red Brigades, and now some ‘Patriot’ groups. Militia teabagger whackos. The ‘Don’t Tread on Me’ people. Assholes.” What Jason didn’t say was that the “teabagger” terrorism was great for the government, politically speaking. It was almost like some of it was staged, Jason thought to himself with a mental wink.

  “There’s some interesting graffiti popping up,” Jason said. “The Right is spray painting things like, ‘There is no gov’t,’ and ‘Gov’t can’t protect you.’ It’s in gold or yellow spray paint, like the color of their ‘Don’t Tread on Me’ flag, the Gadsden, I think they call it.”

  “Red paint is the Leftist graffiti,” Jason explained. “Those are the predictable ones like ‘Rise Up,’ and ‘Revolution.’ That kind of thing.”

  Jason paused. “Here’s a highly classified topic that’s being discussed. The Governor has issued a variety of executive orders to provide emergency powers, but she hasn’t declared full-on martial law. Should she declare martial law?”

  Silence. Jeanie’s first thought was “yes.” People couldn’t have normal liberties without order. And there was no order out there.

  Someone from the Governor’s Office asked, “What are the political ramifications?” That debate on went on for a while. The general consensus was that most people would want the Governor to take bold action. They would understand that martial law was temporary.

  “It will take their minds off the budget,” one of them said.

  The budget. That’s right, Jeanie thought. The State of Washington doesn’t have any money. So she asked, “How is all this going to be paid for? I mean, we don’t exactly have any way to pay for this.”

  “We’ll worry about that later,” said the chief of staff for the State Treasurer. He had been used to saying that. It really meant, “We have no idea how to pay for anything.”