Righteous Gathering: Book 1 of the Righteous Survival EMP Saga

by Timothy Van Sickel

  Seeing God's work is an awesome thing. We see it every day and don’t even notice. A child's expectant look, the leaves of a tree blowing in the wind, the joy in the wrinkles of an elder's smile, the beauty of a song bird flitting through a bush. God's miracles are everywhere, sometimes we just have to take the time to enjoy them.

  "No no no" my wife mumbles… "Huhm, piglets, Martha! Oh!" she starts to waken. "We have piglets! Are they all healthy!"

  "I don’t know! Do you mean do they have ten pig fingers and ten pig toes! I guess so, how many toes does a pig have! Come on, you have to see this, it is soooo awesome. Coffee's brewing, and God gave us a big huge beautiful day to enjoy."

  Obviously, we are very excited about the piglets. It is the first non-fowl reproductive event on the farm. We've been here three years. Last year we raised two pigs for slaughter. It worked out okay after we relocated the pigpen further from the house. The relocation was a good thing in two ways. The further away from the house the less the smell, which was much worse than we thought it would be. And being further from the house made the pigs more like farm animals and less like pets. But we still named them, despite all our declarations against it; John and Samuel, Adams.

  The farm raises meat, not pets. John and Samuel Adams bacon and ham made it to the skillet. We both had a little trouble with the first batch of bacon, well actually only the first bite. It was darn good. Anything you raise, catch, shoot or grow yourself always tastes better. It can be some work and can get a little dirty, but the satisfaction of doing it yourself makes it all good. But you have to get past that first "Jace" duck egg, or "Sam Adams" pork chop. The thing to remember is to not name your animals,,,, and all our animals have names!

  It’s been three years since Dad died and a lot has changed and a lot has stayed the same. We host the family holidays and parties. Rebecca has perfected Mom's raspberry jam, and we have added black raspberries as well, my wife's favorite. We also have figured out how to do applesauce. We planted a couple sour cherry trees, my insistence. I love cherry pie, cherry cobbler, cherry cheesecake… but they are not producing yet.

  We have begun to talk about the farm as a refuge in times of trouble. Things are hectic in the world. North Korea has tested a nuclear bomb. Iran has test fired intercontinental missiles. The Arab spring is more like an Arab Islamic uprising.

  Things in America aren’t much better. The government says unemployment is down but more people aren't working than ever before. They say "There's no food lines," but forty million people are on food stamps. So instead of being in a food line, twenty-five-year-old men with tattoos and body piercings are buying chips and soda on their EBT card as they talk on their government paid cell phones. Work is punished, even looked down on; why work when the government will take care of you? Sucking at the government trough is praised. It is a system that can't last.

  My two brothers from Pittsburgh, my stepson and son-in-law have all talked about this place as a refuge or safe place in some fashion, often at my urging. I want to plant that seed of thought. Rebecca and I have talked about it extensively. We both agree, that as we can, we need to make the farm our refuge. I am no prophet, but I see that things could go bad. And if they do, we want to be in a position where we can help people, not need help.

  My wife works nine to five in a middle management position and I have a fairly successful construction company. Sometimes I work a sixty hour week, but my hours are flexible enough, that between the two of us we have had the time to start to turn my parents' retirement home back into a sustainable farm.

  Our neighbor, Thad, leases eighty acres for corn and helps us out with the animals as needed. We rebuilt the chicken coop and have twelve laying hens. We have a flock of reproducing ducks, the meat is dark and succulent. We trimmed up the apple trees and planted cherry trees. Becca mastered fruit canning and I am trying to learn the vegetable end of things. My dad's garden has been put back in operation and sooner or later we will master canning tomatoes. As much as we try, it ain't as good as store bought. We cleaned up the root cellar in the old farmhouse and have put it back in use. It is amazing how long potatoes last in a cool dry place. With the help of my daughter-in-law, Britt, we have an awesome herb garden, and she helps us with drying and storing them.

  It's all a bunch of little things, but it adds up. And there have been no major expenses so far. Just a lot of labor, but it is a labor of love. Being a new member of the Mennonite church, using the talents and gifts that God has blessed us with to take care of ourselves and others, it all just seems to make sense, the way it should be.

  It's a workday and Rebecca has to get moving soon, but our first litter of pigs is way more important. She throws on some jeans and a sweatshirt and grabs a cup of coffee as we head out the door. Following her down the hill, I start humming Trace Adkins' "One Hot Mama" and sing outloud "Do ya wanna?"

  She looks back, slightly blushing, and says, "Oh, now you start! You know I got to get to work. Keep that thought till later, ya big old boar!"

  Coming up to the pig pen, I notice Rebecca doesn't cover her nose as usual, as she sees and hears all the little piglets with the sow. She goes to open the gate but I quickly grab it and say, "Hold up. Let's stand back. It looks to me as if they all are suckling. She's accepted them. You remember Uncle Ted's advice, let nature take its course."

  "Oh Mark, they are so cute! Look at them, so tiny and so huggable! And Martha is just laying there letting them suckle! You're right, we should leave them alone. Let's just sit here and watch them for a bit." Which we do; watching the miracle of God replenishing the earth, while my wife and I name the nine piglets…

  Chapter 10First Night, September 11, 2018

  We pass the front gate, the old farmhouse, then the old barn, and pull up to the new house. The kids all jump out before we can barely get the van doors open. Janie idles up alongside the van and drops the kickstand on the bike, letting it settle. The kids run to check the chickens and pigs and head down to the pond; off and running like kids should on a farm. That’s good. They have seen and heard some bad stuff over the past few hours, and for them to act like regular kids is good to see.

  After watching her kids run off to explore, Janie turns to us and lets her feelings out. Reaching to Becca for comfort, her big smile turns to a frown and the rosy cheeks turn pale. "Oh my God!" she sobs. "What the hell is going on! The world is on fire! I've seen it with my own eyes! I have five kids to raise! And where is my husband! The same stupid bastards that let this all happen lock him down! Those bastards! Those bastards!" Becca holds her for several minutes as she sobs. Whispering comforting thoughts to her, but mainly just holding her, letting her know she is loved.

  "Becca, I have to see what's working and what's not," I say. "I blew out of here as soon as I knew what was going on. I don’t even know if the water is working." We put a lot of work and money into this farm to make it a safe haven. I know the animals are still alive and the garden is still growing. But I need to check out the power system and the water supply.

  I unlock the house and turn on the lightswitch, and the light comes on. Huh? They were dead eight hours ago. Maybe something in the circuitry needed to reboot? Maybe God worked a small miracle? Did Paul say something about a reboot delay? Huh? Well, okay, the powerhouse faraday cage worked, A few hundred dollars well spent. I step over to the remote power display panel. It is dead, circuits fried. I have a spare in the faraday cage, but that can wait.

  I walk to the sink and turn on the faucet. Water pressure is normal, that’s good. I hear Becca and Janie enter behind me. "We have water and lights, stove should work fine, too. Why don’t you all make some tea and start some dinner? I'm going to go down to the power house and look things over down there. Our display up here is fried so I don’t know if we are generating electricity or how charged the batteries are."

  They silently nod approval, knowing that some normalcy like tea and dinner will be good for us all. I remind them to be quick to the fridge, as it is
a power drain, and to be spare on using the lights. There is plenty of daylight left, we need to get used to using sunlight instead of electric light.

  I am being robotic at this time, moving on what I know needs to be done, not on what I want to do. I want to break down and cry, hug and be hugged, like Becca and Janie; but things need to be done. I have to keep moving. Time to process this all will come later.

  I head down to the power house, glancing over at the kids. The younger ones are chasing the chickens. Rusty and Blake talk together.

  "Hey, Rusty," I holler, "How ‘bout you and Blake feed those chickens and then meet me down at the barn door and we can feed the cows?"

  "Okay, Pap," They respond. Kids are much better off when they have something to do. They'll probably put out too much feed, but at least they have something responsible to take care of.

  I step into the power house, which is supposed to be a faraday cage. The power is on so I know it worked, but I am still apprehensive. A look at the display panel raises my spirits immensely, all the displays are working! Power generation is only at 1000 watts, not unexpected at this time of day and with very little wind. Battery capacity is full and dropping slowly, again expected. Another display indicates we shut off from the grid, as the system should have. "Hallelujah! Thank you, Lord. Thank you, Paul!" I exclaim out loud.

  That makes me think of Paul, and my three sisters and my other brother.

  My oldest sister, Cathy, and her lawyer husband, Tom, live outside of Raleigh NC. He is a prepper and belongs to a rural militia. He is the one who first instilled the thought that we, as Christians, need to be prepared. "If we are desperate ourselves, then how can we help others? Christians need to be prepared, in a position to help," I remember him saying many years ago, when first talking about the farm being a safe haven. I pray that their preparations have worked out. They have four children spread across the South. I pray for them as well.

  My youngest sister, Lessa, lives outside of San Francisco. Millions of people crammed on top of each other, many reliant on modern technology. Not just for their jobs but, more importantly, to have food on the shelves of the nearby super stores. She is pretty close to the city. I have no idea if she has any plans for an event like this. She is very resourceful, but I realize I may never hear from her again.

  "Lorrie!" I almost shout out loud. She and her husband, Daniel, have a summer home near the ski resorts only twenty miles away. What are the chances that they are there for a holiday? If not, then she and my two brothers are in Pittsburgh, sixty miles away. We all said we would come here if an event like this happened. But it's a lot easier to say it than to do it. And we never really had a "plan," just a general idea or goal.

  I say a prayer again, for all of my family as well as all of humanity. Sixty miles. Chaos will start in a couple of days, tonight in some areas. It could take them a week or more to get here. I pray they make it.

  The cackling of the chickens over the new thrown food breaks me away from my thoughts of brothers and sisters. I have to go meet the boys to feed the cows. They are going to have questions. I hope I have the answers.

  I round the corner to the lower barn gate and see Rusty and Blake standing together talking. Rusty, a big kid at sixteen, looks at me and says, "Pap, it's just me, you and Blake, the young ones ain't around and Mom and Grammy are in the house. We know something bad is going on, so lay it to us straight. Don’t treat us like kids. Tell us what's going on."

  I kook at him and Blake with pride at their directness and desire to be handled as adults. But I am saddened at how quickly they are going to have adulthood thrown at them.

  "Rusty, Blake, come over here and sit down." I indicate some hay bales for us to sit on. "We been attacked, guys. America has been attacked. I don’t know everything, but here's what I do know." I explain to them all I can. I tell them life just got different, that feeding chickens and cows would replace Game Boys and Game Boxes. That they may not see their friends again. That things may get hard, even violent.

  There are a lot of questions, some very adult questions, some very childish, but they are still children, who are going to have to grow up very fast. They ask about their dad and I explain the activation. They ask about Katie and Rocco and I tell them they said they will be coming. They cry some. But in the end, they stiffen their backs and tell me. "Pap, we'll do everything we can! You'll see, we can help out!" I turn my head to hide my tears, tears of joy, tears of sorrow, tears of pride.

  "Okay guys, we got four beef cows out there, and they're hungry. Let's go feed them!" They go charging out into the field, almost like a football huddle breaking up. But then they realize they have nothing to feed them with, they are running around fired up with empty hands!

  "Come back here, you knuckleheads!" I shout. "You've helped me do this before. Rusty, get two buckets of food grain and put it in the feed trough, spread it out like I showed you before. Blake, take a whole bale of hay and spread it out around the feed area. They'll start on that once the feed grain is gone. We're going to count on you guys to do this, so pay attention."

  The kids come running back and grab the hay and feed buckets, a little embarrassed but laughing at themselves as well. The beef cows mosey over, knowing food is being set out for them, a few low moos are let out as they approach. The sun is setting and a golden red hue is starting to display across the sky. No contrails to be seen. A deep blue sky settling to darkness in the east. Vivid reds, oranges, purples and pinks to the west. Two dark and ominous clouds of smoke, one to the east and one to the north. God created a beautiful world for us to live on; Man has managed to screw it up.

  I send Rusty to gather up the two youngest children at the chicken coop and we all head back to the house. I see a soft glow of lights and again thank God for our safe haven. How many people across the country are facing darkness? Some may have candles and emergency flashlights. But most of America is surrounded by darkness, wondering what will happen, when will the lights come back on?

  What about the big cities? A power outage like no one has ever seen. Many people will be holding each other, many babies will be conceived. But many will be taking advantage of the situation. The rioting, pillaging and plundering will be starting as total darkness sets in across the nation. The cops will be helpless to respond, the fire departments and ambulances will be grounded as well. It will be a society without rules to guide it. Without a moral compass, anarchy will reign. The only hope is the grounding force of God. But God and his morality has been scoffed at and ridiculed in this country, driven far away; removed from the schools, from the public square, from the courthouse, from normal conversation. A country without God is a godless country….

  I think further of the far-reaching effects of a massive power outage; a massive EMP. Hospitals and nursing homes are a death field. Advanced medical equipment has stopped. Surgical rooms are darkened. Our great pharmaceutical industry has ground to a halt.

  ATMs are dead. All electronic money, most of the money in the world, has disappeared into the Ethernet. Ownership of vast wealth is gone. The wealthy have nothing more than the property they sit on, their vast holdings erased. And what they sit on is threatened by mob rule.

  As I approach the front door, the kids running up to me shakes me from these morbid thoughts. The two youngest grab my hands as we enter the house. "Pappy, Pappy, the piglets are getting big! And you got eggs. We didn’t touch them, we know we're supposed to get them in the morning. Can we get them in the morning! We'll be real gentle. Can we, can we?"

  The innocence of the kids makes me smile. It's funny how God provides what you need in many ways. "Can you? All by yourselves?"

  A chorus of "We can do it, Pappy. We can do it. Grammy showed us how, we can do it."

  "Okay, okay. That would be great, you all can get us eggs for breakfast. Now let's go in and see what your Momma and Grammy have for dinner for us."

  The mood in the house is somber. I am sure Becca and Janie have been discussing things simil
ar to the thoughts I have been having. And Zach, being activated, has to have Janie torn up, She will put on a good face for the kids, but she is missing him dearly already, I know.

  The ladies have made burgers and cheesy macaroni from what was in the fridge and on the shelves for dinner. We try to keep a normal conversation up during dinner for the kids' sake. But it is stilted. All the adults, and Rusty and Blake, are preoccupied with other thoughts. But they go unspoken.

  After dinner, as it is already late, Janie puts the two young ones to bed and sends Rusty and Blake up to the loft to start putting away their clothes, telling them that they will be staying here for a while.

  I pour Becca a glass of wine and grab a cold beer from the fridge. Silently, we walk out onto the porch. We sit together on the old porch swing, watching the darkness settle over our mountain retreat. I hold her tight and tell her I love her. She tells me she loves me, too. We sit silently together.

  "Why are we still here, Mark?" Becca asks quietly, tearfully. "If it's as bad as you say it is, why are we still here? Why would God put us through this?"

  "I don't know, baby doll. I don't know. When I saw the planes fall from the sky, I thought I would be taken up to see the Lord. I thought we all would be taken up. I prayed that you and the kids would be taken up. But we're still here. We're still here, baby doll."

  She snuggles tightly, more tightly than normal. "Tell me it's going to be all right."

  I sit silently for a bit, "I can't tell you that, baby doll. You saw what happened at your office, at the school, everything on the way home. Honey, it's going to be bad."

  She moves away a bit but we still hold hands. "Where's God? Where's God, Mark? People are going to die, people are dying right now! Where's God?"

  I start to cry. I want to reassure my wife. But how do I do that when I don’t know either? I tell her. "I don’t know Becca, I don’t know…."