by Mic Roland
The Perez family waited until everyone else was finished before they came to the table. They shared the contents of a can of corn from their box. They slept on the floor, but Margaret brought them some blankets. They had the blankets all folded neatly. Their things were all packed and in a little pile, as if expecting a truck to come whisk them away at any moment. Martin had no idea where they would end up. He just knew they could not become additions to his already-full household.
Dustin was a kid on Christmas morning. He had chopped up two more buckets of chunks and fueled up Tin Man. It was finally show time. He spun the flywheel while Martin lit the burn chamber. The white smoke started to flow, then turned to blue. Dustin held the lighter to the jet. The blue smoke turned into a little blue flame.
“Okay, dad,” Dustin said. “Today’s the day. Go for it.”
Martin got a firm footing beside the generator. His hand gripped the pull-cord. He nodded to Dustin. Dustin flipped his homemade diverter valve, but kept spinning the flywheel. The jet of blue flame went out. Martin pulled hard on the cord. The generator spun, but only made the muted glug-glug-glug sound of muffled valves opening and closing: no combustion.
Dustin adjusted the air bypass valve. Everyone stood in a semi-circle around Tin Man and the generator. If their experiment failed, they would have a full audience to fail in front of. Martin pulled again: nothing but glug-glug-glug. Dustin spun the flywheel faster and motioned for Martin to try again.
Martin adjusted his footing and pulled. The engine sputtered a few times, but did not catch.
“We got a spark that time! Maybe a bit less air. This might be like the choke or something.” Dustin closed the air valve a little more.
Martin pulled again. The engine sputtered. It ran rough, but kept sputtering. Dustin slowly opened the air valve. The engine smoothed out to run almost like normal. A few skips continued, but it kept running. Dustin leapt around, whooping like a tribesman. Everyone cheered the success and was amused by a joyous Dustin, except Judy. Her smile was more one of embarrassment.
“Let’s try it under load,” shouted Martin. The little generator was very loud — the loudest noise they had heard in a long time. Dustin carried over the battery from his car. He hooked up the little red and black jumpers from the 12 volt ports. The engine labored for a moment, but recovered at a slightly lower tone. The little gauge on the generator indicated 13.1 volts. The battery was charging. Congratulatory high-fives were shared.
“What’s all this?” Nick shouted as he joined the circle of spectators. Martin explained in short, easily-shouted phrases about Tin Man and wood gas.
“Here’s your box,” shouted Margaret. She handed Martin a cardboard box with more jars of salsa and jam. “Good luck trading today.” She gave him a little pat on the arm.
Nick and Martin walked up the road toward town. The sound of the generator carried farther than Martin expected. He looked back. The house was well out of view, but the little generator’s rapid putt-putt-putt carried through the bare trees as if it were only fifty yards away. Silencing that motor would be their next project. Martin could see Adam and Trish take to the road too. Apparently, they were attending the meeting as well.
“That’s pretty cool,” said Nick. “And that thing runs off plain ol’ wood?” Martin nodded. “Think I could bring over my two car batteries to charge them up? I’ve got some little camp things that use 12 volts.”
“I sure hope I can trade for some food at this meeting,” Nick said, mostly to himself. “You said they had food out for trade, like deer meat and cheese and things?”
“They did last Monday,” said Martin. “Who knows what this week will bring.”
When they climbed the stairs of Town Hall, Landers and Haddock were shaking hands as people entered. “Oh, more jam, Simmons?” Landers pointed to the box.
“Yes, sir.”
“I brought a can of beans this time.” Landers winked. “No wife or other…”
“No, just me and my neighbor Nick.”
“Wife or other what?” asked Nick.
“Never mind. Looks like we need to claim some chairs pretty quickly. The room is fuller than last time.”
As they took a pair of seats along the right side, Lance Walker approached Martin with a cardboard box.
“Hey Martin. Wanted to give you back these…um, things…you gave me last night, but figured they’d be best in a box.” Martin looked inside. There lay the strange long-barreled pistol and chunky black pistol from the tuner boys. Carlos’s little revolver sat below them.
“The revolver was neat,” said Lance. “Soviet era army sidearm. Must be forty, fifty years old. The bluing is worn, but otherwise it’s in good shape. Nice wooden grips too. I had only a dozen .32s that fit it. They’re in the little bag there. Hope it helps him out. The other one is a Hi-Point, 9mm. Nothing fancy or interesting. Gun guys tend rag on them all the time, but they work okay. Full magazine on that one.”
“What about the long one?” Martin asked. He wanted to get it out and look at it, but a crowded meeting was not the place. Many people might have weapons hidden away, much like he had his 9mm in his pocket, but waving a gun around was certain to be frowned upon.
“Ah now, that one is a mystery,” said Lance. “I hadn’t seen anything like it since the 70s. Even then, it was rare. It’s a heavy brute. It had only four rounds in it — long ones, like they were magnums or something. Odd size too. Between a .40 and .44. I didn’t have anything that fit it. No idea where they’d get ammo for it, but they must have.”
“Wow, 1970s, huh?” Martin wondered out loud.
“Not that gun. It just looks like one I saw back then. This one’s made new and not all that long ago. Polymer grips still got that smell to ‘em. Not made all that careful either. Machine marks all over inside. Sorry I can’t tell ya more. It’s just an odd duck. Well, better get my seat. Looks like we’re starting.”
Landers rapped on the plastic table. The routine was becoming familiar enough that people quieted down more quickly. Many of the faces showed eager or worried anticipation.
“Thanks for coming everyone,” said Landers. “An even better turnout this week. That’s encouraging.”
“What happened with the FEMA truck?” a man blurted out. Many heads nodded in support of the question.
“We’ll get to that. First, I’d like to let the chiefs give their reports. Chief Burgh?”
The police chief looked more haggard than the week before. The bags under his eyes spoke of less sleep. His uniform lacked the crisp folds and seams it had last week. “Thanks Jeff. We ran out of gas in the town tank for the cruiser, so we’re not doing the patrols anymore. We have made some progress on the radio network. We have workable links between the police station and several points around town. On the board over there, I’ve posted a list of these links like Mr. Merdot here, up on Stockman Hill and Mrs. Church there up at Spring Pond. Check out the list and talk to the link people. You may be able to connect to them, even if you can’t connect to town directly.”
“Also, we’ve had reports of a group of beggars, three men, two women, with shopping carts, making the rounds. Reports are that they forced their way into a home on Walden, roughed up the homeowner and took a quantity of food. Stay careful out there. We won’t be able to assist you, especially the further out from town you live.” The chief sat down heavily.
The fire chief rose to read off a small scrap of paper. “The department is low on fuel too. We responded to one house fire last week. We were able to save most of the structure since the house was just up the highway. The couple in there got out okay. They’ve moved into the back bedroom, since it wasn’t damaged. The other two house fires were reported far too late. They were nothing but burned-out shells. Please be careful with your wood fires and candles. It doesn’t take long for fire to spread. And now that the shelter is closed, there’s nowhere to put you up.”
“Thanks chief,” said Landers. “Yes, Candice. I see your hand, but let�
�s get back to your question in a minute. We have a related issue we need to discuss first. Before we get to that, we ought to hear what Walter has from the outside world. Walter?”
Walter rose and turned to the crowd. “Yessir, but it ain’t good. Things have been taking a nasty turn out there. Seems that Ohio thing started a bigger fight. In a nutshell, a whole bunch of states in the middle and south have banded together, refusing to comply with executive orders Senator Colp has been issuing. States in the northeast and west coast have sided with Colp. Lots of harsh words flying both ways.”
“Congress is divided, just like the country. Lots of congressmen hold to Speaker Sunderland as the legal chief executive. Most of DC still backs Colp, but governors of the heartland states have thrown in with the Speaker. Sunderland is still stuck in Montana, but has started appointing himself cabinet members and such. Colp calls them all traitors and rebels. The heart-landers call Colp a traitor. So now it seems we have two governments and they’re not playing well with each other.”
“If there’s a sliver lining in all this, it’s that the military voted, if that’s the word for it, to not listen to either side. Some general, I didn’t catch the name, said that all the branches agreed to defend the nation from outside threats, but refuse to interfere in domestic affairs. That Ohio thing gave them a really bad taste.”
“So, the upshot, ladies and gentlemen, is that the rest of the country is too busy fighting among themselves. I kinda doubt we’re on anyone’s aid priority list.”
“Sorry I couldn’t bring better news.” Walter sat down. Sally put her arm around him.
Landers turned to face the audience in general. “Thanks Walter. Speaking of aid, I know that many of you are wondering why the FEMA truck left last Wednesday before everyone in line got a box of food. It’s kinda complicated, but the bottom line is that Mr. Quinn was not happy at how little of the things he wanted done, had been done. He seemed to take a great deal of umbrage at that, and decided to take his truck to Nutfield.”
“So what did you do that made him mad?” asked Peter from the front row.
“Well, he had some lists of things — paperwork — we were supposed to be filling out, and we hadn’t. We had some other lists started which he said were irrelevant.”
“You’re dancing around, Jeff,” admonished Peter. “Come on. Then, what didn’t you do?”
Mike Wilder, less inhibited about maintaining decorum, chimed in. “For one thing, Quinn’s information packet said we were to list all the CCL registrations, get the members list from the Rod and Gun Club, and there was a form for the names and addresses of folks who weren’t on the other two lists, but we knew had…collections.”
“The paperwork wasn’t all that clear,” added Haddock, “but it sure sounded like the next step was supposed to be gathering up all the guns. Why else would the form ask for the sizes of lockable storage rooms?”
“That’s not so unreasonable,” said Candice. “We’ve already seen where some gun-wielding ruffians have assaulted our people. What if more of these criminals were to gain access to all those guns? No one would be safe.”
“Thank you, Candice,” Landers said with a firm tone. “We certainly don’t want any ‘ruffians’ to get ahold of any guns. I urge you all to be very careful. Don’t open your doors unless you know who is out there, and keep some means of defense close at hand.”
“But,” interrupted Candice. “If people have guns near their doors, the ruffians will have an easier time grabbing them. At least the people who have guns…if they ever needed guns in the first place…should have them safely locked away where the bad people can never get them.”
“Candice. I really didn’t call on you,” scolded Landers. “Wait until I call on you, okay? Thank you.”
Wilder continued. “So that was the first thing Quinn didn’t like. We did not have the gun information started, and I told him we weren’t going to. That soured his mood.”
“He cheered up a bit that we had filled out part of the Available Movable Assets form, though,” said Landers. “It did not take too long to list out the town’s dump truck, the two pickups, cruisers and the fire equipment. We had all those records on file already.”
“I thought he would have been pleased with the lists I had started.” added Haddock, “From the census forms, it seemed like they were asking about our people. So, I made a list of the elderly that needed some medical care, the sick in need of medications, and the medications they needed. I also listed the children and other special needs individuals.”
Landers shook his head. “But that was not what Quinn’s paperwork requested. He was pretty adamant about that. His forms requested the names of healthy men, ages 18 to 40 only, and women ages 14 to 30. He was asking for the opposite of what we expected: the healthy and not the needy.”
Wilder pounded the table. “I was totally against giving him, or anyone else, a list of the young women of this town. I didn’t like it and I told him so.” He pounded the table again.
“Yes, yes,” Landers tried to soothe Wilder. “You certainly did tell him so. I’m afraid our cordial briefing spun out of control after that. He accused us of not complying with federal law and threatened to have us arrested. That did not help Mike’s mood any.” Landers tried a smile to lighten things, but it was far from enough.
“That’s when Quinn announced that our town was out of compliance with federal regulations and therefore not eligible for federal aid, that it was our own fault, and he was taking his truck to Nutfield. I guess he had been in contact with the town councilmen there and they were much more cooperative about filling out his paperwork than we had been. The rest, you all saw.”
The people of the audience silently looked on, as if expected more.
“That’s all, really. Okay Candice. What would you like to say?”
Candice stood, half facing the selectmen, half to the crowd. “This seems to be a dangerous situation, Jeff. I don’t think it’s wise to ignore federal law. You could get in a lot of trouble. And, I don’t think it’s fair to the citizens of this town, who are growing hungrier and hungrier by the day, to let a little paperwork stand in the way between our poor, hungry citizens, and the life-sustaining meals the government wants to give us.”
Landers stood up slowly and with gravitas. “I agree with you Candice…to a degree. This is a very serious matter. People are getting low on supplies. Some are getting hungry. So, we, the board of selectmen of your town, decided that we would seek the will of the people on this question.”
Landers paused, as he studied a folded piece of paper. “I’m going to ask for a vote. Listen carefully and wait until I’ve finished. Please raise your hand to vote YES, if you want us to comply with the federal forms. This may, or may not, restore the flow of federal aid to our town. We cannot guaranty anything. That is totally out of our control. Okay, I’ve finished. Raise your hands if you want us to fill out the forms.”
Several hands went up. Candice’s was the most animated. A few young ones in the middle, and old couple and a woman by herself had their hands raised more tentatively. Martin glanced back to see if Trish and Adam had their hands raised. They did not.
“Okay. Thank you for voting,” said Landers. “We respect everyone’s right to an opinion. Now, still listen carefully and wait until I’ve finished. Please raise your hands if you, the people of Cheshire, vote NO that you do NOT want us to fill out the federal forms. Keep in mind that in voting ‘no’, it is more than likely that there will be no more federal aid. Okay. I’ve finished. Can I see the show of hands?”
The vote was overwhelming. The people of Cheshire, as hungry as they might soon be, voted no. Unlike some other votes at town meetings, there was no cheering or applauding the results. Everyone knew the seriousness of their choices.
“Okay then,” said Landers gravely. “The No votes have it. Looks like we’re on our own.”
Solutions
Landers let everyone contemplate the gravity of their collec
tive ‘no’ vote for what seemed like a long time. Most people had their heads down, deep in thought…or prayer.
“Now that we have all made that decision…”
“And I must say I think it is a mistake,” interrupted Candice.
“Maybe, maybe not,” resumed Landers. “But, the people have spoken. With this decision made, we must address a related item of business: the neediest among us. As you all know, by now, the shelter ran out of fuel a few days ago. We placed all of the people into the homes of kind-hearted residents who had spare rooms, and we thank you all for your generosity.”
“But we still have a problem,” said Wilder. “Since the shelter closed, there have been more families who have since run out of fuel and can’t stay in their homes any longer. Some have run out of both food and fuel. But, there’s no shelter to take them in.”
Martin raised his hand. Landers nodded to him. “Along those lines, yesterday, a family from Manchester arrived. They didn’t plan to stay in Cheshire, but ran out of gas here. I had them at my house last night because they had no where else to go, but I really can’t keep them. My house is already full and what food we have stretched thin.”
