by ML Banner
8.
Sally
5 A.M.
Sally was tapping away on the keyboard of her MacBook Air. Every couple of seconds, her computer would make a ding sound indicating that one of her followers on Google+ just posted a comment in reply to one of her previous posts. She had already posted five times before breakfast, curating stories from the net, and pointing to an article she had written last week about the newest Samsung smartphone, published last night on the largest computer blog on the net. Although she arose long before sunrise, having inherited the same sleeping habits as her father, she didn’t need to do any work.
She had pre-written all her posts on DoShare, and scheduled them for release at the rate of three per day during her vacation. Some were complete with video, including unboxing various products that she was blessed to see before anyone else, other than a few other tech reviewers like her. She also had four more articles pre-written which were being published over the course of the next two weeks over three different blogs, and the one with which she felt the most pride, the Wall Street Journal Tech Sector. She had already done a ton of work ahead of time, so she didn’t need to do anymore.
However, she couldn’t help it. Part of her drive was the desire to be known as the best in her field. The other part was her guilt in making sure that her 2.5 million followers on Google+ received the kind of cutting edge info they had come to expect from her, and of course, there were the sponsors. This was something new, so she vowed to step up her game when she signed up several sponsors, including two from some big name gadget suppliers. Mostly, she just loved stumbling onto that esoteric story or two, which no one else seemed to know about. She felt like she was this era’s version of Woodward & Bernstein, without the deep throat, combing through the next big story. So, each day, in addition to her “work,” even while on vacation, she vowed to post at least two fresh things.
Sally’s journalistic sources ranged from between two hundred or so eNewsletters, thousands of posts and emails from followers, and hundreds of RSS feeds from the biggest to the smallest news providers. If she thoroughly reviewed all her sources, it would take her hours each day to cull through what was available. Instead, she relied on her assistant Brian to invest the time doing this work for her. She would then usually spend about twenty minutes, three times per day, doing a quick overview of these sources again, using a program she designed, and reviewing Brian’s notes of suggested posts that he messaged her on her intranet site. That was the beauty of where she was. Brian could do a lot of the heavy lifting for her, and he even wrote some of the posts for her.
Brian was a find, fresh out of college, a blogger and Google+ devotee in his own right, with 50,000 followers. Brian was one of Sally’s early followers right when Google+ started. He became one of her lead sources for new info. He would find stuff she would miss. When Brian was about to graduate, he let her know that he was available, even suggesting the position and salary he would take to work for her. Therefore, he was hired away from Google, who wanted him as well. Financially, it was a stretch for Sally, but it had paid off in spades when she secured her first few sponsors. Now she couldn’t imagine doing what she did without Brian.
He was a research hound. If you gave him a few clues, he could solve any mystery. This was very helpful when she would do some of her unboxing videos on new products. He would find out the details of what led that manufacture to make the changes Sally and Brian discovered when they examined a new product. He also had a similar knack for finding the stories that Sally had done on her own, which earned her so many followers. Now he was doing it for her.
She already reviewed Brian’s notes from last night and this morning, thanking him for it. There was nothing too exciting to report. In fact, Brian was going to post a couple of things on her behalf which were worthy, but didn’t interest her too much. Today, she wanted to have a little fun and really peruse her sources. She rarely had time to play the game, which was much more fun to her than lying on the beach. She was looking for the bizarre, maybe even the crazy.
“Massive blackouts in China point to US - Chinese tryst,” she read from the Conspirator’s Daily eZine. The author postulated a cabal between the Chinese and US Governments to sell more oil or some strange theory, which made no sense. However, in between the nonsense were two interesting points: blackouts affecting 17 million people, with some power stations down for potentially weeks, and sightings of auroras in areas as far south as North Korea.
She remembered seeing some story earlier which she paid no notice to before, but with this information, she was captivated by the potential of that story. “Where was it?” She asked herself while scrolling through her feeds.
“Bingo,” she yelled out loud, abruptly stopping and looking up sheepishly, hoping her words were not as loud as she knew they were. She realized it was later in the morning than she assumed, and remembered hearing her mom making noises in the kitchen not long ago. Her sense of smell confirmed this, taking in the glorious aromas seeping into her room from the kitchen.
Looking back at her screen, she read the headline, “One of the largest Coronal Mass Ejections in years causes disruptions in China.” Not many details, but she knew she had found the trail she was looking for. She searched now for all news stories mentioning auroras or strange lights. This yielded quite a few results from the last 24 hours: Beautiful aurora light show over India and China by an Indian newspaper; Strange lights reported in North Korea by an alien conspiracy newsletter; Vladivostok Ravaged by Fire – Many Deaths Feared. She opened this one and read about large fires consuming almost a third of the city of Vladivostok Russia, causing power outages throughout the city. Only one reported death, but many more were expected. Then she saw what she was looking for, “Several locals, just outside of the city reported seeing strange lights in the sky just before fires started ravaging the city.”
Sally scanned through a few more stories, with more than enough to post, but drawn to the magnitude of what she was finding. This was a big deal, but it hadn’t really made the news in the States. She was about to type out her post, when she came across one more story, from thirty hours ago, before the auroras and CMEs: Noted Solar Astrophysicist Predicts Global Apocalypse? Not expecting this kind of story from her query, she clicked on the link and ate up the article.
A scientist named Dr. Carrington Reid, who founded a research center that only studies solar storms, flares, and coronal mass ejections or CMEs being interviewed about a recently published paper. He posited that the most current solar cycle would likely bring about one or more CMEs that would be equal or greater than the Carrington Event that occurred over 150 years ago. He also stated that if a similar Carrington Event were to occur today, it would cause worldwide destruction and lead to the death of hundreds of millions of people or far worse.
Sally pondered all of this, ignoring her growling belly, and typed out her post, “Beauty & the Beast - CME causes auroras & destruction in Southern Asia/Russia.” Pointing to two of the best stories, and the Dr. Reid interview, she typed, “A freak of nature or a harbinger of bad things to come. What’s your take?”
Now she only needed the photograph. She learned early on that the old motto “A picture is worth a thousand words” is even truer when posting on Google+ or a blog. She first uploaded a stunning picture of a blue green and red aurora photographed in Alaska, since there was none yet from this event. But, then she ran across an HD video of a similar aurora in Alaska. Using Auto Awesome software, it pulled multiple frames from the video and turned it into an animated gif, more literally a moving picture. It was stunning.
Very pleased with her post, her hashtags and links, and now the picture, she reviewed it, making sure there were no errors. She then clicked Share to send her post to the 2.5 million computers and smart phones of her followers worldwide, as well as the millions of the Google searching public.
“That should get the nutters out as well. Always a fun crowd,” she said, smiling and feeling good
about this find.
She sipped some of the remnants of her coffee and watched the comments flood in almost immediately, one after another. Bing followed by another and another; her computer ringing like a penny slot machine in Vegas.
“Great find, +SallyKing,” said Felicia James from New York.
“Wow! You rock, +SallyKing,” said Brian Santana. Her Brian, who was always monitoring her posts, even on his days off.
“It’s got to be the Chinese. They want our oil,” said Frank Gomez from Texas. His profile picture was of a mustached and goateed young man wearing a Stetson and a vapid smile.
“I’ve been saying all along, it will be a massive CME that will take down society,” said Wilber Wright, one of her favorite conspiracy followers and one of the many of her sources, in some unknown place in Illinois.
Sally closed her laptop and considered whether to walk out to the kitchen, knowing breakfast was any minute, or to go outside through her patio door and see if Uncle Max was around. She could smell the spicy fragrance of chorizo calling her and her now ravenous stomach. Instead, she chose the patio door. She was dying to see if Max was coming to breakfast and his take on the CME story.
9.
Wilber
7:30A.M.
Somewhere in Middle Illinois
“All right, Preppers,” Wilber started his shared post for the Apocalypse Preppers community page on Google+, This one is hot, coming from one of my favorite sources… 75% chance of a solar flare that will end all technology on Earth. If you haven’t started your preparations, it’s already too late!!! This was linked via a shared post on his blog where he described the details of the CME Research Bulletin he received and read about an hour ago.
“Wilber,” his wife’s voice coming from outside into his open window, “I think Petunia’s got a cold.”
Nut house! After a long exhale, he pushed himself up from his computer. “Coming,” he yelled to the window and headed towards the back of the house to deal with yet another pig that probably had Colibacillosis; the fourth one now. He dreaded the thought of having to isolate her from the healthy ones, give her antibiotics and fluids, and clean out the pen once again. Olivia was on sick-pig-watch, as she called it, quick to announce if one had diarrhea, the sure sign of this illness.
He walked the hundred or so feet from the back of their home down to the pigpens, Jumbo Jet, his favorite pig, already broadcasting Wilber’s imminent presence to the others. He stopped for a moment and took in the view. Although not as incredible as from the front of their home, with its views of the main valley and town, his favorite view was out the back. The little stream which wrapped around their home, below the pens and the stalls, and the sheer rocky face leading straight up to where their windmill stood as sentry over the whole valley. They owned the biggest property in Ottawa County, some 1290 acres left to him by his family, and the only place he ever called home.
Since taking over the homestead ten years after both his parents died in a car accident, Wilber made quite a few improvements. Oil income from three wells in the valley had been taking care of their family’s expenses for a lifetime. From the beginning, the Wrights were off the grid, as those from his prepper community would say, not because of planning on his, or his parent’s part, but because of the great distance from the town and its services. They had a windmill and solar cells providing all of their power needs, water storage tanks filled by filtered water from their stream, food grown, harvested, pickled, and stored. He was just thankful that his family could take care of itself, which was much more important now more than ever.
JJ, as they often referred to him, squealed once more, louder this time, announcing his displeasure at Wilber’s repose. Pulled towards the mountain of tasks ahead, he trudged forward with a grimace.
He really didn’t need this. There was too much to do. He had to check on the fencing on the eastern edge of their property, install the new part in the control unit for the windmill, and store the shipments of ammo he received yesterday at their delivery box, and go into town to buy some more batteries, waiting at Dingles Hardware. Finally, he wanted to work on the follow up book to his survivalist novel; the one he was pretty sure was never going to get finished. But it was a nice distraction from what was to come.
He could feel something bad was going to happen. He didn’t buy into all the conspiracy theories spread by the prepper communities. He often visited to give and receive tips on making do on your own. Often reading reported incidents, which surely would lead to some cataclysmic event, Wilber would research further to check on its validity. Sometimes, he posted some of the better ones, just to stir the pot. However, some of the conspiracies made sense and seemed believable.
Lately, he had been reading lots of chatter about solar flares and CMEs and it just sounded a little too real. Especially, the reports from scientists like Dr. Reid. He knew they wouldn’t be directly affected by the loss of power, but his greater worry was for his family’s security. The whole town knew of his family and made up stories about the Wrights did this or that or the Wrights have too much money and should share it with others. It wasn’t just the town’s greed that kept him up at night. It was the fact that their food would run out and they would want to take from his family at some point.
Walking up to the gate of the pen, he was assaulted by the smell of sickness. “Petunia doesn’t look too good, does she?” Olivia said while holding their baby.
“Thanks O.” He looked around, searching. “Where’d Buck run off too?”
“He’s out trying to get that damned fox that killed some of the chicks yesterday.”
Another thing he forgot was on his list. “Can you do me a favor and run into town and pick up my batteries at Dingles? Buck can help me work on the fence today to make sure it’s secure, if he ever gets back.”
“Sure. I wanted to stop in to see Emma and see how she is doing.”
“Tell her we’re praying for her.” He pecked her on the lips, turned, and grabbed the shovel propped up against the fence, and entered the pen, now starting his long workday.
9.
Stocking Up
7:05 A.M.
Rocky Point, Mexico
Max took a big bite out of his huevos con queso burrito. Fragile wisps of steam emptied out of the bitten end, slithering by his face, slowed slightly by the brim of his blue Cub’s cap, before emptying through the open air of his Jeep into the soup of the city’s aromas. It was a blended mixture ranging from foul to delightful. A flavorful volcano of fire erupted in his mouth. He put out the agreeable fire with a big swig of the remainders of this morning’s freshly brewed coffee currently residing in his large to go cup. Eyeing his dwindling burrito, as a predator would its prey, he bit through the soft tortilla, taking in another mouthful. Truly, very few things beat the taste of Pablo’s burritos in the morning. He tried focusing on this diversion from what lay ahead for him and his friends. Unfortunately, it was also a reminder of so many simple pleasures which would soon be gone.
Max was sitting in the driver’s seat of his Jeep Willys, left elbow resting on the door, hand holding the foil wrapped delicacy. His right hand firmly held his plastic anti-spill coffee cup, or as Bill called it, his adult Sippy-Cup. He mentally held back the onslaught of sounds and smells surrounding him, focused instead on every morsel of the masterpiece crafted by Pablo’s burrito stand, a few steps away from where he was double-parked.
The typical bustle of locals came by car, truck, foot, or bicycle. It never took longer than a couple of minutes to shout their orders in Spanish while handing Pablo’s wife, Maria, 10 pesos, and then collecting their two foil wrapped burritos from Pablo, leaving the same way they had come. It was the best deal in town for the greatest burritos. For less than $1 US, you would get two of either an egg and cheese, or potato and cheese burrito. The only extra was a small container of salsa, homemade and equally tasty of course. Always the same choices since he could remember hearing about this place over 20 years ago; always
available only at 7:00 AM, 6 days a week; and always a steady stream of customers. He learned that Pablo and his wife pre-made them, and rolled them the two blocks from home in their handmade cart. Every day, since their first day, they sold out, never deviating from the successful formula that served their family so well.
Max took another bite and then looked up to watch the steady stream of customers. He started work unwrapping his second burrito.
He counted the traffic and calculated that Pablo and Maria took in about 2500 pesos in 45 minutes, which meant they had to make at least 500 burritos each day. Burrito production took the whole Garcia family, Maria told him, including their four kids, starting the assembly line at 4AM. Other than purchasing the cheese, milk, potatoes, spices, and foil for wrapping, they were self-sufficient for everything else. The eggs came from an uncountable number of chickens in their back yard. The tortillas were made fresh daily by Maria and their eldest daughter the night before. The pushcart was also homemade, a combination of Pablo’s craftsmanship as a carpenter by trade, and Pablo’s father’s design. Pablo Sr. came up with the ingenious scheme of hollowing the chamber surrounding the metal burrito storage area. On the sides and below were sliding steel drawers, each with little grates, which held hot coals from a fire they prepared the night before. The drawers slid into each side and below the chamber, keeping the burritos hot up until the time of purchase.
Max loved stories like this one, but it was a common tale down here. He thought the Mexican people had far more ingenuity than most Americans he knew, which made sense since most had to live on and make do with a tenth of what an American typically did. Most Americans would just buy what they wanted, whereas most Mexicans made do with the used castoffs from Americans who replaced everything with the latest and greatest. Yesterday’s big screen TVs, cell phones, computers, and so many other appliances that were tossed out or sold to thrift shops in Tucson or Phoenix Arizona, and from local vacation homes, ended up in the homes of many of the Mexicans here in Rocky Point.
