Fort Sill, Oklahoma, the home of the U.S. Army’s artillery school, was semi-chaotic when the Federals arrived, but its huge store of ammunition was still secure and intact. Fort Gordon, Georgia, was controlled by a corrupt and unstable general who was mistrusted by his own troops. The arrival of the Federals came as a relief to the troops there—mostly signal corps—but they were soon disillusioned to find that the Provisional Government leadership was even more corrupt than that of their former commander.
When the army reached the coast and “pacified” Charleston, South Carolina, the Hutchings government immediately made satcom contact with U.S. Navy logistics ships worldwide, ordering them to return to the U.S. Their remaining cargos, they were told, were needed to resupply the army. The ports of Wilmington and Savannah were opened soon after. And once the army had reached the Gulf Coast, another satcom call went out to the UN, letting them know that several ports were available for ships carrying peacekeeping troops and vehicles. This accelerated the arrival of UN troops, which previously had been just a trickle on aircraft landing at McConnell, Tinker, Charleston, and Pope Air Force bases. The reopening of the seaports allowed huge numbers of UN troops to enter the United States.
Sarawiwa, Belize
September, The Second Year
Five months after he came to convalesce at the Moras’ house, and just as he was starting to feel that he was fully regaining his strength, Andy became ill after dinner. He had a high fever, sweats, and a stomachache. He had all the signs of a bad flu. But then a rash formed on his chest and his legs. Skin eruptions broke out in his armpits. His wrists started to ache. Andy had never felt so sick in his life. Darci Mora recognized it immediately: “It’s the break bone.”
Andy turned his head to look at Darci and asked, “What? How could a broken bone cause this?”
“No, no, no. Not your broken leg. Nothing to do with that. This is a fever, breakbone fever, the dengue fever. The people call it breakbone fever because it gives you such pain in the joints.”
Andy was very ill. His feverish periods would last for ten hours or more, and he became delirious. The pain in his muscles and joints became intense. Tylenol kept the pain just barely manageable. A few times he was given Tylenol with codeine. He had three days of diarrhea and vomiting.
During one of his lucid periods, Mora explained that dengue fever was caused by a virus transmitted from person to person by the aedes mosquito, and that there was no specific treatment.
Andy asked Darci, “Should I go back to the hospital?”
“No. Unless you get much worse and need an IV, the treatment would be the same there: fluids and rest. I’ll just keep checking your vitals. There is something called dengue shock syndrome. That’s the real killer, but it is not very common. You just have to let your immune system fight this.”
After ten days, the worst of the illness had passed, but Andy still felt miserable. Following Darci’s advice, he drank lots of water. He complained of an odd taste in his mouth, almost as if he were sucking on a zinc lozenge.
His recovery from dengue fever was slow. He spent many hours in bed, feeling weak. He read his Bible a lot. Whenever he felt depressed, he read the book of Job, just to put his own minor troubles in perspective. To improve his limited command of Spanish, Andy would often do parallel readings, verse by verse, from his King James Bible and Mora’s “Santa Biblia” Spanish edition.
Andy would often read his favorite verses aloud, such as a portion of Psalm 119: “Thou art my hiding place and my shield: I hope in thy word. Depart from me, ye evildoers: for I will keep the commandments of my God. Uphold me according unto thy word, that I may live: and let me not be ashamed of my hope. Hold thou me up, and I shall be safe: and I will have respect unto thy statutes continually. Thou hast trodden down all them that err from thy statutes: for their deceit is falsehood. Thou puttest away all the wicked of the earth like dross: therefore I love thy testimonies.”
The Moras’ pet green parrot, named Payasito, kept Andy entertained as he recovered. Andy asked for the bird to be brought to his room so frequently that Gabe eventually moved his cage to Andy’s bedside, saying simply, “You two can keep each other company from now on.”
Laine joked that Payasito was teaching him his Spanish vocabulary: “When I go to restaurants, people will wonder why I always order peanuts.” He added in an imitation of a parrot voice, “Cacahuetes, por favor.”
Eventually, Andy was able to return to his exercise regimen, and began helping Gabe with his work. Gabe still hunted frequently, both to supply his own household with meat and for extra meat to barter. Andy became his skinning and butchering assistant.
Mora mostly hunted the native gibnut, a large guinea-pig-like rodent, more commonly called a paca or tepezcuintle, or more properly the lowland paca. He also hunted peccaries, deer, armadillos, iguanas, and tapirs. Gabriel liked gibnut hunting best. They were good eating and always plentiful. He jokingly called them “the Queen’s Rats,” referring to when Queen Elizabeth famously ate gibnut when she visited Belize. That dinner prompted a British newspaper to run the headline: “Queen Eats Rat.” Mora told Andy that these fast-breeding rodents could be found in large numbers throughout the country. Gabe prided himself on always shooting them in the head, so that he didn’t waste any meat. He rarely missed his mark.
Mora owned two .22 rimfire rifles, a Taurus .22 revolver, a .303 Lee-Enfield rifle that had been “sporterized,” and two shotguns. His better .22 rifle was a scoped Marlin. All of this gun’s metal parts and its scope had been spray-painted green to help protect it from rust in the unrelenting humidity. The paint often flaked and it showed signs of being touched up. This was Mora’s gibnut gun. When Andy asked if his guns were registered, Gabe chortled, and said, “No. No way! I think only about half the guns in the country are in the registry. That registry is a big joke, especially out in the bush. Some of those guys have full-on AKs and old submachineguns from the Second World War that aren’t registered.”
Andy began going on hunts with Mora. On these hikes Gabe tried to teach him the names of the local tree species, but they soon became a confusing blur. The old logger mentioned that there were more than seven hundred species in Belize and that that he knew the names of only half of them. Andy finally said, “Well, it is more important that I know how to buy food and ask directions in Spanish than it is to know the name of every tree.”
Andy often quoted the Bible to Gabe, who had been raised as a Catholic but who was relatively ignorant of the scriptures. He once told Andy, “I haven’t gone to Mass or confessed in years. I worked so much in those back-country camps that I got out of the habit. God wouldn’t want me.” But Andy reassured him, saying, “All you need is faith in Christ Jesus. That’s the way, the only way, to heaven. Believe in Him and repent. It’s just that simple.” Laine regularly encouraged Mora to read his Bible. He also prayed daily that Gabe and Darci would come back into fellowship.
On one of their longer hunting excursions, Gabe showed Andy his secret stash of gasoline, buried in the side of a small ridge at his uncle’s wooded property, three miles west of Sarawiwa. Mora described his fuel storage technique to Laine. When he was working as a back-country logger, he had discovered that gasoline stored in thirty-three-gallon plastic drums with the bungs sealed tight was still usable for up to four years, even without the addition of a stabilizer. Stored the same way, diesel would last much longer if it was treated with an antimicrobial.
The food-grade blue drums that Gabe used for his gasoline had white gaskets in the bungs that swelled slightly but did not deteriorate. These blue plastic drums were stored inside fifty-five-gallon steel drums and shaded from direct sunlight. A dark green tarp was draped over the pair of drums. Mora found that the plastic drums expanded and contracted with the fuel as the temperature changed. With no air venting, the problems of water condensation, evaporation, and other contaminants were solved. An
d, he surmised, in the event that the thirty-three-gallon drum ever burst unexpectedly, the fuel would be contained within the larger steel drum.
It was on that same trip that Mora bagged the first iguana that Andy had ever seen in the wild. Mora stopped the big lizard with just one shot to the back of its head from his Marlin .22 rifle. This iguana was more than three feet long. It had a fat tail, which Mora said was a sign of good health. Iguana, called “bamboo chicken” by the Mora family, was a favored delicacy. Gabe said that to get his daughter and son-in-law to come visit, all he had to do was tell them that he planned to serve iguana.
During his recovery, Andy continued with his weekly HF radio contacts. More than half of them were successful. It was those Morse code conversations with his brother and fiancée that kept his spirits up.
Gabe Mora had cut back drastically on his driving after the Crunch began. But he would often ride his bicycle to Sarawiwa or even as far away as Dangriga to buy groceries. He would carry his Taurus .22 revolver on those shopping trips. Gabe would frequently spot wild game near the road and bring home some bonus protein.
Bloomfield, New Mexico
April, the Second Year
Lars and Lisbeth Laine spent a lot of time in their “ham shack”—a corner of their bedroom—on more than just Tuesday nights. They became avid shortwave listeners, doing their best to keep track of current events by scanning through the international broadcast bands mainly in the high 9 MHz and high 11 MHz ranges, listening to radio stations such as the BBC, Radio Netherlands, Radio Havana Cuba, Channel Africa, HCJB in Ecuador, and NHK in Japan. They also tuned up to 17.795 MHz to hear Radio Australia. It was disconcerting to hear the litany of very bad economic news, refugee movements, terrorist attacks, and massive riots. It was even more disturbing to notice when some of these radio stations dropped off the air.
The Laines also picked up valuable news listening to amateur radio operators from all over the United States. They had the most success listening to hams in the Rocky Mountain region and just east of the Rockies. But they found that it was more difficult for them to hear hams in the Northeast. At first Lars assumed this was because of poor propagation or weak signal strength. But then he came to realize that the real reason so few hams were heard in the Northeast was because of the tremendous societal disruption and the lack of power. Most of the time Lars merely listened to the conversations of other ham radio operators and never used his own microphone. It was only when Kaylee asked him to contact her family near New Braunfels, Texas, that they actually keyed the mic and made contact with a couple of hams. From them they learned that Kaylee’s family was safe and well. He also checked up on Lisbeth’s family in eastern Colorado. They learned that her mother had died in a diabetic coma but that her father and brother were still alive and working at a grain mill. Lars was never successful at checking up on his relatives on his mother’s side. The Bårdgård family lived in Minnesota, one of the places where the population die-off was severe. There, a combination of harsh winters and relatively high population density combined to produce a huge depopulation.
32
Social Work
“This present window of opportunity, during which a truly peaceful and interdependent world order might be built, will not be open for too long—We are on the verge of a global transformation. All we need is the right major crisis and the nations will accept the New World Order.”
—David Rockefeller, addressing the United Nations Ambassador Dinner, September 14, 1994
Sarawiwa, Belize
February, the Third Year
To get ready for his upcoming departure, Andy started buying compact backpacking foods and extra batteries for his ham radio and SureFire flashlight in Sarawiwa and Dangriga. He also solicited letters of introduction from both Gabe Mora and the consul from the American embassy.
After Andy had declared himself fit to travel, Gabe said, “I can give you a ride as far as Orange Walk, but first I will make inquiries about horse breeders there. I know that there are several. I’ll give you a letter of introduction that you can carry.”
At dinner two days later, Gabe announced: “I found you a horse breeder. His name is Pedro Hierro, and his ranch is just north of Orange Walk, not far off the Northern Highway. I hear he has some of the best horses in the district.”
Knowing that he was soon likely to depart, in the privacy of his bedroom Andy pulled out his Primus stove. Working with a screwdriver, he extracted two of the duct-tape-wrapped one-ounce gold coins and then he carefully reassembled the stove heat shield.
Andy felt bad that the checks that had been sent to Darci by the U.S. State Department were worthless. So he gave Gabe his set of bicycle tools and his big Maglite flashlight, explaining that he needed to cut down on weight for his upcoming journey. After some prayer, he also gave Darci a one-ounce American Eagle, one of his last few remaining gold coins. As he handed it to her, he said, “You have been such a blessing. You have always made me feel welcome here, and I have shared your food—with your delicious cooking—for many months. This is the least that I can do to thank you. I won’t take no for an answer.”
Their drive to Orange Walk was enjoyable. Gabe pointed out a number of sights and filled Andy in on some details about the history of the country. As they neared Orange Walk, Gabe started pointing out dozens of Mennonite-owned farms. He explained: “They started moving here in the 1950s. Good folks. When the power grid went down, the Old Order ones didn’t even notice. They don’t believe in electricity. But I’m worried about how they’ve done when the Guatemalan gangs have come through, because they don’t believe in guns, either.”
He dropped Laine off at the front gate of the horse ranch. A simple hand-painted sign read: “Pedro Hierro—Caballos Excelente.” The ranch’s pastures were enclosed in sturdy white-painted welded tubular steel fences that looked like they had taken many hours to construct. A small, stout cinder-block house overlooked the pastures and a hay field.
Gabe said, “I should just leave you here. This guy doesn’t know me, so I think it’s best that you just introduce yourself. He might be more nervous if two of us go up there.”
Andy nodded. Seeing that the gate was locked, he climbed over it. Gabe lifted Andy’s pack over the gate to him, and Andy shouldered it. They shook hands through the gate, and Mora said earnestly, “God will see you safely home.”
Andy nodded and smiled. “And you, as well. Con Dios, Gabe.” He turned to walk up the hill. He saw that there were more than a dozen mares and nearly as many foals in the pasture to his right. Just below the house was a smaller one-horse stallion corral. The horse in it was a fine-looking dark chesnut stallion with a long mane and a gleaming coat. Andy heard Mora’s car driving away.
An elderly man stepped out on the porch and eyed Laine as he approached. A woman about the same age looked on from the open doorway. The man casually cradled a double-barreled shotgun in his arms.
Andy waved and shouted, “¡Saludos! I want to buy a horse.” The man thoroughly read both of Andy’s letters of introduction. Then, even before talking about his available horses, Pedro Hierro asked Andy how he planned to pay.
Andy answered, “En monedas de oro. Yo tengo un Krugerrand. It is a one-ounce coin—una onza de oro.”
Hierro’s eyes brightened and he urged, “Come, come and see my horses.”
The horses that Pedro Hierro had available for sale were in his back pasture. He whistled them in and shook a partially full bucket of grain. The remuda of nearly twenty horses came at them at a gallop. After they were all in the corral, Hierro deftly closed the gate behind them. Laine was impressed how quickly he moved, for an old man.
Andy rested his forearms on the corral’s top rail and began to look them over. One of them looked a bit lame—perhaps a hoof problem—but all of the others looked like good, sound horses. There were a few mares, but most of them were geldings.
/> “Do you have any saddle-broken horses that are extra quiet? ¿Bien callado, tranquilo?”
The old man pointed to a large chesnut gelding that was standing slightly separated from the herd, “Sí, este caballo que está castrado.”
To Andy, the big gelding looked like it had some strong bloodlines, perhaps Andalusian. There wasn’t a spot of white on him, which he liked. The gelding appeared to be sixteen hands or better.
Andy asked its name: “¿Cómo se llama?”
“Prieto.” After a pause the horse breeder added: “Prieto es muy tranquilo. He is the most quiet of all my horses. No resopla—no big snorts from this one. Also, no relinchos.”
Andy cocked his head and asked, “¿Qué? ¿Qué es ‘relinchos’?”
The old man explained: “A relincho you calls a ‘whinny.’”
“Oh. Muy bueno. He is well broken for riding?”
“Sí, sí, señor. He is four years old.”
Andy climbed into the corral and approached the horse. He looked the horse in the eye. He brushed the side of the gelding’s neck and made a soft, cooing noise. Then he chanted the horse’s name: “Prieto, Prieto.” The horse swung his head around and put his nose below Andy’s chin. Laine took a few minutes to scratch the horse on his poll, between his ears, and beneath his forelock. The gelding’s mouth made a chewing motion in response. Andy examined the horse closely.
Andy pointed out some scars and some proud flesh on the horse’s right rear flank and gaskin.
Survivors - A Novel of the Coming Collapse Page 27
