by Dave Conifer
Nick straightened his collar and returned to the table. “Well, I guess we recruit. If we know about anybody out there, we check them out. If they seem okay, we invite them in. Watch them real close, maybe with some kind of probation time period. No weapons until we know we can trust them. But we give them a chance to come and contribute. Nobody gets a free ride, same as the rest of us.”
“For God’s sake,” John said. “Ever heard of a Trojan Horse?”
“What are you so afraid of?” Nick asked him. “You think they’d make trouble once they were in? Why would they? It doesn’t get any better than this, and they know that from their own experience.”
“The point is, we can’t trust ‘em,” John argued. “We can’t let a bunch of strangers in and hand them the keys to the kingdom.”
”It worked out with Jesse Cobbins and his folks, didn’t it?” Nick asked. “We found them living out in the woods like animals. Talk about strangers. Now, who do we turn to first when something needs to get done right away? We go to Jesse.”
“You’re John, right?” asked Quigley, looking at John Markle and speaking for the first time. “You need to take a chill pill and listen to what Nick here is saying. I don’t know how, but he knows more than you do about this.”
“Who are you, anyway?” John snapped back. “Some kind of tree-hugging nature boy? I’ve never seen you before and I don’t care what you think. Stay out of this.”
“Stan Quigley’s the name,” Quigley said. “United States Army.”
“Colonel Quigley is from Fort Dietrich, in Maryland,” Roethke said to the room. “He is indeed a member of the army. Although I get the impression that he wouldn’t have anything disparaging to say about those who hug trees.”
“The Colonel has more military experience than everybody else in this room combined,” Grover said, looking directly at John. “Now you know who he is and why he’s here.” With his intense stare, it looked to Nick like he was daring John to reply. John didn’t. “Did you have something to add, Colonel?”
“Nick is right. Building the walls and hunkering down is a losing game, long term,” Quigley said. “History’s filled with stories about how that doesn’t work. The French thought they were invincible in their fortress at Dien Bien Phu in the middle of the jungle in Vietnam. But the enemy wouldn’t give up. The French raised the white flag in 1954. It wasn’t quite the same situation, but the shoe basically fits. All those piles of supplies, and weapons, and food, everything you need to keep the upper hand? Eventually they run out. You have to know how to replace them.”
“That’s another thing Nick was talking about,” Carlo interjected.
“Yeah,” Nick said. “We need to bring in people who know how to make the things we need. Like blacksmiths. We have to be able to work with metal. Maybe somebody who can make glass. We’ll need a saw mill to make lumber for building. I mean, we’re in the middle of a forest but we don’t know how to produce so much as a toothpick. And we need people who know about natural medications and stuff, because the bottles of pills we have won’t last forever. And we should be purifying our water by boiling it, not with chemicals that we’ll run out of at some point. The list goes on and on.”
“Let’s get back to the military issues,” Grover directed, before looking back over to Quigley.
“Yeah, so hiding behind the walls, which aren’t even finished yet by the way, will only work for so long,” Quigley said. “You’ll get hungry because it’s not as safe to go out and find food. Eventually the hordes overwhelm you. At some point you’ll run out of bullets. Then you’ll run out of guns to shoot the bullets. You’ll lose all the technological advantages you had, not just military ones. And then you’ll be no better off than these mobs that’ll be at the front gates.”
The room was silent. Even John Markle couldn’t think of anything to say. Either that or he was afraid to say it. “So, assuming that we could all agree that we need more people,” Grover finally said. “How do we find them, Nick?”
“I know of a pretty good sized group that we could start with,” Nick said. “They’re ordinary people. Just like us, they’re trying to keep their families warm and fed. And alive.”
“Close by?” Sue asked.
“Lockworth,” Nick told her. “I think it’s about fifteen miles away.”
A lot had been said. Nick looked around the room decided that everybody was catching their breath and thinking about what they’d heard. The room was silent for nearly a minute until Crystal Monroe spoke. “How about the technology aspect that we mentioned before? You know, about the blacksmith and the lumberyards. I’ve always wondered what we’re going to do when our Home Depot supply dump runs out, or when we use up everything we took from the National Guard armory. There’s no more where all that came from.”
“That’s Nick’s point,” Carlo said.
“There’s no doubt it’s something we need to address,” Grover said to his wife. “But I suggest we start with the military questions first.”
“May I ask how you know of this utopian colony of peace-loving soldiers that happens to waiting for an invitation just a couple towns away from here?” Roethke inquired.
It was a question Nick had been dreading. He repeated the story he’d told Carlo at least once, about running into them while moving between the middle school and the camp. He expected to be blasted for not following protocol during the commute, but the story was accepted without comment or objection.
“I’ve already said this to Nick before,” Carlo said. “But it seems risky. How would we approach them? Think about what we do to strangers who show up unannounced on our turf.”
“You wouldn’t do it quite that way,” Quigley said. “I would hope not, anyway. First of all, you leave your weapons somewhere out of sight before you show your face. And you approach them in a small group, not as an army. And lots of smiles. Don’t forget those.”
“What army were you in again?” John asked bitterly.
“So basically, you’re talking about a small, diplomatic mission,” Grover summarized. “Somebody who’s there to talk, not fight. And the first order of business is to make sure everybody there knows it.”
“Right. You’re putting out feelers,” Quigley said. “And you make sure they know that’s all you’re doing.”
“I think I’ll raise this at the next full meeting,” Grover said. “In the meantime, if we did this, what type of people do we send?”
“Nick would be perfect,” Quigley said. “He understands the issues. And somebody military. I’d be willing to go. A few foot soldiers, just in case. And at least one woman.”
“Why say it like that? Any of the people you just named could be women,” Crystal snapped indignantly.
“Except Nick,” Carlo said.
“Definitely don’t send this fellow,” Quigley said, gesturing with his head at John. “We’re hoping to prevent a war, not start one.”
“Get bent,” John said. “I still don’t believe you’re a colonel in any army I ever heard of.”
“So Colonel, you’re the guy who told Roethke this was caused by the sun?” Carlo asked Quigley. “Let me ask you something about that.”
“Lay it on me,” Quigley replied, folding his arms.
“I was digging in our library, reading about EMPs,” Carlo began. “One guy was saying that sunspots wouldn’t wipe out cars and all our devices. They’d tear up the power grid, sure, but it wouldn’t mess with the onboard computer stuff in cars. So what gives?”
“I hear ya’,” Quigley said. “That’s been the theory so far. But think about it. How often have we seen a solar storm in the modern era of the world? Especially one this huge? How can we really know anything for sure?”
“Science, maybe?” Carlo asked.
“Sometimes science is just watching stuff,” Quigley said. “The craziest solar storm I know of was in 1859. It’s now called ‘The Carrington Event.’ I have no idea why. It zapped telegraph lines and even the trans-Atlantic ca
ble. The next biggest one was in 1921. The kind of technology you’re talking about didn’t exist. We’ve had smaller solar events since then, and there wasn’t the kind of damage you’re talking about in those. But until now, there’s never been a monster.”
“Sure, okay, I get it,” Carlo said.
“I mean, I understand where you’re coming from,” Quigley said. “I didn’t expect it either.”
“I want to go on the mission,” Nick said firmly, glad the scientific debate was over and thankful for Quigley’s recommendation. “Count me in. My work’s done at Tabernacle for now, anyway.” Later, he would thank his lucky stars that whoever he was and wherever he’d come from, Stan Quigley was at that meeting.
Nine
A day or two later, when Nick stumbled across a team of workers buzzing around the Outhouse, his initial reaction was panic. Had he missed the latest Construction assignment? He’d thought his subcommittee was going into hibernation after finishing the Bath House. As he approached the Outhouse that morning he’d been on his way to spend the day working on the firewood stores, where he’d been toiling since wrapping up his latest assignments. When he heard Del Ketch barking out orders, he was sure he was in trouble for not showing up.
Just past the Outhouse the roadway was blocked by a row of sawhorses. Nick could see several campers traversing a temporary path that had been hacked through the trees. Meanwhile, about a dozen workers wielding shovels were digging a trench across the road. Nick quickly understood that they were excavating pipes that ran from the Outhouse into the run-off tanks they’d dug into the woods a few months earlier. But why? And how was it that he knew nothing about this?
After he was closer he realized that most of the workers on the site were not Construction members. In fact, there seemed to be somebody from every subcommittee there. What in the world was going on? He was about to find out. Del had spotted him and was moving to intercept him.
“Nick, I got one question,” he said before Nick could get a word in. “How did you manage to stay out of this? We’re gonna’ be up to our eyeballs in poop for the next week. What’s your secret?”
“Believe me,” Nick answered, “Nobody has less clout around here with the big wigs than me. If there’s a project involving human waste, I’m shocked that Roethke didn’t make sure I’m on the team.”
“You didn’t make the list, you lucky dog,” Del said.
Nick waved at the workers behind Del, some of whom had already opened the access panels on the back of the Outhouse and were peering inside. Most had tied rags around their faces to block the smell. “What’s going on here?”
“Come on over,” Del said. “I’ll show you.” They walked toward the Outhouse as they talked. “Whoever planned the way the camp is laid out screwed up,” Del said. “That’s what. We built the biggest, smelliest building right smack in the center of things. Now we all get to walk past it ten times a day and breathe in the stink.”
Nick grimaced. “It’s been getting worse lately, too.”
“That’s because most of it isn’t making it to the off-flow tanks. The pipes ain’t big enough. I’ve been snaking them out every other day, but it doesn’t help much. The pits right underneath the Outhouse get filled to the brim every few days. I can’t keep up. And that’s where the stink comes from. I got my marching orders last night. You know all those people that got the runs?”
“You mean the people with dysentery?” Nick asked.
“Whatever you call it, they ain’t gettin’ any better,” Del said. “They’re making this even worse.”
“So what’s going on today?” Nick asked.
“Were crankin’ up the capacity,” Del said. “First we’ll dig up the pipes I ran from here to the tanks.”
“Over in the trees, right?” Nick asked. “The stuff drains underground through your pipes from under the Outhouse to the tanks.”
“Yep. But the problem is that the pipes are little dinky ones. Little four-inchers,” Del said. “Well, tell ‘em goodbye. Last week they showed me some eighteen-inch PVC duct pipe I could have. They had it hidden somewhere.”
“Seriously? Where? Del, you and me have been over every inch of this place,” Nick said. He sighed. “We’re peons around here. I guess we only know what they want us to know.”
“The eighteen-inchers were for the Smokehouse, but we need ‘em more than they do. So we’re digging them in. And instead of just three, we’ll have eight of them. There was enough pipe for more, but there’s only room for eight. After they’re installed, we’ll flush ‘em manually from the Outhouse end every week with barrels of lake water. We might even get some solids out without usin’ no shovels.”
“You’re learning, Del,” Nick said. “The Sewage King!”
“The Sewage King!” Del bellowed. He slapped the side of the Outhouse. “With this retrofit, we can drain this place every few days before it has a chance to stink up. I should have known we’d have problems. We got a hundred and fifty people pooping in there every day.”
“So wait a second,” Nick said. “If you drain it faster, aren’t you just moving the problem from here to the tanks?”
“At least the stink’s out in the woods instead of the middle of camp,” Del said. “And we’re adding more tanks, too.”
“What happens when the tanks get full?” Nick asked.
“Same plan as before. Low tech. We open the tanks, shovel it out, and burn it. We’ll have to mix it with something flammable, like they did in ‘Platoon.’ But it never happened yet,” Del said. “With all them little pipes, and half of ‘em clogged, it all got backed up in here.”
“So is the Outhouse open for business during all this?” Nick asked.
“Sure,” Del answered. “People have been coming and going all morning. We already promised not to peek. It just means the pits underneath will start filling up. More pressure to get this job done fast.” Somebody yelled for Del and waved him over. “Gotta’ go,” he said before heading over to the suddenly idle group of workers who’d been digging across the roadway.
~~~
Nick had heard all about the four or five families that were suffering from dysentery. The Outhouse had nothing to do with the problem. The rumors were that the men in the family, rather than make the short hike to the Outhouse when they needed to relieve themselves, had staked out an area in the woods behind their cabins for that purpose. Obviously, that arrangement didn’t involve the washing of hands, one of the many reasons why it was a flagrant violation of camp sanitation rules.
One thing led to another. Filthy hands came in contact with food, which was passed around, and eventually there were pathogens up and down the large intestines of nearly every member of all four families, according to what Nick had been told. They were easily identified on sight by the sunken eyes and the chapped lips that came from dehydration. The cruel irony was that the plot that had begun with finding a way to avoid the camp latrine created a need to visit that facility constantly.
The cure the Medical Center came up with was a simple regimen of maintaining fluids orally. Nick laughed when he heard that phrase, which meant simply that that were given lots of water and told to drink it. He’d heard from Jenny that they had enough intravenous fluid on hand that recovery would be expedited, but The Committee told them not to use it. The official reason was that these valuable medical supplies needed to be preserved for dire emergencies. That might be true, Nick thought, but he thought the larger reason was to punish the rule-breakers by making them suffer longer. Tough love was something The Committee had no problem with.
They’d taken the same attitude with the man who’d been bitten by a stray dog that he’d been secretly keeping as family pet despite a rule against this. As it turned out, the dog was infected with the rabies virus, which was exactly the reason for the rule. Nobody could confirm the rumor that the Medical Center had the serum needed to successfully treat rabies. All anybody knew was that the man was not treated with it, and died a slow, painful d
eath. Message sent, Nick thought when he’d heard from Jenny that the man had passed away. Tough love at its finest.
~~~
It disturbed Nick that something as important as reworking the Outhouse had gone on the schedule and even been started without him even knowing about it. Sure, he knew some campers were more important than others, and he also knew he wasn’t a favorite of the leadership. But Del Ketch? Since when was Del higher than he was in the pecking order?
After finishing up his work at the firewood heaps that afternoon, he walked around the camp until he tracked down Mark Roman, who was taking inventory in the Warehouse. Maybe I should ask him where those monster-sized PVC pipes came from, he thought. Later, perhaps.
“Hey, Mark, got a minute?”
Mark looked over and nodded in recognition. The sheaf of papers in his hand fell to his side as he walked over to meet Nick at the door. “Sure,” he said. “Anything’s better than counting boxes of nails. What’s up?”
“I ran into Del Ketch this morning,” Nick began.
“Yeah?” Mark asked. “I hope he was working on the Outhouse upgrades. He was supposed to start that yesterday.”
“You know about that?” Nick asked. “That’s what I wanted to ask you about.”
“Yeah,” Mark said. “He’s working on it for Infrastructure. It’s a new subcommittee. Sort of.”
“Sort of?” Nick asked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s a subcommittee that doesn’t have any permanent members,” Mark explained. “There are a lot of problems in the camp. Things we did wrong, things we didn’t think of. Things we didn’t think through. Infrastructure is a code word. It’s about fixing what needs fixing around here. Getting it right wherever we did things wrong.”
“How come I’m not in on it?” Nick asked. “It’s all right up my alley. What else are they working on besides fixing the Outhouse?”
“Nothing else, yet,” Mark said. “But, for instance, you know how all the roads and paths in the camp turned to mud after the first storm? We can’t have that all winter. Somebody’s going to be working on a fix.”
