by G. R. Carter
The two finished their plates, gulped down coffee and arose to go about their business. “One other thing, Red,” Lewis said. “As soon as you get back we’re going to have a sit-down with the Five Tribes. Marduk says we need to brief them. We’ll wait to see what you find out in town before we tell them about the fuel.”
Morton grimaced. Of all the compromises he’d made over the last few years of his correctional career, giving the leadership of prison gangs a say in the way the place ran was by far the worst. As head of the union, he should have stood his ground, prevented such a thing from happening. Too late. The Five Tribes—the five sanctioned prison gangs on site—were as powerful now as the guards’ union. He was pretty sure Marduk liked the Tribes better than the guards, too.
“Don’t start, Red. What’s done is done. Let’s move forward,” Lewis said to the look on his second-in-command’s face.
Morton opened his mouth to reply but stopped before uttering a word. Instead he shrugged and nodded. “I’ll take a couple of other local boys with me when I go.”
Lewis nodded. “Be good for folks in town to see us. If the electricity is really going to be out for a while, things might get a little rough out there. Hate to have a bunch of them show up at the prison's front door wanting something.”
Morton walked his plate up to the server’s window and went to gather a couple of other guards. For the first time in days he felt a little hope. Long ago he’d gotten over the claustrophobia of working inside the prison. Artificial light and metal bars could make a new guard feel like a prisoner, but the old heads got used to it.
Today, though, he’d be glad to see the sun and feel a real breeze in his face, to be venturing outside—the first time in over a week he’d been outside the walls.
Chapter 8
Mt. Sterling, Illinois
Day One of the Great Reset
“Freakin’ power’s been out for nearly two days here, not just last night. You and your union buddies ever come into town to spend your money, you might know that,” Burton Tucker said in a tone just below a yell. He was leaning up against the service station counter with one elbow firmly planted on its surface, leaving the other hand free to point a finger. A couple of other regulars sat in peeling vinyl chairs arranged around a table with old farm magazines, nodding as Tucker spoke. The only light came from the floor-to-ceiling windows and glass door.
“Come on, Tuck. You know how much my guys spend around here. Our jobs are the only reason this town still has half of what it does.” Red Morton was tired of making the same argument over and over. Still, he sincerely believed what he said and wouldn’t back down from the fight.
Tucker waved away Morton’s words. “Blood money,” he growled. “The way you all do things out there. Like a cult. Doing business with drug dealers.” He wasn’t talking to Morton or anyone else in particular. Everyone already knew how Old Man Tucker felt, especially about the prison's arrangement with the Kaplan family and their products. “That prison brought all sorts of scum into this town. A big chunk of the population’s got a relative living inside.”
Morton heard that every time he came to town. He couldn’t argue in good conscience, so he stayed away.
“Jeremiah, what do you think?” Morton asked the service station manager. “Can you get us some fuel out to the prison? I’d like to take a tankful now, and then have you all just deliver a full load each morning.
Jeremiah shrugged. “Reckon so. Got any money? Cash, I mean, the fuel cards won’t work with the internet down.”
Morton frowned. “I hadn’t thought of that.” All he'd brought was a company purchase card. Usually he'd use his Jordan Inc. wristband to pay, but it wasn't working this morning either.
Tucker began to launch into the stupidity of electronic money when Jeremiah interrupted. “Prison still has an account on terms here. We can put it on that. Red, you figure you’re authorized to sign for it?”
Morton nodded. He wasn’t sure if that was true, but he was sure Lewis would back his play.
Jeremiah smiled. “I don’t have the generator working yet. Wasn’t sure how long the power would be out, and getting that old rattletrap started is a pain. So we’ll have to use the hand pump.”
“Okay,” he sighed. “Let’s get to work.”
Loading the fuel took nearly an hour. The men took turns working the pump to fill the big tank. Morton frowned when he looked at the flowmeter’s readout of total gallons.
“What is it?” Jeremiah asked. “Figured you’d be happy to have a load.”
Morton nodded. “I am. Can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. It’s just that…” Morton thought twice about telling anyone outside the guards what concerned him. “Well, that’s only about one day’s worth right there. Maybe not even that long. I’m no expert on it, I just know that generator sucks fuel. We were supposed to have a tanker onsite to feed it.”
“I’m sure it’ll get here soon,” Jeremiah assured him.
Morton grimaced at his conflicted interests. He was a lifelong resident of Mt. Sterling. Even though he’d felt walled off, literally and figuratively, since his wife died, these were still his people. Ultimately, roots won out over his job. “Look, Jeremiah, if I tell you something, you got to promise me you won’t repeat it. I mean it, on your daddy’s honor, you got to keep this a secret.”
Jeremiah slowly nodded, not sure if he really wanted to take such an oath. Curiosity won out, so he said “Sure Red. I promise.”
Morton continued. “You need to start thinking about the electricity being out long-term. We’re getting reports from the cities that the power’s out everywhere. I’m not sure when we’ll be getting deliveries of any kind.”
Jeremiah looked confused. “How’s that even possible?”
Red twisted the fuel cap shut and wiped his hands off on his trousers. “I dunno. The warden got some kind of priority message last night. She’s had us scrambling around ever since.”
“Got any ideas? Suggestions?”
Red pointed towards the back of the service station where Jeremiah had been working. “Get that generator working. You’re probably going to need it.”
Chapter 9
Downtown Mt. Sterling, Illinois
Day One of the Great Reset
The roar of mud grip tires on asphalt, wind blowing in open windows and the throaty roar of a V8 engine kept Sy Bradshaw and Darwin King from having to say much on the ride into Mt. Sterling. Both were deep in their own thoughts, fighting the confusion that accompanies unpleasant surprise.
They had left out a little before dawn to make the twenty-minute trip from the lodge into town. Sy knew the winding country roads like only a native could, though it unnerved him that every one of the few houses they passed was completely quiet and dark.
The sun was peeking up when they finally reached the outskirts of town. None of the usual early risers showed any signs of life. The General Store was supposed to be open by 5 a.m., but there was no one there. Only a couple of houses had any light at all shining out of windows, and most of that looked like candlelight. It wasn’t until they reached the darkened FS service station that they spotted a cluster of muddy and well-worn pickup trucks.
Sy pulled his old Chevy in next to the rest and turned the engine off. He didn’t get out right away. “Thanks for coming with me,” Sy finally said. “I know you wanted to stay with the Caseys.”
“Yeah, well, I reckon I could do more good here. Let JR and little Trey be together for now. ‘Sides, your sister treats ‘em like family. They’re in good hands until we get things figured,” King replied.
Sy just nodded and reached out of the window to pull the outside door handle. The inside handle still worked for King's door, though the creak of the well-used hinge made a loud noise against the eerie calm of the morning. “Guess I never figured how quiet things were around here,” King said. “Made sense at your lodge, but didn’t reckon it to be so here in town.”
“It’s never this quiet here. B
etween the trucks, the trains and the grain elevator, there’s always noise,” Sy replied. Even with less than two thousand people still calling Mt. Sterling home, there were always people moving around at most hours. “That’s not even takin’ into account the regular cars making their way back and forth to the prison outside of town. They run three shifts out there…”
Sy stopped and looked out toward the direction the prison sat. “I hope those guards have power.” Kara’s ex-husband was a guard there. They didn’t get along—not in the least. Still, the thought of them being stuck without power in the middle of two thousand inmates made his stomach turn.
King didn’t know the story, but he recognized the look on Bradshaw’s face. “Whatever it is, mate, I’m sure your government’s got a backup plan for this situation.”
“Darwin, I don’t think you know our government,” he muttered as he stepped inside the service bay of the FS. All but one of the vehicles—a newer truck—were moved out, and chairs from around the building had been moved in. There were shop lights strung up along the outside edges with long cords running out the back door. The group of old men that usually congregated around the front waiting area of the station were seated in a semicircle of folding chairs, mostly facing the door.
Sy laughed at that sight and waved. “You old codgers can’t even get a circular firing squad shaped right.”
“Hey Bradshaw, you promised to bring donuts for us the next time you crawled in from that fancy-pants lodge of yours,” one of the old men yelled.
“I would have, Tucker, but you apparently found the only spot in town with a working generator,” Sy fired back. “I’ll go get the dough if you want to heat up the oil.”
For the first time this morning, Bradshaw and King could hear a mechanical sound that wasn’t Sy’s truck. Tucker started to say something but noise intensified as the back door opened. A large bearded man with a lantern-style flashlight stepped over the cords running like vines across the concrete floor. He carefully closed the door as much as possible to block the sound. “Jeremiah there’s the man of the hour,” Tucker said, pointing at the bearded man. “He’s the one who didn’t trust the power grid to stay juiced up.”
Jeremiah Tomlinson waved off Tucker’s compliment. “I don’t think any of us trusted the grid. Not out here, anyway. Been trying to get everyone to help build our own power station here in Brown County, like the co-op over in Shelby County did. Keep all our dollars local like they’re doin’.”
“But this FS keeps truckin’ in foreign fuel, even now. Least they gave you the money to build that generator,” Tucker said.
Jeremiah looked disgusted at the thought. He’d been over it a million times a million different ways with the local county and co-op leadership. He’d been given all the plans from the Okaw Valley Cooperative and Old Main College to set up their own cooperative for everything from bio-fuel to schools to policing. Many of the local people had been supportive, and there had been lots of talk, but precious little had been done as their community slowly slipped into demographic oblivion.
“I bet those Shelby County boys have lights right now,” he groused. Resigned to the lost opportunity, he tried to brighten his own mood. “Course, I bet Bradshaw here has power, too. He put in the fanciest generator in the whole county. He didn’t want those rich folks to get cold toes out there in the boonies.” He looked over at King with a nervous smile. “No offense meant, mister.”
“None taken, mate,” Darwin replied with his own smile. “But where I’m originally from, this doesn’t count as the boonies.”
Jeremiah looked surprised. Seldom was Brown County, Illinois considered anything but the outback of civilization to city folks. “I’d certainly like to see that sometime,” Jeremiah nodded. “Bradshaw, you come to welcome us out to the lodge for breakfast?”
Jeremiah could see immediately Sy wasn’t smiling back at the good-natured ribbing. “What is it, Sy? What’s wrong?”
Darwin sensed his friend’s struggle and stepped in to help. “Got us a situation,” the Aussie said. “Guest of the lodge passed on last night. We was wonderin’ if there was a workin’ phone about?”
There was confusion in the room for a moment as the locals looked at each other, trying to process the unfamiliar accent and phrasing. Finally Jeremiah replied. “No, sorry, uh…what was your name again?”
“King. Darwin King.”
“Right, Mr. King, uh, there ain’t no phones workin’ anywhere. The only form of communication you got is right here in this room,” Jeremiah told him.
“We're the new Pony Express!” Tucker yelled, gesturing to the old trucks outside. He seemed pleased at the number of laughs that got.
Bradshaw regained his composure. “What about Sheriff Gray? Is he around? He’s got to know what we should do next.”
“He stopped by about an hour ago. He’d been out to the prison to talk to them. He just stopped in here to grab a few Jerry cans of gas for his trip. Beardstown or Jacksonville after that. Supposed to be a FEMA disaster response truck one place or the other. He figured maybe they’d have answers,” Tucker told them.
“FEMA? It’s just a power outage. Why’s that a disaster?” Bradshaw asked.
Jeremiah answered him. “Think about it, Sy. You’ve got two thousand prisoners sitting out there with no food, fuel, heat… Heck, Gray wasn’t even sure they could get the prisoners in or out of their cells without electricity.”
“Surely they have generators there,” King said. “That’d be mad as a cut snake if they were that blodgy about their work.”
“Mister, I have no idea what you just said,” Jeremiah told him with an embarrassed smile. “But I can tell you that their generator only works long as they have fuel. They were in yesterday to buy some of ours. They got enough to keep going for another day or so. Said they’d just keep comin’ back.”
There was silence in the room as each man contemplated the idea of that many criminals, and that few guards, all locked in together. “Max’s dad is out there,” Sy finally said.
“You thinkin’ about going out there to see?” Jeremiah asked him. Peter Lewis and Sy had once been friends who played football together in high school. Lewis and Kara’s divorce had been very public in such a small town.
“I dunno. Feel like I ought to, but I got more important things to worry about. Like Max, and a very distraught son and grandson of the man who just died in my lodge,” Sy said. He was sorry almost immediately for the sarcastic tone. “Meantime, I guess I’ll just have to wait until the phones start working or Sheriff Gray gets back.”
No one had any other answers, and for once that stopped them from offering suggestions.
Sy gave up and moved on. “Can I buy some fuel off of you, Jeremiah? I got a few cans in the back of the truck. Maybe get some diesel for my tractors?”
“Electric pumps are working super-slow. Something about being on the generator causes them to just trickle. I can use the hand siphon if you like?”
“Either would be fine. Appreciate that.”
As Jeremiah started to walk out, King grabbed his arm. The look on the bearded man's face told him most men around these parts weren’t used to being grabbed, friendly or no.
“Say, mate,” he said, then let go of the big man’s arm when he recognized the warning. King held up his hand and smiled with a nod of understanding. “What would it take to buy the whole lot? All your fuel, I mean.”
Jeremiah looked at him with a mixture of confusion and amusement. “Look, mister, I don’t think you realize what you’re saying. The prison already spoke for as much as they could get. Plus I got two decent-sized trucking companies that buy fuel for their rigs. Don’t haul near as much as they used to… Shoot, mister, you realize I got two 20,000-gallon tanks underneath here? They gotta be at least a quarter full, even though we haven’t gotten a refill in a week or two.”
Darwin King held up a shiny metallic black credit card. His company’s silver boar’s-head logo reflected the dim l
ight. “No limit on this card. I’ll buy the whole lot from ya.” He smiled brighter.
There were chuckles from those watching the conversation. “Well, much as my general manager would love that, here’s the problem: I ain’t got no way to run the card, see what I mean? No electricity, no phone, no credit cards. That’s how it works,” Jeremiah told him.
The smile melted off of King’s face. Though his parents had both been professors—their area of specialization had lent him his given name—they still maintained a rural lifestyle. In his heart, he was just a hardworking bloke from the old homestead. “Yeah, sorry, mate. Guess I wasn’t thinkin’ the whole way through,” Darwin said.
“No problem, Mr. King. I keep makin’ the same mistake all mornin’. And I don’t blame you for asking. But don’t worry, Sy’s credit is good enough with us. You can take all the fuel you can carry today. We still got some old paper logbooks back in the office. We’ll keep track of whatever you need.” Jeremiah got a big smile on his face, “Then you bring that fancy card back later and settle up with us.”
“That’s a deal, mate,” King said. Then he turned to Bradshaw. “Reckon we could get some food while we’re in town? Your credit good for that, too?”
Bradshaw thought about it for a moment. “I guess. Maybe at the diner, but most of the stores still open around here just stock the government ration bars. Everything else is kind of done on the down-low, you know what I mean? The diner stayed open because of some grandfather clause a local Congressmen got ‘em.”
Jeremiah filled in the details with King’s confused look. “When the Department of Health insisted everyone eat the exact right calories and vitamins everyday, they started given each person ration bars that met those requirements. Pretty much outlawed any kind of food sales outside of that. Said it was better for health and better for the environment that way.”
