The Provider

by John Hunt

  “Kind of. And there was something called the Internet. You could ask anything of it.”

  “You mean like the Oracle? How did it do that? You’re losing your mind, master,” he replied, shaking his shaggy head. He could only have been in his twenties, but he looked more like in his forties. People age faster now.

  Am I indeed losing it? I guess that’s why I’m putting down this record, to remind myself that this is what life was like, that this is what happened, that it’s true. Writing it down – it somehow makes it real again. It’s almost as if…if I could understand what happened, I’d know what to do next. As if I could learn something.

  We settled on the sofas around the TV. Dad and Jerry were both scrolling through their phones.

  “Looks like it might be something to do with the sun,” said Jerry. “But no one seems sure.”

  At six, the President strode magisterially out to the podium, stared us in the eye, and started talking. From memory, it went like this.

  Fellow Americans. I’ve some important news for you all. In a few hours’ time, around midnight, we’re expecting to see something happen to the sun. The experts call them Coronal Mass Ejections. But I’ll be calling them solar flares. These happen all the time, coming in cycles every few years, and normally cause no problems. But this one, people say, might be huge.

  Now the climate people get everything wrong, they’re a sad bunch, and they’re probably wrong this time. But I’ve always been honest with you, unlike previous presidents, and I have such a huge respect for you all that I’m telling you this now. If they’re right, then you won’t be taken by surprise tomorrow morning when you hear about it – we won’t actually see anything from here, because we’ll be facing away from the sun. If they’re wrong, well, you’re intelligent people, and you can make up your own minds about where your tax dollars should go.

  If it does happen, it’ll take a day or two to reach us. Believe me, it will not affect your health, you will feel nothing. It won’t hurt or damage you in any way. But people say it’s quite possible that the electricity supply will be affected across the country for some days. We do not have the time to build in systems to prevent that. So all solid-state electronics might stop working. That means anything with a circuit board, which includes radios and televisions, cell phones and computers and other electronics. So it could affect cars, fridges, lighting, heating, power lines and landlines.

  Fortunately, I’m able to give you this advance warning. Other nations will be following our lead. I’m in regular contact with other presidents. I’ll be addressing the nation again at nine a.m. tomorrow morning, when we’ll know whether it’s happened or not. God bless you all, God bless America.

  We listened for another few minutes as other presenters came on, mostly talking about what life might be like without electricity for a while, and what to do about it if it happened. They interviewed a family who had been off-grid for years, and were fine about it. Nearly a million families in the country already lived that way, out of choice. Seemed like it would be a piece of cake.

  Then Mom got up – “Come here kids, I want to hug you both,” she said, a quiver in her voice.

  I hated the fuss, the physical contact, but I put up with it resignedly. Bess looked up at her with her big, brown, doe-like eyes. “Mom, are we going to be all right?”

  “Of course we are, dear.” Mom stroked her hair. “It’ll be fun. Like that Thanksgiving when we had the power cut, and ate sandwiches by candlelight. You remember the games we played?”

  Bess rolled her eyes. “Mom, we were kids back then. OK, I’ll go along with it, but only if I can have some friends over.”

  THREE

  Anchorage was a church-going community. Pretty well everyone went, at least occasionally. Not that the churches ruled life as much as they used to – the city had grown so fast, and people would come in, move out – much like the air cargo traffic, it was one of the world’s biggest airports for that. But there wasn’t much “heart” to it. The churches had most of that.

  We didn’t attend though. Dad didn’t talk about religion, other than to say it wasn’t for him. He said he was a scientist, he believed in what he could measure, and he believed in people, not the supernatural. Mom was more open. She read the Bible, and I’d seen her praying. Me…I’d no idea. I remember it meant something to me when I was younger, in Sunday School class, but I couldn’t remember what.

  But Mom had insisted. “This is a time for good neighborliness.”

  So I went with Mom and Dad later that Friday evening to St. Mary’s Episcopal, a few blocks away. Bess was out with friends. The church was packed, people standing around the walls, there must have been several thousand there. I started to count them, multiplying by rows. The minister was a small, roly-poly man, in a smart, greenish suit, brown-framed specs on his pointy nose, jabbing to make his points, like a bird searching for worms. He was just coming to the end of his talk.

  “So we’re doing our utmost to serve the people of Anchorage in our time of need. In our little church here, Isabel and her sisters have so graciously set up forty volunteer rotas, with half a dozen helpers in each, who will visit areas of the community house by house, bringing material and spiritual food. Like Joseph in the Old Testament, we are creating a central depot and asking everyone to bring what surplus they have so we can distribute it to those in the most need. We can turn this difficulty into something positive, with God’s help. I’ll take any questions now.”

  “What if it doesn’t happen? Isn’t all this unnecessary?” Someone asked.

  “I don’t think the President would have announced it on TV if he had any doubts,” said the minister. “He doesn’t take kindly to being made a fool of.”

  A voice from toward the back of the hall. “I don’t know why you think God will help you in this, minister. It’s His judgment coming. Revelation 16:8 “And the fourth angel poured out his vial upon the sun; and power was given unto him to scorch men with fire.” God will look after the believers. We should be praying for grace, for salvation, for God to avert his wrath, not doing the social services job for them.”

  Like everyone else, I turned to look at him, expecting to see some kind of prophet with long white hair, the way he talked, some guy from Old Testament times, but he seemed an ordinary type.

  The minister paused. “There is a role for the Marthas of this world as well as the Marys, my friend. I do believe God is here in this, and will help us. But I believe He wants us to respond in the way Jesus would have done. With compassion, and mercy in our hearts.”

  The guy wouldn’t give up. “I feel called to say something, minister. You don’t know Jesus, you haven’t taken him into your heart. The Rapture is coming! I call on you all to repent, please, get on your knees to turn the fire away from us. Do it now, before it’s too late!” And he turned, elbowing through the crowd to the door.

  The minister raised his hands. “Well, our brother has his point of view. Indeed, some of us may agree with him. Some of us have the gift of prophecy and tongues, some of us the more boring ones of service and organization.” He shuffled a bit. “But I don’t believe this is the end. And the Rapture is not mentioned in the Bible. We do not know when the time will come. Perhaps, though, it’s the beginning of the end. And these days will certainly see many more people looking for the path of salvation and righteousness. So churches need to be expanded to contain them. And if we ask for a donation from everyone we help, we might reach our building fund target. In the meantime, it could be a difficult week, but I’m sure if we lose power it’ll be restored in a few days. So let’s be sensible and follow what the government’s asking us to do, and we can see all this as an opportunity to show our faith in action. Thank you all for coming this evening. Let’s end with a prayer.”

  He bowed his head, raised his arms, his voice deepened.

  Heavenly Father, protect us in our hour of need. Give us wisdom to discern what’s right, fill us with compassion for those who need
our help. Guide our leaders, let the Holy Spirit be upon them as they make the decisions for our nation. Be with our loved ones everywhere, and lead us through the coming days. Support all our congregation here, and our service to the community. We ask this in the name of your son, Jesus Christ. Amen.”

  The minister wasn’t in my kind of world, but his words were comforting. I remember thinking that with so many churches and Christians in Anchorage there would be plenty of help around. And with our strong government, surely nothing could go seriously wrong. There really couldn’t be anything to worry about. Not for us, anyway.

  FOUR

  Hours later, at midnight, way past my bedtime, and we were still watching TV. It was all about the solar flares and what they could mean. Of course, we couldn’t see anything in the sky ourselves, it was night here, but on the other side of the world seemed like everyone was outside, watching the sun, through glasses. You could see the black sunspots, scattered all over. The local presenter was talking.

  “Well, folks. Amazing things happening here. These people with eclipse-viewing glasses can see the flares. Not all of them, they’re mostly outside the range of visual frequencies. I can tell you though, these aren’t just “flares,” they’re vast, it’s more like the sun is exploding, throwing off huge fireballs. Each of these individual flares is hundreds and thousands of billions of tons of plasma, the stuff the universe is mostly made of, being ejected, tens of millions of miles across, travelling at millions of miles an hour.

  Is this unusual? No, it happens all the time. In fact, back in 1989, the whole of Quebec was shut down for a week! Can you imagine that? No power for a week? Maybe that had something to do with the birth rate the following year! And I’m told there was a huge flare a few years ago, in 2012, but it missed us. The sun’s aim is not great. The last big one it managed to hit us with was back in 1859. But guess what? We had no electricity back then. There was only the telegraph to knock out. So it didn’t matter. We’re hearing that this thing might be a lot bigger, we’ll find out and let you know, but the word from the governor’s office is that we’re going to have a great party. You don’t want to miss this, When these solar flares hit the earth’s magnetic shield in the early hours of Sunday, it’s going to be the most spectacular fireworks ever.

  But now on to other news. The Sea Wolves are down thirteen points in their last game…”

  Dad was looking stuff up on the Internet. Mom was on facetime to family, but the lines were so overloaded, they kept losing the connection. She managed to get a few minutes of conversation in over several hours of trying. Aunt Beth, in London, England, said that they’d heard about it earlier, when the Prime Minister addressed the nation, same time as the President, and there was some rioting. The news on the Net was that there were a few hundred dead in Manila, wherever that was. But it was getting harder to find information. China had closed down.

  “C’mon now, kids,” Mom said, “let’s get ready, like they say. Jim, you can fill the bath with water. Bess, could you find as many containers as you can. Donald, you’ve still got those candles and gas burners left over from last time?”

  We were sitting around the TV again the next morning, on Saturday, watching the President.

  …It’s not certain that one of these flares will hit us. But to be on the safe side, to protect our homes and our security, I’ve declared a state of National Emergency across the whole country. All flights are grounded. Ships are being directed to the nearest port. Now I have tremendous respect for you all, but there are criminal elements in this country, especially in the cities, full of thieves and murderers. Let’s not kid ourselves, we all know who they are. So the National Guard has been called out, and a curfew will operate from eight p.m. tonight – the storm, if it happens, will be around midnight. So later this evening, all travel will stop. There will be no panic, and sales of food and water will be restricted per person and family. Looters will be shot on sight. We will offer no mercy to looters. Looters will be treated like terrorists. And borders will be closed. No terrorists will be able to take advantage of this. Your security is my first concern. Priority in services will be given to the military, the police, and hospitals, in that order. All radio and TV channels, until the storm arrives, will be dedicated to providing you with information you need. We’ll bunker down, and we’ll ride out this storm. As a precautionary measure, the national grid will be shut down until the storm has passed. So from eleven p.m. tomorrow evening, you will have no electricity. It will be restored a couple of hours later.

  The President paused, running his hands over his hair, his voice deepening.

  Do not be scared by false reports, like those from the Chinese News Agency. Fantastic lies are being told in some quarters. The media is all lies. We will pull through. We’ll do more than that. You know I’ve never shirked a challenge. And this challenge is a huge opportunity for us.

  Now here’s something I want to share with you people. The grid is in a terrible state. Awful. Most of it is more than a hundred years old! Previous administrations didn’t fix the roof when the sun was shining. They preferred spending tax dollars bringing the country down, not investing in oil and coal, sending the work abroad, pretending that we – we – were to blame for climate change. They’ll be blaming us for these solar flares next. (He laughed.) They were too lazy, too corrupt. The grid needs a trillion dollars of repairs. Trillions. So we’re going to fix it! It’s going to mean massive jobs. Huge. Huge. This is going to be the biggest investment in the history of our great nation. Bigger than the railroads. Bigger than aviation. Bigger than roads.

  You know I’ve always risen to the occasion. We will all rise to the occasion! Because we are a great people. This is a wonderful opportunity to come out of this even greater, to clean up our streets, upgrade the power, purge America and restore it to its rightful place in the world. I’ll be working with you night and day to see this happen. God bless you all.

  “What a bullshitter,” said Dad. “Though he’s right about the grid.”

  “Seems to me he’s right about most things,” I muttered. I liked strong leaders. But there was never any point in arguing with Dad, or Mom. Their views were too wet, too set.

  We kept on watching, but there was no definite information yet. The news anchor was talking.

  Opinion in the scientific community is divided. Most are agreed it will have an impact, but some say it will only affect the half of the earth facing the sun. Others say that the flares we’ve had before were pinpricks compared to this, and one of those giant balls coming this way would envelop the earth if it hit us directly. Either way, we haven’t seen a solar superstorm like this before. Could this be another Carrington Event, likely to happen every century or two, or could it be even bigger, of the kind that might happen only once every thousand years or more? Will it have a localized effect on some power grids, or will it be like the asteroid that ended the rule of the dinosaurs? Exciting days, folks. We’ll find out in the early hours of Sunday. They have ninety million miles to cross first…

  FIVE

  Saturday was a strange day. The Internet connection was still mostly down. It seemed like everyone was trying to talk to everyone else, but no one had anything particularly helpful to say. The news channels just kept repeating non-information. Mom and Dad spent the morning doing the kind of things parents do, sorting out things, checking stores.

  “What we have here isn’t going to last us long,” Dad said, after a while. “I’ll drive to the mall to pick up more water and food. Should be fine if the Guard is out.”

  He came back a couple of hours later, rubbing a big red mark on his cheek.

  “I was trying to break up a fight. People were trampling on each other in Walmarts. We were meant to queue and stick to one basket, there were a couple of cops there but I guess they didn’t want to shoot their neighbors over a loaf of bread. Glass and flour all over the floor. Same everywhere. All I could get was some lemonade and a few potatoes.”

  “
People are fighting? Here?” I could see the disbelief cross Mom’s face. She stood silent for a moment, then, “Never mind, I did a shop last weekend, and the fridge is half-full. We’ll get by.” Her eyes went to Dad’s cheek. “You’re going to have a nice bruise there tomorrow, you’d better let me get some cream on that.”

  I heard some banging from out the back, and went over the fence to say hello.

  Mr. Thacker, Bob, lived in a small bungalow that backed onto our garden. He was here when we arrived ten years ago, when Dad got the university job. He’d always kept himself to himself. I didn’t know if he had any friends or relatives – but he was always polite, to us at any rate, but not “socially aware,” according to my parents. He was shorter than me, usually unshaven, a bit grungy, long white hair tied with a red ribbon in a ponytail, always wearing the same old, faded, blue overalls. He had a sort of ageless look about him – must have been in his seventies, he would never say. But he looked capable. His hands were large, scarred, with misshapen fingers. He never seemed to do anything about the house, which looked more ramshackle as the years went by. He was a veteran, but that was way back in time, and he hadn’t had a proper job since – he scraped a living “fixing” things. In his back yard there were a couple of trucks, several rusting cars, old fridges and lawnmowers, half-hidden in weeds. He looked as if he’d been born and bred there, aging along with the plot.

  “He brings down the tone of the neighborhood,” Mom would mutter.

  Still, she liked him, and we got on with him better than his neighbors on the other side, who’d petitioned the council to have his back yard cleaned up.

  We generally said “hi” every couple of days. Every weekend I spent a few hours at his place, digging his vegetable patch, washing up, and he gave me the odd dollar, but the great thing – a few years earlier, he’d taught me to shoot a rifle. He wouldn’t let me use his Browning BLR or his Winchester M70 but he had two Ruger American bolt action rifles which weighed less and with a smaller kick. It was my all-time favorite thing. The Rugers lost accuracy after a hundred yards or so, but anything under that was easy. After a few months I found there was something magical about willing a small hunk of lead into a bulls-eye. Why go through the cumbersome business of throwing a ball when you could hit the target direct, in an instant?