by JK Franks
He didn’t sell meth—that shit was evil. He also didn’t allow any of the really hard shit to be sold to kids. They had to be at least in high school. He was not a bad guy, at least not in his mind. The cops were not a big concern, and his cut-outs did the pickups and deliveries. His customers and rivals scared him, though. That’s why he surrounded himself with muscle: people whose loyalty he had bought and paid for.
Truthfully, Tyrell never expected to live long, and wouldn’t have cared either way if it weren’t for his little brother. DeeCee was his pride—smart, fast and a good kid. Four years younger than Tyrell, he kept a close eye on him and did what he could to keep him out of the business. He should have known it wouldn’t work. DeeCee was sixteen when he started using, then got himself hooked. The shit made him stupid, too. Soon he was arrested for four counts of possession with intent to supply Class A drugs. They also trumped up three other offenses, including resisting arrest and assault. Tyrell knew they were going to play him, try and turn him to give them evidence on Tyrell. The truth was, his little brother was a minor, he’d get a slap on the wrist, nothing more. Within days, he was back on the street hustling and using. It had taken almost two years to get the boy mostly clean, but the stupid had stayed permanent.
Scott picked up Todd at the boat dock before sunrise the next day. Todd took his flashlight and checked all the gear before stowing his own seventy-two-hour go-bags and weapons.
Driving down the darkened roads and through darkened towns felt surreal. The electricity had not been back on in the last thirty hours, and they both knew it might not ever be on again. Scott had used his French press to make a thermos full of coffee, and he and Todd both fixed a travel mug to sip on. Todd scanned for any radio stations that might be broadcasting, including the satellite radio, but none appeared to be on anymore.
It had been a challenge to come up with a route to the FSU campus that bypassed the Interstate and most of the larger towns. What could have been a three or four-hour trip would likely be twice that today. The GPS system in the Jeep had not worked correctly since the CME. Thankfully, Scott had his portable one from his bike clipped to the dash. The printed map and directions hung from the same clip.
Scott looked at Todd, “Thank you again for coming. I have no idea why you are helping me. I’m sure that violates several of your rules of survival,” he said with a laugh.
“Enough with the thank-yous, I ain’t done nothing yet except drink your coffee,” Todd growled.
Scott continued despite the dismissal. “Look, I realize I’m out of my league. I'm very ill-prepared for this trip or anything related to surviving this…this shit. I’m not my brother. I’m not Bartos, and to be completely honest…I’m a little scared.”
Todd looked over at Scott. “Being scared can be useful, just don’t let it control you. Listen, Bartos is a hammer and usually sees everything as nails. Don’t get me wrong, when it comes to a fight, and it will, no one I’d rather have beside me, but his longer-term strategy… well, not so great. Believe me, deep down, he’s as scared as the rest of us."
Scott thought that a hammer sounded pretty good right now. Todd took a sip of coffee before continuing. “Besides, I’m pretty sure you’re playing chess while the rest of us are playing checkers. Speaking of which, I’ve been wondering, what would you do right now to give all of us the best chance to survive?”
“What do you mean?” Scott asked.
Todd looked over at him, “I know we can’t just fight our way through this. No one has enough bullets to survive on that alone. Even Bartos doesn’t have enough freeze-dried food and propane tanks to make a real difference; you heard him the other night. What can we do now that will give as many of us as possible the best chance to see the other side? I know it’ll come down to making smart decisions. You seem to pick up on things a lot quicker than most. So, I want your best opinion on how we can all survive.”
Scott looked straight ahead, dreading thinking deeper on the topic, but of course, he had been. Slowly, he said, “Like I said at lunch, all of us can’t, most of us, most… probably won’t. You read the reports. First, we have to survive the collapse, which is just beginning. Realization of how bad it is may be just now settling in for most people. The worst period for the larger northern cities will probably be from about now to ninety days, it said. Down here most of the data seemed to indicate that the worst initial period would be from six weeks to six months long.
“During the initial phase, several problems are going to rise to the surface, gain momentum and then peak. One will be the need for clean water. Tens of millions of people are probably already getting sick and beginning to die from it. Pre-existing health problems are going to take many more. Availability, quality, and access to medicine and real health care are going to deteriorate from here on.
“Worst of all is that some—more likely many—of those who are unwilling or less capable of providing for themselves and their families are beginning to get desperate. A few may try to adapt, but many will resort first to scavenging, then to stealing and eventually to taking what they need by force until everything is gone. In a lawless land, brute force will rule as you said. Very shortly, all the preexisting supplies, no matter how well prepared you are, will simply run out, and you will starve.
“The only way to avoid being one of the statistics is to survive this initial period. Consolidate and conserve as many long-term supplies and resources as possible. You also have to have the right mix of knowledge, friends and collective skills to begin building a working community, including having the strength and resolve to defend it from those that will want to take it away. To me, it’s key to have someone in a leadership role who will really take charge of local situations. Otherwise, the people that eventually take charge will probably be thugs.”
Todd nodded his head in agreement. “The mayor is missing, and the few members of the city council and county commissioners that have turned up are clueless, they’re politicians. The governor is no better. The only people of power left in most of our counties are the sheriffs.” Todd looked at the gray landscape passing by outside. “What would you have these so-called ‘leaders’ doing?”
Scott thought for a few minutes before answering. “Right now, immediately, they need to begin to consolidate all usable resources before they are stolen, wasted or lost.”
“Like what?” Todd asked.
“The towns should begin collecting fuel in large storage tanks. Having fuel to help farmers initially will give us the best chance to work enough land to make a real difference later on. Once the larger supplies are under lock and key, begin sending out collection teams to drain all abandoned cars of fuel, as well as collecting batteries and any other useful finds. Collect all food stocks available for the benefit of the community. Get everything from restaurants and schools, to stalled freight trucks and even abandoned houses. If possible, keep refrigeration running in at least one large cooler so perishable supplies and meds can be preserved longer.
“Winter is coming, so planting crops won’t be an issue for a few months, but hunting and fishing are essential, so they should step that up now. We prepare for spring planting by finding out what help the farmers need. The ones that come to trade at the market would be a good start. We offer fuel, food and seed and even labor to help grow the food. Some of the seed crops and manpower will need to go to the dairies and livestock producers. The goal is to have a self-sustaining community as soon as possible. Longer-term, we’ll also want to be able to establish trade with other similar survivor communities."
“Who’s going to agree to that, though?”
Scott glanced over, “Well, people have always banded together to survive… it's just easier, even essential, you might say. Those that don’t will likely die. I’ve read that the average size of hunter-gatherer social groups was probably between twenty and forty members. The average size of primarily agrarian communities was 200 to 300. We’re probably going to be somewhere in the middle of that.
We don’t live in the most fertile regions to grow food. Some crops simply won’t grow at all in this soil. We do have good amounts of wildlife and fish, though, so as long as we ration the harvesting and use the meat wisely, we have a chance.
“If Billy Bob goes out and kills the biggest buck in the swamp, but he has no way of preserving the meat, he eats venison for a few days but then may waste the rest. How many more deer could that trophy buck be responsible for fathering? Perhaps that wasn’t the best one of the herd to take. Maybe it would have been better if more of the community could benefit from each kill.”
“Sounds like you’re talking socialism or communal living,” Todd scoffed.
“In some ways, yes. And that goes against my beliefs, but we are talking survival," Scott answered. “The exception, in this case, is that everyone in the community contributes. There can be absolutely no free lunch for anyone. The proposed government structure detailed in the Catalyst documents is pretty sound for this. We wouldn’t stick with them forever, but in the first few years, I think it would be essential. Like, for anyone who doesn’t provide food for themselves directly, whether as a sheriff, a doctor or a mayor, we as a community all have to agree to feed that person to do only that job. These vital people and services are going to need to be essential to all of us to have value. We also have to establish quickly what our level of charity is. None of us may want to turn away a mother and small child who are hungry and desperate. However, if we’re as close to the edge of survival as I expect, even that level of charity could be fatal for others, maybe even everyone in the community. We have to be willing to make that decision and stick to it before it even comes up.”
Todd was looking up at the glow of the sunrise in the east. Much more quietly, he said, “If what I hear you saying is that somewhere between what…maybe 40 and 200 is all we can save no matter what, that means at least two-thirds of our community is already doomed.”
Scott nodded his head slightly in solemn agreement. “Well, there is one advantage. We have a lot more knowledge than was common 150 years ago, and at least some of our tools and technology will survive. If we can store medicine and have fuel to use, I think the percentage of potential survivors could go higher—maybe even double—but that would likely be about all. That also doesn’t account for the human factor. Each of us would need to be similarly focused, which is unlikely.”
“I’m not sure any leader could get much buy-in on a proposition in which half the people will likely die no matter what.”
Scott looked over at him. “I think that’s why the Catalyst plan was kept under wraps. It is not a ‘best plan.’ It’s more like the least bad of all the plans considered. Besides, we can’t look at it that way. If we do nothing, then ninety percent of us will likely die.”
Todd nodded glumly. He knew all of this already, but he liked hearing Scott’s interpretation of it. He was less convinced that Catalyst was where his moral compass was pointing.
Scott was silent a few minutes as he looked out over the wetlands they were passing. “There is also a possible upside. Despite the fact that this looks like a very bleak dystopian story, it could be a kind of reset for Earth and mankind. We know we’ve been ruining the planet—pollution, acid rain, fossil fuel depletion, overfishing and thousands of other abuses. We haven’t been on a truly sustainable path for quite some time.
“As survival got easier, we’ve just kept growing exponentially, and with a human desire for more and more and more. Mankind couldn’t keep taking forever. Eventually, something had to change. While it’s likely true that only a small part of our population survives this, they’ll have the opportunity to emerge into a much better world.
“Dinosaurs owned this planet for 165 million years. Humans have barely been around 200 thousand. In that relatively short span, we’ve evolved and then nearly gone extinct several times. According to one theory, there may have been as few as 2000 humans left alive on Earth after a super volcanic eruption about 70,000 years ago; the so called ‘Age of Death.’ My point is this: we may just be the most recent tenants, but we’ve acted like it’s ours to do whatever we want. Do we deserve to survive? Have we earned it? Can humans make it 165 million years? There’s really only one thing that’s kept us alive this long, and it’s our intelligence, although it seems in really short supply some days. If we can keep our top scientists alive, I know in time, they can present better solutions to our fuel, food and water needs. We may have gone back to the Dark Ages, but we don’t have to stay there. We can move forward. We can be better stewards of the planet, but we will have to start making smarter choices and not repeat the selfish problems of our past. Our planet has a chance for a new start. With or without us. It’s going to have its time to recover from all we’ve done to it.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Jack heard the Bronco as it pulled up to the curb. Solo was out and in the shadows before Bartos even opened the door. “Hey, Padre, can you give me a hand today?” Jack noticed the trailer with a portable latrine and some pipe.
“Sure, is this the stuff for Scott’s cabin?”
“Yeah, I thought I would go over and set it up this morning while it’s a little cooler. I just can’t handle it alone, the damn thing’s bulky, and I need to dig a few trenches.”
Jack smiled, “So you need me as a common ditchdigger now?”
Bartos nodded in agreement, “That’s about it.” He winked with a semi-smile.
Dropping off the portable toilet and setting it up only took a few hours, but by the end of it, both men were drenched in sweat. Bartos left the preacher by the trailer and disappeared around the front of the cottage. He reappeared several minutes later with two ice-cold beers. Jack wanted to ask him how, as he was certain the house was locked, but decided to skip it. They sat on the back deck and savored the beer.
"The kid has a really nice place here,” said Jack.
“He does,” responded Bartos, “but it’s too exposed and isolated. If he runs into trouble out here, no one will be able to help.”
Jack nodded in agreement. “I hope he and Todd can get that girl without any trouble.”
Bartos looked over at the preacher, “It's not that far, they should be fine. Why…do you know something?”
“I’ve heard a few things, but I just have a bad feeling about it,” Jack answered warily. He downed the rest of the beer and looked out over the swamp. “It’s just beginning…people are starting to get crazy. The shit we’re just starting to see here is changing us. Out there, in the world, I feel sure it is much worse. A month ago, death was an unusual thing, now it's getting more routine. I’m trying to visit with all my church members as often as I can. Nearly every day or two I’m finding another one dead or missing. I don’t know what scenario's worse: those who starved or the ones that have taken their own lives. As a man of God, I admit that I let a lot of things slide, but that to me is a sin. Why don’t I blame them, though?”
Bartos looked at his friend and put his hand on his knee. “Thanks for helping me with this, Jack. I need to check on someone myself.” The men locked up the gate as Solo leaped into the back of the truck. They headed back toward Harris Springs.
Scott and Todd had driven for several hours without any incidents and were making good time. They had dodged abandoned cars and all manner of garbage, apparently looted and discarded from vehicles. Now, however, the little towns along the way were beginning to wake up, and sounds of a passing car in the quiet morning were already getting to be rare enough for people to take notice. They also began to see an increasing number of people walking the roads. They went through their first roadblock outside a town called Bay Minette on the northeast side of Mobile Bay. A surly looking officer looked pissed but let them go to the bypass road that went around the town. About forty-five miles later, they turned onto a road a few miles south of I-10, on a parallel course to the Interstate.
A thick canopy of trees covered much of the two-lane road, and the early morning sun had yet to re
ach the ground. The Jeep’s headlight caught a shape on the road several hundred yards ahead. As they got closer, they could see that it was a small child, a boy. He was standing, although not very straight. He was wearing an unbuttoned flannel shirt and nothing else but what looked to be filthy underwear. The child appeared to have an injured leg and was weakly holding up an outstretched arm toward the oncoming car. Scott began to slow down to see what was up. Maybe they could help.
Todd’s hand quickly grasped the wheel and he shook his head no. Looking toward the high grass, Scott could just make out several people, hiding. As he pressed the accelerator down and swerved around the kid, a large man jumped up and fired a pistol at the car. It didn't sound like the round hit anything, but Scott began to weave from side to side erratically as Todd had shown him to the day before.
Once they were out of sight, Scott relaxed slightly. “What the hell?”
“Yeah, that’s some fucked up shit, using the kid like that,” Todd growled. “I guess this is the new normal. Trust no one.”
They were only about seventy miles from Tallahassee when Todd interrupted their quiet.
“Okay, here we are, pretty much smack in the middle of East bumfuck-nowhere. Pull over when you get to a clear spot so I can take a leak. This coffee has to go.” They hadn’t seen another car or person for twenty minutes. Scott came to a clearing with open pasture on both sides and a small stand of trees about a mile ahead. He stopped the Jeep in the lane, and the two men opened the door and stepped out. Scott immediately unzipped and let loose a long stream of pee arching into the weeds. “Whew, that was a relief.” Todd reached behind the seat and slung an M4 over his shoulder before stepping out to relieve himself as well. Scott took notice of that habit and realized he was unarmed and out in the open. Whoops. Todd had a waist holster and probably a backup gun somewhere else. Finishing before Todd, Scott reached over to the backseat and grabbed a tactical vest and his Sig Sauer P226, which he put into its drop holster. Todd was finishing when they both heard a scream pierce the humid morning air.
