by Patrick Shea
“Since last Tuesday my thoughts have been about how to mitigate, for the survivors, the impact of a dying world. I don’t think we can do that for everyone, but I do think we can make recommendations to survivors, and those who choose to help them, that will make living a little easier.
“The entire basis for my recommendations is to get survivors away from the areas where their loved ones and friends have died. I think those who die very early in the process will be buried or cremated, but in a matter of a day or two from the first deaths, our systems will be overloaded to the point of paralysis. Bodies will be left where they died. And there will be a lot of bodies”.
At this point Jack hesitated. He was worried about what impact this would have on A.J., since this was in essence a description of what was going to happen to her and her family in the near future. He asked, “Doc, are you okay talking about this? I know it has to be hard but I don’t know what else to do.”
“Jack, I can’t say I’m fine with this, but we need to have this discussion. I think it might even make the reality of what is about to happen a little easier for me. At least it should help me prepare myself and my family for the inevitable. Please go on, and don’t try to soften this up. There’s no way you can do that.”
“Okay, but I’ll stop whenever you say to.
“We know the virus manifests itself physically after a week and it then takes two more weeks for the person to die. Only the last three days are physically difficult for the victim, and Harry tells us that only the last day is really miserable.
“While nothing helps control the virus, pain medications still work, and alcohol seems to help as well. I bring up alcohol only because we’ll run out of pain medication early on and alcohol might be the most viable alternative. Anyway, the point is that it will be possible to project the day of death for almost everyone.
“More importantly, after the first week of symptoms we can be pretty sure who the survivors will be, at least for that region.”
A.J. said, “Yes, I see where you’re going with this. People in one location may be on a different timetable than those from a different location because the Virus got to them either earlier or later. But the Virus spreads so fast once it gets to a location, that everyone in that area will be infected within days of each other. At least that’s what has happened in Europe to this point. And, if someone is not showing symptoms seven to ten days after symptoms first appeared, they are probably immune. You know that won’t be a 100% indicator, but it should be very close to that. I like your logic, but what are you going to do with it?”
“I’m going to ask communities to prepare large Recreational Vehicles for survivors and load them with all of the equipment we recommend and with enough food to last for at least six months. With the number of RVs sitting on lots around the country, I think that is more than plausible. If we ask them to add a twenty-four foot trailer, and put a mobile, electric freezer box in the trailer, we can add enough frozen meat, chicken, fish and vegetables to last six months.
“The large RVs all have built-in generators which provide a power source to the RV when it is parked, and which will provide power for the freezer box.”
“Jack, what happens when the RV runs out of fuel?”
“Some of the RVs operate on gasoline and some on diesel fuel. Both are available at most gas stations in the country. All we have to do is to convince the owners or managers of gas stations to leave the pumps on when they walk out the door for the final time. Our back-up plan is for communities to physically take the survivors, one at a time, to a local station and show them where the pump power switches are generally found, and what they look like. The survivors should be able to access fuel at most of the stations.”
A.J. thought for a second and then asked, “Why do you want to use RVs? There will be ample housing available for everyone.”
“That goes back to what I said earlier about getting survivors away from the deaths. Just about every house in the country is going to have bodies in them. First of all, the odor itself is going to be repugnant. Secondly, disease is going to be rampant during the decomposition process. I don’t think survivors need to deal with either of those issues. If they can live in RVs for at least six months, both of these problems go away.”
“Have you thought about where the RVs will park during the six months?”
“That’s the beauty of the RVs. They can park anywhere they want, and they can move whenever they want. They can park close to towns or cities without being too close. Ideally they can stay in RV parks with water and electricity available to them, so they don’t have to worry about re-fueling often, and they won’t have to empty the sewage and grey water tanks at all, they can hook up to the RV park’s system. But if that doesn’t work, most truck stops in the country have stations that allow RVs to empty the tanks and take on fresh water while they’re being fueled. It’s less convenient but certainly possible.”
A.J. asked, “Will they be alone for these six months?”
“Only if they choose to be, with the communication gear they have they can contact other survivors and arrange to meet with them. I would guess that this will occur after survivors have traded emails and phone calls, and feel comfortable with each other, but we have to leave that up to each survivor.”
A.J. frowned and said, “That brings up an interesting point. Your scenario seems to assume that all of the survivors are good guys. And yet if this is a true cross section of the country, some of them will have criminal pasts. Some of them may simply be evil. What do we do about those?”
Jack grimaced when he said, “There isn’t anything we can do about that. The strong have preyed on the weak for all of history and that won’t change now. We can help by reminding survivors of the risks they face, but ultimately they will have to exercise good judgment. Some of them will be cautious, and others will be taken advantage of.”
“Have you thought about the survivors arming themselves?”
“Yes, I’ve given it a lot of thought. I think all survivors should have weapons for two reasons. The most important is that they will need to hunt for food in the future. But they also need to be able to defend themselves if need be, either from nature or from other people. The population of wild animals will begin to increase immediately and they will all want to eat. And not just large animals, for example, the number of snakes will go up dramatically.
“I’m recommending that each RV be equipped with a Remington 700, 30.06, KS Mountain Rifle, with a Luepold VX-I 3X9 scope. Each rifle should have 500 rounds of 150 grain ammunition for small game, and 500 rounds of either 180 or 220 grain ammunition for large game. I’m also recommending each RV be equipped with a Smith and Wesson 9mm semi-automatic handgun. I’d like to see 1000 rounds of ammunition stocked with each handgun. Lastly, I’d like each RV to carry a Mossberg short barreled, pistol grip, 12 gauge shotgun with 500 rounds of double ought buck. This will seem excessive to some, but I think it is the minimum needed to meet both hunting and self-defense needs. Ninety five percent of all gun shops carry these types of ammunition so restocking in the future should be easy.”
“Jack, don’t you think the bad guys will find bigger and better weapons?”
“Of course I do. I believe those survivors who have experience with firearms will also add weapons like assault rifles and combat shotguns to be safe. But I think for some survivors that will be too much. Some of them will have never fired a weapon before. Our community leaders will need to take them to a firing range and teach them the basics of shooting and cleaning the weapons, and I think learning three weapons is as much as we can safely ask.”
“Okay, that makes sense, although as I think about it, arming a lot of amateurs does have its drawbacks.”
Jack laughed and said, “At least the bad guys will know that everyone they approach will be armed and will have had at least minimum training.”
A.J. looked concerned and asked, “How sure are you that these weapons are the best we can do?”<
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“These are all compromise weapons. The Remington is probably the most versatile rifle made, but some hunters prefer a smaller caliber and others a larger caliber. The Luepold scope lasts forever under tough conditions even though there are better optics out there. The Smith and Wesson M&P nine mil is on the list because it is ambidextrous and can be used by either a left-or-right handed shooter. Since we don’t know who the survivors will be, I think this is the right choice. The Mossberg is there simply because I’m familiar with it. I know it’s easy to use and at close range it’s impossible to miss your target.”
“Okay, enough on the guns. Will you create a list of recommended food items for the RVs?”
“I have a couple of people working on that as we speak. We’re going to be a little excessive in case the six months turns into a longer time for some folks. However, my hope is that the food in the local supermarkets will be available for some time to come, especially the dry foods. The frozen foods will last as long as the freezers continue to operate. Dried beans, rice, flour, sugar and those kinds of foods will last a long time but will need to be protected from animals and insects. Survivors are going to have to do that themselves.”
“Jack, do you really think all of this will work?”
“I do. Not for everyone, but for enough to make this worthwhile.”
“I hope you’re right. After hearing your plans, I have more hope now than before.
“It’s too bad the survivors won’t know who it is that has done all of this for them.” A.J. smiled and continued, “Oh well, you’ll have to be satisfied with a small group of us being impressed with you.”
Jack laughed again and said “I’ve always been satisfied with that.”
He continued, “Remember what Margaret Mead said, ‘Never doubt that a small group of committed people can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.’ I think that is about to be tested to a greater extent than Margaret ever imagined.”
“Ain’t that the truth;” A.J. added and continued, “tell me, what’s next on your agenda.”
“My meetings are over for the day. The next thing I’m going to do is to call Harry’s wife Jane, as I do every afternoon. Then I’m going to continue working on the things we’ve talked about. I want to get all of the related lists and recommendations published by late Monday, so we don’t have a lot of time. What are you planning on?”
“Well, I wasn’t sure I was going to mention this to you, but since you asked I’ll tell you. Secretary Kemper has asked me to join the group of scientists in the sealed lab in Atlanta to try to find a vaccine for the virus. I’m going to go home and talk to Roger and the kids about it. I’ve committed to both them and to me that we would spend the end together, and frankly I don’t see how I could possibly do anything different. However, the Secretary pleaded with me. And although he didn’t come right out and say it, he insinuated that I was being selfish by staying with my family.
Jack said, “Good Lord Doc. I can’t believe he’s trying to make you feel guilty after all you’ve done for him and for the country over the years. While I think you’re a great scientist, I know we have the best people in the world converging on that lab in Atlanta, and I have to believe that if they can’t find a vaccine, it won’t be found. I think your conscience should be clear no matter what you decide.”
“Thanks Jack. I’ll let you know when I make a decision.”
Chapter 1
Chapter Seven: The Reservation
Monday: Near the Pine Ridge Lakota Indian Reservation, South Dakota
Noah Yellowbird was tall for his race at six feet two inches. He was medium brown in complexion with a timeless, weathered face. He spent more time outside than in, and he looked like it. His hair was coal black and he wore it long in the traditional style. Not so much for sake of tradition as for the lack of being bothered with haircuts.
He sat in his seven-year old Ford 150 pickup truck and watched the sunset. Often during the summer months he would pick up a sandwich and a soda and make the short drive to White Clay Lake to watch the sun go down. He knew what attracted him to this place, and as much as he wanted to break the habit, he couldn’t do it.
Each evening as he gazed over the lake toward the western sky he thought of how at one time this was the place where he was the happiest. He and Sally and the two kids would come here together. The kids would play along the shore, and often he would join them.
They loved to explore and learn, and he loved to teach them. About the flowers, the different grasses and trees that grew in the area, and about the tracks of many of the animals that lived in this area of South Dakota.
Sally was a direct descendant of the Oglala Sioux warrior Thašųka Witko, who’s better known as Chief Crazy Horse. And the spirit of that great Indian leader was alive and well in Sally. She had been born Flower of the Sun, and the name fit. She seemed to glow when all around her was dark and desperate, and she loved the Indian way of life. She was drawn to it would live no other way.
She was pretty with long flowing black hair. She knew she was pretty and that knowledge did not seem to affect her at all. She was the most positive person Noah had ever met and she was the first and only woman he had ever loved.
All of that had ended five years ago when he was thirty. Sally and the kids had been helping a sick friend on that November evening. They had left for home about eight o’clock and had been hit head-on by a drunk driver. The three of them had been killed instantly.
Until that time, Noah had thought he was going to be one of the lucky ones. Maybe be one of the few Native Americans on Pine Ridge Reservation who would have a house, a family and a good job. He and Sally had great hopes for the kids. Sally had graduated from high school and was driven to give their kids the opportunity to go to college.
While Noah had dropped out of high school to go to work, he had become a top hand and readily found steady work on local ranches. Of course he was an Indian, and the work was always seasonal, but he was okay with that. He was dependable, he did not drink, and he could out-cowboy anyone. He knew he would always have work.
While his world had disappeared on that November night, Noah had remained true to his convictions. He did not start drinking, and he continued to work hard. He was no longer light hearted, and he rarely smiled, but he lived his life on his own terms and quietly waited for the day he would once again join his family. He had nothing else to live for and had retained no other expectations.
As he looked out over the lake he wondered, as he often did, why he and Sally ever thought they would be the exceptions to the rule of reservation life. He knew it was all Sally, and that he had willingly followed her lead and her belief that life could be okay if you approached it the right way.
He had met her when he was sixteen in his third year of high school. She was fourteen and a freshman in high school. She had a smile on her face from the first time he saw her, and he couldn’t remember the smile ever going away.
By the time he went to work at the end of his third year in high school he knew he was going to marry her. They were dating by then, and he had told her that his father had asked him to go to work and help support the family. She said she understood but that if he wanted to keep seeing her he had to promise to at least get his G.E.D., and sooner rather than later. That was a promise that was easy to make, and one he had followed up on. They married when he was twenty and she was eighteen, and he received his G.E.D. two years later, with her help of course.
Now that he was alone, Noah thought now and then of leaving the reservation and he was sure that at some point he would do so. He could work on any ranch in the West. And he could leave here with great recommendations. He was known as hard working, as straight forward and as a man of his word. When people talked about Noah they thought of the old west.
Noah now sat and thought of the news reports of the Emerald Virus. After all he had been through the thought of dying early did not bother him. He had come to an agreement with
himself after he lost his family. He would not take the easy way out. He would stay and put in whatever time nature required of him. But the thought of nature taking him early was more of a relief than a burden.
He was thirty-five years old now and he was already tired of seeing the disease and depravation of life on the reservation. Half of the population of the reservation lived below the Federal poverty level, and almost no one lived very much above that level. Federal estimates of unemployment range as high as 20% while Indian estimates for male residents are as high as 85%. The adolescent suicide rate is at least four times the national average and the infant mortality rate is at least five times the national average. Noah knew that the Indian estimates were much higher than that. The life expectancy of an Oglala Sioux Indian living on Pine Ridge Reservation was the lowest of any group in the western hemisphere, and some argue it is the lowest of any group, anywhere. Many residents exist without electricity, telephone, running water or sewer, and heat only by wood stove.
Noah looked at the reservation as comparable with a third world nation and he could not understand how this could happen in the middle of the richest country the world has ever known. He often thought of what his ancestors would think today. This was the tribe of Sitting Bull, Red Cloud and Crazy Horse. These were men who had proudly led their tribes prior to reservation life. He knew they had agreed to the treaty of 1851, but he also knew that treaty had included much more land and much more wealth, including the Black Hills, which remain a source of minerals, agriculture, ranching and tourism. No Chief had ever agreed to give up those sacred mountains.
