Apocalypse Drift (51 page)

Cob had to admit Reed
had turned out okay. He hadn’t been happy when his baby girl had run off to college so far away. When she had returned home with this Wallace fella, well, Cob just couldn’t seem to warm to the kid. Despite BeaGwen’s being partial to Reed, the announcement of their marriage had almost put him in his grave. Bluto had always judged Reed acceptable as well, so the wedding had proceeded without strong protest.

Cob looked down at
Bluto and raised his eyebrows. “I guess he wasn’t a big city lawyer for so long. Being a state representative is honorable, I suppose. Service to your country is never a bad thing.”

Cob glanced up in time to see Reed hobbling toward him, out of breath from playing tag with the kids. The congressman took a nearby chair. “Cob, I can’t tell you how thankful I am that my family has your place as a retreat. I would’ve gone insane with worry over the last few months if they hadn’t been here.”

Cob nodded and spoke without turning to acknowledge Reed. “No problem, son. She may be your wife, but she’s still my baby girl in a way. I wouldn’t have had her and the kids anyplace else. They’ll be just fine right here until things settle down. How’s that going, if I may ask?”

Reed paused for a moment, unsure of how to answer. He decided the tough, old rancher could handle more than most people. “It’s not good, Cob. The government is broke, there’s no money coming in, and other countries won’t do business with us. The military is fed up, the federal employees are at the end of their ropes, and most people have lost hope.”

The lack of reaction didn’t surprise Reed. He had gotten to know his father-in-law well over the years. He was a rugged individual and had seen his share of hard times. Cob rubbed his chin, clearly in thought. The rancher bent down and scratched Bluto’s head, finally ready to speak. “You know, they asked for it. Ever since FDR, they’ve been asking for this. In a way, I’m surprised it took this long. The whole premise of how the government was working just didn’t make sense.”

“What do you mean by ‘premise,’ Cob?”

The old gentleman scanned the horizon with his hand. “You know, we raise cattle here. The land isn’t naturally blessed with enough vegetation to feed more than a single longhorn or two per acre. A man can’t make a living off of a couple head per acre, so we plant our own feed. We had to grow our own in order to expand the herd. Now, back in the day, there were some old fools who thought growing crops was a better way to make money. They raised grain, no cattle, and tried to sell it every year. They all failed.”

Cob paused for a moment, his protective gaze focused on one of the children who had just fallen down. When laughter confirmed the child was okay, he continued. “There were others who were strictly cattlemen. Planting crops was considered radical, not the business of a true rancher. They tried to buy their feed from others, but it was always too expensive, and eventually, they all failed as well.”

Reed didn’t get it. When Cob looked up, the congressman’s expression said as much. “The federal government has vacillated between being “cattle only” to “crops only,” depending on who’s in power. The Republicans want to be cattle only. They think the cattle should be more robust, be able to survive without store-bought feed. Their answer was always to buy more land in order to grow the herd and stay in business. The Democrats, on the other hand, think it should be crops only. They want to borrow money to plant the crop and pay it back after harvest. Neither system works on its own. Both of them kept borrowing money to cover the failure. They kept going into debt, thinking next year’s crop or beef prices would cover the loss. It never did.”

Reed was beginning to catch on, curious over the analogy. “So Cob, how did you do it?”

The old man shook his head at the remembrances raised by the question. “Son, it wasn’t easy. There’s a balance between the herd size and the amount of debt you’re willing to risk on planting and harvesting. I was lucky and found the key years ago.”

Reed’s vision was on the backyard, but his mind was on Cob’s words. He knew the basics of ranching economics, but had never thought of it the way it was being described.

Cob wasn’t finished. “Didn’t you tell me a while ago that the government didn’t print its own money?”

Reed nodded, “Yes, that’s right. The Federal Reserve controls that function. The government borrows from them.”

“Reed, isn’t that the same as the rancher who won’t plant his own crops? He has to go buy feed from someone else? During a drought, feed is everything.”

The congressman shook his head and pushed back. “It’s not that simple Cob, but I’ll play along. The government has tried the other way, too. A long time ago, the government was like the rancher who only planted crops. They printed their own money, and it didn’t work. It was too easy, and it got out of control. Anything they wanted to do, they just printed money. Pretty soon, the currency wasn’t worth anything.”

Cob’s gaze focused on Reed, and his voice became monotone. “How much land you have is the key Reed. Some of the land has to be reserved for grazing while the crops grow. Another portion has to be set aside for planting. You can’t plant on land you don’t control. You can’t let your herd graze on your neighbor’s place.”

Reed realized Cob was trying to tell him something, but it just wasn’t registering. “I’m still not getting it, Cob. I’m sorry, but my brain is a little foggy. Let’s say for a minute that the government printed its own money. How do you keep politicians from going wild? How do you establish control? It’s been tried before, and the results were disastrous.”

Cob didn’t hesitate. “Our founding fathers believed in checks and balances. The government should set up the exact same system on both the creation of money and how much they spend. Just like the rancher having good years of harvest and bad years for livestock, the government should have the same restrictions on printing and spending. The rancher is limited on both by how much land he has. Land is everything; it imposes its own set of checks and balances.”

Reed shook his head, internally dismissing the concept. “Cob, I hear
ya, and I can’t disagree, but it’ll never work. The country is down and almost out. It’s not the time to make major changes.”

The old gent looked at Reed with clear eyes and a soft voice. “I wonder how many people told FDR the same thing back in the
30s. You and I may not agree with what he did, but he got in front and led the people. Sometimes leadership is all that folks need.”

Cob stood and stretched. The children raced to the porch, tired of their game.
“Grandpa! Can we ride the horses?”

Cob turned back to Reed, his expression clearly indicating the conversation was over. He leaned close to the little ones’ faces and announced, “Sure enough, kids. I’ll go saddle up Thunder and Lightning for
ya.”

Reed leaned back in his chair, his mind cycling Cob’s words.

Fort Meade, Maryland

July 1, 2017

Reed’s smile was genuine for the first time in weeks. The government was moving back to Washington, and martial law was being rescinded! The news had been announced yesterday at a joint session.

Before the official word, rumors had spread around Fort Meade like wildfire. Excitement filled the hall as rows of folding chairs had been assembled, and all of the elected officials and their staff had gathered together. When the Speaker of the House and President of the Senate delivered the word, the entire building had erupted in unbridled celebration.

As congressmen from both sides of the aisle hugged, shook hands and patted backs, no one bothered to ask what the condition of the country really was. Truth be told, seeing the nation move forward, even by baby steps, was all they could think about right now. The mood was jubilant; the nation was returning to democracy, and the details could wait.

If anyone had bothered to ask, the news would’ve been mostly positive. America was slowly returning to a country of services, capabilities and in a few isolated areas - conveniences.

Electrical service was re-established incrementally. Some cities and towns delivered power a few hours per day, while others had fulltime service as soon as the lights blinked on the first time.

The internet was only a few days behind. In some locations, digital modems surprised owners, or at least those who were paying attention, with green lights indicating connection. On one street in San Francisco, a wild street party had broken out when it was discovered that the World Wide Web was truly worldwide again. Initially, the net was slow. What few web pages were active took several minutes to load. While it would take months before the majority of internet sites were functional again, it was a major relief for many people just to feel connected in some way to the outside world.

Email was one of the most utilized web applications in those first few days. Millions of families had spent months without any communication with distant relatives or loved ones. Sometimes the news was good – everyone was okay. Often, the inbox bore heartbreaking messages of lost friends and kin. After grieving, most people agreed that the “not knowing” had been the worst of it. 

Texting was available before actual cell phone calls or landlines. Those who managed to charge their cell phones were surprised to receive messages before any other type of service registered on most devices.

The first cable television systems broadcasted from New York, Miami, and Boston. No one knew how many customers were receiving the transmissions, but limited news and information was finally flowing to the public.

The agencies of the federal government were the primary sources of radio and television programming, and most people didn’t seem to mind. A citizen viewing a broadcast could receive valuable information regarding the current situation both locally and nationally. The daily transmission of “public information” programming addressed topics ranging from where to receive medical care to which companies were requesting employees to report for work.

Church groups, synagogues, and other non-government organizations began to contribute a great deal to the recovery. The problematic role of providing meals and basic medical care changed as things improved. Job fairs, volunteer coordination, day care and other social services were in high demand, with thousands of private organizations stepping up to provide these acute needs.

While petroleum refineries and other critical infrastructure were given the absolute top priority, the American entrepreneurial spirit awakened, and businesses of all types made a go at reopening their doors. Bistros, cafes, and sandwich shops alike asked employees to report as soon as possible, even though they had no idea when food deliveries would begin. Post-collapse clean up in the food service industry was daunting - many eateries had freezers full of spoiled and decaying food to be disposed of. Some restaurants had been looted and needed repair in order to serve paying customers.

For most of the country, the frustration levels were high. It seemed that the supply chain couldn’t get itself sorted out fast enough for anyone. Some cities had an abundance of gasoline, but no diesel fuel. The restarting of the American machine sputtered and spurted, but never died. Despite a constant bombardment of obstacles and barriers, no one even considered giving up.

Chapter 13

New York, New York

July 4, 2017

Helen perched at the bar in her kitchen, picking at the government-issued meal consisting of what was supposed to be meatloaf and mashed potatoes. She was reminiscing about the fresh salads once served at the corner deli when a knock at the door startled her. It took her a moment to compose herself because visitors were such a rare occurrence these days.
It’s probably nothing
, she thought.
I bet
Mrs. Winston wants me to watch the kids again while she takes the trash downstairs.

Helen brushed non-existent crumbs from her slacks, smoothed the wrinkles from her blouse, and swiped her bangs. She balanced on her tippy toes and peered through the peephole, barely recognizing the uniformed man in the hall.

It’s him!
Her heart’s pace quickened as she scanned the living area in panic, completely unprepared for guests. It suddenly dawned on her that he might leave, and she didn’t want that. She called out, “Just a minute!”

Helen didn’t know what to do. There was so much wrong, and she didn’t know where to start. Her head pivoted, seeing an apartment that was messy, her clothes that were plain, and thinking about her slightly askew appearance.
Oh well
, she thought.
Not a thing I can do about it now.

She smoothed her hair one last time as she opened the deadbolt and other locks, hoping he wouldn’t think her paranoid for taking what she judged as prudent precautions for a single girl in New York. When she pulled the door open, his eyes met hers, and he flashed a ready smile. “Hi. Hope I’m not coming by at a bad time?”

Helen just stood there for a moment, unsure of how to respond. She finally pulled it together and answered. “No…no…please come in. I’m just embarrassed; my place is such a mess.”

“Oh, no – I don’t want to intrude. I was in the area for a commander’s meeting, and we finished early. I thought I would check in on you, and, well, invite you to a movie. It is Independence Day, after all. I thought you might show kindness to a soldier.”

“A movie?”

Pat looked down, unsure if her response were due to surprise at being asked out or the fact that there was actually a film playing somewhere. “They show a movie once a week now for officers and their spouses…or dates. I’m not sure what’s showing tomorrow, but I thought you might like to get out and do something different.”

Two hundred things flooded Helen’s mind at once. A myriad of consternations arose, ranging from apprehension over having enough water to bathe, to questioning which of her clothes were clean. In the end, none of that mattered. “I’d love to see a movie, and I don’t care which one it is. It’s very kind of you to ask.”

The young officer seemed pleased at her response. He glanced over her shoulder into the apartment and asked, “Do you need anything? Have enough food and stuff?”

“I’m fine, and thank you for asking. Since the electricity has been on more lately, it’s been easier to get around. I’ve even had air conditioning through the night twice this week!”

He nodded, “Things are slowly getting better. I heard that electricity will be restored to this area full time in two weeks or less. They are even gathering up the NYPD officers so they can take over for the military sometime soon. Before you know it, this city will be back to normal again.”

It dawned on Helen that they were still standing in the doorway. Again she offered, “Would you like to come in? My place is a mess, but you’re welcome to come in and sit down.”

“No, no thank you. I can’t stay long.
Gotta get back to the unit. What about if I pick you up at 1900 hours tomorrow night?”

Helen’s brow wrinkled, not understanding. “What time? I don’t under…”

Pat interrupted her, “I’m sorry…I’ve been doing this for too long. Let me try again. Can I pick you up at 7 tomorrow evening?”

Helen smiled, “You bet. Do I need a formal gown?”

“No,” Pat said shaking his head. “Jeans will be just fine. There’ll be food as well. I’ll have you home by 11.”

After a quick goodbye, Pat pivoted and was gone. Helen closed and relocked her door, lost in
a torrent of emotions.
Things
really
are looking up
, she thought.

Matagorda Island

July 4, 2017

Sage had been in a funk all day. It was her turn for dishwashing and fire patrol – random luck of the draw that she’d been assigned her two least favorite jobs on the same day. With the way things were going, laundry would be on tomorrow’s list.

“I’ll post about my crappy day on Faceb...” she started to mumble to herself. The realization social networks no longer existed stopped her cold.
We’ve been here four months, and I’m still thinking about Facebook?

As she meandered back toward Boxer, she overheard two of the men talking about it being Independence Day.
Maybe that’s why I’m in such a down mood
, she thought.

Sage’s mind wandered back to last year’s Fourth of July holiday. She had met up with Karen and Teresa for a trip downtown to see the big fireworks display. The trio had run into some boys and shared their blanket at the park, oohing and
ahhing at the colorful display.

The trip down memory lane led to concern over her friends. She knew Karen was probably okay – her folks had a country place outside of town. Teresa was a different story. Her folks were divorced, and her mom had to work two jobs just to pay the rent on their little apartment. She wished there was some way to talk to Teresa, just to see how her friend was doing.

Sage stopped walking and absentmindedly gazed at a flock of birds banking in formation. “I wish I had your freedom,” she whispered quietly to herself. That statement caused another wave of depression to roll through her mind. Her nineteenth birthday was coming soon.
Who would have thought my life would be over after only 19 years?

She realized that was the crux of the problem. She had no life. Gone was her hope of becoming a nurse like her mother. Her social activities had vanished into thin air. She couldn’t watch a new movie, go to the mall to flirt with the guys, or even chat with her friends on the phone.

The more she thought about it, the more her feelings felt like a heavy weight on her chest. Sage’s eyes watered up, thinking about everything that was no more – all that she had lost and could never recover. There was no future here, nothing to look forward to.

Standing alone at the dock with her shoulders slumped, arms hanging loosely from her sides, Sage began to weep. At first, her eyes felt wet, and she had the sniffles. Then her throat felt tight, and her lungs needed
breath. When her mind found the memories of the stuffed animals still lying on her bed back at the apartment, her body was racked with sobs.

Sage didn’t hear the footsteps behind her. Despite the near hysterical tears, she jumped a little as a strong pair of arms pulled her into a gentle embrace. She knew from the smell and touch that it was her father. She glanced up, realizing some minor comfort from the concerned look on his face.

For a brief moment, embarrassment flashed across her face, but it faded instantly. Her father didn’t say anything – he held her tight in a loving embrace and slowly petted the back of her head. Sage let it go. The emotional floodgates opened, and her body shuddered with the release. For several minutes it all poured out, and she felt like a little girl again.

When she was empty, she pulled back from Wyatt and rubbed the tears from her cheek. Wyatt produced a familiar handkerchief – one he had carried for years. That small square of cloth almost made her start again – it had been used to dry her eyes for as long as she could remember. The worn cotton carried a heritage of comforting skinned knees, healing broken hearts, and mending fences with her brother.

“It’s alright, baby…it’ll all be okay,” were her father’s first words.

Sage dried her face and cleared her nose, folding the hanky to find a dry spot. “Daddy, I’m sorry…I don’t know why I’m so…”

Wyatt pulled her close again, expecting another barrage of tears. Sage controlled it this time, pushing it back down inside. “I just miss my friends…and school…and life.”

“Come on baby, let’s go for a walk.”

Sage nodded, and the two turned to stroll down one of the many paths leading away from Army Hole. After they were out of sight of the dock, Sage gave voice to her fears. “It’s just not fair. Everything’s been taken away from us. I’m nothing now – just a dishwashing blob that gets up every morning and repeats the same routine…like a zombie.”

Wyatt nodded his understanding. “Sage, there are positive things about this life. I know it’s difficult to find them sometimes, but they exist.”

Sage wasn’t buying it. “Name one positive thing.”

Wyatt thought for a moment and then smiled. “Okay. Right before we left, you thought you weren’t going to be able to come with us to the boat. You had a final coming up, and your boss wanted you to work extra hours. As I recall, your mother said you were very stressed out.”

Sage remembered, “Yes, It was pretty hectic that day.”

Wyatt stopped walking and faced his daughter. “Now, we don’t have those stressors. There are few outside deadlines, no bills to pay and no grades to worry about. You didn’t even have to fi
le your taxes this year.”

Sage thought about her father’s words for a bit. Frowning, she responded, “I understand what you’re trying to say, but I had a purpose then – a goal. Most of my problems before were because I was working for something; money, a degree, a relationship - something to make me better.”

“Sage, there’s plenty here to work for – lots to improve. I’m sorry our old way of life disappeared. I wish I could fix that, but I can’t. We have to make the best of what’s been handed to us.”

The two turned back down the path and continued their journey. The ocean breeze carried the sound of seabirds and the smell of saltwater. The worn path yielded into soft sand, and Sage stopped. Using her father to keep her balance, she pulled off her shoes and continued barefoot.

“The sand feels good between my toes.”

Wyatt smiled at his daughter’s ability to recover. “Before everything fell apart, if I called you and said we were taking a long vacation at the beach, you would’ve wanted to go. Even if I told you there wasn’t any cell phone or internet connection, you would’ve still wanted to go. Am I right?”

Sage nodded, “Yes, but I would’ve known we were coming back at some point in time. I wouldn’t be worried about my friends or future. Escapes are great – exiles suck.”

Wyatt laughed at his daughter’s phrasing. “Yes, I know what you’re saying. I feel it too, Sage. I think about people I’ve known…friends…family…and wonder how they’re doing. There’s no way to escape it.”

“So how do you deal with it? You seem so calm and collected, always in a good mood. How do you and mom…and all the others do that?”

It was Wyatt’s turn to stop and ponder before answering. “It’s all in here,” he said pointing to his temple. “It’s all a state of mind. You’ve met people before who always seem positive. They don’t let anything get them down. They always are looking forward and only use the past to count lessons learned. That’s what it takes, Sage – that’s what all of us are doing.”

Sage rolled her father’s words over and over in her mind. She knew he was right. “I can’t seem to get there, Dad. I can’t figure it out. Maybe you’re right – maybe I’m too immature to handle this.”

“Sage, I don’t think you’re immature. I think you’re 18 years old, very bright, and one of the most rounded people I’ve ever met. Let me help you. Open your mind just a little bit and give me just a bit of space, and you’ll see I’m not completely off base here.”

“Okay, father-of-mine,” Sage said, “I am officially putting out the welcome mat to my brain. Come on in. I just have to warn you – it’s a little confused in here from time to time.”

Wyatt laughed again. “First things first, you’re 18, and people at that age need to have some fun, blow off some steam. When was the last time you sketched?”

Sage’s head tilted back, her eyes searching the sky, having to think about the answer. “Oh my goodness, it’s been over a year.”

Wyatt continued, “I remember a young lady who had talent. I remember a girl who thought about pursuing a career as a professional artist. Why don’t you release all of this isolation and frustration through art? Why not draw or paint or sculpt? I bet you’ll find relief – maybe even help some of the others here on the island.”

Sage didn’t know what to say.

Wyatt continued, “You know those survival shows we used to laugh at on TV? You remember those handsome, muscular, ex-Special Forces guys who went crazy places with camera crews?”

Sage nodded, grinning at the description.

“Well, I don’t remember very many of the tricks they taught, but they always repeated the same basic message – ‘Survival is often more mental than physical.’” Wyatt pointed at his temple, “Survival is mostly up here. Our brain is our greatest tool. Use your brain, Sage. Use it to survive…no…thrive, regardless of the circumstances.”