GOD and the APOCALYPSE

By Hal Mansfield

Introduction: The Apocalyptic Imperative

Judas, the other apostles and a congregation of heavenly hosts labored up the steps to the huge, double doors leading into God’s throne room. The building looked much like the Acropolis, expanded to a scale beyond human imagination. Judas, who was acting as the leader, picked up a large mallet and struck a gong four times. After several minutes the massive doors opened a crack. An ancient-looking dwarf, Drombart, peered out at the congregation.

“We are here to speak with God. The matter, naturally, is most urgent.” As Judas said this, his palm included the twelve disciples, as well as the following congregation.

“Impossible,” Drombart barked. “The Most Holy is in his creation chambers. I have strict orders never to disturb him when he is in there. Strict orders. Such Most Holy orders from the Most High will never be disobeyed by me.” The dwarf started to close the doors.

“Not so fast.” Judas declared. As he said this, Judas took hold of the door and kept the dwarf from closing it.

“Drombart, you know who I am, who these twelve gentlemen are, who some of those in this heavenly host are and what powers we have, individually and collectively. If you force these doors closed, we will exercise our combined powers to see that God becomes aware that you have turned us away. It will go hard with you then, I can assure you.”

The dwarf hesitated as if imagining what might happen if he forced the doors closed.

Judas, taking advantage of Drombart’s uncertainty, pushed the doors wide open. Judas strode into the enormous hall; the twelve cohorts and the congregation streamed in after him.

Drombart slunk away in horror, sputtering and remonstrating but making no other effort to stop Judas, the disciples or any of the horde, as they all streamed into the throne room.

Judas walked across the breadth of the vast room. He was followed by the twelve disciples and as many of the congregation as could get close. He picked up a large scepter and rapped on the door of the creation chambers three times. A hush fell over the entire assemblage.

Minutes passed. The crowd moved back from the creation chambers’ doorway.

Finally, the door opened and a tall, elderly man appeared in the doorway. He was dressed in a long white robe, which was in dishabille. His hair was silvery gray and it hung in long curls down to his waist. His face was regal but extraordinarily wrinkled. He peered around the room and cleared his throat.

“Drombart, come here,” God said. The dwarf approached. “Did I not say no one was to disturb Me? What say thou to that?”

Judas stepped in front of the cowering dwarf.

“I insisted, Most Holy and All-Powerful Father. Drombart tried to do as he was instructed to do by Your Magnificence. The most loyal Drombart made quite clear what Your instructions to him were. But my colleagues and I would not take ‘no’ for an answer. Our reason for disturbing You is most urgent, naturally, or we would not presume . . . “

God waved the dwarf away. As He did so, He hobbled over to the steps leading up to His throne. As He put His foot on the first step, two burlies emerged from the crowd and helped Him up the steps. God sat down on His magnificent throne. The burlies returned to their places in the crowd. As Judas mounted the steps, the disciples and the host came closer.

“Very well, state this most urgent problem. You may have an audience, but not for too long. I have important . . . er, ah . . . things to do. My universes continue to expand. Nearly uncounted worlds are in various stages of the creation process. They require My attention. In fact, I was in the midst of a very important step in one of My vital creation projects.” God paused.

“It’s Earth, Your Stupendous ness, . . .” Judas wiped his brow and hesitated.

“Earth? What in the world are you talking about?” With that, God chuckled. “Heh. Heh. Heh. Just a little earthly joke I thought up.”

“The humans, Omnipotent Father, are multiplying at a fearful rate. They are using up Earth’s non-renewable, God-given, natural resources beyond replacement. They are polluting Earth’s waters, fouling its precious air, destroying its vital forests and ravaging the oceans. They are crowding other species into extinction at an unprecedented rate. Why just the killing of insects on windscreens runs into the trillions on any given day.”

“Unprecedented? I seem to remember the dinosaur die-off was pretty darned rapid, not to mention several other die-offs before that.” God stroked His beard as He said this.

“Well, unsettling, then. Most unsettling,” Judas swept his eyes over the congregation as he temporized. “You instructed me to keep an eye on things and to report problems to You. That is what I am doing . . . er, just doing my duty.”

“What’s this blather about windscreens and insects?” God demanded.

“Windscreens, Holy Omniscience, the Americans call them windshields. They are on automobiles, trucks, trains and buses, on all manner of modern transportation. These conveyances go at such speeds that the insects cannot escape; they strike the windscreens, splatter and die.” Judas responded.

“What? How? I allowed the insects to evolve the power to hop, to fly . . . all manner of ways to survive. What went wrong? Explain yourself.“ God seemed genuinely perplexed.

“It’s even worse than that.” Judas paused before continuing. “The humans have invented something they call a ‘bug zapper.’ It is an electronic devise that attracts bugs. They fly, or otherwise, get into these zappers and are killed. Zap! Just so the humans can be out on patios or similar places for an evening’s entertainment. Atrocities of the worst sort.”

“Hurry on,” God said. “I haven’t got all day, you know. My creation works languish. Besides, my present creation partners get impatient when I am gone too long.”

“So I have heard.” Judas’s rejoinder was almost a groan.

“Don’t be impertinent, Judas. My patience with you is not inexhaustible, as you well know from . . . well, never mind that. On with your explanation.” God raised his left hand.

“The long and short of it is that unless we . . . unless You, Your Mightiness, do something, Earth will soon become uninhabitable for humans and for most other species. Some of the lowliest life forms may be all that survive. That’s the crisis in brief form.” Judas paused, as if out of breath.

“How dare you. Lowliest life forms indeed. All of God’s life forms are equal in My eyes. That holds true for even one-celled organisms. All of my creations, both flora and fauna, come back to live with me when they die. But, wait a minute. I gave you . . . well, I gave Pandora that is . . . the Four Horseman of the Apocalypse (famine, pestilence, war and death) expressly for human population control. What about that?” God asked.

“Oh, Mighty One, it worked for several million years. That is, after you created them, they evolved from sub-humans to proto-humans to humans and for a long time after that. They developed agriculture. Fewer died from famine. With more and better food, they lived longer and their brains became more complex and the human culture became more advanced.

“Science developed. Then, they discovered antisepsis and waste control. The scientists found cures faster than the old diseases could evolve or new ones could spread. They even learned how to inoculate against some of the most deadly and debilitating diseases.”

“I’ll be. Clever devils. Who would have thought it? They were such a miserable bunch of miscreants the last time I checked,” God mused.

“They still went to war and killed millions; those dead millions were not enough. More and more were born and lived longer and longer. Ergo, an exponential explosion in their numbers, a tragic and – without Your intervention – an irreversible crisis of great magnitude and consequence.”

“Seems like only a moment ago that I last looked in on them.” God seemed puzzled as he said this. His wrinkled brow became even more wrinkled.

“Sire, a moment for you can be 10,000, sometimes even a 100,000 or a million Earth years. That’s part of the explanation. We . . . You must act now,” Judas replied.

“Sounds like the unmentionable one has been at work, too.” God stroked his beard and seemed deep in thought.

“No doubt of that, Father. My brother, the unmentionable one, can cause great mischief, as we all know only too well,” Judas said.

“First, I will summon the Grand Council.” With that, God raised His right hand and brought it down. A giant flash of lightning arched across the vast room, followed by a mighty crash of thunder. A diverse group of individuals appeared to the left of Judas and the twelve men with him. The newcomers bowed low before God.

“Welcome Zeus and all of you other Grand Council members. It is always a pleasure to see you’all. Thanks for coming. There is a crisis on Earth. We must hold council and deal with it.” God said to the newly arrived.

“Give Me a few minutes to survey the situation. I will emmeld (create My most intimate and Godly mental connection) with everyone here so each of you can come to know exactly what I learn as I survey the situation on Earth.”

With that, God tilted His head back. His eyes disappeared to the uppermost part of His eyelids, leaving only the whites in view. He seemed to be in a trance. Everyone in the giant hall fell silent; some also seemed to be in a trance and some looked as if they might faint. After only a couple of minutes, God roused Himself from the altered state and began to speak.

“Myself! What a sight. Why, they are almost as bad as rabbits. The whole of Earth is as bad as Sodom and Gomorrah ever were. And the greed! Great Myself, the incredible, shortsighted greed. The humans have even invented something they call ‘a corporation.’ It can be a perpetual contrivance. Imagine that. Such temerity. If I had wanted perpetuity in life – or in anything else, except by procreation of various sorts – I would have created it or let it evolve Myself. And the media, especially TV and the movies. What squandered promise. What superficial nonsense and filth. Even education has been perverted and ratcheted down to unconscionably low levels.

“They have even perverted grass by using it in dry areas and on golf courses. Egad, what temerity. How thoughtless. The well being of Earth now and for future generations is seriously compromised.

“They have set aside the evolutionary forces I put in place after My initial and continuing creation efforts. Using science, they have configured medicines and created crop hybrids and are genetically engineering all sorts of mischief. They have intruded into My prerogatives. I never intended for that to happen. It’s an affront to My work. It’s too bad science outstripped their cultural intelligence and knowledge. Among other worthy advances, birth control could have been universal and required.

“What a mess they have made of My belief systems. Can you imagine: the religious conservatives are blind to the fact that there is both creation and evolution? What narrow-mindedness. What ninnies. And the evolutionists. They are the most intelligent and best educated; how could they not see the Grand Design of creation plus evolution? What an affront to My artistry. Arguing, even killing, over the obvious. Nincompoops, one and all!

“You were entirely correct to bring this mess on Earth to My attention, Judas. We must act quickly and decisively with regard to the population overrun, to their meddling with My prerogatives, to the inequities that greed has created, to the constant sinning, to the environmental crises and to the other mis-begotten, be-sodded factors.”

Judas bowed, “Thank you, my Lord and Father. It is always a pleasure to serve.”

“Where’s Jesus? I haven’t seen him since shortly after his return from Earth and that little matter I sent him down there on.” God looked around as He said this, as if expecting to see Jesus amongst the large congregation.

“Ahem, Your Grace, I believe my brother, Jesus, and his bride, Mary Magdalene, are still on their honeymoon.” Judas cast his eyes down offered timidly.

“Honeymoon? They’ve been back for ages. Haven’t they gotten tired of that, yet?” God stroked His beard and frowned as if He could not believe what He was hearing.

“Jesus and Mary Magdalene, attend Me!” As he said this, God raised his right arm and brought it down emphatically.

There was a mighty flash of lightning and an enormous clap of thunder.

Jesus and Mary Magdalene entered the chambers through a side door. They approached God and each bowed low, holding their bows for a few seconds. Then, Jesus turned and waved to the assemblage. He greeted the Grand Council members with a deferential wave of his left hand. Lastly, he turned back to God.

“Father, always a great pleasure to be summoned. I say, it is extraordinarily good to see you.” With that said, Jesus turned and embraced the disciples one by one. As he did so, he whispered something in the ear of each and listened to their brief replies. Judas was the last to get embraced. Judas’s reply was the longest.

“Enough of the schmoozing, politicking and of trying to size up the situation,” God said. “Earth is in a crisis. I may need your counsel or even your indulgence for another mission down there.” God passed a hand over Jesus’ head, emmelding him.

“Here, see for yourself,” God said as His hand passed over Jesus.

Jesus gasped and stepped back. He grasped his garment in both hands and bowed low. “Surely, Father, I have done enough. I did as You instructed. I valiantly tried to carry out Your every wish. I am barely back. The wounds have only just now healed.”

“Nonsense! Utter nonsense, do you hear me, Jesus? That’s pure flummery. You can’t dissimulate with Me. You of all people should know that. Look where it got your twin, the unmentionable one. Your wounds healed as you entered Heaven. You’ve been back quite a long time.”

“I was speaking metaphorically, Father.” Jesus replied.

“ Metaphor, schmetaphore, I know the difference between metaphor and whole clothe.” God thundered.

“Even so. I don’t know why I should go back to that . . . if you will pardon me, Father, that God-forsaken place. What you just showed me is almost beyond belief. How could they muck things up that badly in only about 2,000 Earth years? It’s almost as if I was never there, in some ways. They’ve twisted or forgotten or ignored my teachings. Send someone else.” With that, Jesus swept his left hand towards the vast assembly.

“We’ll see. We’ll see. As you have just said, humans did not take well to your message, Jesus. Most are Sunday Christians at best. The rest of the week, some even on Sunday, lie and cheat and steal and fornicate – especially that – at every opportunity. Too many of them are hypocrites of the worst sort. I’d hardly call that a successful outcome. And the Muslims. Myself! Can you believe what they are up to? The only reason I am not shocked is because nothing does . . . shock Me, that is. Even the Buddhists and those of other religious persuasions are not beyond reproach.”

“You can’t blame the Jewish and Muslims’ behaviors on me, or even the Christian mess. Surely, since it is Your plans and messages that have gone awry, it is up to You, not me, to straighten things out, isn’t it? I did my very, level best. That ordeal of the passion and with the cross was not pleasant, not exactly ‘Sunday in the Park,’ as everyone here well knows.”

“Don’t be impertinent. It is up to Me to say what is to be done and up to everyone else, including you, to follow orders. You two may leave, but stay in touch. Maybe I won’t need you after all, since you seem to be reluctant and since you are still on your rather fantastically extended honeymoon. I guess I was wrong. I thought you would jump at a chance to go down and take another whack at the task.”

With that, God cast a glance at Mary Magdalene. “Hummm,” was all he said.

As Jesus and Mary Magdalene approached the exit, Mary whispered something in Jesus’ ear. With that, they turned back and approached the throne.

“Father, we’d like to stay for the rest of these proceedings; that is, if you don’t mind. Mary . . . er, we think it would be a jolly good experience. A valuable lesson, as it were.”

“Of course you may stay. Good idea, actually.” As he said that, God turned to one of the Grand Council members.

“Gaia, what do you have to say for yourself? Why is Earth in such a mess? Why haven’t you apprised me of the situation down there?” God asked.

“Well, Father, as you know, I have no authority or ability to take action. I am without any power to intercede in the affairs of Earth. You, Yourself, decreed that . . . ever so long ago.” Gaia bowed her head. “Besides, you more or less set me aside when You ordered Judas to observe and report.”

“Enough of that. Just weak excuses. I would have acted, had I but been informed by you. What have you been up to? For my part I have been busy with creating new suns and new planets. I’m up to well over 2,000 times 1,000! Even though I can be Omniscient, Omnipotent and Omnipresent, technically, My focus has been on some of My other creations.” God waited for a reply, tapping His fingers on the arm of His throne as he did so.

Gaia made no reply.

“Oh Mighty Sire,” Judas finally spoke up. “Gaia has been too busy roistering with Dionysus. I tried to contact her several times. Each time, I was told by her secretary to come back later. Her mental telepathy channel was closed down also.”

“I see. Where’s Pandora? It seems she has fallen down on job, much as you and Gaia have, Judas.” God looked over the multitude as if expecting Pandora to step forward.

“Er, I don’t see how You can blame me, All-Seeing One. Even though I am technically in charge of Earth on a day-to-day basis, as it were, I have no authority to act. I have no budget. No staff support. No way to deal with even minor problems. My charge was merely to observe and to report. I tried reporting to Gaia and to Pandora before bringing the crisis to Your attention, Father. Through You, Pandora is the one with the power to do something. That’s what the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse were all about. Pandora is the one who has let things on Earth get out of natural control.”

“Well, where is she?” God demanded.

Judas hesitated.

“Come, come, Judas. Out with it,” God ordered.

“Supreme ness, she is consorting with our brother, Satan, if my information is correct. She has dallied with him whilst I have been constantly on the job.” Judas shrugged his shoulders helplessly, as he said this.

“The devil you say? Consorting with the nameless one? Never would have considered doing it with her. She’s so ugly in the form I imposed on her after her unfortunate transgression. Unpleasant personality, too. Don’t know why I put up with her. Can’t stand the sight or smell of her. How does the nameless one put up with it?”

“It’s the fire and brimstone, Oh Mightiest of the Mighty. The brimstone deadens the sense of smell. Perhaps it affects aesthetic sensibilities, too.”

“Really? Maybe we should have a bit of that brimstone smell here before she arrives. Still and all, I don’t like her insolence. She’s worse than you are.”

“Oh, Greatest of the Gods, You wound me deeply. I am not only Your son, I am Your devoted and obeisant servant. Always. Surely, You know that, Eminence!”

“If you say so. Perhaps it is just your natural character. Maybe it is your speech mechanisms and habits. Still . . . there is something almost furtive about you . . . ” God let his voice trail away.

“I am totally devoted. I proved that when Jesus gave me the worst task any brother was ever asked to do.” Judas turned with an imploring look. “Jesus, back me up on that.”

“Glad to, brother. Your consternation at betraying me to the Jews and Romans was heart-warming, especially since we both knew I would return here with our Father.” Jesus walked over and put an arm around Judas as he said this; then, he stepped back to Mary Magdalene’s side.

“Besides, I am the fruit of Thy loins just as surely as are any and all of Your children. What I am, You have made me . . . ” Judas gestured toward the entire assemblage as he mentioned God’s children. “I did what Jesus asked of me and look what I got for it: Branded a traitor and a snitch for only 30 . . . “

God interrupted. “Yes. Yes. I know all about that. You got a bum rap for doing what Jesus asked of you, that’s for sure. It’s being fixed down on Earth. New evidence is coming forth. Documents are being found. A book has been written. Those sorts of things.

“Let’s move on. We aren’t getting anywhere.” With that God raised his hand and called out: “Pandora. Come to me.” There was another bright flash of lightning and a huge thunderclap.

A small door opened and an incredibly ugly creature entered. The ugly one had a large box strapped to her back. A second creature, even more mis-formed and uglier, scrabbled in on all fours.

“You called, I came. Your daughter, who is also Your servant, attends You, Sire.”

“So I see. Why did you bring the unmentionable one with you?” God asked.

“In a manner of speaking, Sire, we were ‘as one’ when you summoned me. We were only just able to uncouple as we got here.”

“I see. Well, I’ll have to send him back. He’s not welcome, as you know. I have a good notion to smite him. Through the ages he seems to get ever more insolent and independent thinking. Not to mention devious.”

“Father,” the creature implored, “Along with my twin brother, Jesus, I am the fruit of Thy loins as surely as any of Your other children. If I am made wrong it is because of You, not me! Smite me and You smite Yourself!”

God raised his right arm and started to bring it down. His left hand shot up and restrained the right. “You tempt me, but I will not lose My temper. I had My reasons when I made you the way I did, even unto your transgressions and attempted take-over. You serve a number of needed – I might even say – far larger purposes, though I am not altogether sure what each and every one of My reasons were . . . er, or are today. Perhaps I should re-think you and your role in the great scheme of things.

“As long as you are here, you might as well stay. Much of what is discussed and decided here is going to have a great impact on your operations down there,” God said.

Jesus stepped forward. “Father, I ask a favor of you. Satan, in his present form, makes me both ill and ill at ease. I know he well deserves the punishments You meted out to him. Still his appearance has a negative impact on my aesthetic sensibilities.”

“Well, what would you have Me do, Jesus?” God answered sternly.

“Just while he is here, show compassion, Munificent One. Return him to his former self, at least in appearance.”

“Show compassion? After what he attempted to do?” God almost smiled.

“Compassion to us who must view him and Pandora, too, in their present manifestations. Only for the nonce.” Jesus knelt at God’s feet.

“Oh, very well. If you put it that way, I will turn My other cheek for the moment.”

With that, God flicked his left pinkie finger. A handsome man stood where the ugly creature had been. Except for his small horns and cloven hoofs, he was by far the most handsome and well-formed man in the room.

God flicked the pinkie finger on his right hand. A beautiful creature stood where Pandora had been.

“Thank you, Father. I much prefer to look nearly as I did in the long-gone, happier days.” Satan bowed his head and genuflected.

“I will emmeld with you to bring you up to date. Although, I dare say, most of what is wrong with Earth is of your doing. Still, here is what I have just found out.” God passed his right hand in the air over Satan’s head.

“Hummm,” Satan said. “It seems they have been doing quite a lot since I last surveyed the situation on Earth. They are nearly as adept at evil as I am. Who would have thought that there would be so much going on whilst Pandora and I have been trysting?”

“Enough of your self-satisfied musing. Several billion people will be joining you in Hell. Most will require relatively brief periods of fairly mild atonement. When each has served her or his penance down there, you will send them up here. Saint Peter and you can coordinate all of that as usual.

“Some are going to spend near-eons with you. They will be – for all intents and purposes – permanent residences. You will dispense the horrors and tortures to each according to her or his sins and other transgressions. No leniency. I know that you tend to favor certain kinds of sinners and their deviant behaviors over others. You even have tried to send some of those sinners up here sooner than they deserved. I’ve even caught you giving some egregious sinners celebrity status, as it were, down in your realm. Stick to My mandates, both with your current residents and with the newcomers, do you hear?”

“Yes, Father, I hear and will obey. Sounds like a lot of work and expense. I will need dramatic increases in my budget, in my space allotments, in my staff and in facilities, won’t I?”

“Coordinate with My staff members who are in charge of those matters. It will be done. I have decreed it. Now, off with you.” God waved his hand. The ugly creature cowered where the handsome Satan had been. The creature slithered out the door where he and Pandora entered; the door closed with a low rumble.

“Thank you, Father. Like the unmentionable one, I prefer to look as I did before my youthful transgression.” As she said this, Pandora pulled a mirror out of her flowing robes and looked at herself with obvious satisfaction. She adjusted several of her beautiful curls.

“Enough narcissism and primping. As you now know because I emmelded you, too, there is a great deal of disturbing news about Earth. Seems your Four Horseman are no longer working as planned. The humans are breeding themselves into a number of crisis situations, both for themselves and for the rest of Myself’s creatures on Earth. Sin is almost universal. Greed is rampant. Environmental degradation is approaching irreversible levels. What do you have to say about that? Eh?”

“I find that hard to believe. Just the other day, metaphorically speaking of course, humans were dying like flies. Famine, pestilence, war and death were everywhere. Why, one plague – it seems like it happened just the other day – killed off about 30 to 50 percent of the wretches in what they call Europe. That all happened in only a couple of Earth years. I . . . ”

“If I may, Omniscience,” Judas cut in. “That was several hundred Earth years ago. The big increase in population has occurred over the past two hundred years, since just about the time Pandora, here, started consorting with our brother, Satan.”

“Enough! That’s twice you have brought up that unmentionable’s name! I won’t have it, you hear. I am the only one who may refer to him as Satan. For everyone else and for Me most of the time, he is the unmentionable one. Judas, say the unmentionable’s name one more time and you will find yourself stitching running shoes as a slave in a third-world sweatshop. Remember that!”

“But, Mighty ness, he is my brother. Jesus and he and I grew up together. Along with Pandora and several others, we were inseparable when we were children. I cannot forget that or forsake him entirely. Can I, Father?”

“Judas, sometimes you test and tire Me. Let’s get this sorted out.” God turned His face toward Pandora.

Pandora bowed, “Well, we could send another large asteroid. That certainly did a number on the dinosaurs, not to mention many other species. Or, Sire, we could always go back to the flood ploy. That worked pretty well the last time.”

“Worked well!” Judas exploded. “The flood nearly drowned everyone. Just gathering two of each species was an enormous task. Doing it all left me nearly prostrate. Noah, here, will bear me out on that. They went right back to ‘being fruitful and multiplying.’ We need something more focused, more sophisticated, and more permanent. Another plague would do nicely, together with some modern nuances and augmentations, such as eliminating modern culture and its technologies and increasing wisdom.”

Just then, a beautiful woman came out of God’s creation chambers. She had on a diaphanous gown. Beneath the gown was a curvaceous, voluptuous body. All eyes turned toward her.

“God,” she said in a sultry voice, “what’s all the ‘to-do’ about? I’ve been waiting for what seems like forever. So have all of Your other creation partners.”

“Now, now, Ishtar, My dear, it’s only been a few minutes. Surely you don’t call that forever.”

“Wellllll, it’s just that I miss you so, when we aren’t . . . er, creating things together . . . ”

“Never mind, my little chickadee. You go back and pretty yourself up. Tell all of my creation partners that I’ll be right in. In the overall scheme of things, this is a trivial matter, a mere bagatelle. It’s something that I don’t want any of you fretting about. There are far more important things – much more challenging things – to be done across My many Universes. As soon as I get back, we will finish that project that we were working on before Judas rapped on the chambers’ door.”

The woman turned, languorously, and disappeared back into God’s creation chambers. All eyes of the congregation were on her as she did so.

“Pandora, you have neglected your most important duties,” God said with authority.

“Please, Sire,” Pandora pleaded. “If I have been neglectful, it because of the way I was made. I am the fruit of Thy loins, as surely as any and all of Your creations.”

“Don’t remind me. You are the third one to bring up that ‘fruit of thy loins’ excuse. Enough of that prattle. I must have had My reasons when I made you as you turned out. They were probably logical at the time, though what they were then escapes me now. It’s a darned poor argument; it gets us no where.”

“Whatever you say, Sire,” Pandora bowed as she said that.

“Pandora, you and Judas and the other disciples and the Grand Council here, work this out amongst yourselves. Do it as soon as I leave. I may decide to show up at the planning session, if I can finish the creation project . . . or, at least, set it aside for a bit.”

With that, God got up and dismounted the dais with power and quickness. He strode toward the creative room’s doorway. Just before he entered, he turned.

“I want no nittering, nattering or nitpicking. No bickering about trivialities and incidentals. And I will tolerate no backbiting. Step out of character and get along for once. That’s an order from Headquarters and it goes for all of you.” He waved his hand toward Pandora, Judas, the other disciples, the Grand Council and the multitude. Then, He stepped into the creation chambers and closed the door.

CHAPTER 1: The Planning Session

As the door closed, Pandora became her ugly, mis-created self again.

“I can’t think with all this riff-raff. Clear them out” she shouted. With that, she turned toward the multitude and scowled.

As she did so, the hosts bolted for the main entrance. Within a couple of minutes, she and Judas were alone, except for the twelve disciples, the Grand Council and Drombart.

The dwarf waddled up. “Out, all of you! Retire into the conference room. All of you must leave, at once. His Holiness does not like to have people in His throne room when He is in His creation chambers.”

The Grand Council turned immediately and left. Pandora, Judas and the disciples, lingered just long enough to hear sounds of passion coming through the creation chambers’ door. They quickly walked into the conference room. Drombart closed the door to the conference room behind them.

Pandora, Judas, the disciples and the Grand Council arranged themselves around a huge, round table. Before doing so, most of the disciples and several of the Grand Council members went to a sideboard and got coffee, sweet rolls or other ‘goodies.’ There was much conversation amongst the disciples and between the council members.

Zeus rapped on the table. “Okay, we better get this sorted out, and fast. There is great urgency. I might even say a full-blown crisis on Earth. I am sure each of you shares the distinct impression that God will not tolerate any ‘dilly-dally or shilly-shally’ from us.”

Pandora pointed a crooked finger towards Judas and the disciples. “Look you oafs, why did you bring such a trifle before God. You made it look like I have been lying down . . . er, not being fully attentive to what has been happening on Earth. You made me look bad in front of my Sire. Why didn’t you come to me first? I could have handled it all without him. Next time, come to me first, you hear?”

Judas was livid: “Pandora, we tried to get in touch. All we got were messages to the effect that you were busy and did not wish to be disturbed. Don’t blame us. It was you who was, literally, lying down on the job. We had no other choice. It does require immediate attention and results.”

Pandora glared. “I agree with you about the urgency. Don’t let that ‘forgetful old man’ ploy obscure the fact that He is still All-knowing and All-powerful. He just does that shtick to test us. To ‘toy’ with us. That’s what fooled Satan and got him into trouble. He thought God had lost His powers; then, he stupidly tried to take over. Now, let’s get down to specifics.”

Just as Pandora said this, there was a great flash of lightning and huge crash of thunder. God appeared at the head of the table. He was in one of his most impressive manifestations. As Zeus moved to one side, a chair appeared and Zeus sat down. God remained standing.

God began to speak at once. “I said I wanted no arguing or back-biting.” God glared at Pandora.

She bowed her head.

“I want no more than about 70 to 75 percent of the humans weeded out. That will work out to more than 4.5 billion deaths. I’m going to revert to the three score and ten life-span template. I’ll kill off almost of those over that age, though I will select a few especially wise and effective elders to be spared.

“Pandora, you use all of the horsemen: pestilence, famine and war. That will get it done. Fast. I’ll supervise from my creation chambers. That way, I can intervene in such a way that there will be minimum deaths amongst all the other species, both plant and animal.”

“A word, Sir,” a member of the Grand Council rose from his chair as he said this.

“Yes, Saint Francis. What is it?” God asked.

“What about all of the domestic animals and all of the other species in cages, pens, corrals, feedlots and the like? Will all of the dogs, cats, other pets and most domestic animals be included in the die-off? If they are not, they will suffer mightily without their human owners to feed and care for them and there will be no end of trouble for the environment and for the non-domesticated species.”

“Ah, Saint Francis, a good point, God said. “Very well. I will include them, too. In fact, I’ll choose the domestic animals – along with humans – as the agents that spread the plague. Yes, plague will be the primary instrument of death. However, in deference to their innocence in this matter, I will ensure that the animals die quickly and almost without pain.”

“Another word, if I may, Father.” It was St. Francis again.

“Yes?” Was all that God said in answering St. Francis.

“Can you spare the pets for those humans who are not included in the die-off? The surviving humans will be so traumatized by all the death and destruction that their pets could be a source of comfort . . . “

God cut St. Francis short. “Of course. Another good point. It will be done as you ask.”

“My word, Father, can you do that? Kill the most of the humans with pain and suffering and all of their animals without either pain or suffering, and spare the survivor’s pets and other animals, all with the same plague germ?” Jesus asked.

“Of course I can. When I want to, I know the where, the when, the how and the why of each sparrow’s birth, life and death. That’s in the Bible, in case some of you here don’t remember. I’ve been busy with other matters, or I would have known all about this mess as it developed.

“Normally, I run a ‘hands-off’ shop down there and with most of my other creations; but, I’m not above intervention, both down there and up here, as all of you know, including some of you from very personal experience.” God looked around the table as he said this.

Pandora lowered her head again.

“In this crisis, I will help beyond mere intervention, especially with the restoration of species that have gone extinct. Also, I want to see to it that the wealthiest 20% (those are, typically, the greediest) are among the first to die. I’ll make their deaths horrible. I want whole families of them dead: men, women and children. Nits become lice. The greedy parents teach their children greed or maybe it’s in the genes. Early on, I’ll kill off all of the media moguls and their underlings. I’ll kill off all of the arms manufacturers and dealers and others of their ilk.”

God turned toward another of the Grand Council members. “Fortuna, as the goddess of fortune, you have lavished too much on the greedy. You really should have been more selective . . . and far more evenhanded. Giving too much to too few is never a good idea. Surely you know that.”

“Sire, it was not me,” Fortuna remonstrated. “It was the damniable corporations with all of the power of their growing wealth and with their control over Earth’s politicians. It was the economic and political systems. Even the religious leaders got into the act to make things worse. Short of disobeying Your ‘hands off’ order of centuries ago, I was helpless.”

God merely grunted before speaking again.

“Muhammad, what in the world has happened to the Muslim faith? The ayatollahs and imams are teaching unspeakable things. They are advocating suicide no less. They take the young and the gullible and feed them nonsense about dying as martyrs and coming up here and sitting on my right hand with access to numerous virgins. What say you? Are you sure you copied down the messages exactly as I sent them?”

“Exactly, Supreme ness. Apparently the word that You sent through me was subject to many alternative interpretations. I have been totally shocked for a long time, just as You are now. There are many schisms, many sub-sects, many different, diverging and clashing interpretations.” Muhammad bowed as he said this.

“Well, why didn’t you come to Me? I am always available, aren’t I?” God queried.

“No, Sire, not by a long shot. If you will permit me, I tried to gain access several times. Drombart told me You were busy in the creation chambers and that You could not be disturbed. Besides, you have given my followers freewill, too. They are only exercising that freewill which is Your God-given right for them to do. They are no better, or worse, than the Jews, Christians . . . er, whatever!” As Muhammad said this, he genuflected.

“Forsooth! So it’s all My fault? Is that what I am going to hear from every one of you? Enough. The ‘buck stops here.’ I admit and accept the blame. That will not reduce in any way My retributions against the people of Earth. Yes, I gave them freewill. They have not exercised it within My laws, commandments and intentions. That is where the blame truly lies and where the reckoning will fall. Perhaps I should have stopped creating religions with Zoroaster and Loa-Tse. Even many of the Buddhists have strayed from the path, not to mention the egregious deviations of all of the others.

“I want to reduce greed and the attendant inequities down to more realistic levels. This grand die-off should do admirably. Just the ticket, really.

“By the way, I want to get rid of all of those gas-guzzling behemoths, especially those vehicles the humans call Hummers, other SUVs, the enormous pickups and the overly large sedans. They grate on My aesthetic sensibilities even more than the living dinosaurs did. They are abominations. I’ll see to it that they all wind up in junkyards. The only thing worse than those monstrosities are the people who drive them for ostentation and conspicuous display, thus reducing the availability of adequate energy supplies for future generations.

“It’s all unconscionable stupidity and selfishness. Now, look what it’s brought them and the rest of the world to: My wrath! In fact, I’ll get rid of most all of the so-called technological miracles, almost the whole nine yards. Darned near everything that has been invented over the past two hundred Earth-years is going to go the way of the dinosaurs and 99% of my other creations!

“I want humans to go back to sustainable life-styles, using their own muscle power and the renewable energies. To accomplish that, I’ll make sure most of the die-off takes place in the cities, especially the megalopolises. The poor, those in the so-called non-developed countries and others who are living more-or-less self-sustaining lives, will be left pretty much alone. All of those in the agrarian movement will survive and flourish. They will be the foundation of the post-plague replacement cultural developments.

“Judas and Fortuna, when the greedy, the gluttonous, the selfish and other miscreants get up here, congregate the top two percent. I want to have a session with them. After I have a little talk with them, I will require them to carry my message to all of the others. Then, the whole lot of them will go down to spend some time with the unmentionable one. That should teach them a few lessons about ‘love thy neighbor,’ ‘humility’ and some of My other commandments. I won’t have such greed on Earth or anywhere else in My many universes. It’s simply not the way I wanted it to be down there on Earth, or anywhere else for that matter!

“I’ll bring up all of the religious zealots of every stripe: The Christian right, the Islamists, the militant Israelis, whatever. Also, I’ll bring most of the disbelievers up. I’ll show them a thing, or two, that will put the fear of God into the depths of their souls, before I send them down for some non-believer-type retribution, mild but thorough.

“Zoroaster, Loa-Tse, Buddha, Abraham, Moses, Jesus, Mohammad and Myself will teach them God’s word and God’s ways and what they should have been doing down there in My name. By My beard we will. Good Myself, what a travesty of mis-interpretations, deceits and distortions.

“Hephaestus, as My chief architect and building supervisor, you had better start building more mansions. Get Vitruvius, Peter Van Dresser and anyone else that you need to help you. The population up here will just about double . . . well, eventually, after most of them have served penance with the unmentionable one.

“Pluto, you had better work with Satan. He will need your help, especially, now that he knows that a veritable flood of Earthlings is coming his way. I will emmeld more of My instructions to the two of you.

“Kali, Balor and Shiva, as death goddesses, I want you three to monitor Pandora as she does My command, which is that death will reign over the Earth until the number of humans returns to sustainable levels and life-styles.

“Zephyr, as god of the air, you and I are going to have a lot of work on our hands. The humans have fouled Earth’s air almost beyond imagination. Also, they have caused a monumental hole to appear in the ozone layer. As soon as the die-off is complete, I want you to go down there with the power that I will impart to you and clean up the whole mess.”

Zephyr bowed low. “Thank you, Father. It will be a pleasure to restore Earth’s atmosphere to the purity it had in the beginning.”

“Thor,” God said. No one answered. “Where’s Thor? He should be here with the rest of the Grand Council.” Still silence. Finally, Pandora spoke.

“He’s been in speech therapy with this famous speech therapist for quite some time. I believe they have made great progress. It’s about his lisp.”

“Why didn’t he come to Me? I could have fixed the problem. I assumed he wanted to remain the way he was, since he never asked Me for help.”

God waved his left index finger. There was a might flash of lightening and deafening crash of thunder. Thor appeared. He took a place at the council table and said, “You called, Father?”

God started to say something. He paused and composed himself. “Thor, Earth’s climate has been thrown out of kilter by human folly. Here, see for yourself.” God passed his hand over Thor’s head and emmelded him.

“Looks pretty mild compared to some of the past phases such as the ice ages and the periods of extreme warming. What’s the flap?” Thor seemed uninterested and unimpressed.

“I want you to stabilize Earth’s climate for at least seven Earth years. I want the human that are trying to be self-sustaining, especially those in the agrarian movement in the United States, to have the benefit of an ideal climate for the early years of their efforts. Reverse desertification. Give agriculture all over the world a ‘best chance.’ Will you see to it?”

“Yeah, sure, if you say so, Boss,” Thor answered.

“Father, will do nicely. Boss, as a name for Me, is out. Understand? Satan is going to need a substantial augmentation in his staff to handle a huge influx of sinners. I could always send you down there to help him out and get someone else to handle Earth’s climate adjustments.” God waited.

After a pause, Thor said, “Yes, Father, I understand and will obey. Thank you for putting your faith in me.”

God nodded and said, “Thanks a bunch.”

He turned to a large man with a flowing beard and a trident.

“Poseidon, god of the oceans, you and I will have to restore the oceans’ balances, as well as those of the largest lakes and rivers. We must start at once to revitalize the barrier reefs. Many sea-life species are in collapse. Many already are extinct or virtually so. We must act fast.”

“With pleasure, Pre-Imminent One,” Poseidon boomed.

“Vidar, god the forests, you and I will restore the forests when the die-off is over. Just stopping the savagery that humans are waging on the forests will be a start. Still, there is much to be done in terms of full restoration once the human die-off winds down. I want the cedars of Lebanon, the English oak forests and all of the great jungles back.”

“Oh, Almighty, I was so hoping to hear those words. It will be done according to Your will.” Vidar grinned from ear to ear.

“Atlas and Athena, as god and goddess of knowledge, I want you two to raise the level of wisdom down there. Knowledge without wisdom is rampant. It’s also dangerous. It boggles My mind to think that humans can be so Devilishly clever in some ways and so incredibly obtuse in other ways. Such an imbalance between ignorance stupidity, mendacity and knowledge, just goes to show how wrong most of the actions of vested interests are.

“In fact, I may ease Homo Sap, as I call them, out of existence. I think I will create a new breed of humans. Perhaps Homo Responsibilis will do as a name for this new breed. I’ll give the matter some thought later.

“Eros, ease up. You have overdone it. Myself, what a den of iniquity. Love and sex are okay, but only within the framework of marriage and responsibility. Egad, the abortion rate almost staggers My mind, even with the pill and other contraceptive devices. It’s intolerable, I tell you. Intolerable.”

“I hear and will obey, Greatest of the Gods,” Eros blushed.

“It may be time to do away with organized religion, its trappings and its advocates. There is almost no resemblance to religion as I conceived of it and the travesty that it has become. Myself, just look at all the human conflict that has come about because of clashes in religious beliefs. I’ll devise something far better for Homo Responsibilus. This mess requires that I do better than I have, especially with regard to monitoring and intercession.

“All of you other Grand Council members mark what I have said . . . and to whom. That does not mean that I absolve you of responsibility both for what has happened down there and for what I want done about it. Hear Me well!

“Pandora you are the only one who will actually go to Earth. The Over-arching God has spoken!

“Oh,” God said as if in afterthought. “I’ll be sure that little snit who thinks he is in charge of the United States and who keeps saying that he is serving by My will is one of those who dies in the most horrible way; his death should be slow and degrading, a death he justly deserves.

“How dare he say that I chose him when it was that horrible woman in Florida who purged the voter rolls, that ninny that devised the butterfly ballot and those five Republican sycophants on the Supreme Court that subverted My design, all whilst I was engaged in critical creation matters. He got in behind My back, as it were.

“When he gets up here, I will teach him and all the rest of those self-satisfied hypocrites that speaking for Me is a form of blasphemy. Then, I’ll make sure the unmentionable one gives them one and all plenty of ‘hell’ while they are serving out their retribution sentences down there.

“I’ll make sure that the entire Congress of the United States comes up, en masse. I’ll give them a few lessons in democracy before I send them down below. While they are down there, the Reichstag and Duma members will be in charge of administering their individual and collective punishments. That should be a bit of ironic justice, shouldn’t it?

“Ninety percent of what the Congress has done over the past several decades has primarily been for the benefit of corporations and the wealthiest ten percent of the population. That’s intolerable. It’s shortsighted in the extreme. I’ll show them what democracy should be like. Of course there are a few good ones. I may even send a few of them back after they have benefited from watching what I do to the really bad apples.

“I’ll make the plague so that all of the illegal drug users are especially vulnerable. They will die like flies. Governments that used interdiction instead of rounding up the users and helping them to kick their habits did not really want the drug traffic to end. Too many of the elitists and other movers and shakers benefited directly or indirectly from drug trafficking. That’s why their efforts were such miserable failures. Also, of course, I will kill off all of the drug lords and their minions.

“Come to think of it, I’ll terminate all of the so-called ‘gliterati’ and their groupies and other hanger-on. What a perfidious excess of vanity, narcissism and wasted talent . . . well, a few of them actually do have talent; but not that many.

“Pandora, provide everyone here with a summary of what I instructed you to do in my emmeld to you before I got here, just to be sure we are all on the same page.”

Pandora rose from her chair. She stood quietly for a few seconds.

“First, I’ll release a great little plague germ that I have been saving for just such an emergency. It will be airborne and it will affect humans, dogs, cats, cattle, sheep, hogs, goats and certain other species. Most of the human deaths will be in cities and towns, especially in the huge cities. All humans and animals that God selects will get become sick; selected ones will survive. The plague will kill virtually all domestic animals and about 50 to 60 percent of the humans. All animals that would suffer due to the loss of their human caretakers will die, but their deaths will be virtually painless.

“God is going to provide immunity from the plague for some farmers, especially in the third world and those in the agrarian movements elsewhere, and for others who can foster His plan for a sustainable-yield world.

“Eventually, it’s going to be back to natural farming and some hunting and gathering for the humans. All of the hybrid crops and genetically altered strains will become ‘history.’ Human muscle power is going to be the norm, along with some animal power and a small amount of mechanical power. Most of the mechanical power that relies on petroleum and electricity will phase out due to energy shortages, lack of replacement parts and the shortage of mechanics and other key personnel.

“After the plague has done its work for about a month, I’ll cut off the world’s non-renewable energies. Father has given me the perfect plan for disrupting the electric grid and for stopping the transport of oil from the producing companies to the major markets in the importing countries. I’ll even have all of the nuclear generating plants shut down. It’s back to renewable energy sources for what will be left of the human race. Almost all transportation will come to a halt, including personal vehicles. There will be some important, but very few, exceptions to all of this.

“Father’s plan calls for the disruption of their broadcast and communication networks, radio, TV, radar, the whole agglomeration. God is going to have every man-made thing in space crash back to Earth. I’m going to release a dandy bundle of computer viruses and other things that will, for all intents and purposes, destroy most computers. In addition, almost all computers in vehicles and other transportation devices will cease to function. Humans will be doing virtually all of their communication on a face-to-face basis, just like they did before the industrial revolution. In the end, travel will be mostly on foot.

“Our Father has instructed me to destroy all of the fertilizer, pesticide and herbicide research facilities and manufacturing plants and to kill the scientists, staffs and support people. Also, all of the pharmaceutical research facilities and the scientists, staffs and support people will die. The use of natural fertilizers is part of the natural order of things. Likewise, the development of natural immunity to disease is part of the evolutionary scheme. It is unseemly that so much of the natural order has been superceded by so-called human ingenuity. That will stop for the time being and maybe for a very long time, if not forever.

“Water, food and energy shortages will lead to heightened levels of human conflict, perhaps including conventional warfare and nuclear exchanges. Massive famines, except among those who can provide for themselves, will follow. When it’s all said and done, about 70 to 75 percent of the human race, probably over 4.5 billion humans, will be dead. It all should take about a year at the most.

“Is that about it, Sire?” Pandora asked.

God seemed pleased. “Very well done, Daughter.”

Pandora sat down, opened her box and pulled out an ugly little creature. She began to pet and fondle it and to coo at it. It caressed her check and snuggled in her grasp.

“Father, communications won’t be totally interrupted unless you do something about cell phones, will it?” It was Simon Peter who spoke up.

God said nothing. He knitted his brow in thought. “I’ll let you’all discuss that and come up with something. My presence is needed back in the creation chambers. Something is amiss there, very much amiss, I fear. Would it were that my creation partners could get along. Would it were. I may have to exert some rather stern authority.”

God disappeared.

Pandora turned and stared at the disciple. “So, what’s your solution? I know you well enough to know that you wouldn’t bring it up unless you had something up your sleeve.”

“Simple. Cause a huge solar flare. That would destroy cell phone communication and virtually every other aspect of their communication systems, if the flare is powerful enough.” Simon Peter replied.

“Solar flare? Yeah, I guess that could be done; but, by whom?” Pandora questioned.

“Thor could do it.” Paul chimed in. He turned toward where Thor had been sitting. The chair was empty. Thor was gone.

“Hmmm. I can’t ask him,” Pandora countered. “He and I are on the outs right now.”

“How’s that?” Judas asked. “As I remember, you and Thor were pretty cozy at one time.”

“Jealousy. He’s been in a snit ever since I dumped him for . . . “ Pandora stopped in mid-sentence. She had said far more than she intended.

“So, Thor’s thore at you, eh, Pandora?” Mars almost sniggered.

“Very funny,” Pandora said. She possessed very little in the way of sense of humor.

“Well,” Judas continued. “That is some lisp he has . . . well, had . . . before he took up with that speech therapist. I’ll talk to him.”

“If he demurs,” Zeus said. “I’ll have a talk with him. He’ll have to do what I tell him.”

“Huh! Since when? He’s always done pretty much what he wants to.” Pandora’s voice seethed with sarcasm.

“Pandora!” All of the disciples and the council members said her name in concert.

“God said no ‘backbiting,’ Pandora. You better watch what you say,” Zeus admonished.

“Yeah. Yeah. I remember. Let’s get on with it. You take care of it. Unless God decides otherwise, have the solar flare happen one Earth month from today. That’s just about the time phase two, the ‘fireworks,’ will happen.” Pandora looked around the table. “Anything else?”

“I think the solar flare is a bad idea.” It was Mercury who spoke up.

“Why?” Zeus asked.

“It’s too general. Too all-encompassing. There are more specific ways to accomplish all of the disruptions. You’ve already mentioned some dandies. I think you have covered all the bases with the instructions and means God has given you,” Mercury responded.

“We’ll talk to Thor about it. See what he says. We have a month to work it all out. Anything else?” Zeus looked around the room as he said this.

Zeus rapped his gavel on the table. “That ends the council meeting. Since God has set forth the plan, there is no more for us to do. Some Great Council meeting. I don’t know why He bothers with us. He summons us as if we are part of the deliberation process and then does it all Himself.”

Without another word, Pandora got up, put the tiny creature back in the box, put the box on her back and left the room.

The human race was about to reap the harvest of its incredible shortsightedness and prove once more that the name ‘Homo Sap’ is a more apt name than Homo Sapien.

Chapter 2: Pandora’s Work

Pandora was in her element. She was going to do what she was created to do. She would unleash a fulsome measure of pestilence, famine, war and death upon the human race. She was acting under God’s explicit orders and with the full power He had invested in her.

It was not her plan but His that she was fulfilling. It was diabolically clever. It was devised to take full advantage of all of the ignorance and cupidity of the vast percentage of humans. It was a plan that would wreak havoc on mankind within parameters that mankind, in its shortsighted arrogance and hubris, had created and therefore that could be fully exploited in what would – to most human observers – seem like natural, rather than through God-incited means.

Pandora marveled at the beauty, symmetry and simplicity of the plan. Only the Immortal and Eternal could have evolved it, Pandora mused. In spite of the irascible personality she exhibited in public, Pandora admired her Sire immeasurably. She was His devoted child and, when God wished it, she was the instrument of His every wish.

She hummed a folk ditty as she whizzed toward Earth. This would be one of the great events in human history. It would be talked about and written about for as long as the human race continued to be a part of God’s grand scheme. She must not fail. She would not fail.

And, yes, the human race was a part, but only a microscopic part, of God’s grand scheme. The grand scheme was a plan that only He knew. Pandora was privy to occasional glimpses, tiny peeps, really, of segments that never gave her an inkling of the total picture. Try as she might – and she did try mightily at times – God kept full knowledge from her and, incidentally, from all of the heavenly hosts.

“Oh,” Pandora paused from humming a ditty to the muses. “I might overshoot the 70 to 75 percent die-off guideline that God has given me. But, what the heck? It’s His plan and what are a few percentage points in the big picture? God can always stop the dying in midstream, as it were, and truncate or even reverse everything that I am triggering.”

Her new little ‘dear,’ as she liked to refer to the microbe, incorporated the worst symptoms of the White Plague and the Black Plague. It would be transmitted from domestic animals to humans and from human to human by way of the air, as those already infected sneezed and coughed, and also when humans shook hands or grasped doorknobs. Also infections would occur when the humans interacted with dogs, cats and other domesticated animals. The die-off for the domesticated species would be nearly 100%. The germ was ideally suited for rapid, worldwide transmission and dissemination.

It took about 24 hours for the plague symptoms to appear once a microbe entered the victim’s body. After that, the course of the disease – for those most vulnerable – was swift and sure: Headache, high fever, great pain throughout the body but especially in the muscles and joints, vomiting, severe stomach and bowel cramps, plentiful and non-reversible diarrhea, painful swellings in the arm pits and in the groin, deterioration of body functions such as those of the liver and kidneys, a dramatic buildup of fluid in the lungs and, often, the onset of opportunistic diseases such a pneumonia, total system failure and death, sometimes within three to four days; sometimes much sooner than that. In a few cases – those chosen by God – much longer.

But that was the picture for only those most susceptible. For some, there were few, if any symptoms, other than those that typically accompany a bad case of the flu. Almost no humans were totally immune. That, and the fact that those living in the cities and towns of the world would be the main focus, would guarantee that only about 25 to 30 percent of the human race survived.

At least half of those infected, especially women, children, the elderly and the already infirm would die from the disease or opportunistic diseases. Others would die from famine and, possibly, wars. By infecting animals in feedlots, hog and chicken factories, for example, and humans at major airports around the world, first, Pandora assured that the spread of the disease would be rapid and that it would reach into to every urban corner of the globe. At first, humans would infect their pets and other domesticated animals; then, those animals would infect other humans.

Pandora arrived at Earth. While on Earth, Pandora was nearly omniscient in the sense that she could be thousands of places nearly simultaneously. She could move at God’s Speed,” which was near infinitely fast. First, she took her nasty little microbe to seven of the world’s busiest airports. She spread a generous ‘application’ of the microbe on the hands of the unsuspecting victims or blew her little ‘dears’ into their nostrils. The humans could not see her. However, one woman did turn up her nose as Pandora stood invisible before her.

“Harold,” the woman demanded. “Was that you? I told you to not eat those beans! Then what did you do? You took a second helping. Aghh!” The woman took out a perfumed hanky and put it up to her nose as she turned and moved away from her husband.

Harold tried to proclaim his innocence. It was no use. He had been the offender far too many times in the past.

Pandora hurried away. “I’ll have to choose my initiating victims more carefully. Perhaps I was down in the unmentionable one’s realm a bit too long,” she whispered. “That brimstone’s odor is pretty powerful and pervasive. It has almost become ‘me,’ my defining ‘trademark,’ as it were.”

Pandora spent the Earthly equivalent of a few seconds at each of the seven airports. At each, she infected several hundred humans. She made sure that the infected ones were bound for diverse destinations. That way, she reasoned, the plague would not only spread rapidly, outbreaks would occur in all parts of the world at about the same time. It was foolproof. The lethal outcome was inevitable.

She visited the major sporting venues all over the world for the weekend in question. She spread the microbes generously through the crowds. She visited thousands of hospitals, graduated care facilities, senior centers and other facilities for the aged and the infirm.

Infecting the animals in feedlots and in hog farms and chicken factories was – if anything – even easier. Pandora merely swept down, infected a few of the animals and let the deadly microbe with its spreading capability do the rest.

Pandora made a special trip to the Congressional chambers in the United States and to the offices, haunts, enclaves, venues, playgrounds and residences of the very rich throughout the world as God had instructed her to do. With her access to God’s near-instant speed, she was able to accomplish even that extensive chore in virtually no time at all by Earthly time standards. She returned to Heaven.

The energy disruption part of the plan was quite a bit more complicated. Near the end of an Earth month, with nearly one half of the world’s population dead and the plague winding down, Pandora returned to Earth and planted explosives inside several of the sulfur removing towers at key petroleum refineries around the world, at the one at Abqaiq in Saudi Arabia, for example, but also at refineries in Russia, Iran, Nigeria, Mexico, Argentina and the United States.

The explosives were timed so that all would go off nearly simultaneously. She placed more explosive charges – timed to go off in consort with those in the refinery towers – at key petroleum loading and unloading ports. The loading platforms at Ras Tanura on Sea Island, off the Saudi coast, were especially chosen because of the huge volumes of petroleum that were on-loaded from there.

In addition, she hid explosive charges in three nuclear electric power generation plants in France and two each in Germany, Japan and China. She did this so that all nuclear plants around the world would be shut down. The explosions would be thought to be the work of insurrectionists. The easy access by apparent saboteurs to three of the most closely guarded plants and to the six others guaranteed that nuclear electric generating plants around the world would be deemed vulnerable by those in charge of security at all plants. The governments and the operators would have no choice but to shut them all down until the mystery of how plant security was compromised was solved.

She set powerful charges in most of the key drug manufacturing plants in the developed countries. That way, the manufacture of drugs to fight the secondary and opportunistic diseases would not be available. There was no drug or combination of drugs (drug cocktails) that could deal with the plague microbe.

Finally, she planted explosive charges in a number of the world’s major cities. She set them to go off almost simultaneously, but not quite. The bombs contained no nuclear material or other contaminants. She did put a 100-pound sack of ordinary flour with each bomb. At the bomb detonated and wafted the flour over large areas, it would be assumed that they were ‘dirty bombs,’ (perhaps containing anthrax). That fear would incite further chaos and rash actions and reactions by some political leaders. She reasoned that, perhaps, even nuclear exchanges would occur.

Getting all of the needed explosive material was no problem. With her God-given powers, Pandora merely extracted the explosives that she needed from war material stockpiles without the possibility of detection while leaving behind the appearance that all of the material was still in place.

The shutting down of the nuclear plants at the same time that a worldwide shortage of petroleum occurred caused disruption of the electric grids for many countries, especially for the unified electric grid system in the United States of America. Wasn’t energy the fulcrum of the modern state? Wasn’t petroleum the lynchpin of modern states’ dependence on energy? Wasn’t nuclear plant safety – generally and from terrorist vulnerability – in the ‘public mind’? Wasn’t the prospect of so-called dirty bomb attacks being featured in the world media?

The problems associated with petroleum and electric energy shortfalls were inestimably magnified by the spread of the plague. With both energy shortages and widespread death, social and economic chaos developed in most of the major metropolitan areas around the world. Health services came to a virtual standstill. Police forces became impotent. Armies, decimated by disease and death, became seriously emasculated, generally, and in most cases because of wide spread desertion by those who survived the plague, almost nonexistent.

Potable water supply systems and human waste removal and treatment systems ceased to function, either regularly or at all. Widespread water shortages developed. Sewers backed up and contaminated drinking water sources. The backups, overflows and contaminations fostered the spread of a myriad of diseases such as cholera, dysentery and e-coli infections.

Drastic energy shortages, especially of gasoline, disrupted food distribution. That led to food shortages in most of the hamlets, towns, cities and megalopolis boundaries of the developed world and in all of the metropolitan areas of the under-developed world as well. The massive, daily delivery of food supplies of every description to food retailers of every sort gives the impression that the modern food distribution system is a cornucopia – an endless source – of food staples and all other products and supplies.

Nothing could be more wrong or more deceptive. A few days’ supply of most of the key, basic food supplies is all that almost all stores have. Daily deliveries create and maintain the appearance of an endless supply. Without gasoline and diesel fuel supplies, the daily deliveries of food drastically slowed, quickly, and finally stopped almost entirely. Those who loaded the trucks and sent them out and those who drove the trucks died in great numbers. Thieves and insurrectionists seized some of the available food stores and took control of some of the food warehouses.

With either no electricity or – in other cases, rolling brown and blackouts – food in refrigerators and freezers spoiled. Most households, at best, did not have food for more than a few meals on hand. Those with electric stoves could not cook what little food they had. Those with gas stoves found the pressure drop and then cease. Widespread hunger began a few days after the petroleum stockpiles were depleted.

Looting occurred. However, since the food stocks in most stores were depleted almost at once by panic buying, the looters – on the whole – found only non-food items in many stores. This led to frustration and to widespread destruction, some of which was directed toward the stores without food stocks. The violence then spilled out into the streets. Soon, much of the violence was vented against government officials and government buildings, especially those where government officials were most likely to be found.

God nixed the idea of the solar flare before it happened. He felt that mass communication was disrupted in enough other ways, what with computer viruses and worms, the plague, energy shortages and general chaos. Newspapers could neither print issues nor deliver them. Radio and TV fared a little better in the early going but near-total disruption eventually became the norm. Essentially all satellites failed and transmission towers ceased to operate. In fact, on His own, God caused every man-made thing circling the globe – including the smallest pieces of trash – to crash back to Earth.

Stock markets around the world closed their doors, suspending all business in the process, as economic panic spread and before the value of all stocks sank to unacceptable lows. Panic buying of gold and silver occurred early on, creating minor riots. But even those ceased in the chaos, in part because of the absence of the communication network and the closing of venues for trading.

The government of the United States seemed to suffer more than most other governments. Both houses of the Congress were devastated by the plague. Government officials, with the failure of the electric energy grid, were evacuated from Washington – where possible – to emergency bunkers. But, even there, emergency communication systems were vestigial, at best, or non-existent. The best-laid evacuation and communication plans did not work out. The plague spread through the bunkers, too.

Pandora’s work was done; really, dramatically ‘overdone.’ The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse were once again in full ascendancy; they ravaged the human race. That human culture related to the industrial age, the nuclear age and the computer age was going through the throes of destruction. A near stone-age existence loomed for those humans who survived. Self-sufficient agriculture – based primarily on human muscle power – would once again become the primary human endeavor. Some hunting and gathering – but not much – would augment the agrarian’s diet.

Pandora made one final survey before she headed back to heaven.

As she approached heaven a great feeling of sadness came upon her. She was, for the first time in her long career, feeling empathy for all of those who had died or would die because of her actions.

She felt depressed. She felt that it was time to ask God for a different assignment, one where she could use His and her creative rather than His destructive powers. She would ask God for a leave of absence and then a new assignment when she rendered her report to God. Even with her newly found feelings, Pandora was too much of a showoff to hold back from reporting back to God. She was, in fact, proud of her work on Earth.

However, in her report, she gave God full credit for the plan that she executed. As she started to reveal her feelings and make her request, God, of course, already knew how she felt. He broached the subject, saying that He felt it was time for a change for her, following a period of rest and reflection.

Chapter 3: Gary’s Escape

“Ladies and gentlemen, the Amalgamated TV Network brings you a Breaking News Special. In just a couple of minutes, the President of the United States will address the nation on the rolling brownouts and intermittent blackouts that have been occurring across the Nation as the National Energy Grid has experienced energy shortages and other problems.

Also, as each and every American citizen knows, a deadly plague has been sweeping across the United States – across the world, in fact – for about a month. Up to 50% of those who come down with this plague, die rather rapid and horrible deaths.

“The President addressed the Nation on this crisis just last week.

“Some sections of the electric grid have been failing nearly every day for the past week. In part, these failures are due to acute coal and natural gas shortages at electric generating plants throughout the country. In addition, the threat of nuclear terrorism caused the shutdown of all electric generating plants using nuclear fuels in the United States following the destruction by terrorists of three electric generating plants in France and two each in Germany, Japan and China that ran on nuclear fuel. It is believed that vast amounts of highly toxic nuclear materials were released when these plants in were destroyed.

“While no reliable estimate of the number of immediate deaths from the nuclear terrorism is available, the death toll – especially as the years go by – will almost certainly be in the thousands, if not much higher. Clearly, the Departments of Energy and of Defense in the United States had no choice except to carefully, completely and safely shut down the nuclear electric generating plants and to place heavy military and civilian guard units at those plants and at all other nuclear facilities. The shutdown of the nuclear plants, coupled with the coal and natural gas shortages were key factors in the brownouts and blackouts.

“We have just been notified that the President is almost ready to address the Nation. We are told that he will be speaking from an unnamed National Security site, somewhere in the United States. Here is the President.”

“My fellow Americans, it is with great sadness that I come before you. When I scheduled this time with each of you, my intention was to address the recent problems with the National Electric Energy Grid, the gasoline shortages, the plague, the food riots, the die-off of millions of animals around the world, the rampant inflation and the general chaos. However, events of the last few minutes set that talk aside. Armageddon may be here at last.

“Nuclear devices – so-called dirty bombs – were detonated in New York City, Chicago, Cleveland, Denver and Los Angeles a few minutes ago and in as yet uncounted other cities around the globe. These despicable acts of terrorism were set off almost simultaneously, pointing to a carefully planned and coordinated operation by international terrorists of the most dreadful and uncaring sort . . .”

Gary’s TV screen turned to snow as the President’s image faded. A few seconds later, the TV screen went totally blank, just as the lights in his house went out.

Gary grabbed the flashlight on the table next to his easy chair and flicked it on.

“Time to head for the sanctum,” he said aloud, even though he was alone in the room.

Quickly, he went into the garage and activated his in-home emergency electric generating system. The lights in the house came back on as Gary strode from the garage into the kitchen. There, he picked up several carefully packed boxes, took them into the garage and packed them into his suburban. From the visor over the driver’s seat, he grabbed a well-worn sheet of paper, folded it open, took a pen from his shirt pocket and began double-checking all of the items on the paper.

As soon as he was satisfied that everything in the way of supplies that was supposed to be in the suburban was there, he hurried back in the house, went upstairs two-at-a-time and into his four- year-old son’s bedroom. He picked up the boy, sleeping bag and all, and returned to the vehicle.

The suburban was so heavily loaded that there was barely room to tuck the still-sleeping boy into a special, soundproofed compartment where the back seat would have been. Gary strapped his son into a special safety harness, covered him with a special Kevlar blanket and closed the small compartment’s door. The compartment was air-conditioned; in fact, there were both monitors and a supply to insure that there was adequate oxygen in the compartment.

At first glance, the suburban looked like any other vintage vehicle. Looks can be deceiving; it was actually powerful, sophisticated, and fitted with hidden body armor. The windows were the best and latest bulletproof glass. The vehicle was armor-plated; it had steel, double back doors. The wiring throughout the vehicle was heavy-duty, and covered with special insulation and protective covering. There were no computers or other modern devices in the vehicle.

Rocket launchers that could be fired, manually or electronically, from inside the vehicle were built into the body and concealed. Two launchers pointed forward and two towards the rear. All four could be swiveled across a broad field of fire and could be aimed and fired through the driver’s helmet. The launchers were loaded and ready to fire. Several spare rockets were carefully and safely packed and aboard.

Gary went back in the house and checked the front and rear door locks. He systematically turned off all of the lights and appliances in the house, including the blackened TV, as he headed back to the garage. There, he donned a Kevlar vest, night vision goggles, and a military-type helmet (complete with built-in light). From a case next to the suburban, he removed a heavy belt from which hung a holster sheathing a Glock pistol. Several fully loaded ammunition clips for the pistol were attached to the belt. He checked to make sure the pistol was loaded, but that the safety was on.

Next, he took a rifle out of the case. He checked to make sure that the ammunition clip was correctly inserted into the weapon. He clicked a live round into the firing chamber, put the gun on safety and slide it into a special holder between the left and the right front seats.

He walked over and turned off the emergency generator, opened the garage door manually, got in and drove the suburban out of the garage. He got out of the vehicle and closed and double locked the garage door.

As he got back in the driver’s seat, he adjusted the night vision goggles, put the suburban in gear and drove out of his driveway. He did not look back. He realized that he might never again see the house that had been a happy home for him, his late wife, his dead daughter and his sleeping son.

The past month was more like a nightmare than reality. First, Gary tried to help his friends as – one-by-one – they first caught and then succumbed to the plague. Among the last to come down was Gary and his family. He and his son survived; his wife and daughter died, the latter just two days before.

Gary drove without lights and relatively slowly. He did not want to attract attention to the vehicle. Also, he took the least traveled streets that he could. He knew the way by heart. It was a carefully considered route.

He passed several homes of friends and acquaintances that he had tried to enlist in survivalist preparations. All of the houses were dark except one. In that one, a couple of candles flickered in the living room window. “Maybe they took some of my advice,” he said aloud. “More likely, they are recovering from or dying from the plague.”

Gary did not stop. He could not do so without endangering his own and his son’s safety and without jeopardizing his plans for escape and survival.

It was not that he did not try to mobilize interest in and preparation for exactly the present happenings. For two years, he wrote letters, contacted friends and neighbors repeatedly – until asked to ‘butt out’ by some. He gave talks to local service clubs, religious groups, book clubs and the like. He appeared on local TV and radio shows. Some of his population, energy and survivalist articles were published in various newspapers, both local and regional.

Most of his efforts went for naught. People were too locked into their lives to change. Most did not believe his message of impending energy shortfalls, untreatable plagues or terrorist acts. He never gave up trying. Now it was too late. Part of his resolve included ‘steeling himself’ from the suffering of those whom he could not help or those who refused to heed his messages and help themselves.

Gary began making plans for this escape to the sanctum three years before. His first step was to enroll in a weight and strength management course at a gym near his house. In the first year, he lost 45 pounds of fat, gained 30 back in muscle and doubled his strength. In addition, he pursued an aerobic routine that he increased across the first year until he was able to work out on the elliptical machines or the stepper machines for up to an hour at the most challenging levels.

In short, he went from an over-weight, almost middle-age slob to a muscular man with high levels of strength and aerobic endurance. For the second year, he continued his strength and aerobic conditioning and, in addition, he took both personal defense and rifle and pistol marksman classes. He excelled in those classes. He also took classes in electronics, small engine repair and a variety of other self-sustaining skill areas.

The freedom of being a successful real estate broker in a booming market allowed him time for each pursuit. His certain belief that he would need the physical and multi-survival skills gave him the motivation he needed.

In addition, he converted his home from a typical energy dependent house into a energy independent, stand-alone home. He increased the home’s energy efficiency by installing additional insulation and low-emissivity windows. He had the house remodeled so that it became a passive solar home. He had a domestic solar hot water system installed. He had a photovoltaic system installed. Over a period of one year, the electric utility company actually owed him money instead of the other way around. The house was a model of energy efficiency and self-sufficiency.

Although he encouraged his wife, Sherrie, to do some physical conditioning and personal defense and marksman training, she refused to do so. “Who wants to live in the kind of world you are training to live in?” was what she said.

She got her wish. She and their daughter, Sarah, were among the last to catch the plague strain that began about a month before and quickly spread around the world before a vaccine could be developed. None of the typical treatment drugs worked. Almost 50% percent of those who came down with the new strain died. Gary and his son, Gordon, both survived. Among those who survived, symptoms ranged from mild to severe. Gary and Gordon were among the lucky ones; their symptoms were more like a bad case of the flu than the oft-fatal plague.

Finding the “right sanctum” turned out to be a stroke of good fortune. One of his college roommates was from a remote area of the state. The roommate’s family owned a large and especially remote ranch, complete with water rights and several homes. In spite of physical (Roger was 6’ 9” and weighed a muscular 280 pounds; Gary was 5’ 8” and weighed an out-of-shape 155 pounds) and personality (Gary was extraverted and socially adept; Roger, at first, was a shy country boy) differences, Gary and Roger studied together some and partied together frequently during the entire four years they were in college. Gary helped Roger become more outgoing and socially adept. Both spent times at the other’s home. And, a-typically, in spite of dramatic career differences, they stayed in touch after college.

It was Roger who first alerted Gary to the possibility of social and economic chaos due to energy shortages, plague and/or world terrorism. Roger majored in physical chemistry, Gary in business administration. Even though they were at the same university, the two received radically different educations and ‘world-views’ from their courses and professors.

Immediately after college, Gary went to work for a large real estate company; Roger worked for a huge, multinational oil, coal and gas conglomerate for several years before returning to the family ranch. During his years with the conglomerate, Roger traveled extensively. His job took him to the far corners of the globe. He climbed the corporate ladder quickly. His career provided him with an excellent, high-level overview of world energy resources and with a firm foundation of understanding regarding the extent of those resources, particularly with regard to when those resources would likely start to become scarce and, therefore, expensive.

Gary scoffed at the idea of energy shortages and social and economic chaos from such shortages, from plague and from international terrorism at first. Then, as the evidence that Roger, over a period of several years, provided for the coming problems mounted, Gary became a reluctant ‘believer,’ then an ardent advocate. That was when he began his personal transformation and when he and Roger began a coordinated, ‘sanctum-sanctorum’ planning effort.

For his part, Roger converted the family ranch from an energy dependent hay and cattle operation into an alternate-technology training center. He charged people of all ages, on a sliding scale based on ‘ability to pay,’ to come to the ranch for classes in various fields related to several alternate technologies and sustainable yield living. In addition, he hired a staff with all of the wide-ranging skills necessary to both convert the ranch operation and to teach the classes. Most of the teachers lived on or near the ranch. All were dedicated to the objectives set forth by Roger in the Mission Statement for the ranch.

In addition to learning alternate technology and sustainable living skills, each teacher and every student had to enroll in physical conditioning programs, personal defense skill classes and weapons’ training classes. Those students who were financially able and willing to do so paid high tuitions.

The ranch soon became totally energy independent and almost totally self-sustaining. It became a model of what ranches were like in earlier times, but with many modern differences. It was not back to the “goat and the loom” (to use B. F. Skinner’s intriguing phrase from his novel, “Walden Two.”) It was more like the fictional Walden Two, but even more sophisticated, energy efficient and self-sustaining. And, of course, the ranch maintained a much smaller population than the fictional Walden Two utopia.

By choosing back roads, Gary hoped to avoid the panic and traffic tie-ups that he was certain the President’s speech – before the screen went black – might initiate. He was only partially successful. On several occasions, he had to shift into 4-wheel drive and veer off the road to get through congestion due to minor accidents. Twice, he had to nose the suburban up to and push abandoned vehicles out of his way. The special grill guard permitted him to do that without damage to his vehicle. In those instances, the suburban proved equal to the task, even loaded as heavily as it was.

As he left the town behind and started up a canyon leading into the foothills, the obstacles raised by abandoned vehicles thinned, until he soon found no more vehicles in his way. Most of those who tried to flee headed for the plains, not the mountains. It was almost wintertime. Already there had been several early-season snows in the high mountains – not exactly an environment the unprepared would head for.

At the end of two hours, Gary pulled off the road and stopped his vehicle on a parking apron. The night vision goggles gave him a good view of the meadows on both sides of the road. It was a pre-determined stop. He got out and relieved himself. Then, he roused Gordon. With encouragement, Gordon relieved himself. Gary gave him a child’s dose of a sleeping pill, rocked him back to sleep and put him back in the special compartment. Just as Gary was starting to pull back on the road, two cars passed by. They were headed in the same direction. Gary took note of them, but could not tell how many people were in each. They seemed to be traveling together and going too fast.

As the hours crept by, Gary guided the suburban up winding mountain roads and over several mountain passes. Since none of the roads he chose was a major highway, he encountered no traffic in either direction or any problems. That is, not until he came to the longest and highest bridge on the route. That’s when he came up on what appeared to be a hastily put together barricade. Two cars were parked, nose-to-nose and across the roadway, shutting off any possibility of driving through.

Gary slowed the suburban well back from the barricade and finally stopped. With his night vision goggles on, he could see that several men were standing behind the cars. The men were armed. Some had rifles, some shotguns. He counted seven figures. Gary kept the suburban running at an idle. He waited.

Finally, a man stepped from behind one of the vehicles. The man raised his right arm. He had a large white item in his hand. It looked like a tee shirt. He waved it like a white flag. The man slowly walked towards the suburban.

When the man was about 20 feet away, Gary activated an electronic bullhorn and spoke: “That’s far enough. Keep your hands up and where I can see them. Any quick movement or other funny stuff and I fire.”

“We mean you no harm. We are peaceable people. We are good Christian men. We need food and money. Give us some food, or money, or both and you can pass unharmed.” The man smiled and offered a peace sign with his left hand.

“I am peaceable, too. I have no extra money or food. Move the cars out of the way. Then, all of you line up, lay your weapons down and put your hands in the air until I have passed by.”

The man smiled again. “No deal, friend. We are desperate. We aim to get what we want, peaceably if possible; otherwise, . . . ” With that, a shot rang out from behind one of the cars. The bullet pinged harmlessly off the front of the suburban.

“That’s not my idea of peaceable ness.” Gary’s voice boomed over the loudspeaker. Move the cars now, or I will fire a powerful rocket and, afterwards, bulldoze the cars out of the way.”

The man waved his white flag vigorously. “That shot was just a friendly little warning to show you that we are desperate and that we mean business. No harm meant, no harm done. As I said, we are good Christian men. Besides, that ain’t no bulldozer you got there, mister.”

“It’ll do the job of a bulldozer, if you don’t do as I said. I’ll give you to the count of three.” Gary started to count, “One, Two . . . ” Two shots and a shotgun blast hit the front of the suburban.

The man pulled a revolver out of the tee shirt and fired, point-blank at Gary’s head. The bullet ricocheted harmlessly off the bulletproof glass.

Gary shifted the suburban into low four-wheel drive. He drove toward the man with the pistol. The man fled behind the barricade. Gary stopped, took aim and fired a rocket into the rear of one of the cars. There was a huge explosion and fire.

There was screaming and pandemonium behind the cars. One man, his entire body engulfed in flames, ran away from the cars toward the other end of the bridge. By the time he was half way across the bridge, he was a human torch. He finally jumped off the bridge into the stream. Two other men, each with his clothes on fire, jumped over the side of the bridge and into the stream below.

Gary waited a couple of minutes to allow the worst of the fire to die down. As he did so, four figures scampered from behind the car that was not on fire and jumped off the bridge into the stream. As the fire died down, Gary pushed the gas pedal down. The suburban inched forward.

Gary aimed the suburban toward the small gap between the two cars. He accelerated just as he hit the gap. The cars swung violently away and the suburban passed through with loud grating noises. Sparks flew.

As the suburban broke through, Gary shifted into a higher gear and drove across the bridge. He heard a couple of shotgun blasts, but no pellets hit his vehicle. “Now, they are without food, money and serviceable cars,” he thought. “Serves them right for attempting armed robbery.”

Then, he saw two cars parked off the road at the end of the bridge. He recognized them as the two cars that had passed him earlier. Something did not look right. He stopped beside the first one. The car was parked on a slope. It was a four-door sedan. The nearside back door was open.

Gary could see a person sprawled on the back seat. He looked closer. It was a woman. She was naked. There were dark stains. Gary realized that she was probably dead. In spite of the risk, Gary turned on a spotlight and swept it over the woman’s body. A large, bloody hole gaped in the center of her chest.

“Not peaceable at all,” he muttered. “Can’t leave those guys now. They will be even more dangerous since our encounter.” Gary turned off the spotlight just as another bullet glanced off his side of the vehicle. He roared away from the grizzly sight.

About one quarter of a mile down the road, he spied a small trail on the left side of the main road. He slowed and turned onto the trail. “Probably an abandoned logging road,” he said aloud. Several were marked on his map, but he did not check to see if this was one of them. He drove about 100 yards down the trail. When he stopped, he scanned as much of the surrounding forest as he could. Most of the trees were pine trees; some were aspen. There was also some heavy underbrush that Gary could not identify with his night vision goggles on.

When he was satisfied that no one else was around, he put the vehicle keys in a vest pocket, grabbed his rifle, quickly opened the door, pushed the lock button down and quietly shut the door. He dove down and rolled into a bush.

He crawled away from the suburban as quickly and as quietly as he could. All the while, he was scanning the area with his night vision goggles. He stopped, waited and then jumped up beside a large pine tree. With his back to the tree, he again scanned his entire field of vision. He took some quick compass bearings. Satisfied that he was alone, he walked back to the suburban and unlocked it. He checked to make sure that Gordon was still asleep. Gordon was.

Gary took four motion sensors from the vehicle and set them, at intervals, around the vehicle. If anyone or a large animal came close to the vehicle, their motion would activate a small receiver built into the helmet Gary had on. When the sensors were in place, he reoriented himself relative to the road and the bridge and set off at a brisk walk. “Time to deal with the murderers,” he whispered.

As he neared the bridge, he heard voices. They seemed to be coming from his side of the bridge, but he could not tell exactly where, or how many there were and he could not make out what was being said. He moved from tree to tree until he could see a small clearing. Four men were standing beside a small fire. Two more were lying close-by in what appeared to be sleeping bags. Both were groaning.

“Two of the three that jumped into the stream to put out their flaming clothes,” Gary thought. “I wonder how badly burned they are. The first one probably died from his burns.”

Gary almost gasped. A young woman was tied to tree. She slumped as if she was asleep or unconscious. Gary looked at her chest until he was fairly sure that he saw breathing. “Probably from one of the cars,” he thought. He moved closer.

The men were arguing. The man who had approached the suburban with the tee shirt was talking and gesturing. He pointed to the two of the other men. “You two go down there” – he pointed towards the bridge – “and clean out the cars. We gotta use them now that ours are destroyed. Now git.”

“We ain’t goin’. They’s dead people down there.” One of the two whined. “We ain’t goin’ near no dead-uns. You killed ‘em, you go.”

The leader stepped forward and slapped the man who spoke. He pulled out a gun and pointed it. “Git down there before I use this on you. I’m in charge here. Only one can be in charge. What I say goes. Understand?”

The two cringed and started toward the cars.

The leader turned to the remaining man. “You take care of that woman over there. I’ll do in Jed and Cloyd.” With that said, the leader walked over and stood between the two men in the sleeping bags. He pointed his pistol and one of them and fired twice. Without hesitating, he turned his pistol on the other man and fired two more shots.

Gary did not hesitate. He aimed his rifle at the leader and gently squeezed the trigger. The force of the bullet’s striking toppled the man backward. Gary turned his rifle toward the second man. Just as he did so, a shot rang out. “Too late,” he said aloud. He sighted his rifle on the man. Gary squeezed the trigger; the man staggered backward, dropped his pistol and fell. The man tried to get up. Gary shot him again.

Gary went to the woman. There was a bullet hole in her forehead. Blood was streaming down her face. Gary cut her down. He could not find a pulse. The woman was dead. He found a sleeping bag nearby and covered her as best he could. Then, he started for the two men down by the bridge.

The two were standing about half way between the clearing and the bridge, clearly confused. “Jerry? John? What’s goin’ on up there? What were all those shots?” One of the men hollered.

Gary didn’t answer. The two carried on a whispered conversation. Suddenly, they turned and started running towards the bridge. Gary followed them. They crossed the bridge and continued running in the middle of the road.

Gary sighted his rifle and squeezed off a round. The bullet kicked up dust just behind and to the left of the running men. They ran faster. He sighted again and shot. This time, the bullet kicked up dust to the right of the men.

“I think that will take care of those two. They will run until they drop or until someone runs over them in the dark,” Gary whispered.

He hiked back to the suburban. After checking the area carefully and gathering up the sensors, he unlocked the vehicle and again checked Gordon. “Still sleeping soundly?” he whispered. No answer. Gordon was fast asleep in his safety compartment. Gary closed the compartment door and the suburban door quietly and got in the driver’s seat.

Gary found a small clearing, turned the suburban around and drove it back to the main road. He turned right and went back to the two cars and the bridge. He drove across the bridge and, using the suburban’s heavy grill, pushed what was left of the burned out car back away from the bridge so traffic could get through. Then, he drove back to the other two cars. A dead man was slumped over the steering wheel of each car. Both had been shot in the face at close range. He closed the rear car door where the dead woman lay, after covering her naked body with a blanket.

He was faced with a quandary: If he took the time to bury the dead, or even only the murder victims, he would be delayed by hours. Too much of the night was already gone. Any further delay decreased his chances of getting to Roger’s ranch. Also, if any law enforcement or military units came upon him, Gary was sure that he would be taken into custody. And, technically, he had murdered two men. He preferred to think that he had executed them for murder and other crimes.

After a few minutes, he wrote out an explanation and slipped it under the sun visor of the car with the dead woman in it. He did not sign the explanation. He got in the suburban and continued toward the ranch.

A second decision loomed large: Should he find a sheltered spot, park for the day and sleep, or go on. All of the dangers of the trip would be magnified during daytime travel. After driving for several miles, he stopped and checked his map. A logging road was not far ahead. He would lie up for the day.

He drove off the main road and onto the logging road. After about a mile, he found a particularly sheltered spot and pulled the suburban into it. He shut off the motor and looked around for several minutes. He realized that his night vision goggles were no longer needed. It was getting light, fast. It was going to be a clear, bright day. He took off the night vision goggles.

Once again, he put the wagon’s keys in a vest pocket, grabbed the rifle, jumped out of the vehicle, closing and locking the wagon’s door as he did so. He rolled into a bush. Still on his belly, he scrambled through the bush and looked around. He crawled over to a large tree and stood with the tree to his back. He studied his field of vision carefully until he was sure that no one else was around.

Using a small mirror, he scanned as much of the field of vision on the other side of the tree as he could. Then, he slid around to the other side of the tree.

“Lay your gun down and put your hands up.” The voice seemed to come from nowhere. It was an unsteady voice. The speaker did not sound American.

Gary dove down, rolled twice and scrambled behind a second tree. He was confident that the Kevlar vest and the combat helmet provided good protection. No shots. No sounds.

He heard a scrambling noise. Then, he heard someone moving away from him. He jumped behind another, larger tree and looked around it.

What appeared to be an old man was hobbling down the road. The man was dressed in military-type camouflage clothing. That was one reason Gary had not seen him.

“Stop or I will shoot,” Gary demanded.

The man stopped and turned.

Gary approached the man cautiously. “What’s going on here?” he asked.

The old man shrugged. “I thought you were one of them,” he said. “You are not or you would have shot and missed. Sorry about the trick, I thought it might work so I would have a weapon to use against them.”

“Who are you?” Gary asked,

“I am Florian Blackbear. My people are White River Utes. This used to be our land. And you?”

“Florian?” Gary asked. “I used to buy my clothes from a man whose first name was Florian. He was not an Indian,” he continued.

“Yes, Florian. One of my ancestors was a Jew. What is your name?”

“My name is Gary. I am on my way to a ranch to meet a friend. I am not your enemy. I am no threat to you or to your people. Who are the ‘they’ that you referred to?”

“Three very bad men are camped in this area. They are trying to kill elk and deer. They are not experienced hunters. It takes them many shots just to wound one animal. They drink liquor and play loud music. We have remained hidden from them, but I fear that they will find us. It is only a matter of time. We are afraid because we have no defense against them.”

“Umm. How many are you? Where is your camp?” Gary asked.

“I will not answer those questions. I must protect my people as best I can. Do you have an extra rifle and some ammunition?”

“Whoa. Not so fast. As you saw when you took me by surprise, I am somewhat capable of taking care of myself. Maybe I can help you and your people as well. But first, I must see to my son. Come back with me. You first.”

As the Indian moved past him toward the suburban, it became evident that he was an old man. He drug one foot slightly. And, though he tried to walk ‘tall and proud,’ Gary could see signs of age, infirmity and weariness.

When they arrived at the suburban, Gary opened the back door and looked in on Gordon. Gordon was stirring. Gary lifted him out. He let Gordon relieve himself, stripped off the boy’s pajamas and quickly dressed him. Gordon eyed the Indian the whole time, but said nothing, uncharacteristically.

Gary turned the boy to the Indian. “Gordon, this is Mr. Blackbear. He is a member of the White River Ute Indian tribe.” Gary took Gordon’s hand and placed it in Florian Blackbear’s hand. Gordon looked away.

“It’s nice to meet you, Gordon.” Florian said as he smiled down at the boy. “I am many times a grandfather. Yes, and a great grandfather, too.”

“I’ll bet you’re hungry, Gordon, aren’t you?” Gary asked.

Gordon merely nodded and started to suck his thumb. Gary took the thumb out of Gordon’s mouth. “We can give you something even tastier than that. Mr. Blackbear, will you have breakfast with us?”

“No, I’d better be getting back to my family. They will wonder. They worry if I am gone more than a few minutes. It has been at least an hour. Just follow this old timber road. It will lead you to us. Come see us after you have had breakfast. I’d like to talk to you about that problem we have; and, about a . . . about something we can use to protect ourselves.”

With that the Indian turned and started down the path.

Gary let him go without saying anything. He turned to Gordon, took him by the hand and opened the back doors of the suburban. Breakfast consisted of cold cereal and milk, bananas and a sweet roll, which they divided. Gordon ate without saying anything. “Not the best, partner, but it will have to do for now. We need to go see Mr. Blackbear and his family.”

With breakfast finished and everything packed back in place, Gary got ready to find the Blackbear camp.

“I gotta go #2,” Gordon said.

Gary sighed, opened the back of the vehicle and took out a small stool and shovel. He walked over to the edge of the clearing and set the stool down. He dug a small hole and set the stool over it. Gordon took down his pants and shorts as he watched.

“Come on, partner. This is the grunt place this morning.” Gary reached out, picked Gordon up and sat him on the stool. “I’ll get some toilet paper for you.” Gary walked back to the truck and got a roll of toilet paper.

By the time he got back to Gordon, Gordon was already off the stool. Gary wiped the boy thoroughly. “Good job, Gordon,” Gary said as he moved the stool aside, looked in the hole, threw the toilet paper in the hole and quickly shoveled dirt in the hole.

“Good job, partner. I’ll bet you’re as glad as I am that we’re back to normal. That diarrhea we had with the plague was a bit too much.”

Gordon began to cry.

“What’s with this?” Gary wasn’t surprised. Gordon had gone from an active, voluble child into a quiet, tearful one since losing his mother and sister.

“I want Mommy,” Gordon sobbed.

Gary took the boy in his arms and rocked him gently. “Mommy’s not coming back, Gordon. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is. I miss her and your sister, too. We have to be brave and accept the fact that they are gone. Sometime life’s like that.” He rocked the boy gently back and forth.

Gordon fell asleep, which surprised Gary. “Hum, maybe that sleeping pill was a little stronger than it was supposed to be,” he whispered in Gordon’s ear. He took Gordon to the suburban and placed him back in the special compartment.

“I’ll go talk to Mr. Blackbear and be back soon,” Gary said quietly before he closed the doors and locked the vehicle. Gary checked his pistol and his rifle before he started down the old road – really little more than a trail – toward the Blackbears’ camp.

Chapter 4: In the President’s Bunker

The President didn't know that the world was no longer listening to or watching his speech. He continued to look at the camera and to speak in his most sincere and forceful manner.

The chief TV producer walked into the broadcast room and interrupted the President. "Mr. President, I am sorry to tell you that we have lost all transmissions. You may stop speaking now. Technically, for all intents and purposes, your speech is not going much beyond this room."

The President looked at the producer with a blank stare for several seconds. As he did so, his Chief of Staff and several of the President's advisors, including he Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of the military, walked into the room.

"What? How can that be? I mean . . . what about all of the military hookups? What about the CIA, the FBI, the Emergency Broadcast System and all of that?"

"The entire commercial system is down, Mr. President. The National Electric Grid is totally down. We can’t transmit via satellite. We have lost contact with everything in space. There may be some emergency backup systems working, but the public – essentially all of TV viewing and the radio listening audiences – and most all other receivers that get their signals via the Electric Grid are off the air. As near as we can tell, the entire cell phone system was knocked out. Most communications are finished."

"Finished?" With that, the President roused himself from the chair he was sitting in and began pacing the room. "What does this mean . . . I mean, how will we get information out to the people? How will we find out what is going on out there? What about those dirty bombs?" The President swept his arms in a broad circle.

The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs cleared his throat. "Mr. President, because of the plague, about 50% of our military capability was compromised. Now, almost all units are experiencing extraordinary levels of desertion. Our commanders tell us — that is they did until the Grid went down — that men and women in uniform were leaving their duty posts and going to their families."

"Can't they be stopped? Can't they be shot as they are deserting?" The President's voice took on a strident air of panic. He took a couple of deep breaths to calm himself. "If one or two are shot as they try to leave, that should keep the others at their posts. Isn't that the way it's done?"

"Sir, normally, that would be so, if the units were at or near full strength and if only a few tried to desert. However, with the number of plague casualties and the disruption in the chain of command from the loss of the Grid and from the fear of the effects of those five blasts, all semblance of military discipline – and civilian, too, if what I heard before the channels of communication were interrupted – is gone."

"Fine thing." The President’s face turned livid. "We spend all those billions – trillions, really, over the years – on the military for what? When the critical need is there, the military fails just like everything else has. What are we to do?”

"If I may, Sir," the President's Chief of Staff (a man only recently elevated to that post when the President's long-time friend who had served in that capacity succumbed to the plague) chimed in, "it will just take some time to assess the situation. Parts of the Grid should come back on, may be coming on as we speak. Emergency communication systems will kick in. Leadership will assert itself, eventually. It will take some time."

"He's right, Sir," the Head of Homeland Security spoke up. "There is always some chaos to begin with. That’s why we had riots and gas stations and looting at grocery stores. Then, it's like a giant airplane in a spin. Built in systems set things right. Things begin to sort themselves out. Discipline is restored. The chaos settles down to a new level of . . . of, well, normalcy."

"Normalcy!" The President turned toward the man and shouted in his face. "You call this normalcy? I haven't had my run, or my nap or a decent sit down meal. I want my routine back. That's normalcy."

"Yes, Sir. I'll see what I can do, Sir." With that the Head of Homeland Security turned and left the room.

"Where's he going? Why did he leave? What's he think he can do about this chaos, this mess?"

The Chief of Staff spoke up. "To the toilet. He's probably going back to the toilet. That's where we found him. He only came along because I ordered him to. I believe he is having diarrhea . . . well, you know, plague-like symptoms."

"Good, God!" The President thundered. "Plague? You brought him in here . . . in my presence? With plague-like symptoms? Are you out of your mind?"

"With all due respect, Mr. President, you ordered me to have everyone ready for a top-level meeting – ‘no exceptions for any reasons’ were your very words – as soon as you finished your address to the Nation . . . er, to the World. I was merely following . . . "

"Now what? What if I come down with the plague? Who takes over? Is the Vice-President still on that hunting trip to Wyoming? Why hasn't he checked in?"

"Sir," the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs responded, "we believe that the Vice-President is sequestered in a bunker in Wyoming. That is where he was supposed to have been taken."

"Supposed? Believe? Doesn't anyone know anything for sure?" the President’s eyes surveyed the room as he asked the question. “What happened to the back-up systems? Why didn’t they kick in? We spent millions on them.”

“Sir,” it was the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, “the back-up systems were undergoing scheduled PM. Brown and Root did not get the back-up back up on schedule.”

“PM? What is that? Why do you people use terms I don’t understand?”

“Sir,” the Chairman said, “PM means preventive maintenance. It’s SOP . . . ah, that is, standard operating procedure to do maintenance on all military equipment and systems before they fail.”

“So, they were preventing failure of the back-up system when the primary system failed, thus making sure that we are out of touch . . . in a communication blackout.”

The Chairman sighed. “That’s about it, Mr. President. The Brown and Root corporation was notorious for not getting things done on time and for cost overruns; however, the Vice-President insisted that we use them. Part of his old company, Halliburton, you know.”

“I know that only too well. Now what?”

"We know one thing for sure, Mr. President," the Presidential Press Secretary spoke for the first time, "we have clean air, fresh water and plenty of food. Enough of everything we need for months, if necessary. We have a well-staffed dispensary . . . well, it will be when the medical staff gets here. And a terrific library. Movies, too. We're safe in here. Out of harm's way. I released a formal, diplomatically phrased press release to that effect just before . . . er, just before the systems failed."

"Ha! Safe? Out of harm’s way? What if the plague wipes us out? What good will your air and water and food do then? Eh? Answer me that. Throw that man with the plague out of the bunker before we all come down with whatever he has; maybe we’ll all die in here." The President shook a finger under the nose of his Press Secretary.

The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs stepped forward. "I'm afraid we can't do that, Sir. We can’t throw the man out of the bunker."

"What? What if I give you a direct order to do it? I’m your Commander in Chief, aren’t I?"

"Fact is, Mr. President, none of us can leave or get thrown out. We are locked in here. 'Til the man with the second part of the exit code gets here, we're stuck." The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs looked at everyone in the room and sighed. "We're all in the same fix."

The President walked up to within a couple of inches of the Chairman. "Now just a minute, Mr. Chairman; what's this nonsense about the man with the second part of the exit code?"

“If I may, Mr President,” it was the new Chief of Staff again. “The man with the code is the one you sent back to get your dog. I advised against it. Then, in the chaos, we took off before he got back to the chopper with your dog and the codes.”

The President frowned. “Dog didn’t make it? Damn. I’m gonna miss that critter. Go on, Mr. Chairman.”

"Well, Mr. President, a separate entrance and exit code was the Secretary of Defense's idea. Sort of a double security measure. We could get in fine, no matter how many – or how few – made it here. Getting out's another matter all together. It's so none of the terrorists could get in here, murder us and get out without being caught. The Secretary was proud that he thought it up. I . . . several of the Joint Chiefs questioned the wisdom . . . "

"Proud? He was proud of a cockamamie idea like that? Sounds like something he'd think up. Makin’ it so’s anyone could get in but us not get out. He was always better at gettin' in than at gettin' out. Didn't have an exit strategy for any of the messes he got me into. Git that Head of Home Security to the dispensary. Somebody find that second man, the one with my dog and the codes. I hate bein' shut in like this. I don't like it. Somebody do something. Where’s my lunch?"

"I'll get right on it, Mr. President. I'll see what I can do." With that, the Press Secretary hurriedly left the room.

"See what he can do? Where's he going? What can a Press Secretary do in a real emergency?" The President wiped his brow with a white handkerchief and sat down. "Someone find out where he is going . . . what he's up to. He’d better not be headed for the toilet." The President waved a hand at the assembled group. Two men, who had been in the back of the room, slipped out the door.

"You, too, General. You go see what you can find out. No matter what you have to do, find that second man and make sure he gets in here. I want to talk to that fool of a Secretary of Defense. Pronto. Have him call me; if no other way works, on my cell phone. That's an order from your Commander in Chief."

“Sorry, Sir. Because of the shielding, cell phones don’t work in bunkers.” With that, the General saluted and left the room.

"The rest of you let me be. I want lunch and the First Lady. My routine is shot to heck and back. I'm gonna git my routine going again or know the reason why!"

The room emptied. Most left with barely a look at the President or a murmur.

As they left, Rufus, the President's factotum slipped in.

"Rufus, bring lunch and tell the First Lady I want her in here. In fact, bring lunch for two, if she agrees to join me. You know what I want for lunch. Right?"

"Yes, Sir, right away, Sir." With that said, Rufus backed out of the room bowing low with each step.

One of the President’s phones rang. He picked it up.

“Hello.” The President couldn’t believe that this phone was working when none of the others was.

“Mr. President, this is your Secretary of Defense. Are you and the First Lady settled into your new quarters?”

“Yes. But how come you could call me when all of the phones are out?” The President seemed annoyed.

“That’s because this is a simple, straight line connection. These phone are not hooked up to anything except themselves. It’s sort of like the two tin cans with a string and buttons that we played with when we were kids. Not quite that simple, of course, but along the same principle. This was to be the ultimate backup for when all else failed, which I guess it has.”

“Well, at least this is one thing you did right,” the President said.

“Yes, Sir, I am always at your beck and call,” the Secretary seemed genuinely happy.

“Don’t give me any of that glad-handing prattle.” The President shouted. “How do I get out of here? The second man with the exit code has not gotten here yet. Where’d you think up an idiotic, jackass idea like that?”

“Second man didn’t show up here, either. Somehow, we took off before he got back with my wife’s cat. Not to worry; there is another way to get out. For now, I think it’s better that no one knows that but me and, a bit later, you.”

“Why’s that? This better be good or you might become my ex-Secretary of Defense.”

“It’s a test of loyalty and nerve – not your nerve, Mr. President. We all know you have plenty of that – the nerve of those who are sharing our bunkers. I didn’t want any cowardly rats deserting the sinking ship . . . er, as it were. You know; that syndrome.”

“Hmmm. I’m not convinced. How do I get out?”

“Please be patient with me a little longer, Mr. President. Then I’ll tell you everything. Believe me, I have my very good reasons, one of which may be treason by someone in the inner circle. Even these phones could be tapped. It’s just a hunch, but it is based on some frightening indicators.”

“Sort of like the weapons of mass destruction hunch, Mr. Secretary?” The sarcasm was intense.

“Well, nobody’s right all the time. Not even you. Look, every message that will eventually go in or out of that place will be recorded. There are sound and movement monitors everywhere. A mouse couldn’t squeak without being recorded. Every . . . “

“Movement sensors? Everything recorded? Have you gone completely bonkers? Didn’t the Nixon Watergate mess over recordings teach you anything?”

“I can assure you that nothing like that will ever happen. No recordings will get beyond my knowledge and control. Everyone and every bit of information generated in the bunker stays in there until we are sure of everyone’s loyalty to you and to the United States of America!”

“Yeah, and to the Republic for which is stands. I’ll trust you on this for now, but not for very much longer. I want to know how to get out of here if I need to. Understand, you donkey?”

“Thank you, Mr. President. He was always one of my favorite characters in fiction. I appreciate the compliment.”

“Compliment? I call you a donkey and you think that’s a compliment?”

“Must be a bad connection. These simple phones sometimes cut out. I thought you said ‘Don Quixote.’”

“Donkey! Donkey!! Donkey!!! We spend billions on this place and we don’t even have a decent connection.”

“Just a little humor on my part. Actually, I heard you quite well. You could be in the next room, given the quality of the connection.”

“Forget what I said. I want information. Reliable, accurate, up-to-date information. Just like . . . well, even better than when we were all in Washington.”

“And you shall, Mr. President. And so you shall.”

“For example, I can tell you that those five explosions were not dirty bombs at all.”

“What! I told the nation that. In fact, I told the whole world that they were. What are you telling me?”

“Well, it seems we jumped the gun on that a bit. Some reporter at the scene of the first blast sent out a story on the news service wire that it ‘may have been’ a dirty bomb. The bomb scattered a lot of white powder that could be anthrax. Then, there were the reports of explosions in four other cities. Someone just assumed that it was the terrorist caused and that they were dirty bombs. The ‘may have been’ got lost in the shuffle, so to speak. Deleted out in the chaos. It’s just one of those little glitches that happens in the modern world of mass communication, instantly delivered.”

“Hardly a glitch. More like another giant gaff on our part. Hasn’t anyone in this government heard of checking sources? Of going to the site of one of those blasts with a Geiger counter? Answer me that.”

“Well, hindsight is always better, as they say. We’ll not make that mistake again, I can assure you of that.”

“You certainly won’t. I can assure you of that.”

“As you wish, Mr. President.”

“What about the Vice-President, the Secretary of State, the other cabinet officers? What about them? And, where’s that darned man with the codes?”

“Some made it to their designated bunkers. Or to backup places. Some didn’t, as of the last word we had. They may well have gotten to their destinations after we lost contact. No one seems to know where either code man is. They are definitely missing, I’d say.”

“What about the CIA and the FBI. Did they get out?” The President asked.

“Who knows? Those spooks had their own evacuation plans and destinations. Top secret. Wouldn’t share with us on a bet. We’re checking it all out . . . er, we were. We’ll get back to checking on them as soon as we can. You’ll know everything as soon as we do. I should have answers for you briefly.”

“What about that false dirty bomb story? What are you going to do about it? How do we punish the responsible parties for that error? Billions of people around the world think that terrorists set off five dirty bombs.”

“Too late to correct for that error, I’m afraid. I ordered the firing of a whole batch of nuclear warheads: One to Syria, one to the Sudan, several to Iran, several along the border between Afghanistan and Pakistan, just in case Bin Laden was still hiding out there, several to North Korea, a few to Russia and a bunch into China.”

“What?” the President screamed and nearly fell out of his chair. “Who approved that? I certainly didn’t.”

“You were too busy, Mr. President. I didn’t want to bother you with a trifle like that.”

“Won’t they bomb us back? Try to destroy us?”

“ Nah! We got ‘em good. What with the plague and all, a little sabotage and a lot of preemption, they probably don’t have much left.”

“Probably! What do you mean probably? What if they know about this bunker and send a bomb here?”

“Ha! Fat chance. No one but me even knows where you are. You don’t know where you are or where I am.”

“It’s a good thing I don’t know where you are. I’d come over there and throttle you with my own hands, if I could get out of here. Donkey doesn’t begin to . . . ”

“Now, now, Mr. President, calm down. I only did what I thought was best for you and for the prestige of the United States. Couldn’t have five of our cities bombed and not do something. That would make us look weak. Indecisive. Inadequate. Wouldn’t do, to look inadequate, I mean.”

“We weren’t hit by terrorists with dirty bombs. What about all those deaths, all that destruction?”

“Well, it should go about 10,000,000 to 20,000,000 to one in our favor. Not the best odds, but as good as we could do on the spur of the moment, so to speak.”

“Don’t you care even a little about all of those deaths?”

“Our people that were killed in those five blasts? Sure I do. Why do you think I sent our bombs over there? I’m not the cold, uncaring automaton the liberal media try to make me out to be, you know.”

“When will we know how much damage we did? When will we know whether they can and will retaliate?”

“Not sure, but it should be soon. Soon, Mr. President. Really soon. Oh, by the way, I have ordered all of our troops home from overseas. Navy, Air Force, the Army, the whole nine yards, except for Korea, of course. That way, we will have them in the United States for the national emergency. It’s for the best. You’ll see. Some things are beginning to work, alread . . . whoops. Gotta go, literally. Talk to you ASAIP.”

“Wait! There’s diarrhea here. May be the plague . . . “

“Here, too, Mr. President. Here, too. Really, really gotta go! ASAIP means ‘as soon as I poop’!”

The line went dead.

There was a discrete knock on the door just as the President hung up the phone. “Come in. It’s not locked, I guess.”

Rufus came in. “Mr. President, Sir, the First Lady will be here in few minutes. The meal is ready anytime you say. Shall we wait until the First Lady gets here or start bringing things in now?”

“Bring the food now. I’m starved. Sometimes her few minutes can be far more than that. Let’s get this part of my routine headed back on schedule, at least. That will be a step in the right direction.”

As Rufus bowed and started to back out of the room, the First Lady slid past him and into the room.

“Hello, Dear. Thanks for inviting me to lunch. I’m starved, too. Though how either of us can eat even a teeny bite with all the death and suffering out there, I don’t know. Can’t remember when I have been this hungry. Must be nerves, what with the rush to get here and all. I . . . “

“Sit down and relax. You’re talking like a hyped-up teenager. I just got off the phone with our esteemed Secretary of Defense. He nuked damned near the whole world.”

“Surely he didn’t. He must have been kidding. Where is he?”

“Don’t know. Not supposed to, I guess. Just like us, he’s locked away in a bunker somewhere. Maybe he was putting me on about the nuking thing? He’s checking on the Vice-President and on some of the other people who, so far, are unaccounted for. You okay? You looked bushed. That damned fool Head of Homeland Security has diarrhea. Maybe he has the plague. Lied to get here. Didn’t reveal that when he got his clearance to come with us . . . or, I guess he could have developed it later.”

“Where is he now?”

“Away from me. Dispensary, maybe; anywhere but here. I wanted him chucked out of the bunker, but no one can get out just yet. One of the Secretary of Defense’s cockamamie ideas. Says it’s for security and to check loyalty, nerves, crap – whoops, better not use that word – like that.”

“Well, maybe it’s a good idea. Wouldn’t want rats deserting the sinking ship, would we?”

“Just what he said. Also don’t want any unwanted rats in, though how that would work is beyond me. No information leaks either if we can help it. Not that that matters, what with the Grid down and the communication channels out and things in chaos.”

“Is it the end of civilization, Dear? I’ve heard that it might be. That’s what our daughters think. I don’t know what to think.”

“Our daughters always think the worst. They probably think this is all my fault.”

“Now, Dear, not always; maybe just a little bit, once in a while.”

“Things are pretty bad. It could be the end, couldn’t it?”

“Nah. It’s like a huge airliner, out of control and in a spin. Built-in safety mechanisms come into play. The chaos subsides. Order will be restored. Just takes a little time. We’ll be out of here and back in the White House before you know it. That’s what some of my advisors say.”

“I wish I could be sure of that. If only we had TV or radio, anything to give us reliable information, news, on what is really going on out there, especially in the cities where those nasty, nasty bombs exploded.”

“Yeah. Tough to be without any good information sources, not that those darned TV channels ever were. Rumors aren’t no good. Maybe this is one of those times when ignorance is bliss, as the old saying goes. The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs is working on it. We’ll be back in the know soon. You’ll see. It’s always darkest before the dawn.”

There was a knock at the door.

Rufus and several serving people brought carts of food in, plus everything needed for an elegant meal. They set it up and began serving the President and the First Lady.

“Ah, this is more like it. A good meal will make everything seem better. After that, I am going to take a nap. Later, I’ll see if I can schedule a run. I need to get back on my running schedule. I desperately need to get back on all of my schedules. I hate having my routines interrupted.”

“Speaking of routines, Dear, isn’t this our night to cozy together? I’ve heard that humans produce more sex hormones in times of great turmoil. I can certainly relate to that. I can’t wait to see you later. How about you, Honey?”

“What? I wasn’t paying attention. I was trying to figure out what’s in this meat sauce. Go on. Say again.”

“Oh, never mind, Mr. President. It was nothing.” With that, the First Lady got up and stormed out of the room. The door slammed.

“Now what have I done or said? Good. This meat sauce is really good. Too bad she left before trying it.”

As soon as he finished eating, the President summoned his Chief of Staff. “Has that second man arrived with the code and my dog?”

“No, Sir, not yet. We are keeping a close watch on the door, though. When he comes, not only can we not let him in, we can’t get out.”

“I know that, for God’s sake. Get the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs in here. I need to talk to him. The Secretary of Defense said some very disturbing things. Very disturbing.”

“Yes, Mr. President. Right away, Sir. I believe the Chairman wants to talk to you, too.”

The Chief of Staff went to the door, opened it slightly and said, “General, the President wishes to speak to you.”

As the General entered, the President waved him toward a chair. “You’d better sit down for this. I’m pretty darned sure that you are not going to like it.”

The General sat on the edge of a nearby chair. “Yes, Mr. President, what is it? More bad news?”

“Well, I suppose that depends on your point of view. The Secretary of Defense told me that he unleashed a rather substantial preemptive nuclear strike . . . ”

The General jumped up from his seat and clear off the floor. “Nuclear strike!” he boomed. “Why, that’s impossible. Absolutely impossible . . . I think . . . ” his voiced trailed away.

“Which is it? Absolutely impossible. Or, I think? I need to know. Did he send those missiles out, on his own, without my approval . . . or anyone else’s so far as I know . . . or didn’t he? None of this waffling. It’s not acceptable.”

“Sir, when we set up the firing sequences and the codes, it was set up so that only you could do it. There were even fail-safes that you would have to go through. I can’t see how he could have gotten around . . . ”

“Yes, yes, I know all about the sequences, the codes and the fail-safes. But either he had the missiles fired off or he lied to me. I have to know which and more than soon, too.”

“I’ll get right on it, Mr. President. Some of our communication channels should be opening up any minute. There is one thing, though, . . . about the Secretary of Defense.”

The General paused and rubbed his massive chin. “He . . . well . . . he didn’t always trust us, Sir. He was . . . how shall I put it? Secretive. He had his own way . . . er, I hate to use the word, but he was very devious. Sometimes, it was as if he thought he was the only one who knew what to do, when to do it . . . ”

“Tell me about it. Look at Shock and Awe. What a disaster that was! Unmitigated disaster. I thought we had him talked out of it.”

“We did too, Sir, in the beginning. Then, when General . . . er, the Secretary of State went along . . . “

“Caved in, you mean. Say it straight, or not at all. What a pathetic thing that was he did at the United Nations. Nearly made me puke. And you, you sat there all along, nodding your head like a manikin. Why didn’t you speak up, man?”

“Chain of command, Sir. Army is nothing without a rigid chain of command. I thought you were one hundred percent behind it, too, Mr. President.”

“I was, but I hated to see a man like that go against his own firm belief. I knew he was no good to anyone after that. Eased him out as soon as I could.”

“I never knew. I became fully committed after he made his presentation to the U. N. Before I came around to his way of thinking, the Secretary of Defense said he would break me down to a private and strip me of all of my medals and of my retirement benefits. Everything. I couldn’t stand up to that. He can be very threat . . . er, persuasive.”

“Tell me about him and his persuasiveness. What a bunch of messes that got me into.”

“Sir, Mr. President, if I may, let me go do some checking. I’ll get back to you as soon as I have something hard, definitive . . . that is, to tell you. Meanwhile, Mr. President, look on the bright side: If those missiles went out, there won’t be any coming our way, will there?”

“That’s another thing I don’t know for sure. Oh, I almost forgot. He said that he ordered all overseas troops and materiel back to the states to take care of the national emergency here. Planes, ships, the whole nine yards, except for Korea, of course. Can that be?”

The General staggered as if he was going to faint.

“Well, can it be?”

“Absolutely . . . er, no Sir, I don’t see how that can be. Was the Secretary of Defense in his right mind?”

“Was he ever? I wonder.”

“I’ll be in touch, Sir.” With that an ashen-faced Chairman of the Joint Chiefs left the room.

Chapter 5: The Urban Hermit

Hewitt Branson, the 4^th, was watching the President’s address when the TV and lights went off. He reached down and picked up the flashlight that he kept beside his recliner and clicked it on. It was a small flashlight but produced a powerful beam.

Hewitt got up from his recliner and walked through several rooms of his penthouse to the kitchen. There, he opened a door that led into a room that was filled with elaborate control panels. Hewitt moved from panel to panel, turning some switches off and some on. As he did so, he kept checking and double-checking a diagram on the wall between the two main switch boxes.

After his third check of the position of each of the dozens of switches, he flicked one last switch. Every light that had been on before the power failure came back on and he could hear the hum of the refrigerator/freezer in the kitchen. “Ah,” Hewitt said aloud. “Everything seems to be in order. Must be about time for my first meal under the new regimen.”

Hewitt went back in the kitchen and up to the double door refrigerator/freezer, opened both doors, took out several cartons, of a variety of sizes and appearances, and placed them on the butcher block island. He closed the doors and set about preparing a rather elaborate meal, alternately whistling and singing softly.

Suddenly, he stopped short with his preparations. “No need for me to be the entertainment. Not when far better things are a mere touch of the fingertip away,” he said. With that, he went over and turned on a CD player. Soft, beautiful classical music filled the room. “Much better,” he purred, as he returned to the meal preparation.

Hewitt’s preparations for the advent of a plague, for the National Electric Grid failure and for the attendant chaos began with the 2003 electric grid failure that left some 52 million people in the Midwest, Eastern United States and parts of Canada without electric power.

With more than adequate funds and connections to resources, he was able to completely revamp his penthouse from what he termed an “energy hog” into a model of energy efficiency.

First, he replaced all of the light bulbs in the penthouse with energy efficient, long-life florescent bulbs. Then, he replaced all of his appliances with those of the highest energy efficiency. His next steps were far more ambitious and expensive. He had solar photovoltaic cells installed on part of the roof of his penthouse and on part of the south wall of the two floors below the penthouse. Since he owned the entire building and four adjacent buildings, all of the changes presented no problems that money, expert consultants and contractors could not solve.

His final retrofit projects involved changing the controls and construction of the building stairwells and elevators so that the top four stories of the building could be sealed off from the bottom ten stories. This was done so his penthouse and the three stories below the penthouse could not be accessed from the lower ten stories under almost any circumstances, except by him or under his direction. Certainly, if anyone tried to get up beyond the 10^th floor, he would know it at once because of elaborate sensor systems.

In short, his was a virtually impregnable fortress. It was also completely energy self-sufficient and it had an internal water supply that would last for months. He had a two-year supply of non-perishable food stored. He had a small garden and greenhouse for year-around fresh vegetables and selected fruits and berries. In short, he had the basic necessities of life. Beyond that, he had most of the “extra” conveniences that he was used to.

In spite of all this, the building looked from both the inside and the outside like any other 14 story building in this large-sized, mid-west city. His building was purposely nondescript and was surrounded by similar buildings, though it was the tallest building within a couple of city blocks. The main area of the city’s skyscrapers was about a half-mile away.

He scheduled the planning and the work of the various projects so that no one, other than himself, was aware of the overall plans for and consequences of the changes. Only someone as rich as he, could have had it all done, at all, let alone on the tight schedule he set for himself and the changes. But then, his rise from poverty to financial success was due in no small part to his ability to think globally, to plan carefully and completely and to act with forceful discretion.

As soon as he was aware that a plague was decimating the world’s population, he sealed off his hermitage. In the month that followed, he did not see anyone in person. Any contact he had with people was through electronic means only. He had no pets, thus avoiding one of the most certain ways of contracting the virulent virus.

He decided to call himself the “Urban Hermit.”

After a comfortable evening of reading while listening to some of his favorite classical and Celtic music, he went to bed around midnight and slept soundly for his usual five hours. When he woke up, it took him only a few minutes to become fully aware of the events of the previous evening.

He took a lukewarm ecology (brief) shower (all of the water he used would be cycled and re-cycled), put on a pair of briefs, shaved, drank his three glasses of juice (orange, grapefruit and grape), ate a bowl of especially prepared cereals and drank a cup of herbal tea. He was set for the first order of the day’s business.

Hewitt slipped into a set of heavy work clothes: shirt, trousers, steel-capped boots and – after checking the weather – a medium-weight jacket. Then, he went out on the penthouse’s large veranda. He checked his greenhouse and the garden, watering the plants and small trees as he did so.

He picked up a pair of binoculars, went to the parapet and began to systematically scan those parts of the city that he could see. He started with the mile or so of the cities major freeway that was visible from where he stood.

There was no traffic or other movement on the freeway that he could see. The vehicles were jammed together in one huge gridlock. Some were obviously damaged. All appeared to be abandoned. Next, he looked up and down the streets and at the buildings.

Hewitt saw no evidence of life. He knew that people were still alive out there, probably people desperate for water and for food. He wondered where the living people were. “All of those who did not make it out of the city are probably hunkered down in their houses, waiting for the inevitable,” he reasoned to himself. “Still, I must be ever-alert and prepared to defend myself. There may well be roaming gangs of desperadoes out there, even if I can’t see any of them from here.” He was used to talking out loud; his had been a life of singularity.

He put the binoculars down, returned to the penthouse, went to the elevator, switched off the alarm systems and took the elevator car to the 10^th floor. Over a period of several months, he had terminated all of the leases for those who rented on the 11^th, 12^th and 13^th floors, so he could have the necessary construction changes made.

Once on the 10^th floor, he checked every hallway, office, closet and stairwell. Because of the late hour, no one should have been in the building when the President started his short-lived speech. But Hewitt was a cautious man. He wanted to be sure that everyone who possibly could be in the building – legally, or not – was not there.

Methodically, he worked his way down to the ground floor and, finally, to the basement and the two-level parking garage. He found no one and nothing that he did not expect to find. He made sure the entrances to the parking garage, the service entrance and the main entrance on the ground floor were all fully locked.

He went back to the service entrance to let himself out. As he opened the service door, Hewitt took out a pistol and looked up and down the alley before going out. He closed and locked the service entrance door and dashed across the alley to the service entrance door of the next building. It was one of the other four buildings that he owned on the block. Each of the four other buildings had specially reinforced front and service doors. In addition, there was a hidden room in each filled with water, food, basic medical supplies, other emergency supplies and camping gear.

Finally, each building was equipped with a short-term emergency electric generating system. Hewitt also had basic security systems installed on the other four buildings. All of this other work was done so that Hewitt would have four “hidey-holes” in case something happened to his main building.

The service door was locked. Hewitt took out a key and let himself in, after looking up and down the alley and listening for two minutes by the sweep secondhand on his watch. He did not want to be taken by surprise.

Hewitt reversed the search process in this building. He started in the basement and quickly but thoroughly checked the entire building. Anyplace where there was not daylight, he had to use his flashlight. He found no one and nothing seemed out of place. In fact, considering the fact that the plague had wrecked havoc with the city’s population over the last four weeks, things were in remarkably good order.

By the time he finished checking the second of the smaller buildings, it was well past noon. He decided to skip lunch and finish the remaining two smaller buildings before going back to his penthouse stronghold. He was searching the third floor of the third smaller building when he began to smell a familiar, but un-welcomed odor. It was coming from an insurance agent’s office. Hewitt pulled out his pistol, peered into the office as best he could and then rushed in at a crouch.

The caution was unnecessary. The body was sitting upright in a chair behind the insurance agent’s desk. A silent TV set sat across the room, facing the dead man. It was the insurance agent. The insurance company had been in the building for ten years. However, since all of the rental and other contacts with renters were through Hewitt’s rental office and maintenance staffs, Hewitt had never met the agent.

The agent had put a pistol in is mouth and pulled the trigger. The gore on the wall behind his desk was not pretty. The gore and the body had begun to putrefy. Hewitt put on a protective mask and got a custodial cart from that floor’s custodian closet. He cleaned the gore off the wall as best he could. He went to the central control room and activated the emergency electric system.

With great effort, Hewitt hoisted the man onto the cart and wheeled the cart back into the hallway and onto an elevator. He wheeled the cart off the elevator and to the front door of the building. Cautiously, he opened the front door, walked out on the sidewalk and looked up and down the street. Nothing stirred. He pulled the janitor’s cart out to the sidewalk, dumped the body off and pulled the cart back inside.

“A dead body might keep people from trying to enter the building,” he reasoned to himself. He returned the cart to the janitor’s closet and closed the door. He then went to the control room and turned off the emergency electric system.

That was the only unexpected thing that he found in his search of the four buildings. It was dark by the time he finished inspecting the last of the buildings. In fact, for the last 30 minutes in the fourth building, he had to use his flashlight 100% of the time.

He went back to the fourth building’s service entrance and listened at the door for a couple of minutes before opening the door. He then drew and cocked his pistol, which he held in his right hand and slipped out into the alley, locking the door only after standing in the dark for a couple of more minutes. He reached in his pocket and pulled out the unlighted flashlight with his left hand. Hugging the wall, he walked cautiously toward the street. Every few steps, he would stop to listen.

Hewitt had seen no sign of life at any time during the day. He was still cautious. He knew that around fifty percent of the people had survived the plague, up to the time the TV news coverage stopped. There were bound to be desperate people about, searching for drinkable water, for food and – though it might not be worth much until things began to return to some semblance of normalcy – for money.

He paused at the end of the alley for a minute before sliding around the building’s corner to the sidewalk. He looked up and down the street. It was not yet fully dark, but enough so that he could not see very far. He listened. After a couple of minutes, he headed for the entrance to his main building. Just as he got to the front door of his main building, he heard running footsteps.

Hewitt stepped into the building’s entrance alcove, but away from the front door. As he did so, a man shouted. “You there, whoever you are, hold up. I want to talk to you. I just need some water and food, that’s all.” As the man entered the alcove he stopped at the front door and started to turn toward Hewitt. The man had a large stick in his hands. He raised the stick to strike Hewitt.

Hewitt pointed his Tazer and fired directly into the man’s chest. The man was thrown back by the force of the shock. Briefly, Hewitt switched on his flashlight and directed the beam onto the man’s face. Pure startle was evident on the man’s face. Hewitt did not recognize the man, who was slovenly dressed and unshaven. Hewitt turned off the flashlight, grabbed the man by his coat collar and drug him so that the man’s inert from was half in and half out of the entranceway. Hewitt picked up the stick and put it beside the man.

“I’ll bet he will think twice before coming around here again.” This time, he said it out loud.

Hewitt realized that he was hyperventilating. A wave of nausea swept over him. He lurched to the curb, knelt down, and vomited into a storm drain. He realized he was vulnerable to a second attack. He got up quickly and looked up and down the street. He checked his assailant. The man’s breathing was labored, but he was still out.

Then, he entered the building, closed and secured the front door, checked to see if any of the security systems had been set off, went up in the penthouse elevator and was once again in his fortress. Except for the dead insurance agent and the confrontation with what was probably a dangerous and desperate robber, the day had gone pretty much as Hewitt wanted it to.

He undressed, washed his hands and face, put on some lounging pajamas, prepared his evening meal, sat down and began to eat his dinner, with soft, soothing music in the background.

Chapter 6: The Guard Commander

As the President’s image faded and the TV screen went blank, the house electricity went off. National Guard Major Lynch reached down and pickup up the flashlight on the second shelf of the end table. He flicked it on, got up, walked over and turned the TV off. He went into his bedroom and changed into his military combat uniform. It was the mottled green, brown and tan appropriate for the mountain flora around his town.

Fully dressed, he went into the den, unlocked the gun case and took out his standard issue sidearm. He slipped a clip of live rounds into the pistol, activated one round into the firing chamber, put the weapon on safety and slipped the weapon back into its holster. He strapped the belt with the holster and additional ammunition clips around his waist. He pulled an AK-47 out of the gun rack, loaded it, advanced a live round into the firing chamber, put the weapon on safety and slung it over his shoulder.

Major Lynch had to open the garage door manually. He backed the military version of the Hummer out of the garage and manually closed the garage door. Before getting back in the vehicle, the Major looked at the house next door and those across the street. All were dark. That didn’t surprise him. Most of his neighbors had scoffed when he went around the neighborhood suggesting that they lay in supplies of candles, basic food supplies, flashlights with extra batteries and all of the other things necessary for survival during an extended national emergency.

The major would return to his neighborhood later. He knew where his primary duties and responsibilities were and he was determined to fulfill them as best he could. He got in the Hummer and turned on the radio. Nothing but static all across the AM and FM bands. He was not surprised. His faith in the emergency network – in most aspects of the military and the government – dissipated following 9/ll and the Iraq war fiasco.

His loss of faith did not extend to himself and his ability to meet and master emergencies. He trusted himself and his unit. For almost two years, he and his men and women trained for just such a contingency.

He pulled over to the curb a few blocks from his house and stopped. Almost at once, three men in military uniforms emerged from the house. Each had a sidearm on and carried an AK-47.

“So far, so good,” Major Lynch said aloud. He greeted each man as they got in the vehicle.

“I see you men watched the President’s speech as we agreed and reacted appropriately to the loss of the picture and the power. Congratulations and welcome to what I think will be an extended tour of duty, all within the framework of Martial Law.” There, he said it. The key term that would determine most of what they did starting this night.

“Unless I miss my guess,” the major continued, “we are going to be the government, the law, the entire civil and military control here, just what we planned and trained for. There were sounds of assent from each of the men.

“Did you settle your families in before leaving your houses?” Major Lynch knew that it was an unnecessary question. He knew they had. That was part of the plans and the training. The question was more in the way of opening up conversation that asking for information.

“Yes, Sir, we all did.” Sergeant Baker spoke up. “It’s a good thing we did drills like we did. Otherwise, I don’t think my wife and kids would have let me leave them. “I told them, we would be back on patrols real soon.”

“How about you, Corporal Young? Did you take your bride next door to her parents before saying goodbye?”

“Yes, Sir, but I must say it was not an easy thing to do, even though it went just like in the drills. Her dad made it easier than it might have been. He was in the service, as you know, and he took charge of the situation. Even before I got there, he had candles burning and everything set up down in the basement in the hidey-hole.”

“My two teenage boys took charge at my place.” It was Corporal Rivera who spoke up. “We been through the drill at least a dozen times. ‘Course drills aren’t like the real thing. My wife was pretty upset, especially by what the President said just before the TV went blank.”

“I’m not surprised. To be cut off after saying something that scary probably freaked out most of the people who were trying to watch. I hope he was wrong. Sometimes, the news hounds jump the gun on something like that. Look at the Oklahoma City bombing. The news media assumed it was foreign terrorists, right off the bat.”

“Yeah,” Sergeant Baker chimed in, “they really got that wrong. So did the government. If that trooper hadn’t pulled what’s-his-name over almost at once, there would have been a huge reaction like the one after 9/11. Finding out it was an American who did it was hard to swallow.”

Just as Baker finished, Major Lynch pulled through an unlocked gate and up to the main entrance to the National Guard Armory. The four got out.

“Hey, looks like we’re the slowpokes. This place is lit up like nothin’ has happened. Someone must have fired up the emergency generators. Let’s see who all is here.” As Major Lynch finished speaking three more vehicles pulled in single file. Four personnel got out of the vehicles, including two women. Three got out of the fourth vehicle.

“Looks like we are missing Corporal Jenson,” Sergeant Baker said as his eyes darted over the new arrivals.

“He’ll show. He was probably watching TV downtown, since he doesn’t have a TV at his apartment. It will take him a little while to pedal his bike home and then out here, once he changes into his military attire.” As Corporal Rivera said this, he said ‘attire’ as if mimicking someone else.

A bicycle wheeled into the compound. Corporal Jenson got off by the main entrance, snaked a lock through the wheels and came over to the group.

“Let’s muster inside, see who’s here and who isn’t and get on with Plan A.” As Major Lynch said this, the group filed into the building. As they were going in, a string of civilian vehicles, cars, pickups and SUVs pulled into the compound and parked. The occupants got out and hurried toward the main entrance.

Major Lynch walked over to the communication center. One of the machines was working. The only messages were several hours old and these were routine messages from various higher commands. Lynch was disappointed, but not surprised. It was the ‘worst case scenario’ his unit was trained for.

Lynch went to the front of the assembly room. As he did so, the talking ceased and the guardsmen and women went to their assigned places.

“Good evening. It looks like everyone is here. Is that so, Lieutenant Sanders?”

“All present or accounted for, Sir. Two are on leave. Since they are both out of town and since all means of communication are dysfunctional, it may be some time before they can get in touch.”

“Thanks, Lieutenant Sanders. My thanks to each of you. I know it was not easy for you to leave your families and come out here as you did. Until we hear otherwise, I am going to assume that a National Emergency is in effect and that Martial Law has been declared. Because I feel that time is of the essence, we are going to set aside normal preliminaries and get to the heart of the matter.

“Plan A is in effect. Accordingly, I want each team to proceed immediately to its assignment. Grocery stores are, as you know, first on the agenda. We must prevent looting and any other civil disturbances. With the national energy crisis, the grocery stores have not been getting regular, full replacement. There are already some shortages; more will follow. That’s where our emergency stocks will come into play. But, until that happens, we must prevent any and all looting. We will control the rationing out of food supplies on an “as needed” basis. The supermarket managers are expecting us.

“Control of bulk gasoline and propane outlets is next on the agenda. There are already shortages of each. My best guess is that those shortages will magnify. Again, order must prevail. There have been some acts of violence due to the long lines at gas stations. We cannot guard the retail outlets; so, the bulk dealer is where we will set up control. The bulk dealers are expecting us and we will be most welcome.

“Even though it is unlikely, another focus will be the hospital. Their emergency systems should carry them through several days, at the least. It is the rush of people who are hungry and without heat or lights that will cause the problems out there. We need to be there to be sure that order is maintained. The hospital administrator is expecting us.”

“For now, we’ll let the sheriff and the police handle their jurisdictions, unless they call on us for help. Chief Craig has been fully cooperative. That is not the case with the sheriff. He feels that he should be in charge and that we should do his bidding. That is not the way Martial Law functions, but we will cut him some slack, unless it become obvious that we must move in. We may have to throw him and his two chief henchmen in jail. We will do that, but only if we have to.

“The sheriff resisted all of my entreaties for preparation. He’s a hard case; sort of a bully and a ‘little tin god’ all rolled into one rather ample body.”

The group laughed.

“The next priority will be the banks. I have cleared our role with each of the bank presidents. Runs on the banks will likely occur. They have in past economic panics and other emergencies. People will demand their money. However, unless the electronic systems come back up, I think we are going to be on a barter, not a cash, basis. Depositors are not going to like that. Neither is the business community. We’ll do the best we can and see how things develop.

“Finally, we’ll protect the electric utility offices in this area and the one electric generating plant in this jurisdiction. I tried, without success, to determine what the effects of a national electric grid shutdown would be. I guess nobody really knows. I also tried to find out what the chances are of our local utility ‘tapping into’ the two big power plants to the south of us and, essentially, got nowhere. The local plant managers have little discretion. Those plants are part of a huge consortium.

“That’s it. Each of you has her or his assignment and we have gone through the drills. Since we don’t have any means of communicating between the field teams and headquarters, here, I will be roaming around. Keep cool. If you need to make arrests, do it quickly and as quietly as you can. Don’t fire unless fired on. Good luck. We are going to need it, luck that is.”

The Major stood by as the various teams filed out, got in their respective military vehicles and moved out.

Chapter 7: The Religious Cult

The forty-three members of the Christ’s Lamb Church were assembled in the former store that served as their temporary sanctuary. They were kneeling before the giant TV screen and watching the President’s speech when the picture faded then the screen went blank.

Sister Hope and Brother Shepard got to their feet and turned toward the congregation.

Sister Hope raised her hands as if in benediction and said, “Did you hear that, brothers and sisters, Armageddon is here. It is time for us to experience Rapture. The President said it. That makes it official. This is the blessed time that we have been praying for. It is time for us to join the mighty multitude that will arise. It is time for us to take the final step toward eternal salvation.

“The eternal life potion is ready. It is on the table behind me. There are cups. As you come forward, Brother Shepard will hand you a cup that will be half full. Do not drink any of the eternal life potion until every one is back at her or his seat. Then, we will offer one last prayer to Our Savior, Jesus Christ, before we drink the salvation potion that will release us from out earthly husk. Only then can we experience Rapture and truly be free to join the Armies of Christ in the last great battle before each of us is accepted into Jesus’ arms for our place in heaven’s eternal bliss.

“Brother Shepard, will lead us to the bowl of salvation. Come, one-by-one, follow him. I will take the last cup of eternal life. Then we will pray and drink salvation.”

Brother Shepard walked up to the table and began ladling portions of the mixture from the bowl into cups. As each member of the congregation walked up and accepted a cup from Brother Shepard, he blessed them. Sister Hope was the last to approach the table. He handed her a cup that had been setting near the bowl and she returned to her place at the head of the congregation. Brother Shepard picked up a second cup and walked to his place beside her.

“Let us have a silent, fervent prayer,” Sister Hope said. The hall was quiet for about a minute. “Amen,” she said.

“Amen,” the congregation answered.

Sister Hope raised her cup. “Drink for the love of God. Drink for the love of Jesus. Drink for the love of the Holy Ghost. Drink so that you may shed your earthly husk with its sufferings and burdens and sorrows. Drink for Rapture. Drink so that we may enter the Kingdom of Heaven together.

Sister Hope drank from her cup. Brother Shepard drained the contents of his cup.

The congregation did the same as Sister Hope and Brother Shepard looked on to be sure that everyone did, in fact, drink.

Sister Hope began to moan. She fell to her knees. She screamed, “Lord Jesus, I am coming. Lord Jesus, I will be there when the Last Battle is fought. I will be beside you. I will slay the armies of the evil enemy. We will triumph!”

Brother Shepard staggered and fell to the floor. One-by-one every member of the congregation slumped or fell. Some sat on their chairs and tipped them over or fell from them. At the end of five minutes there was naught but silence. Naught but death.

Sister Hope got to her feet. So did Brother Shepard. They embraced and kissed.

“Quick. Let’s make sure that no one is faking. We must be sure everyone is dead,” she whispered.

Brother Shepard and Sister Hope went to each member of the congregation and checked for signs of life.

They were going down the last row when and elderly man got up and pointed a pistol at them.

“Not so fast. You didn’t fool me with your holier-than-thou charade. I knowed what you was up to. First, I shoot the two of you. Then, I take the money you were planning to use for your get away. I . . . “

Brother Shepard jumped at the man and turned the gun just as it went off. The bullet went through his arm but he knocked the gun out of the old man’s hand. The two wrestled to the floor. There was a loud crack as Brother Shepard twisted the old man’s neck.

Brother Shepard picked up the gun.

The old man was groaning. Try as he might, he could not move.

Sister Hope hurried to the bowl, dipped a cup in the potion and hurried back to where the old man lay. She cradled his head and forced some of the potion in the old man’s mouth. He began to cough but he could not keep from swallowing some of the potion.

The old man quit struggling. Sister Hope splashed the last bit of the potion on the old man’s shirt.

“There, I doubt that anyone will check that carefully. They will think that he died just like the others. If they notice the broken neck, they will think that he broke it when he fell. Prop him up with his neck on the rung of an overturned chair. That will convince them.”

Brother Shepard did as he was told.

“Now,” Sister Hope said. “Let’s get busy and mail those death certificates to the insurance companies. $100,000 times 41. Not bad for an evening’s work, wouldn’t you say? Since we spread the policies among many companies, no one will be the wiser. As leaders of the congregation, we are the natural beneficiaries.”

“Not bad at all, Sister Hope,” Brother Shepard answered.

The two embraced. They kissed. The kisses became longer and more passionate. Suddenly, the kissing ended and they parted; each headed toward a bathroom.

There were two ‘minor’ hitches in their plan: 1) They were about to die from the plague. 2) Insurance companies ceased to function because of the number of worldwide deaths, the breakdown in every form of communication and the chaos of the apocalyptic times.

Chapter 8: One Mexican’s Flight

The morning after the President’s speech to the United States – to the world, really – was cut short by the collapse of the National Electric Grid, Pedro Corduro-Sanchez got up and went to work as usual. He knew nothing of the grid’s shut down, or of the mislabeled dirty bomb explosions, or of the political, economic and personal chaos that was sweeping the United States.

He had heard about the plague, of course, and about the natural gas and gasoline shortages. Everyone was talking about the plague and the energy shortages. But he had no personal knowledge of the part all of these problems were playing in producing collapse and chaos. He needed the money he was earning more than he feared the plague. Pedro was a fatalist. Whatever would be would be.

Cordura-Sanchez shared a small hut in South Tucson, Arizona with several other Mexican men. All were in the United States illegally. The number of men living there varied as some were caught by the Border Patrol and returned to Mexico, some returned to Mexico after earning enough money to live on for a time and some went on to other jobs located too far from the hovel to return at night, if ever. There was no electricity, or running water, or a modern toilet in the small hut.

As Pedro walked along the street, he did not notice that there were no lights, anywhere. As he came out of an alley onto a main thoroughfare, four non-Chicano men approached him. “Hey! Chili Pepper, we need some money. Give us some money,” one of the men shouted.

Pedro ran to a near-by McDonald’s, which was his intended destination. The men did not follow him. He could hear them laughing as he approached the door of the McDonald’s. There, he used the bathroom to relieve himself, to wash himself and to tidy up, generally. He was the only customer. “Well,” he thought, “it is quite early. Maybe the real early birds have come and gone and the second wave of customers has not arrived.”

He ordered a one-dollar egg breakfast sandwich and a cup of coffee. While he was eating his sandwich and drinking his first cup of coffee, he overheard the manager of the McDonald’s and one of the cashiers talking. The manager said something about how foresighted the owner was to have installed a backup electric generating system.

Pedro finished eating the sandwich, got a refill for his coffee and set off for work. The sun was just coming up. That’s when he noticed that there were, literally, no lights on anywhere except at the McDonald’s and almost no cars driving by. “Why did I not notice before?” he asked himself. He walked on to work.

Pedro was skilled in the laying of interior tiles and in exterior stonework of all kinds, including flagstone. For three weeks, he had been working daily on an interior tile job from just after daylight until darkness forced him to quit. For that, he earned up to $30 a day, not much by U.S. standards but far more than he could earn in his native Mexico, and far more than an illegal alien could earn while working for an uncaring homeowner. Fortunately, the person he worked for valued Pedro and his work. She paid him a good – but still unfair – wage.

When he got to the house where his job was, he took out a key and opened the front door. The new owner of the house had had the interior totally torn out. A huge beam had been installed from one side of the house to the other, allowing the creation of one room that encompassed most of the ‘public area’ of the house.

Pedro’s job was to install tile on the walls of the two bathrooms and in the kitchen, and to tile the entire 2000 square feet of the floor area of the house. He was almost finished. He flipped a light switch in the bathroom where he had been working the day before. Nothing happened. He turned the light switch off.

He opened the back door and went out on a patio. There, he uncovered his tile cutting saw, plugged it into an extension cord and turned the saw on. Nothing. He turned the saw off. He went back into the house and into the garage. There was just enough light from a garage window for him to find the electrical control panel for the house. He opened the panel’s door and began to test each of the many breaker switches. All of the switches, including the main switch, appeared to be working just fine.

Pedro reached over and flipped a light switch. Nothing. It was far too early for him to use the cell phone the owner had loaned him. He decided to go back to the McDonald’s since it was the only place with electricity that he had seen. Pedro carefully locked up the house. As he walked back toward the McDonald’s, he kept an eye open for the men who had accosted him earlier. No one was in sight.

At the McDonald’s he asked the manager why there was no electricity anywhere but there. Pedro’s English was only barely adequate. The manager was Mexican. Pedro asked his question in Spanish. From what the manager told him, it did not take Pedro long to figure out that the situation was dire and that ‘normal life’ might not return for some time.

As he walked back to the job site, he decided to go back to Mexico. Fortunately, he had gotten paid the night before. The tile-cutting machine was a rental unit. Pedro went through the house and gathered up the few tools that were his. He put them in a canvas bag and slung the bag’s shoulder strap over his head. There was no water pressure. He opened the refrigerator door and took out four bottles of water and two cans of soda.

“Not enough,” Pedro said aloud, “ but it will have to do for now. I can get more water as I get near to and over the border.” He slipped the water bottles and the soda cans in the canvas bag. He locked up the house and walked back to the hovel. There, he gathered up his meager possessions. He stuffed them in a pillowcase, tied the pillowcase to the canvas bag and went outside. By now, the fall Arizona sun was beating down. Pedro was used to it. Much of his early life was spent outside in rural Mexico and many of his jobs in the United States retailed outside work, even in the summertime.

The Interstate leading south to Mexico was less than one mile from the hovel. Because he was headed back to Mexico, Pedro walked onto the Interstate and headed south. Usually, a Border Patrol vehicle would have come by, spotted him, apprehended him and taken him to the border for a quick and uneventful return to his native country.

No Border Patrol. Pedro walked on. He held his left hand away from his body and swung his arm back and forth as he walked. That was the way he hitchhiked. There was no traffic, but thumbing as he walked was a habit, and he did not want to miss even one chance for a ride.

A diesel pickup slammed on its brakes behind Pedro. Just as Pedro turned his head, three men jumped out of the pickup. Pedro ran to the fence that ran along the west side of the Interstate and, using a fence post, vaulted over the fence. As he came down, he turned his right ankle. That did not stop him. He ran about 100 yards away from the fence before he turned and looked back. The pickup was pulling away. He was safe for the moment.

Pedro sat down and took off his old and almost worn out right running shoe. He massaged his ankle. “It is not sprained, just turned,” he thought. “I am a lucky man this morning: Two encounters; two escapes.”

Pedro went back to the Interstate and began walking south again. He had not walked far when he heard engine noise behind him.

A pickup with Mexican plates went by, slowed, stopped and started to back up. Pedro ran to the driver’s side of the pickup. After a brief talk with the driver, Pedro hopped in the back of the pickup, sat as close to the cab as he could and settled in for the 65 mile ride to the border. It did not take long. For most of the distance, the speed limit was 75 miles per hour. The driver was in a hurry to get back to Mexico. He had been in the U.S. on business and, like Pedro, realized that Mexico was probably a much better place to be until the chaos in the U.S. and the rest of the world settled down.

At the border, there were only two guards. Usually there would have been dozens. The driver showed his identification and other papers to the Mexican Border Guards. So did Pedro. Since there was no other traffic, in no time, they were waved through. No hassles. Immediately, Pedro made the rounds of all of the places he knew about where people congregated before going for border crossings. He spread the word of what was happening in the United States, as best he understood it. He wanted to prevent as many disappointments as he could. He knew the coyotes would continue to take people across and dump them, no matter how bad the situation was north of the border.

Pedro felt relieved to be back in Mexico, even though he was still several hundred miles from his village south of Mexico City. No matter what the situation in Mexico might be, he felt that he could cope better in his native land, dealing with people who spoke the same language and who shared a common culture.

He knew several different routes to reach his village. And, by the standards of a Mexican laborer, he had quite a bit of American money. First, he went to a bus terminal to see if he could get to Mexico City. The bus terminal was completely empty except for an old woman who was selling tortillas. There were no bus company employees to be seen. Pedro approached the woman and was told that no buses were running. No gasoline or diesel fuel was the reason the old woman gave him.

“Yes, there was plague in the town,” she said, answering Pedro’s question. Pedro bought a tortilla from her.

Pedro hiked out to the main highway leading from the border south. That, too, was deserted. He walked a few blocks until he saw a small restaurant. He walked in and sat down. He was the only customer. There was no waitress, only the owner-cook. After a breakfast of eggs, beans and tortillas, he felt his flagging energy return.

He spent the morning trying to find ways to get south without walking. As he was walking past a service station, a small truck pulled in. Actually, as he was to find out, there was some gasoline, but not at the pumps and not at the posted prices. The driver of the truck pulled behind the station. Pedro walked around to the back, too.

The station attendant brought two 10-gallon cans out the back door. He and the driver poured the gasoline into the truck’s tank. Pedro walked over and began talking to the truck’s driver.

“Senor, are you by any chance going toward Mexico City? I am willing to pay for a ride.”

The driver looked Pedro up and down. “How much are you willing to pay?”

“As you can see, I am a poor man. Just a laborer. I have been working in the States but there is much trouble up there. I am returning to my family on a farm in the State of Morelos.”

“Gas is very expensive and this truck does not get good mileage. I would need for you to pay most of the cost for gasoline, but I am going only as far as Guanajuato.” As the driver said this, his eyes kept shifting to Pedro’s canvas bag and to the pillowcase.

Pedro said, “Only to Guanajuato? Thanks. I will look for another ride.” With that he hurried back to the front of the station and disappeared between two buildings. He waited until he heard the pickup drive away before venturing back on the street.

“I think that is one bad man,” Pedro said aloud. “I believe Pedro would soon disappear, as would his money. I must be more careful.”

Pedro made his way back to the bus station to see if anything there had changed. On his way, he stopped in a shoe store and bought a pair of sturdy hiking boots. He wore the boots out of the store and stuffed his old tennis shoes in the now-full canvas bag.

The bus station was as it had been earlier. Pedro decided to call on the family in town that he knew best. He went to their house. No one was home. The family car was in the garage. Pedro looked in the car from the driver’s side. No keys.

Pedro checked with people in several houses on the block. No one knew where his friends were or when they might return. One neighbor thought that they had gone to the hospital several days before. She thought they had the plague or some other serious illness. Pedro checked the hospital. His friends were not there.

Pedro went back to his friends’ house. The back door to the house was unlocked. His friend had said, “Mi case, su casa” many times. “My house is your house.” Pedro decided to take his friend at his word. He went in and went through the house. It looked as if the family might return any time. Pedro decided to wait. He stretched out on the couch and went immediately to sleep.

It was late afternoon when Pedro came awake. He found a flashlight and the keys to the family car in the kitchen. He toured the house once more. Nothing had changed. He looked in the cupboards. There were some tortillas and some cans of beans and vegetables. He fixed himself a dinner. After that, he sat around and thought until he nodded off to sleep. He woke up at dawn.

Pedro went out and put the key in the ignition. The gas tank was full. That much gas would get him between a fourth and a fifth of the way to his home. He decided to take the car. He went back in the house, found some writing paper and a ballpoint pen. He wrote a long note to the family. He left the note on the kitchen table, weighted down by a can of vegetables.

Pedro got his possessions, went out to the car, got in, started the car and headed south. His first stop would be at the home of a friend about 300 miles south of the border. With luck, he would be there in a few hours.

To him, things seemed better in Mexico than in the United States. He wondered about that. What he would learn on his way south was that the large cities in Mexico were nearly completely devastated by the plague and the energy shortages, but that the life in the small villages was still pretty much as it was before the energy shortages and the plague’s onset.

Chapter 9: The Seed Bank

It did not take Holly Delbert long to swing into action once the President was cut off in the middle of his talk to the world. As a professor of agriculture at a state university, she understood all too well what the long-range dimensions, dynamics and outcomes of a national political, economic and energy collapse would be.

Every fiber of her being was tuned to the outcomes and their implications. The only ‘mystery’ in her mind was how long it had taken for the present collapse to occur. She expected it to happen long before now.

In spite of that, she was not prepared. She fumbled through the darkened house. Twice she barked her knee on some unsuspected object between her TV chair and the kitchen. Even after reaching the kitchen, she had trouble locating the box of candles. Finally, she found the candles and a book of matches. She lit a candle, but only after several unsuccessful attempts, attempts that resulted in two slightly burned fingers.

With the candle lit and set in a candleholder, she bathed the two fingers in vinegar. Then, she ventured out into the garage and found a hiking backpack in the trunk of her car. She extracted the flashlight from amongst the toilet paper, napkins, plastic eating utensils, the small medical kit and other paraphernalia.

Back in the house, she went in the bedroom to pack for the trip. With the packing out of the way, she took a ‘spit bath’ and went to bed. Almost at once, she drifted into a sound sleep. Sleep was one of the things she would miss most in the days ahead.

The next morning at five, she got up, gave herself another ‘spit bath’ and dressed in her hiking clothes. She put on her favorite hiking boots. From the front closet, she got her most practical jacket, gloves and a hat.

Breakfast consisted of a couple of power bars and two cups of strong, hot tea.

She went through the house as she was eating the second power bar and checked to make sure everything was in order for an extended absence. Back in the kitchen, she gulped down the second cup of tea.

She carried her travel bag and the backpack out to the car. After manually opening the garage door, backing the car out and closing the garage door and locking it, she drove to the university. The buildings were deserted. She surmised that it was not the early hour, but the lack of electricity and gasoline that were the primary elements in the abandoned campus. The fall term was in full swing; that meant that even at such an early hour, there would normally be at least some activity.

She backed her car up to the loading dock at the rear of one of the seed laboratory storage buildings. She climbed the short stairway and unlocked the side door. Inside, she manually lifted one of the loading dock doors. She went to her office and began carrying small sacks from her office out on the loading dock.

Before she picked up each sack, she made a mark after an item on a sheet of paper attached to a clipboard. She wanted to be sure that she had a sack of seeds for every item on the list. Each sack contained seeds from crops carefully grown at the seed laboratory research farms. All of the seeds were of natural, non-hybridized and non-genetically engineered varieties.

The seeds covered the gamut from basic grains, through fruits to a wide variety of vegetables. There were even some ornamental flower varieties in some of the smallest bags.

When all of the sacks were stacked on the loading dock, she transferred them to her car. She filled the trunk first, the back seat second and the right front seat third.

She closed and locked her office door, the loading dock door and the side door. She got in her car and heaved a sigh of relief.

“Well,” she said aloud, “the easy part is done. Now for the hard, and dangerous part.”

She drove to a private airstrip on the edge of the university town. The airport was deserted, as far as she could tell. She pulled up to a hanger and unlocked the small door on the side of the hanger. She went it, manually lifted the large door on the front of the hanger.

The airplane was a beauty. It was twin-engine model and looked brand new. Holly knew better. The plane was actually nearly ten years old. In part, the ‘new look’ reflected the fact that the plane did not have many flight hours; in part, the new look was due to the careful care and the frequent maintenance that Holly gave the plane.

Holly moved the wheel blocks out of the way. She got in, went through an elaborate checklist and started the engines. As the engines warmed, she went through another checklist. Once she was satisfied that everything was in order, she carefully advanced the throttles and moved the plane out of the hanger. As the plane cleared the hanger, she set the throttles on idle. She set the brakes.

She got out of the plane, pulled her car up beside the plane and loaded the seed bags into the plane. First, she filled the baggage compartment. When the baggage compartment was full, she put her backpack, her travel bag and the remaining seed bags in the plane’s cabin.

She knew that the plane was heavily loaded. But she also knew that the load was just under the maximum that the plane was designed to carry. Taking off from the small, private airfield would be a bit ‘touch and go.’ However, she was an able and experienced pilot. She had practiced with a load of dirt of about the same weight, several times, just to be sure that she was in the margins for the load and for the length of the airstrip.

In the depth of her heart, Holly believed that the cargo of seeds was more valuable than gold, or silver or precious gemstones. Nothing less than the viability of the human race might be at stake. Holly was determined to do her best to see that her precious cargo reached its destination and that the seeds were used to change the world’s food crop makeup.

Modern agriculture is based on fossil fuels. Chemical fertilizers, weed killers and insect killers and repellants are made from fossil fuels. Every piece of farm equipment runs on fossil fuels. All of the conveyances that distribute the seeds and bring the produce to market likewise use fossil fuels. The collapse of the energy industry spelled disaster for farmers through every developed country and for many farmers in the developing countries.

Moreover, most all of the world’s food crops were hybrids. Farmers could no longer choose the best seeds from their crops, eat the rest and plant those best seeds the next year. That is not the way hybrids work. New seeds from the companies that developed and grew the seeds had to be purchased each year. Seeds harvested in the field either would not grow or would produce strange, inedible crops.

That is why several seed banks were established and maintained around the world. To their credit, a handful of governments – and their agricultural departments and universities – realized that using hybrid varieties for most of the world’s food crops represented a great risk. To offset that risk, to some degree, banks of traditional, non-hybrid, non-genetically engineered seeds were established and maintained.

The seeds in the banks were kept for about five years, or less, ideally. At the end of five years, the seeds were planted. The seeds harvested from these planting were then kept for another five years. The seeds represented – in a sense – the accumulated ‘natural wisdom’ of the world’s farming history. Seeds for naturally derived crops from all over the world were represented in the seed laboratories and storage banks.

Holly was one of many agricultural experts who helped maintain the seed banks. It was her life’s work and her ‘reason for living.’ For years, she had believed passionately that modern agriculture was headed towards a doomsday. To her, it appeared as if that doomsday was at hand.

With the plane loaded and the engines warmed, Holly, got in and closed the hatch. She sat down in the pilot’s seat, strapped herself in and went through a final checklist, now that the engines were fully warmed.

The plane cleared the trees at the end of the runway easily. Holly was on her way. Her destination was a remote airfield in southern Mexico. To get there, she would have to use two small, intermediary airfields for refueling. These were remote fields where she had fuel storage tanks locked in small buildings.

With luck, she would make her second stop before darkness set in. Then, in the morning, she would fly to her final destination. There, the farm cooperative members would be waiting. Some of the seeds would be planted at once in fields throughout the cooperative’s holdings. Other seeds would be held back for later plantings.

Luckily, several agrarian cooperatives in the United States had collected their annual allotments shortly before the plague and energy shortages struck. These groups would dole out their seed allotments on a seasonal basis to their small, cooperative members.

The natural agriculture cycle that mankind evolved over 10 to 20 thousand years would dominate, once again, the agrarian farmers’ approach to raising human food crops.

Chapter 10: The Aide-de-Camp

The next morning, after a run and a hearty, Texas-style breakfast, the President picked up the phone that was connected to the Secretary of Defense’s phone.

“Hello, this is the Secretary of Defense’s phone.”

“This is the President. Let me talk to the Secretary.”

“Sorry, Mr. President, this is the Secretary’s Chief Aide-de-Camp. I deeply regret to tell you that the Secretary of Defense died in the middle of the night.”

“Died? That’s not possible. I talked to him myself, just last night. He was going to provide me with some vital information this morning, information that only he knew. Information that I must have.”

“Mr. President, believe me, he is dead . . . er, before he died he became . . . how shall I put it? Confused. Extremely agitated. Distraught. He lost all reason and control . . . that is, before he went into the final coma.”

“What can you tell me about the nuclear barrage that he loosed upon the world?” the President asked.

“Barrage, Sir, I don’t understand.” The Aide-de-Camp was befuddled.

“I don’t understand it either. He claimed that he had the whole nuclear arsenal . . . well, some of it anyhow – fired in retaliation for what he thought were those dirty bombs. He also said he recalled all of our overseas troops, ships, planes, the whole nine yards, except for Korea. What about that?”

“Impossible, Sir. He may have thought that orders like that went out. However, even after he died, our communications to the outside, except for the line to your bunker, were totally out. No such messages went out.”

“Are you absolutely sure.” The President was greatly relieved.

“As sure as I can be. No such orders went out. Moreover, once we establish some communications, we will have full confirmation of anything as catastrophic as a nuclear attack or as far-reaching as the recall of almost all of our military forces.”

“Thank heaven. He must have gone completely mad. Don’t ever breathe a word of this conversation with anyone. I don’t want anyone to ever know that he tried to do that.”

“That information is perfectly safe with me, Sir. However, I understand that he had all sorts of recording systems in place. I can’t speak to where the information went, once it got into those systems. Can you tell, me, Sir?”

“No I can’t. I think that was a very unwise thing for him to do . . . er, behind my back, so to speak. See if you can find out about that. What have you confirmed about the explosions that he thought were dirty bombs?”

“Ordinary explosions, Sir. Definitely not terrorist related. Absolutely not dirty bombs. We knew that almost immediately, before your speech and before we lost all communications.”

“Good. Did he leave a message for me? A code? A vital code?”

“No sir. Would that be the code to open your bunker that you are referring to, Sir, Mr. President?”

“Yes! That’s it, exactly. Did he give it to you?”

“Not exactly, Sir, but we finally figured it out. Took a bit of doing and some trial and error.”

“So, did you get your bunker open so you can get out?”

“That we did, Sir, that we did, Mr. President.”

“Well, man, what is it? I need to know it right now.”

“Of course, Sir, but I don’t know if the code to open up your bunker is the same as ours. We can only try and hope so.”

“What is it? Tell me so I can have my Chief of Staff try it.”

“Well, Sir, the Secretary kept mumbling – later shouting – something that sounded like ‘Open Sesame.’ You know, Sir, the old code saying to open the cave from Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves.”

“No, I don’t know anything about that. Sounds like gobble-de-gook, to me. Did it work?”

“No, Sir, it did not. So we kept trying different ideas. Finally, the door opened. The code was ‘Open Sez Me’!”

“Hang on,” as he said this, the President turned and pressed the intercom button for his Chief of Staff. “Quick, go to the entrance and say ‘Open Sez Me’. Let me know what happens.”

A couple of minutes later, the Chief of Staff came running into the President’s office. “It worked, Mr. President. The door opened. Moreover, several of the people who got left behind were waiting outside. Your dog should come bounding in any minute.”

The President spoke back in the phone. “It worked here, too. As soon as you find the Deputy Secretary of Defense, have him give me a call. Also, I haven’t heard from the Vice-President and several cabinet members. Call me if you get in touch with them or find out where they are.”

With that, the President hung up, just as his dog came bounding into the room. The dog jumped in the President’s lap and sneezed in his face.

Chapter 11: The Bank President

Steve Sherman and his wife, Jana, were watching the President’s speech. When the TV went off, along with all of the lights in the house, Jana said, “Don’t move, Steve, I know exactly where a flashlight and some candles are. I have been expecting something like this ever since the rolling brownouts started. I’ll be right back.”

“Just like you to be organized,” Steve said to the dark. “I’d probably trip over something and break one of your precious keepsakes along with my sacroiliac.” He heard Jana open a drawer on the sideboard in the dining room. A dim light came on. Several minutes passed.

“Where are you? I thought you would be here with a flashlight by now.”

“I’m out in the kitchen. I couldn’t find the matches. I was certain I put some in the sideboard, next to the candles. Did you take them? The batteries in my little flashlight are almost out of juice.”

“Nope. Not me. Maybe one of the kids needed a match for the smokes they sneak on the side. Ha! Can you imagine that they think we don’t know?”

Jana walked in. She was holding a candleholder in her right hand and shielding the flame of a large, lit candle with the palm of her left hand. She put the candleholder on the end table between the couple’s TV-viewing chairs.

“There. That’s better. It’s even a little romantic. Well . . . it might be if we knew why the TV went off, plus the lights, and if we knew what the full story was with the bombs.”

“Yeah! Kinda scary not knowing. I better go out and get the big flashlight out of the SUV. We don’t want to use up your candles on the first night. Besides, I want to check the outside temperature and see if it is still cloudy.”

Steve got up and went to the garage. Try as he could, he could not find a flashlight anywhere in the SUV. He finally found an old one on one of the garage storage shelves. It didn’t work. He opened it to find two heavily corroded batteries. He tossed the batteries and the flashlight on the counter.

“Wish I’d had that backup generation system put in that Larry tried to sell me two years ago,” he said as he walked back into the TV room. “Just think, all the lights in the house would be back on and I could fire up my computer. Why, I could even get some of the bank’s work done tonight instead of tomorrow.”

“Speaking of tomorrow,” Jana chimed in, “what about tomorrow? What if the electricity is still off? Can you open the bank and do ‘business as usual’ without electricity?”

“Oh, we do have a backup generating system at the bank. We can do the local stuff. However, if the Internet is down and . . . “ Steve stopped in mid-sentence. He walked over and picked up the phone. “Nada. Nothing. No dial tone; no nothing,” he said as he put the phone back on its cradle. He whipped out his cell phone. It was on but he tried without success to make several calls.

“Hmm, that’s bad news. The cell phone systems must be down. That’ll really put a crimp in most people’s lives. God help us if the phone systems stay down very long.”

“Well, I think it might be okay if there were no cell phones, ever. Just like the good old days. I mean, really, we got along just fine without them, didn’t we? I only carry mine for emergencies. I never have it on.”

“I know, I know. Reaching you by cell phone is about like trying to get through to the President’s hotline. It’s not likely.”

“When did you ever try to get through to the President of the United States, Mr. President of the First National Bank?”

“I never did, actually. I was just using that as an example. I did send him an e-mail asking him to not invade Iraq. Too bad he didn’t follow my advice on that. Even got one of those instant ‘message received’ notices. Never really heard back. That’s when I took that picture of him and his wife with you and me off the wall. I put it in the bottom drawer.”

“Boy did that picture cost us a pretty penny. It was a fund-raising scam. We should have given to anybody but.” Jana sighed.

“Well, we did give it to . . . the but.” Steve laughed at his own joke.

“Very funny. Let’s go to bed. That candle is about to fall over and my little flashlight is not going to last beyond the time it takes us to get ready and to hop in bed.”

Neither slept very well. That was unusual for Steve. Very little bothered him enough to interfere with a good night’s sleep. He was a mellow, laid-back, unflappable guy, which was one of the many reasons he was a bank president so early in his career.

“Tomorrow might be the most challenging of my career,” he said aloud, but after Jana was snoring softly. Little did he know.

The seemingly endless night ended. Steve got up. He used as little hot water as he could to wash. His electric razor was too far discharged to give him a shave. He drug out an old razor, one that had sat in the drawer for years. He lathered his face and managed to shave with only two cuts. He found part of an old styptic pencil and closed the cuts. Then, he dressed, ate a cold breakfast and headed for work.

There was a long line of people at the bank’s main door when Steve got there. That was in spite of the fact that it was two hours before opening time. Two men Steve did not recognize were standing at the door. They were dressed in National Guard uniforms and each had a large weapon in his hands. Steve slipped around to the private entrance without being seen.

To his utter surprise, he was not the first one to arrive. Two of his vice-presidents were already talking near Steve’s office door.

“Hi, Eric. Hi, Jason. You guys must have gotten up before dawn. Did you see the line at the front door?”

“Yeah, we slipped in the ‘secret entrance’ just like you did,” Jason answered. “Steve, back to shaving the old fashioned way, I see. Only two cuts? Not bad for a re-beginner.”

“The National Guard boys are keeping things orderly. I have a hunch we are going to be really glad that you and Major Lynch worked things out in advance,” Eric offered.

“Yeah, it’s almost always better to be prepared for whatever . . . “ Steve’s voice trailed away. There was a pounding at one of the secondary entrance doors. The three hurried over to see what the commotion was.

“Uh, oh,” Steve said, as he recognized one of the town’s leading citizens, businessmen, and depositors in the bank.

Steve walked over, unlocked the door, opened the door and let the man in. As soon as the man was inside, Steve re-locked the door.

“Thank heavens you’re here, Steve. Oh, hello, Eric. Hi, Jason. My sakes alive I didn’t expect to see anyone here, let alone the three big bosses.”

“What can we do for you, Fred? Your pounding on the door sounded urgent.”

“Urgent! I’ll say it’s urgent. This country is in the greatest emergency of its history. Too little gasoline. Electric grid failure. President cut off in mid-speech, as it were, and just after that dramatic news about the bombs. Next, it will probably be nuclear war. The Russians and Chinese won’t pass up an opportunity like this. Why, I’ll bet Pakistan and India already are tossing nuclear bombs at one another. They have been itching to for a long time . . . for decades, in fact.”

“I don’t know, Fred, I think there are enough problems without adding nuclear war to the mess. Oh, by the way, what can we do for you?” Steve asked.

“Do for me? I need money. That’s what you can do for me. Also, I need in my bank safety deposit box. I have some g . . . some valuables in there. I need to get them out right away. Then, I need to get down to the store and make sure there isn’t any looting taking place.”

“Fred, I’ll be glad to give you any money that I have. So will Eric and Jason, unless I miss my guess. But we can’t open the vault early. No one can. Let’s go downstairs in the basement so you can get what you need out of your safety deposit box.”

“Come on, Steve, I’m the best customer this bank has. Surely you can open the vault for me, can’t you?”

“Wish I could, Fred. If I could, I’d do it in an instant, you know that. But . . . “

“But nothing,” Fred cut it, “it’s my money I want. Not yours, or Eric’s, or Jason’s. Just mine.”

“It’s even more complicated than I said, Fred. We have to get the backup generator going, provided the electricity hasn’t come back on. Then, we have to go through a series of security check steps. That’s even after the correct opening time arrives. It’s just not possible. I don’t even know how to start and kick in the backup system. Neither do Eric or Jason. We should have learned how, but we didn’t”

“Some bankers, you three are. I expect to have my requests for money honored. I saw that line out front. Suppose there is a run on the bank. Suppose you run out of money. Suppose you can’t honor my request later. Suppose . . . “ Fred sputtered.

“We can’t run out of money. We know how much we have and we know how much we can give out. We will limit what each depositor gets, based on how much money they have in their accounts. For today, it may be only 10 cents on the dollar. That way we protect ourselves and all of our depositors, especially those that don’t come down in a panic and demand more than we can provide.”

“Well, I never . . . “

“Neither have we, Fred, but we know what to do and how to do it. Now, let’s go down so you can get the things you need out of your safety deposit box before it’s time to open the bank and deal with the other customers.”

Chapter 12: The Short Straw Detail

The President was sitting at his desk in his emergency bunker. He was in a dither. He missed his dog. He did not know where his Vice-President was, or even if he had made it to his bunker. His Chief of Staff was dead from the plague and he did not like the stand-in. His Secretary of Defense was dead from the plague.

He had been made to look like a fool before the world by announcing that five American cities had been hit by so-called dirty bombs. As it turned out there were actually five non-terrorist related explosions. The country was wracked by a plague that was wiping out more than 50% of the population. Oil, natural gas and coal were in critically short supply. The National Electric Grid was down. He lacked vital information that he needed to function as the President.

The President leaned over, pushed a button and spoke into the intercom: “Mr. Chief of Staff, send in the head of my Secret Service detail. I need to talk to him.”

“Mr. President, Sir, he did not make it to the bunker. A junior officer and a small detail were all that did make it.”

“Well, send in the junior officer.”

“Yes, Sir, he is right here. I’ll send him in.”

The door to the President’s bunker office opened and a young, immaculately dressed young man strode in and walked up to the desk. He saluted.

“What’s with the salute?” the President asked. “You aren’t military are you?”

“Yes, Sir, Mr. President, I am in the United States Army reserves.”

“Really. What rank are you?” the President asked as he returned the salute with a desultory wave of his hand in the general direction of his forehead.

“Second Lieutenant, Sir.”

“Why didn’t the Chief of my Secret Service detail make it to the Presidential Bunker? Answer me that.”

“Well, Sir, as I understand it, he somehow knew that the Secretary of Defense had separate entrance and exit codes. He thought that was not a good idea. So, he divided the entire detail into teams and we drew team straws. My team drew the short straw. That’s why we’re here, Sir.” With that the young man snapped to attention again.

“What? You mean to tell me that I’ve got a team of losers guarding me? That . . . “

The young man broke in, “Not losers, Sir. Well, only on that one occasion. Actually, we are quite dedicated. Fully trained. That’s why we were eligible to lose . . . er, to win the assignment, Sir.”

“Win the assignment, Sir, huh? You’re quick witted in the thought department, I see.”

“Yes, Sir, er, . . . Sir, what I mean is that it is an honor for each of us to serve you in this time of national chaos . . er, challenge, Sir.”

“That’s enough ‘sirs’ for the entire time we are here in this bunker. Call me Mr. President.”

“Yes, Sir, Mr. President.”

“Not at quick witted as I thought. Enough. I need information. I assume that you are in touch with the rest of the Secret Service, or are your communication channels down for preventive maintenance like the Pentagon’s?”

“Our channels aren’t down for maintenance. I think it was the loss of every aspect of the communication systems. Sir, Mr. President, we are trying to get in full communication with the Secret Service bunker. We expect to succeed in that endeavor most any time.”

“I see. And where are they? That is, where is the Secret Service bunker?”

“No idea, Mr. President. No idea at all. That’s the way security is set up for this kind of emerg . . . er, challenge.”

“Okay, Short Straw, can you tell me if the Vice-President got to his bunker.”

“I think so, Sir. The Vice-President and his hunting group probably got to Brokeback Mountain as per the evacuation plan.”

“Brokeback Mountain? Where is that?”

“In Wyoming, Sir, he was hunting in Wyoming with a Supreme Court Justice. The Vice-President and that particular justice are quite close, as I understand it. They hunt a lot together. So, the bunker became Brokeback Bunker.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Brokeback Mountain? Wasn’t that the name of that pervert movie?”

“Yes, Sir, it certainly was.”

“Brokeback Bunker? Who came up with that?”

“Oh, Mr. President, I have no idea. None whatsoever. I’m not privy to that sort of inform . . .”

“What has an outhouse got to do with it?” the President broke in.

“Privy, in this case means that I don’t have access. I just know that’s what it was designated. Maybe that was only an informal designation. Who did it is way above and beyond my ‘need to know.’ It might have been just a joke; at least, that’s what I think.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet. I suppose you don’t know where any of the other bunkers are. Is that right?”

“Yes, Sir, I don’t know where they are or how many there are; that’s part of the security plan. In case of capture and torture, Sir. I am sure you understand all of that.”

“I understand less and less as this mess gets worse. That is what I understand, Short Straw. Oh. You don’t mind if I call you Short Straw, do you? I make up a nickname for virtually all of the people working for me. For example, my media man is Newspeak.”

“Ha! Ha! Out of ‘1984.’ That’s a good one Mr. President. A good one.”

“I’m still working on one for my new Chief of Staff. The head of National Security sort of named himself after he got diarrhea: ‘Crap-N-Pants’.”

“Ha! Ha! Ha! We all got a good laugh over that one, Mr. President. Very appropriate.”

“Yeah. Well, let’s hope he gets over that diarrhea. I don’t want any plague in this bunker. Losing the Secretary of Defense was bad enough.”

“Yes, Sir, a great loss, Sir.”

“Yeah, he checked out just as I came up with a new nickname for him: Donkey. He thought I said Don Kichotee, or whatever that old guy that chased windmills was called.”

“Quixote, Sir, Quixote. One of the great classics, Sir.”

“Hey, I thought I asked you to knock of that ‘sir’! It’s Mr. President, remember?”

“Yes, Mr. President. Sorry about that.”

“Soon as you get me information on where some of the other people are . . . that is, if they got to their bunkers, let me know. Now clear out, I gotta think.”

“Yes, Si . . . er, yes, Mr. President.” With that, Short Straw turned and left the room.

Chapter 13: Good Neighbor Chester

For several months after Chester retired – years before the onset of the plague – he fished and hunted. He and his wife traveled; they visited family, friends, his Army buddies, their school chums and even some of his co-workers who had relocated after retiring. When they tired of the visiting and travel, he volunteered to deliver Meals on Wheels five days a week. In addition to that, he volunteered to help with the Lions Club’s vision project. He also helped with Project Merry Christmas in his town and with several other community projects.

He began to wonder how he ever found time to work. The days, weeks, months and years zipped by. In many ways, he was happier than he had been since early in his working career.

Then, his wife of 45 years died. That set him back for a few days; however, he found that all of his volunteer work took on a new dimension. The demands of the volunteerism kept him from brooding over the loss of his wife. He took on even more responsibilities.

He was chosen as the town’s ‘Outstanding Citizen’ one year.

In the little town, life went on pretty much as usual after the onset of the plague. The town was miles from the large cities of the state. There were some plague illnesses and a few deaths. Chester kept delivering the Meals on Wheels and doing most of his other volunteer chores. There were, as nearly everywhere, the occasional brownouts and blackouts. Lines at the gas stations grew longer as the energy shortage became more acute. Finally, most stations in the town rationed what little gas they had to emergency vehicles, the police and other vital users.

Chester started using his bicycle to deliver the Meals on Wheels. Most of his other volunteer jobs ceased to exist by virtue of the energy situation.

Chester was watching TV when the President disappeared from the TV screen and the house lights went out. Chester stumbled into his bedroom and picked up the small flashlight that he kept on his nightstand. As soon as he turned it on, he realized the batteries were nearly dead.

He hurried to the hall linen closet and found some candles that had been in a box in the closet for as long as he could remember. He took a candle out, carried it into the kitchen, got a plate, lit the candle, dripped some wax on the plate and set the candle on the plate. Then, he remembered that there were some fancy candleholders in the buffet in the dining room. He quickly got one and reset the candle.

He went to the fridge and hurriedly fixed a meal of cold cuts, lettuce, raw carrots and applesauce.

Chester checked his phone and his cell phone. Neither worked. His thoughts turned immediately to the many elderly people in his neighborhood and on his Meals on Wheels routes. He realized that he must make the rounds to be sure that each and everyone who might need his help would get it.

First, though, he would quickly work up a list of probable needs. Then he would need to figure out a way to find – at this late hour – the necessary supplies.

Chester was a ‘Jack of all Trades.’ He could build or repair just about anything. Until cars started coming out with computers and other complexities, Chester did all of the maintenance and repair work on his cars and – not infrequently – on the cars of his many friends. He enjoyed the challenges of diagnosis and repair.

Through the years, he took up and then abandoned woodworking, pottery making, rock hounding, including lapidary and several other hobbies. His problem was that each hobby brought with it the excitement of learning new things and of meeting new challenges. Inevitably, as he learned and mastered each pursuit, he lost interest and moved on to a new hobby or interest.

Chester grabbed the master Meals on Wheels list, put on his coat, stuffed a couple of candles and some matches in a pocket, snuffed out the candle in the kitchen and went out and got on his bicycle. He headed for the home of the owner of the one remaining hardware store in town – the one who hung on in spite of Home Depot and Wal-Mart. Chester was certain that Don would provide just what was needed.

Chester could hardly believe his eyes. When he turned the corner and headed toward Don’s house, it looked more like Christmas than an energy crisis. The house and yard were ablaze in lights. People were milling around in the front yard. A pickup drove into the driveway as Chester approached on his bike.

Don got out of the pickup and hailed Chester. “Chester, I knew you’d be coming. What took you so long? We didn’t wait, as you can see. Candles, backup generators, batteries, everything in the store that can be used, will be used. You can help us distribute, all with careful accounting and record keeping. To each according to her or his need; from each according to her or his ability to pay.”

Chester was both dumbfounded and elated. This was the small-town community spirit he sometimes thought was dead. He smiled, stood his bike against a tree and gave Don a big hug.

Chester pulled out the Meals on Wheels master list. “Don, I brought this. I think these may be some of the people we should contact first. Most are poor and many are infirm. Some, I think, will be shivering in the dark. We did get food to all of them today, so they should be okay in that regard until tomorrow. At least we won’t have to work in the dark tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Don said. “Let’s divide the list up and see if we have enough candles, flashlights, batteries, and so forth for the people on that list. I have already dispatched several pickup loads of stuff from the store. The police, the sheriff, the National Guard and the fire department are dividing up the town into sections and patrolling the streets looking for those that need help and, also, for any criminal or mischief activities. All grocery stores have been secured. No looting will occur.

“It’s a good thing we planned for emergencies like this and even had some halfway decent drills. We won’t get much sleep tonight, Chester, but we’ll all rest a lot easier when we have done the best we can. Let’s go to work.”

Chapter 14: The Librarian

As soon as the President’s speech was interrupted by the power failure, Mary Reagan found a flashlight, some candles and some matches. She went into her tiny bedroom and got ready for bed. She put on her warmest pajamas and added a blanket to the two blankets already on the bed. She tossed and turned for several hours.

Three times, she got up and used the bathroom. Usually, when she was restless, she would turn on her reading light and read in bed, or even go back out in the living room and sit in her favorite chair and read. Tonight, she just snuggled down into the covers and tried to go back to sleep.

Sometime after midnight, she drifted into a light sleep, one that was filled with troubling dreams, dreams bordering on nightmares.

At 4:00 a.m., her back started bothering her. That was the last straw. She got up and drew a hot bath before realizing that she was probably using up the last of the hot water in the electric-heated tank. The hot water was available because the tank was on the floor above her bathroom. She got in the tub and slipped as far into the soothing water as she could. As the water was beginning to feel a little cool, she soaped and rinsed her body twice; then, got out and dried off.

She ate her usual breakfast of cold cereal and milk. She added raisons and brown sugar. She splurged a little bit by slicing a banana on top of the cereal. As an afterthought, she decided she would like to have a slice of toast. She slipped the bread in the toaster and pushed the small lever down. It did not stay down. She tried again. It was then that she realized she would have neither toast nor the hot tea she was planning to have.

That led her to thinking about what the President said just before his image disappeared from the screen and what the loss of the picture meant. Could there really have been nuclear bombs in the cities he mentioned? She was well aware that the plague had devastated most large cities and towns and that the rolling brownouts and blackouts were due to the energy shortages and the nuclear generating plant shutdowns.

She prided herself on keeping up with the local, regional, national and international news stories. She watched the NBC and ABC newscasts each evening and the PBS News hour. She also checked the Yahoo news stories and, often, checked the New York Times stories on the Internet.

In part, all of this was because she was a librarian; but it was more than that. She had been interested in news since she was a toddler, watching the news on a black and white TV screen, while sitting between her doting parents. Their interest in keeping informed transferred to her.

She washed the breakfast dishes and left them to dry in the drying rack. Since it was still early, she straightened things around the house. By habit, she took out the vacuum cleaner and was, at first, perplexed that it did not come on when she plugged it in and stepped on the ‘on’ switch. She put the vacuum away. She dusted instead.

It was still too early, but she decided to walk to the library anyhow. She had a key to the back door and it was light enough so she could get some work done before time to open. She wondered if anyone would venture out on the streets, let alone come into a somewhat dark library.

“No matter,” she said aloud, “there are many things I can do in the semi-darkness.”

It was then that a thought that had been trying to come to her consciousness hit her like a slap in the face.

“Oh! My goodness!” she almost screamed. “The computers. They will all be down until the power comes back on. How will our patrons find the reference books? We never should have gotten rid of the card catalogues! What will we do? What can I do?”

She was at the back door of the library. She let herself in and went to her desk. She had to think of some way to access the reference holdings. She just had to find a way to reference all of the holdings back on some sort of card catalogue.

Chapter 15: Florian and the Hunters

Gary struck out from his vehicle on the same trail that Florian took. Gary walked quickly, but with due caution. He had been on the trail only about 20 minutes when he spied Florian sitting on a log beside the trail. Florian looked old, frail and tired. Gary walked up and sat down beside Florian.

“How much farther, Florian? You look like you could use some water and some elk steaks.” With that, Gary produced a bottle of water and handed it to Florian. Gary took his pack off, searched in it for a minute and handed Florian a small package. “Beef jerky. Best I can do for the time being.”

Florian drank deeply of the water. Then, he began chewing on the jerky. After a couple of minutes without any progress, he handed the jerky back to Gary. “Too tough. My teeth won’t handle it.”

Gary took the jerky and stashed it back in the backpack. “We’ll boil it up for you when we get to your camp. How much farther is it?”

“Not far.” As he said it, Florian pointed toward a small trail that cut away from the trail where they were. “I think I should tell you; one of my daughters and one of the granddaughters are not well. I believe it is the plague.”

“Gordon and I had the plague. I think we are safe from getting it again. My wife and daughter died. Gordon and I were not even all that sick; it was more like a bad case of the flu.”

“Yes, I know what you mean. Some of our people died; others, like you and Gordon, recovered after only a few days. I had a bad case, but recovered before going to the Great Spirit. I guess he did not want to see my wrinkled face, yet.”

“I think it is safe for me to go into your camp. Do you agree?”

“If you say so. I would not want to put you or Gordon in any danger. You will need to be healthy, if you are going to help us with the hunters.”

“How many are in your camp?” Gary asked.

“Just me, my three daughters and four grandchildren.”

“Where are the men? Your daughters’ husbands.”

“They were here when we first got here. They managed to kill one elk. They are not good hunters; they are not as bad as the white men, but not good. They ran out of booze, cigarettes and bullets. That’s when they took the cars and left.”

“Cars? How many?”

“All three of them. We wanted them to leave one for us – just in case – but all of the cars were old junkers. They said they might need all three just to get to the reservation store and back again. Actually, I think they went to the casino and the beer hall. They may never come back. They did not have much money and no one on the reservation who knows them would lend them money. They are pretty much drunkards and lay-abouts.”

With that said, Florian got up and headed down the little trail to the camp. It was only a few hundred yards from where he had rested.

The camp was a squalid affair. There were four good-sized teepees. Trash was everywhere. No one was there to greet them but a couple of mangy looking dogs. The dogs barked until Florian yelled something at them.

Gary kept a few yards behind Florian and looked all around for signs of trouble as the two approached the camp.

A teepee flap opened and a woman came out. She was dressed in buckskin. She was short and very fat. She spoke to Florian, looking everywhere but at Gary as she did so.

Florian introduced Gary to his daughter, Meadow. “That’s not her American name, but it is what she prefers to be called while we are away from civilization,” Florian explained.

Gary nodded. Meadow did not offer her hand, so Gary kept his on his rifle.

One-by-one three children came out of the teepee that Meadow had been in. Florian introduced each; however, the kids did not approach Gary. They darted quick glances his way, but for the most part studied the ground at their feet carefully.

Gary smiled to himself. It was about the way Gordon had treated Florian.

Florian excused himself and entered one of the other teepees. He was gone for about ten minutes. When he came out, he gave Gary a brief smile. “The daughter and the granddaughter are feeling a lot better this morning. My other daughter is caring for them. Perhaps they will survive.”

Gary went over to a ring of rocks where there was a kettle. The kettle was empty. Gary stacked some brush and a few sticks under the kettle and lit the brush. He poured some water in the kettle from another water bottle and dumped the jerky into the water.

With that done, he motioned for Florian to sit on a log near the fire. “Tell me about the dangerous hunters. Do you know where they are?”

“They are just over that ridge. Maybe two miles away, the last I knew. It’s not hard to find them. Most of the time, they have a radio blaring away. Also, they talk loud and almost endlessly. They know next to nothing about being in the wilderness or about how to hunt.”

“Why do you think they are dangerous?”

“Ignorance is almost always dangerous in the wilderness. The wilderness is not friendly to the ignorant. It can kill not only the ignorant but innocent others as well. They take ‘sound shots,’ for example.”

“What in the world is a ‘sound shot’?” Gary asked. He was genuinely perplexed.

“If they hear a sound, they shoot at it. Then, they try to find out what it was. They shot in my direction once when I accidentally stepped on a dry quaking aspen branch. The bullet did not even come close. They do not know how to aim or how to squeeze a shot off smoothly. I sneaked away. I am lucky to be alive, I guess. Nothing is more dangerous than their level of ignorance and uncaring.”

“I see. Maybe they can be taught how to do things properly.”

“Maybe. It would take a lot of patience and time, I think.” With that Florian let out a long sigh. “We do not have much time, Gary. We need food. We need to feel safe from these men. We need at least one rifle and some ammunition. We need to kill a few deer and elk and make some jerky for the winter which will be here all too soon.”

“Agreed. I think I can meet these men and talk with them. Perhaps I will send them back to town, but not without finding out who they are, why they chose this particular place and how long they intend to stay.”

With that, Gary got up and pointed to the kettle. The water with the jerky in it was boiling. “I’ll bet that jerky is tender enough for you now. I’ll go by myself. You stay here with your family. After I talk with the hunters, I will go back to my suburban and see how Gordon is doing. I should be back here by mid-afternoon at the latest. I will bring more food.”

Gary took some more jerky and several power bars out of his backpack and handed them to the old Ute. Then, he strode off in the direction Florian said the men were camped. He moved with stealth, ease and speed. Gary felt that he needed to exercise caution as he wended his way up over the hill toward the hunter’s camp.

Florian was right. The camp was easy to locate. In fact, it would have taken great pains to fail to locate it. There was music blaring. There was a large, smoky campfire burning. The men were talking loudly and long, just as Florian said.

Gary was within fifteen feet of the three men when he stood up, pointed his rifle at them and said, “Don’t move. I am here to ask you some questions, to find out what you are doing here and why. Do you know that this is a wilderness area and that hunting and large fires are prohibited?”

One of the men moved to get a rifle that was lying against a log.

“Don’t try it. I am an expert shot. I won’t kill you, but I will disable the rifle.”

The man hesitated. He sat on his haunches, pulled out a white handkerchief and waved it.

“We are from Farmington, New Mexico. We came here to get away from the plague. We are all solid citizens. I am a dentist. He is an insurance man.”

I am in real estate.” The third man volunteered. “We have all lived in Farmington for many years. We are law-abiding citizens in normal times. As I am sure you know all too well, these are not normal times.”

“Agreed. These are not normal times. But, it is not a time when the wilderness should be invaded and mistreated, either.”

“We mean no harm. We came here because Paul,” the real estate man pointed to the insurance man, “hiked in here once with one of his clients. It seemed ideal. Our families are dead. There was no food to be found anywhere in Farmington. We felt it was come here or die.”

“More than likely, it was come here and die, if what Florian has told me about your hunting and camping skills is true.”

“Who is Florian? We have seen no one since we got here.”

“Florian is a White River Ute Elder. This land used to belong to his people. He and some of his family have come here just as you have. One of you did a ‘sound shot’ and nearly killed him.”

“Well, why didn’t he just walk into our camp the way you did? We are not killers.”

“Because of how inept you are as hunters and as campers, he feared you. He called you dangerous, which is certainly true. He is unarmed. I came into your camp the way I did because I knew I could surprise you. Get the drop on you. Talk to you before anyone got shot or otherwise hurt. I am an expert marksman and wilderness survivalist.”

“We can see that. What are you going to do with us? Arrest us and take us to the authorities?”

“Better than that. I am going to introduce you to Florian. If you let him do so, he will teach you how to hunt properly. How to set a proper camp. How to be quiet so that you don’t drive the elk, the deer and the other wildlife clear into the next county. In short, if you are willing to learn, he may be able to teach you how to survive the coming winter.”

“How do we know that we can trust this man, this Florian? How long have you known him? What are his credentials?” the insurance man asked.

“Credentials. ‘He don’t need no stinkin’ credentials.’ He has told me who he is. I accept that, just as I accept that you gentlemen are who you say you are. There will be plenty of time to check his credentials as he teaches you what you need to know to survive.”

“Well, I don’t know.” It was the dentist. “We weren’t planning to spend the winter. We planned to wait for a couple of weeks more; then, we will go back to Farmington. By then, the plague should be over and the grocery stores full of food.”

“Ha! Haven’t you been listening to anything but music on your radio?”

“It’s not only a radio. It’s a CD player,” the insurance agent said. “We haven’t been able to get anything but static on the radio. Too far from the stations, I guess.”

“Actually, it may be more than that. The National Electric Grid is down. The plague had killed about 50% of the population as of a couple of days ago. The President is in hiding in a bunker someplace. There is social and economic chaos – not only in the United States but around the world, too. Dirty bombs were dropped on several cities.”

“You’re kidding! All of that could not have happened. We have only been here a little over a week.”

“Kidding? I wish I were. So do you. If you don’t believe me, pack up and get out of here. Go back to Farmington. Actually, before you get to Farmington, the situation in Durango will tell you all you need to know.”

The three men looked at each other, too astonished to say anything.

Gary changed the subject. “How many guns do you have? I see three rifles. Do you have more than that?”

“Why do you need to know that? We have hunting licenses. We are not criminals.” The insurance agent stood up and seemed to gather some gumption. “I don’t see where how many guns we have figures into this discussion.”

Florian needs a rifle and some ammunition. I don’t have an extra one, or I would give him one. I figure one less rifle isn’t going to be critical to your survival. If you stay and Florian teaches you how to hunt, camp and survive, he will more than earn anything and everything you can give him. He will have saved your lives. If you decide to leave, I will pay you for one rifle and for the ammunition to go with it.”

“That’s asking too much, too soon.” The dentist approached Gary as he said that. “We don’t know you or this Florian. We need more information. More time. We need to talk among ourselves.”

“Agreed.” Gary said. “I have to get back to my vehicle. My son will be waking soon, if he hasn’t already. If you decide to stay, I’ll introduce you to Florian tomorrow. If you decide to leave, you will drive by my vehicle on the way out, if I leave the way you came in.”

“What are our choices?” It was the insurance agent.

“Not many.” Gary said, “You can stay without help. Probably you will all die fairly soon. You can befriend and learn from Florian. That may or may not keep you alive over the winter. You can go back to Farmington and hope that things have stabilized there relative to what they were when you left. That’s about it, as near as I can tell.” Gary looked at each man, in turn.

“We’ll talk it over,” the three said almost with one voice.

“Fine by me. I’ll be in touch.” With that, Gary turned and strode away. As quickly as he could do so, he made sure that he was out of any possible line of fire from the three men and their rifles.

The old logging road he found after about a quarter of a mile took him toward his vehicle and what he hoped would be a still-sleeping son.

Gary estimated that he was getting close to his suburban when he heard a rustle in the bushes ahead. He dropped to one knee and brought his rifle up. Through the scope he could see an elk. He sighted in carefully for a shoulder shot and gently squeezed the trigger.

The elk disappeared from his scope.

Gary got up and cautiously approached the bushes. The elk lay dead, cleanly shot through the heart. It was a mid-sized female. “Well, that ought to provide quite a bit of meat for the Blackbear family,” he said aloud. “I’d better get busy.” He took out his short hunting knife and slit the animal’s throat, making sure that it was lying so that it would bleed out.

He headed for the suburban.

When Gary reached the suburban, he checked on Gordon. Gordon was awake, sucking his thumb. He still looked pretty well zonked.

Gary got in and drove the suburban as near to the elk as he could. He got out of the vehicle, opened Gordon’s compartment and lifted him out. “You been awake long?”

Gordon grunted something unintelligible in reply.

“Time for a bathroom break, Pardoner,” Gary said. With that, Gary slipped a pair of tennis shoes on Gordon’s feet. “That’s all you’ll need to walk over there and take a pee.”

Gordon dutifully complied. When he returned to the vehicle, Gary offered him a late-morning snack. Gordon declined.

“We have some work to do, Buddy,” Gary said. “Well, at least I do. You can watch or you can stay in the car. Your choice.”

Gordon climbed in the driver’s seat and began moving the wheel back and forth and making a buzzing sound.

Gary shook his head at his son’s unaccustomed lack of words, but he was glad to see Gordon take an interest in something besides sleeping.

Gary went to the back of the vehicle and opened both doors of the suburban as wide as he could. He fished around among the fully loaded but carefully organized load until he found the box he was looking for. He took it, opened it and pulled out a small – but sturdy – block and tackle.

Next, he pulled a long knife and a hatchet out of their resting places and walked back to the opened front door of the suburban.

“Time to do some butchering, Gordon. I shot an elk while you were asleep. The Blackbear family needs some meat. I aim to see that they have some before we venture on our journey. You remember Mr. Blackbear, don’t you, Gordon? You met him this morning before you went back to sleep.”

Gordon nodded and continued to pretend to drive the suburban.

“I’ll be right over there in those bushes. You can come and watch anytime you want. Or, you can stay here and drive this gas guzzling monstrosity.”

Gordon looked at his Dad for a moment before he went back to his driving task.

Gary went to work as soon as he got to where the elk lay. He dragged it a few feet to a large pine tree. He tied the top of the block and tackle to a limb that he could barely reach standing on tiptoe. Then, he tied the tackle rope to the neck of the elk. Next, by pulling as hard as he could, he raised the elk until it was suspended in mid-air. He took the long knife and made a quick, deep incision from the top of the chest to between the hind legs. He gutted the animal, making sure to save the heart and the liver.

He’d done it all before and considered himself more than just proficient at it. He headed back to the suburban.

“Move over, Buddy, I’m gonna steer this critter over there where the elk is.”

Gordon slid over, but kept one hand on the steering wheel.

“Sure, you can help.” With that, Gary lifted Gordon on his lap. The two of them steered the vehicle within a few feet of where the elk swayed on its block and tackle harness.

Gary jumped out, replacing Gordon behind the steering wheel as he did so. He lowered the elk and dragged it to the bars that protected the front of the suburban. He tied the front feet of the elk to one side and the back feet to the other. Then, he looped the rest of the block and tackle rope around the elk’s neck and tied it up.

Gary decided to leave the elk’s innards for the natural scavengers. It was nature’s way and that suited him fine. He cleaned the knife and put it and the unused hatched back in their places. He closed the back doors of the suburban.

“He slid under the steering wheel, again lifting Gordon onto his lap.

“Let’s go find the Blackbear’s camp,” he said. Gordon did not know that his father already knew exactly where the camp was and how to get there. “With you helping me, I’ll bet we find it right off.”

Gary turned the suburban around, drove back to their camp, turned right and drove slowly toward the Blackbear camp. Gordon sat up straight, pulled back and forth on the steering wheel and made his buzzing sound. Gary kept the vehicle on the trail.

Just before they drove into the Blackbear’s camp, Gary spotted Florian. Florian was sitting on a log, smoking a pipe. He got up hurriedly and with a big smile on his face.

Gary stopped the suburban and got out. “Got you some meat, Florian. This elk virtually jumped into place there on the front of the vehicle. It’s all for you.”

Florian walked up to the elk and patted it. He passed his hands back and forth over it as he recited something in his native tongue. When he was finished, he turned to Gary.

“It’s a fine animal. The women will make much meat and jerky from it. The hide will come in handy for the winter that will soon be on us.”

Florian grabbed Gary’s hand and shook it vigorously. He paused. “What about the hunters? Did you find them and talk to them?” Florian asked quietly.

“Yep. Found them and talked with them. I left them to talk things over. They are going to decide what to do. I pretty much told them that – no matter what – they should leave you a gun and some ammo. I told them I would pay them for it.”

“What kind of people are they? Do they seem trustworthy or dangerous?” Florian asked.

“Business men. From Farmington. You are right, they don’t know much about hunting and almost nothing about wilderness . . . especially about wilderness survival. I told them that they would die unless they went back to town or teamed up with you, what with winter coming on and all.”

“I don’t know . . . sometimes people like that are more dangerous than you can imagine. There is not time to teach them even a small part of what they should know, even if they decide to make the effort. I just don’t know.”

“Most likely, they will decide to return to Durango, at least, and perhaps on to Farmington. I suspect that the recent chaotic events will soon sort themselves out. The grocery and other trucks will have to start deliveries again. Or, an awful lot of people are going to starve to death.”

“I fear there will be starvation. That is why we decided to come to the wilderness. At least we know how to find some food. We have an abundance of water and will have more when the snows come. The only question lies with how much food we can gather and how much we can continue to find over the winter. If the winter is mild, the game animals will stay in the area all winter. If the winter is harsh and they move to lower meadows, we will have no choice. We will have to follow them. But, without a rifle and ammunition, we will have to find a way to get back to the reservation.”

“Well, that’s for the future,” Gary said “Right now, let’s get this elk skinned and cut up and get some of it drying. I assume you have the ingredients for making at least some jerky.”

“Some. Not enough. One elk is not enough, either, but it is a great beginning.”

Gary got back in the suburban and drove the rest of the way into the Blackbear camp. Two women and three children came out as soon as they heard the vehicle approaching.

Gary drove up to a large pine tree and stopped. He got out and unleashed the elk. Two of Blackbear’s daughters came forward. They nodded at Gary and helped him hoist the elk, after he attached the block and tackle to a large limb.

After consulting with Florian, Gary got the long knife and the hatchet out of the suburban and started skinning the elk. This took a lot of time and effort, especially since Gary wanted to keep the hide in as near perfect condition as he could. His reasoning was that the Blackbear family might want to tan the hide for their use. If not, he would take it with him to the sanctuary.

When he finished with the skinning, he rolled the elk’s hide as tight as he could and handed it to one of Blackbear’s daughters. He fetched the heart and liver from the suburban and gave them to the second daughter.

Florian had been standing back and watching Gay work. He came forward and put his arm on Gary’s. Let my daughters do the rest of the work. You have done far more than your share by shooting this fine animal and bringing it to our camp. I have taught my daughters well. They will butcher it in the Indian way.

Gary handed the knife and the hatchet to Florian. Without any further words, Florian handed the knife to one daughter and the hatchet to the second. “Let us rest over here, my friend.”

“First, Florian, let me get Gordon out of the truck. I have watched him looking at all of this and your grandchildren. Perhaps we can even get him to say ‘hello’ to them.”

“It may take some time,” Florian said, “ I am sure all of this is more than new to him, it may even be a bit frightening. I remember when I saw my first white people. I clung to my mother’s skirt.”

“Right on. We’ll take it easy. I may even have to hold him. He has not been himself since his mother and sister died from the plague. He used to talk all the time; now, he seldom says anything. Slow and easy is probably best.”

Chapter 16: A Surprise for the Urban Hermit

Hewitt was sitting at the table having his second cup of herbal tea, following his breakfast, when the intercom crackled.

“Mr. Branson, this is Alan Kinchloe. I need to speak to you. I am in the lobby.”

Hewitt was dumbfounded. He thought that the intercom system was disconnected. Moreover, he did not recognize the name, Alan Kinchloe.”

He walked over to the intercom panel and pressed a button. “What is your name? Who are you? What do you want?” As he said these things, he activated a monitor that picked up a picture from a hidden camera. What Hewitt saw was a large Black man standing near the intercom button.

“Kinchloe, Sir. I worked on your intercom system some months ago when you were changing things around. Alan Kinchloe. I was with Acme Electronics.”

Hewitt thought back. There was a large, affable African American on the intercom job. Hewitt had focused on the man’s first name, not his last. Finally, he answered. “Yes, Alan, Mr. Kinchloe, I do remember you from the job. Excellent credentials, as I recall. First rate work. But that does not explain why you are here today or how you got the system to work. I inactivated it myself several days ago.”

“Yes, Sir, I realize that, but I put an override feature into it. I knew that when the great trouble you were preparing for came, you would deactivate the regular intercom. So, I made sure that I could get in touch with you – no matter what! I was particularly impressed by how thoroughly you had thought through the contingencies so your systems would work almost no matter what the cause of the crisis was. What most impressed me was the manual overrides for everything.”

Hewitt hesitated. Finally, he continued. “I’m not sure that it was ethical for you to put in your own modifications, Mr. Kinchloe. Not ethical at all.”

“Perhaps not, Mr. Branson, but I knew that if I really needed to talk to you, it would be a life or death situation for my little girl. I don’t care about myself, Mr. Branson, but my daughter means everything to me. I want her to live through this terrible time. I think you can see to it that she does.”

“Mr. Kinchloe, what makes you so sure that I can – or even would – help you and your daughter?”

“Not me, Mr Branson, it’s not for me. I will not – would never impose on you – if it was only me.”

“I see. What is it you want me to do? I don’t see how I can be the help that you are seeking for your daughter. What is her name?”

“Alane. My name is Alan; so, my wife named her Alane. My wife died several years ago. Since then, Alane and I have been everything to each other. We . . . “

“All the more reason why I don’t know how I can be of help to her . . . and not to you. Besides, you have not told me how you came to think that I could be of any help.”

“I figured it out while I was working here. I figured out that you were setting up some sort of a . . . a hidey-hole right here in the middle of town. A self-sustaining fortress as it were. That’s when I set up the intercom override. I knew that come hell or high water, somehow, you and this building would be safe. A haven for you and – I hope and pray – a haven for Alane, too.”

“What about you, Mr. Kinchloe? Where will you go and what will you do?”

“Alan, Sir, please call me Alan. I will disappear into the city. Neither you nor my little Alane will ever hear from me again – that is, unless everything returns to normal, which I don’t think will happen in my lifetime.”

“I can’t imagine that your daughter will just let you deliver her here to a strange man in a strange building. I can’t believe that she would just let you walk away, never to be seen again. Not if what you have told me about your steadfast father/daughter relationship is as you have represented it. Come, Mr. . . . Alan, surely you can see the logic in what I say.”

“Normally, I would agree, Mr. Branson. However, Alane is critically ill. She is near death. The hospital is in a state of crisis chaos. Dead and dying everywhere. Few doctors or nurses. She needs a place to stay until she gets well. I think she can get well here.”

“I am deeply sorry to hear that your daughter is critically ill. I don’t doubt what you say about the hospital is true. I am no doctor. This is not a hospital. There is no provision for caring for a critically ill person. Surely you know that, Mr. Kinchloe. Besides, if you left your daughter at this critical time, wouldn’t she be worse off?”

“I doubt that she could be worse off than she is. She is delirious. Nearly comatose at times. She needs water, food, warmth, quiet, some special herbs and an antibiotic cocktail of some sort.”

“Mr. Kinchloe, Alan, what makes you think I could supply all that. I have heard that none of the standard antibiotics work with this plague. That is one reason it is so deadly.”

“Yes, Sir, that is true. But my little girl has a strong will to live. She has proven that already. She only needs the measures I mentioned. I have the special herbs. You surely have all of the rest, Mr. Branson.”

“Hum. Where is Alane now? How would you transport her here, even if I thought I could help?”

“She’s here. Right here in the lobby. I carried her all the way here. Walked most of the night with her in my arms.”

“Astounding. Take her to elevator number three. I will activate it and bring you and her up to the 11^th floor. There is a sort of dispensary there in Room 1111. A bed. Water. Food. And, yes, some antibiotics. I was not sure why I was setting it up that way at the time. Perhaps this is the reason. Sometimes we do things almost as if we could see into the future . . . or, at least as if our unconscious minds can.”

“That’s what Jung thought, too, Mr. Branson.”

“Jung? You know about Carl Jung, Alan?”

“Yes, Sir, I studied with a Jungian Analyst for several years while I was becoming an electronic technician.”

“Remarkable, Alan. I have been interested in Jung for a number of years myself.”

Hewitt activated the front door lock. He watched on the hidden cameras as Alan gently picked up a large bundle and carried it to the elevator. Hewitt activated the elevator. The door slid open and Alan carried Alane inside. Hewitt activated the elevator until it reached the 11^th floor. There, the door slid open and Alan carried Alane down the hall to Room 1111.

As Hewitt watched on a monitor, Alan placed his daughter in a chair next to the bed. He pulled back the sheets, extricated his daughter from several blankets, lifted her onto the bed and pulled the bed sheets and covers over her. Alane was dressed in colorful pajamas. Alan fluffed the pillow and lovingly arranged his daughter’s head and hair as he did so.

Hewitt realized that he was looking at a somewhat attractive young woman. He had pictured a small girl, based on what Alan had said.

Hewitt donned a surgical mask and gloves as he went down to the 11^th floor on another elevator.

In the room, he opened a closet door and pulled out an IV stand. He opened a cabinet door, pulled out a plastic bag filled with fluid, hooked it on the IV stand, inserted a needle in Alane’s wrist and started the IV. He took several small vials out of a second cabinet. He attached a large needle to a syringe and pulled a small amount of fluid from each of the vials. He then inserted the needle in the IV tube’s shunt and sent the mixture of fluids directly into Alane’s bloodstream. Neither man had spoken.

“Where are the herbs?” Hewitt asked.

Alan produced a small plastic bag that held several even smaller bags. He measured some of the contents of each of the small bags into a plastic cup that Hewitt handed him. Hewitt added some sterile water, stirred the mixture and handed it back to Alan.

Alan took Alane’s head in his hands, raised it and encouraged his daughter to drink some of the concoction. She did, with some choking.

While Alan was doing that, Hewitt got an electric blanket down from a closet shelf, covered Alane with the blanket and plugged it in. He set the blanket’s dial just above the medium setting.

Then, he went to the closet and got out a second IV stand. He got a second plastic bag full of fluid from a different shelf. He inserted a needle in Alane’s other wrist and started a second IV. Then, he prepared a stomach sedative and an anti-diarrhea concoction in a small cup. He handed the cup to Alan who immediately encouraged Alane to drink it. She drank most of it.

Alan spoke. “For someone who ain’t a doctor you certainly seem to know what you’re doing, Mr. Branson. I doubt that any doctor in the chaos of the hospital could have done what you did, any faster or better.”

“Well, I did study up some on first aide and basic medicine practices as part of getting ready for what you call the chaos. I did it more thinking I might need to self-administer, though. I did not have in mind a young woman patient. Your description of Alane misled me, Alan. She is not a little girl, she is a woman.”

“No, I didn’t mislead you, your assumptions did. Our assumptions often do that to us, Mr. Branson. Too often, sometimes. To me, she is still my little girl.”

“Fair enough. I admit that your assumptions can, and often do, mislead us. There is nothing more that I can do here. There is a second bed in the room next to this one. Also, a small kitchen and some food for you. Make yourself at home and at ease. You are welcome to stay until your daughter’s situation resolves itself.” Branson put his hand on Alan shoulder as he talked.

“You mean until she dies or passes the crisis stage, don’t you?” Alan said.

“Yes. But I did not want to put it so bluntly. I feel deeply your love for and attachment to your daughter, Alan. Deeply. I must go back up stairs. I will keep the monitor on in this room only. I will not intrude on your privacy in the other room. You need only call, and I will come back down. Encourage your daughter to drink as much juice and other fluids as you can. The juices are in the fridge in the kitchen.

“However, do not try to leave this floor of the building. There is no way for you to do so.”

With that Hewitt left the room.

Alan stopped him in the hall. “Mr Branson, I know this has been a great imposition . . . a great impertinence on my part. I am grateful beyond measure or words. Thank you.”

Hewitt turned and went to the elevator. He said not a word. He did not trust himself or his voice. As he went up in the elevator, he took out a handkerchief and wiped a tear from each eye.

When Hewitt got to the penthouse level, he was as good as his word. He deactivated the 11^th floor monitors except for the room Alane was in. She was alone. She seemed to be deeply asleep. He could hear Alan doing something that sounded very much like food preparation in the adjoining room.

Hewitt smiled. “Well, Mr. Kinchloe, it seems you have found a way into my fortress; I thought it was impregnable. And, it seems you have appealed to me in a way I never thought possible. Your love for your daughter has touched me here.”

He pounded his heart lightly and smiled, even as he wiped yet another tear from each eye.

Through the morning, he and Alan talked over the intercom. It was evident that Alane was getting better. Alan managed to get her to drink small amounts of liquid on an hourly basis.

In mid-afternoon. Hewitt went down and replaced the two nearly empty IV bags with full ones. He administered a second dose of antibiotics. Alan prepared another dose of the herbs; Alane was semi-awake and drank the mixture readily. She also drank a de-fizzed 7-Up. After that, she went back into her near-coma sleep.

“Don’t get your hopes up too far yet, Alan. Alane needs to make it through at least another day before we can fully replace our fear.”

“I won’t, Mr. Branson. Believe me I will continue to pray for her and for you. But I fully realize what Alane is up against. Last I heard the plague was all over the world, nearly everyone was getting it and about 50% were dying, much more than that when they became as sick as Alane is. Nothing will destroy my hope, though, or my belief in you.”

With that, Hewitt turned to go. He reconsidered and turned back.

“What did you see on your way over here? What’s happening out in the city. I can only see so much from my vantage point. I have seen little if any human activity.”

“It’s complete chaos, sir. Most people are staying inside. As near as I can tell, early on, there was widespread looting, mostly of grocery stores and electronic stores. The latter ceased when nothing worked. The grocery stores are empty of food, I guess.

“There were people at the hospital and a lot of traffic, briefly on the major roads leading out of town. None, now, near as I can tell. There were some dangerous gangs roaming around, but even most of them are dead or are staying inside. It’s chaos. I guess it is the Armageddon thing the Bible talks about. What do you think?”

“Well, I am not a religious man. So, I would say it is certainly an apocalypse, a time of great chaos. There is the plague. I suspect there will be famine, especially in big cities since without gas and diesel fuel there is no way to get crops to market, even if there are people to harvest and process those crops, which I very much doubt. People who have stored food or who live in areas of the world with year-round crops will do okay, if they survive the plague.”

“That’s not a pretty picture, Mr. Branson.”

“No it isn’t; but I am afraid it gets worse. Without electric power almost nothing – in the modern, civilized sense – works. That means that people are going to have to adjust dramatically. But, even with that there is another specter looming: war.”

“War? Ain’t there enough problems without adding that?”

“Well, war has always been a way of diverting attention from domestic problems. In this case, if whole countries descend into chaos, the likelihood is that small, regional warlords will emerge. The focus will be on gaining control of food stocks and of prime agricultural land. Also, those warlords who can best serve and protect the people and the territories will be highly valued.”

“Whew! Sounds like Armageddon to me. It also sounds like the feudal times. That’s when the last plague was, if my memory is correct.”

“Technically, Armageddon will be the final battle between the forces of good and those of evil. This is more like the pestilence, famine and war of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. The feudal analogy may be right on the mark.”

“How long do you think it will be before things settle down?”

“Alan, I wish I knew. I doubt that anyone can answer that question. It’s too early. It depends on many things that we cannot know at this stage and with our isolation from news. Let me know if there is any change for the worse in Alane’s situation. I think we have done all we can, for now. And, she does seem to be responding – getting somewhat better. I’ll also keep the monitor on her and I’ll come down to check on her before I go to bed.”

“Thanks. Thanks a million, Mr. Branson.” Alan’s words followed Hewitt to the elevator.

Chapter 17: Aunt Bertha’s Bounty

Clement sat on the porch and gazed out over the lake. The sky was unusually clear and bright. The sun had dipped below the trees on the west part of the farm just as Clement came out and settled into his favorite chair. It was a cool, crisp fall evening. Just what Clement needed after his usual, several-course dinner.

Clement folded his hands over his ample belly and began to reminisce. He thought back on the phone call that started it all; the call that changed his life forever:

“Clement, this is your Uncle Buford. Can you come down to the farm for a visit?”

“I don’t know, Uncle Buford. I have only been retired for less than a month. Still a whole lot of things to take care of. I have to attend the transition lectures and meet with my transition counselor. More papers to fill out to be sure that I get my settlement check and to see to it that the retirement checks start coming. Also, got to get all of the forms for the retirement insurance lined up. Stuff like that.”

“Whew, Nephew. Retirement ain’t like it used to be. Used to be, they just gave you a dinner and a watch; that was it.”

“Well, Uncle, you see, I didn’t actually retire in the usual sense. I was a victim . . . er, I was phased out as part of downsizing. They gave me the choice of an early retirement package or a ‘pink slip’.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard all about that sort of thing. Not your fault, at all; nothing one employee, even a high-up management-type like you, could do about it.”

“You’re right there, Uncle. I took the only option that made good sense.”

“Listen, Clement, no matter how much you got to do up there, I really need you down here for a spell. It’s exceedingly important, or I wouldn’t ask. What’s the soonest you could come down for say . . . a week or two?”

“Give me about two days to rap things up, here. ‘Nuther two days to drive down. Will that be okay?”

“Ah, Clement, if you’re shure that’s the best you can do, I guess it will have to be okay. I’ll tell your Aunt Bertha . . . “

“How is my aunt, Buford? She hasn’t called me in quite a spell. I been meanin’ to call her, but with the retirement flap, and all, I jes didn’t get it done.”

“Nephew, you don’t want to know how she is. That’s why I want you down here. She wants to see you before she goes.”

“Dies, boy, dies. She’s ‘bout to check out. No hope accordin’ to Doc Wilder. No hope.”

“I’ll fly down and rent a car. Should be there sometime tonight . . . if only I’d known.”

“Don’t rent a car. Someone will be at the airport to pick you up. I’ll call around until someone says ‘yes.’ You can use our car or a pickup once you get down here.”

“Okay. See you as soon as I can. Tell Aunt Bertha that I am on my way.”

And that was how Clement Morris, country-bred but a denizen of cities all of his adult life, came to be sitting on the porch of what had been his Uncle and Aunt’s house south and east of Fort Smith near the Ozark National Forest, enjoying the view and the evening.

Clement never went back to his apartment in Chicago. Clement hired his apartment manager to pack his personal belongings and some of his furniture and send it down to him. Most everything went to a local auction house or to a thrift store.

For his part, Clement had seldom been busier. He did get down, barely, in time to say good-bye to his Aunt Bertha. She died within hours of his arrival. One huge surprise was the sudden and unexpected death of his Uncle Buford the day of Bertha’s funeral. In fact, the Uncle died on the way back from the cemetery.

The day before he died, Uncle Buford mentioned that Clement was their only heir. Then, he showed Clement a secret room in the large house, a room full of unimagined treasures. There was a filing cabinet filled with carefully organized information on all of the land and stocks that the couple owned.

On a high shelf were several nondescript, half-gallon jars. As Buford pointed to them he summarized what was in each: One jar was full of pennies; one was full of nickels, one was full of dimes, one contained quarters, one half dollars, and, one dollars. The coins in all of the jars were from the 1800s and early 1900s.The last jar that Buford pointed to was full of gold coins, most of them from the 1700s and 1800s!

Clement was overwhelmed. The jar of gold coins, alone, had to be worth a large fortune. The stock portfolio was extensive; it contained some of the most valuable stock in the world.

When Clement asked Buford how a farmer came by such an array of wealth, Uncle Buford shrugged his shoulders and said something to the effect that both sides of the family had been frugal for generations, that his father was an avid coin collector and that Aunt Bertha was the ‘best damned stock picker’ south of Omaha.”

“You see, Clement,” Uncle Buford said. “Your Aunt Bertha always was the smartest human I ever knew. She won all the awards at our high school; she was even the state spelling champion two years. She could learn anything that she wanted to know.

“Heaven only knows why she chose to marry me and became a farmer’s wife. She could have done almost anything in the whole wide world that she set her mind to.

“My granddaddy and my dad were excellent farmers. They passed their knowledge and their lands onto me. Before we sold the farms up in Missouri, moved down here and had this house built, I was considered one of the best farmers with some of the best farmland in that part of the state. Our only disappointment was that we didn’t have children of our own. That’s where you came in, Clement. Bertha doted on you like you was ours.”

With that, Buford led Clement out of the hidden room.

That was as much as Clement was ever to learn about the origin of the fortune. The next day, Aunt Bertha, dead from cancer and heart trouble, was buried, and Uncle Buford was dead from the shock and grief of losing his life-long love.

The days that followed his Uncle’s death were a swirl of activity for Clement. He had to meet with lawyers and with financial advisors. He had to go through the process of proving that he was the one, the only and the rightful heir. He had to have everything transferred into his name. It was grueling work, made the more difficult because Clement felt, deep down, that he deserved none of it. He had not been even a dutiful nephew. Most of the communication over the years had been one-way: From Aunt Bertha to him.

Clement continued to wrap up all of the details of his inheritance. The house and land were scheduled to become a conservation trust when the childless Clement died. The majority of the estate was in a trust that would pass on to various charities at his death. Clement willed the remainder to a couple of distant cousins, to a couple of his favored charities and to two of his life-long friends. Finally, all of the work was done.

As Clement reminisced, he felt a sting on his hand. He swatted a mosquito. Blood spurted across the back of his hand. “Time to go in,” he thought. “Maybe I should have put those ‘mosquito dunks’ in the ponds, the way the mosquito control man insisted. Too busy, I guess. Maybe tomorrow.” He did not get up immediately. He reminisced on.

The more Clement learned about his Aunt and Uncle’s retirement haven, the more impressed he became. The house was only a few years old. It was a large, complex house of three stories and a basement. The house was completely energy self-sufficient. There were solar hot water panels on the roof, along with an ample photovoltaic system. There were several banks of batteries in the basement for storing excess electricity from the photovoltaics. There was a backup electric generating system and – just far enough from the house – a large ethanol storage tank of fuel for the backup system and for the farm vehicles.

Aunt Bertha and Uncle Buford were ardent gardeners. There was a fruit tree orchard, a berry patch, a kitchen garden and several small plots for different grains, including corn, oats, wheat and sorghum. There were two greenhouses. There was a large cellar near the house with shelf-after-shelf of canned fruits, berries, vegetables, jams and jellies, all of which were carefully labeled and dated. The three ponds on the property were stocked with different kinds of fish.

The farm was virtually self-sustaining; it was a cornucopia. There was even a licensed ethanol still in one of the outbuildings which – by using corn from the farm – could provide the fuel for the energy backup system and for the farm vehicles, all of which were set up to run on ethanol.

Clement swatted a second mosquito. More blood splashed across the back of his hand. He roused himself and went into the house.

A few days later, Clement was sitting in the TV room watching the President’s speech when the TV picture turned first to snow and then to a black screen. The electricity in the house did not go off, since the house was not connected to any electric grid. All of the appliances in the house hummed on as usual.

After a few minutes, Clement roused himself and turned on a high-powered radio. There was only static on the station he sometimes listened to. He pressed the search button. Static all across the FM band. He switched to the AM band. Same result. He went back to the station he usually listened to and left the radio on. He returned to his chair, picked up a magazine and began to read.

“Hummm? Strange. The emergency broadcast system should be kicking in. How will people know what to do, if the emergency broadcasts aren’t made?” he mused aloud. “I’ll leave both the radio and the TV on. There should be some emergency broadcast messages coming on before long.”

When his usual bedtime came around, there was still nothing on either the TV or the radio. He turned both machines off. Their continued silence both puzzled and upset Clement, but not enough to keep him from going to bed or from getting a good night’s sleep.

Over the next several days, Clement took stock of all of the food and other survival supplies on the property. He contacted several of the neighbors to let them know what he could spare. He ventured into the town and talked with the sheriff and with the pastor of his Aunt and Uncle’s church. It was while he was driving home that he made the decision. The grocery stores were mostly empty. Many people in the county were either already hungry or soon would be. Clement, together with the sheriff and the pastor would distribute the shelves and shelves of food from the cellar and from the pantry in the house. Clement would keep enough for his own needs for a few days. By then, he reasoned, trucks loaded with food would begin to arrive, even in their small town.

He turned around and drove back to the church. While he was talking with the pastor, the pastor summoned the sheriff. They determined to use the existing food bank as the distribution point and word-of-mouth, plus street-by-street broadcasts by the sheriff and his deputies, to alert those needing food of its availability. They even devised ways to be sure that only the most needy would get the food.

Only then did Clement return to his late Aunt and Uncle’s sanctum. He felt better in that he knew that he really did not deserve all that he had received from his late Aunt and Uncle. He also knew that there was enough food in the cellar and the house for one person for several years.

The next morning, Clement was up early. He was waiting for the trucks to arrive. Several drove into the driveway. He did not recognize either the drivers or the man who introduced himself as the food bank director. It took the drivers and the director only about an hour to load the trucks. In doing so, they emptied the cellar in its entirely and most of the pantry and the freezer in the house.

With a wave of his hand, Clement bid the director and the truck drivers farewell. He said he would come into to town to the food bank later. The trucks drove away.

About an hour later, Clement heard some vehicles approaching the farm. He went out on the porch. Several trucks were approaching on the road from town. They were being led by the sheriff’s car. A second car was behind the sheriff’s. Clement could see the pastor and a woman he did not recognize in the front seat of the second car.

The convoy pulled up to the back door. By then, Clement was there to greet them.

“Well, Clement, here we are for the bounty of your generosity,” the sheriff said as he got out of his car.

“Thank you, thank you, Mr. Morris,” the woman said. “I am Lillian Collins, director of the local food bank.”

The pastor shook the befuddled Clement’s hand.

“But, but, but all of the food is gone,” Clement finally blurted out.

“Gone?” the three said almost simultaneously.

“Yes,” Clement finally said. “A man with trucks was here this morning. He introduced himself as the director of the food bank. They loaded everything and left about an hour ago.”

“What was his name?” the sheriff asked.

“Hum, I’m not sure he said. If he did, I lost it in the confusion of the moment. After everything was loaded, he gave me a form to sign. ‘Needed it for the records,’ he said.”

“What’d he look like?” the sheriff queried.

“Well, let me see. He was tall. About your height, sheriff. He was dressed in work clothes, but neatly. His pants and shirt were pressed. Noticed that, right off. He wore a western hat. I . . . “

“Clint Parker,” the sheriff cut in. “Sounds like that scoundrel. He’ll be headed for Fort Smith. He’ll have that stuff all sold to some low-lifes up there. We gotta move fast. Cut him off. Come on pastor. Clement. Let’s go. The rest of you can go home, for now. Thanks for volunteering yourselves and the trucks.”

The three men got in the sheriff’s car. He turned on the lights and siren as they sped away.

“I know just how to get there ‘afore they do. I have a pretty good idea where they’ll be headed. With luck, we can head them off and turn ‘em back to our town. We ain’t licked yet. Not by a darned sight.”

As the sheriff drove into Fort Smith, he turned down a side street and pulled up to a warehouse. The trucks had just arrived. The sheriff got out. “Come with me, Clement. You stay in the car, pastor.”

Just then, an astonished Clint Parker and another man walked out of the warehouse.

“Hold it right there, Mr. Parker. This charade has gone far enough. Everything in those trucks belongs to the food bank.”

“Not so fast, sheriff,” Parker said, “ I have a signed receipt for everything. All nice and legal. I’ll show it to you. It’s in the truck.”

“Receipts obtained under false pretenses aren’t legal. Your game’s over.”

With that, the man with Parker snorted, turned and went back into the warehouse. What he said was not audible and may not have been printable, either.

Parker held up his hands, palms outward. Looks like you win, sheriff. Me and the boys will take these things back, just like you want. Let’s say it was more a prank that anything else, shall we?”

“The D. A. will determine that. You lead, we’ll follow. Any funny stuff and you’re headed to jail. Got it?”

“Got it, sheriff. I am not a sore loser.” Clint Parker smiled as he said this, but it was a crooked smile from the side of his mouth.

The sheriff was determined to be vigilant.

After it was all over and the food was stored at the food bank, the sheriff was taking Clement home when Clement began to feel ill. “Too much excitement,” he thought. He decided to not say anything to the sheriff

By the time he got home and in the house, Clement was having slight chills. He barely made it to the toilet to vomit. His head was spinning. He felt weak and disoriented. As he was walking out the door from his third trip to the toilet to vomit, he lost his balance and crashed into the doorframe. He fell heavily to the floor, bumping his nose as he did so. He tried to pull a handkerchief from his pocket to staunch the blood from his nose.

He felt disoriented and confused. He seemed to lose consciousness at times. The longer he lay there, the more helpless and sick he felt.

He had a terrible headache and severe pain in his eyes. He tried several times to get up, but could not do so. He crawled to the living room and, after resting for several minutes, he was able to pull himself up and in his favorite chair.

That is where he died, a victim, not of the plague, but of the most severe form of the West Nile Virus. He really should have treated all of his ponds with the anti-mosquito larvae formula. All of Aunt Bertha and Uncle Buford’s self-sustaining preparations – for Clement – came to naught. When the neighbors, the sheriff and the pastor came to thank him, formally, for all of the food, they found Clement’s body; he had been dead for at least two days.

Chapter 18: Turning Back the Sheriff

As the walkie-talkie on his desk crackled, Roger picked it up. “Roger here. What’s up? Over.”

“Major confrontation developing at the Main Gate, Roger. A convoy of sheriff’s vehicles is approaching. Over”

“I’ll be right down. Don’t let them in. Over and out.”

Roger grabbed a double-barreled shotgun, cracked it open and slipped a live round in each barrel. From a box of shells, he grabbed a handful and put them in his jacket pocket. “Hey, Slim, Charlie, Steve, grab your guns and come with me. George, make sure that everyone gets to his or her battle stations and are fully ready for action.”

Roger bolted out the front door of the ranch house and headed for a pickup. He eased his 6’ 9” 280 pound body into the driver’s seat and turned the ignition key. The motor roared. Slim got in on the other side. Charlie and Steve jumped into pickup bed. Steve slapped the roof to let Roger know that they were settled in the back, just as Roger put the vehicle in gear and started for the Main Gate.

Roger slowed the pickup as he neared the Main Gate. “Slim, you come with me,” he said as he stopped the vehicle. The two got out of the truck. “Charlie, you and Steve stay up there where you can cover us. Don’t do anything unless it is absolutely necessary. Then, do only what you need to do to keep them out and everyone on our side safe.”

“Right, Boss. Gotcha,” both Charlie and Steve replied.

Roger walked down to the Main Gate. He got there just as the sheriff, two hulking deputies, the District Attorney and the District Judge walked up.

“Howdy, Duke, Marlin, Judge Childs, what brings you gentlemen to my doorstep this fine morning?” Roger ignored the deputies in his greeting.

“Mornin’ Roger,” as the Sheriff said this, he held up a folded piece of paper. “This here is a declaration of a state of Martial Law in the county due to unprecedented events. The District Attorney worked it up, based on State Law. It gives us the right and the power to con . . . er, appropriate whatever we need to maintain law and order in the county on an emergency basis.”

The Sheriff tried to hand the paper to Roger. Roger backed off, farther than the sheriff could reach through the closed and locked gate.

“Not interested, Duke. There is nothing on my property that can in any way help you maintain law and order in the county. We have had to turn people away over the past several days. But, thanks for stopping by. If I think of anything, I’ll give you a call.”

“Now just a darned minute, Roger, we determine what we need and what we don’t need; that’s not in your power to do so. We’re the law. We want you to open this gate, take us up to the house and the other ranch buildings and we’ll decide what to take and what to leave.”

“I think you got it all wrong there, Duke. This is my place. Been in the family for over one hundred years. Nothing on the place is subject to search and seizure. I know a little bit about the law myself.” With that, Roger patted his shotgun.

“We’re coming in there whether you like it or not. We aimed to do it peaceably; but, if you resist, you will be breaking Martial Law, which amounts to treason in my book.”

Roger turned and took a couple of step towards the Sheriff. “Best of my belief, what you are here for is our water, our food and our other emergency rations and supplies. Is that about right?”

“Yes, there are many people in this county that are out of food. Treated water too, for that matter. They’ll die of thirst or starve if we don’t get supplies to them. In times like these, it’s share and share alike – for the public good.”

“Duke, seems to me that I came and talked to you about this kind of situation three – maybe four – years ago. I explained then that the county should be setting up caches of emergency water, food and medical supplies. You remember that visit?”

“Yeah, I remember it. Don’t have no bearing on what’s going on in the here and now.”

“Doesn’t it? Seems like those caches are exactly what the present situation calls for. Exactly. If I recall correctly, you told me where I could take my apocalyptic talk and stuff it. Isn’t that so?”

“Don’t matter one bit what I said or didn’t say. You open them gates or we’ll blow ‘em down and come through. Now get ‘em open.”

“Whoa! Slow down, Duke.” It was the District Attorney. “No need to let this get out of hand. Sure, we all know that you came to us: to the Sheriff, to me, to the Judge, to the news media, to anyone . . . sure we should have listened to you and done what you recommended. We didn’t. That was our mistake. Your mistake would be in trying to deny us what is our legal right to do.”

“You’re out of line, too, Marlin.” As he said this, Roger took a step toward the gate and pointed the shotgun at the District Attorney. “We have just enough water, food and other emergency supplies for the people on the ranch. Not a speck more. If we had any extra, we would gladly share it. If you try to take it, you will be threatening our right to keep what little we have to stay alive. We’ll defend our right to live, to the death, if necessary – ours and yours.”

The Judge stepped forward. As he did so, the Sheriff and the two large deputies retreated back to where several of his other deputies were standing. On the Sheriff’s orders, the deputies pulled their guns and began to walk toward the gate. “Sheriff,” the Judge turned and spoke sternly. “Put those guns away. There’ll be no gunplay here, today or any day while I am the District Judge. You deputies go back by your vehicles.”

The deputies obeyed. The Sheriff holstered his pistol and returned to the gate.

“That’s better,” the Judge said. “If Roger is determined to disobey the law, we’ll let him for now. I will put out a bench order for his arrest and ask him to come into town and into my court. That’s the civilized, legal way to settle this matter.”

“Civilized, or not, Judge, I ain’t leaving here until I have carried out the law under Martial Law terms,” the Sheriff said.

“Ha!” Roger snorted. “Duke, you and Sam and Fred couldn’t bully me in grade school or through high school. I surely ain’t lettin’ you do it now. That’s what this is really about. You think you can finally make up for all the times I outsmarted you or out muscled you.”

“Tain’t so. We’re here under the terms of Martial Law. That’s the fact.” Duke put a hand back on his weapon.

“Look, Duke, I’ll say it one more time. You are not coming on this property to take water, food and other supplies that we need. You are out manned and outgunned. We have a cannon and some rocket grenades trained on you, your deputies and all of your vehicles. You can accept the fact that you were a horse’s hind end for ignoring my pleas for countywide preparedness for just the sorts of calamities that have befallen us all. Moreover, you can take that piece of paper and stuff it where you told me to put my apocalyptic warnings.”

As the Sheriff tried to draw his weapon, the Judge stepped in front of him and put a hand on his arm. “Not today, Duke. If you want to commit suicide, you can come out when I am not standing out here in the open. You and your men get in your cars. That’s a judicial order, Duke. Disobey it at the risk of jail and your career.”

The District Attorney stepped up to the two men. “I agree with the Judge, Sheriff. We’ll have no massacre here, today or any day. I believe Roger when he says he has a cannon and rocket grenades, even it you don’t. It’s true that he has certain rights, even under Martial Law.”

The Sheriff was livid. He shouted at Roger. “I’ll show you. I’ll go get the National Guard. Then we’ll see who is out manned and outgunned.”

Roger called out, “Actually, Duke, the National Guard commander took me at my word. He stored up the supplies that I suggested. Maybe even enough extra to help you through a few days of this crisis. I doubt he will want to waste the lives of his men following you.

“I suggest that you go back into town and put you and your deputies under Major Lynch’s control. My understanding is that he had things pretty well under control and has had for a number of days. I’ll bet that you have not even bothered to find out just how thorough the Major and his men and women have been. He and I talked through his plans and I even participated in some of his drills.

“Do yourself and the people of this county a favor. Go see Major Lynch.”

As the three men turned, Roger called to the Judge. “Jim, can I talk to you, private-like, here at the gate?”

“Sure, Roger, sure you can.” The Judge approached the gate.

“Jim, I’m sorry it has to be this way, but I am responsible for the lives of all of the people who have followed my warnings and my advice. We do have room for two more people out here on the ranch. I know that Gretchen has been battling cancer. We can’t help much with that, but we can share our water, food, medical supplies, community spirit and know-how. Why don’t you go fetch Gretchen and bring her out here?”

“Thanks, Roger, our families go back a long way. I’d like to take you up on your offer, but technically, legally and morally, I can’t. Not even for Gretchen. Nope. I’m afraid that those of us who ignored you made our beds. Now, we’ll have to lie in them, no matter what. We’ll go to the National Guard commander and see if he can help us overcome our own stupidity. Goodbye, Roger, I hope to see you in my courtroom. It’s the only way I can see to settle this confrontation.”

“Good bye, Jim. I won’t come in. Martial Law or no Martial Law, a man has a right to keep what he needs to stay alive. It may hearken back to the Law of the Jungle, but it is a morally just position. Once you check in with Major Lynch, I doubt that you will need to issue that summons. Under a real Martial Law, not just one that Marlin and Duke came up with, I think the Major is in overall charge. Don’t you?”

“You may be right. I’ll check it out. I’ll take Marlin and Duke, whether Duke likes it or not, and we will coordinate everything with the Major Lynch and his National Guard unit.”

The two men shook hands. With that, the Judge walked to the Sheriff’s cruiser and got in. The caravan of vehicles left. As it did so, a number of onlookers outside the gate began to walk towards it.

“Sorry folks. No room in here and no supplies to spare. Go into town and check with the National Guard.” With that, Roger strode to the pickup, got in and went back to the house with his men.

When Roger got back in his kitchen, he picked up the handset and turned the crank on an old military communication set.

“Hello, hello. This is Roger, is Major Lynch there?” Roger paused.

“Major Lynch, this is Roger . . .

“Fine, how are things with you . . .

“Why am I calling? I just had a run in with our erstwhile Sheriff . . .

“Yes, we knew he would . . .

“Yeah, he came out here with the DA and Judge Childs. He wanted to confiscate some of my supplies. He was going to shoot his way in, even though we had him out manned and outgunned. Cooler heads, the DA and Judge prevailed . . .

“He said it was an emergency and tried to invoke Martial Law. Yes, I told him to see you . . .

“What’s that? Yes, Martial Law means military control in my book, too . . .

“You’ll inform him of that . . .

“Good. You’ll put him under your command . . .

“Good for you, Major. I wish I could be there to see his face . . .

“I guess you will be too busy to take a picture. Oh, there is one thing we have not discussed. I don’t know if they still require it, but it used to be that every Mormon family was supposed to have a two-year supply of food on hand all the time . . .

“Yes, two year . . .

“Yeah, there are a lot of Mormon families in this county and in the surrounding counties, too. If the Sheriff figures that out, he will be out there trying to pry some supplies out of every one of the those families in his jurisdiction . . .

“You’ll keep him too busy for that or lock him up if he tries it . . .

“Good for you. Let me know if I can do anything to help . . .

“Judge Childs said he would bring Duke and Marlin by to see you . . .

“Yes, I think the Judge agrees that you should be in overall control . . .

“Okay. See you soon. Over and out.”

Chapter 19: The Economic Advisor

The President was seated at the desk in his bunker office. It was now the afternoon of the first full day in the bunker. Most of his routine had been re-established. He leaned over and pushed an intercom button.

“Is my Economic Advisor out there yet?”

“Yes, Mr. President, Professor Glickstein is here. Shall I send him in?”

“No send him to Siberia. That’s where all economists should be sent . . . just kidding. Send him in.”

The outer door opened and an elderly man with a full beard and long, flowing hair entered. He held several large charts under his left arm. As he approached the desk, the President walked around the desk and gave me man a brusque hug.

“Sit down, Herr Doctor Professor, I need to have you explain how all of these problems could have gotten so far out of hand.”

The Professor sat down, set his charts on the floor and let out a long sigh. “Unfortunately, Mr. President, it is all happening exactly as one would predict. It is classic supply and demand economics in action.”

“Well, if it’s so damned classic and predictable, why wasn’t something put in place to prevent it? Answer me that, Herr Professor Doctor!”

“Please, just call me Albert. The other sounds so formal. After all, you are not my student any more. That was long years ago . . . or so it seems. Can I call you George?”

“Not by a damned sight. That’s for when things are going right. For when I am happy with you and your economic forecasting. Let’s get down to brass tacks.”

“As you wish, Mr. President, as you wish.” The Professor reached down and picked up a chart. He looked at it briefly and turned it toward the President. It was a classic economic chart of supply and demand.

“Normally, Mr President, our system is one of supply and demand. As demand goes up, the Magic Hand of classical economics increases production to meet that demand. If the demand cannot be met fully, prices go up.”

“Yes, yes,” the President said impatiently, “I remember all of that from your class. So, what went wrong here?”

“Went wrong? Nothing, Mr. President, the Magic Hand is working all too well. There are shortages of oil, natural gas and coal. Since these are non-renewable resources, decades of over-use has meant that supply can no longer meet the demand. It never will. So, as you can plainly see from this graph, the supply curve has gone down and the demand curve has continued to rise. This is where price comes in. The price of gasoline has gone off the chart . . . through the roof, as it were. It’s so simple that . . . ”

“Professor Doctor Herr, chose your words very carefully, if you want to continue as my economic advisor.”

“Yes, Geor . . . er, Mr President. I was merely going to say that it’s so simple I include it in my lectures to beginners’ classes.”

“It may be simple, but it’s no less of a problem. This nation runs on energy. We have to have it so we can grow the economy. You know that. You taught that in the class, too, didn’t you?”

“Only up to a point. I also stressed the futility of using a non-renewable resource faster than new supplies of that resource were being discovered.”

“I don’t remember you saying that in class.”

“Perhaps, Mr. President, I said that on one of the many days when you were not in your seat . . . there were quite a number of those, as I recall. But I also sent you and the Vie-President some of my papers on the subject . . . several times, in fact; well before I became your advisor . . . “

The old man’s voice trailed away. He set his chart back on the floor, took out a large handkerchief and alternately wiped his brow and then blew his nose with loud snorts. Finally, he took his handkerchief and cleaned his thick-lensed glasses.

“Where does that leave us, Albert? I need to find a way out of this mess . . . the chaos . . . the failed Grid . . . the riots at gasoline stations . . . the looting of grocery stores . . . “

“Unfortunately, Sir, riots and looting are not in my area of expertise. I suggest you bring in your military and police advisors for that. However, if I may,” the Professor reached down an plucked a bundle of papers from between the graphs. “I’ll leave these with you. They are the papers in which I detailed how our nation could have avoided all that is now happening. I tried to warn . . . I tried to prevent . . . “ The Professor’s voice trailed away and he wiped his tearing eyes. “If only the Vice-President and you had read my papers; listened to my pleas. The answers were so simple then. Now? Too late. Too late.”

The Professor leaned over and picked up the graphs. With difficulty, he got to his feet and shuffled toward the door.

“Wait, Albert, there is more . . .”

The door slammed shut as the Professor left.

The President’s Chief Staff came in. “Sir, I am sorry to tell you that your dog is dead. He just plain laid down and died.”

“Darn, I’m gonna miss that critter. Can we get another one just like him?”

Chapter 20: An Unexpected Snow

The clouds began rolling in as Gary and Florian were watching Florian’s daughters’ finish the job of cutting up the elk that Gary had shot. They were also watching Gordon and Florian’s grandkids getting acquainted. The grandkids spoke English; that was not the problem. Part of the problem was cultural. Gordon and the grandkids had different ways of getting acquainted. A lot of it was the profound change in Gordon following the death of his mother and sister.

The normally talkative and sociable boy had become quiet and reclusive, almost to the extent of withdrawal.

As evening approached, Florian’s daughters’ fixed dinner for the entire group. At first, Gary did not want to impose. He relented when he realized it would be bad manners to fail to accept the offered hospitality and the meal that went with it.

He and Florian finally got up and took a short walk. Each relieved himself, once they were out of sight of the camp. Just as they finished the business, Gordon came running toward them. He was crying and stumbling.

“Whoops,” Gary said to Florian. “Looks like I goofed. I should have told Gordon where we were going and what for.” With that Gary stepped toward Gordon and caught him just as he stumbled over a dead Aspen branch. Gary whirled Gordon around.

“Howdy, partner. What’s with the tears?”

Gordon did not answer. He clung tightly to Gary’s neck. As he did so Gordon’s sobbing slowed and finally stopped.

“Guess I goofed, Gordon. I should have told you where Mr. Blackbear and I were going and that we would be right back. Sorry about that, Gordon. I won’t let it happen again. I thought you and Mr. Blackbear’s grandkids were too busy getting acquainted to miss us.”

Gordon was quiet. He let go of Gary’s neck and said, “I gotta go. #2. Bad.”

“Ah, can you wait here while I go back to camp and get me pack? We’ll need some toilet paper.”

“Now. Gotta go now,” Gordon insisted.

Gary set him down and pointed to a bush. “Gordon, go over there behind that bush and do your business. I’ll . . . “

“I have some toilet paper in my pocket,” Florian cut in. “Always carry some. Never know when I am going to need it. Walking usually brings on the need for it for me.”

Florian reached in his pocket and brought out a crumpled handful of toilet paper. Gary took it and walked over to the bush. Gordon already had his pants and shorts down. He was squatting and doing his #2.”

Gary tore off a couple of pieces of the toilet paper, folded them together and handed them to Gordon. Gordon took them, wiped and reached up for more. After Gordon was satisfied, he stood, pulled up his shorts and pants and smiled.

“Thanks, Dad.” With that, Gordon headed back toward the camp. “Wow,” Gary said. “That’s more like it, Gordon. I was beginning to think you were going to be the silent partner in this outfit.”

Gary and Florian followed Gordon back toward the camp. That’s when it began to snow.

Florian held out his hand and watched as a large snowflake landed on in his palm. “This is going to be one of those early, heavy, fall snows, unless I miss my guess, Gary. I think we better get everything and everyone at camp ready, just in case I am right. It may go pretty hard with those hunters.”

“Yeah, Florian, they surely are not prepared for anything like a heavy snowstorm. They probably have enough warm clothing, but I’m not sure they pitched their tents in a way that will stand up to the weight of some snow.”

“If the flakes stay as large as they are, the snow won’t weigh much, even if it builds up to several inches.” As Florian said this, the two reached camp. Florian went over to talk to the daughters. Gary and Gordon went to the suburban.

“Look, Gordon, Mr. Blackbear thinks we might be in for some real snow. Let’s get the tent out and set it up. There isn’t really room in the car for both of us to sleep comfortably. We will be better off in the tent, no matter what. Wanna help?”

“Sure, Dad, I can help, just like before when we went camping.”

“That’s right. Just like before.” With that, Gary opened the back doors of the suburban and began pulling on a large box. The tent was included in the things Gary had packed for just such a situation as this; that is, in case their flight to the sanctum sanctorum was delayed or thwarted.

Setting up the tent, putting the sleeping bags and other essentials in it and getting out their winter coats took only about 30 minutes. Still, by the time they were finished, about two inches of heavy, wet snow had accumulated on the ground. While the days had been relatively warm, the mountain temperatures at night had consistently, for about two weeks, registered below freezing. Warm daytime air did not translate into warm ground; the snow stuck, instead of melting.

Florian came over to the tent shortly after Gary and Gordon were finished with the set up. The two were in the tent so Florian hailed them.

“If you don’t mind, Gary and Gordon, we are going to eat early. I think we will be spending the late afternoon, evening and night inside, you in your tent and the rest of us in the teepees.”

“Look’s like it, Florian. It’s already sticking pretty good and building up. Gordon and I are ready to eat anytime you say. Holler and we’ll come over. We are pretty well set up, I think.”

“I think everything is ready now. Come on over, if you are all done here.” Florian said. With that, he turned and walked over to the cooking fire.

Gary had been aware of the delicious smell of cooking for some time. There was also the smell of baking bread, but he was not sure what kind or how it would fit in with the meat part of the meal.” He picked up two large, metal trays out of a box in the tent, plus silverware. He handed one of the trays and a fork to Gordon.

“Come on, Partner, let’s go have some of that delicious smelling dinner.” The two walked over to the cooking fire. As they approached the fire, one of the daughters, Gary had forgotten which was which, was stirring something in a large cauldron. He could see that it was some sort of stew. It smelled great.

The second daughter was tending the baking bread at another fire a few away from the main cooking fire. There was a large, flat griddle over the second fire.

Florian stood waiting for them. He took a ladle from his daughter and dipped it into the stew. As Gary stepped forward with his tray extended, Florian dumped a generous helping of stew into the tray’s largest compartment. “Ah,” Gary said. “This smells and looks great.” He turned to the daughter that had been stirring the stew as he said this.

The daughter smiled, said something that sounded like ‘thanks,’ and turned away just as the second daughter walked up to Gary. She had a large apron on. She extracted a piece of bread from her apron and set it on Gary’s tray.

“Fry bread,” she said. “It will go well with the elk meat stew.” She turned and put a piece of the fry bread on Gordon’s tray, on which Florian had already had dumped some stew.

Only then did the daughters serve Florian and the grandkids. Lastly, the two daughters took some of the stew into the teepee for their sick sister and niece. By the time the daughters got back to the cooking fires, one of the children was ready for seconds.

Gordon, too, had cleaned up his portion of the stew and was chewing on the last bite of the fry bread.

Gary who was savoring each mouthful was not quite finished. He smiled and spoke to the daughters. “This is excellent. The stew has a flavor I have not tasted before, but one I really like. And, the fry bread is super.”

“The stew is an old family recipe,” Florian offered. “On the reservation, we would put mutton in it instead of elk. But the result is much the same. The fry bread is the standard fry bread that we Utes learned how to make from the Navajos, many years ago. It is a major part of what are sometimes called Navajo tacos. First, the fry bread; then, chili on top of that.”

“Umm, sounds good. Well, look at Gordon’s plate, would you. He certainly tied into his portion. That’s the best appetite he has shown since before he and I got sick, isn’t it Gordon?”

Gordon only nodded, but he did hold out his plate as Mr. Blackbear offered him a second helping of stew and one of the grandkids brought him a second piece of fry bread.

All the while, the snow continued to come down. Even with their winter coats on, the group was beginning to get wet by the time they had finished their second helpings.

“We will take care of the cleaning up,” Florian said. “Normally, even guests help, but the daughters have things so well organized that they prefer to do it. So, if you want, you can retire to the warmth and the dryness of your tent. We will settle down now, too, and see what the morning brings as far as snow is concerned.”

Gary stood and offered his hand to Florian. “Thanks for a great meal.” As he said this he turned toward the two daughters and smiled and waved. The daughters nodded in reply. Florian’ grandkids had disappeared into the teepees as soon as they finished eating.

“Thanks for killing the elk and for bringing it to us. It will make a big difference, even though the jerky has not had time to cure in the sun. Maybe tomorrow or soon there will be enough sun to dry the meat into jerky. We may have to cook the entire elk and try for jerky from later kills. Have a good night.”

Gary and Gordon walked to their tent, shook the snow off their coats and feet and Gordon crawled into the tent. Gary went to the suburban, made sure everything was secure, grabbed a port-o-pot and headed into the tent. The tent was actually designed for four, which meant that there was plenty of room for Gary, Gordon and their gear.

Gary made sure that the air vents were opened. Then, he and Gordon got into their pajamas. It was dark inside the tent. Gary turned on a battery operated lantern, Gary read to Gordon until Gordon was fast asleep. Gary opened a book and started reading. It was a book on wilderness survival. It was his third time through the book; so, he read selected parts, those he thought pertained to his present circumstance.

Soon, he was fast sleep. The lantern was still on. When he awoke at 2:00 a. m. to use the port-o-pot, he also opened the tent’s front flap and looked out. It was snowing hard and it looked like there was at least a foot of snow, maybe more. He closed the flap and went back to sleep.

Tomorrow was bound to be an interesting day, whether the snow continued, or not.

Gary woke up about 6:00 a. m. He used the port-a-pot and then unzipped the front door of the tent to see if the snow had quit. It hadn’t. Gary estimated the snow’s depth to be sixteen to twenty inches. He roused Gordon who dutifully used the port-a-pot but said nothing to him about the snowstorm. Gordon went back to sleep.

Gary began thinking about what might lay ahead for he and Gordon. For now, at least, they were likely going to have to remain with the Blackbears. For the first time since the day before, he thought about the three hunters. He hoped that they had broke camp and pulled out before – or, at least, shortly after – the snow began. If not, Gary suspected that their camp would be in even greater chaos and that the survival situation for the three men was considerably reduced without major help from he and Florian.

Gary heard stirrings from the teepees. He dressed for the new day’s weather, checked to make sure that Gordon was still sound asleep and struggled out of the tent. The snow was both deep and heavy, a typical early fall snow for the Colorado Mountains. Gary guessed the temperature was not much below freezing. It was no longer snowing. At least twenty inches lay on the ground.

Gary spotted Florian. Florian was standing in front of his teepee. He was facing east and gave no indication that he was aware that Gary was up. “Probably doing his morning prayers,” Gary said quietly.

Finally, Florian turned and waved to Gary. The two men met near the main fire pit and exchanged a brief greeting. The fire was out but the heat from the previous night’s fire meant that the pit was clear of snow.

“It’s never too early for this kind of snow. The Great Spirit has decided to give us an even more severe test,” was all that Florian said about the snow.

Gary brushed the snow off of some of the firewood that was stacked near the fire pit and soon had a fire going.

Florian put a pot filled with snow on the fire. “No need to go to the spring for water,” Florian said.

“How about some bacon and eggs?” Gary asked.

“Fine, by me.” Florian answered. “But don’t fix anything for my daughters and grandchildren. “They are not ready to greet the day; besides, they already have their breakfasts prepared.”

Gary did not ask what the women and children would be eating. He suspected it would be more fry bread and stew, both cold.

Gary brushed most of the snow off the suburban before opening the rear doors. He took out a box marked ‘pans’ and one marked ‘breakfasts’ and carried them near the fire pit. He took out a large skillet and put it on a grate that Florian has placed over the fire. Gary took out a carton of eggs and a package of bacon. He opened the bacon and placed six strips in the skillet. He pulled a long fork out of the utensil box and began tending the bacon.

“How do you like your bacon, Florian?” Gary asked.

“About medium done,” Florian’s replied.

When the bacon was semi-crisp, Gary forked it out of the skillet and placed it near the fire on a breakfast tray.

“How do you like your eggs, Florian?”

“Pretty hard yokes; over hard,” Florian answered. “Less chance of salmonella, that way. Two is plenty for me.”

“Comin’ up.” With that, Gary broke four eggs into the skillet. He threw the shells into the fire. It took almost no time before he turned the eggs. He took his out shortly after turning them and put his on a second breakfast tray. He pulled a loaf of cinnamon bread out of the breakfast box and put two slices on his tray. By then, Florian’s eggs were done. Gary dished them onto the tray with the bacon, separated three slices of the bacon onto his tray and handed the tray to Florian.

“Want some cinnamon bread to go with your bacon and eggs?”

“Thanks, but no thanks, Gary. This will do just fine. Can’t beat the aroma of bacon, eggs and coffee around a campfire, don’t you think?” As he said that, Florian poured coffee from a large pot that had been setting on the far side of the fire into two cups. He set one of the cups before Gary.

“You got that right, Florian. Nothin’ quite like it. To your health.” Gary lifted his cup of coffee and waved it toward Florian. He did not, however, try to drink it. He could tell that it had just been boiling. Florian saluted Gary with his cup, but also refrained from trying to take a drink.

The two ate the eggs and bacon while standing near the fire and without further conversation. Then, each settled down on a large piece of firewood, sat back and enjoyed their coffee.

“I have been wondering about the hunters. Do you suppose they packed up and left as, or before, the snow started?” Florian asked.

“I sincerely hope they left long before that. Whatever. I will snowshoe over to their campsite and see what the situation is. Since my suburban wasn’t where I said it might be, they probably just drove on out the way we all came in. If they didn’t leave, I would bet that things are in a pretty sorry state in their camp.”

“Oh, you have snowshoes?” Florian seemed both surprised and pleased.

“Yeah. That was one of many things that Roger, my survivalist friend, insisted that I pack before I started over this way. He reminded me that a snowstorm could happen anytime. I doubt that the suburban can get out of here with this much snow. I think we are stuck here for the time being. Moreover, I doubt that there is any way that your three sons-in-law can get back in here anytime soon.”

“You are right on both counts, Gary. You and Gordon and welcome to stay as long as necessary. Actually, this snow may make the hunting easier, especially since you have snowshoes. I have hunted many times in snow much deeper than this on Indian snowshoes.”

“Indian snowshoes?” Gary seemed puzzled.

“Yes. You know. The old kind. The kind with wooden frames and rawhide mesh.”

“Oh. I have seen those in the sporting goods stores. I bought the new, smaller model with aluminum framing and cording mesh.”

“I hear they are lighter and easier to walk with. I have not had a pair of the old kind for many years.”

“Not to worry. I have an extra adult set and a set for Gordon, too. We’ll do just fine, especially if it stays as warm as it is and provided not too much more snow comes along. I’ll take my rifle and tramp over to the hunters’ camp in a little while. First, I’d better get Gordon up, dressed and fed. Maybe I can get a small deer on the way back. One I can carry on into camp.”

Gary walked over to the suburban. A well-fed and bundled Gordon followed. Florian and three of his grandchildren tramped behind. Gary unlocked a carrier on top of the suburban and opened its hatch. He pulled out a small toboggan and three pair of snowshoes. He handed one pair of the snowshoes to Florian.

“Here, Florian, you and the grandkids can be practicing with these while Gordon and I venture over to see if the hunters are still in their camp.”

Florian hefted the snowshoes as he took them from Gary. “My, these weigh almost nothing compared to the ones I used to use. We will practice with them, as you say. Even the smallest grandkid will be able to navigate with them.”

“Yeah, they are light. But snow and ice will build up, especially if it gets a little colder. Also, they require some practice. I have fallen over several times by trying to go too fast. Here, Gordon, these are for you. Don’t put them on now; we will start out with you on the toboggan. Later, if you want, we’ll let you try the snowshoes.”

Gary closed and locked the carrier. Next, he opened the suburban and took out the bag containing his hunting rifle. He opened the bag, slipped the rifle part way and opened the breach. He closed the breach, reached in a small pocket in the bag and pulled out a clip full of shells. He slipped the clip in place, checked to make sure the rifle was on safety, even though no shell was in the firing chambers, closed the bag and zipped it shut.

“No need to get the rifle wet,” he said as he slung the bag’s strap over his shoulder.

He took his backpack out of the suburban and tied it to the front of the toboggan, just about at Gordon’s feet.

He took the hatchet and block and tackle out of the suburban and lashed them to the toboggan. He slipped the hunting knife, in its sheath, on his belt. He closed and locked the suburban.

He placed Gordon on the toboggan, cinched the safety belt over Gordon’s legs, grabbed the towrope and made ready to start off.

“If all goes well, Florian, we’ll be back by mid-afternoon. I have some food, a first aide kit and some other necessaries in the backpack. I’ll try to bag a deer or an elk on the way back, hopefully near the trail. It will be a small animal, if possible.”

Florian and the grandkids waved as Gary pulled on the toboggan. Soon, he and Gordon were alone on the trail.

“Well, Partner, we are on out way. I won’t go directly over the hill like I did the last time. We’ll stay on the roads. That way it will be less likely that I will dump you in the snow.”

Gordon smiled. He scooped up some snow, made a snowball and hefted it, clumsily toward Gary.

“That’s the spirit, Gordon. We’re going to have a splendid time today. Just you wait and see.”

When they got to site of their brief, overnight camp, there was no sign of the hunters and no evidence to indicate whether they had left before the snow. After a break for a brief, mid-morning snack, Gary and Gordon moved on toward the hunter’s campsite.

There was no sign of the hunters. Evidently the three had broken camp and fled, either at the first snowflakes or even before that. Gary found parts of two elk carcasses hanging from trees near the campsite. The parts were frozen solid. He cut the parts down and stashed them on the toboggan behind where Gordon was sitting. Gordon used them for a backrest.

Gary took his rifle out of its bag. Tied the bag to the toboggan and levered a round into the firing chambers. “We’d better be on the lookout for some game on the way back. Let’s be real quiet, just in case we run across something. Gordon held his index finger up to his lips. “That’s the spirit, Partner. Let’s go find us another elk; or, maybe a deer.”

Gary decided to take the short way back. It involved going over the hill between where he now was and Florian’s camp, but Gary figured he could do it without undue effort, even with the added load of the elk carcass parts.

He was really sweating by the time he got to the top of the hill, but probably had saved at least an hour off the time it would have taken to go back the way they came in.

He unhitched Gordon’s safety belt and the two ate a snack. Gordon picked up some snow, packed it lightly and tossed it at Gary. Smack. It got him right in the chest. Gary brushed the remnants off and tossed them, playfully, at Gordon. Gordon ducked and whirled. As he did so, he stopped abruptly and pointed.

There was a huge elk about a hundred yards away. It was lying down.

Gary dropped to his knees. As he did so, he took the rifle and swung it off his shoulder. He took aim and fired. The elk let out a bellow and got up. Gary fired again. The elk fell over.

“Whee, Dad, you got him,” Gordon squealed in delight. With that, Gordon started slogging through the snow toward the elk.

“Wait, Gordon, it’s too soon. He may not be dead. He could still get up and charge. Let me go first. You stay here with the toboggan and our other stuff.”

Gary approached the elk from its rear. He could see blood staining the snow from two wounds. He approached and kicked the elk on its rump. No movement.

Gary went back to where Gordon was waiting. He strapped the smaller snowshoes onto Gordon’s feet. “Here, Feller, see if you can walk over to the elk wearing these.’

Gordon took a few steps, foundered in the deep snow. He got up and took several more steps before stopping.

“Too deep, Gordon. You wait here. I’ll go over and take care of the elk. While I’m over there, experiment with walking just a step or two at a time.”

“Okay, Dad, I’ll see if I can learn how to use these things.” Gordon said.

Gary pulled the toboggan to where the dead elk lay.

Gary slit the elk’s throat. He rigged up the block and tackle on a large branch above the elk. He heaved and heaved on the rope, but the elk would not rise. “Whew! This is a big, heavy devil,” Gary shouted toward Gordon. “I’m gonna hafta cut some of it off right where it is.”

Gary took out the hatchet and set to work. With the hunting knife, he slit the elk’s belly and, as best as he could, cleaned out the innards, saving the heart and the liver. He chopped off the hindquarters, first, then the front quarters. It was not the clean, professional job that he did on the first elk, but it was the best he could do under the circumstances.

Gary loaded all of the elk parts on the toboggan, took a rope out of his backpack and tied everything down. Then, he went over and picked up Gordon. He placed him on top of everything. “Hang onto the tie-down rope with both hands. I’ll take it easy, but I am not sure how far we can get. I may have to stash some of this stuff and come back for it.”

Gary pulled hard on the toboggan’s towrope, Nothing. It did not budge. “Hang on tight, Gordon, I’m going to jerk hard.” Gordon did as he was told.

Gary jerked on the towrope. The toboggan moved. He jerked again. It moved some more. He strained and walked. The toboggan tailed behind. It was downhill, which made progress easier after he got some momentum. He realized that he could not get all the way back to camp before getting overly tired. He would get as close as he could, unload the frozen elk parts and come back for them later, if he had to.

He was ready to stop for a rest when he heard his name being called. It was Florian, two of his daughters and the two older grandkids. They slogging up the hill towards him. Gary stopped and took some deep breaths. Then, he tugged hard and got the toboggan going again. He wanted to be as close to camp as he could get before meeting up with Florian and his party.

Gary stopped when they met. Immediately, the two daughters and the two grandkids took hold of the toboggan’s tow rope and began pulling, Gary lifted Gordon off of the top of the load as the toboggan slid by. He hoisted Gordon over his head and onto his shoulders. Florian smiled as he matched Gary stride for stride.

“Florian, what an unexpected surprise. I didn’t expect to see you and your family out and about. How did you know we would be coming this way and at this time?”

“We didn’t know for sure. It was getting late, so we decided to come looking for you, just in case. I can see from the load you have on the toboggan what kept you. Congratulations on another kill. I will wait to bless the elk that gave up their lives for us when we get to camp.”

“The two frozen parts are courtesy of the hunters. Their camp was abandoned. Gordon spotted the big elk while we were resting at the top of the hill. I got a shot off before it even got up from its resting place. But it was too large and heavy to lift, even with the block and tackle. I had to just take parts. Sorry about ruining the hide.”

“Oh, Gary, don’t be sorry about that. We have plenty of blankets and treated hides to keep us warm. It is the meat that is most needed. Thank you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

Chapter 21: An Elderly Couple’s Death

Clyde slipped out of the back door and walked to the back gate. He turned left into the broad alley and headed toward the supermarket. His wife, Edna, had done the best she could to prepare meals for the couple after the electric power and natural gas ‘disappeared’ following the President’s interrupted speech.

Life-long campers and hikers, they set up their butane camp stove in the kitchen for the cooking and slept in sleeping bags unrolled on their twin beds. For light, they used flashlights and candles, but they went to bed early each night and got up with the dawn.

The couple kept a stock of canned goods, flour, sugar, potatoes and pasta in the small pantry in their modest kitchen. One by one, the canned goods were used. Edna baked bread and biscuits. She also baked some fruit pies, using cans of pie cherries and blueberries. The couple missed the large salads of fresh lettuce, tomatoes, cauliflower, carrots, celery, broccoli and peppers that Clyde took pride in making nearly every evening.

To make up for the ‘loss’ of Clyde’s salads, Edna made sure that a can of green beans, or peas, or corn, or hominy graced the table for the evening meal. She was a good cook, one that believed in balanced, whole-some, home-cooked meals. She did her best while she could to present meals as close to what the couple was used to as she could. Perhaps she should have exercised more caution in the amount and variety of food she prepared for each meal and in the use of the propane canisters, but it was too late to think about that now.

It was Edna’s declaration that almost all of the stock of food in the pantry was gone that prompted Clyde to oil and load his pistol, put on a heavy coat, a warm cap, overshoes and gloves and head for the grocery store, with the pistol in one coat pocket and a flashlight in another.

The couple needed food and he was determined to find some if at all possible. Clyde had never shot anyone in the 30 years that he served on the local, metropolitan police force, but he was sure that he could, if it came down to his life or an assailant’s.

It was only the fourth time that Clyde had left the house. On the first occasion, he drove his car. It still had nearly a full tank of gas. He was about two blocks from the supermarket when he the trouble started. A group of young men ran toward the car and tried to stop him.

Clyde pushed the master door lock switch, gunned the car’s engine, swerved around the young men, raced around the first corner he came to and drove back to the house. He pulled the car into the garage only after making sure that no one was watching him.

Twice, he left the house near dusk to check on neighbors and friends. He found some of the neighbors gone and others dead. He didn’t tell Edna what he found. She didn’t ask. She knew her husband well enough to know that silence was not good news.

Clyde estimated that the overnight snowfall measured about eight inches. What he did not like was the fact that the temperature was dropping. He figured that the storm had moved on east. Usually, that meant that the day would be clear and cold and the following night would be frigid. He pressed on. It was starting to get light and he did not want full daylight to catch up with him before his visit to the supermarket.

As he rounded the corner and approached the front of the supermarket, he knew immediately that his trip would be in vane. The parking lot in front of the supermarket was littered. The big windows were missing. Black streaks coursed up the sides of the building above the windows.

The supermarket had been gutted by fire.

Clyde turned around and headed toward the back of the building. The loading chute doors were wide open. One was partially ripped from its hinges.

Clyde climbed onto the loading dock and entered the store. It was dark. He took out both the flashlight and his pistol. He cautiously peered around the doorway and directed the flashlight’s beam inside. There was no sign of life. There was trash everywhere. Clyde went through the storage rooms, searching for any sign of food. There was none. Most of the trash was boxes and crates that had once held food.

He moved out of the storage area into the main area of the supermarket. More chaos. Broken glass. Damaged shelving and some rotting food. That was it. Very little was left in terms of even the non-food stock. To be sure, Clyde went up and down the isles where canned goods, flour and other basics would have been. Nothing usable. Next, he walked through the produce area. The food that was there was rotting.

Clyde turned and went back through the storage rooms and out the back door. He had seen enough to convince him that the story would be the same at every supermarket, grocery store and convenience outlet in the city. He walked two more blocks and went into the church that he and Edna attended. It was dark, cold and empty. The door of a storage closet was smashed. But, other than that, there was no sign of damage.

He headed back towards his house. On the way, he stopped at several houses of people he and Edna were friends with or, at least, knew. He found a few cans of food, a few packages of pasta, a five-pound sack of flour and some condiments. That was it. Hardly enough for a couple of meals. He left notes, listing what he took and signed his name. If the people returned, they would know how to find him.

When Clyde got back in his house, he gave the meager proceeds of his venture to Edna and shrugged. “That’s all I could find. The store was empty and gutted by fire. I found these in a couple of empty houses on the way home. No one at the church, but not much damage either.

“I doubt that there is any food in any of the stores in town. If I try to drive over to the Wal-Mart, I will probably find the same thing and may even meet that gang that tried to commander our car, to boot.

“Tomorrow, real early, I’ll take the snowmobile and drive down to the nearest police station. Depending on what I find there, I’ll go to the nearest National Guard Armory. Maybe there will be some good news, but I am doubtful.

“Looks like we are on our own and out of options. Hard to say where everyone is. I didn’t see anyone this time out. No one. Didn’t see or hear any signs of life. What with the plague deaths and the total absence of gasoline or electricity or natural gas, this whole city is probably one big morgue.”

“Clyde, I think it would be too dangerous for you to go out tomorrow. Let’s wait until the snow melts. I can make several meals out what you brought home. Besides, we’re both still a bit over weight. We can live on water and our body fat for a few days.”

“Well, Edna, there’s another way out of this whole mess. We could take them pills we been saving up over the years, lie down in our beds and slip off into the ‘great unknown’ just like we planned to do, someday. Maybe this is the day.”

“Clyde, I hadn’t wanted to bring that up, but it is what I have been thinking for near on to a week. All of our papers are in order – not that anyone will ever see them, given what has happened. The only difference between doing it now and doing it like we planned, if we both developed major illnesses . . . “ Edna’s voice trailed away.

The two embraced and held each other. Edna cried quietly. Clyde went to his desk and pulled an envelop out of the bottom drawer. A brief summary of the credo he lived by was in the envelope. He set it in the middle of the desk. “Just in case someone comes along,” he said.

After a few minutes, they went into the bathroom, took out the pill bottles and divided the pills equally. One-by-one, they swallowed the pills by taking sips of water to get them down. When all of the pills were gone, they walked into the bedroom. They lay down in each other’s arms and talked of their life together.

First, Edna and, later, Clyde drifted off to sleep.

Clyde’s Credo:

I am not an educated man. I have never written anything like this before in my life. In spite of that, I am going to try to put some thoughts down. These will be private thoughts, something that no one will see, until after I am dead.

Some of what I write may seem like bragging. I hope that it does not come out like that. If it does, so be it. Chalk that up to my inability to express myself differently.

My life has not been exceptional. I did manage to finish high school, but barely earned enough credits and letter grades to do so. Learning was always a struggle for me. College was never under consideration, in part because my difficulty with ‘book learning’ and in part because there was never enough money to pay for college.

Some might consider me to be a failure. I never earned much money. After two years in the service – with an honorable discharge and a good conduct medal – I joined the metropolitan police force. One year later, Edna and I got married. Thirty-five years later, I retired. By then, I was a desk sergeant.

My wife, Edna, and I wanted children, but none ever came to bless the marriage. In spite of that disappointment, we have had a good, solid, loving marriage. Edna stayed home and kept house. She was a good cook and she kept a clean, orderly house. She liked to sew and knit.

Even though I was not a deeply religious man I joined Edna’s church and we were regular members of that church for all the years.

It is my belief that if every person in the world lived her or his life the way Edna and I lived ours, the world would be a much better place.

There would be no crime and no prisons. The only duties the police would have would be for traffic control and for emergencies of various kinds.

There would be no need for armies or for military hardware. What a great savings in human lives and in the money that is now spent on the military, on wars and on cleaning up all the destruction that wars cause.

There would be no poverty in the world. There would not be any overly greedy, wealthy people either. Everyone would have some share in the great wealth that the Earth provides.

There would be no tobacco use. Think what that would mean.

There would be no use of illegal drugs. The only alcohol consumption would be that of an occasional glass of wine with the evening meal, just for medicinal purposes.

There would be far less illness. My wife cooked simple, healthful meals. Neither of us ever overate, as a general rule. We walked an hour a day, three days a week and I did some weight exercises to keep in shape for my police job. Edna did a lot of housework.

There would be no hatred, or violence from hatred or other negative emotions. Love thy neighbor was not just something out of the Bible for us; we practiced it as part of out daily lives.

Throughout out adult lives, my wife and I have maintained what is now called a low carbon footprint. We have traded cars rarely; my wife dries our clothes on a solar clothes dryer (They used to be called clotheslines.). We lived quiet, sedate, reasonable lives.

Chapter 22: The Wal-Mart Executive

“Mr. President,” the Chief of Staff’s voice came over the intercom, “A Wal-Mart executive is on the line. Following your request, we reached him right after the military phones started working again.”

The President switched on his phone. “Hello, Mr. Scott, this is the President speaking.

“What’s that? You aren’t Mr. Scott? He’s dead. I see. Who’s in charge there? You are the only one left alive. Okay, let’s talk. Yes, I know, things are terrible all over. How are you today?

“Good. I’m calling because I understand that there have been food riots and looting at many, if not most, grocery stores around the country.

“Really? Yours too. Yes. I agree. It is deplorable. I’m calling to find out how that could have happened. When I go in a grocery store, it looks like there is enough food to feed an army.

“A common misconception, you say? But what about all grocery stores? Should be enough there to feed the United States several times over, shouldn’t there.

“Not so? How not so? Only a two or three day supply for the regular customers of any store for the most often bought items?

“Millions of deliveries each day, you say. Not just Wal-Mart, but each and every store? Even the convenience outlets?

“Extraordinary. So what happened?

“Too many people rushed into most every store and bought far more than usual, you say? Hoarding because of the uncertainties? Well, I guess that explains the actions of the regular customers.

“What about the riots, the looting, all of the burning down of stores the murders and other violence?

“Frustration, you say. What’s that? Civilization is a thin veneer? You don’t say?

“You do say. Emphatically. Yes, I know we have only been living in societies for a few thousand years.

“Before that there was perhaps three million years of the law of the jungle. You really think that explains it? You do.

“Well, I’ll discuss that with my advisors.

“When will your trucks start rolling again to restock the stores? Seems to me that will solve the problem.

“What’s that? No diesel for most of your trucks? Are any getting through? Oh, most of your stores have been pillaged. What? You are trying to send pharmaceuticals to the ones that are still operating? I see.

“Humanitarian demands require that they get first priority, you say. What about profits? Aren’t drugs your highest profit items? That doesn’t enter into the decision, you say.

“But you can see how some people, hungry people that don’t need the drugs for example, might raise the issue?

“You can’t see that at all?

“Well, do you accept that some of your potential customers might feel that way? No? Really? Extraordinary.

“I’m not sure I can get diesel to you from the national emergency stock.

“Why not? Well, for one thing, the military forces have first priority. For another, we used most of it to keep the price of gasoline and diesel down early on.

“What? Was that a political decision, you ask? I suppose every decision in a crisis has a political side to it, don’t you?

“I don’t know whether I can help you or not. There are so many other companies.

“Yes, I know how generous the Wal-Mart contributions have been.

“Yes, and those of all of the Wal-Mart executives. That’s true of all of the major corporations and chains, especially since the shortages appeared.

“No sir! The dramatic price increases were not manufactured to pad the profits of the oil industry.

“You think we had plenty of warning? I see.

“You think the Vice-President’s energy policy was what?

“I thought that’s what you said. I guess in hindsight, pun intended, it was a piece of crap, as you say.

“Now, sir, you aren’t trying to blackmail diesel fuel out of me, are you?

“You don’t ever use blackmail, you say.

“What do you call what you said?

“White mail? I’m not familiar with that term.

“You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours? What’s that got to do with it?

“You were speaking in metaphor? Let’s keep it in American, if you don’t mind. Big A A A, I have enough trouble just with that.

“A figure of speech? You lost me there, Sir.

“What’s that? Yes, I’ll tell the First Lady that you and your wife send your greetings and best wishes.

“Yes, the girls, too, although I seldom see them. They are . . . how shall I put it? . . . not in a communication mood right now.

“Oh? Yours too?

“Yes, I suppose age has something to do with it.

“Well, goodbye, Mr. . . . what did you say your name is? I see. You didn’t say. What is your title? Head of janitorial services? Really? How come you know all of that stuff we talked about? Have you? Been with the company ever since it was founded? Remarkable. You say you’re the only one left?

“Nice chatting with you. I have a better grasp on the problems now. Only a two or three day supply of the essentials in all of the stores in the entire United States? What a surprise that is for me. By the way, I still didn’t catch your name. You’d rather not give it to me? Why not? I see.

“What? Yes, for all of the regular customers too. Perhaps something has been learned here. If the largest retailer in the world is out of business, I guess you could say that the system is broken. Beyond repair, you say? Good bye.”

The President hung up and buzzed his Chief of Staff. “Send in my entire staff. We need to have a full discussion of what I just learned.”

“What’s that? What happened to them? What does Poe’s “The Mask of the Red Death” have to do with senior people leaving? I see. Once the plague came in, they opted out. Just like rats leaving a sinking ship?

“Well, why don’t you come in? If you are the only senior staff member left, we’ll have to be the ones that talk about it. It’s too important to just let it pass.”

Chapter 23: Gary and Gordon Move On

Gary woke up just as dawn was breaking. He relieved himself, dressed, roused Gordon and set him on the port-a-pot. Gordon tinkled and Gary tucked him back in the sleeping bag.

As he opened the tent’s door, Gary realized two things. First, the snow from two days before was almost all gone. Second, it felt unusually warm. He scrambled out of the tent. Dark as it still was, he could tell that it was cloudy.

“Hope it doesn’t start snowing again,” he whispered. “I’d better bring Florian and his family a supply of wood. Then, Gordon and I better move on.”

Gary got in the suburban and eased it out to the logging road. He turned left and drove until he came to a stand of dead aspen trees. He turned the suburban around, shut the motor off, got out, opened the back door and pulled out a large case. He opened the case and pulled out a chainsaw. He put some plugs in his ears and put on protective goggles. With only three pulls on the starter cord, the saw buzzed into action. Gary stepped over and quickly felled ten medium-sized aspen trees. First, he cut a notch on the side in the direction he wanted each tree to fall; then, with one quick cut, he felled the tree. Doing all ten trees took almost no time.

He walked along each tree and cut off the lower branches. Then, he cut off the top. That gave him ten fairly uniform logs, each about thirty feet in length.

He shut the chainsaw off, cleaned it and put it back in its case. As he returned the chainsaw to its place in the suburban, he grabbed a logging chain and pulled it out. He walked over to the fallen and trimmed trees and bunched five of them together by wrapping the chain around each and then around the bundle. Once again, he was able to do the hard work because of the two years of work in the weight room. There was just enough chain left. He backed the suburban up to the trees and hooked the chain to the hitch.

Gary got in and drove the suburban back to Florian’s camp. As he pulled in, he saw Florian standing in front of teepee, as he did each morning. Gary knew that Florian was doing his morning prayers and greeting the day.

Gary pulled the logs to a place near the teepees, unchained them and drove back near his tent. Florian had a fire going and breakfast started by the time Gary walked over to him.

“Do I have time to make another quick trip for five more trees before breakfast?” Gary asked.

“Sure, I haven’t put anything on except water for the coffee. It will be just about strong enough by then,” Florian pointed to a cold pan of water.

Gary checked to make sure that Gordon was still asleep. He hustled to the suburban and drove to the downed aspen. He bundled them in the same way as before and quickly returned to camp. He left them where he had put the others, parked the suburban near his tent, checked on the sleeping Gordon, pickup the box with the breakfast material and walked over to the fire.

“You must have gotten up pretty early, Gary. I heard you leave, but I guess I went back to sleep for another forty winks.”

“Not real sure what time it was but it didn’t take too long to fell and trim the trees. I noticed the dead stand of aspen yesterday when we were looking for a deer.”

“Yes, something is killing the aspen. Whole stands of them are dying. Of course, since all of the trees in a stand are connected in the root system, if one dies, that sometimes means that they all die. Those are fine logs. They are just about perfect for firewood. No need to even let them cure.”

“Yeah. That’s what I thought. I’m glad you agree. It’s too late in the year to cut green trees. I figure about twenty more like these should give you enough firewood for winter, even if it turns out to be an especially cold winter.

“One reason I decided to bring these in today is that I figure Gordon and I may be going on our way. My friend, Roger, at the ranch is probably wondering what happened to us. We got a late start because my wife got sick, first, and then our daughter. Even after they died, there were things that needed doing before we could start out.” Gary took a carton of eggs and a package of bacon out of the box.

“Many have died. But I have a feeling that the worst of the plague is over. My daughter and grandchild are much better this morning. I think they will actually come out for a bit today. They are weak, of course, but both are now eating and the worst symptoms are gone.”

“That’s really good news, Florian. Have all the members of your family had the plague, now?”

“No, Gary, that is my one concern. Three of the grandchildren and my other daughters have not had it yet. I don’t know what I will do if more of my family come down with it. Of course, we don’t know about the sons-in-law. Maybe they caught the plague and died or are still sick. Perhaps that is why they have not returned. Some people on the reservation had the plague before we came here.”

Gary put several strips of bacon in the skillet, as Florian offered him a cup of coffee.

“No way they could have gotten back in here since the snow. Now that most of the snow is gone, maybe they will show up.” With that, Gary lifted his coffee cup, “Cheers, Florian.”

“That would be a mixed blessing. There is plenty of meat for the family that is here, and plenty of firewood once you bring in the rest of it. With three heavy eaters, we would be in trouble. Also, they like to keep large fires going. Maybe it will be better if they do not return until spring.”

“That brings us to another point, Florian. If Roger has room at the ranch for you and your family, do you want me to come back and get you?”

“No. I appreciate the offer and I know that it would be better for the daughters and the grandchildren. But, I want to stay here. If things are as bad in the world as I think they are, I believe that my people must once again live as we did, hunting and gathering.”

“You may be right, Florian.”

“We were Stone Age people before the white men came to our lands. Most of my people lost the old ways. They replaced the way of life of our ancestors with drinking and with the other evils of people who have lost their heritage. No. We will stay here and learn to live as our ancestors did, or perish. It is for the best, I think.”

Gary took the bacon out of the pan and put it on a plate near the fire. He broke four eggs into the frying pan.

“Well, maybe Roger doesn’t have room, anyhow. Or maybe the plague and other calamities have beset him and the folks at the ranch. I promised him I would get there and I must try to keep that promise. I think it will be best for Gordon, too.”

“Yes. You must try to fulfill the promise you made to your friend. We must try to honor our ancestors by staying here and making the best of it that we can.”

“If all goes well today, Gordon and I will leave you in the morning.” As he said that, Gary handed Florian a plate of bacon and eggs and a slice of seven-grain bread.

After their breakfast, Florian went into the teepee where his sick daughter and grandchild were. Gary went his tent, woke up Gordon, got him dressed, fed him breakfast and the two them went in the suburban to the stand of dead aspen.

By mid-morning, Gary had delivered four more loads of logs. He then took the chain saw and began cutting the logs into short pieces. As Gary cut them, Gordon and Florian’s grandchildren stacked the pieces in neat piles near the fire pit.

By mid-afternoon, all of the logs were cut and the pieces stacked.

Gary and Florian decided to try for one more elk, but what they really hoped to bag was a deer. It was nearly sundown and they were almost back to camp when Florian touched Gary on the sleeve and pointed. A fine buck was standing back in the woods about 100 yards. Gary carefully raised his rifle, took aim and fired. The marksmanship training paid off, once more. The buck dropped out of sight. Gary ran over and found the buck trying to get up. He pulled his pistol out of its holster, aimed and fired. The buck died.

Gary gutted the deer and with some help from Florian drug it into camp. There, he got out the block and tackle and hoisted the deer up so it could be skinned and cut up. The daughters alternately worked on the deer and cooked the evening meal. Gary was satisfied, fully, that Florian and his family would be okay.

At bedtime, he said his goodbyes to Florian and to each member of the family. Even the sick daughter and grandchild came out to thank him for all that he had done and to wish him and Gordon well. Gordon shook hands with Florian and said goodbye to the family, too. They were saying goodbye because Gary intended to leave even before first-light. Gary handed Florian a rifle and some ammunition. Florian could not speak. He gave Gary a hug.

Dawn found Gary pulling out on the main road. Gordon was still fast asleep in the protective compartment. The road was still muddy from the melting snow. Gary shifted the vehicle out of four-wheel drive as pulled onto the blacktop. The road was completely dry. Gary drove carefully, anyhow. He did not want to risk finding a patch of ice.

Late that afternoon, Gary turned off the main road and onto the county road that would take him to the ranch. As he drove along, he passed a number of vehicles. Some seemed to be abandoned; some showed signs of occupancy. There were tents pitched near three of the cars. Gary pulled up to the gate at the ranch. It was closed and guarded. He rolled down the window.

“Is Roger here? Tell him that Gary is here at last.”

Two of the guards unlocked the gate and opened it. They waved Gary in. Gary stopped after driving in far enough so the guards could close and lock the gate.

One of the guards came up to the window on the driver’s side. “Drive on up to the main ranch house. Roger is there and he is expecting you. We will call ahead so a proper welcome can be arranged.”

“Thanks, but tell Roger all I need is a shower and a briefing on what has happened since the President was cut off in the middle of his speech the other night.” Gary drove toward the main ranch house.

Chapter 24: The President’s Death

The President leaned over and pushed a button on his intercom system.

“Whose out there?”

“Just me Mr. President. Your Chief of Staff.” Came back over the loudspeaker

“I’m not feeling to well. I think I’ll go into my private quarters. Don’t disturb me unless it is really necessary, okay?”

“Mr. President, I have a letter here from the First Lady. She instructed me to give it to you as soon as I heard from you on the intercom.”

“Well, bring it in.”

The door to the President’s bunker office opened and the President’s Chief of Staff hurried in and handed the President an envelope.

“That’s funny. Why would she leave a letter out there? Couldn’t she talk to me?”

“I guess she took you at your word about not being disturbed last night.”

“I guess she did. Where’s the First Lady? I haven’t seen her since this morning at breakfast.”

“I believe she and the twins went out, Mr. Pres . . . “

“Out? Out where? How out? What’s going on here? She didn’t say anything to me about going out.”

“I have no further information, Mr. President. Maybe it’s in the letter.

The President opened the letter and began to read it:

I have taken the twins to the nearest hospital. The last two members of your Secret Service detail agreed to come with us. We are not feeling well. And, since the medical staff assigned to the bunker never showed up, I feel it is my duty as a mother to find medical help.

We will be back as soon as the twins are feeling well.

In the meantime, I suggest that you make every effort to find out what happened to the medical staff. I think you are going to need them. I heard that that nice Homeland Security man died from the plague. Several others are sick, maybe terribly ill. It could be the plague.

I pray that is not what the twins have. I am not feeling well myself.

Take care of yourself. You might ask your Chief of Staff of Staff to find a copy of Edgar Allen Poe’s “The Mask of the Red Death.” Maybe being in the bunker is not such a good idea.

Below that last line was the First Lady’s distinctive signature.

He knitted his brow. That was the second time Poe’s story had come up.

As soon as the Chief Staff perceived that the President was done reading the letter, he spoke up. “Perhaps the Secret Service detail can fill you in on that. I know that at least two detail members went with them.”

“Good idea. Go find that . . . that . . . what’s his name that is in charge.”

“Can’t do that, Mr. President. He was one of the agents that accompanied the First Lady and the twins when they left.”

“Something funny’s going on here. I don’t like it. Send in someone and make it snappy. I have a sore throat and a headache. You just made both a lot worse. Why wasn’t I informed? No one is allowed out of this bunker without my permission. Got that? Seal it.”

“Yes, Sir, Mr. President, but it may be too late. I think everyone that wanted to leave has left.”

“Left? You mean there’s more? Why wasn’t I kept informed?”

“I believe they left without asking because they felt that you might not approve. It all started when the Homeland Security Chief died, apparently of the plague. Since that happened and the medical team never showed up, I think people went looking for places where there were doctors and nurses.”

“Fine thing. That’s what the First Lady did. I’m the President of the United States and I’m the last to know what’s going on. Why wasn’t I kept up to speed on all of this?”

“Well, Mr. President, I guess it was because you gave me and everyone else strict orders that you were not to be disturbed . . . that we were not to bother you unless you contacted us. That was yesterday afternoon, if you recall, just before you went for a swim and a mid-afternoon nap.”

“What’s that got to do with it? I’m supposed to be kept up to speed no matter what I said. Aren’t I? I’m still the President, you know. I’m still Commander in Chief. I’m still the most important man in the world.”

“Well, yes, you are. That’s why we all took you at your word, Sir. So did the First Lady and the twins. So did all of those who decided to leave, I guess. I knew you would want me to stay on the job, no matter what. So, I did. I think even Rufus and the rest of your personal staff left, too, since this morning.”

“Thanks a lot. Now, can you find out what the heck is going on here? Can you find out where the First Lady and the twins are? Can you get them back in here where they belong? Whoops! I gotta go to the bathroom . . . I mean bad, and quick.”

“So do I, Mr. President. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

With that the President ran for his private bathroom, just off the bunker office.

For his part, the Chief of Staff ran out of the office and down a hallway to the nearest toilet.

As he finished a rather extended bout of diarrhea, the President got up from the toilet. He pulled up his trousers, cinched his belt and walked over to the medicine cabinet above the sink. He took out a bottle of aspirin, ran some water in a drinking cup, shook two tablets into his palm and swallowed the tablets and most of the water from the cup.

As he turned to go back to his office, he staggered, lost his footing and fell heavily against the half-opened door to his office. Stunned, he got up and went back to the mirror on the medicine cabinet. There was a large gash on the front of his forehead, just below the hairline. It was bleeding and it hurt something fierce.

The President opened the cabinet and fished out a box of band aides. He opened the box and unwrapped one of the band aides. A second look in the mirror told him that one small band aide was not going to be enough. He opened the medicine cabinet door and spied a package of cotton balls and a box of gauze bandages

Blood was getting into his left eye. He turned on the water and washed his eye and forehead as best he could. His forehead throbbed and he could no longer see out an aching left eye. He grabbed a hand towel, placed it on the gash and applied pressure, using his left hand. With his right hand, he picked up the box of band aides, the cotton balls and the gauze bandages. He staggered out of the bathroom and sat down at his desk.

By the time his Chief of Staff returned, the President had closed the gash, stopped the bleeding and taped a gauze bandage over the wound using several band aides.

“Mr. President,” the Chief of Staff gasped as we hurried back into the office. “What happened to your forehead?”

“Dizzy spell. I fell against the bathroom door. Feel like I am going to be sick.” The President placed both hands on his desk and pushed himself up. He walked toward the bathroom door, weaving as he did so.

Just as the Chief of Staff said that, the President fell to the floor. As he did so, he soiled himself with another copious bout of diarrhea.

The Chief of Staff rushed over. He managed to get the President on his feet and, between the two of them, they maneuvered down the hall and into the President’s private quarters.

“I’m going to be sick,” the President groaned.

The Chief of Staff grabbed a wastebasket and held it up to the President’s face just as the President began to wretch. He vomited again and again and again.

The Chief of Staff turned his head and vomited all over the carpet.

“You’d better hold the wastebasket, Mr. President. I have to go to the toilet. Bad. And, I am going to be sick again.”

The Chief of Staff stepped into the President’s private bathroom and closed the door.

The President dropped the wastebasket and flopped back on the bed. He curled into the fetal position, clutched at his stomach and groaned. He vomited some more and experienced another round of diarrhea. The stench from both the diarrhea and the vomit was horrible. The President groaned and began to cry.

“God, why are you doing this to me? Aren’t I your loyal servant? Didn’t you choose me to be President?” The answer was more vomiting and diarrhea.

An ashen-faced Chief of Staff lurched out of the toilet and collapsed in a chair. Next to the chair was a stand. He picked up a phone from the stand and dialed a number. After several seconds he dropped the phone back on its stand and tried to get up. He couldn’t. He dropped to the floor and crawled toward the toilet.

The President remained in the fetal position. His groans turned to screams as he clutched his stomach. He began to cough and choke.

The Chief of Staff did not come back out of the toilet.

After several hours, the President’s stopped groaning and screaming.

Waves of spasms passed along his body. When the spasms ceased, the President lay on his back, stretched out on the bed. His eyes were open and lifeless.

Chapter 25: An Urban Hermit No More

Hewitt and Alane were beginning to worry. Alan was long overdue. He went out early that morning, his first foray from the building. He said he would be back by mid-afternoon. It was now nearly six in the evening.

Alane was preparing to go out and see if she could find her father, over the strongest admonitions by Hewitt.

“Mr. Branson, I can appreciate your concerns. But, no matter what the risks are, I can’t sit here, not knowing where my father is or what is happening to him. I would rather die trying to find him than sit here . . . “

The buzzer rang. Hewitt sprang over to it and pressed the receive button.

“Sorry to be so late, Mr. Bran . . . er, Hewitt. I was trying to find some food for some of the folks up in the old neighborhood. Finally did get just enough to keep them for another day or two.”

“Come on up. Alane and I have been deeply concerned. She was about ready to go out and try to find you, against my strongest displeasure.”

Hewitt pushed the button that opened the front door of the building and watched on the security camera as Alan approached the bank of elevators. Hewitt opened the door to the one that would bring Alan up to the penthouse.

Alane ran to the elevator door and hugged and kissed her Dad as the elevator door opened.

“Thank the Good Lord. We were worried to distraction, Dad. I was thinking the worst sorts of things. Please don’t ever do that again.”

“Well, Alane, I know that I promised to be back early, but the lives of some of our former neighbors are, literally, hanging in the balance. You know your Dad. I could not leave as long as there was a chance of helping them.”

“Do I ever know you! It’s one of the reason I admire you so much. But there is also the matter of your only daughter and Mr. Branson to think of. I felt helpless. I felt desperate.”

Branson stepped forward and grabbed Alan by the hand. He shook it vigorously. “Alane was determined to go looking for you. I was about to tie her down so she couldn’t. She’s still weak from the plague; so, maybe I could have been successful. But I am not sure of that.”

They all laughed at that. It was more a laugh that released the pent-up emotions.

“The important thing is that I am back and that I was not in any extreme danger. I could not bring myself to leave those folks in the state they were in. Moreover, there are signs that some things are moving back to normal is small ways. Oh, food is not being delivered to the stores and there is no running water or electric power at the switch. I did see some cops riding bicycles, things like that.” Alan paused and wiped his brow with a large hanky.

“No food being delivered? I didn’t think it would take so long. How and where did you find some for your neighbors?”

“Partly by knowing the neighborhood. I knew which of the neighbors had died, early on. I went to their houses and found enough in their pantries so’s the folks I was concerned about can get by for now. Don’t know what we’ll do when that’s gone.”

“How’d you know which houses were empty and how’d you get in?”

“Dad knows practically everything about that neighborhood. He was ‘Good Neighbor Sam,’ a Good Samaritan if ever there was one. He was always visiting and helping. Most folks showed him where their spare house keys were hid. Being the best neighbor he could was his trademark.”

“Sounds like it paid off, handsomely, in this case, for the surviving neighbors. Being a Good Samaritan can be dangerous, as we know from the Bible. Are the streets passable? Did you see cars, trucks, buses running.”

“No way. Leastways, not where I went. I guess there are some people and businesses that still have gas. My hunch is that anyone driving a car would invite the attention of gangs. I kept in the ‘shadows’ as much as I could. I tried not to show myself unduly. Even big as I am, I can be furtive. Learned it as a kid, I guess.”

“Reason I asked, there are supplies – emergency, back up supplies – in the other buildings. If we could make a delivery run, maybe we could help . . . “

“Too dangerous,” Alan said as he cut Hewitt off in mid-sentence. “Way too dangerous. A carload or truckload of food would be a magnet for trouble. Besides, without something to cook on – a gas or electric stove – most of the stuff probably couldn’t be eaten.”

“Yeah, I guess your right. The canned goods could be just opened and eaten unheated. As far as I know, all of that stuff is more than cooked enough as part of the canning process. However, the rice, beans and flour – all of those sorts of staples – are useless with out cooking and baking.”

“Do you have camp stoves and fuel for them?” Alane chimed in. “If you do, we could deliver both the food and the way to cook same.” She was seemed more animated than Hewitt had seen her up to that time.

“Still too dangerous. Food or stoves and fuel, it’s all the same. Getting it there would be too risky,” Alan said.

“How many people are we talking about?” Hewitt asked.

“Dozen. Maybe a few more. I got food to eight or ten, today. I’m planning to go back tomorrow and canvas the neighborhood, just to be sure that I get food to all that need it the most.”

“Humm,” Hewitt stroked his chin. “Would it be less dangerous to bring the people here? Or would a group like that attract the gangs just as surely as a vehicle full of food?”

“Hadn’t thought of that. I guess it’s something to work on. Surely you aren’t thinking about having a bunch of people move into your sanctuary?”

“Well, I set this up thinking only of myself. You and Alane are opening my eyes to just how selfish I was. I mean, I have enough food here for myself – well, you and Alane, too – for a couple of years, especially with what I can grow in the greenhouse. Sharing seems more sensible.

“And, that is only the food in this building. The caches in the other buildings are emergency back ups. I figured to use them if something unforeseen happened to this building. Now that you two have opened my eyes – maybe my heart, too – we can use all of the caches in the other buildings to help the people in your neighborhood.

“If necessary, we can share some of the staples from here. There may even be some ways to expand growing food, both here and in the other four buildings. I certainly have a great excess of seeds. Maybe we can figure out a way to create urban gardens.”

“Whew! That’s all mighty nice of you. I guess we need to do some serious thinking and planning, Hewitt. The last thing I would want is to see your sanctuary discovered by the wrong sorts of people. Some of the gangs are as bad as gangs get. Some of them are already desperate enough to do anything for drinking water, food and shelter. It’s a dangerous world out there.” Alan wiped his brow again.

“Nothing risked, nothing gained, as I used to say about business ventures. If it is dangerous now and likely to become more dangerous before it gets to be less so, all the more reason to try and help everyone that we can, now.”

“Amen.” Alan and Alane said.

Chapter 26: Roger’s Ecological Ranch

Roger was already out of the main house and standing near the parking area when Gary drove up. Roger waved him into a parking place and gave Gary a big hug as Gary got out of the suburban. Gordon came around from the other side of the vehicle.

“Hi, Uncle Roger, we spent some time with some Indians on the way here,” Gordon said excitedly.

Gary was pleased not only that Gordon remembered Roger and called him ‘uncle’ but also because Gordon was becoming more and more like he was before. Gordon’s behavior since leaving Florian and his family was almost back to normal.

Roger picked Gordon up and swung him around. “Gosh, you have grown since the last time I saw you. You are getting to be quite the young man. I’ll bet you helped your dad a lot on the way over here. Indians? Sounds like you and your dad have a lot to tell your Uncle Roger.”

“We sure do. I played cowboys and Indians with some real Indian kids. There must have been two feet of snow one morning when we woke up. The tent was sagging from the weight. Didn’t bother us, though, we hiked over to the hunter’s camp, Dad on his snowshoes and me sitting on the toboggan. Dad shot a big elk and chopped it up for the Indians.”

Roger set Gordon down and turned toward Gary. “Indians? Hunters? Hunting elk? No wonder you didn’t get here earlier. I tried to call several times, but the phones have been totally out since the night the President’s speech got zapped.”

“When the screen faded out and went blank while the President was speaking, that’s when I finished loading stuff in the suburban, stowed Gordon in the protective enclosure and headed this way. I’ll tell you more later, Roger. Right now, Gordon and I would like some grub and a bath, wouldn’t we partner?”

“Yuk on the bath. Amen on the grub,” Gordon said. He was still holding Roger by the hand.

“Well, come on in. Grub’s always ready. Seems like someone is eating most every hour of the day. Has to be that way with so many here and with the security details. Don’t bother with unloading we can do that later.”

Gary grabbed a bag from the back seat, closed the doors and the three walked up the front steps and into the house. Gary looked around as they passed from the entryway into the living room, through the dining room and into the kitchen. Gary felt like he was ‘home.’ Roger’s family and the house had always seemed like a second home when Gary visited. Roger’s parents made sure of that.

A young woman was dishing up steaming bowls of stew as the three entered the kitchen. “This is Paloma. Paloma, this is Gary and Gordon. They are the ones we have been expecting.”

Paloma said ‘hi’ as she took some fresh baked rolls out of the oven, put them in a brightly colored basket, covered them with a dishtowel and set them in the middle of the table. Paloma was young, dark and attractive. She looked Mexican. She was dressed in traditional Mexican fashion.

Roger pointed to a door leading off the kitchen. You can wash in there. By then, the stew and the rolls will be just right for eating.

Gary took Gordon by the hand and they went into the small bathroom. They quickly washed.

“Wow!” Gordon said as the emerged. “That stew and the bread sure smell good. You must be a good cook, Miss Paloma.”

“She is at that, Gordon,” Roger chimed in as the three sat down.

Paloma placed a cup of tea at Roger’s place. “Coffee, tea or chocolate?”

“Chocolate for me, please,” Gordon said.

“Tea sounds good as far as I’m concerned, if you please,” was Gary’s reply.

The three set to eating. Gordon seemed to inhale his bowel of stew. He held it up. “Miss Paloma, is there more?”

“You bet there is,” Roger replied. “Eat until you nearly burst, if you want to. Here, have some more of Paloma’s home baked rolls.” Roger slid the basket of rolls over Gordon’s way.

Gordon took a roll as Paloma placed his re-filled stew bowl down.

“Paloma’s dad worked on the ranch some the last couple of years. Her mom and Paloma took on the main house cooking chores. That was while we were scaling down the cattle operation and gearing up the environmental classes. I used to do my own cooking, but there was too much other stuff to do. So, they took over. I’m glad they did. Food’s been a whole lot better since they took over. You’ll meet her dad and mom later.”

“How many people are staying here on the ranch, Roger,” Gary asked.

“Whoa, all of that will come later. We both have some filling in to do, especially you with the Indians and the hunters, before we talk about this place. ‘Sides, I expect you and Gordon need that bath and maybe even a bit of a rest, after we eat, that is. Paloma has some great flan made, unless I miss my guess.”

“Flan? What’s that? I never heard of it. Is it sweet?” Gordon asked.

“Sweet as candy and a whole lot better for you,” was Roger’s reply,

“Yummy,” Gordon said as he licked his lips in an exaggerated way and rubbed his tummy.

As Gordon finished eating his stew and drinking his chocolate, Paloma picked up the empty stew bowl and replaced it with a small plate. A serving of flan, a traditional Mexican dessert, was on the plate. Flan is a custard. Syrup is commonly poured on the flan and powdered sugar sprinkled on top of that.

Gordon tasted the flan. It was gone in a few bites.

“Gordon, do you want Paloma to show you to your room and where you will take your bath?” Roger asked.

Gordon looked at Gary. “I guess so.”

“I’ll take my bath when you have finished yours. Do you want to take a nap after the hot bath?” Gary asked.

“Nah, I want to look around. Don’t we need to get our stuff out of the car, Dad?”

“Lots of time for that. Roger has plenty of towels and a bed with nice, clean sheets, unless I miss my guess. Roger and I will be right here at the kitchen table while you bathe. You can come back in here.” Gary picked up the small bag that he had brought in from the suburban and handed it to Paloma.

“Some clean clothes, our pajamas, a change of underwear and my shaving gear,” he said.

Paloma took the bag and took Gordon by the hand. She led him from the room. He didn’t seem to mind, but he did look back as he disappeared down the hall.

“You first,” Roger said. “Not much to tell you about what happened here, until we take the Grand Tour.”

Gary gave Roger a detailed account of all that happened to he and Gordon. Except for a few clarification questions, Roger listened quietly.

“Whew,” Roger said when Gary finished. “That’s some story.”

Gordon came running in. He was in his pajamas. “Paloma is going to read me a story from a book she has. The stories in it are all about Mexico. Then, I’m going to take a nap.” He grabbed Gary around the neck and kissed him on the cheek, shook hands with Roger and raced back down the hall.

“The sheriff came out and wanted to confiscate our food and God knows what else. He brought the D.A. and the judge and several deputies. My men stopped him at the front gate and called me down. He backed off when he saw he was out-gunned and out-maneuvered. Hasn’t been back. We’ve turned dozens away, in addition. More of that, later. It’s time for your bath. Nap, too, if you want it.”

Gary and Roger went down the hall and up the stairs. Roger showed Gary which bedroom and bathroom he and Gordon would be using. Gary looked in the bedroom. Gordon was fast asleep. Paloma was nowhere to be seen.

Roger went back downstairs and Gary bathed and changed his clothes. He sat down in a recliner, leaned it back and was soon snoring.

“We have enough food for a year, maybe more, for everyone who belongs here. Of course, we hope to grow our needs for the next year and do a lot of canning, drying and processing like we did the past two years. We aren’t 100% self-sufficient, but we are about as close to that as is possible and still maintain balanced diets and some of the comforts of so-called civilized life. If we find genuine surpluses, naturally, we will share those with some of our neighbors.

“We are not about to freeze in the dark or eat so little that we look emaciated. Neither of those options would be healthy. We have excellent physical conditioning facilities, in part because it is well known that physical work, alone, does not keep the body in prime shape.

”We have movie facilities and other entertainment such as sports teams and contests, plays, concerts, readings and debates, all the education and artistic pursuits that any community of reasonably well-educated people would have. The difference is that most everything is internally generated. That’s not true for the educational programs and the movies on DVDs, CDs and other formats. But other than that, what we do is done by the members of the community.”

Roger talked as he and Gary and Gordon finished their breakfasts and got ready for what Roger termed ‘The Grand Tour.’ Paloma and her mother, Maria, served the breakfast and cleared the table as needed, while staying discretely in the background.

Roger continued. “With 6,000 acres, deeded, and some Forest Service grazing permits, this was a viable cattle operation, even through the beef price ups and downs of the past few years and even through the drought. But, as much as I honor my parents and my grandparents for what they did with their lives and with this property, raising cattle is not a good option for the environment.

“That’s why I changed the operation from the what it was to what it has become. Actually, we still use some meat to add flavor to our meals, much like the Chinese, Japanese and certain other cuisine-cultures have for centuries.

“Civilization was heading toward environmental catastrophe before the plague and the energy shortages came along. Millions of acres of the most valuable forest areas in the world were being destroyed and turned into cattle operations.

“It doesn’t really matter whether global warming was a natural phenomena or one that was being caused by mankind’s use of carbon fuels and the destruction of forest lands. What matters is that the human race was making the world less life-sustaining, especially for other life-forms, but even for humans, too.

“Something had to change. Apparently, the natural forces of the world – or, maybe the supernatural – took charge, so to speak. Warming, drought, plague, the energy crash . . . the whole montage came along to correct the situation. At least, that’s the way I see it.”

Gary remained silent. Gordon left the table and got another cup of hot chocolate from Paloma.

“Well, that’s about it. I think you already knew most of what I just said. Sorry, I sort of get carried away at time,” Roger said.

“No, it always good to hear you talk. You have a terrific grasp of the broad picture. I have been looking forward to seeing what you have done here. It’s also good to hear your thoughts” Gary replied.

“You’re too kind, Gary. Always were when it came to listening to me spout off. Guess that is one reason we have stayed friends. You are a good listener, even when I go on and on.” Roger took another sip of the hot chocolate.

“Not at all. My interest in and enthusiasm for what you say, generally, is honest.” Gary smiled broadly.

“Thanks. Done? How about you, Gordon, are you ready to take The Grand Tour?” Roger asked.

“Sure, I’m ready if you and Dad are.” Gordon went over and shook hands with Paloma and her mother, before heading out the door with Gary and Roger.

“We’ll start by going through some of the buildings that are nearest the house. Then, we’ll move on from there.” Roger said this as the three approached four buildings that were located about 100 feet behind the main house.

“This is the blacksmith’s shop,” Roger said as they walked in the first building. There were four men in the shop. It was hot and smelled of burning charcoal and hot metal. Roger introduced the four men.

“What’s doing, today?” Roger asked the man nearest the forge.

“Just some routine stuff. Sharpening plow shears, sharpening sickle blades, stuff like that. Nothing special and we are almost done, unless you have something for us to do.”

“Nope. Just showing Gary and Gordon around. They got in last evening. Came over from the other side of the mountains. Made it, but not without some pretty interesting adventures, eh, Gary?”

“Well, at least we made it to Roger’s Shangri-la. Nice to meet you fellers.”

The four crowded around. “We’d like to hear how things were over there when you left. And, what happened on the way over,” one of them said.

“Later,” Roger held up his hand as he said that. “We’re taking the Grand Tour right now. “There’ll be plenty of time later.”

Roger turned and went out the door. Gary and Gordon followed.

“Gee!” Gordon said when the three got outside. “That’s just like the old cowboy movies on TV. There’s nearly always a smithy in them.”

“Yep, Pardner. Just like 150 years ago, Gordon. A lot of things are going to be like they were for your great grandparents. Don’t worry, though. In some ways, it was a better, a more sensible, way of living.” Gary patted Gordon on the head as he said that. Gordon smiled up at his Dad.

“You got that right,” Roger chimed in.

Over the next hour, Roger showed them the huge dairy barn, the shed where cheese and other dairy products were made, the canning kitchen and the building where the wheat, oats, barley and other grains were stored. He showed them the mill where the grains were ground into flour. There were a few people working in each of the buildings.

Then, they got in Roger’s pickup and drove to the dormitory buildings. There were six. Each housed about 30 people. Except for a few older residents and some people doing cleaning work, the buildings were empty.

“Where is everyone?” Gary asked. “I expected to see groups of people nearly everywhere.”

“Oh, you’ll see plenty of people. Some went into town. Some are gathering up the few cattle that we have up in the high country. You will meet some more as the tour continues. We still have to go to the other work areas.

“Some are helping the National Guard in town and elsewhere in the county. Not much room for lay-abouts, at least not early in the day. Actually, we don’t work all that hard or all that many hours in the week. Most modern people would be surprised and maybe a little envious. We definitely do not have the ‘rat race’ mentality or pace of living.

“There’s a myth that people in the middle ages worked from dawn to dark and beyond, seven days a week and 365 days a year. That was never true. Even the hunters and gathering cultures had time for leisure. Look at all of the art that the prehistoric people created. And, especially in the middle ages, there were numerous religious and festival holidays. When this is all up and running – after we shake out our mistakes – we’ll be able to work four or five hours a day, on average, and have plenty of time for recreations of all sorts.”

Chapter 27: The Desert Rat

The self-proclaimed Desert Rat, Jay Ullema, knew there was something wrong even before he drove into town. The telltale signs were everywhere: No traffic on the road and there were no AM or FM stations to be found on his usually reliable radios, not the one in the camper or the portable.

He hated going into town after only one month out in the desert near Death Valley, but his supply of canned goods was almost gone, and the cottontail and jackrabbit hunting had not yielded much over the past two weeks. Not only that, the weather had been unusually cold for this early in the fall.

Besides the necessaries, he needed a long, hot shower and some beer. He needed to call his children and to catch up on the local, national and international news. Just because he lived virtually like a hermit did not mean that he liked to be completely in the dark as far as news was concerned.

‘In the dark.’ How little he knew how apt that expression was as far as the world situation was concerned.

He pulled into a motel parking lot and frowned. No cars. No lights. No signs to indicate whether there was a vacancy or not. He got out and walked up to the office door. Locked. He tried to look through the glass and into the lobby and towards the check-in counter. Nothing.

“Umm,” he said out loud. “I better drive over to the restaurant and see what’s going on over there.” He got back in his camper and headed for the restaurant. On the way, he passed a casino. No lights there, either.

“Boy, this is some kind of weird. What did they do, make gambling illegal in Nevada?” He was used to talking out loud. That was the only time he heard a human voice when he was out in the desert.

The restaurant was open, or so it seemed. He got out of the camper’s cab and walked up to the front door. Yep, the door was unlocked. He went in. There were no lights. Only a candle here and there. He was the only one in the restaurant. He went to the bathroom before looking for a waitress. It was cold in the bathroom.

When he finished and came out of the bathroom, he heard voices in the kitchen. He headed that way. As he approached the swinging doors into the kitchen, a waitress came out.

“Oh, hi, I thought I heard someone come in. When I came out of the kitchen, I decided it was just the wind. Can I help you?”

“First off, you might explain what’s going on? There was no one at the motel down the road and the casino looked closed.”

“Where have you been? Didn’t your hear about the plague and the energy shortage and the bombs in several big cities? There’s hardly any gasoline. Been that way for a couple of months. Then, about a month ago, the plague hit hard, especially in the big cities. Population in Las Vegas was all but wiped out. To top it off, the electric grid went down. We’re talkin’ the whole grid. Lights out, all over the United States . . . well, really, almost all over the world.”

“You got to be kidding. No gas. No lights. No . . . “

“I wish I was, Mister, believe me, I wish I was. We’re lucky out in this neck of the woods so far. The plague killed a few folks and a bunch more got sick. But, nothin’ like the big cities. There’s almost no food. What little we have here at the restaurant, was already in the freezers. When that’s gone, so are me and my old man. Puff! Out of here. We’ll go home and wait ‘til we starve, I guess.”

“Whew! I better get down to the grocery store and see what’s there. I’ll come back after I stock up.”

“Yeah! Grocery store. Lot’s of luck buddy. There hasn’t been anything in any of the supermarkets or convenience stores for a couple of weeks. I’m trying to tell you, things are desperate. Aren’t you listening?”

“Guess it’s going to take some time to sink in. What about phone service? I need to call my kids. I need to find out how they are doing. Also, the camper only has about a half-tank of gas and my propane heater is about out, too.”

“Where you been? I can’t believe that you don’t know what’s happened.”

“I been out in the desert. Over near Death Valley. I go out for a month or six weeks. Then I come in and stock up on canned goods, get a hot shower and talk to the kids on the phone. While I’m out there, I usually listen to the radio once a day, but neither radio has worked for some time.”

“Radio? TV? Newspapers? There all gone. What little we hear comes by way of word-of -mouth. Most of that isn’t worth listenin’ to; mostly it’s rumors and gossip. Nobody knows what’s really goin’ on . . . not in the United States and surely not in the world.

“You want some food, or don’t you? We can do an omelet and some toast. Hot tea, too. The coffee’s all gone. We need to see your money, first, though. Prices are sky-high and goin’ higher every day.”

“No thanks. I’ll check out all of the supermarkets and convenience stores first. Soon as I do that, I’ll try get some gas and propane and head back out to the desert.”

“Ha! Fat chance of finding anything. I can see you don’t believe me. So, go find out for yourself. Be my guest. We ain’t stayin’ open forever. If you come back too late, don’t say I didn’t offer to feed you . . . for a price, that is.”

Jay staggered out the door. He was stunned. The things that had happened were the things that he had expected to happen. That was why he left a good paying job in the computer industry a number of years before and began a series of life-transitions that took him, his camper and a few possessions out of the cities and into the deserts of the Great Southwest, as he liked to call it.

Most of his family and other relatives and all of his co-workers and friends thought he was crazy. At times, when the economy continued to hum along and the world’s major governments to bungle but not self-destruct, he began to think that maybe he was crazy, after all.

“Bet all of those priceless stock options I got when I bailed out are worthless. I’m probably broke, except for the little bit of cash and gold and silver I have stashed in the camper.” Jay almost laughed when he said that. He had studiously tried to look ‘broke’ for years. His clothes were old and threadbare. The camper was old and had not been washed in several years. Inside the camper were a few more clothes, some books, the now-worthless radio, some camping and cooking equipment and little else.

He climbed into the camper’s cab. As he thought, he pounded the steering wheel and hummed a tune. It was a habit that he had when trying to think.

Finally, he started the engine and drove toward one of the town’s three supermarkets. He pulled into the parking lot and got out. Two men in military uniforms stood at the main entrance. The second entrance was closed and had an arrow pointing toward the main entrance.

“Howdy, this place open for business?” Jay directed his question to one of the men in camouflage.

“Barely, there are a few things in there and one or two clerks. But, if you need food, you’ll have to register and go out to the Armory. That’s where the food distribution center is now. Everything is rationed and carefully doled out on an ‘as needed’ basis. You from around here?”

The soldier replied.

“Well, I guess so, in a manner of speaking. I have using this as a base of operations for about three years. I live out on the desert towards Death Valley. Will that qualify me to get some canned goods? Some necessities?”

“Can’t say. That’ll be up to the food distribution committee. We’re pretty much on starvation rations as it is. Our commander and the committee make the decisions.”

“What about gas?” As Jay asked this, he pointed a thumb toward his camper truck?”

“It’s rationed, too. They handle that out at the Armory. Do you know where the Armory is?”

“Sure, I know. What can you tell me about phone service? I need to call my kids up in Salt Lake City.”

“As far as I know the phones still aren’t working. Some kind of mass failure of the system. Might try the post office. Some mail goes out and maybe even comes in, I guess.”

“Thanks. I’ll check in at the Armory first and go to the post office, unless someone at the Armory knows about both the phones and the mail.”

Jay got back in the camper cab. He closed his eyes and thought for a few minutes. He started the motor, pulled out of the supermarket parking lot and headed for the Armory.

He was about ready to drive back to his campsite and take the ‘Kevorkian Kocktail way’ out of the dilemma.

Chapter 28: The Mexican’s Village

When Pedro got back to his village, he was relieved to find that most of his family and the neighbors were still alive. The plague had not found its way to this particular village. At least, not yet.

There was food available in the marketplace on a daily basis. There was no TV or radio and no telephone service. Cell phones did not work. Pedro decided the absence of news from the wider world was a good thing. His experience in the United States and on the way from there to his village told him that the news would not be good.

His wife and children, even the grown ones who still lived in the village with their own homes and families, were glad to see him. They had given him up for dead. A celebration was planned, almost a resurrection celebration.

He slept soundly his first night back in the village. It was good to be home.

After a breakfast of beans, tortillas and fruit, Pedro went to talk with the village leaders. He stopped by the police station and talked to his boyhood friend, now the Chief of Police. He talked to the Mayor and with the priest. Finally, he went to the Captain of the small Federal force.

All seemed to be aware of how desperate the situation was in the big cities and the large towns throughout Mexico and elsewhere. Pedro was concerned that hungry people of every sort would be coming into the Morelos District, generally, and into the small farming villages in particular.

The farms around the village produced more food than the farmers and villagers needed, but not much more. Any influx of hungry or starving people in significant numbers would spell disaster. More troubling, for Pedro, was the certainty that groups of armed scavengers and criminal types would plunder the farms and villages, both for food for themselves and to sell anywhere that black markets developed. There, they would get exorbitant prices.

Pedro felt that the farmers and villages must organize and make plans for dealing with the problems before they arrived. Pedro had little formal education, but he knew that the poor farmers and villagers historically bore the brunt of revolutions and other troubles. This would be a time of great trouble, unless Pedro missed the mark.

The farming climate was mild. The farms and the village were only a couple of thousand feet above sea level. Some crops were grown on a year-round basis. For others, there were multiple harvests.

Pedro knew that there would be little time to prepare before the influx of people and brigands began. That was a central part of the problem. The farmers and the villagers were not prone to speedy action. They were the ‘salt of the earth’ but ultimate conservatives.

Besides, Pedro was neither a village elder nor an official. He was considered to be a good citizen. He sent money to his wife and family when he was away. He spent his money wisely when he returned. Still, he was something of an outsider because of the long periods that he spent away from the village.

He was faced with a daunting task. That is where the established leaders of the community, the Mayor and the council, the priest the police chief and Captain of the Federal force came in. If they could be convinced, the rest of the people would probably go along, perhaps even enthusiastically.

One part of the plan would be to make sure that no evidence of excess was ever displayed in public. This meant that the local market place must be done away with. Clandestine food distribution would be needed. It also meant that there should be no large, central storage of any and all surplus food supplies, such as the grain storage facilities and cooperative warehouses.

Replacing these established methods of marketing, storage and distribution with alternatives that would be acceptable to all concerned represented a monumental task. This was part of the problem. Pedro had never been involved with any of this. In that sense he was a total outsider.

His family, like most in the area, bought what food they needed on a daily basis, usually from individual farmers or, as with tortillas, from a family that specialized in making them. None of his immediate family was a farmer. Many of the families’ cousins and other relatives were. After meeting with the village leaders, Pedro began to talk to the venders at the market and with the families that had small, food-oriented business, such as the tortilla makers.

Pedro was sure that the Federal army and local police, alone, could not handle the problems that he felt would develop. He favored the idea of organizing the farmers and the villagers into temporary militias. Equipping and training these independent-minded groups would require someone with both the knowledge of what was needed by individual militiamen, as well as by the militia groups. Someone was needed who had the skills necessary to get the cooperation of nearly everyone.

Pedro knew that he did not possess the needed information or skills.

He was pretty sure that no one he knew did either. Perhaps a group of locals might be able to do it, but Pedro favored finding and bringing in someone from the outside. A relative of a local family would be the best option. As he made his rounds, Pedro tried to find out if such a relative existed and might be recruited.

If there was a hope for the human race, it lay in places like Pedro’s village and with people like him.

Chapter 29: The First Lady Returns

Second Lieutenant Goodson, Short Straw to the President, approached the Presidential bunker carefully. He did not like what he saw. He turned to the First Lady and to the twin who was with her mother.

“Something is not right, Mrs. President. The door to the bunker is open. That’s not supposed to happen, if my assignment information was correct. It was supposed to be closed 24 hours a day, seven days a week.

“Maybe you and your daughter should stay here. Kinda hide, if you will. I’ll go in and check things out, just to make sure that the location and the security of the bunker have not been compromised by terrorists or others bent on doing harm.”

The First Lady gasped. “Terrorists? Surely you don’t think any of them survived the plague and found their way here. How could they? We can’t even use our cell phones,

“No, Mam, Mrs. President, I don’t think the terrorists are here or that the security let alone any other form of communication.’ has been breached. I just don’t understand why the door is open. That’s all I am saying. Please let me go in while you and your daughter hide out here.”

“Okay. But don’t you go in and disappear like darned near everyone else. My husband, the President, assured me that nothing this bad was happening. That’s one of the last things he said to me. Then, I discovered that the Head of Homeland Security died. Right there in that bunker. I wanted to talk to my husband, but he couldn’t be disturbed. That’s when I decided to leave. I’m grateful that you and other nice young man came with us. I don’t know what the twins and I would have done without the two of you.

“I only wish my other daughter and that other nice young man had been at the motel when we decided to come back for a lookie-see. What if they don’t find the note we left? What if they don’t come back here?”

“Don’t worry Mam, Mrs. President. Your daughter is in the safest of hands. Officer Schtumpf is a veteran of the Secret Service. I realize he looks young, but he is one of the best. Please believe me. Your daughter is safe.” Lt. Goodson put on his best ‘we’re okay’ face.

“I’ll be back before you know it.”

With that, Lt. Goodson left the two women and, commando-like, approached the door of the bunker. He went in, pistol first.

It seemed to the First Lady and her daughter that the officer had just entered when he came back out. He waved toward the women, inviting them to join him at the entrance to the bunker. As the women got close, they could tell that he was very agitated.

As the three entered the lobby, the officer suggested that the two women sit down. At first, they did not want to. He insisted until they did.

“Oh, it’s terrible, Mam. I’m not sure you should go in your quarters. The Chief of Staff and the President are both in there. I don’t know how to say this, Mam, but both are dead. I think they died from the plague.”

The First Lady gasped. Then, she got up and ran into the couple’s bedroom. She looked down on an obviously dead and very dishelvished President of the United States. She put a handkerchief over her mouth and nose and ran from the room.

“Back to the motel, quick,” she yelled. “We must find the other officer and my daughter. We must notify the Vice-President. We must let somebody know. We must get somebody to come for the bodies, somebody who can clean up the mess and start the process of a State Funeral.

The First Lady turned and ran toward the Hummer that they had used to return from the motel. It was all that the officer and the daughter could do to keep up. To help, the officer took the daughter’s hand.

Chapter 30: At the News Desk

Bill White huffed and puffed as he climbed the three flights of stairs to the floor where his desk was. Bill was at least 50 pounds overweight. He had never liked exercise of any sort – except maybe that of bending his elbow in bars, or at home, or anywhere else where he could find good beer. He considered himself a connoisseur of beer. Most people, including his wife and six children, adamantly insisted that he was an alcoholic.

Added to the fact that he had been out of shape all of his life was the fatigue that he was still feeling from a bout with the plague. His was a medium case of the plague, but it left him weak. He still had dizzy spells, especially if he put the stress of even mild exertion on his body.

He was returning to his desk at The Washington Post from his routine of the Capital Building. No one else was in the newsroom. Some were dead. The rest had ‘melted’ away. Those who did not come in reasoned that it did not make any sense to come to the office when no paper could be published, when no wire service or other electronic news was coming in and when any appearance in public could spell death from the plague or from roving gangs.

Bill felt that he had the story of his career, one of the great stories in the history of journalism. Oh, it was not a story he had written, yet. And it was not a story filled with quotes from the high and mighty. It was not even a story of corruption in high places.

It was a story of death. As near as Bill could tell 100% of the members of the United States House of Representatives and the Senate were dead or unaccounted for. The same was true for nearly everyone else in the Washington. No matter when or how often he combed through the corridors of power, he was met with chilling absences and unaccustomed quiet.

But there was more. Before the Gulf War, the first President Bush said something about bombing Iraq back to the Stone Age, a terrible thing for any modern, so-called enlightened world leader to say. Well, as near as Bill could tell, the apocalyptic calamities experienced on Mother Earth the past month guaranteed that, in many crucial ways, the surviving remnants of the human race were back in the Stone Age.

Bill was determined to write the story, if only to insure that it would be ‘there’ if and when some semblance of normality returned to a sorry, devastated Earth. He reached down into the well of his desk, grabbed a handle that was there and pulled up his portable typewriter. His colleagues scoffed at him for keeping the ‘ancient relic’ around. Now, Bill’s reluctance to part with an ‘old friend’ was going to pay off.

He opened a desk drawer, pulled out a handful of typing paper, slipped one sheet in the portable machine and began to type, in the old, slow hunt-and-peck way

Chapter 31: Pandora’s Report

“God, this is Pandora. I am back from the Earth mission. I know that you said that I need not report in, but there is so much interest in Earth, what was going on down there and what I did to adjust the situation, that I thought you would want to have an Elysian meeting.” Pandora transported her message via the heavenly message mode.

“I’m surprised to see you, Pandora. I thought you might be in hiding or back down with the unmentionable one, after all of your work.”

“Hiding? Why should I hide, Sire? I did as you instructed, didn’t I?”

“You know perfectly well what I mean. You overstepped the boundaries of your mission. I doubt that any humans would have been left had I not intervened. You do seem to take lavish delight in killing. That’s a matter I am giving some thought to.”

“Sire, when I got down there, I realized that the situation was worse than we had imagined. Also, greed and hypocrisy were nearly universal, at least in the highly developed, most materialistic countries. A thorough cleansing was needed, Dear Father.”

“Hummm. So you thought. And, as you said to yourself, ‘if you over did it, I could also attenuate.’ And I did. I’ll let it pass, for now.”

“Thank you, Sire. You are most indulgent and magnanimous.”

“I can do without the sarcasm, Daughter.”

“Oh, no. I was not being sarcastic, Father.”

“We will wait a few Earth weeks to see how things are sorting themselves out. Then I want you to assemble the multitudes, Pandora, and I will attend and listen to your report, just as if I don’t already know all. Also, there is the matter of dealing with those guilty of excessive greed, hubris, blasphemy and other transgressions.” God replied, again using the message mode.

“Can I stage it as a Level Nine event?” Pandora asked.

“Oh, Pandora, you are such a showoff. You inflate yourself, as usual. Why would you want to go to that much trouble and make such a big of a deal out of it? Earth is a small, insignificant planet. Pandora, Level Nine events, as you well know, are for truly significant events. Earth is simply not that important in the overall cosmic hierarchy. Level Three would do nicely, except for one aspect. I want to make sure that the entirely of heavenly hosts knows what a horrible configuration of miscreants existed down there. I want to make examples of them beyond the importance of Earth in My great scheme. You can have your Level Nine event and you can have it on the Elysian venue. I will even emmeld with everyone, so all of Heaven and Hell will be involved.” With that said, God ended the connection.

So, God wanted to put His retribution for the greedy, hypocritical, religious miscreants before the entirely of heaven. So be it. God could be both kind and cruel. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. How well she knew that from past events.

Pandora set to work to make sure that all of those who might be interested would know about the Elysian meeting that she had just got permission from God stage. It was not often that most of heaven’s inhabitants got to see God in person or even in one of his many, many alter ego manifestations. She decided to wait and ask God for a vacation after the event.

Level Nine Elysian meetings were grand events, even when God, Himself, did not attend. To have God attend a Level Three was rare; to have a Level Nine was almost unheard of. It would be viewed by the multitudes as evidence of just how out of control the situation on Earth was and important her work there was.

The Elysian meeting would be a trial for the miscreants and also be a gala affair. There would be a nearly uncountable number of tables laden with cornucopias. There would be Godly nectars aplenty. There would be entertainment for the multitudes both before and after Pandora’s presentation and God’s admonishment of the transgressors. If the past were any prologue, God would appear in one of his major manifestations and on one of his most elaborate golden thrones.

In short, it would be one of the major events of the current Heavenly entertainment season.

Chapter 32: God Disposes

When it came right down to it, Pandora really had little to do. She sent out the general notice over what she called ‘God’s airwaves.’ God, Himself, created everything else: decorations, food, and entertainment, the whole Zamboni (as Pandora liked to say).

When the time for the gathering of the heavenly hosts arrived, Pandora was beside herself with anticipation. She had no idea what God had in store for the miscreants. Pandora was only sure of one thing, she was glad that she did not have to face an aroused and vengeful God on this occasion.

The masses were there, the food was largely gone and the first round of entertainment was completed. A hush fell over the multitude. An enormous flash of lightning crackled over the heads of the heavenly host. Then, one of the loudest claps of thunder sounded that anyone in the assembly had ever heard.

Just as it ended, a gargantuan throne appeared at the front of the multitude. Seconds later, God in one of His largest and most Lordly manifestations materialized and sat on the throne. Mary, Joseph, Jesus, Mary Magdalene and Judas appeared and took small seats next to God’s throne. The remaining twelve Disciples of Christ and members of the Grand Council came out of the crowd and sat behind Jesus.

“I am the Lord God,” God thundered. “I am investigator, prosecutor, judge and jury. I see all, hear all and know all. I am Omniscient, Omnipresent and Omnipotent when I choose to be. Earth has been largely cleansed of sinners of every type. I will bring a few examples before you, try them and sentence them. Mark ye well the nature of their sins and the justice that I mete out. Mark well what happens here today and track the consequences. Remember both always.

“Bring in the major miscreants. Let them stand before the judgment of the Almighty Lord and God of the Universe. Let them become aware of the gravity of their sins against Me and their fellow creatures and against their Mother Earth. Let them prepare for their individual and general punishments and atonements.”

Several thousand people appeared, automatically moving the heavenly hosts back.

“I will deal with those who professed to be religious leaders, but who, knowing better, spoke for Me or lived sinful lives filled with greed, envy, hypocrisy and blasphemy. Miscreant Falwell, step forward.”

The Reverend Mr. Falwell stepped out from the front rank of the miscreants. He approached God and knelt at the bottom of the steps to God’s throne. He was bareheaded and naked. The flab of his belly bounced as he genuflected.

“Make no mistake about it, miscreant, I know your every sinful thought and sinful deed. You have amassed a litany of false pride and of hypocrisy that is unforgivable. I know of your secreted wealth. I know of the many young, innocent – and not so innocent – women you have ravaged with your lust. I know of your blasphemy, blasphemy by speaking as if you were speaking for Me, God. I know of your political, economic and religious calumny. You are only the first of the sinners and miscreants that I will deal with today. As you and all of the others will see, I am investigator, prosecutor, judge and jury. My word is law. My findings and sentences are final.

“I sentence you to the damnation of hell! You will have many memorable ordeals before we meet again. Take him away.”

As God said this, two monsters – more horrible in appearance than any ever conceived, or drawn or imagined by mortal men – appeared and each grabbed one of the quivering Falwell’s arms.

“Please, God, hear me out. I lived a life of Christ. I brought many sinners into my church. Many came to Christ through me. I collected large sums of money that were spent on causes for the benefit of my fellow men and women. I was one of the most important and revered Christians in the world. I . . . “

God thundered. “Liar. Cheat. Fornicator. Thief. These are only some of your sins. Your ego-mania, your pontificating, your insufferable certainty, your hypocrisy and duplicity, these outweigh the small amount of good that you claim. Be gone! The nameless one and his minions will reeducate you with suffering far beyond the hellfire and brimstone you preached about.”

Falwell and the two monsters disappeared.

“Robert Shuler, it is your turn to account for yourself. Building that monument to your ego, the Crystal Palace, instead of spending those lavish funds on the poor, the halt and infirm, was but one of your sins against Me. Crystal Palace, indeed. Did you think to emulate your idea of what My palace in heaven might be like? What an insufferable ego trip. I will not enumerate or elaborate on your many other transgressions.”

God flicked his left pinkie and a three dimensional manifestation of the Crystal Palace appeared in the sky behind him. “This is what I think of your monument to Me.” God flicked his pinkie again and the Crystal Palace gave a might shudder and collapsed into a pile of broken glass and rubble. There is My assessment of you and your work.”

“Lord, I did everything in my long life for you. I lived and served only for you. How can you accuse me of sinfulness? How?”

“How? I’ll tell you how. I know your heart. I know and understand the egoism behind your every word and deed. You are not alone. I will deal in the same way with every so-called monument to Me that actually represents human ego.” A rapidly changes montage of the world’s mega-churches flashed in the sky. As each appeared it crumbled into dust. “All of the riches so misused could have been used to better the lot of humans, especially the poor, the infirm and less fortunate. Now they are dust! Be gone!”

A rather mild looking monster appeared, grasped Shuler by the arm and disappeared.

“Bring forth the Israeli Jewish political and religious leadership.” As God spoke these words a large group of individuals stepped forward.

“Your sins are those of selfishness and of concomitant inhumanity. After the holocaust, you of all the people on Earth, should have been sensitive to the suffering of others. Instead, you helped set up the state of Israel and denied a homeland to the peoples of Palestine. Moreover, you waged war against children, women and the aged – innocents, most of them – in My name, using as the excuse the fact that I had promised ‘My Chosen People’ a homeland. Nonsense, I say. I never promised any people anything at the expense of others. You Jews excel in everything except self-examination and meekness. Believe Me, you will learn both and a lot more as you serve out your terms of retribution. I am the God of Retribution, as each and all will learn and as it is so well described in the Old Testament. Be gone!” The Israeli Jews disappeared.

“Now,” God roared. “Bring forth the fundamentalists of every stripe, Jewish, Christian, Buddhist and Islamic. Especially, bring forth the Islamic suiciders, their ayatollahs, imams, mullahs and teachers.”

A vast host appeared. God waved his hand toward all of them. “Extremism in the name of God is a venal, a deadly, an unforgivable sin. Each of you has sinned in that way. Those who have encouraged others to take their lives in My name are especially guilty and damned. By taking young children and teaching them hate and by sending them and all of the other impressionable ones to suicidal deaths, your sins are beyond the pale. Each and every one of you will learn what the wrath of God is truly like. The punishments that I mete out to each of you, through My son, the unmentionable one, will be individual. Each will be tailored to the nature and the extent of your transgressions against Me. After you have served your times in Hell, Zoroaster, Lao Tse, Buddha, Jesus, Muhammad, and others of my choosing will finish your educations here in Heaven. Extremism within religion is not a virtue, it is a venal and deadly sin. Be gone!”

The extremists simply disappeared.

“Bring the disbelievers, the doubters, the unbelievers before me,” God said rather quietly. A motley group appeared before God and his throne.

“Well,” God said to them. “Some of you claim to be atheists. Some say you are agnostics. Some of claimed that I am dead. Some tried to aver that I had never lived. Ha! Ha! Ha! Perhaps you are revising your false beliefs as I speak. No? Let me assure you that God lives and that I am that living God. Each of you will receive punishments according to the way you lived your lives on Earth. All of you will spend some time with My son, the unmentionable one, in his domain. However, all of you will join Me here in heaven in due course.” They disappeared with no fanfare.

God thundered, “Bring out the greedy. It is time to deal with them.”

Thousands upon thousands appeared.

“In some ways, you are the most despicable of all of the miscreants. During your time on Earth, you had the aptitudes, the intelligences, the knowledge and the skills to largely eliminate human suffering. Instead, you turned inward to self-indulgences and to amassing fortunes that you either hoarded or spent in ways to gain further wealth or squandered in negative ways, such as conspicuous consumption, political donations and financial support to extremist groups.

“That abomination that you called the corporation was one of the most despicable ideas the human mind ever contrived and elaborated. Through the façade of corporations, you humans flaunted decency, fairness and all other noble characteristics. The existence of corporations will be wiped from the face of Earth and its history. The modern corporation became the greatest threat to individual freedom in the world.

“Individually and collectively, yours are the sins of greed, of excess and of ego. You are a motley and multifaceted group. Accordingly, your retributions will be diverse. While none of you will avoid the hellfire and brimstone and the torture and humiliation that you have so rightly earned, some will find your time in Hell relatively brief; for others, your stays will be long and painful.

“Bill Gates, step forward.” God pointed toward the front row.

“You are an interesting mix. On the one hand, your business practices were often of the most greedy, despicable sort. On the other hand, your charitable giving showed signs of genuine concern for your fellow humans. However, it is not the way that money is spent that is most important. It is the way the money was earned.

“Yours will be a mixed retribution, not unlike those retributions I meted out to John D. Rockefeller and Andrew Carnegie. Take him away.”

“Warren Buffett, come before your Maker and your Judge.” God nodded toward the multitude of the greedy and Buffett detached himself and came forward.

“Like your friend, Bill Gates, whom I just rendered judgment on, you are an unusual case.” God frowned and stroked his beard as he said this. “By and large, you earned your money in ethical ways, using sound business methods and excellent evaluative procedures.”

Buffett smiled and shook his head in agreement.

“On the other hand,” God continued, “you hung onto your wealth far too long and you merely used it over a period of many years to become ever wealthier. All that time, the world’s needy ‘cried out’ for someone with your talents and knowledge to provide leadership in helping to alleviate their plight.”

Buffett’s smile faded. “I did turn a bundle over to the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation, finally.”

“Yes, I know, and as with Mr. Gates, yours will be a time with mixed atonements. But, before I pass judgment, do you have anything to say?” God paused and tapped the fingers of his right hand on the throne’s armrest.

“I have nothing to say regarding the way in which I amassed my fortune. However, I find it strange that someone with your powers would deign to criticize me for not helping the world’s needy. It seems to me that you have botched the job of looking after Earth almost beyond description and certainly beyond good management theory or practice.”

“Go on,” God said. “Say more. Describe My shortcomings in more specific detail.”

“To begin with, if I may say so, the idea of ‘free will’ that is set forth in the Bible is a rather strange concept. It is both narrow and peculiar.” Buffett seemed to gain confidence as he said this.

“How so?” God leaned forward in his throne as he posed the question.

“Humans don’t choose their parents. They don’t chose who raises them or how. They don’t chose who educates them, early on – and the earliest learning is often the most vital – or how. By the time humans are old enough and mature enough to make so-called free will decisions, most are innocently bound by all of the early events.” Buffett paused.

“Humm,” was all that God said.

“Look at the schools that are run by the radical Muslims. The kids in those schools are subjected to brainwashing from as early as age three on. Many become automatons at the beck and call of the leaders. It’s no wonder that so many volunteer to be suicides.”

“Well, I took that into account. The teachers and other leaders will suffer the worst that hell has to offer. Those who were brainwashed will be treated with compassion as they atone for their transgressions.” God raised his hands as if in supplication.

“As it should be. Another thing,” Buffett continued, “Your ‘hands off’ management style has proven to be a disaster. I give you a ‘grade’ of F- for that. Beyond that, you have, apparently, assigned certain of your minions the task of observing how things were going on Earth without giving them the power to do anything, or even the prospect of keeping you fully informed in a timely fashion.”

“I see. Are you saying that the mess down there was all My fault?” God seemed amused as he said this.

“Beyond any doubt. Blame begins and ends with those in positions of responsibility, provided they also have the power to do something. Yes, the buck stops with you. I don’t see how there can be any argument about that!”

“Cheeky, devil, aren’t you?” God said this, but without sarcasm.

“Well, I always had the reputation on Earth of speaking my mind. Moreover, I allowed my team members to speak theirs. Those two freedoms, the one on my part and the other on theirs, more than paid off through the years. I neither wanted nor would abide ‘yes men’ or ‘sycophants.”

“Good point, Mr. Buffett. I suppose you could do better than I have, given a certain amount of power to do so. Do you have more to say?”

“What about my wife? I want to be with her, in heaven as we were on Earth.”

“You border on the impertinent. No matter. From what I have learned about you, I imagine that your wife has earned a place in heaven, possibly among the saints, just by being married to you. You and she will be together, but only if she is agreeable to such an arrangement. Is there more in the way of information that you need?”

“I would not presume to know what I could or could not do until I knew what parameters of power I would have.” Buffett took a step back as he finished.

“Done.” God said.

“Yes, I am done.” Buffett smiled once more.

“No. No. When I said ‘done,’ it was not a question. I meant that you will be in charge of Earth and that you will have such powers and accoutrements as may be necessary. You see, I have other matters on My mind. I have had for quite some time. These other matters took My attention away from Earth. Moreover, I was not available – as you so correctly pointed out – to receive reports from those who were looking after Earth for Me. Yes, the buck stops with Me. I admit it and I accept the blame. You will be God’s instrument for a new approach to Earth and to My administration of it. No more ‘hands off.’” As God said this, Buffett’s rather nondescript clothing transformed into heavenly raiment.

“I’m not sure I can serve you.” Buffett said.

“And why not? I’ve said I will give you the power and other necessaries.” God sounded cross.

“Well, for one thing, the major operating principle here seems to be Your self-interest. I . . . “

God cut him short. “Don’t be cynical. Ambrose Bierce, H. L. Mencken and Mark Twain, among others, provide all of the cynicism we need up here. This is a paradise for all who enter. You’ll see. If you have problems, we’ll work them out.”

God motioned for Buffett to join Judas, Jesus and the other dignitaries.

Buffett walked over to them and was offered a chair in their midst.

“Charles Simonyi, step forward.” God ordered.

Simonyi did so.

“I have singled you out as an egregious example of the richest of the rich who squandered money in unconscionable ways. You wasted something over 25 million Earth dollars on a mindless, meaningless exercise of self-indulgence. I am referring to the trip into space that you took.”

Simony hung his head and nodded assent. He started to say something, but was at a loss for words.

“That money,” God continued, “could have been spent in 25 million better ways. For example, it could have been used to help the ill, the indigent and the dreadfully poor; or to educate the ignorant or the under privileged. As it is, you are going to spend time in the nether regions until I think that you have undergone a change in heart, a change in perspective, a change in priorities. Take him away.”

As God said this, Simonyi disappeared.

“Take all the rest of them away. Deal with each of these sinners as she or he deserves to be dealt with. After they have paid fully for their misguided and ungodly behaviors, assign each to a number of less greedy transgressors so they can serve Me by instructing the greedy masses in proper deportment.

“Since they were a means of amassing wealth in the hands of a few, I have destroyed the corporation. I want nothing on Earth that is perpetuated in that fashion. I have also put in motion processes that will lead to the eventual disappearance of hybrid crops, man-made drugs and genetic engineering. Natural, God-created and inspired order will again be the norm.”

The greedy ones disappeared.

“Bring on the political miscreants.” God thundered once again.

Several thousand appeared.

“Ah, we are down to those who are also among the lowest of the low. Why are you despicable in My eyes? Because you politicians and advisors, individually and collectively, could have made My Earth into a worldly paradise. What did you do instead? You sinned in egregious and devious ways. Each of you is guilty of a list of sins that almost – but only because nothing does – staggers My imagination. What a God-forsaken lot of miscreants you are.

“Henry Kissinger, come before Me and My throne of justice.”

A cringing, cowering Kissinger stepped forward and knelt before God.

“While you had a good mind and an excellent education early on, you squandered those when you developed an egoist overestimation of yourself and of your role in the politics of your time. Moreover, you became the minion of moneyed interests. Finally, while you partied and fornicated in Paris and elsewhere during the so-called Viet Nam peace talks, over 25,000 American GIs and uncounted Viet Namese people, and others, died. Yours will be a long and horrible punishment.”

Once again, two huge monsters appeared and each grabbed the groveling Kissinger by an arm. He tried to speak, but could not. For once, he was truly speechless. He cringed, like the craven he was and he blubbered as he and his escorts disappeared.

“George W. Bush, step forward.”

Bush waddled out of the front row as best he could with his pants full of feces. He stank of urine and of the worst effects of diarrhea. The ravages of the plague were fully evident on his face.

“You insolent, ego maniac,” God began. “You had the effrontery to announce to the world that I chose you to be President of the United States. How dare you. That is blasphemy. Blasphemy! Do you hear Me? I choose no one man to be anything. That is why I gave human beings free will. That is why I am almost always a ‘hands off’ manager.

“Moreover, you were not elected President of the United States. That horrible woman in Florida that purged the voter registration rolls, that dummy that designed the butterfly ballot and your minions stole the 2000 election, in part by hiring well-dressed goons to fly to Florida to disrupt, to intimidate and to flaunt. Karl Rove and Jim Baker will pay for their part in that despicable sham. So will those five political flunkies from the Supreme Court. I have no words adequate for my disdain . . . well, maybe I do, but I will not sully this assemblage with them. Take him away.”

As God said that, Dracula, Hitler, Stalin and Pot Pol appeared and grabbed Bush by his arms and the scruff of his suit jacket.

“Wait, God, I appeal to Your sense of justice. I ask to be heard.”

“Very well, let the despicable miscreant speak.” God settled back on his throne.

“I thought that Heaven would be a place of justice. I believed that I could present why I did as I did. I believed that fairness would reign in the Kingdom of Heaven.”

“You cur. You speak of fairness, of justice, of a venue for presenting your case. What about the political prisoners after 9/11? What about those from Afghanistan and Iraq? What about all of your malfeasances, your hypocrisies and your criminal acts?”

“What I did, I did in Your name. The world was a terrible place. Freedom was under attack. The very bastion of freedom, the United States, was attacked in a cowardly, despicable way on 9/11 and before and after. I worked hard. I did what I did to further the cause of freedom.”

“You miserable snit. You forget that I have known your every thought and action, all through your life. You did what you did out of your over-inflated estimation of yourself and your place in history. You attacked Iraq so you could enter the history books as a ‘great warrior’ leader. Well, the Iraq fiasco brought that grand idea to an appropriate halt.

“You will go down in history, if there is a history of your era after the cleansing of Earth that I have set in motion, as one of the least successful, most dishonest and inadequate of the presidents. And, given whom some of your predecessors were, that is saying something. I can assure you that Hell hath plenty of fury for you and for others of your ilk. Cheney, Rove, Rumsfeld, Wolfowitz, Libby, Feith, Rice – your whole cabal – will suffer with you. Take him away. Take them all away.”

Bush, Dracula, Hitler, Stalin, Pot Pol and all of the politicians disappeared.

“Now,” God said, “we come to the positive aspect of today’s gathering. It was My assumption that, as Homo Sapiens evolved, reason and wisdom would develop hand-in-hand with that evolution. When I created mankind that was My intent. That did not happen. Moreover, I did not pay attention to the course of evolutionary events on Earth. Explosive growth in the population occurred. So, did hypocrisy, greed, sexual license . . . in short, all of the possible transgressions.

“Accordingly, I have decided that Home Sapien has outlived its usefulness as a species on Earth. It will be replaced by a newly created sub-species, Home Responsibilus. A few humans have lived lives reflective of that sub-species. Will Clyde and Edna step forward?”

The elderly couple detached themselves from the crowd and approached God on his mighty throne. They walked with God-instilled assurance, heads held high. God held out his hand as the couple mounted the steps and arrived at God’s feet. They knelt and kissed His hand.

“Know you that this couple lived the kind of life that I envisioned for all of mankind. They were stewards of Earth and of its resources. They lived within the capacity of the world to renew itself. They were peace loving, kindly to their neighbors and responsible in nearly every way. The lives they lived will – with certain amplifications and nuances – be the sort of lives that all humans will live, as the irresponsible continue to die out and the responsible take over. Their time on Earth is not over. I am sending them back. They will live for a time as exemplars.” God waved his hand and the couple disappeared.

Clyde and Edna woke up, as if from a normal night’s sleep. They got up and dressed as if nothing had happened. They had no memory of God and the apocalyptic tribunal. Edna walked to the kitchen and into the pantry. The shelves were loaded with enough basic food stocks to see them through the winter just as it would have been had no apocalypse happened. A book on harvesting food from nature was on the shelf with her cookbooks. She started breakfast with no memory of the empty shelves and their near-starvation, though both had full memories of the plague and other apocalyptic events. God provides, she thought.

Back in Heaven, God continued as soon as Clyde and Edna disappeared. “Almost all forms of government on Earth have ceased to function because of the die-off. These will not be replaced. Families, clans and informal groups will form. I will monitor the situation as it unfolds to be sure that warlords do not gain either important or permanent footholds. Almost all criminal elements are already dead. I will continue to see to it that they die out completely.

“In short, Earth will evolve into a sustainable-yield, steady-state planet for the time being. Meantime, I will continue to note when and where and why each of My creations lives and dies, not only on Earth but on the million, million other motes across My universe.

“The trials are history and the business of this apocalyptic tribunal is over,” God thundered. “Enjoy the rest of this Level Nine event Pandora has conjured up for you. I have communicated with all who were not here – even those in the nether region – through emmelding with them; you won’t need to spread the word of what happened here today. But I want each and every one of you to carry the memory of today’s trials and their outcomes with you. I bless you, each and every one!”

As God finished saying this, Jesus got up, walked over, climbed the steps to the throne and shook God’s hand.

“I say, Father, you were in fine form today. I know that it will never happen, but if ever I am called upon to hold such a session, I will certainly keep today’s lesson in the forefront of my mind.”

“Thanks, Son. How is the honeymoon coming along?”

“Rather well, actually. I think that we are about ready to get back into the social whirl, so to speak. It seems like ages since we have been to any of the many heavenly events. It will be refreshing.”

As Jesus spoke, Mary, Joseph, Mary Magdalene, Judas and the twelve disciples stepped forward. Each bowed and shook God’s hand as they congratulated him on his performance. God acknowledged their approbations. He stood gave each a cursory hug, bid them adieu and waved to the multitudes.

As Pandora approached God, she once again became a beautiful, well-formed and Heavenly endowed woman. She bowed at God’s feet and kissed his hand.

“Daughter, the form that I gave you because of your transgressions is a thing of the past. I am well pleased with how you fulfilled the mission on Earth. Our work there is by no means done.

“I am granting your unspoken wish for a vacation but be ready in case I need you for further assignments. I will depend on you to avoid the transgressions of the past and any different ones that may occur to you in the future.

“Someday, maybe even your brother, Satan, will return to My grace and join us here in Our Heavenly Work.”

With a great flash of lightening and a thunderous roar, God and His throne disappeared.

Author Note: Hal Mansfield was born in Fort Collins, Colorado. After serving in the U. S. Army, he graduated from Colorado State University, in 1958. He received his Ph.D. from The University of Denver, in 1974. In 1993, he retired from Fort Lewis College, where he taught psychology, statistics and writing for 18 years. In addition to fiction writing, part of his retirement regimen includes researching, thinking through, and writing about critical contemporary social issues. After a ‘life-time’ in Colorado, including the last 31 years in Durango, he moved to Green Valley, Arizona in 2005. Some of his writing efforts, including letters to the editor, have appeared in “The Durango Herald” since the mid-1970s, as well as in” Solar Age Magazine,” “crimemagazine.com” and “Crossroads: A Journal of the Southwest.”