by G.R. Carter
Chapter One
Two Years before the Great Reset
Shelby County, Illinois
“Our main story today is the upcoming vote for passage of the historic ultra–omnibus bill known as the Pullback.”
The pretty talking head spoke from the ancient TV perched on a tilted corner platform of the Dixie Cream donut shop. The picture cut in and out, color fading to black and white and then back again to blurry color.
The reader’s voice resonated clearly, but was completely ignored over the spirited conversations continuing around small square tables.
A common question sprouted from each table: “What do you make of this bill they’re calling the Pullback?”
“I don’t know, what do you call a horse designed by committee, Einstein? The whole mess is being fixed by the same people who caused it. That’s just brilliant.”
Phil Hamilton, small business owner and part-time farmer, took in the different conversations while enjoying his coffee. This was Fight Club for ideas, like Ben Franklin and his peers at the pubs all over colonial America. The donut shop was the arena, tables were boxing rings. Step into the ring and be prepared to defend yourself. Over three hundred years and one common theme remained: politics were a mess.
Smells of deep fried dough mixed with the aromas of common man coffee brewed just a bit too strong and formed a warm blanket of familiarity that Phil Hamilton looked forward to each morning. Old men who had seen it all, sometimes twice, gave perspective and challenged his personal beliefs, sometimes just for fun. Eight tables arranged in the typical small town diner configuration, and eight similar conversations going. The picture windows facing Main Street showed it was still dark outside. A lifetime of mornings spent waking before dawn didn’t quit when men retired, or after harvest was done.
As Phil looked around, he saw that about the only distinction from table to table was the different hat that each man had on. Resting back at a tilt, each man there had a collection of fifty to one hundred of these hats back at home, probably more. Seed companies, tractor companies and even chemical companies spent millions of dollars on free giveaways like these hats each year, just hoping some old man would wear their logo to a local coffee shop just like this.
Two of these patriarchs held a particular interest for Phil; they were sitting at their regular table closest to the old-fashioned percolating coffee pot. These two each had millions in assets, but insisted on being seated closest to the free coffee refills. Bob Ford and Delbert Kuhn both retired from Caterpillar Incorporated, the world’s largest producer of industrial equipment. One possessed an engineering degree from a Big Ten university and the other earned decades of practical experience as production foreman on the assembly lines. Mixed with Midwest pragmatism, Phil was convinced that these two could solve any mechanical problem. Of course, Bob and Delbert believed that, also.
The answer usually began as, “No. Impossible.” To any idea, that was their first response. Then, as they sipped their coffee and chomped on glazed donuts, the solution to the problem was dissected and eventually completed. Each pushed their cups toward Phil when they needed their beloved refill – the free price paid for free advice.
Over his decades-long career Delbert invested nearly every spare dime into purchasing farm ground. Delbert held interest in farming, but in reality the process of planting and tilling gave him the opportunity to work on the machinery used for the tasks. The concrete and metal machine shed he used to modify his mechanical creations rivaled most technical institutes for equipment and space. Bright lighting, heated floors, machining tools and lifts from the world’s best manufacturers outfitted this farmer’s mechanical Taj Mahal. Visitors to “the Shed” stepped over parts from disassembled cars, trucks, tractors – whatever he and his hired men decided to improve when they considered a piece inferior in design or construction.
His friend and fellow donut shop judge was Bob Ford. As common in appearance as he was in name, Bob was certainly well off and comfortable, too. Sticking with the traditional 401k and pension route, the retiree’s wealth resided on paper, or in this day and age, on computer. In fact, to compare bank accounts he was wealthier than Delbert. He only cashed out what he needed to live on, and left the rest invested in what Delbert called “the Wall Street casino.” Bob feared he would outlive his money, or have to pay for a big medical expense for him or his wife since health insurance no longer existed for men his age. Quietly, he also admitted he didn’t want to miss out on the stock market rally still raging since the recent government stimulus bills were introduced.
Arguments about investing money seemed to be the only subject Delbert and Bob truly disagreed on. Both certainly seemed to have valid points to Phil. Unfortunately, how to invest disposable income typically wasn’t his problem from year to year. Getting income was the problem.
Phil referred to these men as the Wizards. And the Wizards referred to Phil as the Founding Farmer. In their words, he just wouldn’t shut up about the way the country should be run. And no conversation would go by without a reference to how Jefferson would have solved the problem.
“Real-world solutions, my boy,” Delbert would say to him. “Not philosophy but real-world solutions to real-world problems. That’s what we need.”
Today, Phil just stared out the big window, his mind a million miles away.
“Bob, our Founding Farmer seems to be lost in his thoughts this morning,” Delbert said.
“I’m glad he found some thoughts, let’s see if we can shake out something useful. Phil, are you about to have a stroke because of this Pullback Bill?” Bob asked, only half mocking.
Phil sighed, still looking away: “I’m just tired of us waiting to find out what DC will do to us next.”
“That’s the way it’s been for a long time, boy. And with nearly 400 million people now controlled by a city thousands of miles away, what do you propose to do about it?” Phil wasn’t sure who actually asked; they were beginning to sound alike as they aged.
Phil finally looked over, glancing back and forth at the two men. They glared back over glasses sitting at the end of their noses.
“We are to agriculture what Saudi Arabia is to oil, correct?” Phil asked to start the conversation.
“So what?” asked Delbert.
“We produce enough food to feed everyone within a hundred-mile radius, plus enough surplus to export around the world. So why don’t we produce our own fuel instead of importing it from the other side of the world?” Phil asked them both.
“Great idea, let’s drill a hole out back of the shop here, shouldn’t be too tough.” It was Bob, never missing the opportunity to get a dig in.
Phil continued, unfazed. “I’m not talking about drilling for oil. I’m talking about creating a fuel production facility. Biodiesel. Particularly soy diesel, like the folks from the College were talking about. Lord knows we’ve got enough soybeans to supply it. Why don’t we produce what we need right here? You said a couple of weeks ago that diesel engines could be easily converted to run biodiesel.”
“I did, but it would be near impossible to make it cost-effective for just one community,” Delbert said.
Phil paused for a moment. “Ok, here’s the part you’re going to make fun of me for, again. I don’t really care about cost-effective. We need to create our own economy, a real local economy. If we had the ability to make our own fuel, for use right here, I think we should do it. We can hardly get a regular supply of fuel around here these days. And if we have food and we make our own fuel, what do we really need from outside anyway?”
The question hung in the air for a moment, and Phil noticed that the other tables had gone quiet.
Finally, one man spoke up, a local real estate agent. “If we tried to cut ourselves off from the outside world, our town would just dry up! No one would want to live here!”
To Phil’s surprise, Delbert offered the defense: “Mit
chell, you idiot, look outside. The entire downtown is about gone, no businesses left to speak of. Our school goes down in enrollment just a little each year. Even with the brand new high school building your Chamber of Commerce buddies pushed through on us taxpayers, people look at our school system growth patterns and balk at moving here. Tell us exactly what we have to offer to young families right now?”
Delbert’s question went unanswered and he continued. “Believe me, this Pullback Bill is going to suck all life out of small towns. It’s been happening for a generation, now it’ll be permanent damage. There’s no coming back,” Delbert concluded.
For years, fuel, food, and necessary supplies became tougher and tougher to get. Each of the little hometowns that made up Shelby County struggled to support just a few businesses. At this point in history only old-timers knew why there were separate towns at all. Communities like these were emptied of jobs over the last couple of generations, communities that had once been the backbone of the greatest empire in history.
Modern Americans became accustomed to stopping by a chain store to get anything they needed; and lots of things they didn’t know they needed. The cheaper the junk the better, and whatever they could fit into storage spaces, they bought. But now, stores were closing, prices for needed goods were high, and unemployment had remained stuck at around 20% ever since the recession of 2009. No matter how federal government reports were manipulated, real people all around the country knew something was really wrong.
Without warning, Mother Nature began adding to America’s challenges. Slowly at first, and then consistently each night, people all over the world experienced something that only the Northern Hemisphere previously recognized. Beautiful multicolored streams of light filled the night sky, bathing the entire world with the most amazing light show ever seen.
Communities got together for outdoor viewing parties, enjoying the brilliant display with a heavy dose of music ranging from classical to Pink Floyd to techno.
The excitement of noctilucent nights disappeared quickly as people began to realize the spectacular show above meant their electronic gadgets didn’t work properly anymore. Nothing shut off permanently. There was no flash, or bang, or instant catastrophe. As one tech expert on Bloomberg put it, the ubiquitous gadgets that American life revolved around had gone “glitchy.” TVs worked intermittently, sometimes stopping for days. Cell phones were just as inconsistent as the days of the bag phone when mobile phone technology cost per minute, and across the street meant you were roaming. Even electrical power to homes and businesses were affected by sudden brownouts. No one knew when the glitches would hit, but they were becoming more consistent.
The media referred to the lights as Solar Storms. The scientists had plenty of technical names, but Americans weren’t really interested in a physics lesson. They just wanted to know what someone was going to do about it. Pressure mounted on the President and Congress to come up with a fix. America’s already ailing economy hemorrhaged billions of dollars a week due to down time. Modern cars and buses all used computers throughout the engine and electrical systems. Vehicles costing tens of thousands of dollars were rendered useless without complete upgrades to counteract the Solar Storms. Even the upgrades didn’t always work.
Inconsistent internet caused the biggest panic of all. America’s daily life revolved around being connected to the Web 24/7. Solar Storms caused people to go days without the Web, email, messaging or accessing social media profiles. Bank accounts weren’t necessarily wiped out, but they were difficult to access. And when people accessed their account, they were restricted in the amount they could remove each day. Everywhere people were saying that something had to be done, or the politicians were going to pay…