by G.R. Carter
*****
On the trip to the hospital, Phil and the Wizards sat in the front seat, with the kids and Trace Watson from the Co-op sitting in the back of the truck. The conversation was what to do next, just in case the power wasn’t coming back.
“We’ve already got the framework, now we have to ramp up production,” Phil said.
“Agreed, Mr. Farmer, but we don’t have the equipment to put a still on every farm. And what about the townies?” Delbert demanded.
“We can’t do it on an individual scale, I agree. But we can do it on a big enough scale for everyone, all at one location,” Phil assured the Wizards.
“You’re talking about a massive project, lasting a year under the best conditions. How are you going to get materials for that when we agreed we can’t even afford the equipment to build new stills?” Bob asked. He seemed to be looking for someone to feel the brunt of his annoyance riding in this old junk trunk while his state-of-the-art F–250 sat like a chrome sculpture.
“That’s the point, guys. There’s already a plant set up for this just a few miles away. Greenstem Ethanol’s refinery has been empty for a year now. That place is huge. We can use it!” Phil said, satisfied at the change from annoyance to intrigue overcoming the faces of the Wizards.
Ethanol production facilities sprouted like the very plants that fed them throughout the end of the 20th century and the beginning of the 21st. Due to market forces and political games, most didn’t survive the initial boom. But the equipment that was used to create the biofuel still littered the landscape of the Midwest.
The local refinery’s former manager still lived in town. Paul Kelley had worked his way up in renewable energy companies since graduating from Purdue University, becoming manager for the Greenstem refinery at the age of just forty. Paul truly believed he helped the community, the country and the environment with every gallon of the biofuel he helped create. All his hard work helping America break their dependence on the Middle East couldn’t keep Wall Street and DC from pulling the plug on the entire Greenstem project. Investors didn’t think they received returns on their investment soon enough, so after two mergers and an acquisition in less than a year, the plant was closed as a tax write=off. Employees were given two weeks' pay and a “thank you” for their time. Paul was the last one out of the gate that final Friday afternoon, locking behind him a facility he never expected to enter again.
Administrators in DC decided ethanol equated to a net negative in their Environmental Protection Agency formulas. The specter of millions in modifications prevented any privately-owned companies from getting the federal permits needed to restart the project. All that remained was for an EPA insider to secure the multi–million dollar contract for another environmental impact study and then take the entire refinery down for scrap metal.
Despite the excess money created by the Pullback, unemployment outside the cities still hovered around 30%. Paul applied for every job available within a sixty-mile radius and still came up empty in his search. To make ends meet, Paul connected local produce farmers with his sister’s boss in St. Louis. Unregulated foods were highly illegal under the watchful eye of the Department of the Interior. But no one around here cared about those laws, and wealthy people in the city were willing to pay big for the pleasure.
He had nearly given up and asked his wife to move their family to the city when Phil last spoke with him. Phil hoped that Paul heeded his advice to stay out of the major metros. “Better to stay here and make a way than get trapped in that urban jungle” had been Phil’s argument. If the power was out for a long time, that was certainly going to be the case now.
What’s going to happen when people can’t get their food rations? There’s millions of people all living in the same spot with nothing to eat.
After what seemed like an eternity, Phil finally pulled the old truck into a surprisingly full hospital parking lot. Just like many of the rural hospitals built in the early 2000s, the Shelby Community Health Center was surrounded by a much larger parking lot then needed. Consultants secretly funded by developers and bond issuers gave over-optimistic projections encouraging small town hospital boards to overbuild. They issued tremendous amounts of debt, with everyone getting paid along the way except the small town taxpayers footing the bill for generations.
One thing that fortunately hadn’t been upgraded yet was the hospital’s old emergency generator, which Phil could hear humming behind the brick façade of the service area. New generators were computer controlled, with a twenty year battery backup, to start the generator and then use the computer brain to monitor output. Shelby’s Hospital was on the replacement list, but most doubted any more federal grant money would be flowing this far out.
Some light seemed to emanate from inside the hospital, though the front doors were propped open, making it hard to tell for sure. Squinting through the glare, Phil felt an overwhelming sense of relief. Looking out the front windows he could see the beautiful face of his wife, Anna. His four kids recognized her at the same time, jumping out of the back of the War Wagon and running across the parking lot to the hospital entrance.
Phil yelled instinctively at the kids to watch for cars as he noticed there were no cars moving. In fact, nothing was moving at all. Delbert and Bob seemed to notice the same as they climbed from the cab of the truck, glancing side to side as if searching for anything to tell them their fears were unfounded. Trace walked to the hospital without saying a word. His mother was on oxygen, recovering from heart surgery on the 4th floor of the hospital. Phil silently scolded himself for not remembering that – now he understood why the man wanted to come into town so bad.
“This isn’t good, Mr. Farmer. I think some of those doomsday conspiracies you keep talking about have come true,” Delbert said in the quietest tone Phil ever heard from the man. In fact, everything was quiet except the whir of the generator.
After a long hug for her husband, Anna gave Phil and the Wizards a thorough run down of the situation at the hospital.
“Sometime overnight, no one seems to know exactly when, all the computers and the most sophisticated of the medical devices just started going crazy. Blinking and shutting off, then turning on, and then all at once they shut off and stayed off. That included the lights,” Anna said.
“Then the generator kicked on like it always does, but nothing else but the older lights came on. None of those on the new smart-grid system came back on at all. But the emergency lights and the ones that are designed to stay on 24/7 did.”
Phil could see Anna start to tear up, which was as uncommon as the Wizards being in a good mood.
“Oh, Phil,” Anna stuttered, falling back into his arms, “The life support computers never came back on, the screens just stayed blank. We couldn’t get anything to work. We tried everything we could, but we lost three patients. Even one of the babies in ICU!”
Phil shuddered as the strongest woman he knew sobbed in his arms, clearly needing a safe place to let go. Phil made eye contact with Bob, who nodded and walked inside the hospital, headed for the 4th floor.
Suddenly, Anna was back to herself, at least on the surface. “Bob, don’t go up there. First of all, there’s no elevators, and it’s a long walk. And Trace’s mother is downstairs, in the morgue,” Anna informed them. “Father Steve is in there right now, so at least Trace will have someone to talk to. But no one has any answers about what’s going on.”
“Sweetheart, do you remember those insane tin foil hat conspiracies I talk about sometimes?” Phil asked.
“You mean the ones I pretend to believe while thinking I married a crazy man?” Anna asked, trying to regain her playful spirit.
Terror began to creep onto Anna’s face as she glanced at Delbert. The serious look on the old cynic’s face told her something might actually be happening. Delbert never believed anything that wasn’t right in front of his face, a trait that earned him more than one co
nsultation with the resident Chaplain of the donut shop.
“You mean like that EMP thing you were talking about? Where all the electronics get fried?” Anna asked. Her eyes were wide in disbelief.
“I don’t know if it’s exactly that. Maybe a cyber–attack from one of our enemies. Maybe an accident. There’s just too many coincidences stacking up. I don’t know what’s causing it, but we’re going to have to act quickly just in case,” Phil said, steeling his voice to give her extra confidence.
Anna was an action person, and with an agenda laid out you could bet she would complete every task to perfection.
Let’s give her some things to do to keep her mind off of all this, Phil thought.
“Anna, I need you to find out how long that generator back there will last. How much fuel does it have, and will that stick-in-the-mud administrator boss of yours use our biodiesel to run it? I know he and all his Chamber of Commerce buddies thought we were crazy with this biofuel project. They might think differently now. If everyone in the Co–op agrees, we might have some extra to use, ok?” Phil asked.
“Hey Phil,” Bob interrupted, “I’m sorry to cut in. But I don’t think that’s such a good idea. I think it’s best if we just get Anna home. And maybe anybody else who wants to go. If there’s no way to treat people here, this isn’t really a hospital at all. It’s going to turn into one giant morgue. At least until we get things back under control.”
Phil paused, studying his friend’s face. There was genuine concern there, and Phil learned he could save himself headaches by listening to his elders. Especially when it came to hard times.
He turned back to Anna, “Have they told you when you’ll be able to go home?”
“No one has said anything. The Administrator never came in this morning. He lives up in Decatur. In fact, there’s only a couple of staff here right now. We run a smaller shift overnight, remember? With budget cuts, there are never more than a small handful of patients who stay. Most everything is outpatient, and if they need bigger procedures we send them over to St. Louis. It was just bad timing that we had those people here on life support, waiting for transport to the big hospitals.” She gasped, eyes growing wider with panic. “Wait, do you think everyplace got hit with this? That means the city hospitals would have experienced the same thing, right?” Anna said, her eyes pleading for agreement. Somehow, it might make her feel better if it wasn’t just because this one little hospital lost power.
“I think it might be everywhere, sweetheart,” Phil assured her. “Okay, Bob and Delbert will go look at the generator to see what they can determine. You and I and the kids will go inside and see how many people are around, and what we can salvage as far as supplies.”
Thirty minutes later, the little group sat back in the lobby of the hospital, planning the next steps.
“Okay, everyone who is left here is secure. Father Steve has agreed to stay here with Dr. Wright until we get everyone home to relatives. The generator can run another two days on the fuel available, so we’ve got a little time to get things in line here. We’ll carry all of the medicines the current patients don’t need out to Delbert’s farm for now. That’s the most secure place and no one will think to look there,” Phil summarized.
“I’m so gonna lose my job here,” Anna sighed.
“I hope so,” Father Steve said as he walked into the lobby. “That means we all overreacted and life can return to normal. Unfortunately, I’m afraid what you’ve told me makes sense. If that’s the case, the suffering will be infinitely worse than unemployment.”
“Thanks for the inspiration, Father,” Bob quipped in a good-natured dig.
“Don’t you always tell me to face facts and not fantasy, my child?” Father Steve replied, faking his best angelic pose. The two men had known each other for years, and Father Steve was one of the few who could engage Bob Ford in intellectual combat still feeling like he scored points.
“Ok, at least we have some kind plan. Even though I’m sure it'll change within the hour, it's somewhere to start,” Phil said as he stood up from the comfortable couch. “Now we have our next important stop to make.”
After making sure that Anna’s old Chevy Tahoe started, he sent her and the kids home to begin getting the farm ready for whatever was coming next. Anna would inventory the food, fuel and ammunition. Then their two sons would make each neighbor aware of their plans. Those neighbors would in turn contact others, and soon the meeting Phil intended to conduct tomorrow morning at the Shelby County High School football field would be well-attended.
Phil’s last instruction to his family was to make sure and carry rifles and pistols with them everywhere they went. AJ and Sam were eighteen and seventeen respectively, and were good shots with even tempers. The youngest two, Lorraine and Esther were just fourteen and eleven. But both had spent a lot of time behind a .22 rifle and a 20-gauge shotgun.
Phil assured Anna he didn’t expect trouble. Not yet, anyway. But five weapons pointed in one direction will for sure keep trouble from starting, he thought as he reassured himself.
Phil and the Wizards' next scheduled stop was the home of Paul Kelley. The more the Wizards considered Phil’s idea of restarting the ethanol plant to produce their version of biodiesel, the fewer flaws they could find with the plan. They all held their breath as the War Wagon pulled under the shade trees in front of the modest three-bedroom Paul shared with his wife and kids. They could see Paul carrying a suitcase out to his old Firebird. The car was an artifact from Paul’s youth, one that he and his now deceased father rebuilt together.
As Phil and the Wizards approached, they noticed the kids were already buckled in to the backseat, ready to leave on whatever adventure mom and dad planned on leading them to.
“Hey, Paul. Looks like we caught you just in time.”
Paul turned, cordially acknowledging the three men though clearly in a hurry.
“We were just heading for St. Louis to meet up with my sister. We’re going to stay with her for the week while I go on a couple of job interviews. Sorry guys, but we just can’t hang around her anymore waiting for things to get better. There’s just no way to make enough money. My sister says St. Louis is humming, and she could probably get me a job at the law firm where she works. Her boss likes me because I’ve been getting him fresh foods. Supposedly all his clients really like that. I guess they’re tired of those Rat Bars the city makes them eat. Anyway, she says I’ll have some job as an environmental regulation staffer for one of the attorneys that works on government projects. Says my background getting screwed by the government makes me perfect for the position,” Paul said as he set the suitcase in the trunk of the car.
He continued: “It’s the strangest thing, though. I tried to call her this morning and none of the phones are working. Can’t use the computer, it won’t even come on. Of course the electricity is out, but what else is new? The kicker is my wife’s minivan won’t start. I mean, it’s deader than dead. Seems strange, I can’t even jump-start it with this antique,” Paul said as he pointed to the old Firebird.
“Oh well, the only way to get around St. Louis now is the electric tram system, so I probably won’t need a car too much. It’ll just cost me a lot more gas to get there,” Paul shrugged.
“Paul,” Phil said, gently grabbing his arm to stop the man from leaving, “you might want to hear what we have to say first. And I’m not sure you’re going to be able to make it to St. Louis right now.”
Phil, Bob and Delbert explained everything they had seen so far, and what they believed was going on. Paul stood and listened, first with a look of disbelief, than with sudden realization of what it all meant. He was an engineer, and one who understood the steps needed to deliver fuel, heat and power to the grid that formed America’s power skeleton. Even a temporary disruption would cause a cascade that couldn’t be stopped.
He sees it now, and he’s calculating how long we
all have before this thing collapses around us. My worst fears keep getting confirmed, Phil thought to himself, allowing Paul a chance to process.
Aloud, he said: “Delbert and Bob are here to offer you a job, Paul. We’re setting up an engineering corps of our own for the Shelby County Cooperative.” Phil could feel the sudden stares from each side; he hadn’t discussed this with the Wizards yet.
“Phil, you just told me you think this is the end of modern civilization, and now you’re here to offer me a job? A little late, don’t you think?” Paul asked, incredulous.
“Well, we can’t really offer you money. But we can offer your family food, shelter, and heat in the winter. And we can offer you a piece of farm ground of your own, once we’ve got all that settled,” Phil told him. Now the stares were becoming glares from the Wizards; they were pretty sure who was going to be “donating” that land.
“This is all happening way too fast. I mean, an hour ago I was moving to the city, and now you’re asking me to become a farmer and live a lifestyle like the 20th century,” Paul said.
“More like the 19th century, son. Maybe 20th century for a while, but if we don’t figure out a way to refine fuel for the machines that actually work, we’ll be back to farming with horses by next year. The old folks used to talk about it. Not pleasant. And most of the folks who haven't left for the cities don't even know how to even grow an herb garden for themselves,” Bob said. He was back on the same page with Phil now, and had seemingly gotten over his initial shock.
Phil and the Wizards could see the light come on in Paul’s brain. “That’s the job you want me to do? Get the Greenstem Ethanol refinery running again so we have fuel for the tractors?”
Phil let the Wizards explain the plan they had; he figured they would connect better with Paul to determine if the process could be achieved. Paul listened intently to the older men. He instinctively knew that the cities would be no place for a family as the services and handouts disappeared. Besides, there was now no way to contact his sister or the companies he applied to. Without even discussing the situation with his wife, Paul offered a handshake to each man, agreeing in principle to work to convert the plant to the soy diesel formula the Wizards perfected.
Paul suddenly hesitated, challenging the three men.
“Guys, I’ve been a company man and an honest employee all my life. Now we’re talking about claiming squatters' rights on a multimillion-dollar refinery,” Paul said with a grave shake of his head.
“Paul you know deep down in your heart no one is coming back for that plant now. In fact, no one probably ever was, except maybe scrappers. Very soon maintenance neglect is going to render the plant useless. You’ve got a chance to save more lives in one decision than a doctor does in her entire life. I’m asking you to take that chance,” Phil said. Delbert and Bob looked at each other, then at Phil.
What’s that look? I’ve never seen that before, and I can’t quite place it, Phil thought.
Bob cleared his throat, thinking out loud, “I’ve got an idea to make this all legal. And if the lights do come back on and we all look silly, at least we’ll have some paperwork to back all this up. I think it needs doing anyway.”
Bob directed them to the home of the man who ran the only locally-owned bank in town. After finding out he was actually at the bank, even though he had to walk to get there, they arrived at his downtown office. As Paul, Phil and the Wizards entered the lobby, bank president Dalton Cornin and one of the bank’s board members were sitting with their heads in their hands, frantically discussing the situation.
Having local ownership for a bank was a miracle these days. But that miracle paled compared to the next. Phil let Bob take the lead in the conversation. Bob and the bank president had spent three years as fraternity brothers in college. Phil quickly realized that Bob had a substantial amount of money under the bank president’s watchful eye. For the third time in just over an hour, Bob explained the issues they faced, and what they all believed would happen after today. None of it was good, and Phil half expected the bank president to reach for the panic button used to call the police during an armed robbery.
Instead, the two men seated looked at each other, and then up at Bob.
“That’s exactly what we were just talking about, Bob. Well, not the refinery idea, just that we were pretty sure this might be the big one. Call it gut instinct, or experience, or even a sixth sense. But I think you’re probably right. So I’ve got a question for you now. If this really is end of the world as we know it, why are we talking about a starting a community refinery instead of all heading for a bunker somewhere?”
Bob looked at Phil, “You want to take this one, Mr. Founding Farmer?”
Phil began, “It’s not a question of surviving today. It’s a question of what life will our kids and grandkids have. Will they have a safe and decent world? Will they have a safe and decent country, or even a home? I know those of us living out in the sticks can figure out a way to survive. I wouldn’t want to be in any of the cities right now, not even smaller ones like Decatur or Springfield. But out here, we’ll figure a way to get by. At least for the first months or years. But what about after that? I want to see the next generation have a life. Get married, have a farm, maybe some kids. Build something of their own. If this really is the end of our world, what can we do to lay the foundation for their New World?
“Guys, I figure we have at most one week, probably more like two or three days to get all the stuff we need before we’re looking at total meltdown. And then we’ll be stuck here in Shelby County, just trying to defend what we have now.
“Cheap oil allowed humans to increase in population exponentially. Just a few could farm enough to feed all, and only the inefficiency of distribution held that back. Now I’m not saying our soy diesel will be cheap or easy, but it will be local. And it will allow us to get across acres to farm. Fuel will keep the bitter cold out of our homes so our little ones won’t get sick, and we’ll be able to enjoy our elders a lot longer. That’s really living, not just surviving. We have to have a plan, we can’t just live like animals from meal to meal,” Phil concluded as his voice got a little raspy. He was typically a man who didn’t talk much.
The men surrounding Phil were all silent, deep in their own thoughts but looking right at him.
There’s that look again. What is that? This day gets stranger every second.
Finally, Cornin stood up. “That does it. The First State Bank board approves an open line of credit for the Shelby County Cooperative to purchase the Greenstem Ethanol refinery. Mr. Phil Hamilton to be executor, and Bob Ford to provide collateral. That is, as soon as the computers come back on so I can secure it that way,” the bank president said with a laugh.
He’s taking this a lot better than he should. Either he’s gone crazy or he’s accepted there’s no harm in trying. Maybe both? Phil thought.
“Just one other thing, let’s go find out who to make the check out to!”
Together, everyone made the short walk over to the county courthouse, situated precisely where a small town courthouse was supposed to be: the middle of the downtown square. The mayor was a practical man, and made sure that the city offices rented space from the county government in the centuries-old building. No reason to burn budget dollars on their own building. Besides, county governments weren’t doing much now that the Pullback authorized Regional Capitals to take over tax dollars and functions previously reserved for local governments. Consolidation was done in the name of efficiency.
No phones were working, and the town employees stayed home during the crisis, but the mayor felt compelled to be at the town office to keep some semblance of normalcy. The county clerk, the bailiff, one judge and the mayor made up the entire population of the massive limestone and oak building. The sounds of Phil’s group outside the building echoed through the halls, and the mayor came out to see what the commotion w
as.
After just a few brief moments of discussing Phil’s plan, and with the bank’s wholehearted support the mayor decided to claim the failed refinery for the city via eminent domain.
“Not very Jeffersonian, Mr. Founding Farmer,” Delbert needled, knowing that Phil was suddenly feeling very dirty about the whole thing. Eminent domain existed as major point of contention to the Libertarian movement, which Phil considered himself a part of. Now, he was asking for the city to do what he despised: seize private property for the “greater good.”
Does it matter that we’re saving lives here? Of course it does. I’m not seizing some old guy’s house to build a new shopping mall. These are out-of-towners who were going to tear it down anyway. And besides, the owners will probably be trapped in their New York apartments and starving by the end of the week.
Delbert and Bob laughed out loud, looking at the pain on Phil’s face.
“Real-world solutions for real-life problems, Mr. Farmer,” Bob said, shaking a crooked finger at him as he had a thousand times before.
“I guess I figured the Constitution was dead a long time ago. I didn’t kill it, and I suppose I’m not going to save it, either,” Phil concluded.
The mayor raised his hand, “I have determined Greenstem Ethanol refinery to be a hazard to the community, and have therefore condemned the property. The property will be immediately liquidated via auction to the highest bidder.” The mayor stopped, looking over at the bailiff watching the proceedings with interest. “Tommy, run and fetch the judge, please. I think he better sign this, too. Just in case.”
As the bailiff ran off, the mayor continued. “Now, who will start the bidding?”
Cornin elbowed Phil. “I suggest you bid low.”
Phil felt a little sick as he raised his hand. What am I getting myself into?
Finally, he spoke: “I bid one dollar.”
“Sold!” said the mayor emphatically.
A sale of $1 was recorded in the town records, and Phil was the proud owner of a defunct plant considered a biohazard with no revenue that was in need of lots of work and a conversion that had never been tried before. Cornin smiled and offered to buy 10% of the plant from him for whatever he needed to get started. Immediately, the Wizards and Paul started discussing all the necessary equipment for the conversion and a possible timeline for restarting the plant's boilers.
At this talk of money, Bob slowly realized all of his wealth besides his farm ground lay trapped on the dead computers. The same thought made the group realize they’d need hard currency to buy what they needed, no more Wristband swipes. That is, at least for as long as people were still using money. At some point even that would start to lose its value to people with survival on their minds. With a list of every part they might need, and replacements for each of those, they went back to the bank to with a total. Phil noticed that Cornin didn’t give them all the hard currency in the safe. It looked like he was holding back a decent-sized pile. Phil really didn’t blame him; the president probably his own money tied up in the bank. He could in good conscience say it was his to withdraw. Phil just hoped that Bob would get to withdraw some, too.
The entire group agreed to meet back at the courthouse the next day, so they could make sure that their own homes were safe and secure overnight.