Apocalypse Drift

by Joe Nobody

  At the end of the long, winding driveway waited his wife and children. Reed almost didn’t wait for the driver to come to a complete stop. He threw the door open and rushed to the reunion, not having enough arms to deliver the embraces so mightily needed.

  Cob McCormick gingerly perched in the old lawn chair on the back porch. “There’s a front moving in, boy; I feel it in my bones,” he said to the old hound at his feet. Bluto’s answer was a short wag of his tail and nothing more.

  Cob knew it was the broken leg he’d suffered years ago. It was more accurate than any of these high-tech weathermen on television. The old rancher couldn’t suppress a chuckle. The notion that not only was his old injury capable of forecasting, his bone-barometer had outlasted all those high-tech Doppler thing-ah-mah-jiggers and electronic climate voodoo machines. He knew it was going to rain tonight, and those television weathermen weren’t saying much these days. Another victory for the old ways, he thought.

  For the hundredth time, he concluded the broken leg had been punishment – the Lord’s wrath. A warning from God directed at an out-of-control youth to mend his unbridled ways. Cob shook his head at the memory, a slight color warming his leathery face. It was as close as Cob got to shame.

  “No,” he commented to Bluto, “it was that ornery cuss Slang Adams. It was his fault we all went down to Mexico to drink and carouse. It was sinful, boy. Nothing more and nothing less.”

  Bluto’s soulful eyes gazed at his master with an expression that seemed to say, “I’ve heard this story a million times before.” And in fact, he had.

  “How was I supposed to know that pretty senorita had a jealous boyfriend? How was I to know he was skilled with a shovel handle?” Cob reached down and scratched the old hound’s ear, the act initiating a rapid sweeping motion of Bluto’s tail. “No, old boy, a man’s past deeds come back on him later in life. I can remember all of us piling into the back of Slang’s worn-out, Oldsmobile convertible after that last football game. Full of ourselves, we were. All young and invincible - heading to Mexico to sample beer and pretty girls.”

  Cob shook his head at the memory and wondered why he dwelled on that injury so much. Maybe it was because it was the only time in his life another man had bested him. Maybe it was because of his father’s reaction.

  Cob’s mom had gone off like a rocket when she found out the truth, clutching her Bible to her chest and ranting for hours. Cob’s daddy just shook his head, pretending disgust for his wife’s sake. Later, when they were alone, he’d only had one question for his wayward son – “You didn’t run into a pretty gal down there by the name of Katrina, did ya?”

  His old man hadn’t waited on an answer, and the incident was never spoken of again. Cob realized his father was sending a message – I can’t throw the first stone because I’m not without sin.

  “Bluto, I’ve been shot by a rustler, suffered broken ribs, been thrown from a horse, and lost count of the number of fistfights with ranch hands. Why do I keep coming back to Mexico?”

  Again, Bluto wasn’t any help.

  Cob waved off his companion’s silence. The dog was beginning to act like his wife, BeaGwen - both of them evidently bored with his reminiscing. The rancher changed his gaze to the backyard. While he would never admit it, the old gruff loved having his grandkids here at the ranch. Having his only daughter back home during these troubling times was a bonus. Cob casually observed the kids run around the ancient rusty swing set, yelping and laughing with their parents.

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “What do you mean by ‘premise,’ Cob?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Fort Meade, Maryland

  July 1, 2017

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Chapter 13

  New York, New York

  July 4, 2017

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “A movie?”

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

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

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

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

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