by G. R. Carter
At least most of his cooperative had their own micro versions of the refinery running on their farms. It would provide enough for each family, and a little extra to share.
The discussion on what it would take to complete Greenstem continued until 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 stuck with the bill for generations.
One thing that fortunately hadn’t been upgraded yet was the hospital’s emergency generator, which Phil could hear humming behind the brick façade of the service area. Shelby Hospital’s equipment should have been replaced with high efficiency battery powered units long before, but money from the Reboot bill failed to flow this far out, even for medical facilities.
Some artificial light seemed to filter out 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 Anna, bracketed by the girls. His boys 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, but 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 really come true,” Delbert said in a near whisper. 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 medical devices just started going crazy. Blinking and shutting off, then turning on, and then all at once they shut off and stayed off. Even some of the lights,” Anna said.
“Then the generator kicked on like it always does, but nothing 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 supposed to stay on 24/7 did.”
Phil could see Anna start to tear up, which was more uncommon than the Wizards being in a good mood.
“The life support computers never came back on, the screens just stayed blank,” she said quietly, reliving the moment in her mind. “We couldn’t get anything to work. We tried everything we could, but we lost three patients. One of the babies in ICU…”
Phil shuddered as the strongest woman he knew closed her eyes and shook her head. Phil made eye contact with Bob, who nodded and walked inside the hospital, headed for the 4th floor.
Anna regained her composure, at least on the surface. “Bob, don’t go up there. First of all, there’s no elevators, and it’s a long walk,” 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 disaster scenarios 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 smile through her pain.
Terror crept onto Anna’s face as she glanced at Delbert. The look on the old cynic’s face told her disaster might actually be at hand. Delbert seldom believed anything not right in front of his face, a trait that earned him more than one consultation 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, eyes wide in disbelief.
Phil held up his hands. “I don’t know if it’s exactly that. Maybe a cyber–attack from terrorists. Could be the Solar Storms getting worse. Maybe even an accident…. I don’t know what’s causing it, but we’re going to have to act quickly just in case,” he said.
“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 buddies thought we were crazy when we asked them to support the Cooperative. 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 the kids home. And maybe anybody else who wants to go. If there’s no way to care for people here, this isn’t really a hospital at all. It’s going to turn into one giant morgue, and quick.”
Genuine concern creased Bob’s face; Phil learned he could save himself headaches by listening to Bob and Delbert…especially when it came to difficult 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 in ICU, 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. He got his big generator to run refrigeration. 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 said me makes sense. If that’s the case, the suffering will be infinitely worse than unemployment.”
“Thanks for the inspiration, Father,” Bob quipped with an uneasy smile.
“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 tangle with Bob Ford in intellectual combat. His appearance hid his vocation. A long, thick beard was still black as coal, despite his several decades of life. Instead of a vestment, he wore a plaid button down with a collar that met his hair just above the shoulder. His jeans were well patched, the neat rectangles that spoke to an
intention to wear the same pair forever.
With the priest’s somber words, Phil suddenly wanted his family back home, the safest place in the world he could think of. “Anna, will you take the kids home…wait, let’s make sure your Tahoe starts first,” Phil said. “Get a handle on our supplies if you would. Food especially. Ammo, batteries…heck you know better than me what we need. Might be we can still get to the store if they’re taking cash.” That was unlikely, but he could hope.
He turned to his sons. “Boys, get the four-wheeler out, visit all the neighbors, tell them what your mom and I think just happened. They won’t believe you, but tell them anyway. Ask if they still have any old two-way radios sitting around in their sheds.”
He grabbed Anna and his kids in big hug. “Stay together, stay safe. I’ll be home soon.” He was fighting fear of his own now. “There’s a rifle behind the seat, and Anna you know where the rest of the rifles are. Give one to each of the kids to keep with them at all times.”
“Where you gonna be, Dad?”
“I’ll be home soon enough. Me and the Wizards got an important stop to make first.”
The whine of mud grip tires on asphalt kept Bob and Delbert from asking where that stop would be. An immaculately restored Jeep Wrangler pulled into the parking lot, the doors and roof had been removed, leaving two uniformed men clearly visible in the front seats. The driver remained seated as the vehicle pulled up just outside the front door.
“Morning, Sheriff,” Father Steve called out with a wave. He walked out to meet the lawman, who was smiling.
“Morning, Father,” he said. “I’m glad to see you. I stopped by the parish hall, to find you. I got worried about you.”
“Thank you for your concern. Did you need something in particular? I imagine you’ve got a million irons in the fire this morning, eh?” the priest said. He still retained a bit of an accent from his Canadian upbringing. The unique accent and nature of the man endeared him to the rural parishes he served – all five of them.
“Very true, Father. Very, very true. None of my squad cars are working, just golden oldies like this,” he said as he hit the Jeep’s steering wheel.
“Computers are all fried,” Delbert offered as he approached. “Even the ones in your cars.”
Olsen looked at Delbert, but didn’t reply. County government was openly skeptical of the Cooperative’s efforts. Olsen was the most visible of County officials; the Kuhns family was one of the most prominent supporters of the Cooperative.
Olsen turned back to the priest, openly ignoring the rest of the group who had gathered. “I was just going to ask you to meet with me and the mayor this morning. Figured you might have some ideas on how to keep people calm during this outage.”
“Ahh, the help you seek this morning is less spiritual and earthlier?” Father Steve asked.
Olsen smile quickly faded as Bob cut in. “Need someone to entertain the masses so they stay pacified.”
Olsen’s glare was quick and brutal, but Father Steve laughed. “We’ve achieved great things with cakes and circuses over the years, my child. Sometimes not telling the crowds everything we know is the best thing for everyone.”
“We’ll agree to disagree on that. Meantime, we got stuff to do. Father, we appreciate your help,” Bob said with a quick pat on the holy man’s back. “Have fun babysitting the good sheriff and the rest of our fearless leaders.”
The priest laughed louder now, genuine and boisterous as he always was. Olsen didn’t share the joy. “Help with what, Father?”
“Oh, the folks of the Cooperative figured it would be best to get the hospital here organized a bit better. They’re concerned this power outage might go a bit longer than usual. I share their belief.”
Olsen shut off the Jeep and climbed out. He was a bear of man, several inches taller than the average man and several pounds heavier. He still wore more of those pounds around his shoulders instead of his waste. A receding hair line hadn’t succumbed to any gray yet, his short blond hair saved some of the youthful look he’d always featured. He could still pass for the college football lineman he once was. His physical size intimidated some people, none of the Cooperative members present were part of that particular group.
“Who authorized these plans?” the sheriff asked. The deputy in the passenger seat was now out of the vehicle, but remained standing on the other side of the Jeep, watching everyone warily.
“Why’s everything got to be authorized? Can’t citizens just take some initiative to do the right thing?” Delbert grumbled.
“Not when you’re talking about private property,” Olsen replied. “I’ll need to know what you’re planning. Does it have something to do with the hospital?”
“Delbert and I were planning to move in,” Bob Ford said, serious and sober as a judge.
Delbert joined in the mocking. “Right. Figured us old fogies would get a head start on dying and just move in. Besides, our tax dollars paid for this place, so I guess we got a right to claim ownership.”
Only the Wizards were enjoying this. The Hamiltons wanted no conflict with someone powerful enough to make their lives miserable. Bob and Delbert were wealthy enough to fight back. Today they seemed to have the inclination.
“By the way, Sheriff, who does own this hospital now? Does anyone actually know?” Delbert asked.
“I bet it’s our friend Dalton Cornin. Or at least his bank,” Bob offered.
Olsen was growing increasingly angry. His pale complexion exposed anger as his blood pressure spiked.
Before the situation escalated further, Father Steve stepped in between. “Gentlemen, now’s not the time. We’ve all got folks to worry about, let’s not worry about each other. Sheriff, how’s about I ride with you to the mayor’s office. I’ll give you the sketch of what these fellas were thinking, eh?” Olsen was still glaring at Bob and Delbert, but he took a deep breath and nodded.
Father Steve turned to the Wizards, both smirking at Olsen…the kind of look that makes authority figures want to lash out. “Of course, Father. No one can articulate like you,” Bob answered. “We’ll go about our business, and wait to hear from you if we’re authorized to do what others should have done already.”
“Yeah, you do that,” Olsen said, his shade of red deepening again.
“Boys!” Father Steve shouted with a smile. He jumped in the back seat of the Jeep and waved for Olsen to follow. The deputy moved to get in and Father Steve slapped the young man on the back.
“Blessed are the peacemakers,” Anna said as the Jeep sped off through the parking lot.
“Maybe,” Delbert said. “The question is if we got enough time to be peaceful.”
Bob snorted and added. “And what happens if the other side doesn’t want the same peace we do.”
Western Illinois Correctional Center
The Day After the Great Reset
Tomorrow, he thought through a pounding head. Already tomorrow.
He awoke without his alarm, which was blinking 12:00. Electricity went out again. The split second needed for the emergency generator to kick on always cut the juice to his old clock radio they'd owned since…
She was there again, his wife. Every morning her memory greeted him, haunted him.
The sun was up. Judging by the light coming in through his room's small square window it was around 0700. Morton swung one leg out of bed and hit the floor. His boots hit the rug covering the cold concrete floor. He sat at the edge of the bed, trying to rub last night's poison out of his eyes.
A deep breath and he unfolded his body until he stood as straight as age allowed. Morton looked back at the bunk and thought about falling back in. He could wave off his duty this morning. No one would begrudge Sarge a chance to sleep one off; as much as he drank, he never missed duty, so no one would complain this time.
Morton shook his head. No, he had to get ready. The Kaplan family would be in this morning with their weekly delivery. He’d have to oversee the delivery himself, make sure nothi
ng happened to the supply being deposited in the room-sized vault near the loading docks. He couldn’t trust anyone not to skim. There were plenty of ex-correctional officers out in the community because they’d been caught trying.
One foot forward, then the other. He thought about a shower—how many days had it been? But the prospect of unlacing the boots, taking of his clothes off…not this morning. Maybe after the delivery he’d come back. Who cares? I work with scum.
The memory of last night reminded him he held himself in similar regard. A quick stop in the tiny bathroom. Morton tried not to make eye contact with himself, instead rubbing his jaw to decide if a couple of days’ growth was too much. He wasn’t a stickler with his men when it came to shaving, not like regulations said he should—gas masks were standard issue in case of riots, and a beard didn’t allow a proper seal around a guard’s face.
Nah, one more day wouldn’t hurt. Besides, there hadn’t been anything closely resembling a riot here for years.
A sharp knocking on the door startled him. “Sarge? You awake in there?”
“Yeah,” he grumbled. “What is it?”
“You missed breakfast. The Kaplans are waiting for you. I told them they couldn’t unload without your okay.” Morton recognized the voice.
“McCoy, what time is it?”
“0930, Sarge.”
Crap, how’s that possible? “Yeah, okay. Sorry, I’m a little under the weather this morning.”
“Want me to call off the delivery? Postpone it til tomorrow, maybe?”
“No, no. Just give me a second. I’m up, I just need to throw some water on my face.”
Morton stuck his face down by the sink and ran the water ice cold. The shock cleared his brain as he cupped his hands and drank.