Nexus of Time

by Mark Riverstone

  "ju'r dirty feets gonna be on my floo' so I cans handles that, my boots on 'em all 'e time, but them there pants gonna be touchin' my vinyl 'n I's keeps the vinyl cleans. My ladies is fine 'n they's rides in that seat 'n you ain't gonna ride there tills we get betta' britches on ja'."

  "I could just climb in the back."

  "No, gots all my's tools in back there. I don't want ya' gettin' stuck none. Sides, sheriffs round here are strict 'bout safety 'n such. Last times I lets ones of my gran-chillens ride in back 'n t'sheriff done slaps me with fines. I ain't no poor man, but I ain'ts gonna pays no fines for none stranger neither. Strips off thems britches and chuck 'em in back, then grabs thems overalls rights there in t'flatbed. Puts 'em on."

  "Can't I just lay the overalls on the seat and sit on them?"

  "Ju' wants a ride or not? No'one dirty as ja' sits on my seats. Ju' eiter be nekked or gets them overalls on, 'n only my ladies 'loud to ride round nekked in my truck."

  The man isn't giving him a choice, so Nix grabs the stained-marked but clean overalls from the flatbed. Nix takes off his pants, watching the man while he does, wondering if this is a joke and the man will pull away while he stands there in his underwear. But the man just stares, waiting for Nix to slide on the overalls. Nix wipes his feet as best he can with his dirty pants before tossing them into the flatbed, then pulls on the overalls. The waist fits, but the man is much shorter, so the pant legs only cover his calves, and the suspender straps don't reach over his shoulders to connect, so he leaves the suspenders dangling. Nix gets into the passenger side and sits.

  "Wheres ja' head'd?" asks the old man. "Not thadit madders much since I's only takin' ja' there if I'm goin' there."

  "You can drop me off at the nearest gas station, shopping center, police station, whatever. I just need to make a call."

  "Makes a call, huh? Was justs in Juliette, now headed in Forsyth. Wasn'tany powers in Juliette. Nor anywhere. Couldn't make no calls. No tv no radio no news, just those 'mergency alert tone thingies an' them there repeatin' record'd messages sayin' tis an 'mergency alert."

  "What do you mean? Land lines should work. In an outage they are battery powered at the central location."

  "Well lookies here...I picks mees up a shoeless hobo knows-it-alls in dha midd'a nowheres. Let mees tell yous some'in. I usen to works for dha phones company, 'n my kids works for dha phone company, evens my grand-chillen started working wit dha phone company. First'ting, power lines down, 'n where power line's down, phone line's down. Seconds, dues to hi-tech mumbo jumbo interwebs 'n cellulous phones, dha phone company ain't been keepin' up with lines. They barely keep'en lines runnin'. They been removin' phone line signal boostas. Sees, phone lines gots resistance in 'em, so evens if they's powered at the source, boostas need'd to keep them signal going distance. Removin' thems boostas, 'n dha signal's ain't going nowhere. Damn companies savin money, investors 'n bonuses 'n such, 'n wees ends up no workin' phone lines. I'm no saying theres ain'ts no workin' land lines round, I'm sayins theres ain't no ways of tellin' where them there lines are, 'n if yous finds one, no tellin' if it's gonna reach where yous tryin' to."

  "I see. You seem pretty smart about this stuff."

  "Gotta judge a man by whats 'e knows not whats 'e shows."

  The old man turns on the radio, but the only reception is a long emergency distress tone, followed by a recorded repeated message for the emergency alert system instructing people to stay at home, remain calm, and wait for further instructions.

  "Wha'd I tell ya? Nothin' but recodin'. Can'teven pump gas rights now. Stations only takin' cash. Lots 'a cars outa gas line'dup by stations. Even dha fire station don't know what's what. They's generators on, but can only contac' otha' fire 'n police stations, 'n those otha' ones ain't gots no idea whats what goin' on neither. Even my smarts phone don't work none. I gots three ladies waitin' t' hear from big daddy."

  "You're big daddy?"

  "Course I's big daddy. Not jor big daddy, their big daddy."

  "Can't you just swing by and visit them?"

  "No unannounced drop ins'allowed. I may be big daddy, but thei' husbands might not agree, ja' understand."

  "So, you are a lady's man."

  "Nope, not ta t'all. Never was. Buts when ya' get my age, if ja horse is still stiff 'n buckin', dha ladies are gonna wanna ride. Don't bother me none if they's married. My duty to keep dha ladies happy for dha husbands tha' can't."

  "I understand. Got to do what you got to do," says Nix with minimal interest. He looks out the window, silent for the moment.

  Nix breaks the silence, "The power plant is gone. That's why there is no power. That's where I was."

  "Figured they's havin' problems there. Hope'n they gets that thing'up 'n runnin' soon."

  "They aren't going to get that power plant working any time soon."

  "Well, I'm sures someone 'll figures out somethin'. Can't keep 'Merica down. Knows what I saying?"

  "Yep."

  Out of conversation, they both say nothing more.

  They don't pass any cars or trucks on the road. Nix looks at the truck clock, wondering if one-thirty in the afternoon is the right time. The mile markers click by as they work their way toward Forsyth, Georgia.

  As they near Forsyth, there are some cars and police vehicles driving around, but overall, things are still. The intersection signal lights are out. The gas stations are full with cars, but no gas is pumping. People exit convenience stores with arms full of drinks and snacks. As they approach the center of Forsyth, most the population is standing out front of businesses and homes, talking to each other but going nowhere.

  "Could you drop me off at the police station?"

  "K. Then I's gotta go finds gas. Yous can keeps them britches. I is only using them t'wipe tools."

  "I appreciate it."

  The pickup pulls into the police and fire station.

  "Get on now, I's gotta bees on my way."

  Nix gets out of the pickup, "Thanks for the help."

  Nix reaches into the back of the pickup, grabs his dirty pants, and pulls his wallet out of them. He then pulls a twenty out of his wallet.

  "Take this for the lift."

  "No need. I's don't help fo' money, I's help fo' charity."

  "Take it anyway."

  Nix tosses the twenty-dollar bill onto the seat, then closes the truck door.

  "Thanks again," says Nix as he gives a final wave.

  "Mm-hmmm," grunts the man as he pulls away. Mr. Nix puts his wallet into the overall's pocket, then looks around. He rolls up his dirty pants and tucks them under his arm.

  All the people standing in their front yards and out front the police station is a throwback in time. The silenced machines replaced with whistling birds, dog barks and chirping insects not used to owning the day's airwaves. Neighbors talk, gossiping and conjecturing on events they know not the true extent of. No one does anything; everyone waits for something; ritual and routine broken beyond repair. Passing by a public trash can, Nix drops in his dirty rolled-up pants.

  The front doors of the police station prop open, relieved from the constant tugging and pushing of distraught citizens thinking answers await on the other side. Nix enters expecting the same. The station's generators rumble-hum behind the building supplying minimal power to the station. Local citizens at the service counter demand help, beg for information, or are reporting a crime, none of which the officers fielding the requests can assist. Mr. Nix sees an officer wearing sergeant stripes on his uniform coming out from behind the counter and heading toward the entrance.

  Intercepting the sergeant, Mr. Nix speaks, "Excuse me, Sergeant, I work for the government, I need access to any phone to make a call."

  "Don't you have your own government phone in your overalls?"

  "They work on satellite, which it is having trouble connecting. Do you have a land line?"

  The officer stops and looks him over skeptically, "You know your overalls don't fit, right? You look like you don't even work,
let alone for the government. Maybe you should worry about finding shoes at the local thrift shop."

  The officer turns to walk away, but Nix stops him, "I'm serious, Sergeant. I work with the Secret Service." Nix pulls out his wallet and shows the officer his Secret Service Id, "I was out at the Scherer Power plant when an accident happened."

  "Accident is an understatement. We sent a car out there; they reported there was nothing left."

  "I know. That's why I need to report to Washington DC. Sergeant, I'm requesting your assistance."

  "Well, despite your clothes, you have what appears an official Id, you are too well-groomed and soft skinned, your story is too unbelievable to be fake, and your accent is northern. Not many northerners stopping here in Forsyth to sightsee. Why were you at the power plant?"

  "That's classified. But I can tell you what happened, if you can help me out."

  "Follow me."

  The officer leads Nix behind the counter into a small side office and closes the door. "Before I help you, if you are with the Feds, tell me what is going on? If I believe what you say, I'll help you. If not, I'm throwing you out. Convince me. Go."

  Nix thinks quick. He needs to tell the sergeant the truth, but must leave out any mention of Greys or anything outside of human explanations.

  "The power plant was obliterated, and intentionally. Not by sabotage or terrorism. A long-range missile struck it. The goal was to cripple the region by destroying the source of electricity. I need to contact my organization in Washington because I believe this is part of a wider attack than just this one power plant."

  "How wide an attack?"

  "An attack against the entire U.S."

  "Who dropped the missile?"

  "That I don't know. There are very few with that capability. I'm hoping Washington will have an idea who the culprit is."

  "Okay, I believe you. You seem to have a good idea what is happening even though you know nothing. I hope you haven't been sharing that information with our citizens."

  "I wouldn't be sharing it with you unless I needed your help. This is an issue of national security and the utmost urgency, so if there is any way you can help me...Please."

  "Well, I only have information. There is nothing I can do to help you. Communications are out, including cellular phones, land lines and radio towers. Backup power is running, sending out emergency signals, but no information is being sent other than the Department of Emergency Management's recorded messages. There are evacuations of Augusta and Baxley taking place. That is where the damaged nuclear plant leaks radiation. The emergency and police units out there are trying to keep people away. But they haven't been heartless enough to prevent anyone from escaping the contaminated areas. So, there is some concern that contaminated people, vehicles and items are exiting these hot zones. I heard rumors the military might show up to contain the situation, but that hasn't happened yet as far as I know. I think every service is too busy dealing with their own problems to contain and control a population. There have also been deaths from flooding."

  "There has been no rain, so flooding had to be from dams collapsing, rather, destroyed."

  "Correct. And levees."

  "Is there anything else you can tell me?"

  "We are running message relays, sending out patrolmen in cars to pass and pick up information from other police stations, keeping some kind of open communication. Every power station was destroyed as far as we could find. Coal, hydroelectric, and nuclear. Even demolished the gas and oil reserve depots in the region. The only power available is from generators, and that will be out in a couple days. Normally, we send out patrol cars to help with the evacuation and flood areas, but with our lack of electricity and manpower, we've got enough problems coming through these doors. I must maintain town order in case of civil unrest. Who do you think did this? Chinese? Russians? You can tell me. I know you have an idea."

  "The US Government was unaware this was coming. But if what you say is true, who won't matter much. If an aggressive power attacked us and wiped out our energy and fuel reserves, this country will be too busy fixing things to retaliate."

  "You think they can fix things soon?"

  "Between you and me, we can assume there isn't a working power plant anywhere in Georgia. And if the damage resembles the Scherer plant, we are talking total destruction. There is no way to rebuild entire power plants fast enough to prevent chaos. Radiation from nuclear leakage will escalate deaths. Our only hope is with those in Washington, who I am attempting to get in touch with. I wish I could help you, or tell you more."

  "And I wish I could help you. We have nothing here other than our dispatch to send messages through. We can't spare a car to take you anywhere, our phone lines aren't working, and the only radio contact we can make is with nearby police and fire departments. You will have to figure out for yourself how to get a hold of Washington. But I can get you a pair of shoes and pants that should fit better, or at least reach your ankles."

  "I'd appreciate that, and you taking the time to talk with me and briefing me on the local state of affairs. I'll take those shoes and pants with gratitude."

  The officer leaves the office and heads into the back. Nix sits and ponders what he has heard. For decades, he has been waiting for an invasion attack. But what is happening is so much more devastating, well thought out, and sinister than he ever imagined. Mr. Nix envisioned something that involved actual beings to confront, galvanizing humanity to fight back. Instead, the Greys came up with a way for us fight and kill ourselves. He now understands the information Captain Nemolopolus sent with the Grey's grid mapping the globe. The Greys assessed and then targeted every power and resource location in the world.

  With no communication to the masses, no one in control, no refrigeration, no fuel reserves, no water pumps, there will be no food or water. A sanitation crisis will occur within a week. Gas stations must hand-pump from their ground storage, and will only have the gas stored, with no more coming. Stations might even limit the gas they give out, leaving lots of people without enough gas to fill their cars. If they only accept cash, credit cards and bank cards will be useless. How long will cash even carry value when stores and stations realize they can't buy what they need? Resource will become the only tradable commodity. The Greys didn't just impact modern society, they threw humanity back in time thousands of years.

  Colorado is out of the question. If Mr. Nix steals a car full of gas, he won't get more than a quarter of the way there before needing to steal more gas. Even Washington DC is over six hundred miles away. Nix ponders stealing someone's car, but hot-wiring modern cars with the whole chip Id system isn't feasible. An old ignition could be jacked, but he could end up with an unreliable car that won't make the trip. A person is more likely to die or kill to protect his car, than an employee protecting the property of a business. His best shot for stealing transportation will be from a car rental company. Dealerships will protect their investment. Employees of national rentals won't go to work to protect cars, and their fleets too large to contain. They also have the keys on the premises.

  Nix realizes the closest place he could go for help is a local military base. Staying in state reduces his need for gasoline. However, a military base will only help him if they can confirm his government name and identification code. If phones and satellites are offline, coupled with radiation meltdowns, flooding and potential looting and rioting, they might not be inclined to help Nix. They might consider him a bureaucrat and a burden. Once on a base, he could become stuck, not allowing him to leave anytime he wants. He won't be able to take a vehicle or supplies they don't willingly give them.

  Even if Mr. Nix could get in touch with Washington, the government might be so overburdened with emergency responses, Nix might not get his message through the other high-priority emergencies, and never reaching someone with the authority to confirm his status.

  The police sergeant returns with a pair of shoes, pants, socks and a belt. "This is the best I can offer. T
he belt will help if the pants are too big. The shoes, better than barefoot. Oh, and I shoved a pair of socks in the shoes."

  "Thanks again. You don't know how much of a help this is."

  "Yes, I do. Ahh...what's your name again."

  "Agent Nicolas Xanthos."

  "Mr. Xanthos. Tell me, are we going to war?"

  "We will be, sergeant. Unfortunately, it won't be with our enemies. It will be with ourselves."

  "I don't understand."

  "Just...make sure your department rations everything: weapons, ammunition, fuel, even water. And careful about people immigrating from radiation zones. A contaminated car with boxes of contaminated clothes and exposed passengers could endanger the lives and safety of this town's citizens."

  "You are not suggesting keeping people out of our town."

  "I am. Put checkpoints at the entrances to your town, with a Geiger counter if you own one. At the minimum, stopping and talking to each car that enters your township might let people know what services are available or not here, and send a message that law enforcement still controls your town, preventing potential looting. It's low tech and old school, but it will be more effective that running patrols or waiting for people to come to you with problems."

  "I'll keep that in mind and mention it to our captain. Good luck to you, Agent Xanthos."

  "Same to you. You mind if I change here in your office?"

  "Sure, but be quick. I have to wait here with you. Can't leave you alone in my office, you understand."

  Nix pulls off the overalls and slips on the police pants, tightens the belt, and puts his wallet in his pocket. After slipping on the socks, he laces up the shoes. He's surprised and happy everything fits.

  "Thank you, Sergeant, can I leave these here?" asks Nix as he holds out the overalls he removed.

  The sergeant takes the overalls from him and opens the door to the office. Nix leaves and works his way to the station entrance. As he exits the building, he surveys the talking concerned clueless people. Nix walks away from the station, heading towards the main street, the center of local retail businesses. He has limited cash and no transportation; he is not sure where to go.