Switched On: Book Six in The Borrowed World Series

by Franklin Horton

  The man on his knees looked at Jim. He made a decision, one that he hoped would keep him alive. He was going to tell the truth. “Have you heard the official radio transmissions talking about power restoration?"

  "Yes."

  "What do you think about them?"

  Jim gave an indecisive shrug. "If you'd asked me a week ago, I would've told you I was pretty damn excited to hear what they had to say. I don't think there's anybody out there who doesn't miss the convenience of electric lights, refrigeration, and television."

  "Not to mention all the people who’ve died and will still die due to lack of power," Scott said.

  "There is that," Jim agreed. "But after what I've seen today I'm a little skeptical."

  The man honed in on Jim with razor-sharp focus. "What exactly did you see today?"

  Jim met the man’s gaze. "I saw a power plant up and running. I saw NATO troops providing security and operational assistance. I even talked to a couple of U.S. soldiers, guards who basically told me to get the hell out of there before things got ugly. Then they told me I probably wasn't getting any power."

  The man on his knees looked to both sides, as he was looking for a reaction to what he’d been told. All of his team still had bags on their heads so he had no idea how they were reacting to this information. He looked back to the residents of the valley assembled around the room.

  "That news doesn't seem to surprise you," Hugh commented. There was no reply from Scott so Hugh continued. "Your jackets and patches say East Coast Power Recovery Commission. Is that legit? I kind of wonder because it makes my bullshit meter peg out."

  "Why would you say that?" Scott asked.

  "You may have a chopper dropping off supplies but I'm not seeing a lot of standardization in your weaponry, and no government-issue gear. Truthfully, your weapons look like individual shit you brought from home. It makes me think that all is not what it seems." Hugh raised a questioning eyebrow at the man and let the statement linger.

  Scott shifted uncomfortably on his knees. "A lot of things are not what they seem."

  "You explain that to me," Jim said, "we work this shit out, you're free to go. But you start maxing out my bullshit meter too and things will get ugly."

  Scott shifted again. "Can I at least sit back? I'm too old to sit on my knees like this.”

  "Go ahead,” Jim told him.

  Scott cautiously eased back until he was sitting on his feet. He took a deep breath. "There's an official notification coming in the next couple of days. Hell, it might've even been tonight for all I know. They didn’t give an exact date, but the government is supposed to lay out their plan for energy recovery, which they then link to a national recovery."

  "We know that much," Jim said. "We've heard those broadcasts. Hugh is a radio operator."

  Scott cut a quick glance at Hugh. That seemed to pique his interest. "They are going to start rolling the power back out but it’s not going to be what folks expect. The first places to receive power will be these glorified FEMA camps. Depending on where you are in the country they'll either be called ‘comfort camps’ or ‘recovery camps.’ Those camps will have power and folks will be allowed to go there for in-processing, but it comes with a catch."

  "What's the catch?" Jim asked.

  "When you are processed into the camp you have to bring identification. You also have to bring your all guns with you. These camps have the ability to crossmatch registration records, purchase records, credit card statements — all kinds of stuff — to see what guns people have purchased. Of course, there are always private sales that aren’t tracked so the records are not one hundred percent accurate, but basically you have to turn in every gun that can be tracked to you if you want to enter one of the camps. Once you're there, you're there to stay. You can't come and go. You have assigned tasks and you're there for the duration of the recovery. If you leave, you won’t be allowed back in and you don’t get your guns back."

  Hugh and Jim exchanged a look. Scott caught it.

  "What? What was that look for?"

  "I think we've seen one of these," Jim said. "There were chutes for sorting people. There were lots of signs telling people where to go. It was on the county fairgrounds."

  Jim raised his gun to his eye and leveled it at the man. “So if you're part of this fiasco, part of this energy recovery effort, why should I let you live? Sounds like you're taking advantage of the American people, making them give up their rights in exchange for electrical service."

  "No!" Scott bellowed. "We're not part of that. Our mission is to get the word out. We’re to let people know what's going on and encourage them to stay strong and not go to the camps."

  Hugh regarded the man. “You're referring to this as a mission and you obviously have the backing of folks who can set you up with a chopper resupply. You have that expensive infrared guidance system for coordinating your chopper landings. Just who the hell are you people?"

  Scott looked at his team, still hooded and bound. "Can you at least take the hoods off my people?"

  Jim met the man's eye then saw no subterfuge there. It seemed to be concern. He nodded.

  “Take the hoods off."

  Hugh, Randi, and Mack Bird stepped forward and carefully removed the hoods from the remainder of the kneeling men.

  "I did as you asked," Jim said. "Now tell me who sent you on this mission."

  Scott made eye contact with each of his team members. More than anything, it seemed an attempt to verify that each man was okay. When he was reassured they were, he returned his gaze to Jim.

  "Regardless of your political affiliation, most things that happen in the world, perhaps even for centuries, are really just attributable to two opposing ideals. You have the people who are loyal to their country and you have the people who feel that the entire world is their nation and they want to run it. The power may stop, the fuel may stop, and everything else might grind to a halt, but that underlying conflict was not slowed in the least by anything that's happened in this country since those terror attacks. Forces on both sides have positioned themselves to maximize what they can get from this. That’s what it all comes down to. Everyone's plan is now in place and unfolding before our eyes. This is when we find out who's going to win.”

  “So some shadowy element of the government is in control?” Jim asked.

  “Sounds like this goes way beyond the government,” Hugh said. “Something of this scale would involve the people who really pull the strings. The people who own governments.”

  "Whether it's conspiracy or not is up for you to decide,” Scott said. “What I can tell you is that the restoration of power is going to be directly tied to disarming the citizens of the United States. They’ll start with these comfort camps, and when they feel like they have local communities stabilized enough that they can start turning the power back on for them, they’ll apply the same metric to citizens in their private homes. You can have your guns or your electricity, but you can’t have both."

  "Then they can just keep their fucking power," Hugh said.

  Scott looked at the faces around him. "That's easy for you to say in a place like this where your neighbors are like-minded folks. It will be much harder for some folks. They have a more devious tactic lined up. They're going to go to neighborhoods, subdivisions, and communities, and they're going to tell those folks that nobody gets any power until all the guns in the neighborhood are turned in. Now, not only will this decision impact your own family, but some folks will have an entire community bearing down on them. It's conceivable that, even if you were holding strong to your values, your neighbors might storm your home and take your guns just to get power back on to the neighborhood. I can see this tearing apart families. I can see men refusing to give up their guns and wives pointing at their cold, hungry children and asking if they choose their guns over their family. It will be a tough call. It will break men.”

  Jim shook his head in disgust. “I'm not sure that choosing the convenience of elect
ricity over self-defense is the path the greater personal safety."

  "I'd agree with you there, but think of the massive pressure that can be exerted on individuals around this country. I can imagine that, not since the Civil War, will families be torn apart in the same way. It’s a profound moral dilemma for some folks.”

  "The more you talk, the more this whole thing reeks of a false flag operation," Gary said.

  "I'm not sure there’s any point to going down that rabbit hole," Scott said. "It's bottomless. It would be impossible to prove, and even if you knew the truth, how would it change anything?"

  "He's got a point," Jim said. "Regardless of who initiated this, I'm not certain we can trust the government anymore. Not after seeing NATO troops patrolling our power plant and telling us we weren't getting any of the power they produced."

  "There are still parts of the government that can be trusted,” Scott assured them. “There are still patriots in our nation’s capital. That's why my team is here."

  Hugh gave a sarcastic jerk of his head. "And just what are you all going to do? Are you guerrillas? Are you revolutionary fighters?"

  Scott fixed his eyes on Hugh. "We’re forward reconnaissance. There's a reason that there are NATO troops here. The forces directing this plan are not certain that they have the full support of the military. They’ve worked for the last twenty years to get officers in place who supported their agenda and those officers are in command of the troops you saw. Commanders they couldn’t trust were forced into retirement or put out to pasture. Anyone remaining that they can’t trust has been sent home."

  "So those commanders are out of the fight?" Hugh asked.

  That comment actually brought a smile to Scott's face. "Who do you think is supporting us? There are teams like ours all up and down the East Coast. We’re in Ohio and the Tennessee Valley. We’re in Alabama. These teams come from different backgrounds but every team is assembled from patriots who don't agree with the agenda that's being put in place as we speak."

  Jim looked at Hugh and the men had a wordless exchange, coming to a consensus. Hugh slipped his hand around his back and came back around with a dagger. Some of the men kneeling in front of them were visibly afraid, certain this meant the end. Hugh moved behind the men and efficiently sliced away the zip ties binding their wrists. Some of the men were so relieved they nearly collapsed to the ground.

  "Thank you," Scott said, rubbing his wrists.

  "I hope you understand my caution," Jim said. "Everything important to me is in this valley. As much as I'm tired of this fight, I will die to keep my family safe."

  "You might as well get used to it. I don’t think this fight is over," Scott said. "In fact, I think it's just beginning."

  The truthfulness of that statement hit Jim with a nearly unbearable weight. It took his breath. While the vigilance and the constant stress were wearing on him, it would not be going away anytime soon. This would not be like the lights coming back on after a hurricane. This would not be like anything the country had known before. Jim looked back up and met Scott's eyes.

  "I'm assuming you have communication with the other men at your camp?"

  Scott nodded.

  "If you want, you are welcome to this barn for the night. It's not heated but it might beat sleeping in the snow. You can at least dry your stuff out."

  "Thank you. We’ll take you up on that."

  "We'll talk in the morning."

  Scott nodded and Jim’s people filed out into the night.

  17

  Kyle couldn’t sleep that night. The things Jim said were running through his mind. It irked him that power would be available but none was designated for local distribution. It just didn’t seem right to him, and above all things Kyle believed in fairness. Local people risked their lives to mine the coal that fired that plant. Local people trucked it to the prep plant where local people loaded it onto coal cars for transportation to the plant. Local people were entitled to a portion of that power. Kyle felt that in the deepest part of himself.

  He was up before the sun and had a cold slice of beef for breakfast. He packed a backpack with food for a day, water, and a bottle of tequila. He slid a revolver in his coat pocket and armed himself with his 7mm Magnum deer rifle and a box of shells. He kissed his sleeping wife and children, leaving a note explaining he’d be back that night but not to wait up for him. He’d learned a long time ago that tequila and a strict timeframe were not compatible. Best to not make promises he might not be able to keep.

  He strapped on a headlamp and went to the barn. His horse greeted him from its stall, vast clouds of steam puffing from its nostrils.

  “Morning, Ranger. Hope you’re up for a workout today.”

  Kyle scooped some hay into a feeder and the horse ambled over to it. While the animal was occupied, he saddled the horse, then worked a bridle onto his head. He threw open the gate and led the horse from the barn. Kyle strapped his pack behind the saddle, threw the rifle sling over his shoulder, and headed toward his driveway.

  Of all the people he worked with at the power company, the man with the most experience was Orfield. Kyle was certain if he explained the situation to Orfield they could pore over the maps together and come up with a plan for creating a micro-grid around the town. If the two of them could come up with a plan for how to pull it off, Kyle thought there could be at least thirteen men in the area of town who could help make this happen. Some, like Kyle and Orfield, were employees of the power company. A few others worked for enormous electrical subcontractors that did work all around the country.

  It took Kyle nearly two hours to get to Orfield’s house, then another hour to convince the man, who was nearing retirement, that it was their duty as Americans to do what they could to restore the power to the local folks. Orfield was apprehensive and it took a fair amount of convincing to bring him on board. When Kyle finally succeeded, Orfield pointed to a quadrant of the map and tapped his finger on it.

  "That right there. That's where you want to do it. It'll be a short pull for the wire and easy to isolate."

  Kyle nodded, impressed. “That’s exactly what I was hoping you could tell me. I knew you'd know just the right place."

  "There's still the matter of getting all the wire you need over to the job site, but I think I might have an idea for that too."

  "Those spools are pretty damn heavy. I thought about a horse and buggy, though I’m not sure how many horses it would take. And I sure hope you don’t have any plans for me and the guys to roll a spool from the shop to the jobsite."

  "Nah. You know that frozen food company down there in the industrial park?" Orfield asked.

  Kyle nodded but frowned. "Frozen food? What in hell does that have to do with running the power?"

  "People looted that damn place early on but got nothing. The place only distributed frozen food so every bit of it melted and went bad before people got there. They still got a fleet of trucks there."

  "Hell, our shop’s got an entire fleet of trucks but it don't do you a damn bit of good with no fuel."

  "Their trucks run on propane."

  Kyle slowly shook his head as if it was the most obvious thing in the whole damn world and he was an idiot. "Propane?"

  Orfield nodded. "Gas is gone. Diesel is pretty much gone too. Propane is all over the place. We’ll probably end up hanging wire off trees instead of drilling for poles but at least you won't have to be carrying the wire in. We can use a spool trailer and unroll it with the truck."

  "We’ll still need a crew," Kyle said.

  "We can find a crew. There’s plenty of good guys around. Especially if we’ve got a truck to haul them in and they don’t have to walk."

  "Okay, then here's the big question—when do you think we can get on this?"

  There was no hesitation on Orfield’s part. "I think the sooner the better. We need to check those high-voltage lines. If they’re not sending power through them yet this would be the time to get our own lines in place. We could go
ahead and run everything then just fuse it off. When they energize their lines we’ll close the fuses and we got power."

  Kyle chuckled. “I hope it's that damn easy."

  "Well, I need things to go back to normal so I can retire," Orfield said. “If there’s no power then there’s no banks running. If there’s no banks, then how does my pension get deposited into my account? Without that pension, I can’t go fishing every day and laugh at you poor fuckers who are still working. So I’m not doing this for you, I’m doing it for me.”

  “I don’t question a man’s reasons,” Kyle said. “Do you want to be foreman on this one?”

  Orfield nodded. "Why not? Sure. I’ll run it."

  With that resolved, Kyle opened his pack and pulled out the bottle of tequila. He cracked the bottle open and passed it to Orfield.

  “Let's make a toast to getting switched on,” Kyle said.

  Orfield read the label and screwed up his face when he saw it was tequila, however, that didn't stop him from taking a drink. He went through a series of facial contortions, tremors, and animated gestures before he was done with the ritual of his first sip. He passed the bottle back to Kyle.

  "How about I come and get you tomorrow with two horses?" Kyle said. “We'll take a look at those trucks you were talking about. If we get a couple of them running you can bring one back to your house and I'll take my horses back home. Then the day after tomorrow, we’ll pick up a crew and get to work."

  Orfield sighed. "As much as I want to retire, let's go to work are some the sweetest words I've heard in a long time."

  Kyle took a hit off the bottle. As much work as lay ahead of them, this was one of the first positive things he'd heard in a while. Every bit of news they’d heard since last summer was worse than news before it. Violence, death, disease, starvation. Finally there was a flicker of hope. He hoped it was the beginning of the end, and that this would all become a story he would tell his grandchildren one day, the way old-timers talked about the Great Depression or the Normandy invasion. People would recall where they were when the lights came back on the same way they talked about where they were when they heard Kennedy had been assassinated or that terrorists had hit the World Trade Center.