by Mic Roland
“Martin.”
“Yeah, yeah. Martin. Hey Leo, it’s that Martin guy we let ride on our running boards. Remember?”
The light bulb went on. “Oh yeah. Hey. What are you doing up here? I thought you and your girlfriend lived in Andover, or something. Is she okay? Seemed kind of a nervous nelly.”
Landers gave Martin a raised eyebrow.
Thanks for that, Leo, Martin winced. “Oh, you mean Susan. She’s good, but she’s not my…”
“So did you get asked to talk to the governor too?” Leo looked around the paneled room. “This is kinda the big time, eh?”
Martin nodded. “What did they ask you about?”
“A couple of days ago, we were hauling in a couple of hoods who broke into a house.”
David interrupted. “We think they were behind a string of break-ins.”
“Hey. I’m telling it,” Leo insisted. “Anyhow, we had ‘em zip-tied and handing them over to the police when this guy comes up and asks what we were doing. We told about organizing neighborhood militias, though the official-types shy away from that word. Too scary, I guess. They like to call us Citizen Defense Groups.”
David interrupted again. “But CDG sounds lame, like a food additive or something.” Leo shushed him.
“Gangs were taking over our part of Manchester. The meth-heads and addicts going nuts from lack of a fix were trouble enough, but that was more like animal control. The real trouble was the gangs. They’d organized themselves into two coalitions.”
“The blues and and the crowns?” Martin asked.
“Yeah. You live in Manchester too?”
“No, just heard about them. It sounded kinda brutal.”
“Oh yeah. They’d been shaking people down for food and fuel and being pretty rough about it. So, me and David figured two could play at that organizing game. We got together our like-minded neighbors. A united resistance, and all that. Regular patrols was the key: boots on the ground and eyes everywhere.”
“That,” David added, “and a couple squads of muscle on call. Outnumber ‘em when we needed to.”
“The governor was asking how we did it and if we would train others to do it too. The state doesn’t have enough police or even National Guard to really stop the gangs. They’re like cockroaches.”
“I still say they’re like mold,” said David.
Leo gave his brother a large eye-roll. “Like mold,” he repeated with scorn. “I can’t believe you actually said that to the governor. Mold just sits there. It’s not creepy or crawly. It just sits there. It’s not scary.”
“Maybe, but it grows all silent like, taking over behind the walls, and before you know it, it’s all over the place and it can be deadly! I say the gangs are like mold.” David nodded.
“Oh never mind with your mold.” Leo swatted David with his ball cap.
“Gentlemen,” said Ingalls. “Please come in.” He motioned for Landers and Martin to enter the office.”
“Hey, take care, Leo,” Martin waved. The Walsh brothers waved back.
The long office had high ceilings and dark wood wainscoting. Workmen were tinkering on the central fireplace, perhaps to return it to functionality. The governor stood near a propane heater in the corner of the room. Ingalls made the introductions.
“Thank you for coming, gentlemen,” said Governor Vincent. “And especially on such short notice. I imagine you’re curious why I asked you here. I don’t have too much time before I will address a joint session, so I’ll give you a very brief summary to set up my questions to you both.”
“As you know, we’re all in this power outage crisis and it’s causing a lot of hardship for the people of New Hampshire. Federal agencies have offered aid, as we expected they would. That is what they’re there for, after all.”
“However, we have been notified that the aid comes with new emergency procedures. Not simply strings attached, but entire procedural expectations which concern me greatly.”
“We had a bit of a run-in with a FEMA man named Quinn,” Landers said. “We were supposed to turn over some information that we didn’t think we should…”
“So Ingalls told me. This is on that order, but of greater scope. It is within my power as governor to authorize the new emergency measures, or decline them. However, I am going to go before a joint session to request a non-binding vote to see what the legislature thinks.”
“Then why are we here?” Martin asked. He felt impertinent, but still wondered what he had to do with any of what the governor said.
“Ah. Cut to the chase. Here it is. As you know, I’m not particularly popular with my own party, let alone the other guys. Frankly — and you never heard me say this — I don’t put too much stock in what the legislature thinks about all this. Too many of them are busy-bodies or fuddy-duddies who are either afraid of their own shadows or angry about someone else’s shadow.”
“So, over the past few days, I had my staff tour the state and get a firsthand feel for how the people feel. I asked them to gather up some key people for some follow-up questions. That’s of more value to me than the party drama that passes for oxygen around here.”
“Mr. Landers, your townspeople voted to decline federal aid, knowing it would be very rough on them.” Landers nodded. “How widespread would you say that sentiment is?”
Landers looked down and slowly pulled at his white beard. “We’re just one small town, mind you, but, from what I know of people in the towns around Cheshire, there’s a lot of that same feeling. Most of us have always wished that the state would just butt out… no offense…”
“None taken.”
“…and let people get on with their lives. They’d rather scrape by than bow and beg.”
“Thank you,” said the governor. “Mr. Simmons, Ingalls tells me you’re an innovator and have a get-things-done attitude.”
“Well, I don’t know…”
“I’m not asking you. That’s what Ingalls said in his report. My question to you is are you innovating for just yourself?”
Martin wondered what that meant. He had always planned ways in which he and Margaret would get by in troubled times. He did not have a strong empathetic nature that felt bad for the grasshoppers of the world. Most of the grasshoppers were not the innocent victims of bad luck, but fools who presumed good luck had no end.
Taking in his son and his wife was not caring for others. They were family. Taking in the Dunans might count as caring for others, but he disliked them, so how caring was he really? Then there was taking in Susan. Was he really just taking in a hapless stranger, or was that somehow still a selfish act? “I don’t know?”
“Well, you need to decide. If I do not authorize the federal emergency measures, a lot of people in the state are going to be lacking food and supplies. I’m not suggesting that you, somehow, personally provide for them. But, if they can see that someone is solving problems, it can give them hope. People with hope can endure much. People in despair are doomed.”
A woman with a clipboard walked up, apprehensive to interrupt. “Governor, they’re taking their seats.”
“Thank you Stephanie. Just a minute.”
“So let me repeat my question.” The governor looked Martin firmly in the eyes. “Are you solving problems only for yourself, or are you willing to figure things out for others too?”
Martin had only imagined solving his own household problems: food, fuel, security. Yet, even that included six others beside himself. Margaret was helping the Walkers get their wood stove back in shape. She and Martin were helping the Oldhams. Leaving bread for Andy seemed un-selfish. The trip to fetch six cows was to benefit both his own house, but others as well.
“Others,” he said. “I guess.”
“Good. They’re going to need it.” The governor took the clipboard from the woman and studied the papers. Other staffers gathered around, effectively squeezing out Martin and Landers.
“Is that all?” Martin pulled on Ingalls’ sleeve. “What’s next
?”
“The District One Assistant Admin wants to address the legislators before the governor asks them for their joint resolution.”
“Have we got time to stay and watch?” Martin asked Landers.
He looked at his watch. “We didn’t have a set time for getting to Canterbury, so I guess for a little while. We still have to get up there, loaded and back before dark.”
“Could we watch?” Martin asked Ingalls.
“Sure. I’m going up to the gallery anyhow. Follow me.” Ingalls led them through the nearly empty white corridors, up an ornate flight of stairs, to a mezzanine overlooking the House Chamber.
All the gallery seats were filled. The air was stale. Landers spotted some open wall space on the right side where they could stand. Despite travel difficulties for those who lived far from Concord, most of the seats on the House floor were filled with representatives, senators or other officials. Several state police troopers stood along the back wall, with their hands on the grips of ARs.
The collision of conversations on both the House floor and the gallery produced a roar akin to standing beside a busy highway. The Speaker rapped his gavel on the big wooden desk. Several loud clacks rang through the room. People began to quiet down.
“You need a desk like that,” Martin said.
“I’d love one,” said Landers. “As long as you can get it to fold up and fit in the storage room.”
The Speaker introduced Mr. Kelein, the Assistant Regional Administrator for FEMA District 1. The man was tallish, and slender, but looked emaciated behind the massive wood furniture.
“Thank you, Governor Vincent, Senators, Representatives and distinguished guests.”
This sounds long already, Martin thought.
Kelein spoke in flowery circles that boiled down to disagreeing that Governor Vincent should have bothered asking for the legislature’s referendum as the decision belonged to the governor alone. The undertone was that the FEMA officials at the District Office did not appreciate local politicians meddling in the complicated roll-out of their procedures. It was all phrased politely, and diplomatically: a skill that Kelein clearly practiced. Yet, Martin had heard enough politicial-ese over the years to decode the actual message: This is all a waste of time. Just sign the papers and let us get on with our job.
“These new procedures,” Kelein explained, “stem from extensive computer modeling by the agency: models of resource movement and human behavior. Events of this magnitude go far beyond the measures required for regional events, like Hurricanes Katrina or Sandy. These are extraordinary events which require extra-ordinary measures to ensure the health and safety of the population.”
Kelein pointed over his shoulder, as if gesturing to a PowerPoint slide that was not there. “Our simulations clearly show that in the wake of an event such as this, your people will face privations and scarcity which no modern civilized population should have to endure. The Agency is tasked with providing subsistence needs: Food, water and much-needed services, but there are other challenges which must also be addressed.”
He gripped the lectern with both hands and leaned forward. His voice grew louder. “In times like these, criminal elements will seize opportunities to prey upon the weak and vulnerable. Thefts, violence and assaults will increase: assaults on your wives and daughters. Law enforcement will be overwhelmed by the sheer scale of the event. Women and small children: at the mercy of bands of cruel criminals.” He waved one arm high over his head for emphasis.
Kelein paused to let the horror of his word pictures get a good seat. He resumed in a softer, more paternal tone. “The Agency has foreseen all that and we don’t want any of those bad things to happen to you. We have developed procedures to ensure that your women and children are safe and sheltered: warm and fed. All we need, to begin taking care of your people, is for Governor Vincent to authorize our simple emergency measures. That’s all. Our response teams will jump into action and truckloads of desperately-needed aid will begin to roll, bringing hot meals to the hungry, safety for the vulnerable. After all, isn’t that what you, the guardians of your people, truly want? That’s what the Agency wants too. The governors of all the other states in District 1 have already signed the authorization. Their people are receiving hot meals. When your governor signs, you can too.”
Martin noticed Quinn and a few other men, dressed in black, standing by the side door. They were nodding along with Kelein’s speech.
“So,” concluded Kelein. “I urge you, the elected representatives of the people of this state, to fulfill your sacred trust, to do what is best for your constituents. Approve this referendum. Encourage your governor to sign the authorization. Let us provide and protect. Thank you.”
Kelein left the lectern to mediocre applause. Quinn and the men in black tried to boost the average with exaggerated enthusiasm. They shook hands eagerly with Kelein as he exited. They high-fived each other.
Governor Vincent returned to the lectern, holding a thick binder. The applause died down quickly. “Ladies and gentlemen, before I ask for your referendum, you should know that this first of several volumes of the new emergency procedures reveals the price for the provision and protection Mr. Kelein spoke of.”
“State laws and local regulation will be suspended, replaced by a Regional Code of Conduct, overseen by a Conduct Committee. It says the suspension is temporary, but there is no description of how or when local laws return. Your police and fire departments will no longer be your own, but come under the command of their Operations Directors. They could decide, as we’ve seen in Massachusetts, Connecticut and Rhode Island, to order all law enforcement personnel into selected urban safe-zones that this book calls Cantons.”
The governor flipped open the binder. “There are procedures in here for impounding urban housing and relocating people within the Cantons. Distribution of aid is described as only within the Cantons.”
Martin could see Quinn frowning and shaking his head. The other men in black looked upset. Perhaps the contents of the binder were not supposed to be discussed publicly.
“In short,” the governor continued, “the people will be given aid in exchange for their freedom. I’ll close by quoting Franklin. ‘Those who would give up essential Liberty, to purchase a little temporary Safety, deserve neither Liberty nor Safety.’ Mr. Speaker, please call the vote.”
The hall broke into dozens of shouts and protestations. It was hard to pick out individual statements. Some urged the governor not to sign. Others insisted that the people needed food and feared the bands of criminals. The Speaker’s gavel only slowly restored order. The attempt at a voice vote failed miserably. It was too clamorous and too close to call. The vote by sign was just as noisy but raised hands could be counted. There were many hands raised for ‘yes’: to authorize aid. Quinn looked pleased.
The call for ‘no’ votes brought up many more hands. Even without the official counting, it was clear that majority decided they did not want the aid. Perhaps the price was too high. New Hampshire would fend for itself.
Martin could hear Quinn’s voice booming through the din. “You’ll regret this!” Quinn shouted. “You’ll be changing your tune soon enough. Mark my words! When all hell breaks loose in your little towns…people are starving…being attacked, you’ll be begging us to save you. Mark my words!”
“We’d better be going,” said Landers. He and Martin joined the river of people slowly making their way out. The hallways were choked with all the senators and representatives, still debating the vote.
There were crowds on the plaza and sidewalks too. Martin could see Red Cauloff, Tyler and Charles, leaning against their trucks. He looked up and down the busy sidewalk, but did not see Susan.
“What took so long?” Margaret asked. “What did the governor want with you?”
“The question was: was I solving problems for myself or for others?”
“What did you say?”
“I said ‘others’, but I’m not sure if that’s true.
Mostly, I want to make sure our house is taken care of. I felt pretty selfish. But then I thought of you helping the Walkers, and the Oldhams. Seems like it’s mostly you helping others.”
“What about you leaving bread for that Andy kid, or taking Judy up to listen to Walter’s radio? That’s caring about others,” Margaret said.
“I didn’t think of those.”
“Well, you still did them, so I guess you answered right. But that doesn’t sound like it would have taken that long.”
“Oh, then Landers and I stayed to hear how the legislature voted on accepting federal aid or not.”
Margaret climbed into the back seat of the Sierra. “And?”
“It’s still up to the governor, but it sounds like ‘not’ to me. If they turn down federal aid, we’ll have to get by on whatever we have. So, as much as you don’t like cows, it sounds like we’re going to need them more than we thought.”