by Reed, N. C.
“Yeah, I got to say,” Greg grinned, “you went above and beyond anything I ever thought I’d see from you on that one. You must really love Lainie Harper, man.”
“Bite me,” Clay shot back, taking a drink from his own glass to stall for time.
“I think that’d be her job, man,” Greg laughed aloud as he annoyed his friend. “Even if just as payment for the goat lady.”
“Anyway,” Clay’s voice rose to cover his friend’s laughing and get the conversation back on point. “The point I’m making is that sooner or later, people will start accepting, even wanting, silver or gold in exchange for things.”
“You included?” Greg asked. “Horses and cattle are going to be big business in the future, man. You’re going to have to be awful careful about rustlers, even.”
“I know,” Clay nodded. “I’m working on that. But there’s just so much other stuff that’s got to be done as well. Cutting to the chase, Leon once talked about us having a real town here. Even mentioned having you as town marshal. With a bank, maybe a general store, the whole setup. I’m not sure at this point if we should pursue that, or if we should aim those things toward Jordan. Keep our community here like it is, allowing for growth and what not, but have our business interests in Jordan. That is going to be the county’s seat of government going forward, right?”
“That is the plan,” Greg affirmed. “I talked to old man Pickett a couple days ago and he said it would be fine, though he didn’t know how we’d do anything. We talked to Mister Stamp, he’s a retired attorney, about serving as a magistrate as we try and rebuild things, and he agreed to do it temporarily, on an as-needed basis. But Pickett and I both talked about the fact that we don’t have a tax base to work with or any way to pay for a jail, offices, or pay guards for said jail, if we needed one. Jail, I mean.”
“Which brings me back to establishing an economy,” Clay stressed. “If we get an economy going, then we can establish a tax base, and use that to pay for services like a jail. But Leon also mentioned once that when people want something, they’ll work to make it if they can’t buy it. And that if someone sees that there’s something people are willing to pay for, they’ll find a way to supply it, or make it. He was right about that, too. I’ve seen it everywhere I’ve ever been, regardless of how primitive. I know all of this. What I don’t know is how to get it started. Unless we find a way to kick all this into gear, I don’t know how else it will start.”
“Well, to start with, you really need some silver and gold,” Greg noted. Clay looked at him but didn’t say anything.
“I don’t have that much,” Greg told him. “I bought silver, mostly, because it’s what I could most afford. I do have a little gold in coins, but when I say ‘little’, that’s what I mean.”
“Good for you,” Clay smiled weakly. “I’ve got some as well.”
“Old Man leave you any?” Greg leaned forward. “There was a legend about him, you know. That he robbed-,”
“It wasn’t a legend,” Clay interrupted his friend gently. “The safe is buried in his bedroom wall up at the house. And yeah, there’s a whole gob of silver dollars and gold eagles in there. But there’s a lot more than that around here, I promise you. More than enough to start a bank.”
“No kidding?” Greg raised an eyebrow. “That would explain how you paid for all this,” he waved an arm around. “I just always assumed the Old Man did it, somehow.”
“He did pay for a lot of it,” Clay nodded. “But most of it I paid for. Including buying this place.” He took another drink of water to give Greg time to assimilate that information.
“What did you do?” his friend finally asked. “Steal blood diamonds or something?”
“Or something,” Clay was looking at the table. “To make a long story very short, a rather wealthy warlord pissed me off. He was like a dragon, with a hoard of gold and jewels and precious items he had stolen and looted for years. We, as in myself and the guys, well, we killed him and all his cronies and stole his hoard. Split it among ourselves and a village this guy had attacked because they were our friends.”
“And your share was still enough to buy this place?” Greg’s eyes were wide, now. “Holy shit!”
“The other guys bought guns, ammunition, the armored vehicles and so forth,” Clay nodded. “I bought some of that, but I bought freeze dried food, this farm, built all this,” he waved a hand around, “and paid for the stuff that was here when things kicked off. That’s why we have so much in the way of…stuff,” he settled for saying again. “We stole it. Not the stuff,” he amended. “The money.”
“Damn, son,” Greg slapped Clay’s back. “When Leon said you took after him, he meant it, didn’t he!”
“He said the same thing to me,” Clay nodded. “Anyway, I got molds and a small smelter to make everything from quarter-ounce to one-ounce rounds. Some of what we managed to get was in Krugerrands, or else still in ore form. Stolen right out of the mines, I guess. I figured we would eventually melt them down into small rounds for spending.”
“Huh,” Greg grunted. “Never thought of that. Most people bought one-tenth ounce gold or else one-ounce silver coins. But I did see these rounds you’re talking about for sale. Just never thought about it as a weight issue. I just bought the coins.”
“Nothing wrong with them,” Clay shrugged. “But Krugerrands are not, well, were not anyway, popular coins anywhere in the world until after the South African Apartheid ended. So, we figured better safe than sorry.”
“And you guys have all of what was left of that laying around here somewhere?” Greg asked.
“Yes,” Clay nodded. “There are also some other resources. Namely one-ounce bars of silver or gold, along with junk silver and gold coins that don’t of a necessity have to be melted. Of course, now that the world has literally stopped being what it was, a Krugerrand won’t need to be, either. We can just melt the ore into rounds to make them weighable and marketable.”
“You’ve thought about this a lot, haven’t you?” Greg studied his friend closely.
“Thought about it, but I still haven’t gotten that one last idea I need. Which is how to get all this started.”
“I don’t know either,” Greg admitted. “Damn shame the Old Man ain’t still here,” he said quietly. “He would know how to do this, man.”
“I’ve had that thought a dozen times, man,” Clay said sadly. “I’ve even looked through some of his things, thinking maybe he had written something down, somewhere. But he kept most of that stuff close to the vest, you know.”
“He was a cagey old he-coon, that’s for sure,” Greg agreed. “I’ll think on it, or keep thinking on it, but right now I got nothing. I think your bank idea is a good start, though. It would get metals into circulation, give people a way to spend the metals they’re holding but can’t eat, and would also give people a way to earn money to eat on. Live on. It’s a great idea.”
“If we can get it started,” Clay added.
“If we can get it started.”
-
The first official patrol of the new and improved Calhoun County Sheriff’s Department took place three days later.
Jake had labored an entire day with Sienna’s assistance to remove the light bar and siren equipment from the two cruisers that the farm still had, one of them Greg’s old car, and mount them onto the Hummers. Personally, Greg hadn’t seen the need, but it had tickled Jake to do it for some reason, and that was good enough for the new Sheriff. It was good to see Jake enjoying himself, and apparently Sienna Newell was good for him. She was also turning into a fine role model for Jac, Jake’s little girl. Lainie had already made the girl a small set of coveralls so she could ‘help’ her daddy in the shop.
The first patrol was Gordy Sanders driving the Hummer with Greg alongside him in the front, Amanda Lowery and Stacey Pryor in back. There was an M240 mounted on the Hummer just in case, but it was covered for the start of the patrol.
The smaller MRAP that followed had
Titus Terry at the wheel, Zach Willis in the turret behind an M-2 that was also covered for the start, Devon Knowles, Petra Shannon along as crew and Shane Golden commanding the vehicle. It was a strong patrol, probably considered too strong under normal circumstances, but Greg had no idea what they would find. He tried to compromise as best he could.
The twins had bought iron-on adhesive printer paper before the Storm, and had used some of it to print out the sheriff’s star and logo, which Lainie had then steam ironed onto two small cloth flags she had sewn for the whip antennas on the vehicles. It might not help much, but anything that would help identify them as an official LEO patrol would help, everyone figured.
“Gordy, we’ll head up the interstate to Maytown, then take that exit and head the rest of the way to the county line,” Greg ordered. “I want to touch the county line on all four sides if we can. We’ll tour the highways and the major county roads. Look for activity, or even signs of activity. Let’s try and see who else is out there and where they are.”
“Got it, Sheriff,” Gordy replied without a hint of sarcasm. The Hummer in gear, he set off for the interstate, Titus following about two cars behind.
As they rode, Greg looked out the window, thinking of something Jake had said a few days before. Who would want to preside over a Damned Nation like America had become in just a matter of months?
His friend had a point, Greg admitted. A complete absence of law and order in many places had left America a crippled nation of people. It was fortunate that the rest of the world was also crippled, or America might have been in even worse trouble.
He knew from Shane and the others that things out west were bad, and probably getting worse. There was nothing saying that those problems wouldn’t come east, either. But then the east had their own brand of difficulties. Burning cities, looting gangs, cannibalism on a huge scale if anything Adcock and Whitten had said were correct. That last was enough to give truth to Jake’s description without any of the other problems Greg had thought of or anyone had mentioned.
Damned Nation, indeed.
Greg was brought back to the present when Gordy slowed to take the ramp onto the interstate. It was time to try and right at least some of the things that had gone wrong. Here at home if nowhere else. He straightened in his seat, hand tapping the center console twice.
“Here we go.”
EPILOGUE
Well south of the new Calhoun Sheriff’s Patrol, Cartwright sat listening as Charlie reported that they had still not heard anything more from Haywood’s group.
“Sir, I think we have to assume that he bit off more than he could chew, here,” Charlie finished. “I’m sorry to say, but I think he and his men are lost to us. This area seems to be too strong for us, at least for now.”
“It would seem so,” Cartwright nodded his agreement, looking out his window. “I shouldn’t have sent them so far north. Or else sent more men. But then we didn’t really have more to send, in all honesty, did we?” Charlie didn’t reply, as he knew Cartwright wasn’t expecting an answer.
“Very well,” Cartwright said suddenly, turning back to his desk. “We’ll see about visiting them again someday, assuming we make it that far. Meanwhile, what else is going on around us?”
AFTERWORD
It’s time once again for a word from the author (that’s me).
Thank you for reading Damned Nation, the latest Fire From the Sky novel. I hope you’ve enjoyed it. If you did, please remember to leave me a review on Amazon or your book seller’s website, as it helps put me into their search algorithms and brings my books to the attention of new readers. I know it seems like I always ask for that, but it’s because it’s really important from a business perspective. The more reviews I get, the more often my books show up on recommendations lists.
As with any project like this, I’ve had to give it a good deal of thought. If everything we depend on was to go away, what would we do? Assuming we could survive, and that is not a given, how would we start to rebuild? Where would we begin, and how would we go about it? Would we help one another? Would we cooperate with others in our local communities to preserve and protect what we could?
Or we would view the apparent loss of all civilized structure and restrictions as a chance to get even for past perceived wrongs? Would we use the opportunity to seek revenge for actions taken against us before the disaster? Would some among us try to establish their own little fiefdoms and rule them like oligarchs of old? Would we see warlords rising among a nation that had once prided itself upon her justice system, on its Law and Order. (You just heard that ‘duhn-duhn’ sound from the television show in your head when your read that, didn’t you? Admit it, you did.)
It’s so very easy to imagine beginning the end of everything we know as a hurried and spastic attempt to grab all we can before burrowing deep into our holes to wait things out. In fact, we no longer need to imagine it, do we? We went through this a few months ago at the first signs of panic over COVID-19. People panicking and running to grab anything and everything they thought they would need or want. I literally saw two people arguing in a grocery store over the smallest bag of rice they sell. Granted, it was the last one, but that is sort of the point. There was no shortage of anything at that point, just a fear that there would be.
For some of us, we spend a lifetime preparing, and hoping we never need it other than to avoid a last-minute trip to the store while fixing supper. We want our family to have what they need, and all they need of it, so, we sacrifice in order to make that happen. Others do not do that, and when panic strikes, may suddenly feel as if they have the right to take what they need from others, simply because they need it.
And thus, we return to my original questions. When do we start to rebuild? When can we emerge into what remains of the world we once knew, and begin to start again? Begin to pick up the pieces that are left? And perhaps more importantly, how do we do it?
So now, Clay and the people on the farm, the people in Jordan, the people everywhere, are going to have to try and do that very thing. Rebuild. Start over. Do it all again from scratch. It’s easy to say that people two hundred years ago could do it so we can too. But then, we no longer have the knowledge those people two hundred years ago had, do we? While a person from the 1850’s would probably not be able to operate a smart phone, very few of us would be able to send or receive a telegram. While a doctor from the civil war area would be amazed by a M.A.S.H. unit, a physician from our time would likely be aghast at having to use the tools, or lack thereof, in that time to treat patients.
Knowledge is relevant. Important. Without knowledge, there can be no survival. Take care to train yourselves as you prepare.
As always, thank you for reading. Without you, there is no me. I mean no author me. A special thanks to my family for continuing to encourage me when I need it, and to the readers who also encourage me with messages on an almost daily basis. And to Dan Edwards and Creative Texts for all the hard work they do to make me look like the real thing.
None of this would be possible without all of you.
Until next time, from the shores of Pickwick Lake
N.C. Reed
More Books by Author N.C. Reed
Book Series
Fire From the Sky
Book 1: The Sanders Saga
Book 2: Brotherhood of Fire
Book 3: Trial by Fire
Book 4: Home Fires
Book 5: Friendly Fire
Book 6: Hostile Fire
Book 7: Hostile Fire
Book 8: Hell Fire
The Black Sheep of Soulan
Book 1: Parno's Company
Book 2: Parno's Destiny
Book 3: Parno's Gambit
Book 4: Parno's Peril
Stormcrow
Stormcrow: Book 1
Stormcrow: Book 2
Stand Alone Titles
Odd Billy Todd
Roland: Reluctant Paladin
Tammy and Ringo
Friggin
Zombies
The Monster of Creasy's Hollow