by Mark Goodwin
Noah took the bag as Lynn rolled it up and handed it back to him. “That’s what matters. Thanks again.”
They said their goodbyes, then Noah, Kevin, and Sarah got going.
Noah looked over at Kevin, “Should we call it a day and head back?”
Kevin furrowed his brow. “I’m not sure. I don’t feel like we made any progress.”
Sarah leaned forward. “But we’ve got some bait in the water. I bet a lot of these folks turn up tomorrow.”
“Yeah. I think you’re right. Let’s knock off for today.” Kevin nodded.
They headed back to David’s. With the short winter days, it would be dark soon anyway.
Early Wednesday morning, Noah and the others headed into town for the first day of the new Country Kettle trading post. Only Elliot and Benny stayed behind to keep an eye on the house. The first order of business was to build a fire. The large, stone hearth fireplace in the middle of the dining room would soon knock the chill off of the entire structure.
Jim opened up the .50 caliber ammo box, which contained a large portion of Isaiah’s silver. He handed a couple of tubes of coins, rounds, or bars to each person in the group. Next, he opened one roll of pre-1965 silver dimes, a roll of silver quarters, and a roll of silver half-dollars. Jim carefully counted out the pre-1965 coins, allocating them equally among the men. “I’ve been thinking about how to value the silver. Eventually, the free market will take over; supply and demand for goods and services, as well as currency, will dictate prices. But, for now, I believe we should revalue a silver dollar at $100 dollars in pre-crash currency. So, if something cost $100 the day before the world ended, it would now be worth one silver dollar. I came up with that valuation based on silver’s market price right before the end. It was trading right around one hundred forty dollars an ounce the day before the attacks.”
David closed one eye and stared at the wall as if he were trying to remember something. “But after the attacks, didn’t silver shoot up to almost three hundred dollars?”
Jim nodded. “You’re right, but at that time, the US dollar had become totally worthless. No one was actually buying silver for that price because no one who had silver was willing to exchange it for any amount of paper dollars. Once it became evident that the dollar had completely failed, you couldn’t have bought an ounce of silver for a million dollars. No one wanted the paper; it was garbage.”
Kevin opened the two tubes Jim had given him. “One of these is American Eagles; they say one dollar. The other is Canadian Maple Leaves; they say five dollars. How do we value them?”
Jim smiled. “Good question. This is where it gets a bit tricky. Those are both actually one-ounce coins. The weight dictates the value, rather than the face dollar amount. A dollar’s worth of pre-1965 coin comes out to about point-seven-two ounces. So at that valuation, an ounce would be $138 dollars. We’ll round it up to $140 to make the math a little easier. Unfortunately, we’ve got a lot more one-ounce coins, rounds, and bars than we have of the smaller units so divisibility is going to become an issue. Try to use the largest denomination of coin as possible when buying merchandise.”
Sarah examined the one-ounce silver bars she’d been given. “And what should we buy?”
Jim pursed his lips. “At this stage of the game, people are going to be trying to get rid of their junk. Obviously, we’re not taking anything that operates on electricity like televisions, computers, toasters, or blenders.”
“What about power tools that come with a battery and a charger?” David asked.
Jim paused for a moment. “Good idea, but I doubt there are enough people with solar generators for there to be any demand for those types of items. And besides, most anyone who had the forethought to have a solar generator probably has rechargeable tools also. What we can buy are things like hand tools. We’ll probably have all the hammers and saws we can handle by the end of the day, but I think we’re going to have to buy stuff like that to build up an inventory and create interest in the trading post.”
“What if the person doesn’t have enough stuff to make ten dollars? Since the silver dime is the smallest unit of currency we have, I guess that’s the minimum amount of goods we can trade for.” Sarah tossed the silver dime to get a feel for its weight.
Jim shrugged. “You’re right. If the person wants to make a deal, they’ll have to come up with at least ten bucks worth of stuff.”
Noah thought about the predicament of not having smaller units of currency. “What about ammo for smaller denominations?”
Jim nodded and thought about the idea. “That could be a solution. What did you have in mind?”
Noah raised his brow. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe a .22 shell is worth a half dollar, and larger shells are worth anywhere from a dollar to five bucks, depending on their size and availability.”
“I like the idea. Did we bring any extra ammo?” Jim glanced at the others.
Sarah’s face showed concern. “I’m hesitant about using ammo for currency. That’s a good way for it to end up in the wrong hands. It’s a dangerous world now.”
Jim said, “I see your point, but I want folks to be able to acquire the things they need to be able to defend themselves. Three of the tables are going to be exclusively for trading guns.”
“Maybe we just need to be careful about who we do business with. If someone looks like they’re up to no good, we shouldn’t let them in the trading post in the first place.” David shifted his weight from his cane to the ledge of the booth behind him.
Kevin rubbed his chin. “Sounds like profiling. I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that.”
David rolled his eyes. “I’m not saying you profile people because of their hairstyle or the color of their skin, but if someone can’t pull their pants up off the ground and abide by the most rudimentary rules of society, we don’t want them in here. This is private property. We don’t have to lock them up, but if they can’t dress, talk, and act like a productive citizen, they ain’t coming in here.”
Kevin looked pensive as if he was considering David’s point. “And who decides what those criteria are?”
David didn’t sound put off by the question, but his answer was firm. “In our store, we decide. That’s what private property is. You own it, and you make the rules in it. We’ve all got enough common sense to make those kinds of decisions. If someone is questionable and you’re not sure, take it to me or Jim.”
Kevin looked up. “That’s reasonable. I can go along with that.”
Sarah looked over at Jim. “What other items should we be on the lookout for, and what else do you want us to avoid?”
Jim paused for a second. “Food, obviously, if anyone is willing to part with it. Canning supplies, hygiene items, anything folks can’t get at the store that they really need. All of those types of items, I’d say value at roughly double what they were worth prior to the crash. Stuff that people are trying to dump, value at about half its pre-apocalyptic value.”
Noah thought about the likelihood of ever being able to buy clothes again. “And what about clothing? If we are cut out of the new system, we may not have access to clothes. Some folks might have stuff that doesn’t fit. It would be good to have a few extra sets for the future.”
“Good point. Let’s value clothes at the same price they were selling for before the crash.” Jim handed out some slips of paper to lay on the individual tables to let folks know what those tables were for. On one he wrote, Guns and Outdoor Equipment. On another, he wrote Groceries; another said Cookware and Canning Supplies. Clothing, toiletries, tools, and hardware each had their own table. At nine o’clock, they unlocked the door.
David looked out at the empty parking lot. “Not exactly black-Friday-door-buster crowds, huh?”
Noah was a bit disappointed. He’d hoped that Jim’s idea would really take off.
They all milled around the restaurant and chatted about what they thought the future would hold.
Just before ten, Sarah calle
d out in a singsong voice. “We’ve got customers!”
Noah scurried to the window and looked out. A horse pulling a make-shift buggy pulled into the lot. “It’s Pastor Mike and Lynn.”
David grabbed his cane and made his way over to the door to meet them. “Come on in.”
“Thank you,” Lynn said. “Are we late?”
David made a funny face. “Yeah, we had this place stocked to the rafters. The mad swarms of shoppers cleaned us out in five minutes. We’re just waiting for the next truck to arrive.”
Pastor Mike looked at David out of the corner of his eye. “You know better than to lie to a pastor.”
David chuckled and shook the pastor’s hand. “Good to see you.”
“Good to see you, too. We were worried about you all. I heard about your leg.” Pastor Mike gestured to the man beside him. “This is Sam.”
Everyone shook hands with Sam and introduced themselves.
Lynn sat her bag on the closest table and pulled out a stack of Bibles. “We thought these might be of use if you have room.”
“We’ll find a place for them. Let me just move some of this merchandise around,” Jim joked. “How much do you want for them?”
Pastor Mike put his hand up. “No, we want to give them away. If you don’t mind, we’d like to talk to people, see how they’re doing. Offer up a prayer for them if they need it. And who doesn’t these days. In fact, I’m finding out that folks who used to be too busy for God suddenly have time for him now.”
David smirked. “Yeah, funny how the apocalypse changes things like that.”
Jim picked up the paper from the table closest to the door. “Why don’t you take this table to minister to folks; if we get any visitors, that is.”
“Thank you. They’ll come. I’m sure of it.” Pastor Mike put his hand on Jim’s shoulder.
Sam Chetfield nodded in agreement. “Oh, they’ll be here. I’ve told lots of folks. Word is spreading as we speak.”
“Thanks, we appreciate it,” Noah said.
Sam looked at the single bag of cornmeal on the grocery table. “How much is that?”
Noah smiled, “Five bucks, which would equal five cents in pre-1965 silver. Since dimes are the smallest denomination, we are accepting ammo for smaller purchases.”
“Are you going to explain that to everyone that comes in?” Sam looked a little confused.
Noah looked at Jim. “Uh, I don’t know.”
Sam pointed to the stack of paper and the sharpie marker Jim had been using to make signs for the tables. “You could write up a conversion chart and have several copies around the store.”
Sarah put one finger in the air. “Better yet, Sharon has a white board in the back that she used for lunch specials. It’d make it easy to make changes when we notice the market moving one way or the other.”
“Good idea. How is your handwriting?” Jim crossed his arms and leaned against the wall.
“No offense, but better than yours.” Sarah winked.
Jim laughed. “Then you just got yourself a job.”
Just before noon, a group of six men walked up on foot. Pastor Mike held the door open for them. “Come on in, Danny. You remember Sarah, Kevin, and Noah from yesterday.”
Danny introduced the other men from the neighborhood who had come with him, and everyone shook hands. “You must be the famous Sheriff Jim.”
Jim shook the man’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”
Noah looked at Jim and chuckled. “I forgot to tell you. You’re something of an urban legend around town because of the liberation raid on the detention camp.”
Jim furrowed his brow. “Me? Why me?”
“Word went around that you organized and led the raid.” Noah held both hands out with his palms facing the ceiling.
“No, no, no. We all did our part.” Jim glanced over at David. “Better-trained men than me put the plan together. I can’t take credit for that.”
David put his arm around Jim. “Don’t be so humble. You’re a natural leader.” He leaned in and whispered to Jim, “If we’re trying to build a militia, these people will need a leader they can look to. You’re an elected official. We need to capitalize on anything that could potentially give the folks a boost of confidence or morale. I know you’re not the type to accept an excessive amount of attention, but this is for the greater good.”
Noah was close enough to have caught David’s advice. “He’s right, Jim. If we expect people to fight against the Global Republic, we’ll have to give them something to believe in and a leader they can follow.”
Jim’s reluctance showed on his face. “I’ll play along, but I don’t like it.”
Danny took off his backpack and sat it on the table nearest to Noah. He retrieved two boxes of shotgun shells. “These are three-and-a-half-inch shells I picked up by mistake. No one in our group can shoot anything larger than three-inch. Reckon I could get anything for them?”
Noah nodded. “I’m sure you can. How does two bucks a piece sound?”
“Two bucks?”
“Well, sort of. Sarah’s working on a full conversion chart over there, but I’ll give you the quick version in the meantime.” Noah continued to explain the make-shift monetary and pricing system.
“Sounds good.” Danny pulled out a heavy jacket and a few miscellaneous hand tools. “What about these?”
Noah looked everything over. “Probably another forty on top of the value for the shells.”
“I’ll take it.”
Noah pulled out a one-ounce silver bar in a plastic sleeve and handed it to Danny. “Nice doing business with you.”
Danny examined the bar. “Likewise. Now what do you know about a militia forming to fight the New World Order?”
Noah smiled. “I’m glad you asked.”
By two o’clock, the Kettle was buzzing with activity. “They soon had several items on each table, and people were buying things with the silver they’d received for their merchandise.”
A man walked up to Noah. He had an old International Harvester cap on and a heavy coat that looked like it had seen its share of farming. “I’m Fred Kemp. How do you do?”
“I’m good, thanks.” Noah offered his hand. “Noah Parker, nice to meet you.”
Kemp shook Noah’s hand. “Listen, I’ve got quite a bit of dried corn but no way to get it up here. I heard ya’ll was settin’ up the tradin’ post and rode my horse up here. I’d pay someone to haul it if I can get a fair price for it.”
“Whole kernel, not ground?”
“That’s right.”
Noah nodded. “We can pay you three dollars a pound for it.”
“That’s fair enough. Can you hold on to any 30-06 ammo for me if any comes by?”
“I sure will.” Noah made eye contact with Sam Chetfield and waved him over. “Fred, this is Sam; he has a wagon and could probably arrange to haul your corn if the two of you can agree on a price.”
Sam laughed. “I know this old coot.”
Fred Kemp greeted Sam warmly.
Noah was very pleased with the way things were going the first day. Just as Jim had said, given a little nudge and enough freedom to operate, commerce and markets were the natural order of things.
CHAPTER 12
Where you go, I will go. And where you stay, I will stay.
Ruth 1:16b
Everett sat near the window as he tied the empty cans to the fishing line. “I can feel the cold coming through the window. I am not looking forward to going out there today.”
Courtney sat on the hearth of the fireplace and monitored the rice simmering over the makeshift cooking grate. “Come sit by the fire and get warm.”
Everett persisted at his task. “I can’t. There’s not enough light. With the sky being so gray, I can barely see what I’m doing as it is.”
“Once the rice is done, I can move the grate and throw another log in the fire. That will create some more light and heat.”
“Thanks, but I’ll be okay.”
“I don’t think anyone is going to fall for your tin-can trip-wire alarm. Those cans are pretty easy to spot. They’ll just step right over the fishing line.”
Everett wasn’t deterred from his mission. “Not at night they won’t. And that’s when I want to know if someone is creeping around the yard.”
Courtney looked out the window. “The sky is so depressing, especially when we don’t have electricity. I’m so glad Mr. Goldberg is recharging our batteries for us. I’d go nuts if we didn’t have that radio.”
Everett paused for a second to look outside. “Yeah, Ken spoke with some guys on the ham last night in Pennsylvania. They got two feet of snow last night. I hope we have enough wood to get us through a blizzard.”
“We have a month’s worth, right?”
Everett didn’t look up. “And that will get us to the beginning of February. If we get a long cold spell, two feet of snow could stay on the ground till spring. There’s a good chance it doesn’t get above freezing up in these mountains until March. I wish we would have taken the time to cut another month’s worth of wood.”
Courtney sighed. “If you would have asked me before all of this happened, I would have told you that surviving the apocalypse would be boring, nothing to do. Boy that was wrong. It’s impossible to keep up with everything that needs to be done. I don’t know what we would have neglected to make time to cut more wood.”
Everett double checked his trip line alarm. “I know. Busy, busy, busy. I’m going to get these strung up before it starts snowing any harder than it is now.”
“Okay. Do you need any help?”
“No, I just need to get them strung in such a way that when someone hits the line, the cans will clank together.”
“The wind is whipping pretty hard out there. I think you just made the world’s longest wind chime.”
Everett considered the problem Courtney had just pointed out. “You’re right. Every time the wind blows, the cans are going to clank.”
“But you’ll be able to tell the difference between the wind and a person tripping the alarm. Go ahead and put your little contraption up. It’s a good idea. Don’t let me discourage you.”