A sideways glance caught Michelle’s eye roll, but before Eric responded Walter stood up. “I’ll take that one.” Eric shifted around the table to let Walter stand at the front center position.
“Mr. Simpson,” Walter began, “ladies and gentlemen, being that this is my property, I reckon that makes me the best one to answer some of these questions. Now my wife and Bernice and I have been doing our best to keep you fed and warm these past few days. Others here have been doing their best to keep you safe. Some of you have helped with guard duty and food preparation, and I’m rightly appreciative of that. But I hope you understand that, at least when it comes to food, we’re about out.”
Several murmurs and head shakes swept through the audience, and more than a few hands went up.
“Hold your questions for a moment please,” Walter stated as he flipped through the raggedy tablet. Finally settling on a page, he looked out across the crowd. “I’ve made some decisions. Many of you might not agree with them, and for that, I’m sorry. Before I tell you what I’ve decided, let me first answer Tom’s question about the barrels of gas.”
“It’s Thomas,” Mr. Simpson spat.
“OK Thomas,” Walter began, “you know anything about boats?”
“I know a fair amount, why?”
“Part of what I do here is winterizing my customers fishing boats. Part of that process is to remove the fuel from the tanks. Some boats use regular gas like you’d put in your car or RV. Most of the smaller boats, which covers about ninety percent of my customers by the way, use a gas/oil mixture. In my warehouse there were three barrels, 55 gallons each, that were filled with regular unleaded that we pulled out of boats last fall. The remaining eight or nine barrels are filled with the gas and oil mix. Now stay with me here, since you opened this can of worms. The day before yesterday, some of the men here helped me distribute two of the barrels filled with clean gasoline. We divided it equally among the vehicles that were brought here from the campground. Each car or RV got a little over ten gallons. Now follow along, because this is where it gets interesting. I told you at that time to not waste your fuel . . . that there would be little to no resupply. I specifically told you not to keep the engine running in your RV. You ignored me and chose comfort.”
“I made a smart decision to stay warm and alert for guard duty.”
“You may think it was smart, but it wasn’t very wise.”
“What’s the difference.”
“A smart man knows that a tomato is a fruit, not a vegetable. A wise man doesn’t add tomatoes to a fruit salad,” Walter chimed back to the amusement of several members of the audience.
“Don’t talk to me like I’m a fool, Mr. Sheldon.”
“Then stop acting like one,” Walter snapped back. “Now, as I was saying, I’ve got several hundred gallons of the gas and oil mixture, but if you put that in your car or RV, it will most likely foul your plugs. That would probably cause your vehicle to run badly, or maybe not at all. If you would rather take the chance, heck, I’ll give you a funnel right now.” Walter’s tone took on a lighter, almost grandfatherly timbre as he continued. “As I started to say, I’ve had to make some decisions. I’ve tried to be fair, and I hope and pray that you can appreciate that. Now, what I’m about to say applies regardless of whether or not an attempt is made at the campground.”
Doc and Callie had moved over to the far corner, away from most of the crowd, and Eric noted that they were both engrossed in the glare of Callie’s tablet computer. Walter flipped through his notepad for another moment before clearing his throat and addressing the audience.
“Item number one, food. Right now, my wife Bernice and a few friends are dividing up the majority of our food stocks. We have enough that every man, woman, and child will get the following: a one gallon zip lock bag filled with uncooked rice, two cans of assorted vegetables, two cans of canned meat—probably tuna. All the cans have those pull tops. Keep in mind that this is a ‘per person’ list, not a ‘per family’ list. So, if you have a family of five people, you’ll get five bags of rice, and so on. In addition to those supplies, each person will get an empty five gallon bucket that I highly suggest you fill with water. Bernie is also putting together about twenty or so small emergency kits. Things like band aids, hand sanitizer, aspirin, matches, and some other miscellaneous supplies. I’ve also got a few dozen leftover GI mess kits from the store. You’ll have to build a fire, but you can use the kits to cook the rice. Oh, each person will also get a sixteen ounce soda bottle. It’ll be filled with bleach. Use that to disinfect any water you find that you’re not sure of. I think about one soda cap per gallon should do it.”
“See, the old bastard is kicking us out. Told you.” Diane’s husband, William, shouted as he stood. “I’ve been telling you all along that this would happen.” Reaching into his jacket pocket, William brought out a glossy black, snub nosed revolver. For the moment it was pointed at the floor.
Eric’s hand dropped to the thumb break of the Delta’s holster. “Don’t . . .” he said loudly as he shook his head.
“Why not? If you send us outside with those things loose, it’s as good as killing us anyhow.”
Preacher Dave surged to his feet and positioned himself in the line of fire. “Stop, please . . . we don’t need this. Please.”
Walter knocked his bony knuckles on the folding table. “Before this degenerates even further, let’s just take a moment and calm down. Everybody put your guns away and take a few breaths.”
William’s eyes darted to the left and right for a few moments as he weighed his options. Finally, with shaky hands he returned the pistol to his pocket and sat down.
With about three pounds more grace that he felt, Walter managed a ‘thank you’ and nod toward William. “Now, item number two. I am NOT kicking you out. You can stay in this building for as long as you want. However,” he stated loudly and emphatically, “there are some things you need to know if you decide to stay.” He glanced down at his notepad for a moment before continuing. “As I just said, you can stay in this building as long as you want. This building has a bathroom, a shower—cold water only, though—and a propane stove for cooking. I just switched out the fuel tank for the stove, and it should last for a day or so of occasional cooking, but when it’s gone, it’s gone. You can also get clean, drinkable water from the sink, as well as the hose faucet out front. Both of them are fed by a 750 gallon holding tank on the roof, but when that’s empty, I have no way to refill it. There’s also the wood burning heater. Enough firewood is stacked out back to last for a few weeks, I’d imagine.”
Several murmurs swept through the crowd, but nobody interrupted and Walter continued.
“Next item, gasoline. There were nine vehicles that showed up here when the campground was evacuated. Each of those vehicles will share an equal part of the one remaining 55 gallon barrel of clean gasoline. That should give everybody a little over five gallons. Knowing what I’ve already told you, does anybody want me to pull out some of the barrels that are mixed with oil?”
A few minutes of talking back and forth from the audience produced no raised hands.
“Next, cooked food. In addition to the uncooked rice and canned food, each person will get an equal share—I’m not sure how much, maybe another gallon zip lock bag—of cooked food. Mostly rice, but also mixed in with some broth and venison. I’m not sure exactly what, but it will be enough to feed you for a bit until you figure out something else.” Walter dropped the notepad to his side and looked around the room. “Ladies and gentlemen, once the supplies are distributed, I will no longer be providing, or responsible for meals. Yes, I’ve kept some supplies back for my family and friends. But I hope you can appreciate the lengths I’ve already gone to in feeding everybody.”
“When is all this being handed out?” the balding black man asked.
“Bernice is trying to come up with a final, small breakfast. So after that, we’ll hand out everything that we can.”
“What
about guns? How are we going to protect ourselves if we stay here . . . and what about when we leave?”
Walter shook his head as he replied, “I’ve struggled with that decision myself. There is no perfect answer that I can come up with. Now please, hear me out. And try to understand where I’m coming from. The fact of the matter is that we have too few people, and too few weapons to adequately protect all of my property. Therefore, effective immediately, all buildings and property, with the exception of this building and the area immediately around it, are off limits. I’m sorry, but I just can’t take the chance that one of those things will contaminate my friends or family. I mean this, people. The only way I can think of to protect my loved ones is to make sure that none of them things gets close. The only way I can do that is to establish a ‘line in the sand,’ if you will. In other words, this building, and the area out front toward the road, as well as the side towards the lake will be free space. Stay here, walk to the lake, go out to the road, whatever. Everything else is going to become a ‘shoot on sight, no questions asked’ zone.”
“You said you didn’t have enough people to protect your property. Well there’s about thirty people sitting right here. We could all move up to the house with you. Maybe it will be a little crowded, but you’d have your army. What’s wrong with that?”
“Several things. First off, we have the big issue of not enough food. Secondly, there’s not enough guns to go around . . .”
“Bullshit,” Diane cut in, “I saw that room the other day. The whole wall had guns leaning against it.”
Walter sighed as the crowd began to argue again. “People . . . LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! Please listen.” With a shake of his head, Walter’s voice pushed into the crowd again. “You know, guns are like snakes. People see a little two foot long garter snake crawling along their hedgerow, and the next thing you know, it’s a six foot long rattlesnake that they barely escaped from. Yes, Diane, I have several guns. Part of what I did for a living was to sell hunting and fishing equipment. With that said, most of the guns are already out and in service keeping you safe.” Walter pointed at Amy, Michelle, and then the Asian man. “Shotgun . . . shotgun . . . shotgun.” He reached behind him and hefted another, “Shotgun. Up on the roof is one of my rifles. I don’t have enough to give everybody a weapon. I’m sorry, but that’s a fact of life that you all have to deal with. Anyway, to get back to the original question as to how you’ll protect yourselves down here at the shop, or if you leave . . . the answer is I don’t know. I would be more than happy to donate those two shotguns,” he nodded toward Amy and Mr. Lee, “but I don’t know a fair way to determine who gets them, or gets to use them. If you can think of a way, by all means do it, just don’t involve me. I’ve had to make enough tough decisions already.”
As soon as the words left Walter’s mouth, most of the crowd stood and began arguing again. Eric wanted to close his eyes and tune everything out, but the very real possibility that another hot tempered person would bring a gun into play kept him alert and focused on the throng. Skipping his eyes slowly from the door guard through the crowd several times brought no end in sight to the arguments, but also no angry guns, so Eric turned to try and locate Walter. As he turned, he felt a small tug on his sleeve. Swiveling back around and looking down, he saw one of the few children that had managed to escape from the campground. The child, a sandy haired boy of about seven looked up at him with hazel eyes set wide on his face. Curiosity and determination painted his expression.
“Mister, my brother didn’t believe me, but the voices changed.”
“Hey there buddy,” Eric managed a smile as he knelt down, “what was that?”
“My brother didn’t believe me, but I heard a different man. And then it stopped.”
“What stopped?”
The child reached into the belly pocket of the hooded sweatshirt he wore, and pulled out a bright yellow FRS walkie-talkie.
“The radio stopped working?” Eric asked.
The boy nodded.
“What did you say about the voices?”
“They changed,” he yawned sleepily.
“What do you mean? What voices are you talking about?”
The child looked up at Eric with a slight measure of disbelief that adults could be that dense before answering, “The voices. The man speaking on the radio over and over again. The man who says, ‘You have tuned to the emergency broadcast network. Stay tuned for important information. You have tuned to the emergency broadcast network. Stay tuned for important information.’” The boy was about to repeat it for a third time, but Eric stopped him with a raised hand.
“The voices changed? Eric asked.
This time there was no mistaking the incredulous look on the child’s face. “That’s what I’ve been saying.”
“Can I see your radio?”
The boy held the stubby antenna with one hand, and then extended the radio into Eric’s open palm.
“Let’s see what we’ve got here,” Eric said to the boy as he knelt down even further. The on-off-volume knob was currently wide open, so he turned it all the way off. After a moment he rotated it hard right, watching the LCD screen as he did. For a split second, the alpha numeric display flashed, but then quickly disappeared.
“I think your batteries are worn out, partner,” Eric said.
The boy rolled his eyes skyward. “I know that. But before they did, the voices changed.”
Eric handed the yellow radio back to the boy. “Wait right here for a moment, OK?”
The boy nodded as his mouth opened with a second yawn.
Eric stood and turned. The crowd, still separated into various groups of argumentative people showed no indication of settling in the immediate future. Ignoring them for a moment, Eric slid around one group and between two more before he stopped at the folding table. Less than five seconds later he had secured the GMRS radio and return to the boy’s side.
“Let’s just see what we’ve got here. This radio,” he held the camouflage walkie-talkie out toward the boy, “is kind of like yours.” Eric nodded toward the one in the child’s grasp.
“Until you drop it in the weeds.”
Eric paused as the boy’s large, hazel eyes locked onto his. “What do you mean?”
Another eye roll decorated the young man’s face as he answered, “If you drop that,” he pointed a finger at the camouflage radio, “you’ll never find it again.”
Eric looked at the bright yellow radio in the child’s hand and began to chuckle. “You’re absolutely right. Maybe we should make everything bright yellow so we’d never lose anything.”
The boy rubbed his eyes but said nothing.
Holding the monitor button for three seconds unlocked that setting, and Eric keyed the transmit switch.
“Attention crow’s nest and house. This is Eric. I just want to let you know we’re going off monitor to check something for a minute, OK?
Both locations replied in the affirmative.
A glimpse at the front panel of the walkie-talkie located the channel keys, and his thumb mashed down the selector switch. Several dozen changes produced nothing but static.
The boy watched Eric fumble through the channels before giving an exasperated sigh.
“Do you remember what channel the voices came from?” Eric asked.
With a silent nod, he held the yellow radio in his palm. A moment later, the index finger of his opposite hand pointed towards a black button just below the LCD screen. It was the hot key for the weather channel.
Eric’s eyes darted to the camouflage radio, and in less than a second he found a similar button.
“OK, let’s try this one.”
As soon as he pressed the shortcut to the weather broadcast, a low voice issued from the speaker.
“See, I told you.”
He nodded at the boy with a smile and tousled his hair. “You sure did. What’s your name, young man?”
“Benjamin Bishop.” After another yawn, he added, “My mom and
brother call me BB.”
“Is your mom here?” Eric asked with a bit of trepidation considering the possible answer.
The boy nodded his head and pointed to a dark haired lady seated on the floor near the inside corner of the ‘L’ shaped building. She was leaning forward, cradling her head in her hands. Resting maybe . . . praying . . . it was hard to tell.
Turning back to the radio, he adjusted the volume slightly upwards and held it next to his ear. Three minutes of listening confirmed what BB had said, and also brought a mixture of dread and resignation to Eric.
Fade to Grey (Book 2): Darkness Ascending Page 21