I had everyone’s attention. I continued, “Each of us has something to offer. My son has the Buick. I have the survival radio. The Henderson’s can dig a well. They can dig it right over there.” I pointed to a spot where the ground sloped down. “One has a gas generator. One has canned vegetables.”
The drunk interrupted with a smile and said, “Besides a lot of alcohol, I also have a lot of canned food.”
“A collaborative is pool of talent and resources. I want to survive like the rest of you,” I said.
Ruby, William’s wife, interrupted. “But your wife wants you to move to Canada in two days?” Most everyone turned to look at Alice.
She turned and walked inside the house.
“Look, that is a possibility. We are working on it as a family. A good collaborative can survive with people coming or leaving.”
“I’m bored,” Mr. Henderson said. “My two sons and I are going to start digging. We will have you a well in a few hours.”
“I will bring a few cases of canned food,” the drunk replied.
Another offered to cook, and another to bring her veggies. Alice was still guarding our front door from our new friends. I thought it better to build a fire outside for cooking. My God, the collaborative was up and running. “Look, Randy, just tonight, please take the Buick out to the highway and look for delivery trucks.” Randy seemed unsure of this new activity, so I said, “Fine, I will do it.”
“Look, Mr. Randal, I am good at getting doors opened,” one of Mr.
Henderson’s sons said. He was a brute of a man who weighed more than two hundred pounds and was all muscle.
“You will need protection,” someone said. Everyone turned around.
Damn, it was Officer Ryan.
Mr. Henderson’s son got a couple of sledgehammers and crowbars.
Randy started up the Buick. Mr. Henderson’s son graciously offered Officer Ryan the front passenger seat.
Officer Ryan climbed in and asked Randy to stop at his house.
Randy obliged. Officer Ryan came out with his uniform on. “Now you have an official Mass trooper to protect you.”
Gads, it had been days since Randy had smiled. With adequate protection in place, they went off on their mission.
At the home front, digging the well proceeded smoothly. They didn’t encounter any large rocks or heavy clay. Twelve feet down they hit water. Mr. Henderson was very clever. Out of a few birch trees he built a high horse over the well. This would act as a lowering mechanism to bring water up. We started the generator up. Each house got an hour of use from the generator. This way we could all keep food from spoiling.
I was hoping if Randy came back in time, he could make another run for gasoline for the generator.
I had the fire going pretty high. With everyone chipping in, our survival camp was almost opened for business. I asked for a pool or tub. Mr. Henderson said he had a tub for cement mixing. Two of the neighbors had blow-up pools. It was slowly coming together. Randy came back then. They found an eighteen-wheeler. It still had food that had been scheduled for delivery to a large supermarket. The weather was still cool enough. Much of the produce was salvageable. Well water was generally safe to drink. But to be sure, we did what people in underdeveloped countries did. We boiled the water and then put it in a refrigerator.
Tonight I had to go for broke. I put a clothesline up. With old quilts hanging on the ropes, I relegated one area for washing and another for taking baths. A well and a good fire meant we had the means for heating water. With the generator running in the drunk’s house, we hooked up a 220 line for his electric stove. One of the pools was for washing clothes and the other for warm baths. This reminded me of my days in Nebraska—the community getting together and bonding.
Dusk was nearing, and we had a roaring fire. Hot water was available both for washing and bathing. Everyone had chipped in. Now we drew names out of a hat to see who would get the bath first. At this point Alice came out of the house. She thought of our days in Nebraska too.
Sometimes the Almighty shows up in a mysterious way. The drunk said, “Let Mrs. Randal go first. This is her land and her husband’s initiative.”
“Yes, Mom, you first” Jessica said. She put her hand in the pool. It was warm. With the roaring fire, the whole atmosphere was tantalizing. Alice stepped behind the quilt and undressed.
She yelled out to Ben, “This doesn’t change anything,” As she tiptoed into the pool, a smile appeared on her face. “Oh, Jesus,” she muttered softly. “This is heaven.”
The old drunk was really shocking me. He whispered something to Jessica. The next thing I knew, Jessica said to her mother, “Mom, can I give you this?” With her head turned, she handed her mom a glass of White Zinfandel wine.
The stage was set. A seed was planted. As she toweled off, we drained the old water out and put new water in for the next person.
Mr. Henderson had led a hose so that we could drain the water away from our area.
It was a grand night. We had food, wine, and clean clothes, and now we started to sing Neil Diamond songs. We sang as we held hands.
Then half of us repeated, “So good, so good, so good.” It was the song that was always played at the Red Sox games. It was also a song we could sing with our limited musical talent.
Now it was getting late, and it was time for bed. I said to Alice, “I’m off to count sheep. I love you, Alice. I will keep my word. We can still leave in a day and half.”
Alice had a half smile. It was a smile just the same. She exclaimed, “We’ll see. We’ll see. Good night.” Even in a Greek tragedy, I thought, there is always a moment of hope. This was that moment. I had played out my hand. Now I need to let the dice roll.
That night, even though I went to sleep late, I slept well. It was warm near the fire. I just threw a few quilts over me as I breathed in the crisp, cool air. There was a saying in these parts. “If you do not like the weather, wait another day.” Marathon day can come with hot weather or cool weather with rain and sleet. Usually when we have a cold, snowy winter, we have little or no spring. We jump straight into the hot weather. There was no electricity and no fan now. We were adapting.
I have learned to keep a pair of cotton PJs near me. Getting out of a warm bed into the crisp air is a bit like jumping into cold water. I put my PJs on under the covers. After a trip to the bathroom, it was time to get a little instant coffee. This time I put clean duds on. Today we would get the generator for thirty-five minutes. By using a power strip, there was a lot we could do. The freezer could make ice and keep the food from spoiling. I was sure Alice would be at the ironing board. I would also use the dryer to get the wrinkles out. Last night I had had too much to eat. Today I just needed my morning cup of caffeine.
As I opened the door, I found that the smell of the fire was still present. There was still a small flame where we were at. William and the drunk kept the place tidy. What an odd alliance, I thought. Now there was another small problem—rubbish. I figured I could throw everything that was burnable in the fire pit. We really should have another meeting. Maybe tomorrow morning. Too much familiarity can bring out nasty traits in all of us. Rubbish will definitely be a topic. I sat on a cooler. I couldn’t shake the thought of that woman I shot. This was strange. I really needed consolation from my wife. There seemed to be a gradual thawing in her. I wondered if it was this hard for Henry Kissinger when he had to deal with the Russians during the Cold War.
The sundial was working. The time was a little after 9:00 a.m. After twenty minutes or so, Mr. Henderson and one of his son’s came over.
“Morning, Mr. Randal,” Mr. Henderson said with an enthusiastic attitude.
“It’s great wearing clean clothes,” he said with a smile.
“Sure is,” his son chimed in. “Wonderful idea of yours, Mr. Randall. I mean, forming this collaborative. You give all of us hope when
there was none.”
“Everyone contributed,” I replied, trying to be a little humble. “Hold on,” I said quickly. “I will bring out some instant coffee.” I went in the house, took my Bic lighter, and lit the gas stove. After I heated the water, I went outside. To my surprise, the son came back with some real cream for our coffee.
“Here you are, Mr. Randal,” Mr. Henderson’s son said with an uplifting tone. He continued, “It is not Dunkin’ or Starbucks, but it will do.”
At that moment Jessica stepped outside. Her hair seemed a little strung out, but otherwise she looked great. “Morning, Dad,” she said cheerfully. “Morning,” she said again as she gestured toward Mr. Henderson and his son.
Both the dad and son gave greetings to Jessica. Jessica’s insecurity and the fact that she didn’t want to lead on Mr. Henderson’s son showed. “Honey,” I said to Jessica. “Heat up some instant coffee for yourself. The Hendersons brought some real cream.” I did not want to mention his son’s name to her. If I did that, I know she would have declined. She came out and sat to the left of me on a milk cartoon. It was her way of sending a subliminal message that these were the boundaries.
“My sons and I would like to come by and do a little more work on the well,” he said in a respectful manner. “We would only spend a few hours a day here.”
Just as I was about to speak, Alice came outside with a cup of hot instant coffee.
“Morning, Jessica,” she said and kissed her on the cheeks.
“Morning, Mom,” Jessica retorted gleefully. “Morning,” Alice said to the rest of us.
God, I thought, do I have leprosy or some contagious disease? This is getting old. I wished the mail service was still running. I would have liked to order a Howard Stern blow-up doll. I could start napping with it in the shed. Not saying anything, Randy just joined us. He did partake in the coffee hour. The little pleasures made life worth living.
That cream was a big hit.
“Mr. Randall,” Mr. Henderson commented in a deep voice. “I always saw those ads on the Internet—you know, for the survival kits.
I thought it was a joke. Now I guess the joke is on me,” he said, shaking his head.
“The ones that sell for thirty-seven dollars or the upgrades for ninety-seven,” I said. With everyone looking at me I continued, “Some of you may want to have a shelter in the ground. Can you imagine living in a tight place underground with your family? Sleep, eat, go to the bathroom—after a few days, what do you talk about? How do you know when it is safe to come up? What if a family member asks to open the latch and check it out?” Now everyone was really listening. “I open the latch, look east, look west, and then poof, another nuke goes off.”
“Houston,” I said. “There’s a problem. I lower the latch and come down. My hair is standing straight. My face is orange except where the sunglasses were.”
At this point there was a smile on everyone’s face, even Alice’s. I continued on with my satire. “And what if you hear people feet above you, except they’re speaking Russian or Chinese or some foul language, saying, ‘God is great.’ At this point everyone is laughing, including Alice. Since I was on a roll, I continued, “Maybe the safe thing to do is put a mailbox next to your latch. One can open the latch to check the mailbox. If there are bills in it, you can come up. If you can’t afford them, go back down,” I said, laughing at myself. I then retorted, “With my luck, I will get a knock at the latch door. I will open it, and it’ll be an IRS agent in a gray suit.” Everyone knocked the IRS.
“The IRS would say in a threatening, businesslike manner, ‘Mr. Randal, you have a large bill that needs to be addressed.’”
“‘Sir,’ I would respond. ‘The check is in the mail. Problem is that it was incinerated along with the postman.’”
At this point I finished my coffee, and then Mr. Henderson stood up. “My son and I are going to start. Oh, and Mrs. Randal, it’s your turn at 2:00 p.m. with the generator. You might want to get ready. You know, clothes, electric heater, and your refrigerator,” Mr. Henderson said before he walked away with his son.
With her hands clasped over her face, Alice cried with joy.
Damn, I thought. William, you are a genius. Collaborative. I got up and grabbed a rake. I thought I would rake a little around our new survival area. After an hour of raking, I started to cut tree limbs and gather any wood I could.
“Dad,” Randy finally spoke up.
“Yes, son,” I answered with trepidation. I did not know if this was going to be a good-bye speech or a question.
“Some of the neighbors have given me several more gas cans. I think we might as well hit it now before it is too late,” he said in a tone that was more of a question than a statement.
“Randy,” I said firmly, “it is a good idea. Make sure you at least ask Officer Ryan.”
Then I looked at him with a fatherly look. “No women with you. Make sure you have at least two or three for safety.” Then I concluded my instructions to him in a stern, direct way.
“Yes, Pops,” Randy replied with a very happy and respectful tone.
I continued on with the wood cutting while Jessica went inside with Alice.
“Mom,” Jessica said to Alice.
“Yes, dear,” Alice said sweetly. She was still in a joyful mood.
“I do not think you’re being fair to Dad,” Jessica said in a tone of disapproval. “Dad is a good provider, and he is really trying to hold us together. It’s hard enough for him to protect and provide for us. He threw up and almost broke down when he shot that angry bitch.” With a little anger at her mom, she continued, “I see his face every time you give him a short answer. It’s not right.”
“I think you’re right, dear. I worked so hard when we were in Nebraska. I worked teaching all day. At night I had to cook, clean, go grocery shopping. Grad school was hard for your dad. It was his ticket for all of us to have a better life. I feel frustrated. I can see what your dad is doing to survive this,” she said remorsefully. “Sometimes when you are older, you will have the motherly instincts. We feel more than we think. It is in our special nature to be motherly, protecting.”
Enough said. Jessica left the kitchen area to gather some of her clothes. She wanted a few of the clean blouses ironed. When they come with the generator, Alice wanted thirty-five minutes of ironing.
After I finished with the wood cutting, I went for a short walk. The drunk and a few neighbors greeted me. They wanted to know when the next collaborative meeting would be held. I tried telling everyone that there wasn’t any boss. But to be practical, I suggested a meeting the next day around 1:00 p.m. I explained that I had heard on the survival radio that the president would speak at 2:00 p.m. and that we needed to know as much as possible. Perhaps it was my down to earth upbringing in Nebraska, together with the hours of having to listening to my father in law, the survivalist. Folks started to get the feeling that I was the ‘all wise protector’. On the inside however, I struggled. There was conflict between having some practical answers and understanding that I am not a leader who has to coddle his subjects. We all have something to contribute.
Strange, inside or outside our house, it was the same. No electronic devices, little heat. Today, with the generator, there would be some heat. Two people came with the generator. They placed it right outside the kitchen door. Alice and Jessica were waiting. Both seemed a little giddy. One man wheeled the generator around. It had its own wheels. The other had a wheelbarrow. It carried gasoline and a twenty-five-foot extension cord. After they checked the oil level, they pulled out the chord.
The noise was like listening to the Boston Pops. The house jumped with life. The refrigerator, the iron, and the electric heater were all in sync. Home sweet home.
William and Fred were walking down the road. William seemed more inclined to be in the company of Fred than his wife. With his age and weighing more
than two hundred pounds, Fred fought a constant battle with diabetes. Fred’s kidneys could no longer take the high dosage of diabetes pills. He had to have insulin needles two to three times a day. William was very methodical about Fred’s care.
William had several months of insulin. He had chosen the viles instead of the pens. The syringes would run out in a few weeks. William was concerned with Fred’s sugar levels. I had told William that I planned on a trip to Boston within two days. It had now been a good week since the EMP blast. News was sketchy, and the mood among the masses was becoming more desperate.
“Look, William,” I said sincerely. “I have to go to the hospital to check on my mother-in-law. I will try to barter with the doctor. There has to be some basic medical supplies shipped in soon. The military planes have some protection with a built-in Faraday shield. We have to be positive.”
“Thanks,” he said with a downtrodden look. “I have not thrown the syringes away. If I have to, I will dip them in alcohol and reuse them.
It is better than no insulin shots.”
“There are a lot of hardships,” I continued. “The government was slow to react when Katrina hit. They were also slow when the hurricane hit Atlantic City.” With a disappointing mood, I continued, “I remember CNN and Fox reporting from the Superdome in New Orleans. A short bus ride could have bought them to a better environment. In all fairness, I don’t know if it is a responsibility of the state or the federal government. I know the feds can’t violate a state’s law. What I do not get is the lack of communication,” I said slowly and softly. “There were many who lived in inhuman conditions. There were also many who died. Atlantic City was also badly handled.” William nodded in agreement.
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