Fortress Farm Trilogy: Volumes 1, 2 & 3 (Fortress Farm Series)

by G. R. Carter

  Does it matter that we’re saving lives here? Of course it does. I’m not seizing some old guy’s house to build a new shopping mall. These are out-of-towners who were going to tear it down anyway. And besides, the owners will probably be trapped in their New York apartments and starving by the end of the week.

  Delbert and Bob laughed out loud, looking at the pain on Phil’s face.

  “Real-world solutions for real-life problems, Mr. Farmer,” Bob said, shaking a crooked finger at him as he had a thousand times before.

  “I guess I figured the Constitution was dead a long time ago. I didn’t kill it, and I suppose I’m not going to save it, either,” Phil concluded.

  The mayor raised his hand, “I have determined Greenstem Ethanol refinery to be a hazard to the community, and have therefore condemned the property. The property will be immediately liquidated via auction to the highest bidder.” The mayor stopped, looking over at the bailiff watching the proceedings with interest. “Tommy, run and fetch the judge, please. I think he better sign this, too. Just in case.”

  As the bailiff ran off, the mayor continued. “Now, who will start the bidding?”

  Cornin elbowed Phil. “I suggest you bid low.”

  Phil felt a little sick as he raised his hand. What am I getting myself into?

  Finally, he spoke: “I bid one dollar.”

  “Sold!” said the mayor emphatically.

  A sale of one dollar was recorded in the town records, and Phil was the proud owner of a defunct plant considered a biohazard with no revenue that was in need of lots of work and a conversion that had never been tried before. Cornin smiled and offered to buy 10% of the plant from him for whatever he needed to get started. Immediately, the Wizards and Paul started discussing all the necessary equipment for the conversion and a possible timeline for restarting the plant's boilers.

  At this talk of money, Bob slowly realized all of his wealth besides his farm ground lay trapped on the dead computers. The same thought made the group realize they’d need hard currency to buy what they needed, no more Wristband swipes. That is, at least for as long as people were still using money. At some point even that would start to lose its value to people with survival on their minds. With a list of every part they might need, and replacements for each of those, they went back to the bank to with a total. Phil noticed that Cornin didn’t give them all the hard currency in the safe. It looked like he was holding back a decent-sized pile. Phil really didn’t blame him; the president probably his own money tied up in the bank. He could in good conscience say it was his to withdraw. Phil just hoped that Bob would get to withdraw some, too.

  The entire group agreed to meet back at the courthouse the next day, so they could make sure that their own homes were safe and secure overnight.

  *****

  Phil, Paul and the bailiff Tommy Fletcher all arrived back at the courthouse around noon the next day, prepared to head out to the supply stores forty miles away in Decatur. Phil finished loading some food and water for the trip as the bank president approached carrying a bundle of cash and a heavy looking pouch. County Sheriff Clark Olsen escorted him.

  “Phil, I was just speaking with Sherriff Olsen, and he would like to escort you on the trip. I asked him to provide a deputy to ride along for security, but after hearing your theory on what’s happening, he would like to go himself,” the bank president said. “Clark’s well known in surrounding counties so hopefully he could talk through any roadblocks or problems with the local authorities.”

  “We’ll be happy for the company, Sheriff. Do you think there will be trouble for us already?” Phil asked them both.

  “No idea. There will be eventually, but maybe we’re early enough to miss it,” the sheriff replied.

  After an uneventful trip into town, the strangest thing they noticed was sandbags surrounding the Decatur National Guard armory, making it look like something out of a war zone. None of that was a concern to Phil and his little crew. They just wanted to get their supplies and get home. It took them all day, but they were able to get nearly everything from their list. Some pieces were found in the parts stores that still were open and operating via paper ledger, but most items came from the salvage yards that often went unnoticed by the average person. Salvage yards would become relative gold mines in the future, and that’s exactly what yard owners asked for in exchange for the needed parts: gold. On the ride over, Cornin the bank president told them about how gold had been a medium of exchange throughout history wherever civilization existed. There might come a day when a bar of gold wouldn’t hold the same value as a basket of wheat, but in this time of transition from digital currency to mere survival, gold spoke in a way that few modern people understood.

  Sheriff Olsen spent a few minutes with the local police chief, then came back to the last salvage yard with a grave expression on his face.

  “I think we need to get out of here as soon as we can,” Olsen told the group. “The Chief thinks the National Guard is planning to seize his police station any time.”

  “What’s the point of that?” asked Phil, “I would assume that they would want to keep order around here, not start a civil war.”

  “Turns out the Major here at the National Guard base believes the Feds have declared martial law. He’s given the mayor and the police chief a formal document that states that, but it’s on National Guard letterhead and signed by some Colonel. No one else.”

  Phil must have looked unconvinced, because Olsen replied defensively, “Look, I’m just telling you what the Chief said. He’s really spooked by something. I don’t think he’s telling me everything he knows, but something is definitely up.”

  The sheriff continued: “That National Guard and the city leadership are at odds over what to do with the power fizzled out. Apparently the National Guard commander insisted he was in charge, and the mayor and city council assured them the local police and firefighters had everything under control. An uneasy stalemate has been holding with the Guard and their families staying in their compound. Occasionally a three- or four-vehicle column makes a few circuits through the city, then return to the base without any interaction at all,” Olsen reported.

  “All right, I believe you. No sense in taking any chances, anyway. I can’t believe it, it feels like we’re in another country just sixty miles from home. And not just in America, this is Illinois. Our own state for crying out loud!” Phil said, exasperated at the thought.

  Olsen’s look and tone softened. “Phil, you’re a great guy, and you're smart. But you’ve still got the pro-American optimistic side. You’re about to find out what cultures all around the world have known for thousands of years. People will do anything to survive the next day. If it means taking from others, they will in a heartbeat. All the things I’ve seen as a small county sheriff will pale in comparison to what we’re about to see around here. And from what I just heard, the death and destruction already happening in the big cities is beyond what anyone can comprehend.”

  Olsen was built like a mix between a Viking warrior and a grizzly bear. He was well over six foot five and 260 pounds and carried himself with a confidence that most men and women longed for. But now this grizzly was beginning to well with tears. “Phil, you just don’t understand what’s coming for all of us. Even if everything returned to normal right now, it will take us years to get any semblance of our past lives back. And with the limited knowledge of how to take care of themselves, people don’t have years. They don’t even have weeks! Most people have what, maybe a few days’ worth of food at home? A little more if they scrounge and ration. And what happens when they run out of that? Are they going to grow their own?”

  He looked over his shoulder and pointed at the salvage yard behind him. “This guy here is smart. A survivor, probably. But even though he’s smart enough to know that paper money is now worthless, he still hasn’t taken the next step in his mind. What good is gold when you’re hungry? If your kid is starving, would you trade your last can of food
for a gold coin?”

  He looked back now at Phil, then at Paul who had just completed the last transaction with the salvage yard owner. Paul looked worried as he saw the sheriff. He’d known Olsen since he moved to town but never seen him like this. Just as the sheriff’s confidence was contagious, now too was his concern.

  “Guys, we have got to figure out a plan to keep everyone warm and fed. This fuel idea is great, and it’s going to save lives. But at the same time, we have to remember that we have to keep from starving to death between now and next harvest. I mean, here we are at the start of winter. The crops are already out of the fields, and most have been sold and shipped out. I know some folks stored grain in farm bins waiting for later delivery or better prices. But most of the soybeans and corn stored aren’t really useful as food until they’ve been processed in some way. Phil have you noticed how bare the grocery store shelves have been recently? After what’s been happening in the cities this week, who knows how that will affect our supply?”

  Phil and Paul were now 100% focused on Olsen. Minds racing, they were trying to soak up this information that now seemed obvious, but hadn’t really been a line of thinking they allowed into their minds. Phil got Paul on board with the refinery, and Phil himself was the one who convinced the townspeople to take this seriously. But he was thinking about the world inside Shelby County lines. The gravity of life and death, of safety for their families from outside forces, made it more real. Now the prospect of a civil war right here near home?

  Olsen continued, “The mayor, the city council, you two, me and my deputies, we’ve all got to face some very scary and serious facts. And we’ve got to face them today. I knew in the back of my mind that the situation could deteriorate, but even I didn’t think it would happen this quickly. Can you imagine the police and National Guard turning on each other? And that's while we still have food and water and shelter and heat. What happens next month when the last natural gas flows out of the pipelines? When someone goes to turn on the tap, but the water tower is empty and the pumps aren’t running to refill it? Where will they go? What will they do when their kids look up at them and say Mommy, I’m hungry?”

  Now the look of sorrow and pain that filled Olsen’s face transformed into a harder resolve. “Not me, guys, that’s not happening to my kids. And I don’t intend for it to happen to yours. I know we can’t save all these people from what’s coming down the line. But I think if we work at it hard enough, we can save our little flock when the dawn is darkest.”

  Phil tried to get his thoughts together to speak. “Sheriff, I hope you’re not suggesting our own form of martial law. Even if you were, I think you know that there are lots of folks who won’t go along with it. And you’ll end up with a lot of hurt feelings. Probably more than just feelings hurt in the end. Our little flock, as you called it, is not exactly a bunch of unarmed sheep. You try to take what they have, or tell them what to do, and they’ll probably do the opposite just to prove a point.”

  “I would hope you respect me more than that, Phil,” the sheriff said disgustedly. “I don’t intend to take anything from anyone. I know I couldn’t even if I wanted to. After we lost local property taxes to the Feds, I’ve got enough budget credit for seven deputies for the entire county! But that doesn’t mean I don’t intend to make everyone aware of what I know will be coming. And I would like some civilians to propose changes and plans that I think will help.” Olsen looked back and forth at Phil and Paul. He needed to make them understand to their bones what they were up against. “I would like to propose that we gather all supplies from public buildings. Schools, hospitals, anything that might hold significant supplies. Then, we’ll ask the mayor to do the same thing with stores owned by out-of-town companies that he did with the ethanol refinery.”

  “Diesel,” Paul corrected, “and don’t you think we’ve pushed the law enough?”

  Olsen paused and gave a “not now” look.

  “Whatever. I know it seems wrong, but no one is coming back for those stores,” Olsen said. “I guarantee it. If the bank wants, they can put the buildings up for sale and take out a quadruple mortgage on my home as payment.”

  The sheriff returned to his plan. “We’ll stockpile everything at the new high school. We’ve got the cafeteria, and all the classrooms can be made into sleeping areas. We’ll keep the gym open for meetings and activities.”

  Phil stopped him. “Do you mean the whole county is going to move into the one high school? What if someone wants to stay in their homes?”

  “I know most won’t want to move at first, but just wait until the heat goes out,” Olsen replied. “We’re going to have a refugee situation on our hands sooner or later. I’m proposing we get ready now. And we’ve got the other county school buildings to use also. Plus the big churches. And the hospital can be set up for older folks. So we can offer the schools to families with children first. The schools will give the little ones a place that they’re used to. And then the hospital to people who need care or who want the comfort of being around other people without the noise associated with little ones.”

  Paul now jumped in to the conversation. “How long will the food last with all those people coming in?”

  Phil was coming up to speed with Olsen’s ideas and answered for him. “That’s why we need to get back and do the counts in all the buildings. And get the grocery store inventories into a secure location ASAP. If someone moves in to the schools or hospital, they bring whatever food and fuel they have. That’s the deal. The houses they leave will be stripped of usable materials and supplies, winterized as best as possible, and then hopefully someday they can return.”

  Now it was Olsen’s turn to ask a question, “Phil, how will the farmers feel about all this?”

  “Probably some will want to move into town,” Phil replied. “But most will want to stay on their land. I’m guessing that if we do this right, we can probably turn that around and have townspeople move out to the farms. With fuel limited, and a change from the typical crop rotation to more labor intensive crops, farmers will need lots of hands to help. The exchange can be for room and board, and maybe even land. After all, no farmer will be able to get across thousands of acres anymore without modern equipment. Over the long run, we could settle more families out in the country where they can grow their own crops.”

  Olsen chuckled, almost back to his old self. “There’s that optimism again, Phil. I’m worried about keeping them fed through the winter, and you’re thinking about a return to your beloved agrarian ideology.”

  “Thomas Jefferson knew what he was talking about,” Phil said defensively. “People were not meant to live like ants. They were meant to live on the land. We can argue about political theory, but this proves that the only measure of success is if you can feed and protect yourself. Unfortunately, this could be the hard reset that we always feared would happen with an urban society.

  “People were meant to understand the cycles of nature and to see the hand of their Creator in every leaf and creature. Jefferson talks about the God of nature in his writings. What I’m talking about may be beyond today’s practicality, but if people don’t have hope, don’t have something to believe they’re striving towards, they’ll do drastic things. We have to give them something to believe in. Something to create a tomorrow for. A chance to rebuild a future for themselves and their families will keep good people from giving up.

  “Besides, half the land in this county is owned by out-of-state landlords or corporations.” Now it was Phil’s turn to chuckle at Olsen. “You said no one is coming back for the stores, I’m just following your lead that no one from New York City is going show up here to take their eighty acres of farm ground home!”

  A nearby chorus of bangs and pops startled them.

  “That sounded really close. Who would be shooting off fireworks now?” Paul asked.

  “Those weren’t fireworks,” Olsen replied as he headed toward the vehicle. “Hurry and get in, we need to go NOW!”
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br />   All four men jumped in to the truck, and Phil put the pedal down as he pointed toward home. Their little group now had powerful motivation to figure out a way to survive the next day and the next year. The drive home was filled with questions, ideas and quick outline sketches to be filled in later.

  By the time the quartet pulled into town, it was already after 10 pm. But that didn’t stop them from heading straight over to the mayor’s house and knocking on the door. After a two-hour cram session, they all made the trip to their respective homes to assure their wives and families that they were alright. Olsen encouraged them all to get a shower before meeting back at noon in the county courthouse. Thanks to diesel engines running the water tower lifter pumps, buildings still connected to the city water lines had just enough water pressure for short showers.

  The mayor contacted all members of the city council and the sheriff took the task of contacting the county board. There had been a brief conversation about just making the changes and implementing the plans without approval, but all agreed they weren’t willing to effect a coup. There had to be some sort of legal structure retained, even in desperate times. Despite that, Phil and the mayor also agreed to complete most details by the time the elected officials convened the next day. Reaching a consensus on the smallest of things could lead to huge arguments. How would these people with such strong beliefs react when starvation was a real threat?

  Best for all that they are given a reasonable plan to approve instead of being asked for their own ideas, Phil thought bitterly. He hated politics, hated politicians, and would typically fall somewhere between libertarian and near-anarchist on the spectrum of beliefs. Yet it was easy to see how the ends might justify the means to people who believed their mission was true. I just hope I won't have to make a habit of making life and death decisions.