The Provider

by John Hunt

“Take? You mean as in conquer?” Jessie looked up in surprise.

  “Control,” I replied. “You can see it – it’s all one territory, bounded by these mountains. It’s, what, a thousand square miles? But that’s not much when you can see it all in one go. If we’re going to be safe, this area needs to be safe.”

  “But it’s huge,” she replied. “How do you expect to control it?”

  “I don’t know. But it’s a natural basin, a ring of mountains around the sea…I just feel…we can squabble around here forever, fighting between lodges, between small groups, killing each other off bit by bit or we can rule it.”

  “Are you sure you’re different from the others?”

  “I don’t know, Jessie. I hope so, with your help. I know that nothing good had happened to me before I met you. And I know that we either live in fear from one month to another, wondering who’s going to turn up next, or we take charge of what’s going to happen, as far as we can, create a good society.”

  “I’ll be with you on that, Jim.”

  I didn’t understand then the significance of the ten-billion barrels of oil sitting in the storage tanks at Valdez. And how one action leads to another. And how centuries of history – millennia – can be telescoped into decades if the will, knowledge and resources are there; and similarly, how equally fast society can disintegrate if they’re not.

  We opened the lunch Matthew had prepared for us. “Look at this, where did your dad get this from?”

  It was a bar of chocolate, with a note that simply read: “With my blessing.”

  Jessie kissed me with cold lips. “Well, if there’s all this territory to take, we’d better start getting back before we freeze or we’ll become part of the scenery.”

  We came back more slowly, talking about what we were going to do, and went skinny dipping in the river, gasping in the cold. It was getting dark when we reached home. Sue had prepared a birthday supper, following Matthew’s instructions.

  “Eskimo ice-cream,” she said proudly, as she brought in the tray. “Dad gave me a recipe, bear fat whipped into a cream, with chopped venison and berries.”

  “Um, well,” I had to say as I spooned it down hesitantly. “I guess the Eskimos like it. Thanks Sue.”

  “You know how the Eskimos used to survive through the winter, when they couldn’t get outside for weeks or months on end?” asked Louise. “They would take a sealskin, fill it with everything they could – guts, birds, scraps – sew it up, tie it by the head to the top of the igloo, let it ferment, open the anus, and drink the juice that trickled out.”

  “Lovely, I’m sure,” said Jessie, “but I’m not feeling that hungry.”

  “Not one of your better recipes, Matthew,” Bess agreed.

  “Sue, it was great,” Mom said. “Maybe a bit ambitious for a first time, your dad and me will help you out on this. It’s brilliant that you’re starting to cook.”

  We chatted comfortably across the candles. When it was over, Dad stood up.

  “Jim, I’d just like to say something. Your Mom and I had thought that for your eighteenth we’d get you a car, but,” his mouth twitched, “even if we could get one out here, there’s nowhere to drive it. We’ve put our heads together, but really can’t think of anything we have that would do justice to the occasion.

  None of us expected a year ago that we’d be in this situation. Now this is a kind of awkward thing to say, but I’d like to say it. It’s not just that you’re eighteen, but you’ve become a man now over these months, and I’m very proud of you. We both are.”

  Mom nodded.

  “And I’d just like to offer you respect and responsibility. I’d like you to think of yourself as an equal partner with your mom and I. If anything, you seem to be better suited to this life than we are. So from here on, we decide things together. OK?”

  I gulped and nodded. “Thanks, Dad, and Mom. Are you sure?”

  “Jim,” Louise interrupted brusquely, “I haven’t known you as long as your Mom and Dad. But so long as you don’t do anything stupid…fall into a crevasse, shoot yourself in the foot, you’re going to be a leader. For thousands of years, the best hunters have been the leaders, and that time has come round again. You’ll need to take on responsibilities. It’s not an enviable position, but someone has to do it. Better get used to the idea.”

  FIFTY-FOUR

  A few days later, we were in May. Back in Anchorage, I’d never really noticed the seasons. OK, it was hot or cold, dry or wet, but here, it was Life. Spring was coming on in leaps and bounds, as if the life-force had been released from its icy bars and was desperate to reclaim the land; fighting for every inch of sunlight, to grow, set seed, to reproduce. The cottonwood buds were unfolding, the hillsides were a misty green. This evening though, the rain was lashing down outside; Louise and Mom were sewing. Jessie was cleaning the guns we’d fired earlier in the day. Matthew had been able to get up, with his leg in splints, and was grilling char over the fire, sitting on a stool, makeshift wooden crutches by his side. Beth and Sue were trying their hand at making baskets from willow which we’d dried and then rehydrated in water. I was bringing in more logs. We were getting into good routines, everyone pulling their weight in different ways. But I guess we all knew it couldn’t last. And, indeed, then it all changed.

  Dad took off his earphones. “I’ve been speaking with Theo and some of the others we met last fall,” he said. “He’s suggesting a conference, a parley, tomorrow, where the Hope Highway meets the Seward Highway. The roads are passable now. The leaders from a number of different communities will be coming.”

  “What’s the agenda?” asked Matthew.

  “He wouldn’t say. He was just fairly insistent that we should all meet.”

  “Who’s going from here?”

  “Just me and Jim, I think,” Dad replied. “He seemed to want to keep the numbers down.”

  “Is it safe, to leave here, Dad?”

  He nodded. “He says it is, I think we have to trust him on that.”

  “I’m glad we’re getting to meet some new people,” Mom said. “It’ll be good for us, seems so long since we had other company.”

  “Jessie, could you make up some grub for us to take,” I said as I rose from the table. “I’ll clear some snow up to the gate. Dad, perhaps you could get the snow chains on while I do that.”

  Dad and I set off early the next morning in one of the jeeps, with a rifle each. The going at first was difficult, with the wheels spinning on the snow, and we got stuck in drifts a couple of times and had to dig our way out. But as we got lower it turned to mush. By around midday, when the sun was at its highest, we got to the Seward Highway and turned left towards Coopers Landing. We passed the occasional abandoned truck or jeep but got to the junction with Hope Highway without incident, and without seeing anybody. The others had already arrived. There were a dozen vehicles there, and a few dozen people, mostly men, most carrying a rifle. It was strange, seeing so many people: like a recluse must feel having to go to a meeting in a city. And everyone seemed changed, somehow. A bit like how it must feel meeting relatives after a few years and being surprised by how much older they looked, how much the kids had grown. They didn’t look as tailored as they might have done a year ago. Most had ragged beards and clothes were shabby, some starting to fall apart. They looked more like survivors of the Civil War than upright American citizens. I guess we looked the same.

  A light rain was falling. Clouds were banked up on the horizon. There was a warehouse at the junction, gutted by fire, with no walls, but the roof looked secure. We gathered around inside. I’d never shaken so many hands before. Many of them clearly knew each other and were chatting like old friends. A lady called Makayla was at the heart of it; middle aged, competent-looking, colored.

  “Pleased to meet you, Donald, Jim. I’ve got some coffee here in the thermos. Would you like a cup?”

  “Coffee! Gold dust,” Dad replied. “I haven’t had any for months.” We spent an hour exchanging s
tories, about how we’d got through the winter. After a while, Theo got up at the front, looking as smart as ever.

  “Thank you all for coming,” he began. “I asked for this meeting because what I want to say needs to be kept off the airwaves. I’ve been talking with the mayors of the communities represented here. We’ve had a kind of unofficial, ad hoc committee going between five of us. The point of this meeting is to bring more into the conversation.”

  “I don’t know how much you all know about what’s been happening over the last few months around the planet. A lot of radio contacts have dropped out, but I’ve still got some, and been talking most days with someone. The world’s changed. In the USA, no one seems to know what’s happened to the government. Best bet is they’ve gone underground, to nuclear fallout shelters. India and China had large populations which weren’t dependent on electricity or coal and oil, and they’ve come out relatively strongly. But in the rest of the world government’s patchy, where it exists at all.

  In this country, it’s been a rough winter. People have been dying like flies. Most weren’t prepared for anything like this, living without electricity, without medicine, services. Disease has taken off many, some’ve starved to death, some frozen. The population is probably a fraction of what it was a year ago and many of those left are in a bad way. The cities have mostly emptied. Where people have done best, it’s in small towns in the Midwest.”

  He sipped from a bottle of water.

  “I’m not going to beat around the bush. The situation’s intense. Now you all know that law and order have broken down around here completely. Here’s the low-down. Anchorage is controlled from the jail there. I’m sure there were some prisoners who shouldn’t really have been there, who are basically good people, but the hardened criminals have taken over. They’re psychos. They’re raiding communities up and down the Matanuska and Sisitna valleys. They take their food. If they can’t give them enough, they take the people. And I don’t know how else to say this, but they rape them, keep them in cells, and then they eat them.”

  FIFTY-FIVE

  There were shouts of dissent around the group.

  “Surely not!”

  “No one’s that evil.”

  “Cannibalism’s not that unusual in history, when things are desperate.”

  “How d’you know all this? We hear all kinds of rumors.”

  “It’s straight from the tap. And I swear down on this. A few people have got out. They’re traumatized, been through hell, but credible witnesses. We’ve taken a few in, though a couple died of their wounds in the winter. Now the real reason I wanted to call this meeting, and not have this on the radio where they might hear it, is that I have one contact inside the prison. He says there’s a running civil war between the Anchorage criminals and the Council of fundamentalists who control Fairbanks. It’s reached a stalemate, with the George Parks Highway being blocked off between Cantwell and McKinley Park. Both sides’ve put up fortified defenses. The road’s been ripped up. There’s a no man’s land of several miles between them, and a small army on each side.”

  “Can’t we just talk to them?”

  “They’ll shoot you sooner than talk.”

  “What are you saying here?”

  “With their route to the north blocked, the criminals have decided to come south. I believe they’re planning to come down the Seward Highway next week.”

  People visibly paled. There were murmurs of horror.

  “What about the army at Fort Richardson?” someone asked.

  “Ah. Here’s where the news gets really bad,” said Theo. “If it was just the criminals, I’d suggest we band together and fight them here. But law and order’s broken down in Fort Richardson, like everywhere else. Disease decimated the soldiers, like it did the population of Anchorage. Many of those left tried to get home. Some of them’ve joined the criminals. The upshot is that the criminals have armored Humvees, with machine guns and rocket launchers. I’m not yanking your chains here. We can’t fight that on this road, wouldn’t have a prayer. We’ve got enough problems already with people from Kenai trying to get out. We need to get onto different territory, which we could use to our advantage.”

  “How are the Council fighting them then?” someone else asked.

  “They have their own armored vehicles from Fort Wainright,” Theo replied. “That’s basically why they’re in a stalemate in the pass. Neither of them can get through the other.”

  A woman at the front piped up. “This is terrible news, Theo. You’ve got us all really worried. But what do you suggest we do? You must have something in mind.”

  He nodded. “I’ve been wondering where we could go. Kenai is too full. They’re fighting for food along the coast, and are not going to welcome more people. Donald here left Anchorage with his family last year and they’ve been living in a lodge some distance off the Seward Highway. We’ve been in touch. He’s a man of foresight. I figure he guessed something like this might happen. He came to me last fall with a proposal that the mayors here have been considering for some time, which I now want to run by you all – which is that we should all move over to Whittier. The road gets there through a tunnel, as you probably know, which can easily be blocked off. Not much would get over the mountains. There’s empty buildings there which would fit us all in. It’s a port, so we’d have access to the sea.”

  “But that means abandoning our homes,” a woman objected.

  “I’d welcome hearing any alternatives,” replied Theo.

  A tall, bearded man spoke up. “I’ve stockpiled several years’ worth of food, Theo. So my first question is, how would I move it all? And second, would it still be mine?”

  “I can’t see how it would work apart from sharing, Dick, we’d all be in the same building. We live together, or die separately.”

  “Why should I be the one to share more, because I’ve taken the precaution of saving?”

  “Well, the way I see it, think of us as being on a cruise ship. We get wrecked, and stranded on a desert island. Now do first class passengers get better food, because they’ve paid more? Or do we take care of women and children first? Seems to me that’s the position we’re in.”

  “Well, I don’t like it. Sounds like socialism to me. I’ll take my chances, stand and fight. Anyone who wants to stand with me, welcome.”

  “Of course, anyone who wants to stay, fine. Those who leave, we’ll have to figure out some ground rules.”

  “But even if we go, Theo, they could follow us. Some of those Humvees can climb up most anything,” another pointed out.

  I tentatively raised my hand. It was the first time I’d spoken to so many people. “I know the Portage Pass. Humvees couldn’t get through the bogs around the lake, and they’d roll over when they got to the ridge. And besides, we could use IEDs.”

  “What are those?” someone asked.

  “Improvised Explosive Devices,” Theo explained. “You’re right, Jim, terrorists make them the world over. I’m sure we can.”

  There was quiet for a minute, then a buzz of conversation.

  Theo waited for a while. “Could I have a show of hands? Is there anyone who thinks we should stay where we are and wait for the criminals here?” Nobody raised their hand.

  “Anyone who agrees we should move to Whittier?” A few hands went up. Then more and more, till eventually they were mostly up.

  “We’re agreed, then,” said Theo. “I know this is a big decision for all of us. But we haven’t got long. We’ll send an advance party in the next day or so, to get things ready. Now, I think we need a smaller group, a committee, to make the arrangements, to sort things out, there’s a huge amount to do. I suggest that’s our current committee, Makayla for Coopers Landing, Jeremy there from Sunrise, Benji from Seward, and Anna from Hope. Donald.” He turned to Dad. “This was your initiative, I hope you can join us.”

  Dad hesitated. He was looking pale. “If my son, Jim, can as well.”

  I looked at him, shocked,
but my heart swelling with pride. He nodded at me.

  “That’s ridiculous,” someone said. “I’m not suggesting he’s a wimp or anything, but he’s a kid.”

  “He’s killed two men in self-defense already, Dad replied quietly. “So he’s not a kid any more. He saved our family. And he’s probably the best shot here. He’s the provider. He comes up with the ideas. And if we have to fight, he knows the ground we’ll be fighting on better than anyone. I don’t think age matters much in this situation. If you want me, he’s part of the deal.”

  Makayla spoke up. “If this was the kind of committee we’re used to here, Theo, dealing with planning issues and so on, I’d say it was a nonsense. But from what you say, we need people to lead us who can fight. I can’t do that, so I’d be happy to step down in favor of Jim.”

  Theo paused. “I don’t think that’s necessary, Makayla. And we’ll need all kinds of skills. OK then, so that makes seven of us, rather than five. We’ll see how it goes. Now I suggest the committee stay and talk, the rest split and start getting ready to move. You’ll probably have to do more persuading, but I’ve got to stress, this is a one-shot thing. When we’ve shut the tunnel, that’s it. Anyone who hasn’t come, is on the other side of the mountain. And let’s keep radio silence on this, that’s really important. Any questions?”

  A heavily-bearded man chimed in. “Can’t we have more time to think about this? We’ve been in our home for thirty years. My wife’s not going to be happy about moving out at this kind of notice.”

  “I understand that,” Theo replied. “But this is all the time we have. We move out now, or get rolled over.”

  I raised my hand again. “Anyone here been a soldier? A miner? Knows where we can get hold of explosives? A chemist?”

  Nobody was putting their hand up. “I don’t think so, Jim, but that’s a good point,” Theo said, as he looked around. “We’ll find out. Donald, I’ll talk to Nat, in Whittier, today, and some of us will be around at your place in the morning. Thank you for coming folks, let’s move.”