by Jf Perkins
Bill said, “Here’s the key to the whole thing. Local power. Each of these dams has a hydroelectric generator. We started with really basic systems, car alternators and such, but we eventually found much better - and bigger - equipment. We even have a couple of spares. We make enough power for at least four times the land we have, and we still work hard to use as little as possible. The lines are still pretty exposed and a little makeshift, but the generators themselves are well protected.”
“In town, we have whatever grid power comes. We never know when it will be on. The landowners seem to have power though. We can see the lights from their places at night. There are some windmills, but they are used to pump water, not power.” Terry said thoughtfully.
“Look up in the trees,” Bill pointed, “and you can see the sentries we keep posted around the lakes.”
Terry shaded his eyes and looked, hard. Finally he spotted a tree house across the lake, on the wooded hillside beyond. It was a jumble of lumber and sticks that looked more like a giant squirrel’s nest than a manmade construction. Once he had seen it, he was able to pick out three more within his range of vision. “I see four,” he told Bill.
“There are actually six, but we only man three of them unless there is trouble about,” Bill replied.
“We maintain this patch of woods just for the defensive aspects of being able to hide in the trees, and to keep passersby from being able to see through them, but over the ridge there, we use that land to harvest wood. It comes across the lake right here and we cut it down there.” He pointed to the lowest lake. “The power from that lake is reserved just for our industrial operations, lumber mill, machine shop, workshop, that sort of thing. It’s a little harder to keep safe out here, but it keeps the town quieter.”
Terry was smart enough to be impressed, but he was thinking of new questions by the minute. Before he could ask any of them, Bill spoke again.
“Our biggest hope is that we can get past where we are now. We still have to maintain guards. Too many people are hungry, still, thirty-seven years after the Breakdown. Eventually, we’d like to feed more, but it’s too risky, and the hard truth is that people still have the idea that help is coming. My father gave up that idea as soon as the missiles struck. He knew that any future we have is one we would build with our own hands.”
“You know, Bill, I think you are right. Just now, when you said that, I realized that you are right. All we’ve been doing my entire life is waiting for someone to put it all back together. The entire town of Manchester checks the highway every day, I guess expecting a convoy of food and supplies and building materials to come down the road to fix our lives. We all make do, we eat when we can eat, and fight when we need to fight, and we all try to find some way to work and trade and stay alive, but there is no recovery happening. All that is happening is people holding on, and other people using up the resources to make themselves happier, while the rest of us barely survive.”
“I wasn’t old enough,” Bill replied, “to understand how things really worked. I was eleven when the world broke, but my dad taught us every chance he got, and what he taught us was that, once, this country was built just like we are building our little community, with our hands and the smartest use of resources we can devise. He called it “19th Century Style.” He also taught us that the country had changed, and that too many people were just like the people in Manchester, just getting by while they waited for someone more powerful to give them a hand, that too many people did things that helped no one, made no lives better. He said in the end that we mostly just worked to pass money back and forth, and everyone who had money come across their desk tried to grab as much of it as they could while it passed by.”
They stood in silence for a while, watching the ripples float wilting, late-Spring blossoms around the lake.
Presently, Terry spoke up. “It’s different than I thought, right and wrong.”
“That does happen from time to time. Probably always will.” Bill said.
Bill turned slowly away from the water, back toward Teeny Town, and started walking. Terry took a couple of quick steps to catch up, and strode with a new confidence back towards his future.
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About the Author
This is my first Kindle title, and I thank you for reading it. The story is my response to the feeling of precariousness in American life right now. I’m not a survivalist and I don’t live in an abandoned missile silo. In fact, I live in a suburb in Washington State with my lovely wife, five dogs (all of whom are rescues and brilliant furry idiots) and two cats that encompass both ends of the cat social scale.
Connect with Me Online
I have a sadly neglected blog at http://www.jfperkins.com but if you bug me enough, I may decide to give it some love. I have another blog related to a fundraising bicycle trip I took with my dog a couple of years ago at http://www.bigdummyproject.com. I am also on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/videojimmy but I’ll be honest. I mostly use it to post pictures of the dogs. I don’t use Twitter, because frankly, I’m way too wordy.