by John Price
"Seriously? Through the whole night, Harlan? In the root cellar? I don’t think we can…."
"I don’t like the idea much either, but what are the alternatives? If we stay in the house, with no food, and the hungry visitors come, what do we do then? If they’re armed, they won’t believe that we live on a farm, but we don’t have any food. They’ll either shoot us or threaten to shoot us if we don’t tell them where the food is hidden. Our options are very limited."
Harlan and Dorothy Robbins didn’t have to endure lying in their root cellar. Their fourth food visitors the next day were five dirty and bedraggled men, all packing weapons stuck in their belts. Dorothy tried to convince them that all that they had to give them was a can of pork and beans and a mason jar of canned dill pickles. They grabbed the food, demanding more, assuring the Robbins that they knew that they had to have more food. They were farmers, after all, they said. Harlan insisted to the increasingly angry men that they had already given away everything else they had. The hungry men standing in their kitchen would have none of it. The dirtiest, angriest hungry man pulled his gun, laying the barrel next to Dorothy’s head. Harlan started to reason with the wielder of the gun. He fired directly into Dorothy’s right ear, instantly killing her and splattering Harlan and the Robbins kitchen with her blood. Harlan lunged towards the shooter, only to be hit mid-chest by the second bullet fired. Harlan and Dorothy Robbins went to be with their Lord, never again to worry about sharing their food with hungry, angry people.
43
Stone River Refinery
Roxana, Illinois
Frank Talbot was talking to himself, not for the first time in the days since The Day. "Don’t they know that this country was NUKED? Why do they keep calling? I’m the only guy who was stupid enough to stay here after the bombs went off, but somebody had to shut this humongous puppy down. What if I hadn’t had six years of engineering and graduate school? What if I’d only worked here for a year or two, instead of twelve. It takes skill to gradually turn off an oil refinery, that is without blowing it up along with half of Roxana. Can’t whoever keeps calling just get the message and hang up? I need some sleep."
The phone in the Dispatcher’s office at Stone River Refinery continued to ring. It was directly across the hall from the refinery’s Primary Control Room, making it difficult to ignore. Now that the final steps and procedures for shutting down the refinery were completed, Frank Talbot thought again about sleep, which he desperately needed after 36 straight hours without any. But, he knew that he couldn’t just curl up on the floor and power nap, not as long as that pesky phone continued to ring. Oh, alright, jerkwater, I’ll answer your call. It better not be a sales call or I will give you such a tongue lashing that you…."
"Yeah. Stone River Refinery. What can I do for you?....Is anyone even there? Well, I’ll be…."
Surprised that his call had actually been answered Thad took a moment to snatch up the handset and answer, "Hey….hey….this is Thad Stevens over at Columbia Food Distribution….you know….in Columbia, Missouri. We’re one of your fair sixed customers. Usually north of thirty to thirty five thousand gallons of diesel per month."
"Hunh….well, you’re talking to Frank Talbot. I’m the Chief Engineer and I don’t have a clue who buys what. Sounds like you buy our diesel product….but you won’t be….buying it, that is….not for a really long time."
"What? That’s why I called….and by the way, thanks for finally taking my call. I needed to know if we’re still scheduled for a Thursday afternoon delivery of our normal four thousand gallons…like I said….of diesel?"
"Simple answer is no. No one will be getting any products from Stone River for some time….I don’t know how long….if ever, frankly."
"What’s that supposed to mean? What’s happened there?"
"Well, here’s the deal. This refinery gets its crude from two pipelines. Pipeline number one runs just west of the Chicago area, southwest across Illinois. Pipeline two comes up from the Gulf of Mexico, starts in Houston. Number one is still functioning, but it’s close enough to Chicago that anything flowing through the line is radiated, you know, with gamma rays and such. Our Geiger Counters started going crazy within just a few hours of the nuking of Chicago. As an immediate consequence, pipeline one was shut down."
"When will it come back up, Frank?"
"That’s the thing. We can’t allow radiated crude oil into the refinery. As soon as it started flowing into our system it would radiate everything here. Then even if we did start refining again, we would be cracking petrol products that were radioactive. Think of that. You stop by your local gas station and your choices are regular, super or radioactive. I don’t think so. The half-life of a normal nuclear explosion is between 1,000 and 10,000 days, depending on several factors, like the concentration of Cessium-137 and the…."
"Whoa, mister engineer man, you’re already over my head here. I get why you can’t use radioactive crude oil, but what happened to the second pipeline, the one from the Gulf?"
"Not good. The static pressure on the crude flow….uh…let’s see….in layman’s terms the amount of the flow through the pipe started slowly declining this morning. For the first few hours after the nukes went off I didn’t see any difference that could be measured, but…."
"But, was that because of what was already headed your way, in the pipeline, so to speak?"
"Yeah, so to speak. But, about six this morning the alarms monitoring the flow started going off. Then, within an hour it was lower than 40%. Now it’s a trickle. I shut down the line, because it causes damage to the cracking system if the flow’s not over 40% capacity. That’s all by way of saying that Stone River Refinery is offline. No petro products. Not now. Not for a long time. If ever."
"Why do you say maybe never? Couldn’t the Houston flow come back?"
"Houston was nuked."
"Ouch. I hadn’t heard that. So the oil fields, and oil docks and just about everything dealing with oil in that part of the U.S., coming in off the Gulf, I take it, are toast? If they could pump to you, which doesn’t sound very likely, it also would be radioactive crude oil, right?"
"Thad, you sound like you had some oil background. Want a job? I’m the only one still at the refinery, but I could use some help holding this place together, until somebody a lot smarter, and a lot richer, than me decides what to do with it."
"Thanks for the offer. My dad was a wildcatter for a while, but he lost it all. My love is shipping food to grocery stores to feed people. But, Frank, what I’m hearing is that my job, apparently much like yours, is over. You’re telling me you’re not going to be refining any petroleum products. If I can’t find a refinery in Kansas that is still in business, I’ll be out of business, too. Whoa! You know what that’s going to mean for several hundred thousand grocery store shoppers in another few days?....How do you spell hunger?"
"Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but we’re only just two small cogs in the giant financial system which is shortly going to be totally shut down. We supply four electric generating plants with petroleum products to run their generators. We’re still able to talk on the phone and have electricity in our offices today because those electric plants are still cranking out wattage. They have back up storage capacity allowing them to make it through a natural disaster, but not for more than a week, some for just four days. Pretty soon, though, lights out. The electric plants that burn coal to make electricity will soon find that the trains in this country that haul the coal don’t run on water. Without diesel fuel they’ll be done….I don’t know how you get deliveries of food to your warehouse in Columbia that you then ship to grocery stores, but I suspect it’s by semi-truck, maybe by train. Right?
"Spot on. I was just thinking as we were speaking that I’m out of business two ways. I not only can’t get the food shipments to the groceries, but I won’t be receiving much, if any, food since it all arrives here by truck, a small amount by train, but, as you said, the trains run on diesel. Actually, a
third big problem, come to think about it, is that the food distribution business operates on almost immediate payment to food suppliers. If the banks are closed and the internet is down, we’re done. Plus, the just on time system of food shipments and deliveries in this country has been fine-tuned so that the average food market is virtually empty, cleaned out, of food products within four to seven days, depending on size and location, not including cleaning products, paper goods, that kind of thing. And….that’s with normal shopping, not the looting that’s hit the stores that the radio’s been warning everybody not to do. They might as well advertise it. ‘Get to the store quick, while there’s still a can of soup left.’ Most of today’s younger generation think that food comes from the super market. What a shock they’ll have. Whew! We’re done, Frank. Heck, the country’s done."
"On that cheery thought, Thad of Columbia, Missouri, I wish you well. Sorry we won’t be selling you guys any more diesel. You’d better load your car’s trunk with some canned corn, though. Know what I mean, Thad? Good luck."
"Thanks, Frank, but I don’t think lucks got much to do with it."
44
Sam and Laura’s Kitchen
Minneapolis, Minnesota
Sam’s hands were still shaking, even though their unwanted visitors had left their porch several minutes before. Laura, still red-faced, was dabbing tears from her eyes. Both recognized that they had just escaped the event that they both feared the most. Since The Day they had frequently discussed what they would do if someone forced their way into the sanctity of their home. Now it was decision time.
"Sam….oh, Sam….those men are serious. They’ll be back tonight.…or tomorrow night."
Sam finally laid his revolver back on the counter. Trying to calm his nerves and control his still wavering voice, he said, "Laura….We’ve talked about this. We both know that I won’t kill anybody, not just to protect what little food we have left. If they break down the door, we should just let them take what’s still in the kitchen. I won’t take somebody’s life, especially when they’re probably starving. We talked about that poll that came out last year that said that 58% of Americans would kill someone who threatens their home or family. Less than 20% said they couldn’t do it, which is where I am. I can’t do it."
Laura was just able to talk, sobbing as she said, "I know, Sam….I know….You made that decision right after the nukes went off and you knew then what was going to happen. But….Sam….you heard what they said about me….your wife….a woman, as they said. If they come back….that is….when they come back, they’ll surely take our food and our gun and that box of bullets, but then….Sam, they’re going to….to take me."
Sam looked over at his wife, who had been barely able to speak. He carefully chose his words, saying, "My dear….you know….I would never, ever let anyone hurt you. Not if I could do anything about it….but…."
"But?"
"But….since I can’t pull the trigger and actually take somebody’s life….it seems to me that we only have one good option. We don’t have any place to escape. No relatives or close friends in the wilderness. We don’t know anyone who has any food. Everybody we know is in the same fix."
"Well, Sam, if we have no place to go and you won’t use your gun to protect me….to protect us….then what are we going to do? What’s our plan?"
"This is difficult for me to say, but, Honey, we need to seriously think about an early exit."
"An early exit? What does that mean….oh….oh….You mean taking our own lives? Suicide? Seriously, Sam?"
"I don’t like the idea either, Laura, but what else can we do? Without food, we’re going to be dead within a few days, no more than two or three weeks, anyway. We’re not willing to kill people who break in our house. So….so….since we’re not going to live long term, I’m just suggesting that we speed up the inevitable."
"Speed up? Like what? When, Sam?"
"Before I answer that, I think we should talk about what my sister said to us last Thanksgiving."
"Thanksgiving? I don’t remember what she said. What did she say?"
"Remember, we were all talking about the news report the day before that a couple over in St. Paul had committed suicide. My sister brought up the Bible. You know she’s a so-called evangelical Christian, whatever that really means."
"Laura, I know where she’s coming from, religiously speaking, but I don’t recall what she claimed the Bible said about suicide."
"What she said, quite simply, was that taking one’s own life is a sin….and the Bible preaches against it. She quoted a verse about our bodies being temples of God, or something like that.
"Well, your sister certainly preaches against it, I do recall that now. She went on and on about the Bible being against murder and she argued that suicide is self-murder. But, since I don’t buy most of what the Bible says, I don’t see that your sister’s weirdo religious beliefs from a year ago, before The Day, should affect us, now."
"No, I guess not. I just hope we’re right."
Sam and Laura looked into each other’s eyes, neither saying anything. After thirty-two years of marriage they could almost read each other’s thoughts. Once Sam and Laura rejected the Biblical view of what they were about to do, they realized that they had arrived at a life-ending decision.
45
St. Antonio Hospital
Crown Point, Indiana
Harlan Robbins promised his wife Dorothy, after she ran out of her pills, that he would make his way to the hospital in Crown Point, south of town, to try and get her medications. As he walked out to his pick-up truck, he was concerned that it might not start, based on some articles he remembered reading about EMP effects. He said a prayer and turned the key, starting the six cylinder engine. Whew, that’s a relief, he thought. He couldn’t image trying to tell his wife that he couldn’t get to town to get the pills she had to have.
What Harlan didn’t know as he pulled out from his farm was what he would encounter on the ten minute drive to Crown Point. As he drove north on County Road 55 he was surprised to see that not much seemed to have changed. He expected to encounter several stranded vehicles, but the further north he drove he realized that whatever the nuclear blast did in Chicago, it didn’t send out electromagnetic pulses to fry the electronic circuits of newer motor vehicles, at least in their area of the country. Seeing no abandoned vehicles along his route he started looking at the farm houses and then the homes close to each other, south of town, to see what people were doing. He saw very few people outside their homes, which didn’t really surprise Harlan, as he anticipated that most folks were still just hunkered down in their homes, waiting to see how the attacks on America would affect them.
He further relaxed as he saw the five story hospital building up ahead. Pulling off the road into the hospital’s mostly deserted parking lot, he changed his mind. He watched as two men ran out the main entry doors of the hospital, their arms full of blankets and what appeared to be bed sheets. What is this, he asked himself? He pulled up by the entry doors, switched off his truck and headed into the hospital. He noticed trash, smashed bottles and empty medicine boxes lying on the sidewalk. Before he got to the doors, a petite woman, obviously distraught, rushed out of the hospital.
Harlan reached out, grabbed her shoulders, stopping her and asked, "Whoa, what’s wrong little lady? What’s going on here?"
The sobbing woman, whom Harlan could now see was a nurse, based on her uniform and Crown Point hospital name badge, at first tried to twist away from his grasp, but then looked at his face and age and realized he wasn’t a danger. She leaned her head forward on Harlan’s chest, crying and saying, "They shot Doctor Scott….and Doctor Belcher, and I don’t know who else. The hall is full of dead….There’s blood everywhere. They’ve cleaned us all out….they took everything….they just came in and…."
"Calm down, now….Who shot the Doctors? Who took what, little lady?"
Collecting herself, the fleeing nurse sobbed out her reply, "Abo
ut two hours ago several men….with guns….came into the hospital. They shot the receptionist, my friend, Molly, up front….oh, Molly, Molly….then they went down the hall, shooting anyone they saw. I was at the end of the hall when the shooting started. I hid in the supply storage closet, near the pharmacy….I could hear them talking as they cleaned the pharmacy out. They took pillow cases and dumped all of our meds in them. They broke open the narcotic cabinet…took it all….everything. I stayed in the closet….but I finally came out after they were gone. By then, the rest of the staff had either been shot dead….or scared away….apparently all of them, nurses…the business staff. Everybody’s gone. When I left the closet I glimpsed two men who grabbed blankets and bed sheets running down the hall and out the door."
"I saw them. I can’t believe that they would shoot doctors….And nurses….What kind of animals would….Lord, have mercy….I can’t believe….Now, little lady, are you saying that you’re totally out of pills? No more meds?....My wife has to have three different medications….or else….she….may. Oh man, this is not good….But, what about the patients?"
"We have twenty eight patients who need care. The two docs who were on duty are dead. I didn’t see any nurse who’s alive. The ones who didn’t get shot must have left. I expect some may be back, but sir, without any meds, how are we going to provide medical care? I don’t know what we’re going to do."
Harlan relied sadly, "I don’t either, little lady, I don’t either."
46
Abilene State Savings Bank
Abilene, Kansas