The Alpha Chronicles

by Joe Nobody

Laughing, The Manor’s manager shrugged her shoulders. “I guess two vegetables won’t hurt. We can make a salad.”

  “We’ll make a damned good salad.”

  “You’ve got to sit up,” announced Nurse Haley. “We’ve got to get you on your feet.”

  “What? Are you serious?” protested Bishop. “I know news travels slowly these days, but in case you haven’t heard, I was shot only a few days ago.”

  “I’m well aware of your time-line, Bishop. You should’ve been on your feet yesterday, but your doc had mercy. Come on. Now.”

  “I don’t think this is a good idea just yet.”

  “If we can prove you’re mobile, we can remove all of these tubes. You can eat regular food, and I might even be able to arrange a cup of coffee now and then.”

  “Coffee? Okay, let’s get this over with.”

  Pulling back the covers and arranging IV tubes, the lieutenant motioned with her hands for Bishop to sit. Taking the arm on his good side, she gently helped the weakened man to rise.

  After several cringes and grunts, Bishop finally managed the edge of the bed. He glared at the nurse and proclaimed, “That sucked.”

  “I know, but you did well. Stay upright for 15 minutes, and I’ll see what dietary has to say about a half cup of coffee. Tomorrow, I’m going to make you walk and pour your own java.”

  Bishop’s voice carried astonishment, “Walk?”

  “You heard me, trooper. The sooner we get you moving around, the faster you’ll heal. I want to see you completely up and at it in two days.”

  Shaking his head, Bishop muttered, “I think I woke up in the wrong place. This must be the interrogation unit because I’m being subjected to torture. Somebody call Geneva. I think my Florence Nightingale has turned out to be Attila the Hun instead.”

  Ignoring the snide remark, the nurse began jotting notes on the chart. Turning to leave, she glanced over her shoulder at Terri and instructed, “Don’t let him cheat on me. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Chapter 3

  Midland Station, Texas

  January 16, 2016

  Cameron James Lewis noted the children’s artwork taped to the walls as he passed through the hallway of the James Lewis Elementary School, a facility named after his father. The presence of such non-essential decorations actually comforted the executive’s mind, a subtle message buried in the swirling colors and stick-figure drawings that there was a future for his species, town, and company.

  He paused to examine some of the pictures in detail and quickly determined the theme of the children’s project. The history of Midland Station had obviously been the assignment. Grunting, he traced the crayon stroked images of his town’s past, the third graders doing an excellent job of depicting the stages of economic development.

  Midland Station, Texas began life as little more than a train depot for the Texas Pacific Railroad a score before the turn of the century. The sleepy, one-dirt-path town didn’t remain a speck on the map for long, and quickly grew in prominence. Due in part to the growth of the stockyards in Fort Worth, Midland Station became a prosperous loading center for the local ranchers to transport cattle to the larger metropolitan areas to the east. As such, it grew in prominence and was soon designated the county seat.

  Additionally, the village enjoyed the distinction of a geographical formation named the Spraberry Trend. Discovered a short 60 years later, it provided the catalyst for the city to expand exponentially, eventually attracting more than 100,000 inhabitants who called it home.

  The Trend was named after one Mr. Abner Spraberry, a local rancher who happened to own the land where the oil was first discovered.

  For the first 40 years after the detection of Texas Tea beneath the semi-arid grasslands, the Trend was thought to be the biggest petrochemical head-fake in history. At one point in time, the US Department of Energy descried the Spraberry Trend as the largest unrecoverable oil reserve in the world.

  Wells by the thousands were sunk into the earth’s crust, and practically all of them found oil. Time and time again, great celebrations were held and investor propaganda was generated en masse.

  But inevitably, something unforeseen occurred - the wells would stop producing. Independent oil companies went bust by the score. Every few years, the cycle was repeated, typically reinitiated by some advancement in technology that promised access to the ocean of black gold sitting beneath the town. For decades, those expectations were never met.

  Midland Station and her sister city, Odyssey, didn’t boom, and they didn’t wither. The endless cycles of drill-produce-bust kept enough money flowing through the local economies to provide for steady, but unspectacular growth. It wasn’t until the late 1980s that a technique called “fracking” was used to access the oil below. Spraberry finally began to produce steady, profitable results. The Trend remains the third largest known reserve in North America.

  Cameron looked at his watch and decided he’d spent enough time gazing at the museum of child art. He had a full schedule on his calendar today and needed to stick to his agenda.

  Another few doors down, he found a neatly printed index card with bold black letters indicating that he had indeed arrived at Mrs. Evan’s 4th grade classroom. Through the closed door, he could hear murmuring of distorted voices reciting multiplication tables.

  Bracing the heavy box he carried against the frame while knocking twice, Cam reached for the door and entered the classroom. His presence immediately drew the attention of 31 pairs of young eyes. Mrs. Evans was also interested in the interruption, her annoyed look instantly replaced with a broad, welcoming smile. She rose from her desk and approached, offering her hand as a greeting.

  “Good morning, Mr. Lewis. Welcome to our class.”

  Cameron placed the box by the door and accepted the teacher’s handshake. “Good morning, Mrs. Evans. Thank you for inviting me.”

  Turning to face her students, the kindly looking teacher announced, “Children, we have a very special treat this morning. This gentleman is Mr. Cameron Lewis, the Chief Executive Officer and Chairman of Lewis Brothers Oil. He’s taking a few minutes away from his extremely important job to stop by our school and talk with all of you about the history of Midland Station.”

  Over the years, Cameron had addressed numerous audiences. His oratory biography included hostile investors, angry customers, greedy Wall Street executives, and countless other speaking engagements. Despite all of that experience, he always found himself in pensive frame of mind during these monthly visits to the local elementary school.

  The young minds seated before him were fully capable of asking any question, and often did so without regard or filter of social amenity, political respect, or fear of insult. More than once, a topic had been broached by one of these innocents that had caused him pause. It was common for pointed, difficult inquiries to be aired – queries that no adult within 50 miles would dare verbalize to Mr. Cameron Lewis.

  Despite the world having gone to hell… regardless of the troubles that faced his company and the city… the most powerful man in the area still made the effort to engage these completely uninhibited minds. He considered the visits an educational opportunity for both him and the children.

  Mrs. Evans wasn’t a child and most definitely understood the rank of her visitor. Without hesitation, she rolled her desk chair to the center of the room, indicating Mr. Lewis should sit and relax.

  “We’ve been studying our regional history, Mr. Lewis. We’ve spent the last few days focusing on the influence of oil and natural gas on our community. This morning, I lectured the children briefly on the role of your family and their part in enabling the growth of Midland Station.”

  My family, thought Cameron. So glorified and endeared now - if people only knew the truth. Grandpa Lewis was a bully and a ruffian at best. My father was, to use a polite term, a scoundrel. No skirt was safe. Bet the history lesson didn’t mention any of that.

  “Thank you,
Mrs. Evans,” began the local celebrity, the volume of his voice slightly elevated to compensate for the drone of the generator in the background. “My family, like so many here in Midland Station, labored tirelessly and believed in our town. My grandfather started as a wildcatter and worked on some of the earliest exploration activities in the area.”

  And so Cameron James Lewis began his well-rehearsed, carefully simplified presentation to the children. Despite the pictures of derricks, men in hardhats and supertankers hanging in the corporation’s downtown lobby, Lewis Brothers Oil really wasn’t an exploration company. In the terminology of the trade, LBO was a downstream player. After losing practically everything twice during the Trend’s many cycles of boom and bust, Cameron’s grandfather had prudently decided to wait until others had located and pumped the black gold out of the ground before getting involved. LBO would then step in and offer transport, testing, refinement, and delivery of the product. Exploration was simply too risky. While the rewards weren’t as big as tapping into a gusher, there wasn’t any financial downfall when the hole went dry. The company experienced steady growth every year and established itself as a major corporate citizen of Midland Station.

  The 1980s was the decade for consolidation, and Cameron’s father had navigated the minefield of acquiring smaller competitors with a deft and crafty hand. LBO doubled in size by utilizing leveraged buy-outs and other non-organic growth strategies.

  The 1990s was all about technology. Cameron was just entering the business during those years, and as demanded by family tradition, he worked his way up from the bottom. His insight opened his father’s eyes to the power of computer systems, automation, and the internet. Again, the company swelled the ranks of its employees, bank accounts, and prominence in the community.

  By 2005, LBO was the single largest employer in Midland Station and an 800-pound gorilla roaming the town’s political landscape. Anyone running for any office in Midland Station kept the company’s best interest at heart. It was either that, or face an opponent who enjoyed the enormous financial backing of the firm in the next election.

  In 2007, Cameron took over the helm after his father suffered a nearly fatal coronary episode. There was little doubt the heart attack was in no small part due to the boss’s leggy, buxom personal assistant… Well that, accompanied by far too many steak and bourbon lunches, and the often-refilled humidor of illegal Cuban cigars residing on the man’s desk wasn’t a recipe for longevity.

  The recession of 2008 hit the city of Midland Station hard - the Second Great Depression a few years later, a sledgehammer. The city’s government wasn’t overly efficient to begin with, a condition resulting from decades of suckling from the breast of the local oil economy. When the real estate bubble popped, the local government found itself with a rapidly eroding tax base, huge amounts of debt, and high unemployment.

  LBO, with Cameron at the wheel, did what corporations always do – it took steps to survive. The company had no choice but to supplement a serious decline in city services. Private security became necessary to protect the firm’s many facilities spread throughout town, the result of the shrinking police force. Before the collapse, LBO had been forced to invest in commercial fire protection, security, and even medical facilities for its employees.

  Of course, Mr. Lewis didn’t present detailed, factual history to the children. He kept things simple and upbeat – a thespian-grade delivery designed to put a positive face on both LBO and the future of Midland Station.

  Finishing the canned portion of his talk, Cameron cleared his throat and asked, “Does anyone have any questions?”

  The first hand shot up, belonging to an eager looking, curly headed girl in the front row. After acknowledging her with a nod, the tiny voice inquired, “Why didn’t the army come to help us? My mom said the soldiers went to other places.”

  “Our army wasn’t big enough to go into every city. While Midland Station has a lot of people living here, we’re not nearly as big as Dallas or Houston, so they sent their soldiers to help those places.”

  Another question from the first row, “We will ever have Cartoon Network on television again?”

  Cameron had to smile at that one; he missed the Cowboy football games himself. “I think we will one of these days, but it won’t be soon.”

  A tussled looking boy in the back row, “I heard my mom and dad talking. And, well, my dad’s worried that you… that you have too much power in Midland Station. He said it reminded him of the company towns in… ummm… West Virginia. He kept talking about coal miners and stuff. He said you were a dictator.”

  “Billy!” interrupted Mrs. Evans, “That’s not polite. Apologize to Mr. Lewis this very moment, young man.”

  Cameron waved off Mrs. Evans, a curt gesture and a smile signaling the schoolmarm that he wasn’t insulted at all. Well, thought Cameron, there it is. The primary reason I’m here. The undercurrent has been rumored for weeks. Now little kids are saying it aloud.

  “Your father has every reason to be concerned, Billy. I’m sure it looks like my company is trying to control everything in our town. I want all of you and your parents to know - tell them I said this in your class today - I don’t want to run a town. I want to run an oil company. When things get back to normal, I’ll be the happiest person in Midland Station.”

  Spinning in the chair, Cameron stood and moved to the box he’d carried in. Moving the heavy container to Mrs. Evan’s desk, he opened the top and then looked over the curious students. “I’ve brought everyone a little surprise today. It’s a gift for you and all of your families.”

  Reaching inside, Cameron pulled out a bright blue can of SPAM and held it up. Surprised smiles flashed across the classroom, every single child brightening. A couple of the children clapped their hands with excitement, while the sounds of others sharply inhaling filled the room. Even Mrs. Evans was aflutter, unable to prevent herself from peaking over the edge of the box, obviously trying to ascertain if there might be enough for her to take one home. There was.

  As Cameron passed out the prized, scant cans of meat, a sense of melancholy began to overshadow the joy of giving. A year ago, these kids wouldn’t have even known what a can of SPAM was. Now, they practically fight over junk food, he thought.

  Strolling to the waiting car, Cameron couldn’t help but reflect on how he, his company, and the sleepy settlement of Midland Station had deteriorated to the point where children reacted to an offer of canned meat like he was passing out bags of gourmet chocolate truffles.

  As he ambled to the idling SUV, he was joined by the two security men, the bodyguards abandoning their positions at the school’s entrance.

  “Everything okay, sir?” asked Lou.

  “Yeah… It’s just as I suspected – the natives are getting restless.”

  Lou misread the comment. Wrinkling his brow, the muscular man responded, “I think it’s a good idea if you keep Barry and me with you from now on, sir.”

  Dismissing his employee’s concern, Cameron said, “Oh, it wasn’t that, Lou. None of the little kids threatened to kick my ass or anything. It was one of the questions they asked that concerns me. I was compared unfavorably to a dictator.”

  Grunting, Lou relaxed, happy his boss hadn’t been in immediate danger.

  “Still, sir. I would feel better if you allowed at least one of us to remain…”

  Cameron stopped walking, the reaction interrupting his man. “Lou, I know you only mean the best, but I can’t stroll into an elementary school surrounded by armed security. Those kids going home and telling their parents about that would only make the situation worse.”

  A curt nod was Lou’s only response. He knew better than to debate with Mr. Lewis.

  The trio entered the SUV and were soon leaving the school’s sparsely populated parking lot. As the driver rounded the building, Cameron spied a line of school busses waiting for the children to board. At least we’ve got gasoline and diesel, he thought. Too bad you can’t eat it.


  As the SUV sped through the mostly abandoned streets of Midland Station, Cam’s thoughts centered on food. The population of Midland and Odyssey combined was well over 100,000 before the downfall. When the electricity had first cut out, no one had really been overly concerned. Summer thunderstorms and the occasional grid failure had caused similar outages before. The terrorist attacks, radical steps by the federal and state governments, and the riots erupting along the eastern seaboard were all thousands of miles away, and while concerning, didn’t impact daily life in the region.

  Two days after the power failure, the mood was almost festive. Neighbors were feverishly barbecuing the assorted thawed meats from their freezers and loosely organizing block parties to share the over-abundance of prepared food. After five days without lights and air conditioning, serious concern began to set in, and folks started hording what little was available. When word began to spread that the electric company’s Houston headquarters had burned due to an out-of-control fire in the city, general panic erupted.

  The city’s police force had already been decimated by staff reductions, and the fire department hadn’t fared much better. After seven days of indiscriminate civil unrest, the entire city government collapsed. Some police officers died bravely in the line of duty, while others melted into the general population. Lawmen had families – and those loved ones had to eat, too.

  The news that Austin was in worse shape than Houston and Dallas didn’t help. When word spread that the governor and most of the state’s elected officials had been killed in the violence, full-scale looting broke out in Midland Station. But it wasn’t until the mayor was bludgeoned to death while sneaking out of town with his family, that a complete vacuum of leadership destroyed what little order remained. Lewis Brothers Oil mobilized its employees and security teams to protect its assets.

  Cameron’s view out of the SUV’s backseat bore witness to the violence that ravaged his hometown. Entire blocks of commercial buildings had burned to the foundation, most as a result of arson. The president of LBO remembered those times as if they were yesterday - the panicked managers, the employees showing up at the well-guarded entrance to his home begging for help, the general daily chaos.