Distance, Chapter 20

20

Friday,

January Twenty-seventh

8:00 a.m.

Planning the first road trip was taking much longer than it should, as the Regent offices were constantly updating road closures, ‘security concerns’ and establishing ‘secure lodgings’ across the entire United States….all outside of the war zone of course.  Doug had been trying to connect with the Denver office, which was supposed to be staffed at all hours, but neither email nor phone calls would go through. The Internet radio station that he’d linked to—a shortwave station out of somewhere--picked up report after report of rioting in the larger cities.  Atlanta sounded bad. So did Cincinnati….

The first leg of the trip would take Doug to Des Moines, flagship offices of Agnew Middleton. AM had a huge corporate complex, with daughter offices handling regional centers across the continent. AM had been one of the first to respond to his email, copying Regent headquarters with a fairly urgent request to meet as soon as possible.

The corporate rep had emailed Doug with available meeting times, and outlined the protocol that ‘A Middie’ as they were known in the industry, created up to minimize the transmission of known communicable diseases.  Most industries took precautions.  Food and medical industries essentially set the bar for all others.

While Doug would be in the same building complex as those he would ‘meet’ with, the other attendees were essentially quarantined within the complex, along with their families.  They’d all attend the meeting in clean rooms; with each viewing the others on large screen secure video networks. The various department vice presidents and managers nationwide could also join in, ask pointed questions, all from the comfort…and safety…of their own secure facilities. Doug would need to sign a non-disclosure agreement that would cover all discussions, observations, identification of any of the attendees….everything.

After Des Moines, he’d head north to the Minneapolis area, and meet with one of AM’s competitors, Melker Limited. Melker was European in origin, but had exploded with success when the corporation began to gobble up American production and distribution facilities, rebrand them, and dovetail their products into ‘healthy lifestyle choices.’ Melker had sent an email to Doug as well, and he laughed a little that it was so eerily similar to their archrival.  The two corporations weren’t all that different, despite the constant distinctions their marketing departments blasted out.

The third leg of the trip would take him to Madison, Wisconsin to meet with a group of up to fifteen ‘insurance’ corporations, very quietly of course, to discuss the integration of Regent RNEW into product lines of twenty-two food product corporations. An initial introduction of the topic had already been made by one of David Williams associates.  The meeting would be the crown jewel of the mission.

The corporations were controlled by the investment arms of the ‘insurance’ companies, although that wasn’t at all public.  On the outside, they offered life, home, auto, disability and commercial insurance…but within their industry, they were just banks.  The war chest of money that each of the companies controlled was staggering, and kept flowing in like clockwork--until recently at least. The money was invested in all kinds of industries, to provide for the ‘investments of the shareholders, long-term’.  Many called themselves ‘financial services corporations’ but played off of the insurance branding.  Several of the directors of Regent Performance Group served on the boards of these ‘insurers’, and even though they’d recused themselves from the initial introduction of a potential Regent alliance, there were few other options to maintain the income that the corporations were accustomed to.

With the economy crumbling, the ‘insurers’ were looking for every bit of leverage to maintain their investment income, whether or not those investments ever made it to the people that originally trusted them with their money. 

Doug was having a difficult time keeping his mind on work, as his long conversation with Julie kept replaying in his head. He closed up the window on the computer holding the route maps and Regent’s housing locations and was instantly greeted with a BREAKING NEWS ALERT on the news window in the background.  The video was already playing with a shot of the White House.  Doug turned up the audio.

“…large crowds of media and citizens are gathered here at the White House after rumors that the President may have died overnight.  We have received assurances from the Secretary of State and the White House Press office that the President’s health isn’t in question. When asked about the health of the Vice President, however, spokesmen declined comment.  There is a sense in the air here Bill, that the influenza epidemic is much worse than the CDC is letting on.  As a result, where we have large numbers of people here near the White House; at least half of them are wearing facemasks of many kinds, including most of the camera crews and production people.  Off-camera, nearly all of the reporting teams—myself included—are wearing masks as well.”

Doug’s cell phone rang, with the Segher Farm number on caller I.D. He turned down the audio on the computer.

“Good morning, this is Doug.”

“You have the news on?” Julie asked. Doug’s heart beat faster, just hearing her voice.

“I do. Doesn’t sound good.”

“No it doesn’t.  Are you going to be around today?”

“Yep.  Planning a trip north?”

“Yes. Maria and I need to get into town, probably both Fairfield and Mount Pleasant.”

“Your company would be most welcome.  I might even put some clothes on for the occasion. Are feeling up to it? Your ribs and all?”

“I’m feeling fine if I don’t push myself too hard. Rough life you’ve got. Some of us can’t work in jammies,” Julie said with a laugh.

“I don’t work with livestock.  Side benefit.”

“And your boots smell better, too.”

“That is for certain. What are you looking to pick up in town?”

“We’ve a list of things that would be nice to pick up if we can, if not, no heartburn….and we have some other business.  We figured we should give it one more try while we can.”

“Julie, you know that I can probably use my connections to find things you might not be able to.”

“I know. We’ll try the stores first.  The main reason for the trip is that there are some open accounts owing the Seghers. We’re going to collect.”  Doug didn’t like the sound of that.

“Run that by me again?”

“Farms are owed money or product.  We’re going to collect.”

“You and what army?” Doug asked.

“Maria’s nickname is ‘Bulldog,’ but don’t ever say that to her face. These are people that know the Segher’s. It’ll be OK.”

“How much are they owed?”

“Oh, adding it all up we’re well into five figures….as measured in the dollars of a month ago.”

“Wow.  That’s a pile of money…but, if they pay you back with dollars measured from a month or two ago, instead of the current value, you effectively never recover the difference,” Doug said, pointing out the vaporization of the dollar.

“Except we’re dealing with a fairly shrewd family, here. Contract terms factored that in years ago when the debts were first initiated. The loans were indexed quarterly to avoid both inflation and deflation, so neither the lender nor the borrower take a bath—fair on both sides. So they can pay the Segher’s back at the rate of December Thirty-first or we can re-index based on the end of the this month—but the notes are called either way. Arie provided sixty days notice fifty-nine days ago. The outstanding is half of it was when I started this two years ago—that’s been one of my hobbies. These are the oldest and most problematic, because we’re pretty sure they don’t have the cash,” Julie said before pausing. “Oh, no.”

“What?”

“They just announced it on TV.  It’s the Vice President. He’s gone.”

Doug heard it a moment later on the computer, and saw that the reporter seemed to be crying.  Oddly, it struck him as unprofessional.

“His wife, too,” Julie said. “Oh, this is terrible,” Julie said very quietly.

“Have they said anything about the President?” Doug asked.

“They say he’s fine,” Julie said. “That’s right. I forgot you don’t have TV.”

“Computer’s enough, anyway.”

“Probably right.  We should be by within the next hour or so, OK?”

“Absolutely, except it’s maybe fifty-nine minutes too long.”

“You’re very sweet,” Julie said. He could hear the smile in her voice.

“Being honest. I miss you.”

“You, too.  I’ll see you soon,” she said quietly as she ended the call.

Despite the news from Washington, Doug felt great. He then realized he should indeed, get dressed, tidy up the house, and get some tea or coffee brewing.  The house wasn’t at all put together. Suitable for him, not for company.

Doug was just finishing up the hurried cleanup as one of the Segher’s crew-cab farm trucks pulled up the driveway, with Maria behind the wheel.

“Good morning,” Doug said as he bounced down the front steps.

“You, too!” Julie said, giving him a hug, and a little kiss that Doug wasn’t quite ready for.

“Glad I’m here to chaperone,” Maria said. “Douglas, your intentions better be honorable,” she said with a raised eyebrow.

“Absolutely, Maria.  No other way,” he said, realizing that he was probably more serious in that statement than he’d been with the wedding vows between he and Brenda.

“The Eliason farm.  Very nice land here,” Maria said. 

“You know it?”

“Very well.  Jakob Eliason was the last of his line.  Passed on about twenty-five years ago.  How many acres?”

“Just ten,” Doug said. “Which is huge to me.”

“A fraction of what he had when he passed. You should get some stock going,” Maria said, appearing to be impressed by the condition of the home, barn and outbuildings.

“With my work schedule, I’m not sure how I could manage that. I’ll be traveling a fair bit…well, maybe.”

“You are renting?” Maria asked.

“Lease, actually. The home is owned by a company affiliated with my employer.”

Maria looked very skeptical. “Too many eggs, one basket, Douglas.”

“Perhaps, yes,” he said, not explaining that he didn’t exactly have many choices in the first place. “Now, please, come inside. It’s cold out here!”

“This?” Maria said looking up at the sky and toward the wind from the west. “Oh it’s not bad,” Maria said, climbing the front steps as if she were half her age.

“I’ve some coffee inside.  Unfortunately no coffeecake,” Doug said.

“You’re not Dutch. You’re forgiven,” Maria said appreciating the restored farmhouse. “They did a lovely job on this.”

“It has some hidden surprises,” Doug said, moving into the kitchen. “The manual provided by the realtor spelled them out. Security system for one, and natural gas that supplies the house and a backup generator.”

“Natural gas? Out here?” Julie asked, pouring a cup of coffee for each of them.

“I found out from the manual that one of the previous owners was connected to the utility company—regional manager or something. Used the house as a demonstration for expansion outside of the small cities and towns,” Doug said. “Everyone else is using propane, I guess.”

“Natural gas is too expensive,” Maria said.  “They gave us a big sales pitch, how it would pay for itself, how convenient it would be. A hundred dollars a foot they wanted to get the line down to the farm! Did they think we were stupid? Pay for itself, never…where’s the laundry? It used to be over there,” she said, pointing to the back porch.

“Downstairs. Two washers, two driers,” Doug said.

“Not for farm life anymore.  A few trips up and downstairs with a clothes basket will prove that,” Maria said.  Julie just let her go and was enjoying every minute of it.

“Probably right,” Doug said, correctly deciding that agreeing with her was best. “Julie tells me you’re heading into town for some last minute shopping.”

“And to settle some accounts, yes.”

“If there’s something that I can help with, I hope you will let me know.  Through the company that I work for, I can place orders directly through the company and have deliveries made here, or to your place…”

“Not good security, is it?” Maria said. “What I mean is that there will be a whole chain of people who know what you’ve ordered, where you had it delivered, everything. And of course, where you live.”

“I hadn’t thought about that,” Doug said.

“Most people don’t. Don’t worry about it now, nothing to be done. But anything you buy, especially if you’re not using cash, leaves a trail. Do you want your employer knowing that you’re ordering things and perhaps…selling it below market?”

“No,” Doug said, now feeling embarrassed. “Hadn’t thought of that either.”

“Doug’s fairly new at this, Maria,” Julie said, a welcome intervention.

“And I’ve a lot to learn,” he said. “I do have a favor to ask though. It is looking like I’ll be gone for a number of days on a business trip up north.  I’ll be driving my company car.  I’d like someone to keep an eye on the place if that’s OK. Not necessarily house-sit, but stop in once in awhile.”

“I’d be happy to,” Julie said.

“It’d give you a break from the farm, too.  The place can be very loud,” Maria said. “Especially those boys of mine.”

“You could take my truck, too. I won’t be needing it obviously, and the fuel tank is full.”

“When do you plan on leaving?” Julie asked.

“Early Monday, if everything comes together.”

“Good, then. You won’t miss dinner on Sunday,” Maria said.

Doug showed them both around the house and property, including the generator shed, the barn and what was probably once a workshop.  Maria was getting a little antsy, eager to get back about the day. 

“Can you stop back by later?” Doug asked of Julie. Julie glanced at Maria, who nodded.

“Sure. Maybe I’ll take you up on borrowing your truck,” she said with a smile.

“You’re welcome to it. It’ll just be sitting here.”

“We should get going, Julie. Busy day,” Maria said as she got in the truck.  “Douglas, you take care of yourself.  Stop by over the weekend if you’d like, OK?”

“Thank you, Maria.”

“Now kiss the girl so we can go,” she said.

“Happy to comply,” Doug said, gently taking Julie in his arms and kissing her…with Julie kissing back.

“I’ve been waiting all day for that,” she said. “Better go.”

“Yes, you better. Maria’s impatient.”

“Time is short, Doug. You know that.”

“I do.  See you later today,” he said, sneaking in another kiss.

“Yes you will,” Julie said as she got in the pickup, wincing a little as she climbed in.  A minute later, Doug stood alone in the driveway.

11:40 a.m.

Doug had been on the phone for the better part of an hour, confirming appointment windows for his trip and trying to get word about the rest of his team.  Nothing had been heard from any of them, nor had they logged on to any of the company accounts.

“The route map is fine, as long as I can get food and a decent place to stay.  Is security going to be an issue on the second leg?”

“No, Mister Peterson, not at all. No issues of course along the first portion, we have fueling available at the Regent warehouse off of Northeast Fifty-Fourth in Des Moines, should your local provider be unable to serve you. The facility there is the regional site, and serves Iowa, South Dakota and Nebraska. The warehouse manager has been made aware of your visit.  He will have a package and some additional supplies that Corporate is issuing to all field representatives.”

“Supplies? What kind of supplies?” Doug asked, brow furrowed.

“Road emergency kit, for one.  Dehydrated food for a week, an emergency shelter, spare fuel cans, that sort of thing.  Perhaps most important will be your Regent corporate debit card. This should allow you to avoid any issues with credit cards being rejected. Barring communications problems, you shouldn’t have any issue with payments.”

“Miss Warren, where exactly are you located?” Doug asked, knowing that communications were at best spotty.

“Why, Denver sir, and you can call me Danielle. Why do you ask?”

“Well, we’ve lost cell phone service and land-line service quite often here in the mid-west.  If I’m on the road and stuck without funds because the phones are down, I’m on my own.”

“Sir, there’s also cash and if that doesn’t work, there are some silver coins in the supplies that will be provided to you in Des Moines. If you have to negotiate, that may serve better than cash.”

“If I may inquire, are field reps being provided any Regent product that might be used in trade?”

“I’m sorry?” the administrative assistant asked.

“Regent food products might be much more useful than cash or coin.  Stores aren’t getting resupplied as they should. What is available in stores is very, very expensive.  Are you not seeing this in Denver?”

There was a pause before she answered. “Um, I only shop at the corporate store.  Prices there haven’t changed.”

“Carefully, you should make a visit to your neighborhood supermarket.  It would be best if you do that in daylight, and probably with friends.”

“I don’t understand. Why?”

“People are getting robbed for food. There are riots in some cities for it. You don’t know this?” Doug asked, incredulous.  “Do you not listen to the news?”

“Umm, not really, no,” the young woman said. “I don’t really care to.”

Doug didn’t quite know what to say. “Danielle, how old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Twenty-two, sir,” she said with a little bit of defiance.

“If I may offer some advice, I’d strongly recommend that you start listening to the news and pay attention to what’s going on in your own neighborhood.  I lived in what I thought was a very safe neighborhood. Lots of restaurants, a few banks, nice grocery stores, a few nice coffee shops.  I saw it transformed into something like Beirut in a matter of days. It can happen in Denver the same as it happened in Chicago, in Atlanta, in Philadelphia.  It’s best you know when it’s coming.”

“Oh, we’re fine here. There’s been nothing like that in Denver. That can’t happen here.”

“Miss, you say that like you’re saying that the atrocities committed in Europe eight months ago happened on a different planet.”

“It didn’t happen here, after all. And there was plenty of warning.”

“It can happen here.  Hell, it DID happen here!  Do you think those people killed in the day care centers and the hospitals had warning?”

“I’m not worried, Mister Peterson.”

Doug gave up. “Just advice, is all.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said with a clinical tone, completely dismissing Doug’s advice.  “I’ll email the updated route map for your second leg on Monday, while you’re on your way to Des Moines. That email will contain your options for lodging, fuel, and any updates on meeting schedules.  Once you’re in Minneapolis, you should be able to log on to the corporate net and receive updates on the final leg of your trip.  Anything else sir?”

“No, thank you very much Danielle. Good luck,” Doug said.

“You too sir.  Have a nice day,” she said as she hung up.

Doug’s radio was playing in the background, just too softly to hear.  He turned it up enough to make out the breathy report.

 “….widespread speculation regarding a potential Vice Presidential candidate or candidates submitted for consideration this morning for Congressional review.  Potential candidates include:

Ryan Robert McAllen. Former Senator from Michigan, and viewed as a controversial choice at best in the international arena, especially after his confrontational stance against the United Nations, where three years ago he spoke before the General Assembly and demanded that the Assembly police the diplomatic community here in the United States after two Iranian representatives were accused of rape.  McAllen, a firm believer in Federal term limits also stated in his departure speech when he refused to run for another term, that the American people needed to take back their country while their was still time.

Colin Bernstein, Senior Representative from West Virginia, who has served four terms in the House, is currently the chair of the House Appropriations Committee.  Bernstein has been considered having an excellent chance to replace Senator Diane Lincoln, who is retiring for medical reasons at the end of March.

Darkhorse candidate Paul David Whistler has served as a United States Appellate Court judge for seven years, and is originally from Washburn, North Dakota.  Prior to his term on the bench, Whistler served in the United States Air Force as a missilier.

Secretary of Commerce Rebekah Hartson has been considered a leading candidate with substantial experience in the financial and international trade sectors, but the Secretary has not been seen in public for at least ten days.  It is rumored that Hartson may in fact be infected with the influenza virus as well….

“And not a one of you that I’ve ever heard of,” Doug said to the radio.

Remnant, Chapter 20

20

Friday morning,

November Seventeenth

11:15 a.m.

Mike and I had a morning interrupted by reports from his deputies county wide, who were barely able to communicate on their alternate radios—citizens band. We also put a rough draft of a press release for Mike’s information officer to polish up and get out on the radio as soon as communications were restored, which happened around eleven. The announcement was pretty grave in its tone. Contrary to our earlier thoughts with Major George, we decided to spill it all. I wasn’t one for concealing the gravity of things when lives were in the balance.  Maybe some alert resident would come forth and rat out their ‘neighbor’ who liked to hunt police officers, radio transmitters, and electrical transformers.

“You think we’re going to win this, Mike?” I asked as I stood at the window, looking out over the parking lot and its guard shack, snow now drifting against the building.  “The war, I mean,” realizing that my question might have been in reference to the current battle.

He paused before he answered. “I don’t know. If we have to sink to their level to do it, I wonder myself how much of ourselves we lose in order to ‘win.’”

“Yeah.  You heard anything new on the lines?” I asked, referring to states or parts of states held by the S.A.

“Not much.  I was hoping to hear something from our military friends on that. God knows that those who pass for journalists these days don’t open their mouths on the subject.”

“Why should they?” I asked. “You saw what happened to that reporter in Denver when he questioned Lambert about an executive order to reinstate the Bill of Rights.”  Lambert was a former Senator, appointed President, who then decided to create his own version of American fascism.  The first lessons they taught the nation was that it was ‘their’ way. Period.  The second lesson was that only the first lesson mattered.

“Yeah. I heard it. His family, his friends. All of them.”  Fairly widespread coverage on Radio Free America had addressed the demise of William McDowell in some detail. His remains were found along with his extended family in a warehouse in East St. Louis, bound, gagged, and shot in the back of their heads. A few days later, additional discoveries were made, of his closer friends, co-workers, cameraman, and producer.

“Yeah. Not a real good incentive to poke your nose out.”

“No, it’s not. And that gal that worked for ABC in Los Angeles. She asked the wrong questions too. And they got her as well, way behind the lines,” Mike said.

I was quiet for a few moments. “So how do we win this?” I asked, looking at an old sepia-toned map of the United States, one that had belonged to Walt Ackerman before me. “They’ve got the entire Northeast down to Virginia. Part of Virginia and West Virginia. Part of Kentucky. Part of Tennessee and that strip steak of Mississippi and Louisiana to Memphis and the wiggly line east of Little Rock. Almost all of Kansas. Half of Colorado. Big chunk of Nebraska, Iowa and that diagonal up to the Twin Cities. All of the Rust Belt.”

“But not the Southeast. Not three-quarters of Canada. Not sixty percent of Mexico. Not the Navy, which I understand means the entire Pacific and most of the Atlantic. Not most of the Air Force. And of course, not the West.”

“We’re the Balkans,” I said, knowing that wasn’t quite right.

“No, we’re the United States. We have a cancer though, that can kill us if we don’t kill it.”

“We have battle lines that are what, three thousand miles long?” I asked.

“Probably longer.”

“So how do you manage a three-thousand mile front? How do you re-supply if you’re inside that box?” I asked, knowing Mike probably wouldn’t have the answers either. “C’mon. You’re an ex-Ranger.”

“Smart ex-Ranger. We left stuff like that up to the higher pay grades. We were more about where the metal meets the meat.”

“Right. Now you’re the youngest Sheriff in County history, with a pretty wife, cute twins, a new-to-you house, and a few dozen deputies to manage. And let’s not forget our tens of thousands of neighbors. The war’s only four states away, or next door, depending on what day it is.”

Mike laughed a little bit at that. “We’re fighting on a different front.”

“So far, maybe.”

“OK. If I were running the S.A. train, I’d consolidate my gains. Preserve the eastern seaboard for shipping. Hang on to the Mississippi. Create an air-cover umbrella over my territory.  Problem for them is they seem to have no meaningful air force and we do. They appear to have no meaningful naval forces and we’re probably blockading them. And yet they continue to posture that they are the stronger ‘nation.’ They basically have coal, and no oil. They have no way to import it without going through our lines. Terrorist tactics taken deep into the territory that they wish to win over by honey.”

“Summary?” I asked.

“It makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. They’re doing everything wrong, they do not appear to have adequate military forces to mount a meaningful offensive. They appear to have no means of sustaining themselves….”

“And yet, here we are, with men in the field, hunting ghosts.”

“It seems to me that they cannot last.”

“That’s logical enough,” I said.

“But you’re thinking something else,” Mike said, looking at me and not the map.

“I am. I think they’ve got an outside sponsor, they’re planning something bigger and much more widespread, and are planning to BE the stronger nation as a result,” I said, looking at the map, still not really understanding it.

“Gut feel,” Mike said.

“Yeah. Nothing more. It’s just that when nothing else makes sense, that one thought does.”

We looked at the map again, as we heard the Emergency Broadcast System tone come up on the radio. We heard a more polished version of our words come out of the speaker. 

“Let’s get out of here for awhile,” I said. “My brain needs a break.”

“Old age, huh?” Mike said as we headed down to the cafeteria.

“Don’t look now, but I’m not too many years older than you are, and when I was your age, my kids were already in school. You’ll be, let’s see, fifty-seven when they graduate from high school. Let’s talk then about age, hmmm?”

“We should be so lucky,” he said.

“Amen.”

In the cafeteria, Mike and I found a table off in the corner, away from most of the other employees taking lunch. Today, we had what appeared to be a locally-made pasta, with some kind of meat—I didn’t bother to read the menu, as it only had one choice—and corn in a casserole type dish. Beverages included water, or…water.

“So how’s the new house?” I asked.

“Smaller than we’re used to, which is just fine. Easier to heat.”

“You got the old place secured?”

“After a fashion.  We took everything we needed, or might need. Boarded up the windows, sealed everything else up as best we could.”

“Well, it was smart to move. There wasn’t any way those roads would let you guys stay out there, utilities or not.”

“I know. Still, it was a shame leaving it. Ash must’ve had a hundred hours stenciling up the nursery for the twins.” Ashley was Mike’s wife, who was adjusting to life as a twenty-four-seven mom.

“You’ve got more land now, a barn, and a good house going forward.”

“And I have your brother-in-law to thank for that.”

“Seemed like a good fit.”  Alan had been out at the Greenacres barter store in late September, trying to talk one of our ‘regular’ suppliers into staying. Brad and Jennie Rivers had a nice home and property, but had decided that it was better for their future to pack up and head south before the winter really hit.  Through Alan’s contacts, he’d managed to arrange travel for Brad and his family to Salt Lake, where they had extensive family. When asked about the house, and knowing there really wasn’t any way to sell it, Brad told Alan to find somebody who could really use the place the way it was intended. Maybe someday, they could come back up to Spokane. Either way, Brian and Jennie didn’t figure to get the house back.

“You’ll have to give us some schooling on the garden thing.  We just got a taste of it this year.”

“We’d be happy to. I hear that most of your basement was set up for a pantry?”

“And a canning kitchen, which I was completely unfamiliar with pre-Domino.”

“It’d be good to have a place designed on purpose,” I said almost to myself. “Karen and I were married all of six months when we found our place. Moved in and filled it up with stuff. It’s taken years to de-junk now, and only the quake made us serious about it.”

“We’re filling it up quickly enough.”

“Cloth diapers and buckets of laundry slime don’t count,” I said. Laundry-slime was a concoction made from bar soap, washing soda, and Borax. The recipe for it was discovered in my stash of knowledge collected off of the Internet. At the Drummond house, we were stretching out our pre-Domino detergents, and using ‘slime’ to make up the difference.

“It’s not all full of that, but you might think it. Lots of dehydrated stuff.  Some home-canned stuff, lots of bulk food in the bins that the Rivers had built.”

“While I don’t agree with their religious beliefs, I cannot fault them one iota for food preparation philosophy.”

“I’m not sure Ashley’s going to be ready for all the work needed to keep that kind of system going.”

“No one is,” I said.   “You remember that report put together by the Army—the Redstone Arsenal report?”

“Yeah. Some reason for optimism there, once we hit bottom.”

“You think so? Are you forgetting the statements about ‘fortified locations’ for stuff? Industries, technology, medical….”

“I remember, didn’t really make an impression, maybe because it just made sense. Why do you ask?” Mike asked.

“I’m just not sure that the bottom they’ve predicted, and the recovery timeline can be possible with a civil war raging.”

“It can’t. There’s no way. Too much reallocation of resources and depletion of existing materiel to do both.  Even so, it may be a delay, not a game-stopper.”

I sat there for a few moments, thinking. What would our part be in the recovery? In the War?

“Spill it, Rick.”

“We have a strategic industry here that’s been idle since January fourteenth, and haven’t done a thing about it.”

“That would be…”

“The old Kaiser mill,” I said. The Trentwood Plant had been shut down due to both the depressed aluminum prices and a plant refit when the Domino hit. I remembered the damage reports after the quake weren’t catastrophic, and that mill employees had creatively secured the plant—windows were all barred anyway, and aluminum plate was welded over every single door. Since then, we’d just had bigger things to think about, no, more immediate things to think about, and this one got away from us.   

“If vandals and thieves haven’t gotten to it. No one’s been guarding the place,” Mike said.

“Let me get a crew on it. I’m wondering if we still have any plant engineers around.”

“Bound to be a few. And speaking of replacements….”

“I know. Who’s the lucky candidate for my job?”

“Yeah. You got a short list?”

“One Tonya Lincoln.”  Tonya had served with me on the old Recovery Board, and was now head of our Commerce department.  ‘Sharp’ didn’t begin to describe her.

“Good choice. Ask her yet?”

“Nope, got a meeting scheduled with her at two.” 

“Think she’ll say no?”

“Doubtful. Bigger problem will be her replacement. I’ll let her figure that one out,” I said as I noticed an Army corporal enter the room, spot Mike and I, and make a bee line for us.

“Excuse me, Colonel Drummond?”

“Not commissioned yet, Corporal. At the moment I believe I’m still a civilian,” I said as I stood.  “What’s up?”

“Report from Major George, sir.  He asked that you review this immediately.”

“My office, upstairs. Let’s go,” I said. “Mike, care to join us?”

“Sure. As long as I’m not getting drafted.”

“I’ll see to it that within my extremely limited powers, that you will remain a civvie.”

“That’ll make me sleep better,” Mike said with a laugh as we hit the stairs.

On my desk, another notice that I had ‘urgent’ emails to review. Nothing new there.  “Have a seat, Corporal,” I said. “Where’d we lose the Sheriff?” I asked, just as Mike came in holding a sheaf of papers of his own.  “Get sidetracked?”

“Report from West Plains. Seems our Airway Heights precinct got a few of the bad guys sniping at the flight line at Fairchild.”

“KIA?” I asked.

“Four. Two wounded. Air Force security police and our guys are interrogating them.”

“Losses on our side?”

“None.”

“Good,” I said, opening up the sealed envelope from Kurt George.

I scanned the requisition, then read it in depth, and summarized it for Mike and the corporal.

“Effective eighteen November, oh-nine-hundred, ninety percent of Spokane County’s railroad stock is being requisitioned by the United States government for the war effort.” I paused for a moment to let that sink in. “Corporal, is there some sort of acknowledgement that I’m to make here?”

“Yes, sir, second page. Your signature is required.”

“Just for spits and giggles, what happens if I don’t sign?” That obviously made the young corporal uncomfortable.

“Sir, I….”

“Corporal, the rail system is one of the keys to our recovery. Yanking that out puts us, to be kind, in a Helluva spot.  There’s nothing here that says anything about continuing to supply Pacific Northwest Command and the civilian population through means of rail. Road traffic ain’t an option.  Get it?”

“Yes sir, but I…”

“I know. You’re following orders to see that I receive these. I’ve received them. I will speak with Major George and the rest of Command regarding this. You’re dismissed.”

“Sir, I was ordered to bring back those orders, signed.”

“Understood, corporal. I’m under a moral obligation to try keep Spokane County and most of the inland northwest alive.  That means trade beyond our state for food we can’t grow. Fruit that’s out of season. Nuts. Stuff like toothbrushes and soap and paper goods hopefully someday. Supplying California wheat, peas, lentils, timber, maybe one of these days aluminum. Can’t really do that without rail cars and locomotives.”

“Understood, sir,” he said, with resignation.

“I will speak to your superiors as soon as possible, Corporal. That might be a little while though. Feel free to make yourself comfortable in the cafeteria or the employee lounge. I’ll track you down as soon as possible,” I said, all but telling him that it was no longer appropriate for him to be sitting in my office. He took the hint, and stood to go.

“Sir,” he said at attention, spun smartly on a heel and headed for the hallway. I waited until he was out of earshot until I talked with Mike about it.

“Damn it,” I said to the paper on my desk.

“You know, that request was a courtesy,” Mike said with barely concealed humor. “They’re going to take them regardless.”

“Understood. I still want somebody to acknowledge that we’re on the radar screen.  We were all but ignored after the Domino. The Federal response was almost nil.  I just don’t want to be forgotten.”

“Well damned sure you’re going to get somebody’s attention,” he said. “Can you get by with ten percent of your rolling stock?”

“No idea. Not as well as we might have, but nothing works out the way you plan anyway,” I said. “What’s in your stack of happy news?”

“Nothing all that happy.  Line crews getting sniped at while making repairs. Aiming to wound, not kill, and of course to take out the new transformers as soon as they’re installed, wasting more time and resources. Got a report out of Whitman County that communications teams are being killed as well. Worse than that further out. Kidnappings of families of key people.”

“To what end?” I asked, guessing the answer.

“Leverage.”

“Of course….”

“I better get moving. Spent enough time indoors today,” Mike said as he stood.

“Watch yourself. You could get used to it.”

“Nope, too much time in the field. Not comfortable behind a desk.”

“Remember, dinner tonight at our place.”

“Six o’clock?”

“Earlier if you like—if I’m not there I’m sure Karen would love to spend time with the twins and catching up with Ashley.”

“See you then,” I said shaking his hand and looking at the time. I had less than hour until meeting with Tonya.

Time to rattle a cage.

I headed upstairs to the old Commissioners’ office suite, which for logical reasons was now the home to our communications office. It was also the home to a half-dozen secure-frequency military radios that allowed us to easily communicate with our friends in green.

“Rayanne, can you see if you can get hold of General Anderson?”

“Yes, sir,” the duty communications tech replied, nervous eyes downcast.  I could imagine what she was thinking.

I was in luck. Bob Anderson was ‘in.’

“Mr. Drummond, I bet I know why you’re calling me.”

“Bob, I’m sure you do.”

“You understand the need we have.”

“I have a pretty good idea, yeah. I want to know what assurance we have that we’re going to continue to have commercial rail service to keep us supplied and keep trade active.”

“You have as much assurance as I can give you, which frankly isn’t much.”

“Does anyone in Austin have the faintest idea of what it’s really like up here? What it’s been like since January?”

“Only as much as your senators and representatives can shout I suppose.  Rick, we need those cars and locomotives. You know why.”

“Sure I do. I also know that we’ve got substantial trade obligations with Oregon, California and the rest of the southwest that we need to fulfill. That might be dicey without dependable rail schedules.”

“We’ll do what we can, but I cannot make any promises.”

“This will end up on my successors’ desk. But let me tell you, Tonya doesn’t take any guff from anybody. She needs something she will find a way to get it. She’ll make noise. She’ll make you uncomfortable.”

“Sounds like my in-laws.”

“Family comparisons aside, General, if we don’t have reasonably reliable rail service, then we fail badly. I’ve done the numbers. People up here will die.”

“Understood. Can’t discuss this further right now. You have anything else we need to go over, Rick?”

“Not at this time, General.”

“We’ll talk next week. Good luck.”

“Thanks. Talk to you then,” I said as the line went dead.

Tonya was gonna love this, I thought.