Distance, Chapter 13

13

Monday

January Twenty-third

8:50 a.m.

“Almost ready?” Julie asked as Doug packed the last of his things in the overnight bag.

“Just about.  I had a little more cleanup after working with Roel than I thought I would.”

“You seem to have held your own.  Molly says he’s a beast when in comes to maintenance around here.”

“He seems to have a single speed: Full throttle,” Doug said as he checked the room one more time.

“What’s your plan for the week? Do you know yet?” Julie asked as they headed into the living room.

“Conference call later of course.  I have a fair number of contacts to get in touch with today, and a projected travel schedule later this month.  Most of the contacts are already Regent clients, so this is more of an introduction to a new line, rather than cold calls, which I despise.”

“Are you thinking of getting the rest of your things from your townhouse?” Julie asked, tone implying that she thought it was a bad idea.

“Not personally if I can help it.  I’m going to see if I can contract it—get a moving company in touch with the building manager, make arrangements that way.”

“I can’t see going back there, myself. Not after…” her voice trailed off.

“I can’t either, unless I have a really good reason.  I’ll probably get a bank account opened up locally this afternoon, and see about getting some things for the house,” Doug said as Arie appeared in the back hallway. 

“Adriaan, thank you for your hospitality.  I appreciate it more than I can say,” Doug said.

“Douglas, you are quite welcome. Let us know how things are out there in the world.  We’re staying on the farm for the foreseeable future,” he said.  “Maria has a few things for you in the kitchen. Come now.”

Around the corner, Maria had a well-worn thermos with coffee, and a large bag of food.

“Maria, this wasn’t really necessary,” Doug said apologetically.  “Dinner last night and that wonderful breakfast this morning was quite enough!”

“Nonsense. Julie told me about your house. You’re roughing it for a few days. This will help now,” she said, brushing some of her graying blonde hair back.  “And Sunday dinner is at two o’clock,” don’t forget.”

“Thank you again. I will try to make it.  I don’t think I’ll be traveling much at first.”

“Standing invitation. Douglas,” Adriaan said.

“I should get moving,” Doug said.  He’d said his ‘goodbyes’ to most of the family right after breakfast, as all were heading back to their various tasks around the farm. Peter and Molly were over at Catharina’s house, helping on a major kitchen project…Doug didn’t know what exactly.  Roeland told him that he could be ‘mechanic’s helper’ any time, which surprised him a little.  Doug was barely able to find the various tools that Roeland needed, despite the immaculate, well-lit machine shop.

Outside, the wind seemed colder than it had earlier, and the sky darker.

“Storm coming in later,” Julie said, perhaps reading Doug’s mind.  She took his hand as they walked to his truck.  Doug squeezed it a little in acknowledgement. “Thank you for everything, Doug. You’re a lifesaver.”

“I would like to think that I have someone that would do as much for me.  Until the past few days though, I’ve realized that I don’t.”

“You do now,” Julie said softly, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek and turning quickly to go back inside, her hand shoved in her pockets, head down. Doug didn’t even have time to react.

“Hey. Not fair,” he said. “That was like an ambush.”

“Always leave them wanting more,” Julie said, looking back over her shoulder with a slight smile as she opened the porch door, and was gone.

“Damn,” Doug said. “I guess that’s true enough.”

12:04 p.m.

“No, sir. Iowa,” Doug said to David Williams. “I’m standing in a very empty house at the moment. I have managed to put the things that I brought with me away….which makes the place look more empty than before.” 

Doug had gotten through to the property management company, and they had ‘secured’ the entire complex—meaning that the empty units were boarded up, and a full time security patrol was present in the parking lot and around the building.

“Sleeping on the floor tonight? I’m betting you ended up leaving most of your stuff in Chicago,” Williams said, a little smile in his tone.

“That will be the case until I get some furniture down here, yes,” Doug said as a series of tones sounded on the call, as other people added on the line.  He had arranged with the property manager and a moving company—again, a Regent affiliate—to clean everything out of his townhouse and garage, and ship it to his new home. He’d used some of his Regent signing bonus to do so, which was better than cash he didn’t have, out of pockets that held nothing but lint.

Williams made introductions, and proceeded through the agenda relatively quickly. The other five Regent employees were newly assigned to the Nutritional Enhancement Workgroup, with Doug as the spearhead on the market side. His distant workers would assist him in ‘target identification’, meaning identifying the gatekeepers within each current Regent client on the list; the suggested marketing strategy would focus on emphasizing the benefits of the nutritional supplements into existing product lines. The key selling points would be of course to increase nutritional value in each food product and would also enhance the flavor of many of the products…and Regent had double-blind clinical studies to back it up. The supplements would increase interest in the products; the clients could market their improvements as their own; and the cost from Regent to the end producers was negligible given the current Regent relationships. From the Regent side, the customers would recognize this as a value-add and that with increased interest in current products….Regent would increase their volume of sales…in fact making up the investment within a few bare months.

The sales goal was aggressive, with integration into the already-expanding Regent client base projected at eighty percent by the end of the fiscal year, October first.   The low hanging fruit would be product lines in the institutional-type food suppliers, including bulk restaurant product for fast food outlets; large cafeteria supply lines; and commercial grade dehydrated product typically ending up in military-style ‘meals, ready to eat.’ The more difficult targets were the higher end specialty food markets, organic suppliers, and unmodified foods—although those were all on the list.  Genetic modifiers in most key crops had already broken down many of the barriers for Regent and her sister companies, and further advancements into the ‘organic’ market were not perceived as insurmountable. The Los Angeles based ‘Strategic Group’ report on that market segment was exhaustive, Doug saw.

An hour and a half later, each of Doug’s team members had their assignments, as did Doug.  Williams had initially planned on Doug meeting each company rep face to face, but given the social climates in the major cities and near each key client, he would instead ‘work the phones’ in a modern fashion, through live video conference from Doug’s home.  Delta would require him to travel to Denver at least quarterly, as well as to Columbus and a few other locations for division performance reports.  The rest of Doug’s team signed off the call, leaving him to speak with David.

“Aggressive plans, sir.”

“Gotta strike while the iron’s hot.  There’s ample reason to proceed full steam.  The competition is on the ropes and we have something that no one else has, and that everyone will be demanding,” Williams said.

“So it appears,” Doug said.

“You should have a packet in your inbox about now. That’ll contain an e-catalog for Supreme Foods, one of our private store supply chains in the Midwest.  You should be able to place an order from that catalog for just about anything you need for your new place—grocery wise.  You’ll want to set up your account with your corporate card and arrange for delivery.  And Doug, I’d request that you stick with the Supreme catalog for most of your food purchases, unless you’re sure you’ve got quality food from a very local source. We’re hearing about some nasty contaminants and chemicals coming from abroad. We know our product and we’re confident in it.  The catalog is for Regent corporate purchases only, although if you have family you’d like to buy for, that’s fine. These products go through an extra level of quality control, at the request of our CEO and Board.  Questions?”

“Not a one, thanks.  I appreciate this, David.  This opportunity really is once in a lifetime.”

“We think you’re the right man for the job and have a lot to offer. Good to have you aboard. We’ll talk in the next few days, OK?”

“You got it,” Doug said, as Williams ended the call from his end.

3:30 p.m.

“Mister Peterson, thank you for your business. We have a number of Regent folks banking with us, and we’re quite happy to serve you,” Jane Steinberg, branch manager of the Liberty Bank of Fairfield said.  “We can handle all of your transfers from your former bank electronically, as soon as their operations center is back on line. Your credit card should be active right now, though.”

“Things were pretty dicey when I left,” Doug said. “I can’t imagine that they’ve improved.”

“From what our information systems officer said, the main data center in Palatine is down, and the secondary isn’t accessible, although it is still on the network.”

“There’s not much money in my former bank in any regard.  I should be seeing a direct deposit from Regent coming in at the end of the month. Until then, I should be fine,” Doug said, rising to leave.  He had some shopping to do before the end of the day. With his new Liberty Bank credit card, he could get some of things to make the house more habitable short term.

“We can email you when the transfers are complete.  Will that work for you?” Mrs. Steinberg said.

“That’d be great, thanks,” Doug said, shaking her hand, and noticing his phone was signaling a missed call, despite the fact that it never rang.

Outside, Doug punched in his call back number and retrieved the message.  His company car was ready, and he could have it delivered if need be.  The dealership was only a mile away, west on Highway Thirty-Four. Doug drove down the “other” main drag of Fairfield to the dealership to see for himself.   He’d get this taken care of, and shop later—‘town’ wasn’t far away.

By five p.m., Doug was back ‘home’, and his Dodge was taking up one bay of the three in the garage, and a brand new dark blue Explorer was taking up another.   Doug had taken the dealership up on the delivery option.  Two of the dealership staff had followed Doug out to his house, Doug driving the new Ford, the sales guy telling him about all the features of his new car, another guy driving Doug’s pickup. Doug didn’t know how to get the guy to shut up—the sale was already made, he didn’t need to hammer it in.

All day, Doug had wanted to go shopping locally, to get some ‘normal’ groceries and get some variety.  He’d enjoyed a pastry and some coffee from Maria Segher’s kitchen, but with his fairly busy afternoon, hadn’t thought about getting dinner going.  He locked up the house and took his pickup into town.

No traffic on the road north in to Fairfield allowed him to make good time into town, and there were few cars even on the main roads.  Caving into hunger, Doug picked up a couple burgers, fries and a shake….costing him twenty dollars on his credit card. There were no other diners in the place.

After savoring the meal, Doug drove a couple blocks to the west, and found a local grocery store.  The parking lot had about twenty cars in it, nothing like Chicago.

Inside, there were a handful of people shopping, a couple at the customer service area, no one toting a shotgun or asking to see ‘cash’ before entering the store. Doug felt a little like he’d stepped back in time, beyond his experiences at AmeriMart. The shelves told a little different story, although the untrained eye might not have noticed it at first.

The shelves were all front-loaded, meaning no reserve items beyond the stock on the leading edges of the shelves.  Someone was going through the store to make it appear that there was plenty of product, which wasn’t uncommon when shipments were due or overdue.  The leading name brands were all but gone from the shelves, with second or third-tier brands filling in.  The produce area didn’t have much in the way of greens, but had a vast amount of fruit…apples in particular.  Where lettuce, cabbage and out of region foods should have been, winter squash, potatoes (loose, not in bags) and onions filled the produce section.  Nice placement, but if someone wanted citrus fruit, tomatoes, bananas or kiwis, they were out of luck.

The prices were higher than Doug had seen in Chicago, but probably not out of line with the rest of the current commodity market.  The prices may have been the reason the customers were few and far between….not many people could have been prepared for food prices tripling within a few months, with most of that increase in a matter of days. Some of the other shoppers, he noted, were looking at their smaller baskets, and calculating prices as they went, to make sure they had enough cash. Doug’s large cart, full, was just over four hundred dollars, charged to his credit card.  Some people looked at him a little sideways as he made his way out the door. The drive home was uneventful.

Doug had just finished folding up the last grocery bag when the phone rang. ‘Bowman, Matthew’ appeared on the screen.

“This is Doug,” he answered, with a little caution in his voice.

“Doug, this is Brenda. Are you doing OK?” his ex-wife asked.

“Well, yeah. Everything OK with you?’

“Not particularly.  Matt’s cruiser was shot at today. Wasn’t hurt, but it was a near thing. I hear martial law is in effect in Chicago.”

“I’m sorry to hear about Matt. I’ve…moved out of Chicago, Bren.  The townhouse was shot up the other night and that was it.  I’m down in Iowa now.”

“Iowa? Why there?”

“I can work from home for quite a bit of the time, and just need to have airport access the rest of the time. It’s not that far from a couple of airports, and the company had housing here,” he said, not filling in much detail. “ How’re the kids doing?”

“I’m starting them in home school this week. Things are…different now. Michael’s not liking the idea one bit, James couldn’t care less.  Veronica’s all ready for her birthday of course, ten going on twenty.”

“Did her birthday card arrive OK?” Doug said realizing that he’d messed up again.

“Yes, you were a month early, as always.”

“I never could get her birthday right,” Doug said.

“Three days before your Mom’s, remember?”

“Maybe someday I will.  How, if you don’t mind asking, did Matt get shot at? It’s not like he’s a big city cop or anything,” Doug asked, realizing that what he said might be taken as an insult. “Not that a small town cop is a bad thing. I’m in a small town myself.”

He heard Brenda exhale before answering. “Matt covers parts of two counties and is constable in four small towns, and works part time for emergency services, too. So he’s all over the map.  He was on patrol and some car with Illinois plates started shooting at him from the oncoming lane.”

“Jesus. He’s damned lucky.”

“Yeah. He’ll be wearing body armor now. And a helmet,” Brenda said. Doug could tell she was probably on the verge of tears.

“Brenda, you did the right thing….I mean, everything.  Matt’s a good guy, although I haven’t ever said that.  He’s right for you and the kids. Given what I’ve seen and people that I know, getting out and staying out of the big city is a good idea for you all. Is Matt there?”

“Yes,” she said.  “Thanks, Doug for saying that.”

“Can I talk with him for a minute?”

“Uh, sure. Let me go track him down,” Brenda said, getting her composure back.

“Hello?”  Matt said.

“Matt, this is Doug.  Bren told me you had a near miss today.  You doing OK?”

“I’m fine. She’s making more of it than it was,” Matt said, coolly.

“Matt, I’ve told Brenda this already, but I’d like to apologize for stuff I’ve said to you and Brenda. I was a jerk, and I know that now.  She made the right choices for herself and the kids. I wanted you to know that.”

“Well, thanks I guess, Doug,” Matt said, having trouble finding anything else to say.  “You still in Chicago?”

“Nope.  Townhouse got shot up, a friend of mine was mugged; there was looting going on all over the place…I took the escape hatch. I’m not far from Fairfield, Iowa.”

“That’s definitely out of the way,” Matt said.

“Matt there’s something else I’d need to tell you. The cops in my neighborhood were dressed in full SWAT gear, the place looked like something out of third-world country. There aren’t enough cops to go around, and the ones that are out there are targets and they know it.”

“Yep. Nothing I don’t know already,” Matt said. 

“Matt, are you and Brenda….I guess I’m saying, are you guys ready for this? For what’s coming?”

There was a long silence on the other end of the call.  “No one is ever ready, Doug.  But we’re prepared, or better than most.  The question I’d ask is, are you?”

“No. But I’m getting there. Late to the party as always.”

“You can’t really do it alone. I hope you realize that,” Matt Bowman said, in a more official tone.

“I know that.  I’ve got some contacts down here,” Doug said. “I’m hoping that I can count on them if the time comes.” 

“Works both ways.  They need to count on you, too. And trust has to be earned,” Matt said.

“I know. I’m working on that,” Doug said. “Take care of yourself, Matt.”

“You too,” Matt replied as Doug ended the call.   He heard for the third time in a few hours, the Emergency Alert System tones, and then the closing, ‘This is only a test….’ statement. 

“Crying wolf again,” Doug said to no one, just as he heard someone from the White House announce that the President was about to speak. 

Distance, Chapter 12

12

Sunday

January Twenty-second

1:20 p.m.

Julie was able to get a cell phone signal about five miles outside of Davenport, and almost immediately connected with her brother Peter.  She quickly made arrangements for Doug to spend a night or two at the farm.  He noticed a few instances of awkward silence on Julie’s end of the conversation, reminding Doug of his talks with Julie about Camille.

Doug wondered with the spotty cell coverage, if he should pull over, but with the heavy traffic and snow on the shoulders, he decided to keep moving. Julie put the phone on ‘speaker’, so Doug could hear as well.

 “Get off of the interstate at Iowa City, head south to Mount Pleasant. Gas up again if you can there.  Stay on Twenty-Seven south to Donnelson; then go east on State Route Two. Julie, you should be able to find it from there, remember?” Peter asked.

“County Route W Seventy, right?”

“Yes.”

“How’s the traffic up there?” Peter asked.

“Bumper to bumper. Lotta wheels moving, loaded to the gunnels,” Doug said. “No real trouble though…gas is ten bucks a gallon.”

“No real surprise in that. We’re hearing on shortwave that there’s trouble west of Iowa City on the Interstate, and that on other highways, the locals are blocking traffic, keeping it on the Interstate.  The sooner you get off, the better. No later than Iowa City though, you’d overshoot us. And watch out for drifts.”

“OK, will do,” Doug said.  Before he could get another word out, the cell phone started beeping.  The signal was gone again.

“Thirty miles and then two lane roads,” Julie said.

“Or sooner.  Flip that map over.  Find an exit or two ahead of Iowa City. There should be another highway that’ll get us there off of the Interstate.”

“What’s the matter?” Julie asked, brow furrowed.

“There’s a truck behind us, two or three back.  Just a pickup, not loaded up, two guys in it.  They’ve been watching us…not just us, but looking around at the cars and trucks around us.  I think they’re going to pick someone off, given a chance.”

“Which one?” Julie said, looking in her rear-view mirror.

“They’re on my side now, three cars back. They’re bouncing between lanes, shifting around, slowing down, passing, circling. Not normal driving. I want them in the left hand lane when I exit so that they don’t have a chance to follow us.”

“You sound like you’ve seen this behavior before,” she said.

“I have. Years ago, in Florida.  All the rental cars had the same kind of stickers on their plates. Made it real easy to get carjacked. Once you come close to that, you see the behavior and you adapt,” Doug said, looking back at the beat up Ford. The passenger was looking intently at a Toyota SUV in the next lane.

“Lots of options,” Julie said. “Take any of them and we’ll make do.”

“Where’s the river?”

“Two miles or so, I think…how did you know there’s a river?”

“I’ve driven a lot of roads, this is one of them. I also like to spend some time with a map before I go anywhere.”

“You didn’t know we were coming on Eighty, though,” Julie said.

“Didn’t matter. I looked over all the routes from Chicago west and south.”

A few minutes later, Doug left the Interstate without a turn signal, keeping up speed until he was out of traffic. On the west side of the Iowa River, he turned south.  “OK—you’re the navigator.  I assume we’re going to head south south-west until we connect up with Peter’s instructed route?”

“This’ll take us to West Liberty.  We can head south from there, and yes, connect up to Two Eighteen near Ainsworth.  That’ll take us to Mount Pleasant,” Julie said, flipping the map over, and over again.

“Which is fifteen miles from Fairfield.”

“Straight south from there to Mount Sterling,” Julie said. “Are you thinking of taking a look at that house?”

“I am,” Doug said.  “I have the map to it in the folder in the console. Is that OK?”

“Sure, I guess. Seems fair that you take a look at it since you’re chauffeuring me out of harms’ way,” Julie said with a smirk.

It took two hours to get to Fairfield. The roads were very icy, and two detours routed them around Mount Pleasant.  They found Fairfield appearing almost normal, except for the gasoline prices and the lines at the grocery stores. They gassed up, again at ten dollars a gallon, cash only. The middle-aged gas station attendant had a large young man holding a short, double-barreled shotgun, near a display of canned goods.

Fifteen minutes south of Fairfield, Doug saw the Bluestone Mortgage sign on the left, and pulled onto the long driveway. The two-story house sat up on a little hill, below the crest but high enough to provide a fair view of the driveway and the surrounding terrain.

“It’s nice.  How much do they want for it?”

“Half of what my townhouse in Chicago rented for. Cheap.”

“This has ten acres, right?”

“Yeah. There should be a barn and some outbuildings to the southeast,” Doug said as he drove in.  The driveway snow was undisturbed, but not deep enough to present a problem. “There, down by the trees,” he said as he parked the truck. “I’ll take a walk around it. You OK here?”

“Yes. Just lock the doors in case,” Julie said, pulling a handgun into sight.

 Doug walked around the west side of the house, looking down a slight hill to a fenced pasture.  A patio was nestled into the hill just south of the house. A wide wrap around porch had a few inches of undisturbed snow.  The inside of the house appeared to be quite clean, with hardwood floors throughout.  Better yet, the kitchen had all the appliances.  On the east side of the house, Doug found what he assumed to be the well house and a storm cellar, sloping door partially covered with snow.  He heard a car coming up the driveway, and hurried back to the Dodge.  He got there just as the small SUV came to a stop next to the pickup.  An older man got out of the drivers’ side, an older woman stayed in the front.

“Afternoon! Are you folks interested in the place?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. Do you work for Bluestone?”

“Yes—I happen to live across the way, yonder. Saw you drive up. I’m August Kliest.”

“Doug Peterson,” he said, shaking the agents hand. “I work for Regent, actually. This was on a list of properties for me to consider.”

“Excellent!  This really is a great piece of ground here. Rent or buy?”

“Uh, rent to start.  We’ll see how it goes from there.”

“Do you want to look inside?”

“I actually need to get my friend down to her family south of here. This was a little detour, just to take advantage of the daylight.”

“Five minutes won’t hurt. C’mon in,” Kliest said as he fished out the keys, let himself in, and disarmed a security system.

“Security system? Out here?” Doug said.

“Absolutely. If you travel at all, you need this.  Local response is a private security firm, which happens to also be a Bluestone partner. We’ve got one too. There’s a driveway sensor, which is nice to have since you never know who might be paying you a visit; and this property has motion-activated cameras around the property. It’d be easy to know if someone’s approaching from any direction,” Kliest said, opening a closet just inside what looked to have been an office.  The closet contained a half-dozen flat panel displays and two fair sized black boxes. Doug assumed they were video controllers or recorders.

“Convenient,” Doug thought, wondering just how many more links…or tentacles, Regent had. “So, Mister Kliest, how long has this been vacant? And was this a repo?” Doug asked as they walked through the main floor. It was spotless.

“Call me Augie.  It’s been oh, eight or nine months now.  This was a job transfer actually, or started out that way. They did end up losing it unfortunately. I heard their job on the other end fell through, and couldn’t sell this one for what they were into it for.”

“Too bad. Hate to see that happen,” Doug said, wondering about the backstory he’d just been given. 

The kitchen as he had seen from the outside, had all the appliances, high-end foreign made equipment, as the agent rattled on with the various features of the home.

Ten minutes longer than he’d intended to spend looking over the house, Doug handed the agent the Regent-supplied authorization to lease.  Kliest reviewed it, found it in order, and handed Doug the keys to the house and a couple security-system key fobs.  Doug was also given a fair-sized three-ring binder from his car, comprising the ‘owners manual’ for the home. 

“Most painless transaction I’ve ever made,” Doug told Kliest. “I should be back up here in the next day or so to move in, more or less. Most of my stuff is still in Chicago.  Not sure how much if it will still be there to move,” he said.

“Yeah. I hear it’s bad there.  That right?”

“Yes it is.  A few bullets came through my townhouse last night. That was it for me.”

“You can get most everything you need without going too far. You a traveler for Regent? On the road sales?”

“Some of that. Fair amount of home-office work.”

“Good. It’ll let you fit into the area better than being gone all week and only home on the weekends.  Lotta them big-city folks did that—never really fit in.”

“I hope to be back here tomorrow to move in. I need to deliver my friend to her family’s place, and then I should be able to get settled in.”

“That sounds fine. I’ll get these papers moving with Bluestone.  The utility information is in that binder, so you can contact them for the accounts,” Kliest said.  “Here’s my card, and my cell number is on the back.”

“Much obliged. I’ll let you know when I’m back in the neighborhood,” Doug said, shaking hands before getting back in the pickup.

“So you rented it?” Julie asked.

“Leased, yeah.  What do you think?” he replied.

“Like it’s far too good to be true,” she said, Doug recognizing the skeptical look.

“You know, it might be OK,” Doug said.  “Sometimes appearances are as they seem.”

“Not in my experience. They are seldom so.”

A few minutes after five p.m., Doug’s pickup pulled into the narrow driveway of ‘the farm’.

“How big is this place?” Doug asked, still looking for the house that was somewhere down this road.

“I think this piece is three or four hundred acres,” Julie said.  “They’ve got this land—I understand it’s been in the family for generations—and a couple other farms nearby.”

“Must be quite a family,” Doug said.

“Three girls, two boys. Molly’s the oldest.”

“And Peter is your older brother?” Doug asked, finally seeing what had to be the ‘main house.’

“Two years—just turned thirty seven in December.”

“I would not have pegged you for thirty-five,” Doug said, meaning it.

“Flattery. I haven’t heard that in awhile,” Julie said with a smile. “Park over on the right there,” she pointed.

“Sure. Next to that…” Doug stopped, not knowing quite what it was.

“Combine. It’s a combine!” Julie said, trying not to laugh, not because it wasn’t funny, but because her ribs hurt.

The Segher family wasn’t large, it was huge.  Doug was welcomed into the home along with Julie, who was quickly told to rest in a comfortable chair.  Doug was finally able to meet her brother Peter and his very pregnant wife Molly, and the rest of Molly’s brothers, sisters and of course parents.   Doug gave up counting, and just tried to remember all the names of the adults.   Adriaan and Maria, Molly’s parents; Catharina and Elisabeth, her younger sisters; Cath was married with three kids and Beth was engaged to a soldier deployed in Afghanistan.  The Segher brothers included Hendrik, who was married and had an indeterminate number of kids; and Roeland, or ‘Role’ for short, the youngest.  Doug guessed he was in his mid-twenties.

Dinner conversation was more than Doug could keep up with…. constant banter between the adults, good humored and often bringing up old family jokes.  Doug noticed that the kids were extraordinarily well behaved, and were quiet and quite respectful. After dinner at the longest dinner table Doug had ever seen in a single-family house, he orchestrated the removal of Julie’s belongings from the back of the pickup, with most of his things being repacked.  Once Julie’s things were brought inside, Doug found his overnight bag, and Molly’s brother Hendrik showed him to his room.  His cell phone vibrated on his belt with a text message, telling him to be available for a conference call at noon Monday, and Doug added the call to his calendar.   By eight-thirty, the house had calmed down as some of the Seghers and their children headed to their own homes.

“You did well, keeping up with all of them, Douglas,” Molly’s father Adriaan said. 

“Please, call me Doug.”

“I will try to remember,” the older man said with a halting accent.  Doug guessed he was in his mid-fifties. “It is difficult to do that---we were raised very formally by our parents. Respect shown is first shown as the given name is spoken.”

“I can appreciate that,” Doug said.

“I’ve not heard exactly what you do for a profession, Douglas.  Would you mind telling me?”

“Not a bit, sir,” Doug said, sipping a very small, very strong cup of coffee, before going into a fair amount of detail on his former job, and potential new job.  Adriaan surprised him by making connections that were known to Doug quite well, but not to the average American.  He then explained that through a lifetime in farming, the success of the farm was the depth of understanding that the custodians—meaning the family—had of the entire system.  The Seghers had farmed for more than a hundred years on this land, Adriaan told Doug, later buying adjacent land as it became available, diversifying the farm.  Doug realized belatedly, that this was all but an interview.

“What do you know, other than your sales? Do you know work…I’m sorry, have you ever worked manually?”

“I’ve worked in sales more or less since college. Not quite twenty years.  Before that, well, from about the time I was fourteen or so through college, I worked on the Lakes on my father’s ship.  It’s been a while since I’ve done what you’d call serious physical labor.”

“And how are you set financially, if I may be so bold,” Adriann asked, leaning forward.

“I have…investments that comprise the balance of my net worth.  A few debts, nothing that was too big, before everything started coming apart.”

“Cash? Silver? Gold? Anything like that?” Adriaan asked in his clipped accent. “In hand I mean.”

“Very little cash, unfortunately, none of the other.  For quite awhile, I was told they were ‘arcane’,” Doug said, exhaling.

“Indeed. Most people believe that still. Gold and silver are real money. People without either, trade. People that cannot trade borrow or steal,” Adriaan said, obviously wondering how Doug would go on about his life.

“My new position with Regent pays very well. I’m confident that I’ll be fine. I will collect a signing bonus from my new employer, either in cash or in credit at company facilities.”

“Douglas, I hope that is the case, sincerely I do. We will talk more,” Adriaan said as he stood, signaling Doug that it was time to retire. “Farm hours begin early. Will you join us in the morning?”

“I may not be of much use, but I’d be happy to, yes. I’ll need to leave in mid morning though.”

“Any work is appreciated, Douglas. There are many things to do, many to learn. If you are willing, you will have many teachers.”

“That would be welcome,” Doug said, shaking Adriaan’s hand.

“Four o’clock comes early. I will see you in the morning, Douglas,” he said as he turned and headed upstairs.

“Indeed,” Doug said quietly.

 

Monday,

January Twenty-third

6:45 a.m.

Promptly as expected, Doug was roused from a sound sleep at four a.m. by Adriaan, who greeted Doug with a cup of strong coffee and sweetened heavy cream, and not a word.

Doug didn’t have much in the way of ‘work clothing’ available, but made do with jeans, boots, and couple layers of shirts.  He was quickly directed to a large, low metal building, lights inside already blazing.

Inside the heated shop, Doug was given quick lessons on fetching tools by Roeland, who would be busy most of the day working on preventative maintenance on much of Segher Farm’s rolling stock.

‘Roel’ was all business and not much in the way of small talk for most of two hours.  Doug did learn he was twenty-six, divorced with no children, and along with his father, worked this farm and two large adjacent parcels.  He also managed two others, part time. The radio was set to regional farm reports, which were eagerly discussing massive rises in commodities futures with callers.

“Roeland, are you done out there? Breakfast is ready,” Maria Segher’s disembodied voice said from speakers in the walls. Doug was startled a little.

“Yes, for now. Clean up soon,” Roeland said, looking at Doug, and answering his unanswered question. “Voice activated intercom, when triggered from the house, or here if we flip a switch.  If we’re working alone in a building or out in the fields and need help, we can call quickly, without having to get to a radio.”

“Slick,” Doug said. “I’d never have guessed.”

“See this?” Roeland said, holding up a rather mangled right hand, covered in scar tissue. “That’s what happens when you get careless and can’t free yourself from a piece of equipment. That happened three years ago. I was two hours stuck in a piece of machinery out here before I managed to take apart enough of the guts of the thing to free myself.”

“Good grief,” Doug said, looking at the rows of scars.

“Three hundred six, if you’re wondering,” Roeland said as they walked back to the house.

“Stitches?”

“Yeah,” Roeland said as they reached the utility room in the house, shucked their boots, and put on felt house boots.  There didn’t seem to be any particular pair set aside for anyone special, just a wall unit with twenty pairs or so, smallest on the bottom, largest on top.

Doug could smell ham, cinnamon, and fresh coffee, and wondered what growing up in a place like this would have been like.

Distance, Chapter 11

11

Saturday evening

January Twenty-first

All four rounds from somewhere west of Doug’s townhouse ended up penetrating the siding, sheathing, insulation and sheetrock of the outer wall, and two penetrated an inner wall, ending up inside a kitchen cabinet, breaking a plate and several water glasses.

For ten minutes, Doug and Julie both hugged the floor, wondering if more were coming.  Doug then carefully moved throughout the townhouse, putting the additional bulk of cabinets and furniture between the outer walls and his body as he unplugged the lights that he had on timers, and kept his small flashlight shielded.

“We’re out of here come morning,” Doug said. “Screw this.”

“Curfew ends at seven.”

“All right. For now we have power, and that means hot water. I’ll cover over the bathroom window with a couple of blankets and make sure it’s light tight. You can get a hot shower and I’ll keep watch. Then I’ll get cleaned up, and you can get some sleep. Your room has brick veneer on both front and back walls.  Hopefully that’ll slow down any more bullets.”

“It’ll help. You’re going to stay up all night, load the truck and then we leave in the morning? Won’t work,” Julie said. “You’ll need some rest.”

“OK, fine. I’ll set an alarm for four o’clock, and get you up,” Doug said facetiously.

“Fine with me,” Julie said, completely at ease.

“I wasn’t being serious,” Doug said.

“Fair’s fair. I’m not going to have you drive on no sleep,” she said. “No arguments. It’s a long drive.”

Working by flashlight, Doug made good on securing heavy black towels over the glass block bathroom window, and then turned on the lights.  Although he was nervous about going outside to check for light leaks, he carefully opened the second floor balcony door, and quickly looked over at the window, which looked fine, and then looked off to the west.  A large part of the neighborhood four or five blocks away was dark, although the rest of the area appeared to have power restored. With the distant sound of rifle fire, he didn’t linger outside long.

“OK, you should be fine with the lights on in there,” Doug said.  Julie had already gathered up a change of clothing.

“Thanks.  The luxury of a hot shower…” she said going into the bathroom.

Doug next covered over all the remaining windows in the apartment with blankets, furniture or layers of paper to block light from the inside.  By the time Julie was done with her shower and headed to bed, the townhouse was fairly light tight.   He then turned on his computer and sent an email to his ex-wife Brenda.

“Bren—

Things are pretty dicey down here in Elmhurst, and I’m going to be relocating out of the Chicago area. The townhouse was shot up a bit tonight, and that was the last straw for me. The good news is that I’ve landed a new job, and a fair amount of it will be work-from-home.  I’m going to be heading out tomorrow morning to look at a couple of houses outside of the area.  I’ll let you know how things work out.

Give Matt my regards—I know that’s about the last thing you’d expect me to say, but I have a whole new respect for what he has to do on a daily basis. Please give the kids a hug for me and above all else, stay safe.

--Doug

The scanner was monitoring local police and fire activity as Doug made numerous trips to the garage.  He planned on coming back to the townhouse of course to get the rest of his things, but this trip would take the stuff he really needed while he was away.

Doug turned on the radio for any local news that might impact their decision to leave early Sunday, and found the Al Devlin show again, talking with someone watching the unwinding first hand. 

“Listen. I’m telling you what I’m seeing, and what I’m seeing is not what I’m hearing about on TV or network news.”

“We’re hearing that a lot, caller. Where are you?”

“Atlanta.”

“How are things there?”

“Ever see Gone With the Wind? Picture that fire going through the poor parts of town, and no one showing up to fight it.”

“Any idea what started it?”

“You mean other than the riots? No, I have no frickin’ idea. How stupid are you?”  

“Calm down, caller. I’m in Tennessee. We’re not getting anything from the TV news. You are our reporter there.”

“Well then get this through your thick heads, America. If you’re rich, you’re a target. If you have a business, you’re a target. If you have food next week, you’re a target. The food stamps and the welfare checks and the Social Security checks didn’t show up in the mail on Thursday and Friday, and it hit the fan. Those people are Sherman’s army reincarnated. If it hasn’t happened in your city, it’s gonna, and you better be ready.”

“Thank you caller. Keep the ammo dry.”

“Yeah. Right. Like that’s gonna stop a half-million hungry people…”

‘Damn,’ Doug thought.  He’d heard something on the radio about welfare checks being delayed but hadn’t thought any more of it.  He made another trip to the pickup, loading his least-needed stuff in the bed nearest the cab.   Devlin was still taking calls when Doug came back upstairs, talking about an order given by the President, regarding martial law.

“Caller? Philadelphia, are you there?”

“….if you are trying to make a call, please hang up and ….”

Doug shut off the radio and made a pot of tea as he packed up some of his kitchen utensils.  He then did a ‘bulk check’ of Julie’s stuff, his stuff, and the supplies that he’d bought.  About a third of the essentials weren’t going to fit in the bed and canopy of the pickup, and Doug figured that the back seat area would be packed full of essentials needed at hand…probably including a couple of Julie’s firearms and ammunition. 

Around two a.m., Doug finished packing up everything that he had boxes for or could expect to take with him in another load or two.  In the past, he’d hired movers to box up his stuff and do the heavy lifting.  

After packing, Doug weighed the various options for housing, realizing that he never had received a positive response from her on the opportunity to relocate in Iowa, rather than other options in Wisconsin.  Regent-owned properties east of Chicago were too close to other major cities, and he’d ruled them out. 

He narrowed the options down to three with further study: Each property had at least five acres; each could be heated with wood in addition to ‘regular’ utilities; none were located on major roads.  Each had drinking water wells, the only three that had this feature. One was of brick construction, the others wood frame.   He was still studying them when Julie came out of her bedroom; it was not quite four a.m.

“Good morning,” she said, looking around the darkened townhouse. “You’ve been busy.”

“Truck is pretty well loaded.  The back seat I figured we’d load up with our last minute stuff, and your rifle and such.”

“So you’re about ready to go then?”

“With some sleep, yeah,” Doug said. Julie was looking at his computer screen.

“Where’s this one?” she said, pointing to the brick house.

“Fairfield’s the closest town. It’s a ways out of town--south--off on a one-lane road by the looks of it. Water well; wood burning furnace and natural gas. Standing seam metal roof, built in Nineteen-Eighteen.”

“That’s the one you want,” Julie said.

“Why’s that?” he asked with some skepticism.

“Brick. Slows bullets down,” she said as she pointed over her shoulder to the taped-over holes in the walls.

Sunday

January Twenty-second

6:41 a.m.

Doug awoke with a start, feeling that he’d missed his alarm.  The electric alarm clock was blank again, meaning the power was out. The room was cool, not exactly cold. It wasn’t enough to wake him up though. 

“No point in lazing around,” he said to himself.  He got up and dressed quickly, smelling breakfast and finding himself very hungry. Doug went into the very dark front half of the townhouse.

“Good morning,” he said to Julie, stirring some maple syrup smelling oatmeal cooking on the camp stove.

“How’d you sleep?”

“Like a log. I don’t think I moved at all once my head hit the pillow,” Doug said.

“Thought so. I could hear you snoring out here!” she said with a smile.  “Here—black tea,” she said, handing him a travel mug he’d forgot he even owned.

“Thanks—what’s the news? Anything good?”

“Not really. Europe seems to be in meltdown mode.  No pension checks or any entitlements or direct deposits have been made since Thursday. Credit cards aren’t working either in Europe or here, apparently.  Riots all around Parliament and stretching to Windsor Castle…students and retirees and regular people.  The Royals bugged out to Scotland.”

“Seriously,” Doug said, not as a question.

“Seriously.”

“And here?” he asked.

“Illinois National Guard is everywhere.  A big Army truck rattled by here about an hour ago.  I peeked out the window and there are troops in the street, down at the intersection.”

“Anything on the scanner?”

“The whole police band went dead about five-thirty. The AM band said that curfew is in effect until eight a.m., unless they state otherwise,” Julie said, looking at some notes she’d taken.

“Did you look over the truck? Do I have all the stuff you need?”

“Yes and yes.  Other than your last minute stuff, we should be good to go…when they let us,” Julie said. “Doug, how is this going to work? This house business I mean.”

“Regent has a number for me to call when I make a choice.  They’ll have a local real estate agent expedite the lease. Housing deposit, rent, first and last can all be handled through the company. I can show up and get the keys, get a walk-through on the property, done….”

“Simple as that,” she said, quite skeptically.

“So the paperwork says, yes,” Doug replied as the curfew notice repeated on the radio, followed by a general announcement that no banks in the United States would open under any circumstances on Sunday, and that waiting for banks to open on Monday would not be permitted until after curfews end…

8:05 a.m.

With the last minute packing complete, Doug locked up the house, looking around once more for anything forgotten. They’d waited a few minutes past eight, just to make sure the local curfew was over.

Doug punched the garage door opener, and realized the power was still out….no garage door opener. He disconnected the interlock, lifted the door, and then drove the truck out of the garage, just in time to catch the eye of a local Guard patrol. He pulled the door down and locked it with a key.

“Hold there,” said a soldier. Doug found himself looking down the wrong end of three rifles.

“Absolutely,” he said, raising his hands.

“This your place? You have I.D.?”

“Yeah—in my wallet.”

“Please retrieve it, sir, slowly. We’ve had some problems overnight,” the soldier said.  Doug didn’t know what rank he was, but he seemed to be in charge.  Doug did as he was asked, noticing the other soldiers were now facing out, weapons pointed away from him, scanning….

“Mister Peterson, can you tell me your address without looking at the building?”

“Sure,” he said, then giving them the address.

“Destination, sir?”

“The Hell out of Chicago for a while….sorry. West.”

“This your wife in the truck?” the soldier asked.

“No. A friend. I’m looking after her. She was mugged and is just out of the hospital.”

“Very well, Mister Peterson,” the soldier said.

Doug finally read the man’s name on his uniform, ‘Frye,’ as he called another soldier over. “Rodriguez, gimme one of those maps,” he said, as the younger, much fatter soldier handed his senior a piece of paper.

“Mister Peterson, this is your route out to the West—follow the red line, do not deviate from it. It’s clear as of oh six hundred. Interstate Ninety is closed—red means closed.  Eighty-Eight is open with no tolls, but do not exit anywhere within a hundred miles. Got it?”

“Yeah, but why?”

“Because you won’t make it back onto the Interstate. Good enough?” Frye said with hard, unblinking eyes.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“I’d recommend you drive prudently, but as quickly as you can given the weather. Clear?”

“Yeah. I’m, thinking about coming back for more of my things,” Doug said.

“Sir, if this neighborhood is like most others, you’ll never see anything in that apartment again. Hope you got the important stuff.”

“Yeah, I did. Just hoping.”

“Prayin’ would be better,” Frye said as he shook Doug’s hand. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

Back in the truck, Doug noticed that Julie had a bundle across her lap.  The muzzle of a rifle protruded out near her right foot.  Doug didn’t know what to say, and chose not to say anything.

Fifteen minutes later, they’d passed by more wrecked real estate and were on the westbound lanes of the East-West tollway, now the ‘Reagan’. They began to find themselves traveling with more west-bound vehicles, all heavily loaded…and only then did Doug notice that the Eastbound lanes had Westbound traffic as well.  Many towed trailers, some almost thrown-together, along with pickup trucks and RV’s of every kind.  Once every mile or two, they’d see one broken down on the side or worse, wrecked and abandoned.  They didn’t see anyone walking or standing near the wrecks though—probably not recent.  Doug and Julie exchanged a little small talk, and Julie got Doug’s permission, and encouragement, to take a nap.  She looked quite tired as she reclined her seat the little she could with the stuff in the back seat, and tried to get comfortable.

Doug had his hands full, keeping up with traffic on the slick road. The low cloud deck served to enhance the sensation that they were driving into a fog. Miles west, there seemed to be a dark band always on the horizon, never reached. He turned the radio on for news.

“…influenza is having a dramatic impact on the population, with the elderly taking ill and in many cases dying of the quick moving illness within a day.  Officials from the Centers for Disease Control declined immediate comment, and appear to be taken by surprise.  Local health departments have recommended that all public schools be closed for the next ten days due to the infection, and many universities and colleges are already considering continuation of education through the Internet only….”

‘Hmmm,’ Doug murmured to himself. ‘When was the last time that the CDC declined comment on something like this?  They’re usually overstating the ‘don’t worry’, rather than shutting up….’

“In Richland, Washington, Department of Energy containment teams along with Army specialists are rumored to be struggling to contain radiation released in the Domino earthquake.  Officials, speaking on condition of anonymity, stated that while the Columbia Generating Station was heavily damaged in the earthquake, the reactor itself shut down as designed.  The leaking radiation is apparently from Cold War era buildings that were being studied for cleanup.  Rumors in the community include reports of numerous deaths of first-responders, but the DOE and Federal officials decline comment.”

“Relief efforts and fund-raising efforts for the disaster in the Pacific Northwest again came to the forefront today after last nights benefit concert in Los Angeles, with numerous survivors attending the concert. More than fifty million dollars has been pledged to help relief efforts and the victims of the earthquake. Survivors and evacuees are continuing to arrive in Utah, southern Idaho, Nevada, California, and Arizona, with many local communities setting up shelters and offering evacuees housing and financial aid.  Critics of the Federal Government are pointing out the late response of FEMA and ineffective implementation of emergency response plans.  Neither the director of FEMA nor White House Press Secretary Tompkins would comment.”

Four hours and a hundred-fifty or so miles later, they arrived in the Quad Cities. It took a little while to get past the airport with the heavy westbound traffic, and Doug found a gas station with a smaller-than-average line of vehicles waiting.  The first few were at least a block long.  Nearing the west end of ‘civilization’ though, the options were fewer, and most people probably stopped at the first few they found.

“Fill ‘er up, sir?”  the attendant asked.  Doug noticed the Guard troops fifteen or twenty yards away, keeping watch.

“How much per gallon?” Doug asked as Julie got out of the truck, carefully hiding her rifle, and made her way to the restroom.

“Ten, even.”

“Holy smokes,” Doug said.

“That’s the price. You want gas?”

“Fill it up,” he said, remembering how much cash he had.

“You taking plastic?”  Doug asked.

“If it’s wrapped in cash, sure…Sorry. Cash only. You got enough?”

“Yeah,” Doug said. He and Julie had pooled some cash for fuel expenses.  Julie’s bills were well-used, mostly small bills.

“All right then,” the attendant said. “I need to see your cash, bud.”

“Sure. No prob,” Doug said, fishing a handful—deliberately looking it like was all the money they had, wadded up—out of his jacket pocket. “I’ve got one-fifty here.”

“Jackie! Get over here!” the attendant said. “Put no more than fifteen even in this Dodge! Move it!”

“Done, Ray,” the pump jockey said as he efficiently started pumping.

Doug waited for the fuel to be pumped, noting the five National Guardsmen walking around the convenience store.  He saw then, a line of bullet holes in the safety glass of the storefront. Julie appeared from the ladies room inside the store, and picked up a something from one of the racks, paid for it quickly, and returned to the truck. 

“Your turn,” she said.

“Thanks—here’s the cash. Plan on a hundred-fifty. No more.”

“All right,” Julie said. 

Doug headed inside to relieve himself, noticing the prices on the few things that the store had left on the shelves.  Five dollars for a candy bar…