THE DAY: A Novel of America in the Last Days (The End of America Series) (18 page)

Stone
River Refinery

Roxana,
Illinois

              
Frank
Talbot was finally home asleep, well deserved after his several non-stop hours
shutting down the refinery. He was so dead asleep that when his phone rang, he
tried to integrate the incessant sound with what his mind was dreaming. By the
fifth ring, however, the extraneous sound won over the fitful dream.
Reluctantly, he reached his night stand to stop the noise. As he did he saw
that the orange fluorescent numbers on his alarm clock showed 3:28
AM.

              
"Hello.
Who
is this
?....
What
time is it?
What
the…."

              
"Is
this Mister Talbot?
Frank Talbot?"

              
"Yeah….who
wants to know? Why are you calling
so
early
in…
.
"

              
"Sorry, Mister Talbot.
This is Sheriff Bolton. Are you
the Frank Talbot who is an officer at the refinery?
Stone
River?
Your name is on our emergency contact list. That’s
you
, right?"

              
"Yeah….Yeah.
That’s me. What’s the
emergency? If you guys need some gasoline for your cruisers, I can’t help
you. We’re totally shut down. I can explain why, but we don’t have
fuel that we can give…."

              
"No,
Mister Talbot, nothing to do with that. We’ve got a few gallons left in
the supply tank down at the office. I’m calling to tell you that
the refinery’s
on fire
."

              
Frank
shot straight up in bed, his attention now fully on the early morning call.
"Say that again, Sheriff. Did you say that the refinery’s on fire?
When
did it….
how
did it…."

              
"Here’s
all I know, sir. Somebody, actually it looks like several somebodies, cut
through the security fence on the back side of the refinery. Had to happen
sometime in the last couple hours, maybe earlier, but after it got dark. It
looks like they broke in to
steal fuel
,
based on the two gas cans that they must have dropped when they started the
fire."

              
"How
did they start it? Does it look like arson?"

              
"No.
Don’t think so. They used some heavy metal tools to break the lock on the
exit valve on a large fuel tank, at least that’s the way it’s
marked. You’ll have to tell us. They broke off the valve, but the sparks
from slamming the tools against the metal valve set the fuel on fire.
That’s apparently when they dropped their gas cans and boogied out,
leaving the fire to spread, which it
really
has,
in spades. You better get over here, sir. Of course, with the fire
department guys mostly not around since The Day, I don’t know that
there’s much you can do."

              
"So
the fire department is AWOL? Why are
you
still working? In Katrina the police almost all went home to protect their
families giving up their law enforcement duties.
Can’t
say as I blame ‘
em
."

              
"That’s
what my wife keeps asking me. I’m the
only
one in the Sheriff’s office that’s still around. All the
deputies are now off duty. That’s what I like to call it, it sounds
better, but in reality they’re done. They won’t be back to
work….
Sir,
can you come down to the refinery?
I’m sure that there a number of people in your operation that you will
need to notify. I don’t expect you to grab a fire extinguisher and start
spraying,
it’s
way too far gone, even if we had
a fire department. It’s
gonna
’ burn
to the ground
, Mister Talbot, sorry to
have to say."

              
"I
hate to see it burn, but we were out of business, in any case. I’ll
explain why when I see you. We supply fuel for a 150 mile area in Illinois and
Missouri. Better
save
whatever gas
you have in that
supply tank
you mentioned at your
office. There won’t be anyone driving in this part of the world, very
soon. I don’t know if you have any food stored up, but you might want to
go buy some."

              
"Are
you
serious
? I guess you’ve
been busy on other things, Mister Talbot, but every grocery store in Roxana has
been cleaned out.
Totally.
Some people threw some
money at the cashiers when they ran out with their carts or their arms full,
but
most didn’t
. They just took
what they could. There’s not a can of soup available anyplace in town. I
truly don’t know what folks are going to do in say a week or two.
Winter’s only a couple, three months away. We’ll have a lot of
starving people,
that’s for sure
."

              
"Sheriff,
you’re a good man…I’ll be right over."

Home
of Pastor Mick Kirkland

Sammamish,
Washington

              
Pastor
Kirkland’s kitchen contained a comfortable amount of food, but since
neighboring Seattle was nuked, he consumed only some soup and two crackers. His
appetite was gone. He knew what would happen as soon as he Googled radiation
poisoning. The Pastor managed to bottle up several containers of water on The
Day, which turned out to be good timing, as his electricity went out that
evening. With the termination of electric power went any further news from his
television’s snowy Vancouver channel. He had never met most of his
neighbors, so none had come to his home to check on him.

              
Eventually
his Church’s Associate Pastor knocked on his door, inquiring as to his
well-being. "Pastor Mick, are you
okay
?
I couldn’t call you, of course, so I walked over to see you. Can I come
in?"

              
"
Kerry,
thanks for your thoughtfulness, but I’m
not
feeling well."

              
"I
know, everybody’s just
terrified
over the nukes, and we still don’t know how many there were….or
even really….who did this to us….I think that…."

              
"No,
Kerry, I mean I am physically
sick.
I’m….
umh
…."

              
"Can
I get you some medicine? We have all kinds of pills. Do you have the flu, or
what do…
.
"

              
"I
was exposed to the fall out. I was outdoors, and the wind carried it. I was
covered with the radioactive ash…..Kerry,
I’m a goner
….I won’t make it to the end of the
week…..I….won’t…." Pastor Kirkland chocked up and
couldn’t continue speaking.

              
"Now,
now, Pastor Mick, you don’t know how long you have….
for sure
….we could walk over to
the regional medical clinic and see what they have. They
must be
prepared for emergencies like this, don’t
you…."

              
"They’ll
be
overrun
with people in better
shape than I am, whom they can actually
still
help
….that is….if there’s even anyone still there. Look,
Kerry, look at my arms."

              
The
Pastor pushed his screen door fully open, braced it with his foot and pulled
back his long sleeves, baring his arms.

              
"Oh….oh
no
….
Holy
….yuck….you’ve….oh, Pastor Mick."

              
"I
know
,
the skin was just red at first. But late
yesterday I tried to wash my arms with some water I saved before the power went
out….and….that’s when the skin starting sloughing off. If I
just touch the skin, it comes off. I’ve been bleeding like this
all day
. I’m wearing this Seahawk
cap because most of my hair is gone, and the skin and the hair from my scalp
is
in the trash. Look here, Kerry, under the cap, look,
it’s
a bloody mess
….I
just don’t know how I can…."

              
Associate
Pastor Kerry grabbed his mouth, couldn’t hold it and wretched into the
bushes in front of Pastor Mick’s home.

              
At
about 11 PM on the third day after The Day Pastor Mick was sitting in his
reclining chair, slowly bleeding from his arms and head. He coughed twice, spitting
up blood from his irradiated lungs, breathing his last breath. He then
succumbed to the destructive effects of radiation on his human body.
 

Rancho
McDonald

North
of Durango, Colorado

              
Larry
and Mary McDonald had first seen the light several years ago as they were
watching television on a warm night at their home in western Ohio. Larry
watched two back-to-back bank advertisements promoting home mortgages. The
first ad said that new customers could borrow up to 110% of the cost of the
home, Larry yelled at his TV,
"What?
You don’t require
any
down
payment and now you’re loaning out
more
than the cost of the home? Are you kidding? That’s voodoo economics.
It’s…."

              
"Now,
Larry
," Mary said from the
kitchen, "you’re getting all steamed again. Calm down. It’s
just an ad.

              
"An ad?
Just
an ad?
Don’t you remember not
so long ago we had to make a down payment of 20% in order to buy this house?
Now, they
give
you 10% to sign up for
a mortgage, 110% of the purchase price? That’s
insane
. It’s unsustainable….it’s….wait,
Mary look at that. There’s another ad from a bank, pushing no down
payment, up to 15% on top of the purchase price and
no
proof of income documents required. Have they
lost their minds
?"

              
Larry
had previously worked in the finance industry and Mary was employed at a bank
in western Ohio. They talked late into the night about what they had been
seeing in America. Both knew that lending practices like what they had heard
about and now seen with their own eyes would lead, inevitably, to widespread
insolvency, mortgage foreclosures and bankruptcies, accelerating as soon as the
bubble burst. The next morning they listed their home for sale. They priced it
to sell, which it promptly did, allowing them to store their possessions and
head west. Larry and Mary decided that when the bubble burst someday that they
didn’t want to be anywhere
near
an urban center.

              
Larry
and Mary’s search for a safe retreat led them to locate a forty acre
abandoned farm north of Durango and near the San Juan National Forest. It
looked to them to be about as remote and safe as one could expect, but still
allowed them access to retail stores forty minutes away in Durango. They fixed
up the old farmhouse and moved in with their son, Zach, their daughter, Melanie
and two dogs. By the September, 2008 economic downturn, which Larry referred to
as ‘the beginning of the end’, they had raised a barn, a stable,
planted fruit trees and learned to raise animals. They also constructed an underground
storage unit in which they regularly laid up canned goods, beans, rice and
other food that would sustain them when, as Larry said, "things get
really, really bad" Against that future day Larry had acquired three
rifles, two shotguns and four pistols of varying makes. Before ammo supplies
began to dry up, Larry purchased and hid away a considerable supply. Larry and
Mary were ready for what they sensed would be coming bad days.

              
When
the Lawrence McAlister Hate Speech and Hate Weapons Elimination Act became law
Larry and Mary decided that they would rather face criminal charges than to
give up their firearms, which the new law required. They told their children
never to reveal to any of their friends in town that they retained their
weapons. The McDonalds loved their remote ‘
prepper
’
home. They felt safe in a world which was becoming less so.

Oak
Mountain State Park

Pelham,
Alabama

              
Ten
thousand acres of rolling Alabama woods would normally hold a wide variety of
wildlife. By the time Scott, Tim and his son Tyler arrived at the area’s
largest state park they began to wonder if the popular forested area had been
hunted out. They left their school safe house at 3 AM, hoping to be deep in the
woods and up Oak Mountain before sunrise. They were delayed, however, when they
bumped into two other small groups of armed men. The men in all three groups
wore full beards, as all men were by now bearded. Electric and blade razors
were no longer useable and few had access to long blade razors as used in the
19
^th
century.

              
They
saw the first band of hunters from a distance, both groups heading in the same
direction along state road 119 towards the state park. Scott decided to hunker
down and give the hunting party ahead of them fifteen minutes before they
started hiking again. Just as they reached the eastern edge of Oak Mountain
State Park Tyler spotted four armed men just entering the woods on the south
side of Alabama 119. Tyler’s yelp at seeing them was too loud, however,
drawing the men to wheel around to locate the source of the sound. Scott raised
his arms, stopping Tim and Tyler. The two armed bands of men stared at each
other, about four hundred feet apart. No one spoke.

              
Finally,
Scott took the initiative, "Greetings, men….we’re just here
to hunt
….don’t mean you or
anyone else any harm."

              
The
armed man with two rifles slung on his shoulders looked sidewise at his three
armed companions. Seeing no reaction, he turned back, stared at Scott and said
in a deep-toned, menacing voice, "Hey
pal
,
get outta here….these here are our woods.
Got it
?....
You come in this park you may
find that a stray bullet will find its way into
your ugly face
….We’ll let you live for now, but
scat….
now
….leave this
park alone.
Any
questions
,
hunter man?"

              
Scott
whispered to Tim and Tyler, "We’re leaving, but
don’t
turn your back on them. Just
move backwards up the slope until we’re behind those cars we passed up
there on 119." Slowly they shuffled back up the small rise to 119 until
they were out of sight of the belligerents. Tim asked his dad, "Pops,
what do we do
now
? We came all the
way to Oak Mountain, hiked who knows how many miles? Are we
gonna
’
let those
jerks
keep us out of the
best hunting area in this part of Alabama?"

              
"We
don’t have any
choice
, Tim,"
his father replied. "The three of us have either got to fight these guys
who have
more
weapons than we do, or
we wait for a time, and then we head straight west and hopefully avoid meeting
up with them."

              
Scott
silently prayed for wisdom. Looking the situation over, he said,
"Let’s just move off the road on the north side, down in that
ravine that leads into the park. We’ll wait for a good half hour. By then
it’ll be dawn. Then we’ll head straight west, since they went south.
We can’t take a chance of bumping into those guys. They looked pretty
much like us, just hungry men out looking for game to feed their families, but
we’re out-manned and out-gunned
."

              
By
nine AM Scott, Tim and Tyler were deep into the park, climbing up Oak Mountain,
staying away from trodden paths. Tim spotted a large oak tree growing near the
side of a deep, heavily wooded ravine. By helping each other up to the lowest
branches, the three hunters were able to climb into the heavy branch structure
of the imposing tree. Once in position, as comfortable as possible, the hunting
party waited for game to come by their position.

              
They
waited….and waited.
And waited.
The closest they
came to spotting an animal worth bagging before noon was a large rabbit hopping
through the woods at the edge of the ravine beneath their perch. The angle was
such that no one had a good shot. All three were praying for deer, but so far
no deer were spotted.

              
As
they waited in the oak tree, Tim whispered to his son, "Tyler, have you
ever heard the story of Masada?"

              
"Masa….what?
I don’t think so. What is it?

              
"It
happened a long time ago, in Israel." Tim spoke softly, so as not to
scare off any game, though the last three hours of waiting had about convinced
the hunting party that they were wasting their time. "The Romans who
occupied Judah back in Bible times built a large fortress at the top of a
quarter-mile high mountain named Masada, south of Jerusalem. They chose the
site because it was almost impossible to scale the cliffs that surrounded the
fortress. Several Jewish rebels against Roman rule took over the fortress on
Masada in 70 AD. Three years later Rome laid siege to Masada. They built a
siege ramp up the side of the mountain. Then they brought up a battering ram
and hammered their way into the fortress. When they got in they found the dead
bodies of 960 dead Jewish rebels, who took their own lives over destruction by
the ferocious, blood-thirsty Romans.

              
"Interesting
story, Dad,
why
did you tell it to
me?"

              
"Oh,
no particular reason, son….It’s just….It’s just that
sometimes people do things to avoid a
bigger
harm….
Umh
….Do you know what I
mean?"

              
"No,
not really
, Dad."

              
"It’s
probably
time
," Scott whispered, "that we
head back to the school. We’re not going to get any game today,
guys."