The Journal: Cracked Earth (7 page)

I found Marie’s lane and set the batteries
from the basket on the conveyor, leaving my cloth bag in the seat
of the cart. Her eyes pooled with tears and she grabbed my
hand.

“Thank you. Thank you for the warning. I did
what you said,” she choked up while ringing up my purchase. I
smiled because I didn’t know how to answer. She looked for a bag
and I said I’d put the batteries in my bag with my stuff from next
door. I pushed the cart out beyond her station to get the batteries
off the end, and she came from behind the register and gave me a
hug. It felt somewhat awkward because Marie is six feet tall and
I’m only five-foot-five.

“You take care of yourself, Marie, and if
your gut says don’t come in to work, then
don’t
. It’s going
to get even worse. You know that don’t you?” I whispered. She
nodded and I grabbed my now heavy sack and left.

* * *

I got to my car and hit the release button on
the key fob to open the hatch. My eyes were darting around the lot,
trying to stay aware of my surroundings. I noticed two young men
walking down the parking lane. They both appeared to be in their
early twenties and were sloppy looking with long greasy hair and
torn jeans. One carried a baseball bat while the other had what
looked to be a metal plumbing pipe and they were looking at me.

Oh, crap
.

I set my bag in the car and turned my body
slightly, slamming the hatch shut with my right hand while the left
hand hit the lock on the fob, before dropping the keys into my left
pocket. My right hand then slid inside my vest and released the
strap on the Kel-Tec that was snug in its shoulder holster. They
were now seven cars away.

“That’s far enough!” I yelled, trying to
sound cold and confident, not sure if I had succeeded. The sight of
the gun pointed in their direction stopped them. I held the
standard two-handed position until they backed away. My
concentration was on the two punks in front of me and I didn’t hear
the cart approach from behind.

“Ma’am,” a nervous voice said and I turned
quickly. Two cars over, with an empty slot between us, was a young
man. I pointed the gun up when I saw the child in the cart.
“Please, will you stay until I get my son in the car seat? I didn’t
think it would be this bad,” he pleaded. The young father looked
miserable.

“Be quick!” I commanded and turned back to
the punks who had stopped retreating. They apparently realized this
new person was not a threat to me, but to them, and they turned to
leave. The father put the child in the car, strapped him in, and
loaded the few groceries that he had found. He was about to enter
his vehicle when I yelled, “Hey, put your cart in the corral! If we
want civilization to continue,
we
must remain
civilized.”

He hurriedly pushed his now empty cart into
the metal corral. “Thank you, lady. You’re absolutely right about
staying civilized.”

I unlocked my car, slid in, re-locked the
doors and set the 9mm down on the seat next to me. Looking at the
handgun, I realized that I had better put it back into its holster.
Right after I strapped the Kel-Tec back into the holster, my hands
shook nervously from the adrenaline rushing through my veins.
Although I’ve had my Concealed Pistol License for eight years, I
have never pulled my gun before.

I just wanted to go home.

From what I saw yesterday, I am even more concerned
with my friends on Eagle Beach. They're not from here and have no
family close by. I am familiar with the schedule the “house
parents” keep. I knew Steve cooked breakfast and left for home
around 8:30 A.M. By 8:20 A.M. I was parked at the end of the road,
waiting to flag him down. He was the one in charge and I needed to
talk with him.

When I saw his red pickup, I got out of my
car. He stopped, looking perplexed. “What’s up, Allexa, car
trouble?” he asked.

“No, Steve, it’s fine. Can we talk for a
couple of minutes?” Not waiting for his answer, I opened the truck
door and climbed in. “I didn’t want to do this in front of the
guys. No sense in worrying them,” I said. “Supply lines are already
shutting down, I’m sure you’ve noticed. It’s not my business what
you’re stocked up on at the house, though I’m going to suggest a
few things. First, if you can, get to the bulk food store and get
as many non-perishables that you can: pasta, rice and canned
goods—anything that doesn’t need refrigeration.”

“I’ve been working on a list, and I see I’ve
got too much that won’t keep,” Steve said, looking down the road,
already lost in thought.

“That place has a whole house generator,
right?”

“Automatic turn on when the power goes out
for more than five minutes, propane fueled. You’re going to tell me
to get the tank topped off, right?”

“Yep.” I smiled. “I have a feeling that the
power might not last much longer, Steve. That gennie will keep the
freezers going. You should use that food first,
and
you need
power to run the blower for that outside woodstove. Without it,
it’s going to get mighty cold in that house, especially facing Lake
Superior like it does.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” he confessed.
“How do you know all this, Allexa? And what’s your interest?”

“Well, Steve, I don’t know if you’ve ever
heard the term, ‘prepper’, but that’s what I am. I have spent years
trying to be prepared to survive just about anything. I’ve had
numerous conversations with others, who are a lot smarter than me
about what we depend on and what could go wrong with it. We’ve
discussed what we need and what would happen if we don’t have it. I
suppose that’s why the township has appointed me the emergency
manager and kept me through three administrations. I’m real good at
thinking about the worst possible things that can happen and then
trying to see our way past them.” I laughed. “What’s my interest?
None, except that you’ve got a dozen guys back there that are
depending on you, and it’s part of my job to help you do that.
Besides, I really like those guys. Oh, and Steve? Don’t forget to
stock up on some things for your own family!”

* * *

JOURNAL ENTRY: November 10

It’s been four days since the first
earthquake hit down south. So much has happened it feels like much
longer. Yesterday I had left a message for the new township
supervisor, Anna, but she hasn’t called me back yet. I’ll have to
track her down. We need to talk about the safety of the town.
Though I rarely have the occasion to use all my knowledge and
training as the town’s emergency manager, I do take the position
seriously. I feel a strong urge, though, to get my own house in
order before I can help others.

* * *

My cold weather lunch has normally been a
pint of homemade soup mixed with a pint of a canned vegetable. When
I was grabbing the two jars off the back pantry, it occurred to me
that I’m going to have to do some rationing myself! The majority of
my pantry food is supposed to get me through the winter. Now it
might have to last a lot longer, unless I want to go vegetarian.
Yuck. I put one jar back.

I still wasn’t over my encounter from
yesterday, and needed to stay busy. I needed to do normal stuff, so
I baked. First I baked a loaf of whole wheat bread, then a
focaccia. I don’t know why I did the focaccia since I don’t
normally eat sweets. Still, it smells heavenly in here. I used
apples, raisins, lots of cinnamon and walnuts.

Knowing that power could go off at any time,
I’m trying to stay ahead doing chores, even to the point of doing
small loads of laundry. Today I washed only the clothes that I wore
yesterday.

Then I gathered the empty water jugs for a
trip to the spring. Only two were completely empty, and the third
was half full. I poured the water into a couple of buckets, trying
to collect as much water from the spring as possible. It’s only a
thirty minute jaunt round trip, though it might be a long time
before I can go back. I was nervous the whole time. Once I got
there, and remembered how isolated it was, I knew that it was a
stupid thing to do.

The roads were eerily free of traffic, but
now I have twenty gallons of fresh spring water to drink. I’ll set
up my water filtration system if need be, however, not until I
can’t get the artesian water. I know I shouldn’t be making those
kinds of trips alone anymore. Still, it sure is hard. I’ve been
alone and independent for so long that it’s a tough habit to break!
I’ll have to work on that.

The news tonight said a total of eleven
states had been affected by the quake: Minnesota, Wisconsin, Iowa,
Illinois, Indiana, Missouri, Kentucky, Tennessee, Arkansas,
Louisiana and Mississippi. Damage was concentrated along the
Mississippi River and the New Madrid fault line and branched out
from there. There is still no word on a total number of dead. They
may never know.

There was a power outage here tonight that
lasted a half hour. Is this just the beginning?

* * *

JOURNAL ENTRY: November 11

Last night I actually slept with the window
open! It was something normal in a not-so normal world. When I went
to bed, it was forty-five degrees, an acceptable temperature to me
for having the window open. This morning it’s fifty-eight degrees
and windy, with the forecast of thunderstorms. Tomorrow the
temperature is supposed to plummet to thirty degrees and we’re
expecting snow. I guess when the power and the internet goes, we
will all know the weather the old fashioned way: step outside and
look. Right now I can see sunshine, a welcome sight, yet over the
Big Lake, there are blue-black clouds forming.

It’s Sunday and I’m not a churchgoer. At the
same time, it has occurred to me that the church might be the place
to take the pulse of the community. What a wakeup call.

* * *

I parked myself in the back pew of the
Methodist Church. Carolyn, the minister, is a friend of mine. The
buzz, of course, was the earthquakes, and discussion of them being
a punishment from God. The rest of the talk was the concern for
limited supplies that was already being felt. To give her credit,
Carolyn emphasized the need for the community to band together to
take care of each other whenever possible. Some of the people were
“hand-wringers”, and some were downright hostile. It was surprising
to me to see which side some were on.

It
didn’t
surprise me that Lenny
Bagget was hostile; it did surprise me to even see him in church.
Adam Grant has always been a gruff, take-charge kind of guy, but he
and his wife Carla were on the side of the handwringers. Many were
concerned about how they were going to eat, which gave me an idea.
I left a note in the collection plate for Carolyn to contact me,
and I slipped out the back unnoticed.

Back home for lunch, I found I really missed
the combination of a meat soup with veggies, so I came up with an
acceptable compromise. For lunch, I poured one jar of turkey soup
into the pan and one jar of canned green beans, mixed them up, and
then ladled half of it back into one of the empty pints for soup
tomorrow. Now I don’t feel so denied. I’ve got all this food that I
grew and canned for myself that I’m finding it very difficult to
not
eat what I want to. It’s frustrating but I know it’s
necessary. Tonight is linguini with clam sauce and mussels from the
freezer, all from storage. I have to keep eating from the freezer
while the power is still on. That’s my goal— at least one meal a
day from the freezer. It would be disastrous to lose all that
frozen food when the power grid goes down.

The temperature got up to sixty-four degrees
and then the rain started, lowering the temps. By tomorrow it’s
supposed to drop thirty degrees! I brought in more wood.

* * *

JOURNAL ENTRY: November 12

It’s been a week since the first quake. Now
that reality has hit, I think I had better make a stronger effort
to check in with the township supervisor. After all, I
am
the township emergency manager. I’m wondering if that’s such a good
position to have right now. During a disaster it’s a lot of
responsibility and pressure. I hope I’m up to it. The times I’ve
had to put that hat on are few and far between and my training
didn’t cover national disasters, only localized events.

The very first thing I need to do is call Liz
since she’s the one I ultimately report to. I’m hoping she will
give me some clue what I need to be doing. I haven’t been trained
for anything on this scale.

It was a short conversation. She is
overwhelmed herself and had little time to spare for me.

* * *

“I’ve known you for eight years, Allexa, and
you’re one of the few local EM’s that take their position
seriously. Follow protocol and do what you think best for your
town, you know it better than I do. I’ve got my hands full here,”
Liz said matter-of-factly during our brief conversation. I could
hear her shuffling papers in the background.

“Can we get any food supplies? And what about
law enforcement?”

“I know that you have several retired
officers up there. Do you think they will be willing to pitch in? I
can send the sheriff up in a few days to deputize them and anyone
else that you think would be good to have,” she replied, deftly
skirting the first half of my question.

“That would be helpful. I’m sure Ken and
Karen Gifford would come back on, and perhaps Bill Harris,” I said,
knowing that she would be familiar these three state troopers. “And
I have a list of all the CPL holders.”

“How did you get that list? CPL holders are
not a matter of public record.”