“She looked at me, tears streaming down her face. ‘There isn’t a damn thing any of us can do,’ she said. ‘No IVs, no sterile bandages, no room at the hospital, not even a damn shot of morphine for his pain. I’d shoot the poor bastard if I had the heart.’ She turned away and went to the next patient, not even bothering to wipe the tears away. In that moment, my old life died. In any event so horrific, you will find two kinds of people: those who retreat into shock and those, like that nurse, who keep trying. You also find out which you are.
“From the soldier, I found out that we were now officially an aid station. That didn’t make much difference, since he was the only one left behind, and he didn’t have any supplies. He wasn’t sure when we would be seeing any real help. The National Guard and Red Cross were being mobilized as fast as possible, but the men on the ground were spread too thin. Judging from what he’d seen over the course of that night, he figured one civilian nurse put us well ahead of most stations.
“I asked where the next station was and he pointed in a vague direction. You could just barely make it out. A small crowd was milling around the warehouse. I waved several of them over and sorted out the healthiest of the lot. We headed off for the next station. I left a person behind every so many feet, creating a human net to catch the refugees. Many were in such deep shock that they wandered right past the aid stations and into the countryside to die.
“Arriving back at the warehouse, I discovered two things had happened. A truck had appeared and dropped a load of supplies in a heap in front of the warehouse. And by virtue of showing the slightest initiative, I had been appointed leader. As I walked up to him, the soldier saluted me. ‘Supplies have arrived, sir. What shall we do?’
“I was a bit surprise by the sudden promotion, but there was too much to do to stop and think about it. I hollered for some people to come over. The activity helped lull them out of their shock. We set up tents and cots for the more severely wounded and organized a sort of triage center for the refugees who were now coming in ever-increasing numbers.
“There was food, military rations.” Several of the boys grimaced at the mention. “Despite twenty-four hours without food, I couldn’t eat. There was still one horrible chore ahead, the worst I had to see to. The dead had to be buried. We didn’t have the strength or resources to do more than a single mass grave.
“The soldier promised that the bodies would be removed and buried properly when the crisis had passed. I doubt that ever happened now. It was only a matter of weeks before New York. With two epic disasters on its hands, the government never quite recovered.
“The days passed,” he went on, “It was about the third day, I believe, that the Red Cross finally got to us. Like the National Guard, they were overwhelmed by the task of helping so many refugees. They did their best to supplement our food and supplies, but for the most part the only officials we saw were the list bearers.”
“List bearers?” Luke asked, “What were those?”
“I don’t know what their actual position or title was; that was just what we called them. They came every few days bearing long lists. They would take down the names of any new refugees. Then, in the evening, they would sit and recite from their lists, first the known survivors and then the confirmed dead.
“Periodically, someone would gasp at the name of a living relative or moan for a dead friend. But Chicago had been a huge city in those days. The bomb had decimated its core. Most of us never knew what became of our loved ones. Not that we held out much hope, given what destruction we had seen.
“The days dragged into weeks. We got regular supply drops from the Guard and from the Red Cross. A few relief workers came and went. They were far too few, and we seemed to be managing better than most aid stations, so mostly they left us alone.
“A few of our number had family elsewhere and left. The rest stayed. Many had lost their entire families and had nowhere else to go, no one to turn to.
“In fact, we managed remarkably well, given the circumstances. There was no real organization, but when supplies came, everyone pitched in. Our survival was on the line, and everyone knew it. We all did our best. No one challenged the nurse’s authority over the dead and dying, which were by far the most numerous. None of us had any medical training. She told us what to do, and we did our best.
“A young woman, Maria, I believe her name was, took over the cooking and, by virtue, the food rationing. To my continual surprise, no one ever challenged my leadership either. Of course, it was more coordinating than leading. I never commanded anyone to do anything. I stated what should be done and someone did it.
“The soldiers rotated through the week. We always had at least one guard with a radio. They had little to do as guards went. Despite the widespread fear, there was little looting. There wasn’t much left of Chicago to steal, for one thing. Besides, the would-be looters weren’t in any better shape than we were. We even did a bit of looting ourselves, with the soldier’s tacit approval. It was organized, and we shared what we found. Need outweighed everything those first few weeks.
“But the thing was, our needs were so basic. We looted for food, cloth for bandages, and clean clothes. The first looting expedition I went on stands out in my mind as the other moment that helped kill my former life. I was amazed to realize how little of what was in those stores had any value for us in those days, or in any day since.
“So anyway, there were no bandits, and the guards had nothing much to do. They pitched in when there was work, and they had one thing we desperately wanted: news. They had radios and contact with the outside world. They told us what was going on, and it wasn’t pretty.
“The bomb, it was decided, had been Chinese made. The president claimed the Chinese were responsible. There was a big declaration of war. The government was still in the process of mobilization when New York happened, so I doubt we ever did anything. I have always had the bizarre image of a troop of US soldiers stranded somewhere over there.”
“I can’t believe the way you’re talking about our government!” Daniel exploded. “How can you accuse America of starting an unjust war? Surely they had some sort of proof that the Chinese did it?”
“And surely they didn’t leave soldiers over there,” Patrick chimed in. “The US military does not leave its own behind.”
“And how would you know?” Roger shot back. “You and your kind were hiding up in the mountains while the country you profess to love was falling apart and leaving millions to starve here and overseas.”
The outburst seemed to drain the men. They looked around for support that didn’t come. It was true; they hadn’t been there. The ranch had done nothing to prevent the collapse.
Luke was looking thoughtful. Amy knew that look; he was searching his memory for something. At last he spoke. “You mentioned New York. What happened?”
“Someone blew the dikes,” Roger said.
“What dikes?” Luke asked.
“Boy, you guys really have been out of touch. They’d been building dikes around New York for almost five years before the blast. They had to construct dikes round most coastal cities, what with the sea level rising,” Roger answered.
“From global warming?” Amy put in.
“Yeah, that’s right,” he answered. Amy shot the boys a triumphant look.
“The sea level had been rising slowly for years. That had been ignored until almost too late. By the time of the blast, the water level was up several meters, and they expected at least another two or three meters before the changes they were instituting would have any hope of halting the trend,” he went on.
“What kind of changes?” Luke asked.
Ruth laughed. “It was the same stuff the environmentalists had been talking about for most of my life; solar power, wind power, electric cars, and hydrogen batteries . . . anything to reduce greenhouse gases. They had initiated massive reforestation projects in the Amazon and in the Northwest US, but it was all too little, too late.”
Roger took up his narrative again. “New York was only about three meters below sea level. But the terrorists were smart. They planted their bombs in the dikes and waited for the next big storm to blow in. The result dwarfed what happened in Chicago. Parts of the city were under as much as ten meters of seawater.
“While we never found out for sure who did Chicago, the group that bombed New York took full credit. It was an African group.”
“Africans?” Luke gasped, “Since when were they our enemy?”
“They felt they had every right to destroy us. Maybe they did. We’d been wasting resources for years while they battled famine after famine. Then after Chicago, we diverted our entire world relief program back to our own catastrophe.”
“Nobody could blame us for that,” Patrick gasped.
“We left millions, if not billions, to starve,” Roger replied. “They could blame us, and they did. After New York, things began to seriously unravel. We knew where the masterminds of the New York disaster were, and we responded against them. Small scale nuclear war.”
“Serves them right,” Patrick declared.
“You would kill millions because of the actions of a few rash men?” Ruth inquired.
Patrick blushed and looked away.
“Well, after that the news we received got pretty spotty. The government had a collapsing economy, food shortages, two massive relief efforts, and war on its hands. It’s no wonder it collapsed. There was civil unrest in every city. Rioting and looting were everyday events. The National Guard was slowly drained away from Chicago to serve in whatever hot spot they were needed most. Ruth could tell you more about that; she was one of the Ten Thousand Warriors for Peace and in the thick of it. My band and I had other concerns, like our survival.”
“Ten Thousand Warriors?” Amy asked Ruth.
“Later,” Ruth replied. “After dinner maybe. Let Roger finish his story first.”
Roger nodded. “It’s quite a story and deserves its own time.” He took a gulp of his tea, sighed, and continued. “As for my story, let’s see. By the time New York happened, they had shipped the worst of the injured out of our aid station. There were no refugee camps or an area big enough for everyone, so the healthier of us just stayed where we were. Meanwhile, the rest of the country saw martial law. The draft and food rationing started. Then one day, a grizzled old veteran who had recently been drafted back into service drove up with our supply drop. With it came a stack of old Army surplus backpacks. That was their way of telling us there wouldn’t be any more supplies.”
“He pointed in the direction of the nearest town with a Red Cross food station, and that was that. We held a big meeting and voted unanimously to stay together. By this time there were rumors everywhere of bandits in the countryside. While we were unarmed, there was a certain strength in numbers.
“That winter was the worst for me. It was the next two that were worst for most people, though. War rationing was in full effect. For many, this meant more food, or at least a steadier supply of less. The inequality of the marketplace was gone for the moment.
“Unfortunately, war rations required a coupon book. A coupon book required an address. We were homeless. We numbered almost two hundred at the start of our trek, and nobody would let us stay in one place long enough to get an address. We fell through the ever-widening cracks.
“The Red Cross had aid stations everywhere, but their food situation was critical. What little they had, they shared, at least. In some places, the locals headed us off before we got to the aid station. They didn’t want competition for what little food the Red Cross had, and told us so at gunpoint. We had no choice but to move on. Other places let us in, even gave us some extra.
“That winter we lost over half our number to hunger and cold. We heard rumors of bandits frequently at aid stations, but our size and obvious poverty kept most of them away. Only once were we robbed by gun-toting militiamen.
“It was wandering the long stretches between towns when the enormity of what we had done began to sink in. While thousands starved in the cities, the countryside was a ghost town. So many farmers had gone bankrupt. So many old farmhouses lay abandoned and fields of weeds abounded; all victims of the transgenetic plague.
“A few farms survived, mostly by growing large subsistence gardens for themselves. Those close to towns often had a thriving black market going in fresh produce. Mostly, they were unfriendly and armed. We couldn’t blame them; without every scrap of food many families would have starved. Besides, news of generosity could bring bandits down on them.
“By spring, we crossed the Mississippi river into Iowa. After that, things got a lot better. Everything from the Mississippi to the Rocky Mountains was Quiet Earth Country.”
“What?” Luke asked.
“The Quiet Earth Society,” Roger said. “They formed in rebellion against martial law. They were the only really successful rebellion. You’ll meet some them yourself.”
“We will?” Luke asked, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.
Patrick leaned forward in his chair. “What have you done, old man?”
Roger merely laughed and climbed to his feet. “Settle down, kid,” he told Patrick. He went into the cottage and came out with a wooden box. “This is what you guys need, eh?” he asked, pulling out a glass jar with a wire strap lid.
Luke took it from him and nodded. “New canning jars,” he said. “Yeah, that and a few other things.”
“I’d gladly help you out, son,” Roger told him. “I could give you a whole case. Any more, and Ruth and I would be short.” He turned to Patrick, “You could invoke your right of seizure. We are just two old people, surely you could take us.” Patrick shifted uneasily. “That’d net you maybe six cases. You’d still be way short, if I am not mistaken.”
“You’re right,” Luke conceded, handing him back the jar.
“And we have none of the technology you need. So that means your only hope is to go to the Quiet Earth Society. They’d have what you need and more. You don’t need to fear them. They’re friendly enough, as long as you don’t threaten them.”