Authors: Rich Goldhaber
Sanchez and his senior officers met in the
officer’s mess area with their four guests. They
were served coffee and water. Jason Winters started the conversation. “What the hell is going on?
Are we the only people alive on the planet? What
are we going to do?”
Sanchez thought these were all reasonable
questions considering the length of time the Winters family had been in isolation. Sanchez then
asked his medical officer to brief their guests on
the status of the world.
Diane Winters, Jason’s wife, finally said,
“My God, you mean it spread throughout the world
in just a couple of weeks?”
It wasn’t really a question, more a statement of fact. Jason Winters asked, “So what are
you doing here?”
Sanchez answered, “We’re not really sure if
the contagious period is over yet, so we thought
we’d try picking up some food supplies on a deserted island. On our satellite imagery, this looked
like a promising location.”
Billy Winters, who was in his teens, interrupted, “Well there’s a whole group of wild pigs
running around the island. We couldn’t catch any
but I’m sure you can.”
Grace Winters, who also looked in her late
teens added, “There’re plenty of bananas and coconuts. We’ve been living on fresh fish for the last
couple of weeks.”
Sanchez smiled, “Well let’s see if we can
change our diets. My crew is going to set up a
campsite on the beach. We’ll kill some of the wild
pigs and that will give us a meat supply for the
next few weeks. Let’s do a pig roast on the beach
tonight.”
Ed Sanchez turned to his Executive Officer.
“Gordy, have the crew set up the campsite and
begin shuttling the crew onto shore. Set up a hunting party, and have the kitchen staff prepare to
butcher and freeze some fresh pork. We won’t be
keeping kosher for the next few weeks.”
Sanchez answered, “Well I’ll probably be
court martialed, but if you promise not to tell the
authorities, I think our Chief Engineer, Lieutenant
Collins can make that happen.”
Several inflatable small boats were set up
on the sub’s foredeck. Jason Winters had brought
four fishing poles over from his boat and two of the
inflatables left the ship and began trolling for fish.
They moved closer into shore where many fish
would be living near the protection of the submerged reef. The third inflatable began shuttling
sailors over the reef and onto the beach. The first
group to land was armed with high-powered rifles.
Within an hour, most of the crew had been
brought ashore, and they began setting up a
campsite and collecting coconuts and bananas. By
the late afternoon, almost four dozen wild pigs had
been killed and carried to the campsite strapped to
long poles carried on the shoulders of the successful hunters. The sub’s kitchen staff began butchering the wild animals and preparing them for the
freezer. One large boar was set up on a makeshift
spit and the crew took turns cranking as the wild
pig roasted slowly over a wood fire.
The Winters family marveled at the efficiency of the crew. They all seemed to quickly adapt to
their new surroundings. By early evening, the
kitchen staff had set up a simple buffet line. The
crew had also found several breadfruit trees on the
north end of the island, and the kitchen staff had
boiled the fruit. They claimed it would taste like a
boiled potato. A chainsaw cut down a few palm
trees, and they were dragged around the barbeque
fire pit to provide seating for the Winters family
and the crew.
The large boar was a bit tough, but the slow
roasting on the spit had created a delightful dinner. It had been several weeks since any of the
crew had seen anything other than the interior of
their submarine and sitting out on the beach and
breathing in the salt air was a pleasant therapeutic
relief.
Josh found me as I was drinking a cup of
coffee. “We need to secure our long term supply of
produce and meat. Why don’t you and I fly over
with Blaine to Immokalee and look for survivors.
There must be a few people there. I need to talk to
them about supplying us with fresh produce.”
“Josh, I think that’s a good idea, but we
need to be careful. These people need to be welcomed to our community if they want to come.
We’ve got to approach things as if we’re all in this
together.”
As Blaine, Josh and I prepared to leave on
our trip to Immokalee, I noticed an announcement
posted on the entrance to our apartment building.
Patty had prepared the rules for our upcoming
election. Persons wishing to serve on the Board of
Governors should file their names with her by the
end of the day tomorrow. A town meeting would be
held in two days where each person running for
office could speak and others in the community
could also provide information. Everyone over
eighteen years of age could vote, and the secret
ballet would be held immediately after the town
hall meeting. The process seemed pretty simple
and straightforward.
The Piper Cub had seating for four, and
Josh squeezed into the rear seat. Blaine started up
the plane’s single-engine, and after checking on a
few of the instruments, he began taxiing out of the
parking lot and down the street leading away from
the apartments. He made a right turn onto the circular road surrounding the campus and then another right turn at a stop sign. The airplane moved
onto a relatively straight portion of the road and
Blaine applied the brakes.
He completed a final check of his instruments and then advanced the throttle until the
plane was shaking. Then he released the brakes,
and the little Piper Cub shot down the straight
road and into the air.
Blaine headed east and leveled out at 1500
feet. From this altitude we had a good view of the
countryside as we worked our way east toward the
town of Immokalee. Fifteen minutes later we
buzzed the town and began circling overhead in a
one mile diameter circle. After a few minutes,
Blaine began moving our plane further outward
from the center of town.
Josh was the first to see about twenty people standing outside a group of apartments. Blaine
buzzed them and then looked for a place to land
the Piper Cub. There was a relatively flat grassy
field alongside the apartment, but Blaine preferred
an asphalt road a half mile away from the crowd.
He throttled back the engine, extended the
plane’s flaps, and lined up the plane on the road’s
yellow centerline. The plane skimmed just above a
high voltage line and then floated down toward the
black narrow road. At the last minute Blaine added
some power, and the plane touched down on the
center of the road and coasted to a stop. He cut the
engine, and we stepped out onto the road as the
crowd ran toward our airplane.
A short man in his fifties with a black mustache stepped forward. “Hello my friends, I am Manuel Garcia. We are all that are left of the people in
Immokalee. Everyone else has died.”
We introduced ourselves, and then I asked
if there was a place where we could talk. Manuel,
who preferred to be called Manny, led us along
with twenty-one other survivors back toward the
apartment complex and into the back area alongside a grove of palm trees.
A woman arrived with three bottles of water. I thanked her, and we began our discussion.
Manny was clearly calling the shots, but everyone
was listening carefully. “Manny,” I said, “several
hundred survivors are relocating to the campus of
Florida Gulf Coast University. We’re all the people
left from Fort Myers down to Marco Island. We’ve
come here today for two reasons. First, we want to
invite you all to join us; and second, we want to get
your advice on what needs to be done to meet our
group’s fresh produce needs.”
Manny said, “First, can you tell us what
happened; we’ve been out of touch with anyone
outside of Immokalee for almost two months.”
I reviewed what had happened, the pandemic, the killing off of almost everyone on the
planet, and the beginnings of our own community.
From the looks on these people’s faces, this must
have been the first time they had heard the big picture, and they were all clearly horrified.
There was silence. A few of the women were
crying, and the men just looked on with stoic faces.
Everyone was in shock. I waited a few minutes enduring the silence and then spoke again. “Manny,
we have electricity and food, and enough space for
each of you to have your own apartment. We want
you to join our community. Will you come live with
us?”
“Manny thought for a moment. “Mister
Reed, all we know is this way of life and this little
community. We all feel comfortable here. It’s our
home. It will be very difficult for us to leave.”
I put an arm around Manny’s broad shoulders and said, “Manny, please call me Jim. Can we
talk for a few minutes in private?”
Manny spoke to his friends in Spanish and
then the two of us walked over to the front of the
apartment and sat on the front steps. “Manny, you
and your friends need to come with us for a number of reasons. “We’re all starting over and we’re all
going to have to work together to bring our lives
back to normal.”
Manny interrupted, “Things will never be
back to normal. I’ve lost my wife and two children
and all of my friends. How can things ever be normal again?”
“Manny, you’re absolutely right. It will never be the same, but all of us working together can
bring back the electricity, the telephones, fresh water, working toilets; all the things we have all taken
for granted. Together we can do this. “But there’s
one much more important reason why you and
your friends need to move in with us.”
“For years immigrants who work the fields
have been treated like second-class citizens. This is
a chance to change all of that. By coming to live
with us, you will be treated as equals, because we
will all need each other, and working together we
will learn to live together and to appreciate what
each culture brings to our new society.
“Will it be easy? Probably not. There will be
some of our people who will never change, but I
know almost everyone and most are the type of
people who will rise to the challenge and embrace
you and your friends with open arms.
“And there’s one more thing; I see your
group has three children. We are going to start a
school for children and they will be taught how to
be good engineers and doctors and farmers. One of
those children back there may become the next
leader of our community. This is your chance to
change things for the better. Please seize this opportunity and join us. If things don’t work out, you
can always leave.”
Manny was crying now. He held his head in
his hands, and the tears were streaming down his
cheeks. He finally looked up and turned toward
me. “My friend, you speak strong words of truth.
Perhaps God meant this as a test for all of us to
find a way to live together in peace. I will talk to my
friends. We will have to vote on whether to come to
the university, but I believe I can convince them
with the same words you used. You are right, this
is our chance.
“We are all hard workers here, and I am
sure we can all contribute to the community. What
can we do to help?”
“Manny, we are going to need to provide
food for everyone. Much of the fresh produce we
purchased in the past was grown in this area. You
need to help us learn how to grow the food we are
going to need. Please don’t misunderstand what I
am saying; I don’t want you to grow it for us; that
will not change anything. Instead, I want you to
work with us to grow our food, and of course many
of you will have other skills our community will
need. We need each other.”
We stood up, and Manny embraced me. He
looked at me and said, “My friend, together we will
make this work.”
We walked back to the others in the backyard, and Manny began speaking to his friends in
a combination of English and Spanish. He spoke
for almost half an hour, and his friends were captivated by his speech. Finally there was silence, and
then he must have asked for a show of hands, because everyone raised their hands in unison. Manny looked at me and said, “It is done my friends.
We will come tomorrow, and we will bring truckloads of fresh produce.”
I made it a point to hug each of the people
there and welcome them each to our community.
Everyone followed us to Blaine’s airplane and
waved to us as we flew into the air.
“I told him this was the chance for his people to finally be treated as equals, and how important it is for us to make that dream a reality.” I
looked at my watch. It was only eleven o’clock.
“Where to now my friends?”
Josh said, “Let’s fly north. I think there’re
some dairy and cattle ranches west of Lake Okeechobee.”
It took us another twenty minutes to reach
the Lake Okeechobee area. Blaine began searching
a grid just west of the lake. We were looking for
any survivors, and if we really got lucky, perhaps a
cattle rancher or dairy farmer. Our little airplane
maintained a cruising altitude of 1500 feet. We
moved steadily westward as we flew repetitious
north south runs.
We finally saw a person waving just outside
a farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. Blaine
changed course and dropped down to 200 feet. As
we flew over the young woman’s head, she jumped
up and down. Blaine set the plane down on a narrow paved road and taxied up to the dirt road leading to the woman’s house.
The tall slender woman, perhaps in her late
twenties, was out of breath by the time she
reached us. She stopped in front of us, and between large gulps of air, we found out her name
was Barbara Gordon. Her family had owned this
dairy farm for three generations, and she was the
sole survivor. We were the first people she had
seen since her father died four weeks ago. She invited us into her home.
She offered us some water from a pitcher
on the kitchen counter. She said, “We have a well
and I’m using an old hand pump. The electricity
went out about four weeks ago. I’ve been milking
the cows by hand. I was going to give it one more
week and then leave.”
I explained all about our group of survivors
living just north of Naples, and asked her if she
wanted to join us. She walked over to the window
and looked at her herd of cows grazing in the pasture. “I don’t know if I can leave all of this. It’s in
my blood. It’s hard to just walk away from three
generations of commitment.”
I offered Barbara an alternative. “Barbara,
what if we sent some people from our community
to help you run the farm. We’ll set up a solar field
to provide electricity, and we can help with other
things. In exchange, you’ll teach our people how to
run a dairy farm, and supply us with milk and
other dairy products.”
Barbara jumped at the chance. “I know how
to make butter and cheese, and there’s a place
nearby where we can pasteurize and bottle the
milk.”
“Fly back with us now Barbara. Tonight
we’ll ask for volunteers to help you at the farm.
We’ll ask people to take one-month shifts. That
way we’ll be able to train a lot of people. Maybe in
six months we’ll be able to find people who want to
make a long-term commitment, and that’s how
we’ll establish a whole new farming community.”
Barbara thought about my plan and then
nodded in agreement. “It just might work. Give me
a minute; I want to bring some pictures of the
farm.”
Barbara met us out at the airplane holding
a picture album full of memories. She squeezed
into the backseat with Josh, holding the pictures
close to her chest. Blaine started up the plane’s
engine and took off heading southwest. It took us
almost thirty minutes to reach the campus and
park the plane in its usual spot.
The apartment complex was in a state of
confusion. A busload of people and several cars
had arrived from the Fort Myers area, and they
were being processed by Margaret. Margaret
shouted at me as we passed. “The water pressure
is back to normal.”
I found Jessie in her apartment and introduced Barbara. Jessie invited her in for a shower
and change of clothes, and after I briefed Jessie on
our day, Jessie asked Barbara to spend the night.
My shower was the best one I can ever remember. It’s amazing how you take things for
granted like a hot shower with ample water pressure until there isn’t any hot water or water pressure. After dressing, I wandered around the
apartment complex welcoming each new arrival I
met.
Jessie and Barbara had both showered and
were sitting in lounge chairs behind Jessie’s
apartment. I pulled up a chair and Jessie poured
me a glass of wine. “Have some cheese,” she said,
“I found some Jarlsberg Swiss at Costco, and it
really tastes great.”
“Great, Bill’s team can put together a whole
field of solar arrays in just a couple of hours, but
we’re running out of solar kits. Bill looked through
Opti-Solar’s competition folder and identified a half
dozen other suppliers in the Naples and Fort Myers
areas. Tomorrow, we’re going to check out their
inventory of systems. When we run out of those
parts, we’re going to have to figure out a long-term
solution.”
Jessie had obviously been thinking through
the problem. “The photovoltaic cells are the problem. I looked at Opti-Solar’s list of suppliers, and
the photovoltaic cells are manufactured at a place
just a little south of Orlando. I’m recommending
that we take a few trucks up there and move their
equipment to the engineering campus. I’m sure
they have pretty good standard operating procedures for their manufacturing process. It’ll take
some practice, but I’m sure we’ll be able to duplicate their results.”