Chapter Seven #2
“We can’t expect people to routinely donate their time and services,” Sela said as she absently drew circles on the notepad.
“In a short-term emergency people will give, but this is going to last a while.”
“You’re thinking a barter system?”
“There isn’t anything else that will work. Well, there is right now, but what about later on when winter is here and food
is getting scarce?”
“But what could people offer? If they need someone to hunt for them then they can’t offer food, right? Food’s what they need,
not what they have a surplus of.”
“Mending. Babysitting. Cooking. Knowledge. The elderly will be the most in need, but they also have the most knowledge in
how to get things done without electricity. Teaching. The kids can’t be left at loose ends, they still need to be in some
kind of learning environment, as well as helping out with everything that needs to be done.” Sela sat back, thinking of her
own situation. She needed firewood and Trey Foster had offered to keep her supplied, so now she needed to come up with some
way to pay him for the wood. Cutting firewood was hard work. The chain saws would work only until they ran out of fuel, then
any cutting would be done by hand, with axes.
Damn, this was getting complicated. In one way everything was being stripped down to the basics, but they needed to survive
as a community, which meant there were a lot of moving pieces.
Carol took a sip of tea. “I say again, you should be the one doing this. You just came up with several things that never crossed
my mind.”
“And I didn’t know about the medication thief,” Sela returned, determined not to be maneuvered into something she didn’t want.
“Besides, I wasn’t elected; you were.”
“How could you be elected when you wouldn’t step forward?” Carol demanded, her tone exasperated.
“Going over ground that’s already been plowed,” Sela pointed out, unswayed, which earned her a rude noise from her aunt.
An uproar exploded in the direction of the big grills, and they jumped to their feet. A crowd was already gathering, but through
a gap they saw two men rolling on the ground with fists flying.
“Oh shit,” Carol said, and sighed. “This is never gonna work.”
The big cookout was a good idea in that it took care of a lot of food that might otherwise have spoiled, but other than that
not a lot was accomplished. Carol had names, they had some ideas, but there was almost no forward movement in organizing anything.
The crisis was too new, and the situation wasn’t critical yet. The weather was still good. People still had food. For the
most part, the valley inhabitants were adjusting to life without electricity, puttering around outside, going to bed early,
and solitarily tackling whatever they thought they needed to do to get ready for winter.
While part of Sela was impatient to get some organization in place, another part of her was content to do exactly as the others
were doing. She managed to cut enough off her drainpipes that she could fit her big plastic container boxes beneath them to
catch rainwater . . . not that there was a whole lot of rain this time of year, though if a big tropical storm swept in from
the Gulf that could change. In the meantime, every afternoon she and other people in the neighborhood walked back and forth
multiple times to the nearest creek, collecting water in whatever container they could carry.
Every day, Carol tried the Y2K windup radio to see if she could pick up any broadcast, but heard only static. Nevertheless,
they all immediately formed the ritual of gathering around while Carol searched for a signal, and after Sela suggested they
go outside so there would be less interference, the radio became sort of a neighborhood thing. People volunteered to operate
the crank to charge the battery. Someone brought out a folding card table, and Carol would set the radio on it while everyone
gathered around, hoping that each day would be the one where they finally heard something from outside the valley.
After four days of silence, words emerged from the static. People had been chatting but they immediately fell silent, crowding
around the card table.
“—stores are empty. Communications are—” The signal was overtaken by static, obliterating what else was said, but at least
there had been something. They were a good distance from Knoxville and the atmosphere was still wonky, as evidenced by the
aurora that still danced overhead at night, though Sela thought the vibrancy was fading and the red was now mixed with more
green.
“It’ll get better,” she murmured. “The reception, I mean.” Though obviously the radio stations were running on reserve generator
power, and who knew how long that would last. She hoped the atmosphere would settle down before transmission stopped, so they
could get some useful information.
“Maybe if we move the radio to higher ground,” Mike Kilgore said, looking around. “I can get a ladder and take it to the top
of the house.”
“We’d all have to get on top of the house to hear it,” his wife, Leigh, pointed out, punching him in the arm.
“Let’s just keep trying from where we are,” Carol said, feathering the dial, searching for another station.
When another voice came through, this one more clearly, they all jumped.
“—operating under emergency power, and will continue to do so as long as possible. PSAs are scheduled to be aired every day
at nine a.m. Please tune in tomorrow at that time. This is our last broadcast today.”
The exact time had become less important since the grid died, but some people still wore wristwatches and they all automatically
noted the time. “It’s four-thirty,” Mike noted, and everyone who wore a watch synchronized the time, to make certain their
watches weren’t running slow; they didn’t want to miss the nine a.m. broadcast.
“I can look for another station,” Carol said.
“No point. We can wait until tomorrow. At least that station was clear.”
The next morning they all gathered in Carol’s yard; word had spread that Carol had a hand-crank radio and it wasn’t just neighborhood
people gathered around to listen. Others in the area had battery operated radios, mostly old-timers, and some had actually
cranked up their cars to listen to the radio. But these days most took any opportunity to be together, and this was one of
those opportunities. Carol’s yard was full of people milling around. At 8:59 she turned it on, and they all fell silent, waiting.
Olivia stood to the side and played with her hair, twirling a strand around one finger. It was a nervous gesture she hadn’t
fallen back on for years. Barb was noticeably pale, but of the four of them she’d been the most upset and nervous.
Sela moved to stand beside Olivia and hooked a companionable arm over her shoulder. An outright hug might feel too coddling
to the girl, but a we’re-in-this-together touch to let her know she wasn’t alone was acceptable. Olivia gave her a fleeting
smile—a strained one, but still a smile.
They all seemed to be holding their breaths, though Sela didn’t expect to hear anything of great importance this morning.
It was just that—they needed this contact, however routine it might turn out to be. They’d felt so isolated, cut off from
all news, from friends and family who weren’t close by. It was a subtle, ongoing strain that they had never expected to face
and hadn’t been able to prepare for.
The station signed on. “This is Robert Keller, reporting.” Sela recognized the name. The tone of the announcer’s voice was
telling; he was a man who normally greeted his audience with humor and a devil-may-care attitude, but was somber as he reported.
“The governor has sent couriers to report that the Tennessee National Guard is working to keep the capitol in Nashville secure,
but everyone is hampered by fuel shortages. There are unconfirmed rumors of widespread looting and several shooting deaths.
Emergency services are unable to respond, so everyone is urged to conserve their resources.” His voice shook a little, then
he cleared his throat and recovered. “Supermarkets here are empty, but Knoxville residents are so far weathering this crisis.
Continue to check on your neighbors, and be careful out there. The next update will be at nine a.m. tomorrow.”
Barb said, “I wonder if all the college kids were able to get home.”
“I hope so,” Mike replied. “I don’t imagine the town could handle the care and feeding of twenty-eight thousand kids.”
The brief news, while not exactly sunshine and roses or really even that informative, at least hadn’t been as catastrophic
as it could have been. Just hearing the broadcast was comforting. Some technology still worked, at least for now.
The next morning, the crowd in Carol’s yard was even bigger. Sela had walked over just after dawn, and she was startled when
she looked out the window. “You gotta get a bigger yard,” she said.
Carol looked out, too, her eyes widening at the milling crowd. “Lord have mercy. I guess we need to take this somewhere more
wide-open.”
The time was approaching, so she took the radio out and set it on the card table. They had cranked and cranked and cranked,