Paradigm Time
Will Gibson
One Planet Press
Paradigm Time
Two Tales of the Future
Resource Wars Pages 1–136
“Three generations had passed since the beginning of the new century and for each, the struggle for survival had become harder.”
“It is such a world in which Damian Schneider finds himself trying to support a family, trying to make his way in a world gone mad, in a world short on rations and reason.”
Resolution Days Pages 141–318
“Three generations had passed since the beginning of the new century and for each, the struggle for survival had become safer and saner.”
“It is such a world that Annie Sullivan lives in, grows and flourishes in, and gives back to on a daily basis.”
Resource Wars
THREE GENERATIONS had passed since the beginning of the new century and for each, the struggle for survival had become harder. At the turn, warnings and alarm bells had been sounded for years by scientists, environmentalists, thinkers, and those of conscience about our perilous position on a fragile broken planet. There were some small changes, an increased awareness perhaps, but a concerted call for deliberate action by governments and by their populations had never occurred. People had continued to concentrate on their own small sphere of family or region or culture and had failed to pull together toward any common purpose. With the urgent necessity of those in the world to view all of humankind as being in this together somehow never having come into fruition, we had continued to think only of ourselves and our immediate families and even more jealously protect what we had from those that might need it, too.
Sufficient and quality water sources and safe, adequate food production had become seriously compromised because of an accelerated environmental degradation when the wasteful world had continued to pump dry the irreplaceable ancient aquifers, had continued to poison and deplete the agricultural lands, had continued to cut forests and to pollute and overfish the oceans, had continued to gash and rip open the earth to pull out the oil and coal, and had continued to pave over and urbanize our open spaces. We had neglected our stewardship of the earth in favor of short-term materialistic benefits. Ignoring severe signals at the beginning of the century had taken us past the point of recovery and now, sixty years later, we were paying the price.
Food supplies had reached a breaking point within the first twenty years of the new century when no effort at controlling population growth throughout the world had led to an inability to feed the many mouths that now over-peopled the planet. Adding seventy million to our numbers every year was insanity and a blindness, a breakdown in intelligent thought. For religious or cultural reasons, no attention to policies or management to keep the numbers of humans at sustainable levels was ever pursued. Even though resources were becoming more scarce, very few felt the need to address this issue and the three billion people added in the first fifty years of the new century had brought unbelievable pressure on a now untenable position for civilization.
The poisoning of our atmosphere had brought devastating weather changes to every region of the world. Violent hurricanes pounded our shores, massive tornadoes tore our cities and towns apart. As no rain fell in the previously strong agricultural areas, too much rain flooded areas that had been relatively more arid in normal times. Now, extreme and severe and powerful weather events were to be expected. We were being treated as the short-sighted, self-indulgent children that we were and Mother Nature, as any mother can after so very many disappointments and bad behavior, had grown tired and impatient with us. And no longer could she take care of us or could support us or could protect us. We had been part of a throwaway society and that is exactly what had happened, we had thrown it all away.
Conservation had never been valued as a personal virtue or pursued as a national goal and we were paying dearly for this lack of altruism. As people became more affluent, the material and physical side of life became all encompassing and had become the paragon of the good life. And it was promoted, it was touted as success, it was sanctioned by society. The consumer lifestyle of the wealthier nations had finally forced its way into the rest of the world. Those that previously had exported freedom and democracy for the world’s benefit now export over-consuming and materialism to the world’s detriment.
For many decades, only the few developed nations had placed consumerism on such a high level. But, as several other countries and particularly the most populous ones had also achieved this economic and material success, the race for resources to retain that lifestyle became intense. With so many now wanting what only a small percentage of the world had been able to afford previously, the selfishness and the battle for possessions had become heated and had reached a kindling point.
And with those resources decreasing and with populations increasing, there was no formula and no amount of technology that could solve the problem now. An extreme and a desperate competition for life sources existed at almost every level of society and eventually had turned into armed conflict. The new wars were not fought over land or oil or ideologies, the new wars were fought over food and water. The wealthier, more powerful nations and governments had consolidated their grip on their own production and then went looking for easy takeover targets. And of course, having that overwhelming military superiority, it was no contest. But, after years of this, the spoils of war were not much more than that, spoiled, with lands that could not produce because of unpredictable drought or floods, with breakdowns in societies and infrastructure that had led to chaos and anarchy, with famine and disease and hopelessness. There wasn’t much left to win as everyone became a loser.
It was a shallowness to life that had led to this disaster, a simple equating of possessions held to one’s personal worth. The constant consuming and drive for material goods had everyone running a race that could never be won. Those with much had always sought to protect it and those with little had always sought to obtain it. But, the gap between these groups had now become a gulf, an abyss, and a canyon that became impossible to cross. With physical conditions deteriorating rapidly, there simply was not enough to go around anymore. Those with much had less each day and those with little now had nothing.
Throughout the years of the Resource Wars, strange alliances had been easily brokered as national boundaries were crossed and erased whenever suiting the needs of those still wielding the power. Countries that had been opposed either religiously or culturally or ideologically now readily joined forces when an advantage to each presented itself. Being African or Asian or European or Latin American or North American didn’t matter anymore, what mattered was food in your stomach and a safe and secure place to exist. For most of the twenty first century, the breaking apart of culture and language and lifestyle had led to a more homogeneous but less interesting world. Gone was the diversity of the world’s population, gone were the benefits of tradition and culture and heritage, gone were the different foods and arts and customs, gone was the color of life.
Economies had broken apart with the severe shortages of fuel and raw materials and markets that had simply evaporated. As prices climbed exponentially with these acute shortages, only the very wealthy were able to maintain any type of familiar lifestyle. Basic necessities had taken on the pricing of previously appointed luxuries. Massive unemployment from this reduction in overall economic activity resulted in fueling widespread international depressions, and with it, followed the collapse of the consumer economy. It had always been an economy based on the absurd anyway, where one is encouraged to consume as many resources as fast as one can.
The world had also failed to rise to the issue of eradicating poverty. Instead of addressing the root problems of crime and wasted lives, we had continued in a winner take all mentality that led to tremendous inequality. We had failed to bring even clean water or sanitation or crop production to the poorer countries of the world in order to better their lives and ours. By failing to bring dignity to all humans, we had disgraced ourselves as a species. By failing to provide education to the rest of the world, we had suffered for the ignorance.
The situation had become an extreme, sad reality of the haves versus those have nots. It had always been a world of givers and takers, and the takers had taken and taken and taken until nothing was left. And solely because we had never risen to our potential as an intelligent and thinking and understanding species, we had continued killing each other because of things, because of ideas, and because of our differences. And, of course, there still existed greed and the need for power in the world.
We were short-sighted, self-interested, and seriously stupid. Our ignorance was bliss and then devastating as we didn’t care about our fellow human, didn’t care about creating a climate for fairness and sharing and a working together. It had always been competition over cooperation, self-interest over selflessness, and entertainment not enlightenment we had sought in our lives.
Shallow, superficial, self-indulgence had blindly led us down a predictable path to disaster. And all the money and possessions and power in the world could not fix our air and lands and water now as the life planet of the universe was dying and departing with it was our future, and more sadly, our children’s future. It is such a world in which Damian Schneider finds himself trying to support a family, trying to make his way in a world gone mad, in a world short on rations and reason.
* * *
Damian quickly closes the gate behind them and peers out into the approaching nightscape. He then scans the darkening hillsides one last time before turning to his men. The security group has just finished their patrols for the day. “Alright, that’s it,” he says. “Get some sleep and be ready for the meeting at eight in the morning. Tomorrow will be a busy one again.” The men turn and one by one go in their different directions toward their housing. Damian will move on to his office to write his reports before returning home to his wife and son.
It has been an uneventful day and the kind of day for which they always hope it can be. And seldom did any problems arise anymore but, on occasion, he and his men would come across others making their way up the mountain and they would have to be chased away. The Perimeter stretches a few miles in every direction from the mountaintop compound and patrolling is a daily requirement. Most Groupings have been able to maintain and protect their immediate surroundings with adequate arms and sufficient manpower. Those who may still threaten are declining rapidly in numbers as death and despair increasingly prevail below. But one needs to stay on guard, just in case some foolhardy soul, mad from starvation and want, makes a last ditch suicidal assault on a well-protected and well-provisioned compound such as the Donnelly Grouping.
Opening the door to his office, Damian puts down his pack and sits down at the desk. Turning on a lamp, he rests in the low glow of a single bulb. He is tired, weary from his day’s work. But he is one of the lucky ones, with a job, in a Grouping where food and water are still abundant. Damian and his family had moved here almost ten years ago when his son was only five years old. The offer had come from a friend of his deceased father, from a Mister Donnelly, a man of wealth and power who had gone in with three others to build this mountain fortification. The proposal was for Damian to join the security forces and work for the Grouping and with this allegiance came the safety and sustenance that would make life possible for his family and himself. It had been a difficult but simply unavoidable decision. Reality looked them in the face and it was either join or in time, they would also perish.
Life had become unbearable in the cities and the towns like the one in which Damian and his family had previously lived. Economies were wrecked and with that disappeared the benefits from having steady and regular employment. People had used up their savings and sold nearly everything they had to purchase the remaining necessities of life. And as chaos and unrest spread through the streets, safety had become a main issue. In the early years of The Decline, crime and theft had increased enormously. Those that had provisions would hide them from view, hide them from others as no one was to be trusted, not your neighbors, not your friends, and not that person beside you. It was simply everybody for themselves. Families clung ever tighter to each other, grasping at any life preserver that floated past, and then hanging on for dear life. But dear life was an image of the past, near death being the more real present.
Filing his last report, Damian quickly looks over tomorrow’s work schedule. He checks the duties being required, the staff that will be working with him, and the recent reports from other companion Groupings about any warnings or areas of concern. Clearing the screen, he signs off and prepares to return to the housing unit where his family awaits him. Damian rises slowly, and looking about the room, sees his reflection in the glass of the front door. Peering back at him, he sees a man in his late forties with tousled black hair and a moustache and with a countenance of complacency and acceptance. And that bothered him, having that countenance of constant complacency.
Damian had always prided himself on his initiative, on his drive, and on his own inventiveness. They had always burned brightly within him, creating dreams and giving direction to his life. The last few years, though, has seen a flickering, a withering and dimming of those dreams and hopes. It has been replaced by that damned acceptance of things the way they are. His greatest fear now is not that he may be turned out or may succumb to the inevitable as so many others are doing. His greatest fear is that the light will go out of his life, that the fading flame will finally lose all heat. Damian worries that he may truly cease living as his life continues in front of him.
But for now, he looks forward to returning to the family’s apartment where his wife, Sarah, and their fifteen year old son, Christopher, are waiting for him. Damian turns out the light, locks the door, and hurries home. Their apartment is in the lower section of housing that has been constructed for the employees and for their families. Each worker is allotted rations for three people, no matter how many are in the family. It’s not that one isn’t allowed a larger family or other members, it’s simply that no more food is given to them beyond their rations for three people. And with such a provision, careful thought is given to family size, hard decisions in hard times.
Rounding the corner of the building, Damian walks past the first two apartments before he reaches his living unit. He enters through the front door and sees his wife sitting at the kitchen table, working on one of her projects. Sarah, looking up at him as he enters, says, “Hi, honey, I’m so glad you’re finally home. I’ve just been waiting for you to get back to eat dinner. Christopher went ahead and ate just a little while ago.”
“I’m sorry,” says Damian. “We had to do some extra patrols today so something must be up and I was told to expect an even longer day tomorrow.” He then walks into their bedroom and places his pack on a chair before continuing on to his son’s room. Damian pokes his head in at the door. “Hey, how are things?” he asks his son, sitting at his desk. Pushing the door with his foot, Christopher just closes it without giving an answer. Turning around, Damian simply walks back to the kitchen.
“So, what’s up with him?” he asks his wife. “He slammed the door right in my face.”
“You know,” she sighs.
“Oh, not that again,” says Damian. “We’ve been over that a hundred times, what did he expect us to do?”
“Nothing, but you can’t blame him. It’s even harder on him, you know that,” says Sarah.
“I know, but taking it out on us doesn’t help anything,” as he bemoans their disappointing circumstances.
“He’s just a child, Damian, and it’s not fair to him and he has to express it somehow. He doesn’t mean it, leave him alone for a while. I talked to him earlier about it.”
Damian then pulls out a chair and wearily sits down beside his wife. “I don’t know, I just don’t know. We’ve got it a lot better than others. What else could we have done?”
Sarah gets up from the table and begins filling a plate for herself and her husband of over twenty years. They had met at a summer picnic held by the company that Damian had worked for at the time. She had come with a friend who also worked there. Sharing in games and laughter for the afternoon had led to a romance, a marriage, and then a life together. So much promise, so much planning had given way to sorrow and simple surviving as the world had come crashing down around them. Christopher was born after five years of marriage and, although wanting another child, they like so many others had forgone the possibility. The idea of one more mouth to feed is a hurdle that not many are willing to jump over anymore.
“Maybe we could have one of Christopher’s friends stay over tomorrow night,” suggests Damian as a possible improvement to their situation.
“He hasn’t wanted to spend time with any of them lately,” says Sarah. “There’s only two boys his age here and he doesn’t really get along with them. Don’t worry, he’ll be okay.”
“But he knows that if we had stayed below, there is a chance that we wouldn’t have any food now. From what I hear, things are only getting worse down there. And Johnston said the other day that he heard several Sectors were expelling less desirable members to cut down on the number of people they had to feed. That could have been us,” says Damian.
“I know that and you know that, but it doesn’t make the day to day existence for Christopher any easier. He wants more out of life and I can’t blame him. I’m getting a little tired of the whole thing myself,” she says. Placing the food on the table, Sarah sits down beside her husband.
At the time of the Schneider family’s move into the Grouping, the breakdown of governments and of social order had created particularly perilous scenarios for those without means or reserves. Very few could afford to pay the extremely high prices required to obtain food supplies and often, even with money, there were none available. Production had been dominated by those with wealth and influence. Large, global corporations had merged and united in attempts to control food supplies, water sources, and any other worthwhile resource.
In the many preceding decades, the extreme consolidation of money and of power had resulted in a very small percentage of the world’s population owning or controlling almost all of a country’s, and then the world’s, wealth. Alliances between these corporations and extremely wealthy individuals had existed only for the benefit of those players. Corporate ownership had been narrowed to only the very few who could afford to buy ‘shares’ in what really had become personal businesses. But there was no concern for profit or return or appreciation anymore; what was wanted was just a piece of the action. And the action was now food and water and security.
What they wanted was one last chance for life. So, those with power and means had generally banded together and built protective compounds in which to live and house supplies. These compounds or ‘groupings of members’ were often built in mountainous regions near water sources, near areas that could be defended easily, and in areas away from the coastal regions that were now the scenes of climate catastrophes.
Damian picks up his fork and begins eating. The day has been long and the hunger and fatigue now come to the foreground. He eagerly eats, digesting the food and the just completed work day. He is concerned about subtle comments that he is hearing from superiors and wonders if there is a potential threat or problem on the horizon for him and his staff. Lost in thought for a moment, Damian looks up from the table to his wife. She is sitting idly, stirring the food on her plate. “I thought you were hungry,” he says. “Aren’t you hungry?”
Sarah sighs and puts down her fork. Her dark green eyes peer up at him from behind the strands of curly brunette wisps of hair that fall down her forehead. She gazes at her husband but no words come from her.
“What’s wrong, Sarah, what’s wrong?”
“I don’t know,” she says. “Everything, I guess.”
“What do you mean, everything?”
“Just that, I mean, what isn’t wrong today? What is left that is good or is fun or is meaningful? No wonder Christopher gets so disillusioned and disappointed all the time. If this is what living is going to be for the rest of his life, what is there to look forward to really? We’re like prisoners here.”
“It’s not that bad, we have food and water and each other. We have much more than others and at least we have a chance to keep on going and maybe things will get better someday. Maybe things can still change and everything will just return to normal again someday,” he says.
Looking deeply into the eyes of her husband, Sarah then says, “You know they’re not going to change, Damian, and you know they’re not going to get better, just stay the same if we’re lucky or get worse probably. We’ve had a life but what’s in it for our son, a chance to live in a Grouping for the rest of his life. What kind of future is that for a child?” she asks him.
Damian doesn’t answer Sarah for a moment because he does know it, has always known it, but on the surface puts a good face on the situation for others. His job is to care for his family, to provide for and protect them, and with that task in mind, he has more or less gone through the last few years without thinking on those things. His own ennui would surface from time to time but he would fight to overcome it, not for himself but for his family, not for now but for the future. ‘What future?’ he thinks.
“I know what you’re saying and I know we don’t have a great life, but when we made the decision to come here, we all knew what it would be like. And, you know, we talked about staying behind with the others and giving it a try but it just wouldn’t have worked. The situation was getting worse quickly and if we hadn’t done something who knows where we’d be now,” says Damian to his wife. “There was really only one choice for us to make, so we shouldn’t spend too much time revisiting it,” and he then reaches over to hold on to her hand.
A small, single tear appears at the corner of one of Sarah’s eyes and then slowly snakes its way down her cheek. A weariness and weight pushes her down in the chair until her head reaches the table and then rests on his hand. Gently stroking her hair, Damian looks down on his mate, his companion of these many years as the love and respect he has for her swells inside him, and then the loss and regret of things that might have been deflates the moment and Damian is saddened. “I want things to be better for all of us,” he whispers to her. “I do, I really do and if I could change things to make them better, I would.”
Sarah, slowly raising her head, moves closer to Damian and says to him, “I know, dear, I know you would. I’m sorry and I shouldn’t be so ungrateful. It’s not just me, though, I feel so bad for Christopher and sometimes I don’t know what to say to him. I hear myself saying things that I don’t really believe just to make him feel better. And that seems wrong sometimes.”
“No, that’s okay. We have to stay strong for him, we have to stay happy and hopeful. We have to try,” he says.
* * *
Clare’s shift is over for the day and she prepares to return home. Gathering her things, she quietly exits her workplace and enters the darkened streets. Moving quickly along the sidewalks, she stays close to the buildings, trying to avoid being noticed. Although the area around the desalination plant is relatively safe, the bounty she carries home each night can be greatly coveted. If others knew that she was carrying pure clear drinking water, it might be a different story. Clare doesn’t want to unnecessarily tempt anyone at this time of the night.
Her shift remains long, from early at eight in the morning until eight in the evening, four days a week. She is one of the lucky ones, though, with a good job and extra rations. Years ago, the desalination plant had been built by the local municipality in cooperation with state and federal agencies. With the collapse of order and government, those remaining with wealth and power had been able to commandeer it and to use it for themselves and their members. Also cordoned off by security perimeters, these last vestiges of modern cities acted as isolated islands for any remaining civilization. Unable to produce or sustain life sources for themselves, many had joined these quasi-organizational groups that fortified certain cities into protective zones. Those with money or needed talents could join a Sector, pay fees, and be granted basic protection, housing, and rations. Knowing the main manager at the plant had enabled Clare to get a job there and had allowed her to survive with her two children. And she hurries home anxiously to them now.
Crossing the last deserted intersection, she ducks into the third staircase from the corner and climbs the two flights to her apartment. It is dark, no electricity for the stairs or hallways, and she navigates by memory of repetition until reaching her door. Clare knocks once, waits, and then knocks twice. She hears the footsteps of one of her children running to open the door.
“Mommy, is that you?” asks a small voice.
“Yes, Jenny, it’s me, you can go ahead and open the door,” says Clare. And the door opens quickly and widely as the little girl throws her arms around her mother’s waist and hugs tightly. “It’s okay, dear, I’m back now,” she says.
The room is mostly dark except for a single candle burning on a kitchen table. Only a flickering half light breaks the darkness and illuminates a sparsely furnished room with just the basics of furniture. Clare sees her son sitting quietly in a chair. “James, is that you, what are you doing?”
“Oh, not really anything,” answers a rather indifferent James. “Jenny and I were just playing some board games but one of the candles burned out and we couldn’t see anymore. We’ve been waiting for you to get back home.”
“I’ll get dinner going, you kids must be hungry,” says Clare. The electricity is strictly rationed for each member household of the Sector. Those going over their allocations get a reduced amount for the following month and so on until, quite possibly, all electricity can be shut off to willful violators. Clare and her family save their electricity for the refrigerator, for operating fans for the now daily extreme temperatures, and for that one Saturday night a week. Then they will use the lights for an evening of nostalgia and normalcy, playing games or reading books or just sitting and enjoying the ability to see each other clearly, removing the dreariness of the dark. The rest of the time they will rely on candles for their light as did their ancestors almost two hundred years ago. The path of progress had gone full circle and had curved back on itself.
“I am, Mommy,” chirps in Jenny about the hunger question. “Can I help?” she then offers. Everything is better now that Clare is home. On her work days, the children must spend the time on their own. She is fortunate, though, to have James to look after his younger sister. He is a caring, understanding eighteen year old who is hardened beyond his years. He misses going to school and having a normal teenage life but never complains or causes his mother any problems.
James sees his purpose in life as keeping things as regular as he can for his younger sister and in helping his mother. As with others his age, complaining and crying had exited early in his childhood. The young now learn early the lesson of age, that one needs to stand up to the trials of life, that action not complaint makes things better, lessons being learned the hard way.
Clare prepares a simple meal and sets the table. After calling Jenny and James over, they sit down together. “Can you move the candle to the center of the table?” she asks her son. Reaching behind him, James pulls it from the counter and places it near so they can see to eat.
“This is the only one left, Mom,” he says.
“Okay, dear, I don’t have work tomorrow so we can go over to Mr. Brannan’s in the morning. I told him last week that we were going to need some more candles and he said that he had a shipment coming in.”
“Could we see if he has any crayons or markers, too?” asks Jenny. “I want to do some more drawing and the others are so short and worn out, they don’t work anymore.”
“We can pick up a few things,” their mother cautions, “but he’s been charging more and I only have the two large bottles of water to trade now. If he’ll take those for the candles, maybe I could spend a little bit on other things. Is there anything that you might want to get, James?”
Looking up and gazing into his mother’s eyes, he only shakes his head. “No, not really, I don’t need anything.” A statement that wasn’t true but true to his nature. James has come to not expect much from life and in that way protects himself from its simply unavoidable disappointments. It can be disappointment at not having a life that now only exists in memory and in pictures from previous generations. There are no Friday night football games, no cruising with friends, no summer weekends at the lake, no dreams of ‘what do I want to be when I grow up?’ There is only a day to day dreariness, a sorrowful sameness, and few opportunities in these limited lives.
“Are you sure?” his mother asks again, reaching over to rest her hand on his. “Maybe he will have something new that you would like, we can look tomorrow.”
James rises from the table and carries his plate to the sink. Scraping the remaining crumbs into the trash, he reaches for a damp rag to wipe the plate and stacks it on the counter with the others. The dishes will be washed every three days, using a very small amount of water. Showers are taken every other day and can’t last for more than five minutes. And toilet use is only when absolutely necessary.
The water supplied through the aging municipal system is limited and somewhat intermittent. And the quality of the water coming through the pipes is poor, very poor, unfit for drinking. That is why Clare’s job and her extra rations of drinking water are so valuable. It is a difficult life but her family is surviving for now and Clare is grateful for that situation.
* * *
The next morning comes and James is the first to awaken. Clare enters his room to see him combing his hair in the mirror, two shirts are lying on the bed. “I can’t decide which one to wear. I like the blue one better but look, it’s got a hole right in the front. Damn it,” he lets out.
“I can mend it if you really want to wear it,” offers his mother. “What’s the occasion?”
“What do you mean?” retorts James.
“I just haven’t seen you pay much attention to the way you look lately. It doesn’t have anything to do with Mr. Brannan’s daughter, Sophie, does it?” teases Clare.
“I don’t care anything about her. I just want to wear my blue shirt. What’s wrong with just wanting to wear a blue shirt?” he then says to her.
“Oh, nothing, nothing at all,” as his mother smiles broadly. “Here, let me fix that hole.” And she takes the shirt from James and carries it into the kitchen to mend it.
* * *
The three are ready to leave the apartment and Clare pulls the door tightly closed, turning the knob again to make sure that it is locked. Descending the stairs, she instructs both her children on the route that they will take and about the need to move quickly. Clare and James each carry a large cloth bag in which a gallon container of pure drinking water is placed.
Crime is not as bad as it was years ago, those surviving don’t have nearly as much to steal as was previously the case but still it is important to be vigilant. Also, in the new order of things, theft is seen as a capital offense, a social taboo, an abhorrent crime. When there was a value to consumer goods, it was not seen as life threatening to steal a car or shoplift a store or take someone else’s possessions. But with the only goods with value worth stealing now being food and water, the rules had changed because the world had changed.
Exiting onto the street, Clare and her children begin the walk to Mr. Brannan’s residence. He lives on the other side of town, a considerable distance away, and they make the trip only when necessary, usually about twice a month. Brannan is a trader who can often obtain goods that others cannot. Trading with another Sector or buying from smugglers coming into the area allows him to support his family through barter. And it allows Clare a place to get her candles.
“Come on now, Jenny. You must keep up with your brother and me” says Clare hurriedly. The three then move through the mostly deserted streets, only a few buildings are still occupied. With the large exodus of people from coastal cities years ago, they had become empty and hollow places. Those remaining had been allowed to live in only certain sections where water and electricity is still supplied. But within those areas, one could pick anywhere they want, squatters’ rights, and one may find themselves the only residents of a three story apartment building like Clare and her family.
Storefronts lie abandoned as normal commerce had ceased. Small business had disappeared years ago with the failure of local economies. Consumerism had stopped being a life pursuit but had also ceased being the economic engine that had been the driving force behind misdirected economies in the past. The production of unnecessary and unneeded material goods had finally been stopped, out of necessity and out of reason. But it had come too late, it had come too late.
Jenny goes skipping by her mother and brother, a young girl with the immediacy of youth protecting her from a fear of the future. James is older and knows the score but both he and his mother take comfort and joy in the innocence of the other child. “Hey speedy, I’m going to have to chase you down,” says James. Catching Jenny, he grabs her around the waist and spins her around several times until both are dizzy and fall to the ground, laughing. Clare smiles to herself as she enjoys the moment and now hurrying herself, she walks briskly to catch up.
“Alright, you guys, James, pick up your bag. We need to keep moving.” And the family continues down the street. Turning the next corner, they see two figures coming toward them from about three blocks away. “Quick, get in here with me,” says Clare, ducking into a darkened doorway. Holding still and listening intently for a minute, the family looks out as the men pass by, walking in the center of the street.
“Hey, why don’t you let me carry that bag,” James says to his mother when they are gone. “You can take Jenny’s hand then.” And the boy who was forced to quickly become a man is looking out for his women.
After twenty minutes more, they arrive on the street where the Brannans reside. They live in an older home with a large porch and a gated front yard. At one time, Mr. Brannan had owned four houses in the area and because of this was allowed to stay and live in one of them. It is the only section of the city with single family homes that is still provided water and electricity.
Pushing the gate aside, Clare, James, and Jenny make their way up the steps to the front door. Clare gently knocks and then waits, no response, so she knocks again. Not knowing if they are home, she leans to look in the window when Clare notices the curtain being pulled to the side and a face peers out.
“Hello, Mr. Brannan?” she calls out. “It’s Clare Thompson.” The door opens slightly and Sophie peers out at them through the crack. “Sophie, is that you?”
The door opens wider and the tear streaked face of the young girl appears before them. “Oh, no, Sophie!” cries out Clare when seeing her there. “What’s wrong, what’s the matter?” And the three of them quickly enter the living room and close the door behind them. “What’s wrong, dear?”
“They took them. They came to the house last night and just took them away,” she blurts out.
“What do you mean, girl, what did they take away?” Clare asks her. Sophie seems to be very upset and almost hysterical by this point in time.
“My parents, they took away my parents!”
“Who took them?” asks Clare.
“The security forces. They started asking my dad all sort of questions and then they just took him and my mom. I don’t know what happened to them. I don’t know if they’re coming back,” says Sophie and then she breaks down.
Clare moves closer to comfort her and Sophie wraps her arms around the older woman and continues crying. “Don’t cry, dear, it’s going to be okay. They’re probably not going to do anything to your parents.”
“But they know my dad trades things. What if they don’t like that and they do something bad to them?”
“The security forces know about traders and it’s mostly okay with them. They just have some rules that have to be followed,” she says. Clare motions to James to take Jenny and sit down on two chairs near the couch. She moves slowly, holding onto Sophie, and then both sit down near them. Stroking Sophie’s hair, Clare holds the young girl close and attempts to calm her. “Would you like for us to stay with you until your parents get back?” she then asks.
Stopping her crying for a moment, Sophie looks up and says, “Would you?” ‘Of course, we will,’ is everyone’s answer. Sitting still for a few minutes longer, she regains her composure and soon jumps up to be the good host. “Can I get you something to eat? We have some crackers and a piece of fruit.”
“Sure,” answers James. “I’m a little hungry.”
“Can I help?” Jenny asks and follows Sophie into the kitchen.
“What do you think they want with the Brannans?” James asks his mother after the girls have left the room. “Do you think they’re in trouble?”
“I don’t know if they are or not, honey. There is a chance that they could be, I guess,” says Clare.
The two girls reenter the room, each carrying a plate of food. Jenny sets hers down on the table and then runs back to the kitchen to retrieve the glasses that Sophie had set out. “We have drinking water,” she had told her new friend.
All of them sit quietly sampling the treats until James asks, “Has your dad been trading for a long time?”
“Yeah, for quite awhile. He used to work at a regular job but that company closed down so he started doing this. He says we have enough money to pay our fees to the Sector but not for the other things that we need. Sometimes I don’t like it because we have all these people coming around, but it’s always been okay before,” she starts to choke up again, “before now.”
Jenny moves closer to Sophie and then says in her diminutive voice, “Don’t cry, Sophie, we’ll help you.”
A smile crosses Sophie’s face and she hugs the small girl next to her. “Thank you, sweetie, you’re so nice.” And Jenny beams with grown-up satisfaction at having been able to help out.
“You know, I’ve heard of them taking in others to the security department and then they just wind up letting them go, without doing anything to them. A guy on our street has been taken in twice and nothing ever happened to him,” offers James as more evidence that things will work out for her parents.
Clare slowly sips on her glass of water while pensively gazing in Sophie’s direction. She is slightly worried that Mr. Brannan and his wife may very well have gotten themselves into trouble. She has traded or bought goods from him for over a year with no problems but she has the awareness to know that traders are always walking the line between a necessary reality allowed by the authorities and their need to control the distribution of goods without favoritism or unfairness. Clare hopes that they don’t decide to set an example with the Brannans.
Sophie then stands to carry the plates back into the kitchen. James jumps up to clear the glasses and follows her. Shortly, they both return and James gravitates toward a bookshelf and begins looking through some of the books. Sophie turns toward Jenny and asks her a question. “Would you like to come up to my room? I have some dolls from when I was younger and I could show them to you if you want.”
“Oh, yes, I’d really like to see them. I’m going to go upstairs with Sophie now,” Jenny pronounces to the others. “Mommy, you and James stay down here.”
“Okay, we will,” answers her amused mother. “I’ll make sure that we stay down here.” Clare looks over at Sophie and they exchange broad smiles with each other. The enthusiasm and the excitement of younger children can ameliorate any situation and all are grateful to have Jenny around today.
* * *
Dusk is approaching and James moves closer to the window to better see what he is reading. Then hearing the sound of an approaching vehicle, he looks out it and gazes down the street. Very few vehicles move about the city anymore, fuel is solely available for patrols and a few delivery trucks. As it nears, James can distinguish that it is from the security department.
“Mom,” he whispers. “It looks like a security car is coming down the street, maybe it’s the Brannans.” Clare gets up quickly and goes to the window to see for herself.
Peering from behind the curtains, they watch as the car slows and then parks near the front gate. A large man in uniform exits the passenger side and opens the back door for Mrs. Brannan and her husband to get out. The officer spends several minutes talking to them while gesturing and making his seemingly strong points. The older couple remain quiet and just nod their heads repeatedly as if acknowledging that they understand. Soon, the vehicle pulls away from the curb and the Brannans make their way up the sidewalk toward the house.
Clare and James move from the window to greet them at the door. Surprised by their appearance there, the couple is taken aback at first. “Mrs. Thompson, is that you? What are you doing here? Where’s Sophie, is she okay?” asks the father.
“Yes, yes, everything is fine,” Clare hurriedly assures him. “She is upstairs with my daughter. We came to buy some candles early this morning and found Sophie here by herself. And then she told us what had happened. Is everything okay?”
“Mostly, I guess” says Mr. Brannan. “They sure asked us a lot of questions and then they kept us overnight. They might have been trying to scare us a little bit.”
“Scare us?” a fiery Mrs. Brannan jumps in. “They were trying to bully us. That one big guy kept saying that they could kick us out if they found out that Bob is trading with people that aren’t allowed. I felt like kicking him.”
“Now, now, Marion,” interjects her husband. “Take it easy, they were just doing their job. It’s over.”
The weary parents enter the house. Mr. Brannan sits down on the couch as Mrs. Brannan quickly rushes upstairs to find her daughter. He looks exhausted and beaten down. Clare and James join him in the living room and sit quietly until he speaks. “I want to thank you for staying with Sophie, we were worried sick about her. I didn’t think they would keep us overnight.”
“That’s fine. I’m glad that we came by,” says Clare.
“What did they say you were doing wrong?” asks James.
“Oh, they had been told that I was trading with other Sectors. There’s kind of an unwritten rule that it’s okay to trade with the East Fork Sector but not any others. They have an agreement with ours to look the other way if it is coming from one or the other. They just don’t want any of our goods that the authorities don’t know about benefiting any other Sector. I told them that I wasn’t doing that, told them that over and over again. I know they believed me but they had to put up a tough appearance for a while,” says Mr. Brannan.
The girls and Mrs. Brannan then come down the staircase with Jenny leading the way. She excitedly runs over to where her mother is sitting. “Mommy, Sophie let me draw with her. She’s really, really good at it and she showed me how to draw a horse. Look…look!” And Jenny eagerly shoves the piece of paper in front of her mother.
“Oh, Jenny, that’s really good. I like your picture,” says Clare as she passes it over to James to add his approval.
“And look, she gave me these to take home.” Jenny opens her hand to reveal the two felt tip markers and three new crayons. “Can I keep them?” she pleads politely while asking permission for such valuable gifts.
“If it’s okay with Sophie and her parents,” says Clare as she looks over at the Brannans.
“Of course, it’s okay,” says Mrs. Brannan. “We so appreciate that you stayed with Sophie while we were gone.”
With things settling down, Clare and Mr. Brannan make their trade of water for a few candles. She also buys some items that she knows they will need soon. Turning to James, she asks him if there is anything that he might want. He says no that he doesn’t need anything. “Are you sure, honey, a book or something?” says Clare, knowing of his love for reading.
“No, Mom, I don’t need anything. I can always go back to the school if I want to get another book.”
“You go to a school to get books?” Sophie quickly jumps in. “Which school do you get them from?”
“The old high school over by our place. The library is full of them and nobody goes there anymore. A lot of classrooms still have science and history books in them, too.”
Clare mentions that it is getting late and if they want to get home before dark, they had better start now. Both of Sophie’s parents thank them again as they all walk to the door. The day has been filled with much more than any of them had expected. But the Brannans have returned safely and that is the most important thing. Saying good bye on the front porch, Clare and her two children turn to leave.
But then a request comes from Sophie that is addressed to James. “If you ever go back to the school, I would like to do that. I would like to go with you.”
“Sure,” he says, feigning no interest in the matter.
And then the three of them make their way back through the darkening streets to their building. Climbing the stairs to their apartment, all are glad to be home again.
* * *
Michael has been traveling with the same group of Outsiders for the past two weeks. As they enter the city, he knows that he has had enough of the current situation. The benefit of numbers for protection and companionship is outweighed by the lack of resources that they have come across recently. Not finding much in the way of food for the past few days has created tensions among the men. Moving into a new area now, Michael feels it is time to strike out on his own again.
This ragtag band of men has walked for the past five days to get here. Rumors had spread that this town had escaped much of the ransacking and might still have some goods worth pillaging. As they enter the edge of the city, Michael decides that it is time to make his move. And almost simultaneously with the others, he suddenly begins running toward the buildings that now appear in front of them.
Sprinting in a pack, each now breaks off in his own direction, following his own instincts. Michael turns a corner and begins down a side street. He passes several vacant storefronts with broken glass and debris spilling onto the sidewalk. Slowing down, he stops at an intersection to plan his next move when he hears footsteps coming toward him. Quickly glancing around, Michael sees a single tall building with its windows intact and a large majestic doorway rising above the street. He makes his way to the front door as the other person also crosses the street and comes toward where he is standing.