Eric Walters - The Rule of Three

“Explosives? Where are we going to get explosives?” my mother asked.

“We don’t have to look any farther than under the sink, in the laundry room, or in the garages or backyard sheds throughout the neighborhood. Go on with your idea,” Herb said to me.

Again, this wasn’t the exchange I was expecting. He wasn’t shooting down my idea but instead almost seemed to be supporting it.

“I know how essential water is,” I said. “We have the two little creeks as—”

“They aren’t a sufficient or reliable source for this many people and the agricultural needs to support—”

“They’re just a starting point,” I said. “The farm has a well, so what’s to stop us from digging our own wells?”

Herb nodded. “I hadn’t thought of that. The water table is fairly high here, close to the surface,” he said. “We probably wouldn’t have to dig too deep.”

“It sounds like you think we could do this,” my mother said.

“I think that what Adam is suggesting is possible . It would be very difficult, and perhaps not even the correct move, but not impossible. We have some tough decisions to make.”

“No,” I said. “I don’t think it’s up to us to decide.”

“Then who should decide?” Herb asked.

“The people whose lives depend on it. Nobody made you or me king. We have to try to explain what’s really happening out there, tell them the truth, and try to convince them that we have to do what we have to do.”

“That’s assuming we not only know what we’re doing but that they would listen to us,” Herb said.

“They won’t be listening to us—we’ll all be listening to one another. It’ll be like Athens, people speaking their minds and coming to an agreed decision.”

“You’re putting a lot of faith in people not only to understand but to do the right thing,” Herb said.

“People need to be involved. Desperate doesn’t mean we can’t be democratic.”

Herb smiled. “You are very young.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

“I didn’t mean to imply that one meant the other,” Herb said. “With age comes cynicism. Maybe I’ve seen too much to remain innocent or optimistic. I’m not even sure what I believe in anymore.” His expression had gone from that neutral mask he usually wore to sadness—genuine sadness. “I entered my chosen profession because I was a true believer in freedom and democracy. Do you know what Sir Winston Churchill said about democracy?”

I shook my head.

“He said it was the worst form of government… except for all the others,” Herb said. “I imagine the question is, are we simply trying to preserve life, or the way of life we claim we believe in?”

“Why can’t we do both?” I asked. “What have we got to lose in trying?”

“We could lose everything. If people are scared or spooked or confused, they can do any manner of things. There are no limits to the depths of inhumanity. In trying to save more, we might lose all. Are you prepared for that possibility?”

I looked at my mother. She gave a subtle nod of her head.

“I don’t think we have any other choice but to try,” she said. “How do we start?”

“Carefully, slowly. There is no way to put the genie back in the bottle once it’s out. We have to start with the right people.”

“Who are the right people?” my mother asked.

“First would be the Petersons, to see if they’d be willing to move themselves and their equipment here. Without them, we have no chance to put this plan into action.”

“I could go along with you to talk to them,” I offered.

“I wouldn’t dream of going there without you.”

“And what would come next?” my mother asked.

“Nothing, yet. We have to wait for the right moment to act,” Herb said. “We’re still too many steps away to talk to anyone else about this. We need to keep everything as quiet as possible. We can’t afford panic. And in the meantime we have to be like a duck.”

“A duck?” I asked.

“Calm on the surface but paddling like crazy where nobody can see it.”

It had taken a couple of days to work through the details, but Herb and I were going to the farm to talk to the Petersons. After I told him about the plan to visit Lori and her family, Todd had insisted on coming along and for the most part I was just grateful to have him. Hanging with Todd, I could almost convince myself that things were normal. Of course things weren’t normal. Each morning the patrols reported more and more going wrong just outside the boundaries of our neighborhood. I knew it wouldn’t be long before all that wrong flooded in on us.

The day before, at Herb’s suggestion, and with my mother’s approval, Howie and Brett had been sent out to the farm to spend the night. It meant two fewer patrols in the neighborhood when things were getting worse each night, but there was no choice. If the farm fell, both Herb’s plan and mine were gone.

I steered the Omega around abandoned cars on the roadway as we drove down Erin Mills Parkway.

“I guess at some point those cars need to be harvested,” Herb said.

“Harvested?” Todd asked.

“They have gas in the tanks and tires that can be burned for heat. Soon we have to begin to think about assembling a team to go out and gather resources.”

“I could help with that,” Todd said.

“I just wish there were fewer people in the neighborhood,” Herb said.

“But aren’t more people better?” I asked. “You know, more people who can defend and do work?”

Herb explained, “The larger the number, the harder it is to control communication, coordination, and cooperation.”

“You mean like for the people running things, getting things done?” Todd asked.

“And having people get along. Larger groups create dynamics that can be difficult, even dangerous. People start arguing over what should be done, how it should be accomplished, and who should do it. The optimal number is less than two hundred, and we’re eight times that—”

“Traffic up ahead,” I interrupted, pointing out the windshield.

There was a truck rumbling toward us.

“Pull over to the side,” Herb ordered.

I did what I was told. Herb pumped the shotgun on his lap, feeding the shells into the breach. I pulled out my weapon and placed it on my lap.

“I still think I should have a gun,” Todd said.

“And you’re still the only one who thinks that,” I said.

The truck slowed down as well and moved over to the other side, bumping up the curb so that it was driving partly on the far sidewalk. It was obvious that they wanted to put as much space as possible between us and them.

It was an old freight truck—even older than my car. The engine roared and smoke belched from the exhaust. There were three men in the cab, and I could see two more heads sticking above the wooden panels on the back. They were eyeing us as carefully and suspiciously as we were watching them.

I felt a rush of relief when they passed by.

“Let’s get going,” Herb said.

I pulled back out and accelerated away from them as I watched them in my rearview mirror, disappearing down the road.

“Do you think they were armed?” I asked Herb.

“They wouldn’t be out here if they weren’t. You have to assume that anybody we encounter is armed and potentially a threat.”

“I’ve noticed a lot more old vehicles on the road the last few days,” Todd said.

“I think people are getting them out of junkyards and putting them back on the roads.”

“If enough old cars could be put back on the road, things could start moving again… you know, food and supplies,” I said.

“I can only hope that’s one small step toward the eventual renewal of home pizza delivery,” Todd said.