Eric Walters - The Rule of Three

Security was the next item on the agenda.

“We’ve divided the security detail into three units,” my mother reported. “Each has sixty-five members. Each unit is on duty for twelve hours and then off for twenty-four.”

I edged closer to the doorway so I could see into the room. This was the stuff I was more interested in.

“How many of those security people are trained?” Judge Roberts asked. He was sitting in my father’s favorite reading chair.

“I guess that depends on the definition of ‘trained,’” my mother replied. “We have ten police officers, three more retired officers, five former military members, six men who were trained as security guards, two private investigators, and eight firefighters or paramedics who have some parallel training. I have officers in charge of each unit.”

“Are all of those people carrying weapons?” Councilwoman Stevens asked.

“All have some form of weapon, but so far we’ve limited firearms only to those who are fully trained.”

“And the rest are being trained in the use of firearms, correct?” she asked.

“Training is taking place around security issues, the use of weapons in general, but even when they’re fully trained we don’t have enough firearms to equip everybody,” my mother said.

“How many people could be armed?”

“We have enough pistols, rifles, or shotguns to arm one hundred and twenty people. I wish we had more weapons and ammunition.”

“Should we be scavenging for those items outside our walls?” Mr. Gomez asked.

“The only way to get more weapons is to take them away from people who already have them, and they’re not going to let that happen without a fight,” Herb said.

“The most important question is, do we now have enough security to safeguard the neighborhood?” Councilwoman Stevens asked.

“There have been no intrusions into the neighborhood since we established the increased security and started constructing the perimeter fence,” my mother said. “We are safe for now.”

“For now?” the councilwoman asked.

“We will continue to become better trained, equipped, and fortified, keeping ahead of the curve of potential invasion forces,” Herb said. He paused. “At least that’s the hope.”

That last sentence fell into silence.

While there was a whole committee of people who were in charge, it was starting to feel more and more like there were two clear leaders: my mother and Herb. Their opinions seemed to matter the most, their advice was taken, and they seemed to have divvied up responsibilities. My mother took care of the day-to-day security, and Herb tried to figure out what was coming next and get us prepared for it. I had started to think of it as a two-part system: she did the here and now, and he did the future; she did inside the wall, and he did outside. So far they hadn’t disagreed about anything. I wondered what would happen when they did.

“With the ongoing training, the continued construction of the perimeter fence, and the communications we’ve established, we seem to be in solid shape,” my mother added.

By now Todd’s father had taken on a leadership role in building the perimeter wall—and Todd was at his side working. And it wasn’t much different with Lori—although she wasn’t working on the fence but on the farm.

The Petersons had moved into an unoccupied house beside the park. The garage had become a chicken coop, and the land had become pasture for the cows and horses. Lori and her mother had been working hard to care for the animals while her father had been occupied plowing fields and planting throughout the neighborhood. Rachel had been spending a lot of time up there helping out, as well as taking the occasional ride on the horses with Lori.

“Can you tell me more about the communications?” Judge Roberts asked.

“We have equipped each sentry team with walkie-talkies as well as a way to signal if there are issues,” my mother said. “Each section has a distinct signal they can use to signify trouble, and we can direct help to that quadrant.”

“If a signal is sounded, then all off-duty security will be there within minutes to support the sentries and repel any outside danger,” Herb added.

“That is reassuring.”

The light on the percolator came on to show that the coffee was ready. Perfect timing. I’d bring out coffee—my invitation to go in and listen a little closer.

“Funny,” Howie said, “what’s bothering the people on the front line is the thought not so much of having to defend the neighborhood from hostiles but of having to turn away innocents who are coming every day.”

“I don’t understand,” Councilwoman Stevens said.

“People walking by the fences who have to be turned away at the gates. Worse still, often these aren’t just strangers. We’re seeing people we know. They’re asking for help, you know, food or water, or to come inside our neighborhood, and we have to say no.”

“There isn’t a choice,” Herb said.

“I know that, but it doesn’t make it easier,” Howie explained.

I walked around the table putting down mugs in front of the committee members, who nodded or thanked me.

“You know, it might be possible that we could let some people in,” Herb said.

“It is?” my mother asked.

“There are some people out there with specific skills that could benefit us. It would be wise to have a second farmer, a couple more builders, and another good mechanic or two.”

“Do you want us to start asking people about their jobs?” Howie asked.

“We’ll have to give it more thought, but there are certain skill sets that would be helpful and would legitimize the food and water they’d use.”

“Speaking of water, is that being provided for?” Judge Roberts asked.

“Good progress,” Mr. Nicholas, the engineer, answered. “We’ve been diverting gutters of houses to harvest rainwater from roofs into collection barrels. Or into swimming pools, if people have them. Pools make excellent storage tanks, and that water can be used for washing, flushing toilets, and cleaning and irrigation. In addition we’re looking at ways to block off the sewers so that rainwater can be stored underground.”

“Excellent work,” the judge said. “And will any of that water be able to be used for drinking?”

“With the right amount of chlorine, almost any water is drinkable,” he said.

“Just how much chlorine do we have?” Councilwoman Stevens asked.

“Enough to provide drinking water for the neighborhood for six months,” Herb said.

“So, much more than we’ll need,” she said.

Herb didn’t answer, although I knew he didn’t see it the same way.

“It certainly wouldn’t hurt if the scavenging parties can go into the pool supply store,” my mother said.

“We’ve already explored that,” Mr. Gomez said, “but it’s too late. It’s been stripped of every useful chemical.”

I guess Herb wasn’t the only person who’d figured it out—he just did it earlier than everybody else.

“I’m not so concerned about our quantities of chlorine as the potential for human waste contamination creating an outbreak of a waterborne disease,” Dr. Morgan said. “We aren’t equipped to deal with cholera or diphtheria.”

“But that shouldn’t be a worry, should it?” Judge Roberts said.

“There is always potential, but it should be minimal as long as the sanitation system continues to function,” Dr. Morgan said.

“I guess we’re lucky that the toilets are still operating if we pour in water,” the judge added.

“It’s an incredibly simple system,” Mr. Nicholas explained. “It’s all gravity based. Pour water down the toilets and it flushes away waste to a lower level. But if the system becomes jammed or clogged anywhere between here and the treatment center then the whole thing could back up.”