Nathan Jones - Shortage

“We’d be an ideal target, too,” Chauncey muttered. “We were knocked out without needing to use nukes, disease, EMP, or even good old fashioned bombing. Our people are dead but all the infrastructure, commodities besides food, and wealth remains. They could even move settlers in to live in fully functional communities without too much trouble. Probably a tempting prospect for China with their large population.”

This wasn’t exactly the most heartening conversation. Trev knew it was probably something they’d have to prepare to deal with, assuming that was even possible, but for now the twitching between his shoulder blades was encouraging him to change the subject. Although there was one important thing he had to mention. “How far have you been able to go with your radio contacts?” he asked Chauncey.

The older man gave him an odd look. “Mostly local people. News gets passed on to them from people even farther away, kind of like dominos.”

Lewis guessed where his thoughts had taken him. “Uncle George probably knows all this already. I’m sure he’s ready to get your family to safety if it looks like the US is going to be invaded. For all we know they could already be on their way here.”

Chauncey glanced at him, eyes widening. “That’s right. Your family moved to Michigan, didn’t they? There’s a chance they’ll be right in the path of any invasion from Canada.”

That was in fact the unpleasant realization Trev’s thoughts had been dancing around. He could’ve done without his fears being spoken and made real. “Once you get your radio running do you think you can try to contact them?” he asked Lewis.

His cousin nodded. “I’ll try. HAM operators are a pretty cooperative bunch, I’ve found. I’m sure I can get some help relaying a message to Greenbush. Until then how about a change of subject? It’d be nice to know how the other towns in the area are doing.”

Chauncey grimaced. “Yeah, I suppose you’ll want to hear about Price.”

Trev frowned. “Is it good news?”

“I’ll give you one guess and a hint: the answer’s not “yes.” The retired teacher shook his head. “If you hadn’t heard, Price got hit by a disease late last fall. Some sort of flu in the refugee camp there that spread quickly, thanks to refugees thinking it was worse than it was and fleeing in a panic. High transference, low mortality. Might’ve even been a more common strain.”

“I’m guessing it was worse than you’re making it sound,” Lewis said. “Did it hit Aspen Hill?”

“No, Matt did a good job of keeping out anyone who might’ve carried it. But the problem is that even if it had a low mortality rate on its own, the refugees were all weakened by hunger and cold, and the people of Price and Carbonville it spread to weren’t much better off. It seemed to be just enough to push most of the infected over the edge, and by the time it played itself out tens of thousands of people ended up dead. Including a lot of people who survived it only to get hit by winter and find themselves too weak to respond.”

They shared a moment of grim silence for the fallen, then Trev cleared his throat. “Is Price still around?”

“Barely. The refugees ate up most of the food they had, including the stuff brought by the FETF convoy, before the flu struck. After that it was the same story of people doing what they could to survive. From what I hear there’s maybe five thousand people left, with more dying every day.”

The news made Trev feel tired and sick. Price’s population had been more than half again that before the Gulf refineries attack. Assuming the tens of thousands of refugees who’d come there had all died and those that remained were only original residents of Price, which was unlikely, it meant almost 3,500 of them had died. A poor reward for the generosity of accepting every hungry mouth that came to their city.

Of course Aspen Hill hadn’t fared much better, thanks to Ferris.

As if sensing they’d heard enough bad news, Chauncey changed the topic to the solar panel and battery setup. Trev wasn’t too familiar with electronics, so he left the other two to talk while he stewed in his thoughts. Mostly worry about his family. He was relieved when they reached the town and he was distracted by the chance to see how it had changed over the winter.

It hadn’t, but then again it had. The buildings seemed dirtier, less well maintained, the streets either snowed over or paths crudely shoveled through the little snow that still remained after the warmth of the last week.

The people seemed dirtier too, even though the spring provided plenty of clean water, as if they couldn’t be bothered to wash, and far too many looked skeletal, limping along on unsteady feet. Heads turned to look at them as they passed, taking in their relative health and cleanliness, and Trev thought he saw resentment and even darker emotions on some of those hopeless faces.

As if that wasn’t enough to show him what the town had gone through they passed a small park near the town’s center with a single swing set where Trev remembered playing as a child. Only now the snowy ground was humped with row after row of graves filling the space, most marked with no more than a crude wooden cross thrust into the ground with the deceased’s name carved on it. Chauncey’s eyes grew sad as they passed the new graveyard, and he quieted and slowed down as if in reverence until they were passed.

Trev was almost frightened to ask if the older man’s family were all okay, and he felt a surge of relief when he was assured that the retired teacher’s wife and sons were still healthy, all things considered.

“We had our goats and their milk, along with a bit of a garden and some fruit trees,” he said quietly. “None of what we had was the sort of thing FETF was interested in taking. The goats would’ve been work for them, and the fruit and vegetables we ate as they ripened. They picked a bit of it in passing, but just for a snack after one of their inspections. Thanks to that we fared better than just about anyone.”

Thinking back on the winter they’d spent up in the mountains, Trev realized that as hard as it had seemed they’d really had it good after all. Even the boredom seemed a petty thing to complain about.

Soon after that they reached Tillman’s, which apparently served as Terry’s clinic as well as the storehouse now. Once inside Lewis plugged in the laptop and pushed the power button, and they all held their breath as they waited for it to boot up.

It did, without a hitch. “Now for the real test,” Lewis said as he set the portable hard drives on the counter beside the computer.

Trev anxiously watched while his cousin worked. The working laptop was a good sign, but it wouldn’t mean much if the terabytes of data on the portable hard drives had been corrupted. When Lewis plugged in a drive and the drive icon showed up on the screen his cousin leaned back, tension easing from his shoulders that Trev hadn’t even noticed until it was gone. “It works.” He clicked a few times. “It’s all here.”

Then in an uncharacteristic display of emotion Lewis gave Trev a high five. And after months of days and nights full of repetitive conversations and learning to play half remembered songs on cheap instruments Trev was just as enthusiastic returning the gesture. “Looks like the movie night is on.”

Standing behind them Chauncey clapped his hands. “I’ll go grab the projector from town hall.”

As they were setting up for the movie the Larson family arrived, having left the shelter locked from the outside, and Matt and Sam came over to chat as they worked out the kinks in the thrown together projection and sound systems they’d put up around the clinic.