William Johnstone - Phoenix Rising

“That’s what we need,” Jake said. “Another stunning announcement.” Jake picked up a hot wing, separated it, and began eating.

The picture on the screen showed the president sitting behind his desk in the oval office. Behind him were two flags, the flag of the United States and a white flag, bearing what had been his campaign logo but had since replaced the flag bearing the presidential seal as the image of the Ohmshidi administration. It was a green circle enclosing wavy blue lines that represented clean water, over which was imposed a stylized green plant.

“I know you aren’t supposed to hate,” Jake said, “but every time I look at that man, I come as close to hating as you can get.”

“Remember,” Karin said, “that’s our commander in chief you are talking about.”

“How can I forget?” Jake asked with a growl.

“Shhh,” Karin said. “He’s about to speak.”

“Whoop-de-doo,” Jake replied.

Ladies and gentleman, the President of the United States, an off-camera voice said.

My fellow Americans. For too many years now, we have been dependent upon fossil fuels to meet our energy needs. This dependency has been the cause of nearly every problem we have faced, beginning in the late twentieth, and continuing into this, the twenty-first century. It has poisoned our environment, caused cancer and countless other health problems. It has destroyed our ozone layer, leading us toward irreversible global warming. It has created severe economic problems, and it has been the cause of international hatred and war.

For the last fifty years, there have been discussions of moving to a green economy with alternative, clean, and renewable energy as our nation’s engine. And while other presidents before me have announced that as their goal, they have all failed.

I will not fail because I am taking a bold, and admittedly very difficult, step. It is, however, a step that I must take. I am, today, ordering an immediate cessation to all drilling and refining of domestic fossil fuels. In addition, we, as a nation, will no longer import fuels. We will have only that fuel currently extracted, refined, and in our inventory. When that is gone there will be no more. My analysts tell me that with strict rationing of the kind used during World War Two, our fuel supply should last about six months.

Now, while this may seem like a draconian step to many of you, it is, I believe, a way of spurring our scientists and engineers into committing to a twenty-four-hour-per-day, seven-days-per-week effort to find a sustainable alternative energy program. Will it be hydrogen? Will it be cold fusion? Will it be some scientific breakthrough that we have not yet imagined?

We of course have no idea as yet what this new source will be, but our future is exciting because I have absolute faith in our scientists to find a solution. Until then, all Americans will have to tighten their belts as we embark upon this great adventure together.

Thank you, and good night.

“He can’t be serious!” Jake shouted. “He has lost his mind! He has finally lost his mind!”

“You have won me over, Jake,” Karin said in a quiet, hesitant voice. “I think he has lost his mind.”

“Do you know how much jet fuel we use in just one week at Fort Rucker?” Jake asked.

“I know it is a lot.”

“We use three hundred thousand gallons per week. That is, we were using that when we were operational. Now if just we were using that much, how much fuel do you think our whole country uses? Everything, and I mean everything, is going to come crashing to a halt.”

“How long do you think before that happens?” Karin asked.

“The last time you filled up, what did you pay for gasoline?” Jake asked.

“I don’t know, around three twenty-five I think. Or something like that.”

“You mark my words, tomorrow gasoline will be ten dollars a gallon, and that’s only the beginning.”

“I don’t mind telling you, Jake; I’m getting a little frightened, now.”

“Only idiots aren’t frightened now,” Jake said.

Thursday, May 17

In the weeks following the president’s announcement that he was halting all acquisition of fossil fuel, either by domestic drilling, or importation, the price of gasoline began to increase, jumping at the rate of at least two dollars per day. The cost of fuel was beginning to be a problem for Jake and he was making a good salary. He couldn’t help but wonder how others were dealing with it.

It was ten miles from Ozark to Fort Rucker and Jake drove it every day. This was Friday morning and, as he did every Friday morning, he stopped his two-year-old Volvo at the Busy Bee Quick Stop service station to fill his tank. Though this was normally a “fast in, fast out” stop, this morning he saw several cars waiting at each fuel island. This had become routine in the last few weeks, and Jake was prepared for it. He was in no particular hurry and he sat listening to Vivaldi’s “Four Seasons” on the satellite radio as he waited.

“You son of a bitch! You pulled in front of me!” someone yelled to the driver of a car in the next line over. The shout was followed by the incessant honking of a horn that did not cease until a couple of policemen arrived.

“That asshole pulled in front of me!” the driver yelled to the police.

“Both of you,” the police ordered, “out of line.”

Grumbling, both the aggrieved, and the aggrieving driver were ordered to leave.

“Find somewhere else to get your gas,” the policeman said. “And don’t both of you go to the same station!”

Jake watched the two cars drive away. There was a time when he might have been amused by the little drama, but he had been seeing television reports of similar incidents all over the country. People were afraid, and the more frightened they got, the more uneasy the situation was becoming.

After a wait of about fifteen minutes, Jake pulled up to the pump and saw the price of gasoline, then gasped. It was thirty-six dollars per gallon.

“What?” he shouted. Thinking it might be a mistake, he checked some of the other fuel pumps.

“It’s no mistake, sir,” said a sergeant on the next island over, when he saw Jake checking the prices. “I stopped here yesterday and it was thirty-four dollars a gallon. I thought that was too much, but if we aren’t going to get any new oil, this is just going to get worse. I should have bought gas yesterday.”

“You had better fill your tank, Sergeant,” Jake said. “At this rate, it could be fifty dollars a gallon or more by this time next week.”

It cost Jake four hundred and thirty-two dollars to fill his tank. He was still frustrated when he reached his office. There were now more soldiers at Fort Rucker than there had been at any time since the Vietnam War, but because all training operations had stopped, except for normal housekeeping duties there was not one soldier who was gainfully employed. Jake knew that it could not last like this.

When Jake reached his office, Sergeant Major Matthews was waiting for him.

“Good morning, sir,” Clay said.

“Sergeant Major. How are you coming on your requisitions?”

“I’ve added something to the list. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, not at all. If you can think of something else we might need, by all means, acquire it if you can.”

“I already have,” Clay said. “I have twenty barrels of Mogas.”

“You have twenty drums of gasoline?” Jake asked in surprise.

“No, sir, barrels, not drums. Drums hold only fifty gallons, a barrel holds fifty-five gallons. I figured it might be good to have.”

“You figured correctly,” Jake said.