William Johnstone - Phoenix Rising

“Your mother still trying to save the world, is she?” Clay asked.

“Daddy, be fair. Just because you are a dinosaur doesn’t mean you can’t appreciate what Mom is trying to do.”

Clay chuckled. “I will confess that your mother never met a cause she didn’t support, or a movement she didn’t join.”

“And you never met a war you didn’t love.”

“I don’t love war, darlin’.”

“That would be hard to prove by me. You went to Iraq under the first President Bush, you went to Bosnia for Clinton, then two more times to Iraq and once to Afghanistan for the second President Bush. And you got medals for every one of them.”

Clay lowered the phone from his ear and drummed his fingers on the dashboard for a moment. Why did Jenna have to sound exactly like her mother? Fortunately, she also looked like Carol, who was a beautiful woman.

“Daddy? Daddy, are you still there?”

Jenna’s voice was tinny over the phone, and Clay raised it back to his ear. “I’m still here, darlin’, but the traffic is getting a little heavier so I had better hang up. I’m very proud of you for graduating. And I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you too, Daddy. I just wish that you were a little more open-minded about things.”

“Tell your mama I said hi,” Clay said. “Bye.”

“I will. Bye, Daddy.”

Clay punched out of the call then dropped the phone back into his shirt pocket.

He thought of Carol, whose background was everything his wasn’t. Whereas Clay’s father was a Vietnam war veteran, Carol’s mother had been a hippie, caught up in the free-spirit anti-war crowd. Carol, who was born in San Francisco, had no idea who her father was but, as she often assured Clay, she at least had the satisfaction of knowing that he was not a warrior.

There had been sparks between them from the moment they met, but underneath those sparks, or perhaps causing them, there was a very strong sexual attraction. In the end, though, the sexual attraction was not enough to save their marriage, and when Clay deployed to Iraq the second time, this time under George W. Bush, Carol left to protest that same war. In doing this, she was taking up where her mother had left off a generation earlier.

World Cable News—Thursday, May 10

In Washington today, Congress passed by acclamation President Ohmshidi’s Water Resources Act, a comprehensive law that gives the federal government absolute control over all coastal waters, bays, rivers, lakes—whether natural or man-made—springs, creeks, canals, drainage ditches, and ponds. Under the auspices of this act those bodies of water that now lie on private land will be confiscated, and their use for any reason, whether watering livestock, fishing, boating, or drinking water, will be subject to federal government approval and taxation.

Congressman Hugh Langston of Alabama, who had led the fight against the Water Resources Act, protested the acclamation, claiming that the count was too close for a voice vote. Speaker of the House Nina Percy had Congressman Langston removed from the House floor.

In other news, the National Chamber of Commerce estimates that the amount of money taken from the U.S. economy as a result of the petroleum freeze, by virtue of lost revenue from the shortage of goods and services, as well as lost income from jobs that have been eliminated, to be in excess of five trillion dollars.

Despite severe rationing, and the steadily increasing cost of gasoline, our nation’s supply of fuel has already reached the critical stage. Analysts are particularly concerned about those in the north who heat their homes with petroleum. If the winter is very severe, there will be extreme hardship throughout the Northeast.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Page and Canvas Bookstore, Fairhope, Alabama—Saturday, May 26

One hundred eighty-five miles southwest of Fort Rucker, Bob Varney sat behind a table in the Page and Canvas bookstore. The Page and Canvas was a popular and well-known bookstore among authors because they could always count on a good turnout for their autographing sessions. Bob was here to autograph his book Murder in Milwaukee . His action and adventure books were consistent bestsellers and he always did well at book signings. In addition, he was considered a local author in Fairhope, even though he actually lived thirty miles south in an area called The Dunes, on the Gulf Beach, next to historic old Fort Morgan.

There were at least twenty people waiting for Bob before he started signing. The problem was, there were only four books available.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Varney,” Shirley Grace, the owner of the bookstore, said. “I had fifty books on order in plenty of time, but the distributor I have always worked with has gone out of business.”

“Yes, that’s been a problem over the last few years,” Bob said. “The consolidation of distributors. Dozens of the regional distributors have gone out of business or sold out. Now there are only two or three major companies left.”

Shirley shook her head. “There are none left,” she said.

“What do you mean, none?”

“There are no book distributors left in business. Not one.”

“Damn, I didn’t know that. So, where are you going to get your books? Direct from the publisher?”

“I’m not going to get them from anywhere. As soon as this inventory is gone I’m closing my doors. She took in the books in her store with a wave of her hand. “The prices of the books are printed on the covers. I can’t very well sell a seven-dollar book for fifty dollars, but at the current rate of inflation, that’s what I would have to charge for them, just to break even.”

“Tell me about it,” Bob said. “I have three more books to do on this contract. I thought it was a good contract when I signed it—now what would have been a year’s income will barely last a month. And my Army retirement and Social Security checks? They have been suspended, supposedly while DFAS reorganizes, and they haven’t been restarted. Also, because I had more than one hundred thousand dollars in stock, I was not included in the one hundred thousand dollar giveaway.”

Shirley wiped a tear away. “My grandfather started this store when he came home from World War Two,” she said. “We have been in business since 1947. Ernest Hemingway, William Faulkner, Truman Capote, Eudora Welty, Willie Morris—they all signed books here. I can’t believe it is all coming to an end.”

“I’m so very sorry,” Bob said. “I want you to know, Shirley, what an honor it has always been for me to sign here. I don’t know where I’ll be signing from now on, but I will very much miss this place.”

“I don’t know where you will be signing either,” Shirley said. “I’ve talked to every bookstore owner in Baldwin and Mobile Counties. None are staying open.”

“You’re talking about the independents, though.”

Shirley shook her head. “Not only independents but the big chain stores as well. By the end of this month, there won’t be a bookstore left anywhere on the Gulf Coast, and I would be surprised if there were any left anywhere in America.”

“When did all this happen?” Bob asked.

“Bob, I know you and the others down at Fort Morgan live almost like hermits. But you really should pay attention to what is going on around you. It’s not only the bookstores; the entire country is coming down around us.”

“I’ve been watching the news, but I never know what to believe. Even the news now is so slanted that it is difficult to discern the truth. The left-wing media says we are in a temporary recession and all will be well, while the right-wing media is all gloom and doom. I pass it all off as hyperbole and figure the truth is somewhere in the middle.”