THE DAY: A Novel of America in the Last Days (The End of America Series) (14 page)

Sam and Laura’s Kitchen

Minneapolis, Minnesota

              
 
Sam and Laura’s power went out the
day after America was nuked. Sam and Laura shared some of their food with needy
neighbors on both sides of their house in their aging sub-division. They
stopped answering the door soon after the power went out, though, because they
knew what was coming. Hungry people would come knocking at their door demanding
food. Though several had come up on their porch and pounded on their door, so
far no one had attempted to kick in the door. But, now Sam and Laura were down
to two cans of pork and beans, small quantities of un-cooked spaghetti and rice
and three withered potatoes. It was time for Sam and Laura to talk.

              
Sam
reached across their small kitchen table, grabbed Laura’s hands in his
and said, "Laura my dear, we
both
know where this is going.
Right?
"

              
"
Umh
.
You mean, because
we’re almost out of
food?
"

              
"Yeah….That’s
the
obvious
problem, since the stores
have all been stripped clean. I’ll never forget what
Coborns
and
Fareway
looked like inside. I couldn’t find
anything worth picking up in either store.
Picked clean
….All within just
hours after The Day.
No one in this neighborhood has any extra food that
they can share with us. Heck, we could have lasted another two or three days if
we
hadn’t shared
with the
Smiths and the
Svensons
."

              
"But,
Sam, it was the
right
thing to do.
You know that."

              
"I’m
okay with what we did, but what we need to look at is….well….you
know….the
future
. We’re
going to be out of anything worth eating
very
soon
. Then, what will we do? Laura, we’re
too old
to go out and search for food, either in homes or by
hunting in the state parks. And Laura you know that…."

              
BANG….BANG….BANG…
."
OPEN UP. WE KNOW YOU’RE IN
THERE"….BANGBANGBANG. "We saw your lights on last
night."
BANGBANGBANG.

              
"
Sam
, get the
gun
."

              
Sam
jumped up from the table and grabbed his antique Colt revolver from the counter
between the kitchen and the living room where he had placed it for convenience
sake. Waving for Laura to hide in the hall closet, Sam walked over and stood to
the side of the front door.

              
"What
do you want? You don’t need to bang on our door
so hard
. We can hear."

              
"
We
can
hear,
hunh
? So
there’s
at least
two of you.
Probably also
a
woman
, right?
We’re here
for
food
. We’re out of food.
We’re hungry
. We want some of what
you’ve got stored away….
Open
up
….
or we’re
comin
’ in
."

              
Sam
grimaced as he realized his mistake in letting his uninvited visitors know that
there were two of them, most likely including a wife. He raised his Colt
revolver, pointing it at the door, saying, "That would be
a really bad
idea….whoever you
are. We don’t have any food.
Go
away
. Leave us alone."

              
"
No
food,
hunh
?
Who do you think you’re lying to? If you’ve got candles or flashlights…whatever
we saw lit up last night….that means you’ve also got
food
…probably plenty of
it….We’re hungry….
Real
hungry
….This is your last warning before we come through this flimsy
little door."

              
"Listen
pal
," Sam said with his voice
quivering, "I have a gun pointed right at
your gut
. Bullets go through flimsy doors, as you called it. If
you’re not gone in ten seconds we’ll both find out how flimsy this
door really is. Now go.
Get outta here
.
Leave us alone.
Don’t
come
back….I’ve got plenty of ammo.
Got
it?"

              
"Yeah,
smart mouth, we
will
get it. Thanks
for telling us about all your ammo….food
and
ammo….and
a woman
….what
a
deal
. You can put away your gun,
mister macho man. We’re going. But you better be able to stay awake at
night,
all night
, because
we’ll be back.
Sweet dreams, macho
man. Tell your woman we’re
lookin
’
forward to
meeting
her, if you know
what we mean."

Columbia
Food Distribution, Inc.

Columbia,
Missouri

              
Thad
Stevens was an admitted workaholic. He loved his job, and had done so ever
since he took over Columbia Food Distribution, Inc., when his only uncle
suffered a fatal heart attack, leaving him sole owner of the company. Like
everyone else in central Missouri he watched what little news he could get on
the television channels still broadcasting after The Day.
Neither
St. Louis or
Kansas City appeared to be on the nuclear target list, so
Thad was able to get updates from channels in both cities on his cable system
in Columbia, located in Missouri about mid-way between both cities. He often
reflected on the wise planning that led his uncle to locate the warehouse
mid-way between the two metropolises.

              
Two
days after The Day, Thad, as was his custom, unlocked the secure door at 6:30
AM to the offices of Columbia Food Distribution, Inc. He was usually the first
employee to appear at the warehouse, so he wasn’t surprised that his car
was the first in the large parking lot. He noted that semi-trucks were backed
into 18 of the warehouse’s twenty loading bays. What did surprise him
though, was that by 8:15 AM only two employees had driven their cars into the
parking lot and were in the company’s kitchen drinking coffee. Usually,
all forty-seven personnel were on hand by 8 AM to grab a cup of Joe and start
to work.

              
 
Thad walked back to the kitchen, filled
his cup and sat
down,
saying to neither employee in
particular, "Where the heck is everybody?
Hunh
?"

              
The
two employees present, Jim and Nick, looked at each other, with Nick saying,
"Boss, we were just wondering the same thing. KC and St. Louis
weren’t hit, so why did everybody stay home?"

              
"Got
me, boys, I don’t get it either. We’ve got work to do. Those trucks
out there still
gotta
’ be loaded, and then
driven to our customers’ stores. We can’t do that without people. I
know they’re scared after what happened to the country.
Whew!
Who
coulda
’ seen that coming?
It sounds like lots
of folks….
millions
,
maybe….are dead. What a
disaster
,
but we still got work to do. People are still
gonna
’
have to eat….you know….the ones who survived….the people in
our part of the country….you know….the areas that didn’t get
nuked. Life has to go on….and….you know…."

              
"Boss,
Jim and I were just talking about that. Do you see any problem with our getting
any diesel fuel for the trucks…like….
after
we draw down the tanks out back and
run out
of our reserve supply?
Whatchathink
?"

              
Thad
stopped mid-sip, looking over the edge of his coffee cup at Nick, his inquiring
employee. Late last night and early this morning Thad had been thinking about a
lot of potential problems, like continuing their food supply lines and insuring
that their food market stores maintained their banking relationships so
Columbia would get paid, but he had totally spaced any concerns about diesel
fuel.
Diesel fuel.
Columbia’s fuel tanks held
just over five thousand gallons, and were re-filled twice a week by his
petroleum supplier, the Stone River Refinery, located in Roxana, Illinois 15
minutes from St. Louis. Missouri had no refineries. It was time to call Stone
River.

              
Back
in his office, Thad looked out at the parking lot which still held only three
vehicles. He picked up the handset on his desk phone, pleased to hear a dial
tone. He punched in the number for Stone River Refinery. The number
rang….and rang….and rang….but no one answered. Maybe I dialed
wrong in my haste Thad decided. He hung up and dialed again. Same result.
Ringing, but no answer.
He looked at his wall
clock,
they’re an hour ahead, so it’s well after
9 AM in western Illinois. Stone River has people there 24/7/365, since they
refine crude oil around the clock. Thad put the ringing call on his
speakerphone and laid the handset on the desk, hoping that someone would
answer, eventually.

The
Harlan Robbins Farm

Crown
Point, Indiana

              
The
first people to walk onto the Robbins farm front porch looking for food were a
sorry bunch. The husband/father looked like he would not be able to take
another step without collapsing. The wife/mother didn’t look any better.
She was holding an infant on her left hip and a toddler on her right hip. Three
children, with dirty faces, aged from nine to twelve hung onto their parents,
staring up at Harlan and Dorothy Robbins who were standing just outside their
front door. They arrived late in the afternoon, as dusk was falling over
northwest Indiana. Harlan was explaining that they couldn’t help them
with food as they didn’t have any to spare. But Dorothy laid her hand on
Harlan’s arm and whispered in his ear, "Honey, we can share
a little
of what we have. Look at these
pitiful folks. They could die, literally, if we don’t help them.
I’ll get some grub, you take them out to the barn and get them a place to
lie down and rest some. Okay?"

              
Harlan
wasn’t happy about what his wife of over fifty years had just whispered.
He knew that their actual supply of food would soon be gone if they gave it
away to everyone who knocked on their door. But in those years of marriage
Harlan had learned that when Dorothy made up her mind….well, he knew what
they would have to do. His underlying concern was not giving some food to these
sad-looking folks, but what would they do when the next hardship case came to
their house asking for food, and the next, and the next. He pondered the
problem as he nodded his affirmative response to Dorothy. She turned and went
into the farm house to get food. Harlan led the family out back to the barn,
showing the family where they could lie down in a clean stall.

              
That
night, after Harlan and Dorothy shared a small meal, Harlan brought up his
concern, "Dot. We have to
talk
.
We can’t keep doing what we just did."

              
"But,
Harlan, honey, they were
starving
. We
had
to help them or else
they
…."

              
"I
know. I know. But, Dot, my dear, we will be
out
of food
soon, even if we don’t give any more away. What we’ve stored
in the root cellar may keep us alive for two to three months, maybe more if we
skimp. These folks we just fed are only the first of
many
who will come. Dot, we can’t feed
everybody
.
We just
can’t."

              
Dorothy
wept. Harlan was silent, looking down at his farm-roughened hands.

              
Finally,
Harlan said, "I’m alright with sharing….like….I
don’t know, maybe a third of what we’ve got.
But
no more.
Otherwise, we’ll…."

              
"Harlan,
I understand. But, you said yourself that the fallout might kill us before we
ran out of food. So, what difference does it make if we…."

              
"
Die
from starvation before we
rot
from the radiation? Is
that
what we’re saying,
Dot?"

              
"Pretty much, Harlan.
Let’s take your idea and
bring some of the root cellar food back into the house, not much. And
we’ll share it with folks who show up looking for food. When it’s
gone, it’s gone."

              
"OK,
I can live with that Dot, my dear, but
then
what?
We’ll then still have only about half of what we started with.
We’ll leave, as we discussed before, a few cans in the kitchen for those
who decide to break in the house, when no one answers the door. Then, I suggest
that once we decide that we are done giving away food, that we hide out in the
root cellar during the night when visitors willing to shoot us for food are
more likely to show up at the farm."

              
"
Seriously
?
Through the
whole night
,
Harlan?
In the
root
cellar
?
I don’t think we can…."

              
"
I
don’t like the idea much either,
but what are the alternatives? If we stay in the house, with no food, and the
hungry visitors come, what do we do then? If they’re armed, they
won’t believe that we live on a farm, but we don’t have any food.
They’ll either
shoot us
or
threaten to shoot us
if we don’t
tell them where the food is hidden. Our options are
very
limited."

              
Harlan
and Dorothy Robbins didn’t have to endure lying in their root cellar.
Their fourth food visitors the next day were five dirty and bedraggled men, all
packing weapons stuck in their belts. Dorothy tried to convince them that all
that they had to give them was a can of pork and beans and a mason jar of
canned dill pickles. They grabbed the food, demanding more, assuring the
Robbins that they knew that they had to have more food. They were farmers,
after all, they said. Harlan insisted to the increasingly angry men that they
had already given away everything else they had. The hungry men standing in
their kitchen would have none of it. The dirtiest, angriest hungry man pulled
his gun, laying the barrel next to Dorothy’s head. Harlan started to
reason with the wielder of the gun. He fired directly into Dorothy’s
right ear, instantly killing her and splattering Harlan and the Robbins kitchen
with her blood. Harlan lunged towards the shooter, only to be hit mid-chest by
the second bullet fired. Harlan and Dorothy Robbins went to be with their Lord,
never again to worry about sharing their food with hungry, angry people.