Burn District 1 (2 page)

“Hi, I hope you don’t mind if I come for a news report,” I said. They looked at up me. The girl, maybe twenty, moved over on the picnic table.

“Have a seat,” she said, smiling. “I don’t think we’ll flip the table over.”

“I’ve seen enough,” the man said, getting up. “I’m Craig and this is Cindy.” I shook hands with both of them, making a mental note to wash my hands before we left the campground. I’d become a germaphobe, worried we might pick a bug up before we reached Arizona. I sat next to Cindy and she scrolled up to the beginning of the page of Google news.

“We think this is the best mix of government bullshit and rumor. What do you do at home?”

“I’ve been reading the rumor forums,” I admitted. She nodded her head, understanding how easy it was to get to a point where nothing big business published was acceptable.

“I don’t really like this source, but at least they address the burns.” We read for a few minutes until coming to a name I was familiar with; Miranda Garrison.

“She’s a big contributor to the forums I read.”

“Well, it says here she was murdered last night,” Cindy said softly. It was stunning news. She continued to read out loud. “Miranda Garrison founded the Rumor forums. Her father, Victor Garrison is the senator from Virginia. Garrison claimed Winston Clarke, head of the Winston Clarke Humanitarian Fellowship controls the current party in office through his dominance in the stock market and his wealth from energy futures.

“Claims made by unnamed sources accuse Clarke of deciding the burn districts based on welfare roles, public assistance records and minimum yearly wage earnings, with a group of advisors that include the eminent Four Star General John Eastman. Garrison claimed to have had a video tape in which Winston Clark proselytizes that having to feed, house and provide health care for indigents is destroying the economy. ‘It would be kinder to euthanize those who are struggling and better for the country.’ The drain of public assistance funds came to head last fall after Hurricane Sandy hit. And the rest is history.”

“Oh, how awful,” I whispered. I didn’t notice Mike had come over to get me.

“That’s if you believe it,” he said, a tinge of hostility in his voice. “We’re ready to go now.” He could tell something had upset me, but I wasn’t sure how much he’d heard and I wouldn’t tell him about Miranda. It would mean nothing to him because he didn’t read the forums. In spite of what was happening to us, he still didn’t fully believe the government had anything to do with it.

“Thank you for sharing your computer with me,” I said, shaking Cindy’s hand again. She stood up and hugged me.

“Have a safe trip,” she replied.

“Where are you headed?” Mike asked her, curious.

“We’re staying here,” Cindy answered. “We’re almost out of money and Craig found a job in Tulsa.” I wondered how they concluded that it would be safe enough to stay. And then it struck me; we were well prepared. How many people had to leave their homes and jobs without being able to close their bank accounts or to save like we had? Mike and I walked back to our campsite. I waved to Cindy; in just minutes, we’d made a connection. It gave me hope for the future.

Our neighbor who had warned us came to mind. I was grateful for him.

“I just thought of Pete. He saved us,” I said, choked up.

“You’re not kidding,” Mike replied. “I was thinking the same thing; how many families were able to get away but didn’t have the time to prepare like we did?”

“How many families
didn’t
get to escape?” We looked at each other and squeezed hands, not wanting to boast out loud, worried about karma.

The family was on edge, waiting for me to return. Even Carin, who liked to putter around in the morning was anxious to get on the road. Buckling into our seats, the questions about Yuma started.

“Where will we live?” she asked when we were driving down the road to the interstate entrance. I’d avoided giving out too many details while we were still at home because I was afraid one of the children might reveal it to friends who would tell their parents. The excuse we used was that we might have to evacuate quickly in case of another disaster like Hurricane Sandy and that was why we were preparing.

“Grandpa has an old trailer on the property, and his fifth wheel. There’ll be plenty of room for all of us.”

“How many acres does he have?” Kelly asked.

“I think about two hundred. Most of it is flat land, but there are hidden places, too. When I was a kid, my sister and I loved to play hide and go seek.” The implication was that if we had to hide, there were places on the land to do so.

We’d discussed getting a second trailer if we needed more room. My dad, Randy and Carol, Kelly; four families coming together could be problematic. But I wasn’t sure Yuma County was our last stop.

Before we left Pennsylvania, late at night after our children were asleep, Mike and I whispered about the
what ifs
. He’d watched all the prepper television shows, and although we knew we would be limited in what we could take with us, water was the most important thing to have once we got there. Although my dad’s place had a well so water wouldn’t be a concern, Mike was worried about the summer heat, where temperatures of one hundred-ten degrees were common. As long as we had electricity to run the air conditioners, it would be fine. But we didn’t want to be dependent on an electric company for our power. Electricity would be one of the first things we’d lose. Mike talked about getting solar power and wind generators but the expense would be prohibitive. We put everything we had into our house in Pennsylvania, now most likely a pile of ash.

We thought we’d like the mountains of southern California and our conversation was dotted with
San Diego
and
Pacific Ocean
and
seventy-degrees
year round. Those were our private plans, however. We’d give Arizona as long as we could.

“Who knows where we’ll end up? If they start burning out west, we won’t have a choice. We’ll have to go to Mexico,” Mike had said.

“Or Canada.”

“Canada is too cold,” he’d replied. I knew he was right. Wherever we went it had to be possible to live simply, which meant no snowy winters. We feared the border to Mexico would close if the influx of Americans fleeing the U.S. became too great.

The chatter around me as we traveled was peppered with laughter. Randy turned around in his seat so he could argue with Kelly about a rumor he’d heard. After a burn occurred on prime land, a construction team from the National Guard would come in to prepare the area for new homes. Heavy equipment bulldozed everything until it was flat, pristine, buildable land.

“Camden, New Jersey is prime real estate.”

“Who’d want to live there?” Randy said, sneering.

“Think about all those small towns along the Delaware River. It’s a fabulous location, the view of Philly amazing. Waterfront property, crammed with hundred-year-old row homes,” Kelly said. “Instead of acres of row homes, there will be room for mansions. Rich people would love it there.” I agreed with her, as outlandish as it sounded, but because I knew Mike wouldn’t agree, I kept my mouth shut.

“What a great reason to kill people!” Carol said.

The younger children were plugged into Nintendo, so I didn’t have to worry about the conversation upsetting them. Elise was taking in every word, however. She was interested in what was going on and I was glad about it. Soon, she’d be forming her own opinions.

We spent the next hours looking out the window at flat land until we got to New Mexico. The highway running through the center of Albuquerque was jammed with cars, most we saw loaded with belongings. Many were also pulling trailers. We saw a lot of out of state license plates.

But what was even more disturbing were the hundreds of people walking along the side of the highway, many pushing strollers piled with belongings, or pulling wagons. We could see families; small children rode on shoulders or peeked out under belongings.

“Oh how sad,” Elise said. Carin started to weep, doing her best to hide it from us.

“Dad! Can’t we stop and pick them up?” Junior cried out.

“We don’t have room for all of them,” Randy said gently. “I’m hopeful a big bus will come by and pick everyone up.” Suddenly, cars veered onto Interstate 25. The mass exodus took the focus off the hoards of foot traffic.

“Where’s everyone going?” Junior asked, distressed. “Should we be following?”

“No worries, Junior,” Mike said soothingly. “They’re probably headed to Colorado and points north.”

“What about the cars that are heading south?” Junior replied, anxiously. I hid a smile while Mike chuckled. My son may be childlike, but he was observant.

“They might be headed to the border,” Randy answered. “There’s a crossing into Mexico at the end of that road.”

“Why don’t we go to Mexico?” Carin asked.

“I’m not sure,” Randy answered when no one responded. Why indeed?

“I like it here,” Mike finally said. “I hope this is just a phase our country is going through, like other countries have upheaval. We’ve been so lucky for such a long time.”

“I hope that’s all it is,” I answered. “Just a phase. Because I love it here, too. I’ve always said I didn’t want to go to Europe because it scared me to leave the safety of our country. Ha! That’s a laugh.”

“Are you scared now?” Junior asked. I’d backed myself into a corner with him; it was easy to do.

“I might be if I was alone,” I answered. “But I’m here with Daddy and with you and the others, and grandpa and grandma. And Grandpa Steve is waiting for us at our new house.”

“So in other words, you’re scared,” Elise replied sarcastically. Everyone in the car laughed, including Junior. As long as he was laughing, I wouldn’t worry about him.

“Yes, I guess I’m a little worried about living with everyone in a trailer.” More laughter followed, and then quiet contemplation.

In less than five hours we’d reach Flagstaff and head south. We were going to drive all night again, Mike, Randy and Kelly taking turns and if we only stopped for gas, would arrive in Tulip in the morning. I didn’t care how meager our future home was, I just wanted to see my dad and set up our life, even if we had to live in a tent.

Chapter 2

Laura

“We’re almost there!” Randy yelled. It was just sunrise, and I felt its heat and saw the bright steely light coming in through the van windows. I sat up, stiff and tired, and looked ahead through the windshield. The land was as desolate as I remembered, flat desert surrounded by mountains, and in the distance, the new fence erected to keep Mexican citizens from crossing the border illegally. It was ugly, a tall, black-mesh icon to what the United States had become. Illegal entries had diminished suddenly; who’d want to come to a country where the citizens weren’t even safe? Now it stood as a testament to the mess we were in.

Randy pulled off the interstate and wound through a sparsely populated rural village. No one was outdoors at that early hour; I thought odd. Someone should be waiting at the bus stop or in their yard, feeding the lone horse or donkey, or the small flock of goats. Adobe bungalows juxtaposed with wooden cottages painted bright colors that stood out in the desert. Turquoise, orange and yellow dotted the landscape. The houses were built closer together as we drove deeper into the village of Tulip.

There was a taco stand on one corner, a gas station combined with a small grocery store on another, signage in Spanish. It was a hundred miles from Yuma. I was glad the area was unpopulated, but I could tell Carol and Randy had expected a more suburban location.

“Where do these people shop?” Carol asked.

“There’s shopping in some of the small towns along the interstate,” Mike answered. We were avoiding making eye contact; the last thing I needed were complaining in-laws; he’d remind me later that he wanted his parents to make their own plans.

“We need to try to be self-sufficient,” Kelly said. “If the time comes that suppliers are unable to stock stores, we’ll be happy we made the effort.”

“I’m pretty sure that time is already here,” Randy said.

“I’m ready for anything,” Elise said, waking up. “I brought my canning books and the seeds I’ve hoarded. I’ll ask Grandpa Steve to get us a sheep so we can have wool to spin into yarn. Then we can weave our own cloth. Grannie, you’ll love it, you’ll see.”

“I hope so,” Carol said doubtfully.

“We have a sewing machine and fabric, we can quilt. You’d love that, right?” Carin asked. I was so proud of my daughters, teenagers trying to encourage a fifty-five year old woman suffering from fear and negativism.

“They have a twelve-month growing season,” Kelly said, waving a seed catalog.

“It’s the salad capital of the world,” Elise added, grabbing the catalog, pointing out the seeds she wanted to Kelly. “Oh, I can’t wait.” I reached forward and patted her shoulder, not sure how we’d order seeds without a checking account or a credit card, forgetting there’d be no place left to order seeds.

“The first thing we need to do is add to your seed hoard by going into town and seeing what’s for sale,” I said. Mike turned around and nodded his head.

“Good idea,” he replied. “Who knows? We might even be able to get those animals Elise wants. We’ll have to ask your father.”

“He bought the land to farm after he retired. Well now’s a good a time as any! This looks like the prefect place.” Before long, we were approaching my father’s property. The land was arid, with poofs of gray-green autumn sage, silvery globe mallow and lacy fronds of mountain marigold. I rolled the window down and took a deep breath; the herbal fragrance of the sage and lemony marigold bringing back memories of my mother, and my childhood. Randy turned the van and it bounced through the gate, the trailer following down the long driveway. I saw the fifth wheel, and my father’s truck far up ahead.

“There he is!” I shouted as he walked around from behind the rig. Randy beeped the horn and my dad stopped and looked up, and ran toward us waving madly, a big grin on his face apparent from down the road. The boys yelled
Grandpa!
as we piled out of the van.