Fuel (Best Laid Plans Book 1) (12 page)

Even though he'd been the one shooting it, Matt had been close enough to the spray when it landed that some misted back at him, making him cough as he staggered away chasing after the bat. Just a whiff of the stuff was enough to make his eyes water and his nose start to run, and he didn't envy the mugger his experience. The guy's cursing had been replaced by phlegmy, wracking coughs that sounded almost like he was puking up his guts, and the few breaths he managed to take were forced and raspy.

Matt picked up the bat and tossed it into his cart along with the bear spray, then grabbed the cart's pushbar and yanked it back onto the sidewalk, running it past the downed mugger while giving him as much space on the sidewalk as he could. Once he was past he still stared over his shoulder every second or so for the next few hundred feet to make sure he wasn't being followed.

That last thing he saw before he reached the top of the hill and its curve blocked his view of the attacker below showed the big man still writhing in pain, the noise of his wracking coughs reaching Matt's ears for a ways afterwards.

He glanced down at the bear spray sitting on top of the pile of grocery bags, feeling equal parts relieved and sickened by the narrow escape from a dangerous situation. Those rioters back in the store had been complaining about all the guns being gone, but not ten feet from the empty racks had been a less lethal weapon that could still do the job. He was glad he'd grabbed the powerful pepper spray and even more glad it had been handy when he needed to defend himself.

He was still so high on adrenaline that he actually jumped when his phone rang, although of course he should've expected it after hanging up on his sister. But it wasn't her name on the call it was his mom's: April must've called her.

“Matt!” she said, sounding frantic. “I finally managed to reach you! Your phone was ringing earlier but it suddenly went to voicemail, and then April said she talked to you but you suddenly hung up. Are you okay? Why are you at a store with rioters instead of on your way home like you said?”

“I'm fine, Mom,” he said quickly, deciding not to tell her about the mugger. She'd only worry. “Sorry about the phone. The riot was just starting and I turned it off so I wouldn't draw attention. But I'm fine, really, and I'll be on my way home soon. I just got delayed by things more than I expected.”

“You should've left already,” she insisted. “I thought you were leaving hours ago!” Matt started to answer but she kept going, almost frantically. “Have you seen the news? Riots just broke out in Salt Lake City, and now you're getting caught in them too. You've got to get out of there!”

“I will,” he said. “I promise, Mom, I'll be there in a couple of hours at most.”

She started to reply, but mid-word his phone beeped and fell silent. Puzzled, he looked down to see that the signal had been lost.

What? The signal strength here was as strong as anywhere else in the valley, and he'd never had a dropped call. Had the cell phone company run out of power and cut off service? Or had the riots spread to some saboteur knocking out the cell tower up on the mountainside?

He waited a few minutes but the signal never returned. Great, his mom had already been freaking out and now this. He'd be seeing her soon enough to ease her worries, he hoped, but before he left he'd check to see if any of his roommates had a working phone, or maybe if the dorm's landline was still up.

Decided, he slipped his useless phone back into his pocket and wasted no more time getting back to his dorm. He even trotted on the level and downhill stretches, and in spite of the bat and bear spray in his cart and the fact that nobody was seemed to be coming his way or paying him any special attention he didn't relax until he was back on campus.

If the grounds had been deserted this morning now they were almost eerily empty. Matt felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight out as he pushed his cart towards the dorms. It was only mid afternoon but the place felt like it would in the middle of the night, and walking across it he had the irrational sense that he was doing something wrong even though he'd taken this route at this time of day hundreds or even thousands of times.

It was almost a relief when a security guard appeared around a corner up ahead, although the relief faded pretty quick when the man scowled and made a beeline for him, raising his voice to a shout. “What are you doing?” He pointed at the cart. “What is that?”

Matt slowed to a stop, puzzled. “I went shopping.”

The man sneered. “Yeah right. Five finger discount?”

“I paid for this stuff!” Matt protested indignantly.

The guard toyed with his belt, almost but not quite fingering the pistol holstered there. “Listen, kid. I've got to say that with riots spreading all over the city you pushing a shopping cart full of swag with a baseball bat sitting on top makes you look a lot like a looter.”

“I paid for it!” Matt repeated.

“Whatever. They don't pay me enough to care either way.” The man jerked a thumb towards the dorms. “Get to your dorm. Campus administration has declared a 24 hour a day curfew as long as the riots continue.”

Dismay surged through him. “I was just going to pack up some things and drive home!” he protested. “I'm not planning on staying here!”

“Not planning on staying here,” the guard mimicked snidely. “Poor guy. It must be so terrible having to sit comfy on a couch watching the world end on TV. And lucky me I get to be out here making sure you're safe to complain about the privilege.” He jerked his thumb at the dorms again. “Dorm. Now. And don't let me see you outside again.”

Silently fuming, Matt allowed himself to be escorted to his dorm. Thankfully the security guard had nothing else to say across the short distance, although he also didn't offer to help Matt get his cart through the doors. He seemed perfectly happy to stand there watching Matt's clumsy efforts, though. Matt finally got his cart into the lounge, ignoring the odd looks of the students sprawled on the couches or across the floor there as they watched the news doing just what the guard had accused Matt of.

There was no way he was going to hang around until the riots ended. He had a feeling they would only get worse from here, and maybe even spread to campus. Curfew or no he intended to leave today. He'd just wait until it got dark and sneaking out was potentially easier. Decided, Matt made his way back to his dorm to pack up everything he'd need.

At least now he had plenty of time to try to get in touch with his mom.

Chapter Six

Day Seven: Evening

Trev didn't even realize his phone had lost signal until he got to the auditorium and heard other townspeople who'd come for the meeting talking about it.

He stepped aside at the entryway and pulled out his phone. Sure enough he was showing no signal, not even roaming. Lewis was also checking his phone when Trev glanced over, and at his questioning look his cousin shook his head. They'd been busy all afternoon cataloguing stuff in the shelter and making a few adjustments and improvements Lewis couldn't make alone and had been waiting for Trev to come down and help with, so neither of them had tried to use their phone. He wasn't sure if no signal meant all the service providers had cut out at once, or if maybe the nearest cell towers had been knocked out. How would that affect the internet?

Before he could explore those thoughts further he was intercepted by a bustling dress and strong arms enveloping him in a tight hug.

“Oh Trev, it's good to see you made it safely,” Mona Larson, Matt's mom, said as she stepped back and patted his arm. Her face was scrunched with worry that he doubted was for him. “Matt said you were heading down and Lewis told us about your injury, but we still started worrying when you didn't show up after a few days.”

Trev lifted his leg a bit to wiggle his foot and tap his knee with his knuckles. “I was off my feet for a day or so but I'm fine now. I just made it in earlier today.”

“Well be sure you don't push yourself too hard!” she said, concern genuine even in her distracted state. “I was worried you might make your injury worse what with all the distance you still had to walk. Is it healing properly?” Before he could answer her impatience seemed to get the better of her. “Listen, have you heard from Matt? I was in a call with him when it dropped, and before that he'd got caught in a riot and I think me may have been attacked when April was talking to him because he suddenly hung up on her.”

“Matt was caught in a riot?” Trev demanded, having trouble sorting through her frantic whirlwind of words but definitely catching that. “Is he okay?”

“That's what I'm asking you! His call was dropped while I was talking to him and if he'd left after that he should've been home by now! It's been more than twice as long as he needed to make the drive.”

He and Lewis exchanged glances, and his cousin shook his head. “I haven't talked to him since the day after the attack,” Trev answered. “Did his call drop when the cell service went down?”

She frowned, although she looked a bit embarrassed. “Well yes. But the call just ended so suddenly I was afraid he might've been caught in an explosion that took out the cell service or something. I know that sounds silly, but with him in the middle of the riot it's hard not to think like that.”

“I'm sure he's fine,” Trev assured her. “Everyone's cells all went dead at the same time so it's pretty unlikely he was anywhere near whatever knocked them out. Have you seen anything about Orem on the news?”

The matronly older woman's frown deepened in genuine frustration. “I don't know. Cable went down about the same time as the phones, so no internet or TV and the signal from most of the broadcasted TV and radio stations is too weak to make it down here.”

Well that answered his question about internet. Say what you will about the shelter he and his cousin had built being a perfect setup for the end of the world, but it
was
isolated. Lewis had relied on his phone for internet while living there, which obviously was no help now. “Maybe the Mayor and City Council will have some news about what's going on up north,” he offered.

That seemed to be enough to placate Mrs. Larson. She nodded and gave him another hug, and Lewis one as well, then hurried back to where her husband was saving her seat near the front of the auditorium.

Trev and Lewis had just barely found seats near the back when John Anderson, Aspen Hill's Mayor, stood and walked up to the podium. Behind him the City Council sat on folding chairs, looking uncomfortable for more reasons than just the plastic seats.

“Good evening, everyone,” he said, the speakers booming his voice across the small auditorium. “I think you all know why we called this meeting.” He waited, perhaps expecting a chuckle from the crowd, but got only silence so he hurriedly continued. “Aspen Hill is in a true disaster situation, unlike anything we've seen before. It's up to us as a town to plan for how we're going to deal with our problems and all work together to survive until order can be restored. But first there's something important we need to tell you all.”

Trev tensed. From the look on the Mayor's face whatever it was wasn't good. He looked to be physically working himself up to the news, and the stony faces of the councilmen and women behind him didn't bode well either.

Anderson took a deep breath, then continued. “A few years ago we accepted Federal funds with the agreement that in an emergency situation we'd take in refugees from the more populous areas up north. Just before the cell towers went down this evening FETF, that's the Federal Emergency Task Force, called in to let us know they'd already sent the first group our way down Highway 6 on foot.”

Although thanks to Lewis he'd known about the town's arrangement to take in refugees Trev was still surprised by the admission that people were already on their way. The new surge of outrage and anger he felt at the news was also unexpected. He thought the room would erupt into angry shouts, but instead it remained silent and people didn't seem to be responding to the bombshell. Either nobody fully realized the gravity of what the Mayor had just revealed or they were too stunned to respond.

Then Ed Larson, Matt's dad, surged to his feet from his place beside his wife up in front. “Years ago?” he shouted. “Why didn't you ever tell us about this?”

Anderson fidgeted a bit. “It was a budgetary matter.”

There were a few murmurs of disbelief at that. “Bringing in refugees when we're struggling to survive a disaster is a budgetary matter?” Mr. Larson demanded. “Then what did you do with the money to prepare to accommodate all these people?”

The Mayor turned a beseeching look back at the expressionless City Council behind him, but they may as well have been statues for all the help they offered. The tall, charismatic man was normally fully in control of things, but then again he'd probably never had to face his constituents and admit he'd royally screwed up. “We, um, diverted the funds to other important projects.”

That finally got a response from the crowd, a sort of building roar of protest and anger. Trev found himself on his feet along with a few others and couldn't help but shout. “So in an emergency you just planned to fob the refugees off on us while you spent the money? There are millions of people in the cities up north!”

Trev wasn't the only one shouting, but his words got a few encouraging cheers from his neighbors. Anderson patted the air, trying to soothe the crowd. “Now, now, it's not going to be like that,” he insisted. “We were only assigned a few hundred people, and it's not like we're alone. All the other towns in rural areas made the same deal with the Feds so they'll help share the load.”

He might as well have been shouting into a hurricane as the auditorium descended into chaos. People were shouting over each other, Anderson kept pounding the podium and sending bursts of feedback into the mic when he tried to talk over the noise, and even the City Council had begun fidgeting nervously at the uproar.

Finally Lewis stood up next to Trev and put his fingers to his lips. Trev barely managed to cover his ears in time before his cousin's piercing whistle cut through the noise. The tumult died down, mostly because everyone was looking around to see who'd made such a racket.

In the silence Lewis spoke calmly. “First off, with no supplies being trucked in
everyone
in the cities will be migrating out to rural areas in search of food and to escape the desperate violence of starving people. However many people you agreed on with your secret deal I can pretty much guarantee we'll be dealing with thousands or even tens of thousands more. If not us then definitely Price, and that's too close for comfort.”

The noise started up again at that, mostly in agreement, but Lewis raised his voice to a shout to keep going. “You all know that the claims of rural towns being full of food is mostly a myth. We may have a few farms and animals around here, sure, but our main crop is hay and while we do have some sheep a lot of our animals are horses. We've relied on trucks bringing in food every bit as much as the cities have. Now that the trucks have stopped I'd be willing to bet half the people in town are already going hungry, or will be soon. Aspen Hill is facing a hard winter. We'll be lucky if we survive to spring, and although we all know it intellectually I don't think any of us really comprehends just how terrible starving to death is.”

There were a lot of agreeing shouts as Lewis continued. “And after we survive this winter we still have to figure out how to survive beyond that point. Even if we did just have to deal with the few hundred refugees the Feds send our way it would be too many. A few dozen would be more than we can handle.”

His cousin's calm, rational words seemed to have hit home, and although they produced an agreeing murmur the chaos mostly died down. “A gloomy prediction,” Anderson admitted, “but you might have a point. What you failed to mention is that the government will have things sorted out long before winter. The refugees we bring in will only be temporary.”

“How will they sort things out?” Lewis demanded. “Even if the economy hasn't collapsed and there's no rioting in every city across the nation with millions of people starving to death, where would the government get the fuel to start shipping what we need again? The Gulf refineries provided most of our fuel after the Middle East Crisis, and with them gone we have nothing else.”

“The Gold Bloc will lift their oil embargo when they see how bad things are for us,” the Mayor said, not sounding too convinced by his own words. “Or the government will think of something.”

“None of that matters and this isn't really the time to argue any of that,” Mr. Larson cut in impatiently. He was one of the few people still standing. “Lewis is right that if we don't get help we're in serious trouble, so for now we should prepare for the worst and assume we're on our own. Maybe for the long haul.”

Lewis nodded, throwing the older man a grateful look. “Which is why the only thing we can do is turn the refugees away.”

Trev knew the suggestion was coming, and he hated hearing it now as much as he'd hated hearing it the first time his cousin had made it. Unsurprisingly the auditorium immediately filled with voices of dissent and even a few boos.

“Impossible!” Anderson spluttered, his earlier chagrin replaced by outrage. “We promised we'd take those people in. We accepted Federal funds! Besides, we couldn't call ourselves Christian if we turned away people in need.”

“If we offer to feed everyone who comes to us we'll all be starving in weeks, including those we try to help,” Trev interrupted in support of his cousin. “Besides,
we
didn't promise to take refugees in.
We
didn't accept Federal funds! I'm not starving to death this winter to keep a promise you made that I didn't even know about. If you've got some magical store of food and shelter for hundreds of people that's one thing, but don't try volunteering our food and houses.”

Lewis's suggestion to turn away the refugees had gotten a bad reception, but Trev's arguments got a bit of grudging approval. To drive the point home Mr. Larson spoke up as well. “It's a terrible thing to contemplate, but I'm afraid the boys might have a point. I'm all for helping those we can, but we won't help anyone if we give what we don't have. We'll just be in the same boat as those who come to us.”

Anderson's expression had turned anguished. “I hate it. I hate the thought. A lot of us have got friends and family up north. They're all people just like us. Do we want to let them come all this way and just leave them to die outside our city limits?”

“Not our city limits.” That was Randall Turner, the town's lone contracted police officer, who'd spoken. “There's too many potential problems with having a bunch of starving, desperate people a stone's throw from the town. In a way it's lucky we're surrounded by mountains and tall hills with only three roads in that we can set up roadblocks on.”

“So not just turn desperate, hungry people away, but put armed men on our borders to do it with threats of violence?” Anderson said heavily.

“Welcome to reality, Mr. Mayor,” Turner replied. “Desperate people won't politely go somewhere else when asked. Especially not if they're following emergency evacuation orders to come specifically to our town.”

“And what if the Federal government comes around asking why we're turning away refugees we promised to help?” Mr. Marsh, the City Councilman sitting right behind Anderson, called out.

Turner didn't seem to have an answer for that, and a somewhat awkward silence fell. Trev felt like he should say something in support of their position. “Then we'll still be alive to explain our decision when they finally get here. I have nothing but sympathy for the plight of the refugees, and nobody can argue that their situation isn't going to be terrible. We should help them as much as we realistically can, but that's the thing. How much, realistically, can we help them when we'll be lucky to survive this winter ourselves?”