Will to Survive (18 page)

“We haven't quite started,” Judge Roberts said.

“I was just making a last round of the wall. I wanted to make sure people were all right.”

“And?” Councilwoman Stevens asked.

“A little spooked, but they'll do their jobs. They're just worried about the people who were wounded. I haven't had a chance to go to the clinic. How are they doing?”

“Two have already been released, and the other two will be fine … although it's going to be a little while,” Dr. Morgan said. “I guess we got lucky—considering the seriousness of the attack.”

“Imagine how much worse it would have been if it had happened twenty-five minutes later, at shift change,” Howie added.

“But instead it happened when the shift change
used
to happen,” Herb pointed out.

A pregnant silence spread over the room.

“It's hard not to think it was deliberately done by somebody who knew our schedule,” Mr. Peterson commented.

“I don't believe much in coincidence,” Herb said. “It could only be one person.”

There was no need to even say his name. In fact, it seemed like people went out of their way not to say his name out loud, almost like saying it might make him appear.

Brett had become the bogeyman of more bad dreams than just mine.

“The real question involves looking forward,” my mother said. “What are we going to do to protect ourselves from another similar attack?”

“Could we strengthen the walls?” Councilwoman Stevens asked.

“If we made them into earthen berms they'd be better able to withstand an explosive impact,” Mr. Nicholas said.

“What exactly does that mean?” the judge asked.

“We take massive amounts of dirt and pile it up into an extremely steep hill to form a wall,” Mr. Nicholas explained.

“That would involve a tremendous amount of work,” my father piped in from the corner of the couch.

It was rare for him to talk in these meetings.

“But if that's what has to be done, I'll be part of it,” he added.

“It would be a lot of work,” Howie agreed. “And it still wouldn't stop anybody from firing over the earthen walls at the houses.”

“So that isn't a solution,” Judge Roberts said. “What if we put more patrols or guards out into the forest?”

“Then they'd be susceptible to attack,” my mother argued. “We need the walls to protect people, not have people protecting the walls.”

“I'm open to other ideas,” the judge said.

“Actually, I think you're all correct,” Herb said. “We do need to make our defenses stronger, and the way to do that is to expand the walls. But instead of making them thicker, we have to make them farther out. What I suggest is a simple extension of Adam's plan, the one on the western and southern walls of our neighborhood. Perhaps it would be better to show you rather than try to explain it.”

Herb got up. For a moment he seemed unsteady on his feet, almost a little wobbly. Again I thought about how much he'd aged over the past few months.

Herb had a very large piece of paper in his hand. He unfolded it and then taped it up to the wall beneath a photograph of my father's parents that was hanging there. It was a hand-drawn, artistic map of our neighborhood and the area around it extending as far east as the Credit River, south all the way to the lake, west as far as the Petersons' farm, and several miles north, well past Eglinton and even Britannia Road.

“I've been making progress on our little map project,” he said, tapping a small square area at the center of the map. “Here we are, of course.”

Inside the walls of our neighborhood, there wasn't much to see on the map. The streets were marked, but that was it. The detail was in the surrounding areas. Herb had marked not only streets but also distances, boundaries on smaller neighborhoods scattered throughout the area, the two bridges that remained across the Credit, the hospital complex well to the north, and the refinery well to the south just by the lake. And he'd added on dozens of other buildings and landmarks as well. It was a map that showed the reshaped world around us in the wake of the blackout: the pockets of life, the decimated areas, the potential threats.

“As you're all aware, for the last few weeks we've been working on a survey, marking off all the territory surrounding our home,” Herb said.

“Are we to assume your diagram is completely accurate and to scale?” Mr. Nicholas asked.

“We've done our best. Misinformation is worse than no information,” Herb replied. “We are fortunate to have a pilot in our midst who has the eyes of an eagle.”

For a second I thought he was referring to me, but of course he meant my father.

“Could we have a round of applause for our senior pilot?” Herb asked.

People clapped, and my father looked a little embarrassed but a lot pleased. I felt happy for him. I guess this explained why he was here this evening.

“There are many reasons that the committee recommended that this survey be done,” Herb said.

As I recalled, it had really been Herb who had recommended it and everybody else had simply approved it.

“The first places I'd like to draw your attention to are the two communities that adjoin our neighborhood.” He tapped the area just south of our Burnham border. “With our assistance this has become a completely vital community. They have water, sufficient food to get through the winter, techniques and equipment to grow food next season, and the ability to protect their borders. They are operating under solid leadership and could be completely self-sufficient with the exception of defense.”

“And they provide some additional defense for us from the south,” my mother pointed out.

“Yes, an excellent point that I'm going to double back to.” Next he tapped the new community we were helping to build to the west. “Soon they will have their walls in place. With the potatoes from the harvest, combined with the farmers from the Petersons' property who will join them tomorrow, they now have a significantly greater chance of survival.” He paused. “And to emphasize the excellent point made by the captain, they will provide us with a security buffer to the west.”

“The latest attack happened on the northeast corner, away from where both these communities are located,” Howie said.

“Exactly, and that leads me to what I'm going to say next,” Herb said. “We need to further extend the idea that Adam championed when we provided support for this fledging community to our west.”

“Do you mean we're going to set up communities on the north and east as well?” I asked.

He nodded. “I want to work with the people who live north of Highway 403 to create a third buffer community. There are enough fields and open land among those houses to allow them to ultimately grow enough crops to sustain themselves.”

“But most of those fields aren't planted,” Mr. Peterson said. “
Ultimately
is a long way away, and the growing season is pretty much shot unless they planted last week. Who knows if those folks have a cache of food?”

“Then we're going to have to help them survive. Food is power, so we have to offer them food to entice them to join us,” Herb said.

At this, Ernie Williams, our man in charge of all the food stocks, cleared his throat. “I'm sorry to say this, but even with the potatoes we really don't have much in the way of a surplus to give to anybody else.”

“Not to mention that even with the root cellars and ideal storage we have to count on a percentage of those potatoes rotting before they're used,” Mr. Peterson added. “There's always waste.”

“That's an even better reason to offer some now of what will go to waste eventually,” Herb said. “We have to find or grow more food.”

Councilwoman Stevens spoke up. “Mr. Nicholas, you had mentioned to us in an earlier meeting that you were thinking of a way to heat the greenhouses so they can produce food throughout the winter.”

“I've been playing with a few ideas. Last week I was able to get the first part of that plan off the ground. I built a little windmill out of scavenged bits and pieces, and I believe it can be used to convert wind power to electricity to heat the greenhouses. If I had enough of those windmills, I could heat more and more greenhouses.”

“That is nothing short of genius,” my mother said.

Everybody burst into applause again. Mr. Nicholas looked suitably pleased.

“We've also been gathering propane heaters, the sort that people use on their patios to take away the evening chill,” he added.

“Aren't we basically out of propane?” Ernie asked.

“They've been searching for full or partially full tanks as well. Technically if we had enough fuel for those heaters, coupled with windmill-driven electricity generators, we could extend our growing season throughout the winter.”

“In that case, get what you need to make enough windmills and find more propane,” was the judge's verdict. “Talk to the scavenger crews and let's make this a priority. You, Mr. Nicholas, are a jewel.”

“We're going to offer those communities food and the ability to grow food—we're going to offer them hope.” Herb took a deep breath. He sounded a bit shaky and I tried to catch his eye, but he looked straight ahead and went on to outline his plan to incorporate a satellite neighborhood to the east that could stretch all the way to the west bank of the Credit. As he pointed out, the river was a natural defensive position, with a wide swath of land between us and the waterway, plenty of room for a new community.

Herb ran his hand over his head. “We need to find people who'd be willing to become part of that community and offer our support to help them organize and survive. I also want us to establish a walled corridor to lead from our northeast gate along the 403 and all the way to the river. We need to control this crossing, to fortify it so we can decide who is allowed to cross or not cross.”

“It would give us access to a secure and plentiful water source at the Credit River as well as navigation right down to the lake,” my mom observed. “Ultimately the river might become a highway again.”

“I also think we need to create partnerships with two other communities: the refinery in the south and the hospital in the north,” Herb said.

“You don't expect us to extend our walls that far, do you?” Mr. Nicholas asked.

“Not our boundaries. I just want us to consider forming a partnership built around trade and mutual security. We need what they have, and we have to hope they need what we can offer.”

“I understand that we could use more medicine, but don't we have enough gasoline to last for years?” the judge asked.

“Years may not be enough,” Herb said.

All the planning we had done, and all the work, had allowed us to think beyond today and into the immediate future—like into the coming winter, and next spring—but nobody really wanted to talk about anything beyond that. Except Herb.

“While without electricity the refinery wouldn't have the capacity to process oil to gas, those tanks should have massive quantities of fuel from before the blackout,” Herb said. “As well as gasoline they will most likely have propane. We could solve our need for propane with one significant trade. They have fuel but basically there is almost no cultivation going on inside their boundaries.”

“They probably
can't
grow anything,” Mr. Peterson said. “The land around the refinery would be so contaminated that even if anything grew it wouldn't be fit for human consumption.”

“That means they're undoubtedly already trading fuel for food,” Herb said. “If they're doing that with others, there's no reason why they wouldn't do it with us. We can develop a trading partnership.”

“And it would be incredibly important to create that same link with the hospital,” Dr. Morgan said. “I'm assuming you believe they have stashes of medicine.”

“I can't think of anyplace that would have greater potential,” Herb said. “You've kept us informed about the dwindling stock of medication we have. How are our stocks of medicine holding up at this point?”

“Some better than others.”

“What's most needed?” my mother asked.

“Insulin,” Dr. Morgan said without hesitation. “We're going to be out of insulin within two months.”

“How many insulin-dependent diabetics do we have in our community?” my mother asked.

“Fifteen. Unless we secure more insulin, they will all be dead in six to twelve months.”

“Then getting insulin is a priority, not just for the lives of those people but also for the life and spirit of the community,” the judge said.

“I just hope we're not trading with food we don't necessarily have to spare,” Mr. Peterson said.

“Food will be part of the deal, but not all of it. They need additional security, and perhaps more important they will crave a sense of connection and community,” Herb said.

“We all need that,” my mother said. “We all need to feel that we're not alone, that there are others out there to help, to stand by us, to offer support.”

“It's like we're creating a neighborhood of neighborhoods,” Herb said.

“It can be bigger than that,” I said.

“It has to get bigger,” Herb said.

“This all sounds wonderful,” Howie said, “but I don't know how effectively we can offer security to communities that aren't right on our borders.”

“I'm suggesting that we create a joint security force,” Herb said, “made up of members from all the communities that we ally with. A force that is well armed, in communication, and highly mobile.”

“Like those go-carts,” I said under my breath.

Herb pointed at me. “Exactly. We need to create a new fast-response defensive force, with fifty people from each of the new communities and the majority from Eden Mills.”