The Storm (6 page)

              “No, thanks.” I finished my bottle of beer and immediately popped open another.

              “Human civilization follows a pattern that is somewhat unique in nature. We have a habit of growing too large in the good years and then when the climate changes or an unforeseen difficulty happens, our resources are overstretched, and we have a mass die off. Have you heard of Chaco Canyon?”

              “Yeah, I think. Desert Indians?”

              Adam was quick to correct me. “Native Americans.”

              “Yeah, sorry. I think I remember them from school a long time ago.”

              “Ok, how about Easter Island?” he asked.

              I was giving him ninety percent of my attention, but I also multitasking and throwing the burgers on the grill. “Was that the mutiny on the bounty?”

              “No. Same ocean, very different island.” He let out a big sigh. It was obvious my lack of knowledge about these islands frustrated him, but then he thought of another example. “Heard of the Maya?”

              “Yeah!” I knew all about them. “I even went to Chichen Itza when I was a kid. I could never forget the pyramid. Adam, are you trying to say this is a Maya end of the world 2012 thing? I thought we got through all that a few years back, and it was bogus.”

              He took a large sip of scotch and leaned forward in his chair, looking down at the scotch. “The Maya end-of-the-world prophecy was never real. It was just a misinterpretation of how to read their calendar. They never really predicted the end of the world. Everyone knows that. What I am talking about is how the Maya had a civilization of probably millions, and then it collapsed, and they died out. Their cities emptied out and most of the population died for various reasons. It’s about to happen to us. Hear me out.”

              His face had that same look as earlier, weary, sad, and stoic all mixed. It was the look of an intellectual knowing something terrible in academic theory that’s now transformed into a sudden reality. It was probably the same look an archeologist would give if he found a real Tyrannosaurus, and it tried to eat him. “Let me begin with Easter Island. It’s in the remotest part of the Pacific, a thousand miles from Chile. It’s the island with all the big stone statues.”

              “Oh, I know that one,” was my reply as I flipped the burgers over. “Moai?”

              “Yup.” He took another swig of scotch. “The island is a barren desert today with a couple thousand inhabitants. It used to be covered with trees and was lush. At one point, the population may have been more than forty thousand. The population expanded there until they used up all their resources. Suddenly there were no more trees, and their whole economy collapsed. They couldn’t make boats to fish, there were no coconuts, they already ate the native species of birds and over-farmed the poor soil. Their civilization collapsed, and at one point, only a couple hundred islanders were alive.”

              “Okay, yeah, but we are not on an island,” I smartly said.

              “In Chaco Canyon, the Anasazi expanded their civilization in a harsh environment. There was always a shortage of water, but they irrigated and their population exploded. Eventually they too cut down the trees and the climate shifted, and their environment that was marginal
—
at best
—
for life became untenable. They disappeared altogether and even began to eat each other.”

              A quick flip of the burgers again and I added the hot dogs. Turning around and looking at him, I said, “Adam, you aren’t on the menu tonight, bud.”

              He couldn’t help laughing. “No, I mean desperate people do desperate things.” Another big swig of scotch and his cup was empty. He began to speak again as he reached for the bottle to refill it. “The Maya suffered the same. The climate changed slightly, and they couldn’t adapt. They broke down and abandoned their whole civilization. The same is going to happen to us.”

              “How? The army or Red Cross will bring food or something, right?” I replied.

              “We have become too dependent on electricity. We are like those civilizations, living at the margins. Our population has boomed the last couple hundred years and people moved from farms into cities. Only two percent of the population does the farming now. Everyone else pushes paper or sells services. With all of our technology and advanced farming, we still had kids going to bed hungry in this country and starving in places like Africa. What do you think is going to happen when those tractors don’t plow the fields? When those trains don’t pick up the grain and move it to distribution centers? When grocery stores don’t receive food? Did you hear about what happened at LeapMart?”

              I froze. It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours, and thinking about it made me shiver. Slowly, ever so slowly speaking, I answered him while staring at my burgers. “I was there. It . . . was . . . awful. I don’t even want to think about it.”

              He stood from his chair and took a step toward me. “Josh, my friend. That was only the beginning. We are living in a state of what John Locke described as ‘natural law.’ The authorities will melt away soon as they go home to look after their families. A Greek philosopher once mentioned that all civilization is only nine missed meals away from anarchy. That’s as true today as it was two thousand years ago.” He paused to give me a minute for it to sink in.

              “Your priority is your family, right?”

              “Yes, it is. I would do anything to protect Stacy and the kids,” I immediately affirmed.

              “So would every other man, and they will. What do you think will happen when LeapMart doesn’t open ever again? Do you think people will content themselves growing all they need in their backyards? How about all the people in those large apartment complexes a mile down the road? They don’t even have a backyard. As people run out of food, they will go to any length to get it to feed their families. You already saw what a touch of panic did at LeapMart.”

              The burgers were getting a bit burnt. Time to move them off the heat. Reflecting for a second, I tossed the beer can in the recycling bin and grabbed another.

              “Josh, there isn’t going to be any more recycling.”

              “Just in case,” was my reply. “What should I do then? What is going to happen? What can we learn from the Maya or Easter Island?”

              Adam thought about that for a moment and then answered. “You know, I always thought those right wing militias in Montana were kooky. Turns out, they just might be the best survivors. As to what to do, hell, I don’t know. This is unprecedented. The good news is that the decedents of the Maya still live there today and it’s the same on Easter Island.”

              “Yeah, but you said they mostly died and their population was something like one percent of what it had been!” I was a bit angry when I retorted that.

              “Indeed, and that’s how it will probably be here. Look at people’s genetic records and archeological evidence. Society and human history has been filled with mass migrations and I don’t just mean those that came out of Africa. The Scots are some of the most genetically diverse people in the world because for tens of thousands of years, migrations passed through Europe and pushed into Scotland and couldn’t go any further, and they intermarried. Here, now, there will almost certainly be mass migrations out of the cities in the coming weeks.”

              A bit perplexed but intrigued, and comprehending what he was saying, I asked, “So I should take the family and get out of here?”

              Adam took a long sip of scotch and finished another glass. “Every man for himself, or at least that’s what it will come to. You have to decide that yourself. Resources are finite and will run out. The more we pool resources with others, the more quickly they will run out in total. It’s a shitty situation, but the old like me should probably die off first and early to save some of the young.”

              Agreeing with his logic but taken aback by its brutality, I turned off the grill and just stared at him. “Adam, what is your plan then?”

              “You are probably aware of the first mover’s advantage in business? First one to invent a product line typically builds a loyalty and following and makes it harder for competitors to compete once they launch their similar products. It’s the same thing in mass migrations. The first to move out has the best chance. There is one society that is reachable by bicycle within a couple of weeks that will be unaffected by this.”

              It took me a second to realize what he was advocating. “Wait a second, do you mean you’re going to . . . ?”

“Yes, central Pennsylvania. I’m going to beg the Amish for my survival and hope to find a role there where I can contribute. I leave in the morning. I’m taking what I can carry, but you are welcome to take whatever else is in my kitchen and pantry. I don’t expect to return. I have three guns in my bedroom closet. I’m taking one with me, but you will need the other two. Please take them. Be safe, my friend.”

              Before I could say anything, he stood and walked out. I stood in abject shock with a beer in one hand and a spatula in the other. Was he right? Was society really about to be smashed into a billion separate pieces as Adam believed? Would we really need guns? It was too much to think about. I grabbed dinner and headed upstairs while committing our conversation to memory.

              “Amish . . . ,” I kept saying.

Chapter 5

Neighborhood Watch

              The night had been unusually dark and quiet but as uneventful as the thousands that preceded it. We often take for granted the background light and noise that permeates our environment. Cars in the distance, a faint rumble of an airplane, even the well-lit sky of a metropolitan area. I understood now why farmers and people in the olden days went to bed early. It was dark, quiet, and they didn’t have TV. There was probably some truth to Ben Franklin’s famous quip “Early to bed and early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise.” When there was nothing to do but maybe read a book by candlelight, it made sense to go to bed, and that’s just what we did on this night. The kids took a bath and went down easy. After a few glasses of some strong white wine that had a faint chill to it from being in the cooler with the rapidly melting ice, we dozed off an hour after the kids.

              When I awoke, I opened my eyes and wondered if they were really open. It was the middle of the night, and darkness was all that I could see. Our window was cracked to allow some cool April air to come in during the night, which always helped Stacy sleep better. Anytime she could use her winter comforter, she jumped at the chance, including blasting the air conditioning on a hot summer day. I lay there on my back, half dreaming of going to work the next day and trying to sell people on the benefits of going into debt and having my boss yell at me for more production.

              A faint and distant voice was carried by the cool night air. “Stop.” It was hard to make out, but it was a woman’s voice.

              A loud shout of something inaudible answered. My ears were now tuning in for additional sounds but only found silence for the next couple of minutes. I rolled over, put on my jeans, and rubbed away at my eyes with my fingers. “God, I need a cafe latte tomorrow,” I muttered. Stacy was dead asleep and wrapped like a cocoon in the blankets, leaving none for me, as usual. Slowly I stepped over to the window and silently opened it some more while peeking out through the blinds. All dark and nothing to see. Nothing to hear. I waited and listened with a focus that normally came with adrenaline and being wide awake. Only a couple of bird chirps answered my desire for sound.

              Was it all a dream? Maybe.
It could have been some kids horsing around
, I thought with a quick sense of assurance to myself. “Damn kids,” I spoke at an almost inaudible level so as not to wake Stacy. I wish I could sleep through anything, like she can. Time to make a trip to the bathroom and then go back to sleep. Stepping over Murphy as he lay sprawled at the foot of our bed, I made my way inside and stood there relieving myself. Again, my mind started to wander and drift. Our daughter always teased us about overflowing the potty to make us run in and see, only to be laughing at us when we see all is fine. What would we do if the water stopped running and it couldn’t even flush? That wouldn’t be good. Oh well, another problem for another day and a road we’ll walk when we get there. Stepping over Murphy
—
though I noticed his eyes were wide open and he was staring at me
—
I climbed back next to Stacy. As I was about to wrestle her for control of at least one layer of covers, the noise was unmistakable.

             
BANG! BANG! BANG!
In rapid succession. No doubt it was gunfire, and not too distant either. The same way someone who hears a loud burst of thunder instinctively knows if it’s close or far, I instantly jumped as the shots reverberated through the open window. Murphy was on his feet more quickly than me or Stacy, who we always assumed could sleep through a war. Suddenly she spoke. “Josh, hun,” she said as she pulled her right arm out from under her stack of blankets to rub her eyes. “What was that?”

              “Gunshots, I think,” was my reply. No sense BS’ing her to get her back to sleep. “I thought I heard a scream a couple of minutes ago too.”