Ash: Rise of the Republic by Campbell Paul Young

the
atmosphere. If we don’t starve to death we might suffocate.”
    “And how do you know all this,” he snarled
back, “what are you some kind of faggot scientist? Sounds like some
global warming/climate change bullshit!”
    A grumble from the gathering made me pause.
Many of these people were relatively uneducated oilfield workers,
fiercely conservative and religious. There was a general distrust
of science in those days. I was worried that they would shut me out
if I came across too technical.
    “Look I’m no scientist. I went to school for
geology, but I just have a bachelors. I’m not some academic, I’ve
been out on a rig for the better part of the last ten years, just
like many of you. But I did learn a few things in school. I’m just
trying to make sense of this stuff. I could easily be wrong. All I
am asking is that we prepare for the worst. If the government sorts
it all out in a few days, great. If they don’t, and we’ve all been
fending for ourselves, people are going to starve. Hell, if we
still have something to eat in a few weeks people will probably be
coming here to take it.”
    “He’s right.” A middle-aged woman in the
corner of the room spoke up. Janet Borger was a veterinary surgeon
who worked at the large animal hospital at the university. “I took
a geology class when I was an undergrad. I remember them talking
about Yellowstone. It was supposed to wipe southwest Montana off
the map. This seems worse. It won’t hurt to prepare a little.”
    I was relieved at the support. Janet was
respected in the small community. The group looked back to me,
prompting me to continue.
    “The most important thing we can do right
now is cooperate. I know most of us have supplies stocked up. We
need to pool our resources. We should inventory everything and plan
out how long we can last without resupply. Deb and I made a good
haul last night, we have more than enough to share with anyone who
is lacking.”
    “You want to turn this into some kinda hippy
commune?” interrupted Werner, “what’s mine is mine. I ain’t
sharin’.”
    The rest of the group glanced at him in
annoyance but turned back to me. This was normal behavior for the
bitter man, no one was surprised. I decided I had better just
ignore him.
    “We should also consider blocking the
roads,” I continued, “we have a surprisingly defensible little
neighborhood here. We ran into some pretty serious looters last
night, I’m sure there are more out there right now. We could block
one entrance off entirely and put up a gate or a moveable barricade
across the other. Once we get things organized we can rotate on
guard duty.”
    “I damn near lost my wife last night to a
couple of thugs at the grocery store,” said a stocky man standing
at the back of the room. Scott Matlidge was a retired auto mechanic
who lived a few doors down from me. “I had to shoot one of them. I
never killed a man before. Some people have lost their minds.
Anyway, I got a mig-welder and a stack of pipe in my back yard. If
someone will give me a hand I’ll rig up a gate we can use.”
    “Good plan,” I said, “will anyone volunteer
to help Scott?” A few people raised their hands.
    “I’ve got that semi-trailer in my yard,” my
left-hand neighbor, Clint Marrou offered, “if we can drag it over
there I think it’ll block off one road pretty well…”
    “Good idea, we should be able to get it up
there with my tractor,” I replied.
    Several others piped up and offered
assistance or materials. We discussed the details of the barricades
for a few minutes until we had a solid plan.
    “Ok, next I think we should do a head
count,” I continued, “I noticed several empty houses last night,
please check on your immediate neighbors so we can figure out who
is missing. Tonight, everyone should inventory what you have and
we’ll meet here tomorrow morning to hammer out a plan for the
supplies. If anyone can think of anything else don’t hesitate to
bring it