Push Back: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller (The Disruption Series Book 2) by R.E. McDermott Page B

“Okay, let’s think about this. If we flush everything in the system and don’t get the plant running, the holding ponds overflow and things get nasty, am I right?”
    Butler shrugged. “I guess so, sir. I hadn’t really thought about it, to be honest.”
    “So that means if they CAN’T get the plant going in time, we have a stinking mess a mile or so downstream of us in the middle of an industrial area. It seems to me a stinking mess there where no one is around is much better than a disease-producing mess in the middle of several thousand refugees, wouldn’t you agree?” Hunnicutt asked.
    Butler nodded, and Jennings beamed as Hunnicutt continued, “Okay then, let’s get the good doctor her flushing toilets, and tell the engineers to do the best they can on getting the treatment plant running, but not to let it override other priorities. This situation is going to throw new challenges at us every day, folks, and we just have to be flexible.”
    “Yes, sir,” Butler said, and made a note on the pad in front of him.
    “Thank you, Colonel,” Jennings said, “but it’s still going to be tough. We have toilets in the club house and the swimming club—”
    Luke cleared his throat loudly, earning him a glare from Jennings. “I don’t think we should allow the ’fugees—”
    “DON’T CALL THEM THAT!” Jenning snapped.
    Luke colored and nodded. “You’re right, Doctor, I apologize. But as I was saying, I don’t think we should allow the REFugees uncontrolled access to the swimming club facilities. We set up our container wall around the swimming club so we could clean the pool and cover it to use it as drinking water storage, and that whole facility is now our forward base and defensive strong point. We have absolutely no way to vet the refugees, and if we allow them free access in and out of our fortified area, we don’t really know who might come in.” He paused. “From a security standpoint, it’s a very bad idea.”
    “Agreed,” the colonel said, turning to Jennings. “You’ll get your sewage system, Doctor, but the swim club facility remains off-limits to all but authorized personnel.”
    “But there are ten toilets there! Maybe we could reposition the wall between the clubhouse and the pool—”
    “Jesus Christ,” Butler muttered, unable to contain his irritation, and Jennings whirled on him, obviously intent on dressing him down.
    “ENOUGH!” Hunnicutt said. “The issue is settled. Flushing water will be restored to all country club facilities, but the swimming club is off-limits to all but authorized personnel. We’ll look at the possibility of finding portable toilets that can be tied into the fixed system. Now, next issue.” He looked down at his notepad. “Mr. Van Horn, how are we coming with getting food to the refugees?”
    A slender man with wire-rim glasses looked over at Hunnicutt and shrugged. “We’re starting to provide some calories, Colonel, but I can’t call it more than that.”
    Terry Van Horn, ex-chief steward on the Maersk Tangier , had been appointed ‘food czar’ by acclamation and over his own strong objections. When Hunnicutt scoured the skills inventory of his small but growing group within the confines of Fort Box, he hadn’t neglected either the American or foreign merchant ships. Between the ‘culinary specialists’ (aka cooks) of his own National Guard unit and the steward’s departments of the various ships, he had no shortage of people who could cook for large groups, with a ‘large group’ defined as twenty to a hundred or so. Feeding thousands of refugees was a different matter entirely, and when it came out that Van Horn had regularly volunteered for various Third World famine relief efforts, putting him in charge was a no-brainer.
    Van Horn continued. “That many folks, all I can hope to do is get some calories down ’em. I pulled one cook and a couple of stewards from each of the ships to work with me, along with most of your culinary