is about to take it over,” Alacrán said. “Morgan County, too. Maybe even Rich County. Too much black market activity in agricultural goods.”
“But that’s a third of the state’s food,” Jim said. “What do they think this is, Soviet Russia?”
His brother gave a grim shake of the head. “The USDA has already got armed men in Monticello and Manti.”
“I don’t believe it. You’re making stuff up.” Jim took a deep breath. “You know our problem? It’s the two of you. Instead of trying to stop this thing, you keep kicking at it, trying to knock it all over.”
“Jim,” Parley said. “It’s going to fall over whether we want it to or not. At this point, only God could keep millions of people from dying.”
“Then let’s help God do it. Instead of helping the other side.”
“Only maybe that’s God’s plan all along,” Parley said. “You ever think about that? If this is the sifting of the wheat from the tares, you know what that means, right?”
“It means the tares are going to burn,” Alacrán said. The smuggler didn’t sound particularly upset by the prospect, and the religious language sounded even more cynical coming out of his mouth than Parley’s. “But you know what? There are always survivors. Keep yourself alive, put yourself in the right place at the right time, and you come out on top.”
“I thought that’s what we were doing,” Jim said. “In case you didn’t notice, you’re sitting in the office of the governor of the State of Utah.”
“Until that phone rings,” Alacrán said. “And you pick it up and it’s the army. One call, that’s all it would take, and you’re out of office. Waiting in line with the rest of them for a chunk of stale bread.”
“Don’t think they’re not tempted,” Parley said. He rolled his pen back and forth over his knuckles. “If it can happen in Nevada and Arizona—Wyoming, too—it can happen here. Utah would make a nice, contiguous stretch of land under military government.”
Jim’s gaze drifted to the two-by-three-foot map of Utah pinned to a corkboard on the far side of the room. It was shaded with colors and marked with crosshatches. Red Xs marked half a dozen refugee camps along the rail lines—federally controlled territory—with the big camp at Green River. More red at the major military bases and the army proving grounds. Yellow for the abandoned or partially abandoned towns on the Colorado Plateau, on minor highways, far from major rail or interstate, and largely inaccessible due to fuel shortages. A green swath ran the length of the state, marking the population centers in the north, down along I-15, through Beaver, Cedar City, and St. George. Safe territory, although the final stretch from Cedar City to the Arizona border was probably optimistic. More green around the major power plants, the coal fields of Carbon County, and the reservoirs in the mountains. Other small towns sprinkled in green as oases of self-sufficiency, hunkered down until the food and fuel shortages resolved themselves.
The problem was the yellow. It had doubled in size in the past six weeks. Fifty percent of the state was now lawless, and that yellow part grew day by awful day. It had nearly engulfed the southern half and was now biting at the population centers to the north.
“Listen,” Parley said, interrupting Jim’s thoughts. “Say you’re right. Things quiet down. You hold the line, keep Utah civilwhen half the country panics and flies apart. Keep the refugee camps from meltdown. When life returns to normal in a few years, they’ll
beg
you to run for president. Nobody will care anymore that you have polygamist cousins.”
“Do you really think so?”
“But meanwhile, let’s prepare for the worst. Make sure we’re ready to stay alive on the other side. To thrive.”
“And how do we do that?”
“It’s a contingency plan,” Alacrán cut in. “Nothing big, only a few operations to consolidate power in the hands of
“But that’s a third of the state’s food,” Jim said. “What do they think this is, Soviet Russia?”
His brother gave a grim shake of the head. “The USDA has already got armed men in Monticello and Manti.”
“I don’t believe it. You’re making stuff up.” Jim took a deep breath. “You know our problem? It’s the two of you. Instead of trying to stop this thing, you keep kicking at it, trying to knock it all over.”
“Jim,” Parley said. “It’s going to fall over whether we want it to or not. At this point, only God could keep millions of people from dying.”
“Then let’s help God do it. Instead of helping the other side.”
“Only maybe that’s God’s plan all along,” Parley said. “You ever think about that? If this is the sifting of the wheat from the tares, you know what that means, right?”
“It means the tares are going to burn,” Alacrán said. The smuggler didn’t sound particularly upset by the prospect, and the religious language sounded even more cynical coming out of his mouth than Parley’s. “But you know what? There are always survivors. Keep yourself alive, put yourself in the right place at the right time, and you come out on top.”
“I thought that’s what we were doing,” Jim said. “In case you didn’t notice, you’re sitting in the office of the governor of the State of Utah.”
“Until that phone rings,” Alacrán said. “And you pick it up and it’s the army. One call, that’s all it would take, and you’re out of office. Waiting in line with the rest of them for a chunk of stale bread.”
“Don’t think they’re not tempted,” Parley said. He rolled his pen back and forth over his knuckles. “If it can happen in Nevada and Arizona—Wyoming, too—it can happen here. Utah would make a nice, contiguous stretch of land under military government.”
Jim’s gaze drifted to the two-by-three-foot map of Utah pinned to a corkboard on the far side of the room. It was shaded with colors and marked with crosshatches. Red Xs marked half a dozen refugee camps along the rail lines—federally controlled territory—with the big camp at Green River. More red at the major military bases and the army proving grounds. Yellow for the abandoned or partially abandoned towns on the Colorado Plateau, on minor highways, far from major rail or interstate, and largely inaccessible due to fuel shortages. A green swath ran the length of the state, marking the population centers in the north, down along I-15, through Beaver, Cedar City, and St. George. Safe territory, although the final stretch from Cedar City to the Arizona border was probably optimistic. More green around the major power plants, the coal fields of Carbon County, and the reservoirs in the mountains. Other small towns sprinkled in green as oases of self-sufficiency, hunkered down until the food and fuel shortages resolved themselves.
The problem was the yellow. It had doubled in size in the past six weeks. Fifty percent of the state was now lawless, and that yellow part grew day by awful day. It had nearly engulfed the southern half and was now biting at the population centers to the north.
“Listen,” Parley said, interrupting Jim’s thoughts. “Say you’re right. Things quiet down. You hold the line, keep Utah civilwhen half the country panics and flies apart. Keep the refugee camps from meltdown. When life returns to normal in a few years, they’ll
beg
you to run for president. Nobody will care anymore that you have polygamist cousins.”
“Do you really think so?”
“But meanwhile, let’s prepare for the worst. Make sure we’re ready to stay alive on the other side. To thrive.”
“And how do we do that?”
“It’s a contingency plan,” Alacrán cut in. “Nothing big, only a few operations to consolidate power in the hands of
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