Chapter 1

I remember where I was when the electricity went out: who doesn’t? Our hospital had back up generators, but we abruptly discovered that they were not as well isolated from the rest of the grid as the administration had thought, and they were fried along with the rest when the EMP pulse rolled over us. We were in the dark. Just like everyone else.

So, it develops that in the 21st century, without electricity, you are simply unable to provide healthcare, particularly in an inpatient setting. The nurses cannot access the medications, because the supplies are stored, and inventoried every time the door opens, by computers. These computers also unlock that storage, once the proper password is entered, or the card reader recognizes the badge presented to it as proper. Surprisingly, once the electricity goes away, the computer stops functioning, and therefore all that lovely (for example) medicine is locked away, and completely inaccessible. Kind of takes the advantages of being hospitalized away.

So, some bright soul thought to call the fire department, as they had all manner of breaching tools, and could simply break into the storage and allow access to the meds and suchlike. Well, without electricity, the radios do not work. Well, let me be more specific: individual radios, in each vehicle or on each firefighter’s/medic’s/police officer’s hip will work, but the dispatch center has no lights, no go juice for THEIR radios, no computer assisted dispatch, no landline phone lines, and therefore no ability to tell anyone where to go nor how to get there. In addition, those who brightly piped up, “No problem! I’ll just use my cell phone!”, soon discovered that without a functioning landline system, the cute little I-Phone 17 (or whatever generation they were up to by that point: it seems like so long ago!) will only talk to the local tower for so long as it has functioning batteries or a functioning generator (oops!), and the electronics involved in the phone talking to the tower were not, themselves, fried. (Oops!) So, we were left in the dark, and tried to figure out a way out of the mess.

Being as how we were in a small town, folks started to wander over to the hospital, once they figured out that their electricity was out, the hospital was dark, and the folks at the hospital might could use a hand. So, hands were lent. Teens were dispatched on bicycles to summon family members of the hospitalized, pot-luck food was brought (for patients as well as staff), the local grocer organized a relay to bring his stocks of bottled water to the hospital, and slowly the inpatients were transported home. The ER, surprisingly, emptied, and the local police arrived, securing the building. The administration sent us all home. We met that decision with mixed feelings.

Once we knew we were going home, came the issue of how? Those who lived in town, no problem. Some of us came from a fair distance,

Emily lived generally in my direction, although her 20 mile commute was shadowed by my own 40 miler. Once we had determined that our cars were not going to serve us for the near future, I knew I was walking home. I pulled my overnight bag from my trunk, and returned to the staff locker room, where I exchanged my scrubs for “rural camo”. You know, scuffed looking boots, jeans, tee shirt, flannel shirt over that, and worn baseball cap. Once I had returned to my car and stashed my bag, I began to retrieve my rucksack and gear from my trunk. Emily came over to see what I was doing.

“I’m going home. Since my car will not get me home, I’m gonna have to walk, or not go home. One of these things is not going to happen.”

“But, Mark, how can you simply walk-what is it, 40 miles?-home, just like that?”

“Well, our great grandparents or their peers walked across the continent. I’ve backpacked since I was a teenager. My sons and I hiked along the Pictured Rocks, all forty two miles, last summer. I may be facing geezer-hood, but I’m determined to march there. Conveniently enough, that means that now I mean to march home. What’s your plan?”

“Well, I thought I’d wait until my husband could come and get me.”

“Do you suppose that his hands might be just a little full, keeping things together at home, and providing for the children? This entire ‘no electricity’ thing may make that more complex than he is accustomed to, don’t you think? Additionally, why would you suppose that his truck would work, and yours will not?”

She reflected on this for a moment. “You’re right. I suppose that, if I’m going to get home anytime soon, I’m gonna find myself walking.”

I suggested, jokingly, “Unless the Amish start to offer a horse drawn taxi service. Then, you might be able to ride!”

She brightened at that. “That would work out wonderfully!”

She did not see the joke. “What do you have to offer them, as payment, that they do not have or cannot make themselves?”

“I’ll just write them a check!”

“Do you think that the Amish have checking accounts? If they did, do you think that the banks, neck deep in electronic transactions, will provide any value for the pretty pieces of paper that are your checks? Emily, I think that, at least for the time being, we are very much in a barter economy.”

“So, that might not work. Do you really think that the Amish would give me a ride home?”

“Can’t say. I suspect that they are busy in their day-to-day lives, and haven’t given it any thought. If they were to do so, that would mean somebody is not working on the farm for a day, maybe two. What sort of barter do you suppose that you, or I, have to make up for that sort of investment on their part?”