Chapter 14: Seed Crystal

By the middle of August, I had over fifty people who had come to believe in my story and my purpose. They were split almost evenly among kids and adults, with most of the kids being high school age. We met again on the fifteenth of August, at the Porter ranch. The big main room of the Porter ranch guest house was large enough to hold twice as many people, if everyone was friendly. For the first time, I laid out what I saw.

"Its 1962. The end of summer is approaching, and we're on the clock," I began. "We have four years, because when summer ends in 1966, a different clock starts ticking, and there's not going to be a lot of time on that clock."

I saw a lot of nods at that, a few people were even taking notes.

"As a group, what is our biggest asset in surviving the loss of most of the world's people, and possibly its infrastructure?" I asked. Dad knew the answer, as we'd had this conversation already, but he remained silent. When nobody spoke, or raised their hand immediately, Carlos raised his.

"Carlos?" I acknowledged, giving him a nod.

"The river," he answered. "Water is life."

"Carlos has hit it on the head," I confirmed. "Water is life. The Columbia river, and other river systems in this country and around the world will become important to those who are left, particularly in areas like ours. Water will let us grow food crops and raise animals. We can hope that the river will continue to provide us with power to provide us with lights and run our tools and equipment."

"That means we should take some steps to make sure that there are people around after the event that know how the dams on the river work, and people to tend the generators and power lines," Mr. Argus said.

"Right now those people are providing the power and water that is slowly turning this part of the country into a major producer of cattle and wheat," Dad added. "North of us in eastern Washington state, they are growing apples and grapes. All made possible by the water of the Columbia and the long, hot growing season."

"So yes, we will have to take those steps and many others," I agreed. "We're going to need to secure stockpiles of supplies, equipment and expertise. The capacity to make new equipment of the kind we are used to would appear to be going away along with the cities that support them. No more cars will be made, no more tractors, boats, planes, tennis shoes, eyeglasses, hearing aides or light bulbs."

"Factories will shut down," Mr. Porter added. "Refineries, power plants, railroads and airlines."

"That means that when our clothes begin to wear out, we will have to make our own to replace them." Mr. Thorson offered, beginning to grasp the scope of it. "When we run out of gasoline for our cars, we'll have to ride horses. Our boats will all be sailboats. Even if we have pilots, we won't be able to fuel the planes to fly them. We'll be back to being isolated communities with weeks and months of travel between them."

"Maybe," Dad added into the silence that followed. This caused a loud rumble as fifty people tried to ask him what he meant all at once. He waited for the room to grow quiet again, then explained.

"We can make fuel that can be used in diesel engines, particularly if we make sure we find the right equipment. Diesel engines are capable of running on almost anything that burns, and some are pretty efficient using alcohol as a fuel. I don't know that we'll be able to keep flying, but our cars and boats, tractors and trucks should remain useful for as long as we can keep them running."

"The fuel that is left wont last forever, but while its still good, there should be plenty of it for the few people who are left." Mr. Harwell commented.

"We still don't know how people will die, or how those who are to be spared will be recognized?" Bennie asked.

"No," I answered, shaking my head. "I keep hoping to get more information, but it comes when it does and no sooner."

"If we've got four years, then those of us with businesses need to run them into the ground." Mr. Nileson said suddenly. "We need to maximize our profits for the next three years, pool those profits and then go on an end-of-the-world spending spree."

That shut the room up for a while! Mr. Nileson's comment was stunning, and almost right, but Dad had already had one thought that anticipated just such a comment.

"More than that," He added. "Those with businesses need to maximize their efforts so that three years from now, they can each get a massive line of credit extended. We should all go as collectively deep into debt as humanly possible. Four years from now we all need to be buried in debt. Four years and three months from now, there will be no one left to collect it."

The silence that followed that pronouncement lasted only a good long minute, and then was broken by a giggle from Mrs. Argus. Soon there was a second, and a third, and most of the room was laughing thirty seconds later. Just as the laughter began to die, Mrs. Argus spoke up.

"Oh honey!" she exclaimed breathlessly to her husband. "I always wanted to be a scofflaw!"

That broke the room up again, and it was time for me to step into the conversation again.

"You see now the enormity of what is about to happen. The drastic alterations we must make in the way we think and plan. Now we can go home and think on this, and hopefully, have ideas. Let's meet here again a week from today, and bring your ideas with you."

Our worlds moved on within their expected orbits for a while, just on sheer inertia. The next batch of guests arrived at the ranch, and we were off to the river with another session of 'roughing it'. I conspired, whenever possible, to spend as much of the time as I could with Carlos.

Joe had joined us a half dozen times over the summer, but he seemed more interested in the river side of things, and Carlos and I went into the desert and the cliffs and hills around the river rather than the river valley itself.

Mr. Porter ended his season early, deciding that he was going to have to make some drastic changes to his plans if he was going to be able to use his business to our best advantage. That was the reason there were no guests at the Porter Ranch when my birthday rolled around. That's why Greta was able to usher me into the most luxurious room there on my birthday. There were candles and chocolate, Nat King Cole playing softly in the background, and silk sheets on the bed. Greta left me at the door and walked over to stand in front of the bed.