Who will lead?

Greetings gentle reader,

Today's offering looks at the grim circumstances spelled out by my first novel, 'Unplugged' which tracks the tribulations of one survivor of a global blackout during the first month post-collapse. Considering there isn't a plague involved or a thermo-nuclear crisis to deal with, you'd think 'a few days' without electricity or telephones would leave society fairly intact...assuming the delivery trucks kept running and the police could be summoned whenever trouble broke out.

But wait! Almost nobody can 'work' without electricity and then we'd have the whole 'who's in charge?' issue to contend with.

Are the guys you elected to 'town government' up to the task of providing emergency services to the community with zero resources of their own? (Most towns have 'privatized' their emergency services as a 'cost cutting' measure, but that's because the morons were educated by the same school system that YOU attended and neither of you have a clue what money is or what its for!)

So we begin:

“People, I have buses on there way here to take any injured or ill among you to our infirmary. Anyone who is hungry or lacks clean water please line up on the left side of the auditorium, sick to the right… Okay sick and hungry need only get in the sick line, we’ll feed you there.” I add, noting some folks can’t decide which they are, sick or hungry.

A few dozen people including all the town leaders remain seated.

“I want all of you who are neither sick or hungry to come to the stage area please.”

I motion the ‘Leader’ group over to me.

“You’ve got a little help here, go to your store room and get supplies for your people.” I tell them.

“We don’t have any.” Ted says.

“You don’t look like you’ve missed any meals Ted, why is that?” I ask.

“I own the store.” He replies smugly.

“Quiz me this Ted. Are you making people pay for food even though they aren’t getting paid?”

“Of course! It’s not my fault they can’t get at their money! Business is Business! I’ve been letting the ‘credit worthy’ charge their stuff but I can’t take a chance on everybody!” Ted exclaims like I have just asked him a stupid question.

“Big mistake Ted.” I reply flatly as I draw the Beretta. “What are you going to do with that?” Ted blubbers. I kill him where he stands.

There is a stunned silence at the sound of gunshots inside the auditorium, followed by a low murmur and then a cry. “Three Cheers for Greg Andrews!” And they do.

“The rest of you miserable bums better RUN to the store and get supplies back here pronto!” I bark. Bob and his cronies take off double time. Some of the others just stand there.

“I take it you folks are fellow business owners who have been allowed to charge food at the store?” I snarl. They all nodded their heads slowly, not wanting to admit to being the privileged few but more afraid of pissing me of, like Ted had.

“Well folks, you know the value of hard work, I suggest you make tracks behind your ‘buddies’ and DO SOME.” I bark. They didn’t need to be told twice. I have Bucky radio his people to ensure there isn’t any loading up and getting out of town with the goods going on.

After the well to do scurry off it happens again.

“Three Cheers for Greg Andrews!” And they do, more heartily than the first time. Nick and his people arrive with four buses. I help triage the really sick from those not so bad off. We fill every seat on all four buses but that is all of them so we only need to make one trip. I sent some folks over to the food line after hearing their main complaint is stomach pains without the fever and nausea. About a half hour later the former leaders and their helpers come back wheeling overloaded shopping carts into the auditorium. I like to think they are doing the right thing rather than being cowed at the sight of a dozen heavily armed men in full combat armor.

I learn from one of the school custodians that the stoves in the school kitchen are on bottled gas and still work. Apparently this was a ‘sweetheart deal’ with the local LNG supplier when the school had been renovated a year ago. A bit of beneficial graft for once.

I get a team together and we cook pasta for the first hot meal many of these people have eaten in a week. I make the sauce myself.

“Three cheers for Greg Andrews!” And they do, nearly shaking the rafters in the auditorium this time. Who the fuck keeps doing that I wonder? The auditorium has translucent skylights and the room brightens considerably as the sun begins to shine. I should have noticed my newfound flunkies were dry when they returned. Bucky’s people need to get out of the sun! This black combat armor is hot enough without adding steamy afternoon sunshine.


After everyone has eaten their fill I make a few announcements. I tell them of the orphans we rescued from Newburyport and how the need for foster parents is critical. I also tell them to assemble here in the morning to sign up for the team of their choice. Representatives of all our teams will be here in the morning to explain what each team does.

I put out a call for anyone with professional baking experience. Now that we have working ovens we can start bread production first thing in the morning. Fred will still have to build the hearth as planned since the gas won’t hold out forever. We urgently need bread and demand just got kicked up another notch.

“You’re all free to go home now.” I finish.

“Three Cheers for Greg Andrews!” Someone cries and they do. This time the roar is deafening. I’m a big hit with the general population. The former well to do just stand there frowning. They wear expressions of disdain with how the ‘rabble’ is carrying on. I am curious how many of them will be still be here in the morning as I’m not the only one paying attention to who isn’t cheering. I figure the privileged few are thinking I’ll get mine when the ‘proper authorities’ take control again. Their smug expressions say, ‘We saw you murder a man in cold blood, right here in front of us and we won’t let you get away with that!’ Yeah, they’d cheer when I got mine.

Funny how the boss seldom has the patience to be a good worker. It will be most interesting to see how many of them I’ll have to exile for slouching. They believe in their future. I believe in mine.

While this is a 'fictional' account of how things may play out, one thing is for certain. The 'Hamiltonian' ethic of 'let those who own the community, run the community' [Let those who own the land, rule the land] will be the rule rather than the exception...and unlikely scenes like the 'liberation' of a neighboring town will be unlikely because the 'usual suspects' will protect 'their interests' at the expense of everybody else.

Although it is this same 'paranoia' the will doom these fearful 'owners' to being preyed upon by gangs of mauraders, worse, they will eventually be overrun, enslaved and stripped of their possessions by the same kind of opportunists they are!

Yet they still won't appreciate the 'irony'.

To be an effective leader, you must be able to see beyond the end of your own nose and put the interests of the many ahead of those of the few...and in this respect, with precious few exceptions, there are no 'effective leaders' in our current corrupt government today.

My novel was a little ahead of it's time but it isn't 'out-dated' by any stretch of the imagination.

So the next time the lights go out, ponder if it's an 'accident' or a grab for what remains of your so-called 'rights'.

Thanks for letting me inside your head...