Survivors: A Novel of the Coming Collapse

supply, and I need to be able to trade for those. Reason three is that I need more than just fuel to barter for vehicles and heavy weapons. We need to amass some more armored vehicles. So if we go out far afield, trading with people that are ‘fuel poor and vehicle rich,’ then again I need to have the requisite containers.”

“That makes sense. But, ah, what do you mean ‘more’ armored vehicles?”

“A slip of the tongue, Lars. Please don’t mention it to anyone, but I have an old M8 Greyhound-that’s a wheeled APC from World War II that’s being restored and modified up at the shop at my ranch. After that’s finished, I plan to keep it garaged here at the plant, sort of a ‘hidden stinger.’ But if things continue to deteriorate the way I imagine, we’re going to need a lot more armor to be able to put up a creditable defense.” After a pause he added: “Okay, then. We have an agreement!”

They shook hands.

As Laine stood up, he glanced over his left shoulder, and noticed a caged ladderway, leading to a trap door to the roof. Pointing with the muzzle of his rifle, he asked, “Does that ladder lead to your command post?”

“Yep. That’s my CP. You’re a very observant individual.”

“Well, I admire a man that puts an emphasis on substance over style. I can see why you picked this room for your office. I would have done the same thing.”

21. Up the Creek

“There is a certain relief in change, even though it be from bad to worse; as I have found in traveling in a stage-coach, that it is often a comfort to shift one’s position and be bruised in a new place.”

— Washington Irving

Eastern France Late November and Early December, the First Year

Andy’s cold and wet bicycle ride to the coast of France through the northern Departements was grueling, and took him two weeks of hard riding. Many of the nights were miserable, with few opportunities to dry his clothes. The roads were only lightly traveled, and he had no offers of rides, except for one elderly man who was driving a tiny two-seat Renault R5. There would be no room for Andy’s bike or trailer, so he declined.

He camped in the woods most nights. As his stock of food dwindled, his trailer got lighter, and he was able to travel faster. He was only able to find a few bits of food that were still affordable. This included three retort- packaged “bricks” of vegetable soup and a couple of half-kilo plastic packets of instant oatmeal. Eating these cold was unappetizing but nourishing. Buying them expended most of Laine’s remaining euros.

As he passed from Picardie into Nord-Pas-de-Calais, the population density increased. This made Andy nervous about his personal safety. His opportunities to camp unobserved in woodlands got further and further apart. His greatest fear was being attacked while sleeping. He prayed often and as usual kept his pistol handy inside his sleeping bag. While he was near the town of Douai, a large dog came sniffing around his camp at night. Laine half shouted: “Chien! Vas-y! Vas-y! Va-t’en!” That worked, but he had great difficulty getting back to sleep after the dog had left.

Laine was surprised to find the Port of Calais guarded by both police and soldiers. He was able to pass though the outer perimeter without being questioned, but at the inner cordon, he was stopped and asked by a French Army sergeant for his papers and told that the port was closed to civilian traffic. Andy pulled out his Army Reserve ID card and asked to speak with the harbormaster. This turned into a convoluted series of short meetings and interrogations, first with the lieutenant in charge of the cordon, then the harbor security officer, then with the harbormaster’s office, and finally with the harbormaster himself. The harbormaster, Arsene Paquet, seemed distracted by the radio traffic, but he was amiable and sounded sincerely concerned about Laine’s desire to get home to the United States.

Paquet immediately made three phone calls and punched in two SMS messages on his text phone. The resulting word was that there were no French ships that had filed sailing plans to the United States or Mexico. Paquet offered in a conciliatory voice, “I am sorry, monsieur, only from America, not to, for at least months in the future. The insurance companies will not allow it. To be precise, I should say that if they sail, it will be with the knowledge that their insurance is not in effect. Few would take that risk. This insurance situation is uniform for all ships that are European Common Market-flagged, or etranger-flagged but owned by EC-headquartered companies. But I think the situation may be different in England.”

“How so?”

Paquet explained, “They have different insurance laws and procedures. Everything here in the EC has been so normalized. England is not a member of the European Common Market.”

“So you’re saying that to find a ship, I need to get to England.”

“Yes, there is definitely a better chance. You can try to go to England, but with this terror thing the planes are grounded, the ferries are stuck in port, and even the Chunnel trains are not running. Did you see the news about the insulin?”

“No, what was that?”

“The transport is bottled up so tight they are worried that diabetes patients in England and Scotland may run out of insulin.”

“So, any suggestions on how I can get to England? I am desperate to get there, to find a ship. I can pay in gold coin. Genuine or.”

The harbormaster cocked his head.

“Gold coins? Really?”

“Yes, really. I have an old twenty-franc gold Rooster coin—le coq gaulois—that’s about one-fifth of an ounce in gold. I’ll trade that coin to anyone who can get me into England with no fuss.”

“Hmmm…. My wife has a cousin, Joseph, who is the captain of a fishing boat near Boulogne-sur-Mer. Give me a moment and I will make another inquiry.”

Twenty hours later, Andy and his bicycle had been deposited at the fishing docks of Boulogne-sur-Mer. His trip there, expedited by Paquet, was in a truck that smelled of fish. The road traffic was very light.

En route, the truck had made several stops to drop off and pick up cargo. One odd sight was when they made an intermediate stop at the Gare de Boulogne-sur-Mer to drop off some cargo. A Train a Grande Vitesse (TGV) high-speed train was sitting on a siding. Normally seen at speeds of up to two hundred kilometers per hour or at just very brief stops, the idle train looked odd.

Andy arrived at the Quai Gambetta with his bike and trailer in the late afternoon. The dock had mainly fishing boats and yachts tied up, but nested among them was a small two-masted sailing ship called La Recouvrance. Andy wondered if it was an historic ship or just a replica.

Joseph Lejeune didn’t speak much English. His fishing boat, named Beau Temps, was smaller than Laine had expected. The captain was also younger than Laine had expected, perhaps in his early thirties. The boat had a crew of just three.

Lejeune met him on the dock. They exchanged names and shook hands. “I seek, passage… uh… en Angleterre?”

“Yes, I am taking you now. You have with you the gold?”

Andy obligingly showed him the coin.

Lejeune smiled. “Bon, bon! Allons-y!”

There was no delay. As the sun was setting, Andy’s bike and trailer were carried on board and covered with a tarpaulin and lashed down. The mooring lines were cast off and Beau Temps pulled away from the dock with a roar. They quickly motored between the Jetee Nord-est and Jetee Sud-ouest and out to sea. A small lighthouse marked the end of the north jetty. The wind was chilly, but the skies were nearly clear.

Andy soon joined Lejeune in the wheelhouse. As a transistor radio blared French rap music, Joseph Lejeune offered him a cup of strong black coffee in an extra-thick mug. As Laine sipped the coffee, Lejeune said haltingly: “We sail for the village of Rye. The tide is good, and our draft, it is shallow. This Rye is a small town of fishes. No questions will be asked. You are in safety in Angleterre in just a few hours.”