“Now, wait just a minute,” a man who looked alarmingly like Teddy Roosevelt said loudly, his scowling face turning red. “I don’t live here, but I own a vacation house and I pay property taxes just like everyone else. Are you saying my wife and I aren’t entitled to any extra food?”
The woman shrugged. “You aren’t here all year paying local taxes the way we are. I’d say yeah you could have some, but not a full share.”
“That’s bullshit!” His head jutted forward and he advanced on her.
“Settle down, now!” Mike Kilgore appeared, pushing his way between people and getting in front of the Roosevelt look-alike. “There’s no need to start acting up, this can be worked out.”
“They both have legitimate points,” Carol put in; Sela saw the alarmed look she cast at Olivia, and knew her aunt was trying to play peacemaker to head off any possible violence because she didn’t want the girl scared. The situation was frightening enough to kids, without adding adult anger to the mix. Mike Kilgore gave her a grateful nod.
“It doesn’t matter.” Another woman stood up. “I work in the lunchroom, and I can tell you, Mr. Poe, dividing the food likely won’t work. This other lady is right about the staples being in big bags. The meat won’t keep long, and neither will the eggs. The produce, lettuce and tomatoes and such, will last longer but they need to be eaten within a week. I don’t know what you think you’re going to do with all that meat, either, just cut off hunks and hand them out to people who may not have a means of cooking it?”
Sela immediately imagined big hanging sides of beef, though she knew that wasn’t what the lunchroom had. The lunchroom worker had a point; how did one cook that much meat, when, other than their backyard grills, most people had lost their means of cooking? Eventually people would work out systems for cooking, but the meat would spoil before then. She and Carol and Barb had canned what meat they had so it would last just fine, but what about the others?
Thinking about the large amount of meat, she saw the solution and leaned forward, murmuring to Carol, “Those big meat smokers. Right off the bat I can think of three men who have them, so there are bound to be more.”
The people around them heard her and turned around to look, nodding their heads in agreement.
“How many people here have those big smokers?” Carol called out, looking around the crowded lunchroom. “Those who have generators can keep a fridge running for a while, but let’s face it, we’ll need those generators when the weather turns cold. What we need to do is cook this food and have us one big party, before it goes bad! Harley Johnson, I know you have one.”
“I do,” said a man from the side of the room. “So does Bob Terrell.”
A couple of other names were added, and going by the size of the big smokers Sela had seen, they now had the combined capability of smoking a couple of thousand pounds of meat, way more than was likely in the lunchroom—which meant they could also smoke the meat that people had in their homes that they hadn’t already cooked.
“That’s a darn good idea,” said the lunchroom lady, nodding her head emphatically. “Everyone can join in.”
“The big field beside the bank would be a good place,” Sela said to Carol, trying to keep her voice low enough that people wouldn’t notice her. It didn’t work; they were turning around again, looking at her, giving her the thumbs-up signal. Again she felt her face heating at the attention.
God, why couldn’t she grow out of this awkwardness? She was fine in small groups, with people she already knew. Why couldn’t that carry over when she was in a crowd?
Carol put a comforting hand on Sela’s shoulder, the touch saying she understood even if she didn’t quite agree, and raised her voice again. “The big field beside the bank. That’s big enough to hold the smokers and all the people who want to come. We’ll get tables and chairs from the churches, or everyone could just bring a blanket to sit on, or some lawn chairs, and we’ll have ourselves a big picnic.”
There was another chorus of agreement, a flood of suggestions, but none of them mentioned the uncooked meat people had in their freezers, meat that would go bad unless it was cooked soon. Carol was right; they’d need the generators more in a couple of months. Starting tonight, with the smokers, would be an even better idea.
Sela waited, hoping someone would think of that. Hadn’t anyone else gone on those survivalist websites and gotten some ideas about how to salvage their food supply?
Evidently not.
“For crying out loud,” she muttered, frustrated in her attempt to remain unnoticed. Carol turned around, eyebrows raised in question, and Sela leaned closer. “Anyone who has any uncooked meat and can’t cook it at home needs to bring it so it can be smoked, too,” she whispered. With all the background noise in the room, Carol couldn’t hear her. She shook her head and Sela repeated the suggestion, slightly louder.
“You should be doing this,” Carol muttered, then called out again, “Anyone who has any meat that needs to be cooked, bring it!”
The room buzzed as Harley Johnson and Bob Terrell got together and came up with a time to meet in the big field and get the smokers fired up. Others volunteered camp stoves and charcoal grills, so the eggs and other items could be cooked. The school sometimes offered breakfast for lunch, and because the school year had just started they had more on hand than usual. The lunchroom ladies who were in attendance began organizing how such a large amount of food would be cooked.
Jesse Poe looked relieved that the lunchroom food would be distributed, though somewhat perturbed that the county commission’s plan had been so quickly discarded. He went with the flow, though. “Y’all seem to have this in hand, so I’ll get back to Sevierville,” he said, not that anyone paid him much attention. The county commission was giving permission for them to take the food, so they were accepting the opportunity and handling it as they saw fit. Sela wondered how the county commission could have expected anything different; country people had their own ideas about how to handle things.
“Before you go,” Mike Kilgore said, “what are the plans for the sheriff’s department?”
The commissioner paused. “There isn’t a lot they can do. They’ll patrol as long as they have gas—and the county does have some in reserve—but when that’s gone . . .” He shrugged. “With the phone system down no one can call 9-1-1. When the atmosphere settles, the people with ham radios will be able to operate, if they took steps to protect their radios, and the sheriff’s office is prepared for that with their own ham radio, but in reality—” He stopped again.
“In reality, we’re on our own,” Carol finished for him.
He heaved a sigh. “Yes, ma’am, I guess you are. I’m sorry.”
“It’s better to know where we stand, instead of waiting for help that can’t get here,” she said briskly. “It won’t be easy, but we’ll do okay.”
He nodded and wound his way out of the crowded lunchroom, having delivered his news. People watched him go, conversation mostly suspended as they thought about what it meant to essentially have no law enforcement.
The Teddy Roosevelt guy looked around and said loudly, pitching his voice to carry, “We’ll need to organize the community, set up our own protection. I’m willing to—”