A few people brought up things that Sela jotted down in her notebook to check out and get back to them. The meetings had taken on a routine. They talked about what would be needed in the immediate future, what had happened in their respective neighborhoods, and some of what they’d need long term, though discussions of the last sort were scary and short, because no matter how they tried to prepare, the truth was they had no idea what might happen. Day to day was easier; they could manage that. Wondering what January would be like scared the stew out of all of them.
She’d talk to Carol about everything mentioned, though she was fairly sure she knew what Carol would say. That way Carol wouldn’t feel left out, because despite her protestations, she had always loved making a show of things—hence the pink streak in her hair, which was growing out. Sela made another note: find a hairdresser who could freshen the pink streak, if possible. That would keep her aunt in good spirits.
Finally people began filing out of the cold store. Without a heat source the inside always felt as if it were twenty degrees colder than it was outside, where the sun had heated the day to around sixty. By the end of the month it would be unbearably cold. Sighing, Sela made another note. Find another kerosene heater, or else tote the one they had—the one they’d been saving for when it would really be needed—to the store for each meeting. Or maybe they’d luck out and find someone who really could make braziers. It was either that or find another place to meet.
Through the windows she saw knots of the others still standing around outside, talking. In the almost two months since the power went out she had met and recognized many more of the valley residents than she had before, but every week she saw new faces after the meetings, people who didn’t necessarily want to attend a meeting but who wanted to talk to the ones who had. They were usually people who lived in Wears Valley but well beyond the heart of the community, and who had to travel several miles to get here. Most of them just wanted to make sure that their neighborhoods weren’t forgotten, and to be included in any food distribution—as if that ship hadn’t sailed back at the very beginning. What people had now was what they had either put back, or hunted, fished, or bartered for.
As she had requested beforehand, the members of the community patrol remained behind, and gathered closer around now that the majority of people had gone outside. “What’s up?” Mike asked.
“Do we need to step up patrols, after what happened with the Livingstons?” Ted suggested, which wasn’t a bad idea.
“Probably,” she replied, nodding at him. Being a pain in the ass didn’t mean all of his suggestions were bad—it just meant he was a pain in the ass. He looked somewhat gratified, and smug, that she hadn’t shot him down again. “But that’s up to y’all, because you know what you can do. This is something else entirely.” She blew out a breath. “When the announcement came that the solar storm was coming, I shut down my gas pumps.”
There was silence, realization dawning across their faces. “Holy shit,” Trey said. “You’re sitting on gold.”
“Not really. It’s gold with a time limit. It’s ethanol gasoline so it’ll go bad if I keep it much longer. We need to dispense it, get it out into the community where it can be put to use. Likely January and February would be times when it’ll be more needed, but who knows if it’ll be any good by then? We’d be gambling big. By now the octane level has degraded but it’s still usable.”
She took a breath, organized her thoughts. “We can fill up your vehicles, run some generators, chain saws to cut more wood. People can get warm, take hot showers, do some emergency cooking. If we can find a kiln anywhere near and use the gasoline to fire it up, to make braziers, then we’ll have heat sources for people who don’t have fireplaces. Those are my suggestions. If anyone has more, or different uses, that’s up to them. I’m not about to try overseeing all that.”
Predictably, Ted burst out with anger. “You’ve been sitting on tanks of gasoline all this time—”
“Saving it for when we’d need it more. Yes.” Her tone didn’t quite have an edge to it, but she was getting there. It took a lot to get her angry . . . but she was definitely getting there. If the chore of “community leader” actually paid anything, or had prestige, his resentful attitude would make more sense—but it didn’t, and mostly it was endless lists, a pain in the butt, and listening to people bitch. And damn if she’d apologize to Ted for how she managed her resources.
“The first freeze can come anytime,” Mike said. “I’m surprised it’s held off this long. I’d say you have good timing.”
“I have tanks for ten thousand gallons each of 87 and 91 octane, and would get a delivery every four days during the tourist off-season, every three days during peak. It had been two days since my last delivery, so I have roughly five thousand gallons of each, ten thousand total. What I don’t have is a way of getting it out of the tanks. Does anyone know how to rig a suction pump?” She’d asked Ben about rigging a pump, but he wasn’t here at the moment so she might as well see if anyone else could handle it.
“I’ve siphoned gas out of a car, but never anything that big,” Trey said. “Most of us have done that. Still, I guess the principle’s the same. I think I could have something rigged up by tomorrow.”
Someone else said, “Some people have propane generators, so there’s no help for them, but just as many have gasoline powered.”
“Get the word out,” she said. “Hoarding it won’t do any good, because it’ll go bad. What they get, they need to use. Everyone who can needs to come tomorrow to fill their tanks or gas cans.”
“Another suggestion,” Trey said. “It’s up to you, because it’s your gas. But you paid for that gas, and if we take it without paying you, you’re going to be left holding the short end of the stick when the power comes back on.”
“People don’t have money—”
Ted. Of course. For a surprisingly potent moment she thought about shooting him the finger, something she’d never done to anyone’s face before. The urge was so strong she had to clench her hands. One day, though . . . well, maybe. She’d need to work on that. The unrelenting stress was either wearing her down or building her up, and she wasn’t sure which.
Trey held up his hand. “I know that. Hear me out. We should pump it out in five-gallon cans so we can write down who gets how much, and the price gas cost when the grid went down. When everything gets back to normal, people should pay you for the gas. That’s only right. You can’t afford to just give away thousands of dollars of gasoline.”
He was right, and she hadn’t thought that far. Her mind had been more on using the gas before it went bad, and helping people survive the winter, than it had been on profit and loss. She had kept the much smaller tank, the one with hundred percent gasoline in it, for herself and emergencies and she felt guilty doing even that, but she had three other people to think of and take care of.
She looked around at her empty store—and it was completely empty. The shelves and refrigeration spaces were bare, not a cracker left, not a can of Spam, literally nothing other than some oil and fuel additives. She’d have to completely restock, and wouldn’t be able to do it all at once because goods would only gradually become available again. Who knew when the pipelines would start moving oil to the refineries again? Just living was going to be a struggle, at least until spring.