Read Online A New World 10 - Storm by John O'Brien - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: John O'Brien
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That way, they wouldn’t be able to initiate any commands with the equipment,” Harold responds.
“Okay. And if we set the relay up separate from the communications room, and didn’t allow them access, then we could be reasonably assured that they couldn’t contact someone here,” I say, mostly to myself.
“Exactly.”
Harold begins doing, well, whatever it is that Harold does. I pick up the binder containing the list of survivor settlements that the other group classified. Some of them we’ve come across but there’s also a smattering of others. I concentrate on the ones in what used to be the US and Canada. I notice there are several groups in northern Canada that seem to be holding out, with a couple in Alaska. Those are mostly scattered and away from populated areas. If it was winter, I would imagine the whole of Alaska would continue on as if nothing happened, well, to a point. Given the cold, those who survived the flu and vaccine wouldn’t have been shredded by the night runners. But, that’s neither here nor there. I note one location in northern Canada with quite a few survivors notated.
“Harold? I lied about not bothering you again. What’s this place?” I ask, pointing to the page in the binder.
He takes the notebook and pulls up the site on the screen. Zooming in, a town sharpens into a more detailed view. It’s not a live shot, just one used for mapping purposes, so I don’t see people moving around, but the binder indicates that there are quite a few there, perhaps as many as seven hundred. It’s one of the largest establishments, outnumbering us more than two to one. I can only assume that they weren’t given an "A" status due to their lack of training and armament; maybe because they weren’t a direct threat. Being in northern Canada, though, I would imagine everyone had a hunting rifle of some sort. I have no idea what went into the selection process, and frankly, I don’t really care.
“Fort McMurray, eh? I wonder why that place has so many survivors?” I ponder.
“It’s remote? I wouldn’t really know. There are other remote places that don’t have that many,” Harold ventures.
“What is that to the north of the town?” I ask.
The screen blurs before settling onto a very large patch of brown surrounded by greenery. Several buildings and what appear to be ponds come into view, but I can’t make out much more than that.
“Zoom in,” I ask, curious.
There’s a little dizzying sensation until the picture settles into sharp focus. On the large screen is the image of what must be a refinery. I have Harold pan the view around and spot at least five more.
“Do you suppose those surviving are refinery workers?” I query.
“I can’t imagine what else they could be in such a remote territory,” Harold responds.
“Hmmm…lock that in for the future. If they know how to run one of those refineries, perhaps they can get it up and running, if they haven’t already. Is there a way we can get a live shot?”
“I’ll have to redirect one of the satellites, but we can do it. I’d like to use one of the older ones so we don’t burn fuel on the higher-res ones.”
“That’s fine. I’ll leave you to your work.”
I wonder what kind of fuels they process up that way ? I think, rising and leaving the control center.
Knock, Knock
Walking back through the vehicle bay with Lynn, I get Sergeant Montore’s attention and pull him aside.
“I’d like for you to select fifty of your men to potentially be dispersed to another group of survivors. That comes with the understanding that they would be under the supervision and control of the person in charge of the camp,” I say.
“I can do that. They won’t like being split up like that, but they’ll understand,” Montore replies. “What about weapons and ammo?”
“We’ll load enough to keep them supplied, but they won’t have access to them until the person in charge accepts them as part of the community.
“Okay. And if we set the relay up separate from the communications room, and didn’t allow them access, then we could be reasonably assured that they couldn’t contact someone here,” I say, mostly to myself.
“Exactly.”
Harold begins doing, well, whatever it is that Harold does. I pick up the binder containing the list of survivor settlements that the other group classified. Some of them we’ve come across but there’s also a smattering of others. I concentrate on the ones in what used to be the US and Canada. I notice there are several groups in northern Canada that seem to be holding out, with a couple in Alaska. Those are mostly scattered and away from populated areas. If it was winter, I would imagine the whole of Alaska would continue on as if nothing happened, well, to a point. Given the cold, those who survived the flu and vaccine wouldn’t have been shredded by the night runners. But, that’s neither here nor there. I note one location in northern Canada with quite a few survivors notated.
“Harold? I lied about not bothering you again. What’s this place?” I ask, pointing to the page in the binder.
He takes the notebook and pulls up the site on the screen. Zooming in, a town sharpens into a more detailed view. It’s not a live shot, just one used for mapping purposes, so I don’t see people moving around, but the binder indicates that there are quite a few there, perhaps as many as seven hundred. It’s one of the largest establishments, outnumbering us more than two to one. I can only assume that they weren’t given an "A" status due to their lack of training and armament; maybe because they weren’t a direct threat. Being in northern Canada, though, I would imagine everyone had a hunting rifle of some sort. I have no idea what went into the selection process, and frankly, I don’t really care.
“Fort McMurray, eh? I wonder why that place has so many survivors?” I ponder.
“It’s remote? I wouldn’t really know. There are other remote places that don’t have that many,” Harold ventures.
“What is that to the north of the town?” I ask.
The screen blurs before settling onto a very large patch of brown surrounded by greenery. Several buildings and what appear to be ponds come into view, but I can’t make out much more than that.
“Zoom in,” I ask, curious.
There’s a little dizzying sensation until the picture settles into sharp focus. On the large screen is the image of what must be a refinery. I have Harold pan the view around and spot at least five more.
“Do you suppose those surviving are refinery workers?” I query.
“I can’t imagine what else they could be in such a remote territory,” Harold responds.
“Hmmm…lock that in for the future. If they know how to run one of those refineries, perhaps they can get it up and running, if they haven’t already. Is there a way we can get a live shot?”
“I’ll have to redirect one of the satellites, but we can do it. I’d like to use one of the older ones so we don’t burn fuel on the higher-res ones.”
“That’s fine. I’ll leave you to your work.”
I wonder what kind of fuels they process up that way ? I think, rising and leaving the control center.
Knock, Knock
Walking back through the vehicle bay with Lynn, I get Sergeant Montore’s attention and pull him aside.
“I’d like for you to select fifty of your men to potentially be dispersed to another group of survivors. That comes with the understanding that they would be under the supervision and control of the person in charge of the camp,” I say.
“I can do that. They won’t like being split up like that, but they’ll understand,” Montore replies. “What about weapons and ammo?”
“We’ll load enough to keep them supplied, but they won’t have access to them until the person in charge accepts them as part of the community.
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