Survivors – A Novel of the Coming Collapse

Shepherding his rapidly dwindling cash, Andy bought food for dinner entirely from vending machines. Because the inflation was so rapid, the vending machine prices had not yet been raised to match the store counter prices. The news on television was all bad. Flights were all still grounded and most trains and buses were not running. Some runs on grocery stores had begun in Germany, Austria, and the Czech Republic. There were also some large street protests and riots building up in the larger cities throughout the European Union. Reserve police and military forces were being mobilized throughout the EU and in the UK. There had been a widespread power blackout in Greece caused by a labor union dispute. It was also reported that no long-distance calls were getting through to the United States except, oddly, to Hawaii.

Andy turned off the television and called a couple of acquaintances stationed in K-Town, begging favors. One of them phoned an hour later to say that they had found him a ride.

Early the next morning, Andy got on a five-ton supply truck that was headed to Landstuhl Regional Medical Center. Following the end of U.S. military presence in France, this was the westernmost Army installation in USAEUR, the U.S. Army’s European command. Beyond there, he truly would be in YOYO territory.

The next morning was depressingly foggy. Laine did not feel his best, since he had slept so poorly the night before. The Specialist E-4 driving the truck to Landstuhl was envious that Laine had ended his service and was headed home. “Sir, I still got 112 days and a wake-up,” he said forlornly. “I don’t know what things’ll be like by then. My family all lives in Atlanta. You’ve seen it on the TV, right? There’s big dang riots there. They say half the city is on fire.” Laine decided that it wouldn’t be helpful to mention that this was the second time that Atlanta had burned, so he made no reply.

The truck, he learned, was mainly filled with MREs. It was just one of many truckloads of MREs from as far away as Wiesbaden that were being sent to the Army hospital, since local transport of food for patients and staff had become intermittently disrupted. Even more MREs were being sent to various Air Force bases and to U.S. embassies. The big MRE shuffle was part of a “contingency stock leveling” measure, just in case food supplies and grid power were to suffer more severe disruption. “It’s like some kinda siege mentality, sir,” the Specialist commented.

At just after ten a.m., Laine was dropped off at a Strassenbahn stop not far from the hospital complex, and the driver left with a wave.

Andy stood alone at the tram stop, feeling overwhelmed. The fog was beginning to lift, and he could begin to see hills of the Palatinate Forest in the distance, stretching to the south. After a few chilly minutes, a streetcar approached on Eisenbahnstrasse. Andy put on his duffel bag using both shoulder straps. Then he picked up his flight bag in his left hand and his overseas bag in his right hand. He waddled to the streetcar. The weight of the duffel bag pressed the holstered SIG uncomfortably into his lower back. When the door opened, he asked the driver, “In Richtung Landstuhler Stadtzentrum?”

“Ja, klar, klar,” the driver answered, gesturing him in.

Laine stepped up into the streetcar, which was nearly empty. He thumbed in his fare card and then awkwardly sat down, placing two of his bags in front of him and hunching out of his main duffel bag.

An elderly German woman was sitting across the aisle from him with the seat beside her piled with string shopping bags. A long-haired Dachshund sat in her lap. The streetcar lurched and picked up speed.

The woman recognized Laine’s bags and asked, “You are away going on leave?”

“No, I am going home to America permanently-standig-if I can find a way.”

“The luft flights are all aground und die Zuge fahren nicht.”

“Yes, I know about the trains.” After a moment Laine added, “Are there any Omnibusse still running to Frankreich or to the Low Countries? Das Benelux?”

“Nein. Alles eingestellt.”

Andy shook his head. “These are crazy times.”

“Ja, and the money, it is no good. This is like the Weimar time again, I think.”

As they neared the center of Landstuhl, the Strassenbahn stops got closer together, and Laine began to eye the shop signs: “Apotheke,” “Deli,” “Backerei,” “Optometrist,” “Moden,” “Eisenwaren,” “Schallplatten,” “Kaufhaus.” The many buildings with whitewashed walls, exposed beams, and red-tiled roofs looked nineteenth-century vintage or earlier. Andy wondered if the city had been spared any damage in the Second World War. The old buildings looked remarkably intact.

“Is there a Fahrrad shop in Landstuhl?” he asked the old woman.

“Ja, at Adolph-Kolping-Platz. I tell you when you are getting off.”