Challenge #01564-D103: Are You Valuable?

Prompted by recent disasters. Local Survivalist proves to be a helpful resource during bad weather event. -- Anon Guest

The town was practically atomised after the winds died down. There was very little left that was recognisable. There were streets, somewhere under the risen water, and people were clustered on the few buildings that both survived the storm and had upper floors to huddle in.

Cara piloted her larger boat to the old town hall. It had been built in the era of steam and was therefore sturdier than the average castle. It, the old church steeple, and her fortress were just about the only buildings left standing any more. She was greeted with surprise and shock as she pulled up and tied off near the upper landing. People were crowded inside, all of them miserable.

"We thought you'd died," said someone in their pyjamas.

"I'll collect from anyone who had bets laid," joked Cara. She handed over a sealed eski. "This has three different types of antibiotics and a small stock of insulin for anyone who needs it. Pill and liquid form. And enough painkillers for anyone who's in trouble." Once that was handed across, she picked up a big duffle bag and handed that over as well. "This is bandages and medical supplies. Get them straight to anyone with medical expertise. What have you been doing about waste?"

"Um. The ladies have been using the upstairs toilets, but they don't flush any more. Us guys have been..."

"Using the street as a urinal?" Cara suggested. "Quit that. We'll have to clean up your piss and anything that's leaked out of the sewerage system soon enough. That's hazmat-level stuff. Especially if someone has a disease. I have a brace of chemical toilets at the fort. Anyone who comes back with me has to be cleaned and checked as a condition of entry." Cara unloaded bag after bag of non-perishable food. Anyone who cared to examine it would see that this supply was a week or two away from expiring anyway. Cara usually cleared out her older stuff by donating it to the food bank. "My fort's cramped, but it's not as cramped as here." She had five bags left, now. "I'm going to check on the church and head back home. Anyone who wants to come should come."

"You still have five bags," said the guy who met her on the balcony.

"Yeah, this is for anyone who's stuck at the church. I'll be taking them and ten people from here, on this trip." She took the Braeburies: Mom, Dad and four kids, the extremely pregnant Mrs Willow and her toddler, and two kids handed over by Mr Trent. Then one of the better-dressed gentlemen from inside set up a holler about how he was the most important man in the town and demanded a seat.

Cara glared at him with the last of her ropes in her hand. It was, co-incidentally, one that ended in a Monkey-fist knot... which could also double as a weapon. "You know anything about farming, Mr Important?" She knew damn well that he was the oligarch of the town, Danny Power. The last time he'd been near any kind of farm, it had been a photo op and the chicken had attacked him.

"Of course not! I'm the financial soul of this town and everyone knows it! You need me!"

"Just keep it to a 'yes' or a 'no', Mr Important. My time is valuable. You know any medical procedures?"

And since her hands were clearly ready to shove off, he said, "No."

He did not know anything about triage, cookery, morale, construction, cleaning, entertaining of any kind, or anything that was short-term useful following a flood. Finally, Cara asked, "And now, in a nice, clear voice, tell everyone here why you rejected my plan to ready this town for severe weather. Project, please. As if you were at one of your rallies."

Mr Power went red. "It was too expensive to install weather-proofing in all of my buildings."

"And how much did you pay for the yacht that's now embedded in the church roof?"

"Five billion dollars."

"You're useless," said Cara, looking him square in the eye. "I'm taking you last. If at all." It was petty and she knew it, but everyone had heard. Everyone knew. This lump of fat in an expensive suit had potentially cost everyone their lives. They were remembering all the times that he had called for them to 'eliminate' the "relics of a bygone era" that the old town hall and the old church steeple represented. Buildings that had survived the severe weather and now saved their lives.

Danny Power was now the least favourite man in town.

There were people at the steeple, people on what was left of the church roof, and people helping themselves to everything remotely valuable in the remains of Power's yacht. Cara got them to help inflate the life boats she had in three of the bags and doled out heat packs and space blankets to anyone who couldn't fit in the train.

It would take four more trips to empty out the church. Another ten to empty out the old town hall to the point where she might consider allowing Danny Power to join everyone else in need at her fort. She had prepared for this. She even towed along a couple of chemical toilets -doors sealed with duck tape- to alleviate some of the mess at the old town hall.

Power was learning, though. He actually started lending a hand with the supplies. It did Cara's heart some good to see him red-faced and struggling with a porta-potty as he and four others wrestled it indoors.

But she'd still over-charge him for her supplies. He could afford it.

[Image (c) Can Stock Photo / AuntPittypat]

If you like my stories, please Check out my blog and Follow me.

Send me a prompt [13 remaining prompts!]

Check out the other stuff I'm selling