“We’re not going to starve,” Magenta said. “We’re not going to starve and I’m certainly not going to let Dawn and Gosling starve.”
At the mention of their name, Gosling looked up. Dawn was too busy playing with their tiny straw-bale construction kit to pay much attention. The little house that they built in the corner of the room was now three stories tall—that is, three one foot tall stories.
The adults, on the other hand, scattered as they were around the large room, were paying rapt attention to the discussion and when Magenta finished, several of them tried to talk at once.
“Order!” Tara yelled. “Screeching at each other is not going to help the situation. Rabbit, I believe you were next in stack.”
“Thank you,” Rabbit said. “I’m not sure we have much choice. With our land and gardens destroyed, the only way we’re going to get any food is to comply with the government. I know it’s going to mean doing things we don’t believe in and probably even breaking up the commune, but what choice do we have? Half the city is close to starving now and I don’t see any other way that we don’t starve with them.”
“There’s a warehouse full of food sitting just a mile from us,” Magenta said.
“Are you suggesting that we break into it?” Rabbit asked, eyes practically bulging.
“That’s exactly what I am suggesting,” Magenta said.
“Order! Order!” Tara screeched into the ensuing screaming match.
The Prisoners Dilemma Affinity Group (ex-cons every one) took charge of the scouting and surveillance. Although the original idea had come from the New New Harmony Commune (an income sharing community of twenty adults raising two kids), within less than a week almost half the neighborhood had become involved. There was some concern that there might be informers in their midst, but so far things seemed to be going well. Perhaps too well.
The warehouse was in an industrial park on the other side of town. It was a large rectangular structure with thick concrete walls and nine loading docks set up on one side to accommodate tractor-trailers, although eight of the doors at the end of the docks were now completely sealed over. The building had been used as a distribution center for electronic equipment when the internet still functioned. Now the government controlled it and utilized a single dock to bring produce through in huge full-freezer trucks so that it could be stockpiled in the warehouse.
The same dock was also used to send out the refrigerated vans that brought vegetables, bread, meat, and other perishable supplies to the rationing center (a former supermarket), while regular cargo vans took canned goods and toiletries. From the center the authorities doled out approved rations to registered individuals and families. All unapproved gardens and farms had been torn up and salted to insure the safety of respectable citizens (and to keep them dependent on the government).
Although none of the former prisoners were allowed in the city hall anymore, Emilia, who worked there as a clerk, was able to smuggle out photographs of the warehouse from the old library archives. (The library itself was closed for repairs the government decided were needed. The government had decided a lot of libraries needed repairs and closed most of them.)
“Okay, notice the docks are closely guarded and the one door that still functions is almost impossible to open from the outside,” Jack said after everyone had a chance to look at the photos.
“Wait,” Sam interrupted. “Then how does anyone get in there in the first place? I mean they don’t have people working there twenty-four hours a day.”
Jack shook his head. “I said, almost impossible. The workers get in from the outside, usually in the morning, by simultaneously using three different keys carried by three different workers and even one of those keys would be difficult to obtain. And there are six armed guards there when doors are opened in the morning and at the times when the food is delivered, as opposed to the two guards that are stationed in front of the dock door twenty-four/seven. The point is that it’d really be impossible for us to get into the building through the loading docks.” Jack stopped and pointed to several pictures of the warehouse taken at ground level. “But notice no one pays much attention to the back of the building.”
“That’s because there’s nothing there but a blank wall and a rather thick wall at that.” Gus looked at Jack like he was questioning his sanity. “Are you thinking of trying to use some kind of charge to blow a hole through it? Because I think that it’s probably thick enough to be blast proof, unless we had one of those RDX/PETN combo bombs and I doubt that anyone but the government has those now.”
“No,” Jack replied. “Forget about bombs. Look at these photos.” He pointed to a couple of aerial pictures of the building, probably taken by a drone. “There’s nearly ten skylights on the roof.”
“And how are we supposed to get up there?” Sam said. “A helicopter? The airport is even better guarded than this warehouse.”
“Wait,” Gus said. “You’re not thinking of free climbing it?”
“Me?” Jack shrugged. “Nah. But I know that several folks in the Denali Collective are enthusiastic climbers. I bet that they could get up there.”
Most of the members of the Denali Collective had been part of a cooperatively run climbing gym before the government had shut it down for unspecified safety reasons. More than a few of them were now climbing the walls of their house, literally.
“A sheer wall with no hand holds? That’s going to be a challenge,” Martha said after Jack showed them the pictures. “Fortunately for you, we love a challenge.”