The Camp

Reaching the top of the Rockpile I paused outside the Science Hut and watched the sun rise above the peaks to the east. The dawn light spread down from where I stood to the valley below, revealing the trace of dust in the air to the south of a foraging party heading back in, our rows of date palms, and then the valley floor below. Sunlight reflected from a string of solar panels in slow succession and from the blades of small wind turbines slowly turning. The happy sound of chickens released from their coop rose up from the Camp. Either side of sunrise was the best time of day in dry season, for humans and chickens both. Enough light to work or forage efficiently while still cool enough to minimize moisture and electrolytes lost to sweat. Flashes of reflected light as the western guard outpost reported in. The last of the mobile radios had gone down last winter, and we hadn’t been able to repair it.

I fingered my locket as I reviewed in my mind the morning’s water data. As always, the battered heart-shaped locket reminded me of Mom. Mom had been at Pasadena when it got bad there, and had been wearing the locket when she left to join Dad at Edwards. When things got bad at Edwards, she and Dad had left to a Park Service Atmospheric Station in the Mojave for what they thought would be temporary shelter. A few years later when the number of children, including me, had increased beyond what the Camp that had sprung up around the Station and two neighboring springs could support, Dad had led the First Expedition to look for a more hospitable location or more resources. They never came back. Neither had the Second Expedition a few years later, although a band of raiders out of what was left of California City apparently backtracked them to the Camp. I had been old enough to remember that. It had been bad. I lost Mom then. I was full grown by the time we needed to launch the Third Expedition after the diesel generators had run out of fuel, leaving just solar and wind to power the pumps. I had volunteered to go with the Third Expedition, but the Chief decided the Camp needed me running the Science Hut which by then I had taken over. The Fourth Expedition had been five years ago, after the springs went dry. No one from the Third or Fourth expeditions had returned.

I entered the Hut. Opening my logbook I added the latest water collection and usage data. The data were clear. Sending the foraging parties out farther and for longer periods of time and decommissioning the small hydroponics shed hadn’t been enough. After two dry winters, to bring our water consumption in line with the declining output of the still operable wells and faltering atmospheric water generator we needed to cut off drip irrigation to a row of date palms and reduce the number of chickens.

Taking down the older logbooks that Mom had kept, I paged through them. Temperature data. Relative humidity data. The Camp’s water collection and usage and power capacity and generation data. All going back to when they arrived at the Station and Mom started keeping records. The estimated population of the US Southwest. That one on a semi-log plot. The estimated sustainable human population of the Mojave biome. These logbooks had been my teachers since I had taken over the Science Hut. They taught me of our environment, its constraints, and the math and margins on which we survived. Mom had also logged births and deaths, arrivals and departures, the total headcount of the Camp. Her data was complete, compulsive. I worked hard to match her accuracy and consistency. By contrast her notes were intermittent but added context.

Day 1 - Peter and I arrived this morning with 3 others from Armstrong and 2 Airmen from Edwards with a truckload of supplies and lots of guns. On the way here picked up Peter’s friend from the Park Service involved with the Mojave Desert Inventory and Monitoring Network who led us to their most remote Atmospheric Station and got us in. I’m still shaking and can’t believe we made it alive. Expecting Julio and his family to join us from Goldstone in Barstow but they have yet to arrive.

Day 3 – Julio arrived today on foot, injured and badly dehydrated. Wife and daughter didn’t make it.

Day 7 – 3 guys with guns in a Jeep broke through the gate today. Looked like locals. They’re dead. We lost Veronica the propulsion engineer from Armstrong and Jefferson, one of the Airmen. Camp population down to 6. Vehicle inventory up to 2. I’ve completed an inventory of the station equipment, and Peter and Travis the Park Ranger are off for additional equipment and supplies at a nearby Ranger station. Julio recovered enough to alternate guard duty with Jones, the other Airman. Have established narrowband internet access through the VSAT for the Station telemetry, but a lot of websites are down. I’m starting to think we may be here awhile.

I know every rise and fall on the Camp population graph. +3 on Day 10. +2 on Day 15. +4, net, on Day 19 which corresponded to the uptick on the water consumption graph marking the arrival of the first chickens and goats. +2 on Day 23. Other small ups and, less often in the early days, downs. +3 on Day 30 and a large uptick in water collection when we found the small spring. Followed by an increase in water consumption when we planted the beans and corn. +2 on Day 72 which corresponded with a tripling of power generation capacity when they brought in 2 diesel generators and numerous solar panels from the Park Service depot. -4 on Day 115, with another large uptick in water collection when we took the large spring. Continued overall increases in population through the end of Year 3, which corresponded to continued increases in water consumption until it reached, and then exceeded, water collection. Peak water consumption after Dad had overseen the planting of our neat rows of date palms. The drop in population from 120 to 105 marking the departure of the First Expedition just thereafter.

Day 1102 – Peter and 14 others left today with 3 jeeps, 3 trucks, 2 generators and 60 days of food, water and fuel. Camp very quiet post departure. Hard to believe it’s been 3 years. Food has been tight from Day 1 but since we passed 100 people it’s been harder to balance water use between crops, animals and people. The temperature keeps going up. And the babies keep coming, including one of ours. Food Science and Farming have performed miracles to avoid gross nutritional imbalance, other than our persistent potassium shortfall. Peter says the die-off across SoCal and the Southwest should be sufficient to find good farmland and pasturage with strong water to relocate to, or worst case to find surviving resources including some form of nutritional supplements in Bakersfield or LA. I’m not convinced. His selection of Expedition personnel clearly leaves us with all the skills needed to sustain the Camp. Also the optimal headcount to both survive on our resources and raise these children. I despair of the possibility of life without Peter. He has been my strength, ever since Edwards.

Day 1117 – Still no word from the Expedition. Reviewed Peter’s notes in Command Post today and found his file on the Date Palms. They take from 3 to 8 years to begin to fruit. Water consumption until then significant, a man’s worth of water for each. Once mature fantastic in terms of calorie production, with fruit rich in Potassium. Not a positive indicator of his true level of confidence for the success of the Expedition. Kiloliters, Kilocalories and Kilowatts are the new currencies of the realm, on which our lives rely.

Day 1192 – It’s been 90 days. Per Peter’s written instructions, Margaret from Biology named new Chief.

Mom’s notes more intermittent after that, but her data remained clear and concise through her final entries.

Mom had worried about minimum viable population and genetic drift, although she said we were unlikely to need to worry too much about the latter. The Camp’s population peaked just before dropping with the Third Expedition, declined gradually for a period thereafter, and then stepped down again with the Fourth Expedition. I double checked my calculations and optimizations. Reduced production from the Date Palms would cost us not only calories but Potassium. Chickens required less water per gram of protein than goats, but goat’s milk had more Potassium than eggs. We were already short of protein from reduced bean production, and our water supply depended on our power generation. Kiloliters, Kilocalories and Kilowatts, on which our lives rely. Despite a continued decline in population since the Fourth Expedition we would need to send out a Fifth Expedition. Maybe they would be able to find some resources, somewhere out there.

The solar-powered fan in the Hut clicked on as the day’s temperature rose. Putting away the logbooks and closing up the Hut, my boots crunched on gravel as I started the climb down before it got too hot. The Chief would want my input on size and staffing of the Fifth Expedition, and what supplies we could afford for them. Maybe this time I could go with them.