The Curious H. Laurentian

“Bull!” I shout at Paul who is mid-sentence in yet another tale of his college hijinks.

“No, I’m serious!” he retorts.

“NO. BULL!!!” I point and run, not looking back to see if he’s following.

The solar flare hit twelve days ago. No one saw it coming, and no one seems to know what to do- especially in this small Alberta town.

There was a flash. It didn’t last more than a few seconds, but the aftermath was disastrous. Planes fell from the sky. Cars and all vehicles stopped dead where they were. Cell phones failed, power; obliterated. The world came to a standstill.

At first, everyone hunkered down at home, attempting to wait it out. Then the fires started. It was one of the hottest summers on record and all it took was a spark from someone’s backyard barbeque to ignite his house, then the one next to it and the next. The firetrucks were immobile leaving untrained citizens and neighbors doing their best to extinguish the flames. No one’s best was good enough.

A few homes and campers had generators. There was a mad rush among the locals to try and save their freezers full of meat but the owners of these secondary power sources were very territorial. One offered to store insulin and other life saving medications, but as far as food was concerned, we were all on our own.

The water kept coming for the first eight days, but now we are on day four of draught. The hoses are empty, the fire hydrant that Paul and I desecrated with sledgehammers only offered a weak fountain, lasting mere minutes. The heat has morphed our river into nothing more than a muddy trickle, beaching and killing all of the fish. Only the eagles are eating well these days.

The unbearable stench of almost two weeks worth of garbage has taken over the community, thus inviting the bears, vermin, stray dogs to walk the streets; starving and mean. We’ve been able hide from them, but Paul and I ran out of supplies yesterday morning and are in desperate need of water, so have made the tough decision to venture out, protected only by kitchen knives and a can of mace I found in someone’s basement. We have no idea what we are doing.

I thought maybe we could ride our bikes the 42km to Calgary and loot a Costco, but that’s a long way and it’s so hot out. Plus, how much water could two guys carry on their backs? “Costco’s have probably already been cleaned out,” I rationalize. There are a million and a half people in the city, all with the same idea, I’m sure. At least out here, there are fewer folks fighting for scraps and we all know each other. We would be less likely to turn on one another, right? In theory.

Electric fences and alarm systems have all failed, leaving farms and the meat packing plant vulnerable. Yesterday, from the fairly secluded treehouse that we have taken shelter in, we witnessed a herd of cattle walking through town, also in search of water. It was an ominous sight, hundreds of cows on a mission, following a leader that was appointed by … well, who knows how she got the title or why she accepted the responsibility. You have to admire them, though. If we humans were as orderly as the herd, there might be a chance we could survive. I am not holding out hope.

This morning, we have set out in search of fluids, and hopefully food, when I notice the bull. He’s picking up speed and barrelling right towards us, trailed by a number of other animals and birds. He has an end goal, and from here it appears to be us. There’s nowhere to go and we are too slow to outrun him. This is not how I expected to meet my maker.

“Get in!” Someone is yelling. I can’t spare a second to look around and keep on pounding the pavement.

Honk. Honk. Honk. “GET IN!!” This time I do stop and look. There’s an old man in a rusty green VW Bus matching my pace. Paul is hanging out the side window, motioning for me. I jump in, trying to catch my breath.

“Thanks,” I get the word out between heavy puffs of air.

The driver, an aging hippie with long, white hair; shirtless, shoeless, scrawny, hands me a jug of water and gives me a toothless grin. “No problem, man,” he responds.

I’m so parched that I take a giant swig from the grubby crock, grateful to have liquid grace my lips, only to spit it out all over the front windshield.

“Dude… go easy on my ‘shine, man.”

“What the Hell? You got any water, Cheech?” I’m tired and confused and this pushed me over the edge.

“Nope!” he giggles and takes back the jug, sucking back a half a litre in one gulp.

“How is this working? How are you driving?” It finally hit me that this is the first car I’ve seen in twelve days. Is this apocalypse over?

“Hey man. This is a 1952 Volkswagen Transporter T1. There are no microchips or computer what-nots in it. No damn sunshine bullet can take this baby down!”

“Impressive. I didn’t know. Thanks for the rescue, man. What’s your name?”

“They call me Harry Larry,” he giggles again. “But my real name is Hieronymus Laurentian.”

“Ooooh-kay, Harry Larry it is,” I look at Paul in the back and he just shrugs. “Where’re we goin’?” I ask.

“My hideaway,” He’s still smiling, grooving to a tune that only he can hear. Anywhere is better than this.

Harry Larry’s “hideaway” is only a few minutes from town, and I had no idea it even existed. He took us down a wooded driveway that was at least a kilometre long, opening up into a huge field. There were old cars in varying stages of disrepair everywhere. Dozens of them. And a crop duster plane, looking equally as ancient. Harry Larry’s small house was right in the middle of the lot, and surprisingly modern. One side of the roof was all solar panels, six rain barrels flanked the back of the cabin and they were full, his garden spanned at least an acre and was expertly fenced in to keep the wildlife out. An old school water pump and well were just metres from the back door. There were three fat, healthy goats and at least a hundred chickens roaming freely among the cars. The most impressive thing, though, was a small, obviously hand built, oil well, bobbing up and down in the distance. Two weeks ago, this off the grid kingdom would have been appalling to me. Today it looks like Heaven on Earth.

We followed him into his home where he did offer us water. Real water. I sucked it back faster than I’ve ever inhaled anything in my life, relishing the hydration. It wasn’t until I finished my third glass that I finally took in the surroundings. The kitchen was a sunshiny yellow colour and there were plants in every window sill and hanging from several spots on the ceiling. The curtains were floral and billowy, a bookshelf was full.

Music broke the silence and I wasn’t surprised to see that Harry Larry had an antique, wind-up Victrola. He was playing old 78s and the voices were haunting; perfectly suited for the situation of the world today.

I wandered over to the books to see what other curiosities would confront me here. There seemed to be a theme.

“Living off the Grid”.

“Survival of the Fittest”.

“Foraging for Edible Mushrooms”.

All by the same author; Prof. H. Laurentian.

“Wow, Harry. You wrote all of these?”

“Yep. Those and a bunch more. Everyone called me a crack-pot. The University turfed me. Who’s laughing now?” He smiled, but it wasn’t amusement. I could tell that even though he was probably the most prepared human on the planet, he would rather he didn’t have to be.

“Harry Larry, I have to ask,” Paul had been silent up until now. “You have all of this,” his arms are outstretched and he’s spinning around. “Why even bother coming into town; getting discovered? Aren’t you worried that the locals will take over? Steal your supply? Technically speaking, you’re the richest man in town right now. You don’t even know us.”

“Dude, if you’re gonna rob me, you’re gonna rob me. There’s nuthin’ I can do about it.”

“We aren’t going to rob you!” I exclaimed, louder than I needed to.

“Yeah, man. I know. I was in town lookin’ for gas. I got six working vehicles here and thought I’d make a run into the city, see what I can scrounge up. I saw you two playing matador with the bull out there and figured I’d do my good deed for the day and rescue your asses. Of course, it would be helpful if you each take a car into the city with me so we can bring back a bigger haul. We’ve got a town full of starving kids here,” Well, when he put it that way, it’s kind of our duty.

He fried us up some eggs in his outdoor, propane powered kitchen. It was the first real meal I’d had in days and I decided right then and there that I was ready to be Harry Larry’s apprentice. My degree in computer engineering was absolutely worthless now.

“You dudes are welcome to stay here, if you like - In exchange for helping me get this plane off the ground. We’re gonna have to forage for parts. I gotta find all my research back at the University,” he stopped talking long enough to take a long drag on the doobie he was holding. It just dawned on me that all of these houseplants… they’re cannabis. “The school owns the rights, but they never took me seriously so I’m sure it’s all buried in the archives. You boys in?”

I looked at Paul, eyebrows raised. He shrugged. “Hell yeah! Count us in, Professor!”