Deal

Frank spoke with the conviction of a man who had already seen the future.

"The price they're asking now is just the start. That's only because the last eggs stockpiled in downtown Tahoe are running dry. And when those are gone?"

Nobody had an answer for that.

"Give it a little time. A single egg's going to cost more than ten dollars. When that day comes, these eggs of ours will be treated like ammunition or diesel wherever we go."

I left him to drown in his endless business schemes. We still had a drone seller to find — one we'd already promised to meet.

"Alright, I hear you. Let's take care of business first."

The stall of the seller Cody had contacted ahead of time on Reddit was tucked into a quiet corner of the market. The man said he'd originally run a shop specializing in drones and RC gear, and the van parked behind his stall proved it — packed to the roof with every kind of drone and spare part imaginable.

Frank got Cody on the phone and started confirming the models and parts they needed.

Frank talked with the seller for a minute, then bought two DJI Mavic 4 Enterprise drones and twenty sets of propellers for the Matrice 400 on the spot. The seller wanted five thousand dollars — a little over the going rate — and once again, Dave peeled off the cash without a word of complaint.

Gathering up the new drones, Frank put a casual question to the seller.

"So, how's business? There still people out here looking for high-end gear like this?"

The seller gave him a wry smile.

"Business? Hardly. I'm just trying to stay alive. Still, this town's got a few folks with money left. They say they can't sleep at night without a toy like this. People like you, I suppose."

"I see. Any idea how a man would go about finding a decent used trailer around here?"

The seller shrugged, as if we'd asked the most obvious thing in the world.

"Post it on Reddit. Same way I showed up here with these drones. Someone posts what they need, and whoever's got it brings it down the next day."

He let that hang for a beat, then added,

"Checking Reddit before bed and first thing when they wake up — that's pretty much become the daily routine around here."

We nodded. Drones purchased and useful information in hand, we picked up a few loaves of what they claimed was home-baked bread and some emergency canned goods, and started getting ready to head back.

That was when Anderson came toward us, a little flushed in the face.

"I just received some good news. We've found a way to get fuel."

Every eye turned toward him.

"In this area, separate from what the federal government rations out, fuel can be purchased three times a week at designated stations during designated hours. Without presenting identification."

"Oh!"

"There's a five-gallon limit per vehicle, but still — that's hardly nothing. And as it happens, today is one of those days, so we ought to stop by the station on our way back."

Listening to him, it struck me that they had been staring at the tanker trucks and fuel haulers lined up behind us the entire time, and not once had they asked us to spare them any diesel. Instead they had gone and found the information themselves, working to secure their own fuel. They were adapting to the rules of this changed world better than I'd given them credit for.

Back at the rest stop, we each put away the new goods we'd picked up. A little later, the key people gathered in my trailer, each with a cup of coffee, and sat down in a circle.

"So," I said, opening it up.

"What does everybody think? Frank's idea — building another chicken trailer."

Frank jumped in as if he'd been waiting for the cue.

"Hell, you don't have to tell me twice! You saw what eggs are going for today — they're worth their weight in gold. We have to do this."

Mike nodded.

"It's a fine idea. That minivan Damon's driving barely hauls any cargo as it is. We'd be a lot better off moving the heavy stuff out of the van and into Tank's new dry van, and letting Damon pull the new chicken trailer."

Once the consensus was in, I turned to Cody.

"Cody, put a post up on Reddit. We're looking for a decent fourteen-foot enclosed trailer. Say we want to make the trade at the market tomorrow."

"Yes, Boss."

I watched him open his laptop, then looked over at Dave.

"Dave — how many eggs have we got stockpiled right now?"

"Uh… hang on."

Dave rummaged through a small notebook, then looked up.

"As of this morning, a little over two hundred, all told."

"Good. Then let's take half of those to market tomorrow and sell them."

Color rose in Frank's face.

"I already looked into how to get a stall, as a matter of fact. We put those eggs out next to the nuts we brought from the farm, and they'll fly off the table."

"There conditions on the stalls?"

"Yeah. A good spot by the entrance runs you a hundred dollars for a four-hour day. But those makeshift stalls in the far corner of the parking lot take walk-ups, and twenty dollars a day ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠will do it. Don't worry — we show up with eggs, and it won't matter if we're in the corner. Word'll get around fast."

Frank wagged a finger at Dave.

"Dave. When we go to market tomorrow, you bring exactly half the eggs."

"What? Why? You just said they'll sell for a fortune."

Dave stared at him, genuinely lost. Frank clicked his tongue and started explaining.

"Come on, man. They're eggs. Expensive eggs, sure, but still eggs. We dump the whole stock and we're looking at maybe a thousand dollars. A few bucks isn't the point."

He dropped his voice, as if he were delivering a lecture.

"What matters is the rumor. That those folks over there are selling fresh eggs — rare, precious, the real thing. The rumor."

Mike caught his meaning at once and chimed in with a short laugh.

"Using the fresh eggs as bait to unload that mountain of almonds and pistachios we've got stockpiled. That's the play."

"Leave it to you, Mike. You got it in one. Haha."

Hearing Frank's plan, I made the call.

"While we're at it, let's stay a few more days."

Mike ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠nodded.

"That's the right move. We still have to finish converting that dry van we brought in yesterday, and building a new chicken trailer on top of that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠is going to take a few days of work."

"Sarah's going to love this. Then let's use the chance to grow whatever we can — cash, supplies, the works. A working market in times like these? That's not nothing. Haha."

Frank's eyes gleamed with anticipation. I turned to Cody and Jake.

"That said, there's no telling when or how things might turn. You two keep a regular watch on the radio news and Reddit. If you catch even a hint of trouble, we need to be ready to leave this place at a moment's notice."

I hadn't even finished speaking when Cody, already looking at his laptop, called out.

"Boss — a listing just went up."

At that, everyone in the trailer crowded around him as if they'd rehearsed it. Cody turned the screen so we could all see.

"Says it's less than three miles from the market."

A photograph of a clean white trailer filled the display.

"It's a Cargo Mate sixteen-foot tandem-axle. Seven-thousand-pound payload, and the interior's seven feet high — plenty of room to build the chicken cages on two levels."

Dave stepped in.

"That's perfect. We hitch the chicken trailer that's on the five-ton over to Damon's van, shift some of the five-ton's cargo into that new dry van, and we'll have no trouble pulling something this size."

The moment Cody scrolled down, the listing's terms came into view.

"There's a condition attached."

Every eye went back to the screen.

Frank glanced at me, reading my face. I didn't need to think about it.

"It's worth that much. Let's do it."

The words were barely out of my mouth before Frank waved his hands and stepped in.

"No, no, hold up, Chan!"

"What?"

"Hey — even if the world's gone to hell, you don't just buy something without haggling."

He turned to Cody with a grin.

"Cody, reply right now. Tell him we're interested at thirty gallons of diesel. You gotta lowball 'em first. That's how you find out what they really want."

Cody fired off the reply, and the answer came back almost in real time. A short, blunt sentence appeared on the screen.

"Hah. Playing hardball, are we?"

Frank snorted, as if he found it amusing, and turned back to Cody.

"Alright then. Final offer. Tell him thirty-five gallons, and we'll throw in a hundred ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠pounds of top-grade organic almonds we grew ourselves."

Cody posted the follow-up. A moment later, a new reply appeared. This time the message was a little longer.

Frank looked at the confirmation on the screen and smiled, satisfied.

Thirty-five gallons of diesel and a hundred pounds of almonds.

Having risked it all, left everything behind, and crossed the Sierra Nevada to get here, I couldn't help thinking this was a different thing entirely from selling off the farm's produce. This meant something more.

And so, in the middle of the great catastrophe, our first real business was getting underway. By tomorrow, our little mobile farm would be twice the size.

It struck me then, with a clarity I hadn't expected. We were no longer just running. We weren't fleeing from one day to the next just to stay alive.

In this ruined world, we were building a small empire of our own — in our own way. Like the nomad empires that once crossed the great steppes. Only we drove trucks instead of horses, and we hauled chicken trailers instead of sheep.