235 words, ‘Planners verse 5 years post-Collapse.
The Far Northeast branch of the Family had done everything by the book, and then improvised where there was no book. They had gotten their Ark Library secure before the first murmurs of trouble, and had been all safe inside, with an equal number of non-Family experts and friends as Family, when the worst troubles hit. They had sat tight, letting in a select handful of wandering refugees only as they could safely feed and shelter, and had immediately begun classes in which everyone taught and everyone learned. Their food supplies exceeded book suggestions. Their heating plans were on par for the northern Maine winters. They were completely, totally prepared.
The problem was, they had also been, for five long years, completely, totally isolated from the rest of the world. Communications lines had not survived the collapse, which had been anticipated.
What hadn’t been anticipated, or at least not considered relevant, was the strange flailing feeling of a continent-sprawling organization in constant contact with one another suddenly finding itself cut into component pieces.
The day the Family scouts finally found the Far Northeast Ark Library, the Northers broke into every reserve stock for their party. Alcohol flowed. Chocolate was baked. Rich foods were served, and loud music boomed.
Of course, while five years was not all that long in terms of the Family’s long view, it was certainly long enough to drift away from Plan…
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