William W. Johnstone by Phoenix Rising Page A

but our future is exciting because I have absolute faith in our scientists to find a solution. Until then, all Americans will have to tighten their belts as we embark upon this great adventure together.
    Thank you, and good night.

    â€œHe can’t be serious!” Jake shouted. “He has lost his mind! He has finally lost his mind!”
    â€œYou have won me over, Jake,” Karin said in a quiet, hesitant voice. “I think he has lost his mind.”
    â€œDo you know how much jet fuel we use in just one week at Fort Rucker?” Jake asked.
    â€œI know it is a lot.”
    â€œWe use three hundred thousand gallons per week. That is, we were using that when we were operational. Now if just we were using that much, how much fuel do you think our whole country uses? Everything, and I mean everything, is going to come crashing to a halt.”
    â€œHow long do you think before that happens?” Karin asked.
    â€œThe last time you filled up, what did you pay for gasoline?” Jake asked.
    â€œI don’t know, around three twenty-five I think. Or something like that.”
    â€œYou mark my words, tomorrow gasoline will be ten dollars a gallon, and that’s only the beginning.”
    â€œI don’t mind telling you, Jake; I’m getting a little frightened, now.”
    â€œOnly idiots aren’t frightened now,” Jake said.
    Thursday, May 17
    In the weeks following the president’s announcement that he was halting all acquisition of fossil fuel, either by domestic drilling, or importation, the price of gasoline began to increase, jumping at the rate of at least two dollars per day. The cost of fuel was beginning to be a problem for Jake and he was making a good salary. He couldn’t help but wonder how others were dealing with it.
    It was ten miles from Ozark to Fort Rucker and Jake drove it every day. This was Friday morning and, as he did every Friday morning, he stopped his two-year-old Volvo at the Busy Bee Quick Stop service station to fill his tank. Though this was normally a “fast in, fast out” stop, this morning he saw several cars waiting at each fuel island. This had become routine in the last few weeks, and Jake was prepared for it. He was in no particular hurry and he sat listening to Vivaldi’s “Four Seasons” on the satellite radio as he waited.
    â€œYou son of a bitch! You pulled in front of me!” someone yelled to the driver of a car in the next line over. The shout was followed by the incessant honking of a horn that did not cease until a couple of policemen arrived.
    â€œThat asshole pulled in front of me!” the driver yelled to the police.
    â€œBoth of you,” the police ordered, “out of line.”
    Grumbling, both the aggrieved, and the aggrieving driver were ordered to leave.
    â€œFind somewhere else to get your gas,” the policeman said. “And don’t both of you go to the same station!”
    Jake watched the two cars drive away. There was a time when he might have been amused by the little drama, but he had been seeing television reports of similar incidents all over the country. People were afraid, and the more frightened they got, the more uneasy the situation was becoming.
    After a wait of about fifteen minutes, Jake pulled up to the pump and saw the price of gasoline, then gasped. It was thirty-six dollars per gallon.
    â€œWhat?” he shouted. Thinking it might be a mistake, he checked some of the other fuel pumps.
    â€œIt’s no mistake, sir,” said a sergeant on the next island over, when he saw Jake checking the prices. “I stopped here yesterday and it was thirty-four dollars a gallon. I thought that was too much, but if we aren’t going to get any new oil, this is just going to get worse. I should have bought gas yesterday.”
    â€œYou had better fill your tank, Sergeant,” Jake said. “At this rate, it could be fifty dollars a gallon or more by this