Normally she was a very quiet young woman. She spent her time repairing antique spinning wheels, cleaning up antique wood-fire stoves and helping install them in friends' homes, teaching people how to make looms, weave cloth, and turn that cloth to clothing. When she got older and had kids of her own, she, and her spouse, taught them to garden, to hunt, to raise and harvest their animals and preserve food, how to cut and store wood, how to repair and use the antiques, and live a quiet life. But then trouble came, their world rocked to the core. Yet in this quaint, out-of-the-way place, there were a few homes that did not seem to notice the modern world had slipped away, as they sat quietly at their spinning wheels, until people from the cities came looking, for food, for supplies, for a new life. -- Fighting Fit
[AN: There are peoples who choose to live without sufficiently advanced technology. The Amish are the best known, but I'm certain there are others]
They had lived that way for a hundred years. They might yet live that way for a hundred more. When business broke the world, they didn't even notice. Sure, there was some distant gunfire from over the horizon, but this was a nation in love with firearms. There was distant gunfire every day. Eve didn't really notice until long after it stopped.
Adam made note of it on the day. "Must be a gun-free holiday," he said, and they laughed. They got on with their stews and preserves for the evening and thought nothing more of it that night. Except... the next day was silent too. The entire week was silent. Then the week after it. That was when it occurred to them that something might be wrong in the absence.
No sirens. No gunfire. No distant choppers thudding echoes in the canyon. No poinpoint jets roaring across the sky. Neither of them had had much time for civilisation, but they did have some concerns. Something, they reasoned, had to have gone wrong. They were just about to load up the cart and harness old Hoss when the first desperate soul arrived.
She was a mother of three. Bruised, battered, and terrified. One holding her hand, one on the hip, and at least one on the way. The oldest had their hands up as they exited the car. "Don' shoot, don' shoot," they peeped. "We're unarmed."
The fact that this was a trained response in someone not even old enough for kindergarten broke their hearts. "Sweetie," cooed Eve, "we don't even have guns."
That was how the news reached them. A perfect storm of planned obsolescence, prices beyond the point of ludicrousness, and several trade blockages combined with a wildcat virus to cause the collapse of society as they knew it. Things fell apart quickly as engineered animosity arose between identities and the bullets started flying the instant someone missed out on their toilet paper ration.
The last Lula had heard, there were people killing people over non-electric can openers.
Adam and Eve wisely decided to stay where they were, taking in Lula and her kids. They had plenty put aside for tough times, and some of it needed eating up. The smaller ones weren't enthusiastic and cried for fast food. Of course they would. It was what they were used to. Eve fascinated them with her baking, and once she got them helping on small tasks, they were more accepting of the product.
Lula and her family were just the start. Eve told her neighbour, Susan, who shared the remote farming lifestyle. From there, the word got out. Disaster had occurred. Be wary.
Those who came with guns came with dreams of heroic overthrows and no idea that 'spray and pray' had no tactical edge over a person in camouflage with a long-range bow up a tree. After a few arrows in a few eyes, most of the ornery sorts went elsewhere. The few who failed to learn from the lessons inherent in heads on spikes wound up joining the scenery.
Those who were desperate for help were always welcome. Every farm out there needed more pairs of hands. They taught those willing to learn and didn't much stand freeloaders. Even a person with busted legs could spin or weave with someone else helping with the machinery. And if not - they could always knit or crochet or sew.
Those who were loud were better in the fields. Those who were quiet were better at the hunt. There was always a use for a pair of hands, or even just one.
It was not the end of the world. Indeed, the world was merely broken for a spell. While those who were left were reinventing technology from a certain level, the missing pieces were supplied by those who remembered older ways of doing things. Those who remembered preferred technology to last.
So it was, when humanity rebuilt civilisation again, the old agendas of profit by any means were cast aside.
It wasn't as if there was anyone left to fight for that philosophy anyway.
[Image (c) Can Stock Photo / baser]
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