(posted this on my blogger account first due to livejournal issues. Here's the last post, to complete the story. Took me ages to get livejournal to accept this...)

July, 2019

Mia wiped her brow in the early summer heat, leaving a streak of brown earth across her face from the land beneath her feet. She dusted off her skirt and put the last of the vegetables into the wicker basket and headed out of the allotments. It was midsummer and many of the little vegetable gardens were alive with produce.

She rushed up to the stop just in time to squeeze onto the tram as it reached the top of Whiteladies Road. As always, the electric trolleybus was full of students, shoppers and those like Mia who had an allotment on the Downs. She flashed her ration card across the conductor's reader and grabbed a handrail as the tram lurched onwards.

The market was busy, as ever, full of ramshackle stalls and semi-permanent shops where the cars once drove. Security walked prominently amongst the crowds of shoppers, subtle but conspicuously watching. Little boys chased in amongst the stalls, enjoying their fun whilst their holidays were on.

Mia lived in Clifton, in a house that had once been one tall Georgian home but after heavy retrofits was now occupied by four couples. she entered the kitchen/living space and put the basket of fruit and veg on the counter. She reminded herself to make sure she had enough electricity rations to use more than two rings on the hob.

She splashed some water onto her face and called into the flat's only other room.

"Alex?" she said. "You done with the computer?"

"Sure," came the reply. "You logging onto work?"

She went into the bedroom and put her arms around her husband's shoulders as he logged off his workstation and got up to let her use the computer. She gave him a long kiss welcome.

"Thanks," she said. "How'd work go?"

"Alright," he said, scratching his neck. "We're getting close to having enough people signed on to make the panels now."

"Excellent," she said, giving him another kiss. "I'll let you know when I'm done."

"That's ok love," he said. "I've got to go check out the shipment of raw materials makes it here safe. I'll see you later."

"'K." She watched him leave, his powerful body distracting her.

Alex had been American most of his life, although he now tried to hide it. His English parents had sent him to university in Bristol with the last of their savings after the third oil crash. After the fourth, they came to the UK to join him permanently.

Mia had met him at university. He studied engineering, she did biochemistry. They were both part of the students wing of the local energy conservation project. They got to talking and then to other things. When he finished university, Alex went to work for Greg's local solar company. After Greg died in the Bird Flu epidemic of 2016, Alex took over the company, trying to encourage local craftsmen to build the panels in small batches, using the bare minimum of imported materials.

She logged on to the power-saving computer - a small lcd screen and a low powered processor to use as little energy as possible. She checked her emails. A few related to her work on the ecosystem of the new Severn barrage - she was trying to cultivate a family of fish that would be farmable and help solve the silting of the reservoir. There was also one from Uncle Andy.

"What trouble are you in now?" she wondered. Andy had gotten more and more into the open source drug scene, an underground movement to reverse engineer medications and release them as creative commons licensed recipes for anyone to use. Needless to say the drug companies heavily clamped down on it, and now Andy was having to dance around their checks, again.

'sorry kiddo,' the letter read 'looks like we're under the cosh here again for a few months - nothing more than potatoes and sheep on the farm, I promise! It means your little delivery isn't going to make it, I'm afraid. Lots of Love, Andy.'

That made her sit up and take notice. Her 'little delivery' was her contraceptive pill - far cheaper by open source than what it costed from the government, even if they did try to push it on everyone to reduce the population targets. The government pill didn't suit her - gave her cramps. This was going to be a pain. She put the thought to one side and read over the days reports from the students working at the reservoir. The barrage was soon to open and they'd been trying out a number of breeds of fish in small enclosures to see which survived the best.

Rapidly absorbed in her work, she was only stirred by the blinking light that told her the power credit for the computer was running out. She saved her work and let the screen power down silently. No point in wasting any more rations - she could do the rest by hand.

Alex returned. She put a finger to her lips and led him out to the window of the living room. He frowned.

"What?"

"Alex," she said, "what do you feel about a child?"

His look was stunned. She explained the situation with the birth control.

"But you've never wanted to bring a child into the world before," he said. "You've always said this world is too dangerous to bring a new life into."

Mia looked out of the window with Alex's arm around her, thinking about the events since the first oil spike. She thought about the Iran war and the bombing of Jerusalem. About Alex's stories of the corn famine in Alberta, when the biofuel crisis kickstarted the third oil crash and the breakup of the USA. She thought about the clashes between Cascadia and the remaining states, about the billions starving across the world. She thought about her mother and Greg and nursing them during the flu crisis, and their deaths. About the flooding of Bangladesh and the electricity riots of 2013.

Then she looked around at the small but comfortable house and the husband she shared it with. She looked at the streets, empty of traffic, where kids played in the road and every house had something growing. She thought of the barrage and the power it was going to supply, as well as the food from the fish. She thought about Alex's work with fitting locally made solar panels on local roofs, and the vast number of local businesses thriving in their own little ways.

A dark shape appeared in the sky, sending a shadow down onto the streets. They watched as the supply airship drifted languidly into view, fresh from dropping off important components and materials such as those Alex needed. Its vast helium balooon meandered lazily across the sky, heading back to its home port slowly but using very little fuel. The underslung cabin caught the dimming sunlight, glowing deep red as it passed over the city and out towards the Atlantic. Mia turned away from the window.

"You know," she said. "I think we're ready."

"Really?" Alex didn't look convinced.

"Yeah," she said. "We've lived in a world without oil for 12 years, with all this doom and destruction but we've survived. Our life isn't rich compared to what my parents had, or yours. But it's rich enough. This world's not perfect, but it's ours. I think we're ready to bring a new life into it."

"Ok," Alex said. He hugged her and turned towards the kitchen table. "I traded some of our potatoes for some quinoa the airship brought in. You want that tonight?"

"Sure," Mia said, "that sounds good."

She moved away from the window, and the moment was gone.


[author's note: week 32 (or 632, if you like)

I've been planning this for a while - a look into the future without oil (does that count as the letter 'f'?). I want to end it with a cautiously hopeful note. There is a world out there without oil where people can live their lives. It won't be as material rich as ours and it may take a lot of struggle to get there. But ultimately, we will get there, because we must.

I just want to say how much I've enjoyed the experience of wwo and a big round of applause for all the guys running the site and everyone contributing. Together we created a world. That's a hell of an achievement - and I hope that it leaves our real world a little more informed and aware than it was before. I hope so.]

great posts last week fromCeeGee, lead_tag, meggido_tell and the war is in words. They've made me go out and look at what's bad in Bristol since the crisis.

I've been a bit guilty of concentrating on the positive - of which there's been a fair bit, like the new Severn Barrage, the food rationing, the new allotments and the new, more practical teaching in our schools. I've learnt more about cooking, growing and building than I ever knew before the crisis, and I feel far less stressed out since they removed some of the exams.

But there have been consequences here that haven't been so good. Like others say, whilst some people have profitied from the crisis (like Greg's solar company) and most people have survived so far, those close to the breadline before have had their worlds pulled apart.

The number of student houses still with letting signs up is incredible - usually the streets of Redland and Clifton are packed just before christmas with students but although there's a fair few still around, they are quieter - that student loan's got to spread even further, I guess. I wonder what'll happen when I'm applying to university next year - will the whole system have changed again? I'm enjoying biology the most now - coupled with the stuff I'm learning about growing plants. It's looking like a good option to study further.

There was a report in the paper saying that a lot more students were applying to their home unis than ever before - it used to be most students would move to a different city on their parents' money but apparently there's been a big shift this year. Some kids I met on holiday in France said nearly everyone studies from their home university there, so I guess we're just catching up with the rest of Europe.

Scary stuff from around the world, especially Venezuela and the prospect of war with Iran... it's all too much. Can't we just all get along? I guess not, when the oil is running out.

There are positives though. Mum was saying it's been a long time since she heard about a car crash. I had a think then. Of all the people I know who died that weren't over 50 or in the army or something, they were almost always killed by a car crash. With people driving less, so long as we keep a decent grip on healthcare and crime, could this crisis actually reduce the number of deaths?

A lot of angry programs at the moment on the tv about the lack of oil, mostly the more infamous b-list celebrities complaining that their lifestyles been cut down. Another positive then!

We're entering a new world. There are positives and there are negatives. As oil gets less, there will be hard times. But I think as long as we're prepared to adapt, there will always be positives.

Update: As Prudent RVer linked to this article, so will I. It's a great look at how we can change things but we'll have to make a few very hard turns to do it.

[author's note: week 30. Two days to go!

A short one with my last two exams coming up. Expect tomorrow's post to be very small or missing entirely.]

The return trip from Heathrow Airport with Uncle Andy was quiet and subdued but without incident. Greg put enough fuel in the boot to not need to stop and fill up, which avoided any service station unpleasantness - apparently a lot of them are getting really dodgy for crimes. We listened on the news in horror as they reported a huge uptick in murders near Cheltenham - I guess some of the things English Village were talking about. The prison rumour is picking up a lot of steam - government officials are going out of their way to deny it but rumours persist.

Uncle Andy was silent throughout, hardly responding. He looked incredibly tired and even went to sleep in the car with his coat for a pillow.

We got home safely and quickly - with so little traffic it's easy to make time.

Andy wouldn't talk to greg and mum - but as soon as we got home they almost pointedly ignored him anyway. Greg was totally at odds with Andy's 'liberal nature' and mum just didn't know what to say. They both went off to work. This continued, for about a week, with my Uncle all but silent, just eating, sleeping and reading spy novels stolen from dad's old collection.

Andy sat in the kitchen, making his way through the cake I'd baked the day before, when I came in from school. I got a piece of bread and was amazed when he started to talk. For five days he'd been like a mute.

"Still in school then?" His voice was husky and strained, nothing like it used to be.

"I just started my A-levels." I turned to him. "Uncle Andy, what happened to you out there? What's wrong? Was it the accident?"

He didn't reply for a second and then looked at me.

"No," he said, softly. He ran a finger along the cut above his eye. "I got this a couple of bruises and burns but the explosion was at the other side of the tanker, it's not too major."

"Then why?" I asked. "Why are you so quiet? You look like you've seen a ghost."

He looked at me, eyes that used to be filled with light and fun now totally serious.

"Maybe I have," he said. "Maybe I've seen the ghost of what the world used to be like."

He started to tell me about the things he'd seen in the weeks since the tanker accident, first in Yemen and then in Saudi Arabia.

"Yemen wasn't too bad," he said. "I was in the hospital and although people were upset and poor, they had always been upset and poor. This wasn't much different.

"Saudi got steadily worse." The words were all coming out in a rush now, all the things he'd seen and not been able to tell. "I saw riots everyday, looting, militia. Every few days another refinery would be hit. Anyone they caught was summarily executed, beheaded in the central square.

I didn't know what to say, just stood with the plate in one hand, listening to him.

"The news coming through from the region was worse." Now that he'd started, he didn't stop. "It was worse than what Iraq had been like before - the major powers like Iran had their hands in everything - most of the south of Iraq is part of Iran now, and the Kurds have their own war with the Turkish. Syria's keeping quiet, but everyone knows they're waiting for the chance to take the western part of Iraq."

"What about the oil, and the American troops?" I asked.

"Most of them are holed up in Baghdad," he said. "It's all they can do to keep the green zone. Keeping hold of the oil is like trying to keep water in a bucket with holes in it."

"But you were in Saudi Arabia!" I said, unable to understand the utter desolate look on his face. "I thought they were rich, and secure!"

"Mia," he said,changing his tone so as to catch my attention fully. "They were the ones that caused this crisis."

That bombshell hung in the air like the aftermath of a clap of thunder. I put the plate down.

"What?"

"The oil reserves ran out," he said with a shrug. "They've been overstating their reserve for years. There were always rumours in the company but it was never confirmed. One day, one of the fields started to dry up and they began using reserve instead, hoping to find a new source. They didn't."

"And the oil shock?" I asked. Andy spread his arms.

"They ran out of reserves," he said. "About half their production ground to a halt. The company decided not to let us go back in case we let the story out. By two weeks ago the chaos had gotten so severe it didn't matter anymore. Militia's clashed across the refineries, trying to control the export of what was left. No one had heard about the Royal family in weeks. Me and seven other guys from the company decided to get out. We paid one of the militias to take us to the Red Sea, and hitched a ride up the Suez canal into the mediterranean. There must have been three times as many people on the ferry as there should have been. Most of them were turned back as soon as we got to Greece. We had British and American passports so they let us fly back here."

He looked at me with hollow eyes.

"I had to shoot people, Mia." His eyes were moist with tears. "The militia tried to double cross us near the city border. They killed Frank and Bobby. I had to shoot them to get us away."

"My god," I said. I thought it was bad in Heathrow.

"I'm sorry," Andy said, standing up. "I shouldn't have told you all that. I just had to tell someone."

He got up and left the room, tears running down his worn face. I stared after him, utterly speechless. I'd never seen a man who'd been to hell and back before.

[author's note: week 20]