by Scott Allen
“Aren’t those motors and batteries heavy?” asked Dana.
“Sure,” laughed Bertha. “My John could pick them up, but I can’t. I have slings and electric cranes in the ceiling of the garage to move them around. It was his business, and I took it over when he was taken. I don’t like the work, but the government said there was a shortage of mechanics and made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. So, that’s what I do.” She glanced at her wristband and then said, “Gotta go. See you at suppertime.” She walked back down the hall and went through a door off the kitchen.
Dana heard the garage door opener creaking and groaning as it went up, heard the crunch of the vehicle’s tires on the crushed rock driveway, and the creaking as the garage door went down. He wondered why Bertha didn’t lubricate the garage door tracks.
He was tired, but there were things he had to do. Number one was to clean his clothes. He stripped them off and threw them in the washer, and decided on another shower. The clothes had made him dirty again. Anyway, he wanted to luxuriate in the hot water. It made the insect bites itch more, but he had not had a hot shower since he was a child.
When his clothes and his body were clean and dry, he got dressed again and lay down on the guest bed. He put his pack and his rifle next to the bed, put his hand-lights and GPS unit atop a recharger pad, and slept.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The sound of the garage door creaking open woke him. He realized with a start that he was in a little house near a town far to the south of Valley, and all around him were people who would kill him if they found him. For a moment, fear drove through him. Then, he calmed himself down. He told himself that he could make it, if he were determined. What was the word Marjorie had used? “Bold.” That was the word. He walked out to the kitchen.
Bertha was not the in the breezy mood he had glimpsed for a moment earlier that day. She was clearly tired, and she had sweat and grease marks on her clothes. She sat down with a “Humpf,” on a kitchen chair, and said, “Long day. Long day. Some army major insisted that I work on a military truck with a diesel engine. It barely fit in my garage. It must be seventy-five or a hundred years old! I don’t know anything about diesel engines! I told her that, but it didn’t matter, she said there was no one else. So, I’ve got a diesel engine, in parts, all over my garage!” Her voice was filled with indignation. “I’ve also got a diesel shop manual, but it barely helps. I’ll just look for any part that doesn’t seem right and make them order it for me. Anyways, they pay on time.” She let out a big sigh. “So, everything Ok with you?”
Dana replied, “Yes, I had a good sleep, and I feel great. I wish I knew how to cook. I’d cook dinner for you. You look pretty beat.”
“I am. Here’s an idea, why don’t I just sit here and tell you how to cook? I’ll bet you could do a really good fried chicken!” She seemed to perk up at the thought. So, Dana scurried about the kitchen, getting pans and ingredients, and a whole chicken from the fridge. Cutting up the chicken sickened him at first, but he got used to it. Pretty soon, breaded and seasoned chicken pieces were sputtering in hot oil in a frying pan, and Dana was cutting green beans and throwing them into a pot. He warmed some store-bought rolls in the oven. Soon, they were sitting down to a meal. Bertha agreed that Dana’s chicken was “really good,” for a first attempt. Dana, for his part, ate most of the chicken, and gobbled most of the rolls and beans.
“You’ve really discovered your appetite, haven’t you?” Bertha said.
“Once again, I have to thank you, Ma’am. I’ve never had food like this,” said Dana. When she asked what he had been eating, he described the grey nutrition bars, and her lip curled in disgust.
“I’d better ask you what is going on around here and to the south,” said Dana, “I’ll get moving when it is dark.”
“There’s a lot to tell,” said Bertha. “Let’s watch the viewscreen. The news is about to come on. Although, you can’t always tell what’s true.” Dana was on the verge of saying that he wasn’t supposed to watch viewscreens, and then stopped himself and shook his head.
In the living room, Bertha said, “On!” to the viewscreen, and a woman sitting behind a desk was speaking.
“…have stopped their advance just north of Dallas, Denver, Salt Lake City, Elko, and Redding. The administration has made an agreement to completely evacuate California, Nevada, Utah, Colorado, the Oklahoma panhandle, and Texas. In return for this, the Mexican government has agreed to cease hostilities for 3 months before it occupies the remaining parts of those states. The Mexican government, however, claims it has no control over the American men in rebellion. To avoid any hostile contact between our army and theirs, our army has pulled back to the borders with the new Mexican territories, and unarmed civil authorities are arranging for evacuations. The Administration has no comment on these developments. In other news, there have been reports of mutinies and desertions amongst our troops, and the Joint Chiefs of Staff have issued a statement that any mutinies or desertions will be dealt with by summary execution. Also, several men have been found running south towards the Mexican army and have been executed on the spot. Now, Joanna will tell us about national weather.”
“Off,” said Bertha.
“Well, I would say that the good and bad kind of cancel each other out for you, Dana,” said Bertha. On the one hand, the fighting has stopped, and the army has pulled back. But, now, there’s a zone in between the two armies that is crawling with civil authorities trying to evacuate people. You’ve still got some barriers ahead of you. Between here and the Texas border, the army will be fairly thick.”
“I’ve done OK until now,” said Dana, “and I think I’ll manage. We have some time before dark, Bertha, and I have a question, if you wouldn’t mind?”
“Ask away!” she replied.
“What do you consider a real man to be?” asked Dana.
“Why in the world are you asking that?” said Bertha.
“Because, when I get into the new Mexican territories, I’ll have to behave like one, and I don’t know how,” replied Dana.
Bertha looked thoughtful. She did not speak for several minutes. Finally she said, “There isn’t just one thing that makes a man, or a woman, for that matter. John was a man. He worked as a mechanic, not a natural leader of men, but I admired him as much as I loved him. He had been through the school system, so God only knows how he became a man, instead of the wimps they produced. But, he knew what he stood for, what he believed in. He believed in individual freedom. He believed in treating everyone with respect, an honest day’s work for an honest day’s pay. He believed that if he made a promise, he should deliver on it. He believed in improving himself a little every day. He believed in taking care of less fortunate people when he could, and he believed in taking care of himself. He believed in taking responsibility for not only his family, but also his community, to the extent possible. He believed in the essential equality of people before the law, although everyone has different strengths and weaknesses, He believed that everyone has to take the consequences of his or her behaviors. He believed in being humble, but in speaking the truth as he saw it. Those beliefs are what got him killed.
“We wanted to have children. In those days, you had to apply for permission. When we applied, we were told no, that John wasn’t suitable to be a father because his school record showed that he made too much trouble for the teachers. He was too independent-minded. That was the first thing that got us really mad. But, we knew that if we conceived anyway, I would be forced to abort.
Then, they passed the Rules. Men couldn’t have weapons or anything like a weapon. They couldn’t vote, they couldn’t run for office, they couldn’t gather in groups of more than two, they weren’t supposed to do heavy labor, they couldn’t drive, they weren’t supposed to be in charge of anything. John had to let go the two mechanics who had been working for him, and I helped out in the shop. I had to drive him to work, anyway. But, he was angry. He told me he didn’t know what to do, but somethi
ng had to be done.
Like I said, he wasn’t a natural leader. But, he had to act on what he thought was right. He spoke to every man he came across. They were angry, too, but also frightened. They needed a leader to give them courage, focus their anger and make a plan. All the leadership positions in school were always occupied by girls – the boys weren’t allowed to learn how to lead. So, John called a meeting of the angry men he knew. Only two showed up. He said they talked about what to do, but the problem was overwhelming. They agreed to keep talking. I became very afraid for him, but I knew he had to do what he thought was right.
“But, the next day, five women from Male Control – it was new, in those days – showed up at his shop and began looking at his tools. They said they were looking for any tool that could be used as a weapon, and they found a lot of them. Big wrenches, steel extender pipes, chisels, screwdrivers longer than 3 inches, electric drills, tire punches, that sort of thing. They took them all away. John knew not to make a scene, but he did ask how they expected him to repair anything if they took his tools. The MC officers said he was making them uncomfortable, so he shut up and sat down.
“It made him mad enough that he put up sign on the marquee outside his shop. He usually advertised special prices there, but this time, he said something like, ‘Cannot repair brakes or suspensions. Male Control took my tools.’ I begged him to take that down, but he said it was the truth and people deserved to know it. I guess he thought maybe people who disagreed with things would eventually get mad enough to stand up.
“The next day, MC officers showed up with guns and put him into a truck. I wasn’t there, I heard it from the shop across the street. I never heard from him again. I asked at the MC office downtown, and they just said I should forget about him. That was the beginning of men being killed around here.
“So, what is a man? Inside his head, not terribly different from a woman. The difference is that men are usually just stronger, and faster, and have more energy. They are usually less emotional and more prone to aggressive action. Somehow they seem to compartmentalize their emotions more easily than women. Women love those things about them, or did. They didn’t like that men seemed to keep their emotions bottled up, while women cry more easily and talk about their feelings. Men seem to be less social than women, less willing to depend on friends. Women easily build networks, men not so easily. They like being self-sufficient. I really wonder if that’s how radical women took over and became so dictatorial.
But, to be an adult, man or woman, you’ve got to know what you stand for. You’ve got to speak the truth. Keep your promises. Take care of your family. You should work to make the world better for everyone as well as yourself, but John never had a chance to do that. I’ve never had a chance, myself. The state will kill you if you say or do anything they don’t like, and they don’t like men. They don’t like women who like men. So, if you want to be a man, take responsibility for making the world better. Speak the truth. Be brave. And for you, Dana, stay alive until you can make a difference.
“I suppose that’s all I’ve got to say.”
Dana was quiet for a while. “Bertha, I’m so sorry about what happened to John,” he finally replied. “But, you know, I can see why John didn’t get anywhere, even before they fitted men with hardware. Things had already gone too far. Even if I get to the new Mexican territories, I will have enough trouble just finding a way to make a living. But, I’m not happy with just surviving. After everything that was done to me, I know how bad it is for all the other men. Something has to change. I don’t want to end up like John, though.”
“I wish I knew what to tell you, Dana,” said Bertha. “I worry about what will happen in the future. The United States is so vulnerable. Any powerful country could invade us, and there’s nothing we could do about it. Canada won’t invade, like Mexico did. They went down the same road we did, a few years ahead of us. But, any other country that could get across the oceans could, and we would be unable to stop them. Maybe that’s good thing. Maybe we need another government that could only come from the outside. Like our civil war, when the South enslaved people. They weren’t going to change. It took an invasion from the North to force them to change. Maybe that’s what we need.”
“Well, the problem is so much bigger than me, I don’t see what I can do. Maybe something will come to me. Right now, I just have to plan how to get across the border,” said Dana.
Bertha said, “Yes, it’ll be dark in couple of hours. Let me wrap up some food for you. Is there anything else you need?”
Dana took a short nap. Then, he packed his pack with some sandwiches and fruit, gave Bertha a hug, picked up his rifle, and walked out into the darkness.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
He had twenty-five kilometers to the border. He might be able to make it in one night, but he doubted it. There was probably too much army between him and the shallow lake that came just before the river. He was running through corn and wheat fields, mostly slightly bent over, because the grain was not yet tall enough. But, at one point, there was nothing but fields of some plant that grew low to the ground. There was a road that crossed behind the field, and there were vehicles moving, lights on, in both directions. The moon was almost full and there were no clouds. He knew that even in his black clothes and with his face and arms covered in dark mud, he would be very visible as he moved. He didn’t see any way to get closer to the river, so he decided to get back under cover until the moon set. He could see a forest just across the road, and thought he might hide there for the coming day.
He covered himself with his tarp amongst the trees, and watched the road. Traffic was lightening as the night wore on, and by the time the moon set, there were only very occasional vehicles. He moved out. When he saw a vehicle in the distance, he dropped to the ground until it passed. Eventually he was close to the road, looked both ways, and crossed it. He failed to see a vehicle that had turned a corner down the road, and might have seen him. He heard it approaching as he entered the forest, and dived into the underbrush. The vehicle was a small personal vehicle. It stopped near him, and two soldiers got out, rail rifles at the ready.
“I know I saw something cross the road. It looked like a person or a very large dog,” said one. “Get the big light out of the trunk, will you, corporal?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” said the other.
He would surely be spotted if they shined a light at him. He thought it through for a moment and realized there was no way out. If he ran, they would know where he was and spray the woods with bullets. If he was still, they would see him and shoot. If he managed to get away, they would call in a manhunt. He stopped his mind from thinking any more. He set the selector switch to single, took off the safety, took careful aim, and shot the officer through the chest. She spun around and collapsed. The soldier at the back of the vehicle looked up suddenly, and he shot her. His aim was low, and he hit her in the side. She screamed and fell to the road, moaning. He aimed more carefully and hit her in the head. She jerked once and then was still. He saw what he assumed were her brains and blood splattered on the road, shining in the faint light.
Dana shuddered at the sight, and put his head down. He waited, breathing heavily. Neither of the soldiers moved. His brain began to re-engage. Eventually, the vehicle would be found, and they would come hunting for him. But, now he had a chance.
Dana began moving quickly through the woods. He tried to be quiet, but speed was more important than noiselessness. Dana was shocked at himself. He was stunned that he could be so ruthless, and that he could kill so quickly. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. He felt sick to his stomach. He had killed two women who were just doing their jobs, but on the other hand, they would have killed him. It took many kilometers for the sick feeling to go away.
He stopped for the day at the edge of the woods, from which he could make out in the dim early dawn a lake about 100 meters away and 150 meters wide, then what looked like the banks of a river beyond. Just in front of
the woods ran a road, with no traffic. He moved back into the woods about 30 meters and found a brushy spot for the day, and concealed himself. The horrible thing he had done kept running through his mind, especially the screams and moans of the corporal. It was mid-morning before he could get to get to sleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Dana awoke from a troubled sleep at dusk, as the light was beginning to fade. He crept on hands and knees to the edge of the woods, covered by his tarp, to look at the road. After a while, a convoy of trucks came down the road, not 7 meters away, with headlights on. They looked like the troop carriers he had seen before, and he could see troops inside, which made him wary. However, he saw no troop positions between himself and the lake, no encampments, no walls, no buildings. He was becoming very hopeful that he could be in Texas by midnight. The moon was nearly full, but had perhaps an hour or two before it set.
He would have to find something to buoy him up crossing the lake. Dana didn’t know how to swim, because such instruction was forbidden to boys. Surely there would be something near the bank – a log or a boat or a plank of wood, or something. He scanned what he could see of the edge of the lake, but didn’t see anything. Well, he would have some time to look, he thought.
Dana remained still for an hour, but kept his gun ready. He saw something moving some distance down on the other side of the road. It appeared in the moonlight to be a large animal, and it was moving very slowly, close to the ground. At last it came nearly abreast of him, and he realized it was a soldier, dragging herself down the side of the road, obviously in pain, giving small exclamations each time she moved. At that moment, he saw a small vehicle, headlights on, illuminate her. She held up her hand and waved. The vehicle stopped, and two soldiers got out and moved to the front of the vehicle, so that all three women were illuminated by the headlights. One was a tall, thin woman in a dark uniform with a dark sash across her chest, and medals that glinted in the moonlight. The other was shorter, in a khaki uniform. The soldier on the ground said, “Thank you for stopping, Ma’am. I’m Private Lori. Can you give me a ride to the nearest aid station? I’m hurt.”
