Shantytown was a generous label for the rest of the commune. Three dozen ancient camper trailers and twice as many raggedy tents huddled haphazardly around a large barn in the center of the clearing. The few outlying, rough-hewn log structures were straight out of some living history museum about the pioneer days. They even had a wind-powered mill.
“Peter, look! Are those little booths really outhouses?”
A small but loud crowd met them at the edge of a field sprouting mysterious green patches. Rachel could identify corn, but any other crop was a mystery. Dixon whispered quickly in her ear.
“Just stow the ‘tude and let me do the talking. I don’t need you inflaming the situation. I know these people.”
Dixon threw out his arms and rushed towards some skinny guy in a Hawaiian shirt leading the welcoming party.
“Neil! Lookin’ good, cuz. It’s been too long! Damn great to see you.”
His cousin shook his head and tugged on an earlobe ring. “Of all the fascist, baby-killing assholes… of course you’d survive! What the hell are you doing here? Did you really tell Heiko that I invited you? Staying away from stormtroopers like you is the whole reason we live like this!”
Dixon kept his grin plastered on. “Don’t you remember? You asked me to come by back when you first moved out here. Sorry I haven’t had a chance until now, but I just always assumed—”
“That’s freakin’ rich! That was eight years ago, before you joined the Imperial Army of the Corporate States of America. Didn’t I say I never wanted to see you again? What part wasn’t clear?”
Dixon bit his tongue, literally. He swallowed the blood and counted to ten. “I’m not here to argue politics. No matter how you feel,” he flicked his hand at the ashen skies, “that country doesn’t exist any longer. The entire old world order is gone, for all I know.”
He held Rachel close, as much to soothe his own nerves as her shivering. “Now I’m standing before you, a humbled and starving refugee, with what…what might be all that’s left of my family. I’m begging you for asylum.”
Dixon hung his head. “What do you want from me? I’ll do anything.”
No one moved or spoke for a solid minute. Neil spent the time fumbling to roll a joint. He lit it, but only took a single drag before handing the wad off to someone else in frustration.
“Damnit man, stop that shit! I can’t stand to see you cowering like a whipped puppy. Come here.”
He hugged Dixon and patted Rachel’s head. “You know I ain’t gonna turn away my own kin. Especially not my long-lost niece. We’ll find you a place.”
A slim, thirty-something woman with blue hair, dressed as much in rhinestones as her black dress, stepped close. Her soft brown eyes and whimsical smile seemed out of place with the acid dripping from her tongue.
“That’s not your decision to make, Neil. This is a council call and I can tell you right now how the vote will turn out. We already have far more mouths to feed than Gaia can provide for.”
Dixon tried to cut the sudden icy tension with humor.
“Council? Neil, since when do anarchists have a government? Organization is a slippery slope. Next thing you know, you’ll be collecting taxes!”
No one laughed. Neil narrowed his eyes. “We’ve… evolved over the last few days. We’re now home to a wide collection of truth seekers. Rand here is the closest thing we have to a leader. She’s one of the original founders.” He flicked his eyes at the blue-haired angry woman towering over him and jingling her rhinestones.
“I can’t say that anyone enjoys this arrangement, but it’s a necessary evil with all the new arrivals.”
Rand came even closer and bobbed her head. The petite woman’s spacey-gaze morphed into tempered steel. She curled her lip at the “This We’ll Defend” tattoo on Dixon’s right bicep.
“Do you think you’re the first refugees ‘come our way? We’ve taken in scores since the Collapse. We’ve also had to turn away five times as many. What makes you special, soldier-boy?”
Dixon stuck out his chest. “I’m a registered nurse with plenty of trauma experience.”
Her eyes softened for a moment, betraying a hint of respect. Rand smothered it out quickly.
“Ok, so you aren’t just a knuckle-dragging caveman, but that does us no good. Not that I put much stock in Western medicine, but we have a couple of nurses already. A doctor, too.”
“Uh, huh. Well, I can hunt, fish and trap game. I’ve been doing it all my life. Don’t even need a gun…”
Rand recoiled. “Animal flesh! Seriously? The few refugees we have who harbor such perversions can murder their own defenseless creatures. The last thing we want to do is revive that barbaric practice.”
Neil swallowed his own disgust and wagged a finger. “You know, Dixon’s worst trait is perhaps our biggest weakness. He’s not just an ex-soldier. He fought in Afghanistan. For better or worse, he’s a real-deal combat vet. I know none of our people have that,” he had to spit out the words, “particular skillset.”
He flicked his finger across the FEMA guard’s blood splatters staining Dixon’s T-shirt. “Let alone a warrior’s mentality.”
Rand threw up her jewel-encrusted hands. “So what? Does this look like a military organization? We don’t have any guns. Even if the council voted to let him create a security force, what’s a small militia band going to do against the invaders that America’s combined armed forces failed to accomplish?”
Rachel took a turn and pleaded about Dixon’s years of prepping and how everything fell apart so completely. Rand listened to the girl’s sob story, without interruption, but it had no visible effect. Not even the FEMA camp’s horrors moved her.
“Sweetie, I’ve heard all of this and worse from other refugees. I am sorry, but it doesn’t change our situation.”
She focused on Dixon. “Besides, you’re not much of a prepper anymore, are you? Look at yourself. You show up here with nothing other than the shredded clothes on your back. From what she said, all your years of paranoid planning fell apart in 24 hours. What does that say? Nothing personal, but at the end of the day, you’re just more homeless, suburban refugees. Except for killing your fellow man, or patching them up after you’ve shot them, what real skills do you offer? We may be a bunch of moneyless hippies, but everyone around here still has to pull their own weight.”
Rand eyed the silent crowd of commune elders around her. “It’s time for a vote.”
Only Neil raised his hand.
Rand nodded, refusing to look at Rachel as she broke down in tears. “It’s settled, but we aren’t heartless monsters. We’ll load a pair of rucksacks with food and some chlorine to purify water. Definitely some new clothes too, but that’s all we can do. We’ll have to send you on your way.”
Dixon sagged his shoulders. “Thank you for that. May I ask how much food?”
“Well, it’ll be beans and vegetables. No meat. So how long it lasts depends on how much you love snap peas and potatoes. I guess we can spare some unleavened bread and homemade jam as well. I figure we can part with a week’s worth, for both of you. May your Karma be kind to you. Get them sorted, Neil.”
Rand whirled away without another word, but Rachel’s emotional roller coaster peaked again. She grabbed the woman’s wrists and snarled. “Hold up. You talk a big game about pulling your own weight, but then you give us a bullshit donation? This doesn’t have to be charity. Instead of a handout, make us work in your compound.”
“We have plenty of laborers; what we need are specialists. Useful specialists, not war mongers.”
“Well, then it’s your lucky day.” Dixon just sighed as Rachel clutched his arm. “This old man is a jack-of-all-trades. What are you always telling me, Peter? That real prepping is about mastering forgotten skills and not just collecting fancy gear. Time to put your money where your preaching is.” A hint of rueful playfulness underlined her shaking voice.
Dixon picked up her desperate plea and thought fast. He tried guessing what t
he commune might be missing. As long as these folks had been living off the grid, they probably didn’t want for much.
He was still racking his brain when Neil stepped forward and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Let’s not drag this out. It’s time to go.” He whispered in Dixon’s ear. “I’ll make sure you get more than a week’s worth. I’ll hook you up with all the food you can carry, no matter what Rand says.”
Dixon snorted and slapped Neil’s arm away, but adjusted aim at the last second and swatted a mosquito instead. The little bloodsuckers always found a vein…
“Wait! I can make you insect repellant. Tons of it.”
Rand sighed and dug into her pocket. She pulled out a green can and chucked it at Dixon. “This is just pathetic. You’re only embarrassing yourself. Don’t you think we have plenty of bug spray? This is Florida, after all.”
Dixon gestured at the green acres around them. “Not for people. For your crops. Something tells me that you organic farming types don’t keep a stockpile of pesticides. You ever wonder why the early settlers in central Florida stuck to raising cattle and livestock? Do you have any idea how many different species of locusts live here? Let’s see how long this cabbage patch lasts. You might be planting on fairly high ground, but you’re still surrounded by swamps.”
The boss lady cut her eyes at Neil, who was busy licking his lips. “Rand, he’s not far off the mark. We’ve pretty much used up our stock of organic pesticides. The only stuff that works and is truly chemical-free was expensive as hell. I always had to order it online… which is a little difficult nowadays.”
Dixon’s voice held no trace of braggado. “I can make the homemade equivalent, by the wheelbarrow full, and all with natural materials. Of course, it’ll take a few days.”
Rand sniffed, but the rest of the council murmured amongst themselves. Dixon seized the opportunity.
“Look, gardening is no longer a mere hobby. You were smart to expand your crop at the first sign of trouble, but without my help, all you’re doing is feeding the bugs. You send us packing, and you’ll be joining us on the road within a few weeks.”
Rachel stepped in and glared at Rand. “Yeah, then we’ll find out if Karma is real.”
An old man in Rand’s entourage rubbed his chin. “Hang on a second. It doesn’t hurt to hear this fella out. So what’s your magic formula? I hope you don’t intend on using garlic, pepper or baking soda.”
“Uh, exactly. What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing, except that we don’t have enough of the raw materials. We’ve never grown more than a few rows of garlic or any sort of pepper. Baking soda is even harder to come by. It’s not a question of what works, but what’s sustainable. Young man, I’ve been managing this land for years. I’m not stupid. You can make homegrown pesticides with a hundred different ingredients, but all the base agents are far scarcer than the crops we’re protecting. That’s where we keep bumping our heads.”
Dixon clucked his tongue and studied the smirking faces around him. “What about soap? I can make that easily.”
“Come on, do you think we’re incompetent? Lye is plentiful and soap making is a big hobby for some of us, but you can’t use soap alone. Not if you plan to eat your harvest.”
Dixon gained the upper hand on his stomach and focused. “Right, of course. You’ll need a binding agent that dilutes the soap but not too much. All right, all right… Is that what I think it is over there? Canola?”
He pointed at a postcard-perfect yellow field at the far end of the commune. “You’re telling me you invested in a couple acres of rapeseeds but don’t bother with spices? How much vegetable oil do you folks need?”
The farmer grinned. “Rand hated the idea, but we used to sell it on the biofuel market. The government was subsidizing the price as part of some ‘green initiative’ thing. Of course, it’s not worth the effort to harvest this year.”
Dixon splayed out his palms. “Oh, maybe a few bushels worth. The oil can smother the insects as well as dilute and bond the soap. If what I rea…” The farmer narrowed his eyes. “If what I remember from my garden is true, then we should mix a cup of soap for every gallon of pure canola oil extract. Oh, and use raw soap. Nothing mixed with herbs or other scents. You have some spray bottles, right?”
The farmer nodded, lost in thought.
“So yeah, then add the mixture to warm water, call it at least ¾ of a cup of concentrate per gallon of water. Have to reapply every time it rains, but one coat should last at least a week between applications if things stay dry. Of course, you don’t want to burn the plants…”
The farmer beamed and slapped his cap against his thigh. “Come on, I’m not an amateur. Apply in the early mornings before the sun comes up and don’t forget the undersides of the leaves. Damn, I should have thought of that earlier. Rand, this could work. I’m embarrassed. I’ve just been too busy with everything else to think it through.”
Rand pursed her lip as the other farmers nodded in respect and began making new plans.
“So it’s that easy? No sweat, huh?”
Dixon clapped her on the back. “Oh, mostly sweat. Keeping oil and water mixed together is a pain, but it’ll be his sweat. Not mine.”
“You’ll never be a real farmer with that attitude.”
Dixon drew himself up as straight as he could. “You don’t need me in the garden. Whether you like it or not, you need me on the front lines protecting your farmers.”
Rand’s nostrils flared at his over-the-top confidence. Dixon hesitated and opened his mouth to backpedal. The old farmer cleared his throat and butted in.
“I don’t know, Rand. I like his attitude. Maybe it’s fair to have another vote?”
New Age hippy or not, Rand could save face as well as any professional politician. “I have far more important things to deal with than this pittle-paddle. You two can stay as long as you’re useful. Neil, get them to work. I’m holding you personally responsible for them.” She strutted off while muttering under her breath.
Dixon sprinted after her and snagged the dragon lady’s shoulder before she got too far. He never could walk away from the table when the dice were hot. “Not so fast. We’ll stay and help, but only under one condition.”
“You are one cheeky son of a bitch!” Rand’s eyes twinkled as she looked him over yet again. “Ok, I’ll humor you. What do you want?”
Dixon jerked his thumb at the faint booms and rattle of gunfire in the distance. “We’ll only stay if you prioritize getting some weapons. I don’t insist on leading the force, but you have to set up some type of basic security apparatus. Your little slice of heaven here can’t be a secret. What if the next batch of refugees doesn’t beg to stay? What if they aren’t intimidated by arrows and bluffs and decide to just settle in?”
Neil stepped between them. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but he’s got a point. You’ve always shot the idea down, but we can’t ignore this new world order like the last. It wouldn’t hurt to trade or salvage for some guns. Now that we have someone with experience, we could replace our unarmed neighborhood watch with a real guard force. You know, just as a deterrent.”
Rand ground her teeth. “We’ve been over this a million times. I didn’t invest my life savings into this place and spend ten years building it up from nothing to turn our movement into just another armed gang! If we start embracing war, abandon everything we stand for, then what was the point of all this?”
Dixon struggled for a way to reach the stubborn hippy. Rachel did a better job by giggling.
“War? Get your head out of your ass, lady. I wish war was all we had to deal with!”
Rachel tilted her head at the smoking eastern horizon, while never taking her eyes off of Rand. “Have you been out there? War has rules, but there’s no Geneva Conventions covering Armageddon.”
Open Desert
70 miles south of Baghdad, Iraq
“Hey Kat, my turn. Go get some rack time. God knows you need it.” Michaels
avoided the cramped infantry bay full of sleeping children and climbed on the deck of her Bradley. Cheery words aside, his deep yawn proved he was only partially awake. Kat forced out a smile.
“Thanks Mike, but I’m good. I’ll take your guard shift. Can’t sleep anyway. Besides, dawn’s in less than two hours. Should be, at least. Yesterday morning it was an hour late, thanks to all this damn ash.”
Michaels slithered into the gunner’s seat next to her. The Bradley’s snug turret put the crew in more intimate proximity than most married couples managed in bed. He gave the sensor monitor and its panoramic infrared view only a cursory glance. Instead, he focused on the granite-faced blonde whose knees he rubbed against.
“Come on. I haven’t seen you take more than a catnap in two days. You’ve been a zombie ever since we picked up those local children. Kat, this isn’t helping anyone.”
Kat just stared straight ahead at the green monitor tracing the perimeter. She didn’t so much as twitch.
“Look, I get it. The oldest refugee kid is the same age as your girl, but Rachel isn’t alone any more than these kids are. It’s silly to think you have to carry the load all by yourself.”
She rolled her head back and ditched her helmet. Three days’ worth of baked sweat and sand held her ponytail up better than any hair clip could.
“That’s what worries me. Between us and the armed civilians, we have fifty shooters protecting these kids.” She kicked a box of MREs at her feet. “Not to mention plenty of food, water, medical supplies, even friggin’ tanks. We’re living high on the hog, while Rachel and Dixon have nothing. Hell, I don’t even know if they’re together. Rachel’s school was a thirty minute drive away from Dixon’s work.”
Kat ground her teeth so hard Michaels swore he saw something flake off. “I was fifteen-years old when I got pregnant with her. I thought that was the end of the world. Now, at the same age, Rachel has to deal with this World War Three bullshit. Maybe all by herself. That’s if she’s even…”
The Caliphate Invasion Page 11
