“Who did it?” most of them wanted to know. “Terrorists?”
“We’ve all read enough news, down the years, to be able to form our own theories,” Cody said. “If you think it makes sense that a terrorist organization could assemble a rocket, buy or make a nuclear warhead, successfully launch it to just the exact point, hundreds of miles up in space, and detonate the payload, first time, then you’re welcome to hold that belief. Personally, I rejected that in the first few minutes. For me, we’re talking about a hostile nation-state, or some kind of accident.”
Speculation continued, but Cody forced the issue of responsibility into second place. “I’m more worried about how our government, and others, will react. It’s possible that things got a lot worse yesterday than we know about. Have you had any kind of news here?” Cody asked. “Anything at all?”
“We talked to a couple of hams,” said Cabot.
Jacob leaned over to his sister. “These people are pretty weird. They give their fish cigarettes, and now they’re talking to their pigs?”
She hid for a second under her still-wet hair, which showed only the last remnants of the green paint from her near-miss in Flannigan, then Emma rolled her eyes and said, “Not that kind of ‘smoking,’ you stone-cold idiot…”
Jacob giggled contentedly to himself; he already knew what Cabot meant and was keen to know more.
“But the range of our radio set isn’t all that impressive,” Cabot explained. “We’re obliged to rely on fourth-hand information from regular folks who are just doing their best. There wasn’t a lot to report that was substantive, just the same conditions as you’ve seen: stranded vehicles, lots of fires, no flying going on, and not much police response. Oh, and a sense that the rest of the world might have forgotten we exist.”
“Suits me,” said one of the crowd, a rangy young man with his arm around a pale woman in her twenties who was nodding in agreement.
“Well, in any case,” said Cabot, offering Cody another beer, which he politely refused, “we’ll be depending on ourselves. And that’s what we do best, ain’t it?” he asked the camp’s participants. “Most of us knew that something like this would come along. An emergency so serious that the regular order of life just couldn’t continue. Some of us reckoned it’d be warfare, with atom bombs falling everywhere, but this is almost as dangerous,” said Cabot.
“Law and order fell apart like that,” Randy explained, snapping his fingers. “It wasn’t an hour after the EMP that we were caught up in a half-assed grocery store robbery. Two cops were killed and the owner beaten up. Most places were ransacked before we could even get there.”
“And our school burned down,” said Emma. “The propane tanks exploded, and we all got hit with debris.”
“Jesus…” someone whispered. Not until the event was seen through the eyes of others would its true scale become clear to those who weren’t there.
“You don’t expect it, because we’re never forced into those situations,” said Cody. “I’d expected better from people, honestly, but what I should have expected is that everyone would behave like desperate humans.”
“You got that right,” said Cabot. “Reverting to type.”
“And if that’s the kind of bedlam that happened in Flannigan,” said Cody, “with our comparatively mild-mannered citizenry, I gotta worry about what the hell might have happened everywhere else.”
The group was comprised of the kind of people who’d already thought through the implications of losing power, both short- and long-term. “A big city without lights,” said young Max, “is gonna become some kinda jungle when the sun sets.”
Mary physically shuddered; her folks had brought her up in Brooklyn, and the near inevitability of a social and medical calamity in her old neighborhood made her fearful. “It’s going to be awful.”
“We’re not evolved,” Cabot pronounced, “to live crammed together in tall buildings. Take away just one of the supporting structures for that artificial kind of life and living itself becomes impossible. Not despite the thousands of other people, but because of them. Like he says, jungle laws apply.”
“We can only guess at the casualties,” said Cody. “With no ambulances and hospitals trying to operate in the dark…”
Cabot stood. “Well, in that case, I gotta say you made the right decision yesterday, bugging out of all that chaos and reaching us. And we’re glad that you did.” He raised his beer can. “Welcome, Russell family. You’re formally invited to stay as long as you need, and as long as you can contribute.”
“Provided those two are the same,” joked Maddy, approaching Mary to give her a welcoming hug while the group applauded warmly.
“Now, tomorrow’s still a working day,” Cabot reminded them all, “and you know I make the same speech about restraint and moderation whenever new people arrive.”
“We got it, Papa Cabot,” said the rangy young man. “No hangovers, no excuses.”
“Damn straight. We work for our living here, and everything we do affects everyone else.” From the look of the crowd, they’d heard this speech many times before but still acknowledged its basic truths. “So, enjoy our newcomers responsibly, all right?”
They agreed, and with the formalities dealt with, Maddy returned from the kitchens with a big bowl of their salad starter and announced that dinner would now be served.
“First meal here in twenty years,” Cody remarked, shaking his head. “I wish my dad could see it.”
“The important thing,” said Mary, her arms around her husband, “is that we made it here. We got out of Flannigan before the place burned down, got the kids to safety, and found this place in the back-end of beyond. And that was all,” she said, emphasizing her thanks with a kiss, “down to you.”
23
The Russell Homestead
D-Day + 2 (7:50 pm, Day Two)
After eating, their parents ran out of steam and left Emma and Jacob to meet the rest of the group. The sense of freedom was welcome and put them both in their best mood for days.
“You’ve been here for a whole year?” asked Emma, incredulous.
“Some people have been here longer,” explained Maddy. “They just find camp life works for them and that they like working for the place. It’s a one-in-a-thousand thing, but I guess we keep getting visited or contacted by one-in-a-thousand people.”
They were clustered around one edge of the fire pit, staying upwind from the smoke in a slightly cool evening breeze. “Don’t people go crazy here?” asked Jacob. “Lose their minds because they can’t contact the outside?”
“Normally,” said Maddy’s younger sister Penny, who was a year older than Emma, “we have a bit of cellphone reception and a TV signal. Papa Cabot lets us use the internet for an hour in the evenings, so we’re not exactly cut off from the world.”
“Only an hour?” breathed Jacob, stunned that they could accept such strictures.
“And once our month’s bandwidth is spent, it’s spent.” It was a system that fostered a sense of collective responsibility among the younger members of the community, just as Cabot had hoped.
“That sounds like it would suck,” said Emma, who had never faced such limitations.
“Not as much as running our generator all the time,” said Maddy. “The noise is a bummer. The limit just means we spend our internet time reading instead of playing videos.”
“But… how do you keep tabs on what’s going on?” asked Emma.
“We gradually decided we didn’t really need to,” said Penny. “I mean, how many cat videos can one person watch?”
“All of them?” said Emma, still incredulous.
“And isn’t the news basically the same, every day?” said Maddy.
Penny immediately began her impersonation of a newscaster. “In Washington, D.C., today, the president compromised his principles and betrayed the republic by handing over control to rich, influential business leaders…”
“While the supreme court decided that it
couldn’t decide…” Maddy chimed in.
“… and the US Army said it needed to send billions of dollars to some failed state, just to replace all the roads and bridges that we spent billions of dollars destroying …”
“We actually used to play a game, back when the internet was working,” said Maddy, “called ‘guess the headlines.’ We got pretty good at it.”
“So, no FOMO for you guys,” said Emma.
“Nope. Just fear of being bored yet again by the same endless crap,” said Penny. “Out there, every day is the same, and we have no control at all. Here, every day is different, and what happens depends entirely on us. You see the attraction?”
“Sure,” said Jacob. “But you must miss seeing new people all the time.”
“It makes us more thankful for the ones we have,” said Penny, glancing over at Charlie, Max, and Bryce, who couldn’t get their hands on beers yet, and so were horsing around on the far edge of the firepit. “Not that I meant anyone in particular,” she smiled.
“You’ll find that there are a couple of… well, couples,” said Maddy. “Some of us would say they’re ‘spoken for,’ while others take a more liberal approach. Just depends.”
The social web would take some navigating, Emma saw. She immediately wondered which of the three boys Penny had meant; it wouldn’t make a great start to their stay if Emma gratuitously hit on the wrong dude. Charlie was the oldest and tallest, definitely out of her league at present, but sixteen-year-old Bryce had the look of a quiet, competent woodsman that reminded Emma of Aragorn from Lord of the Rings. The floppy dark hair and brooding expression completed the look.
“My boyfriend lives in Quebec,” said Maddy. “But he’s real, I promise. He came here a few weeks ago.”
“He’s dreamy,” said Penny. “But he lacked the all-important younger brother.”
“I got that covered,” said Emma. “GeekLord is single.”
“Hey…” Jacob protested.
“Just trying to help,” said Emma. “He’s way too shy to put himself out there.”
“A lot of girls,” said Penny, “find the whole Radio Shack thing to be adorable.”
“See?” Emma said to her brother. “You’ve finally found your people! We figured it would be at Space Camp, but all we had to do was head into the woods for miles and miles.”
“Papa Cabot doesn’t like teasing,” said Fern, the youngest of the current group. Her older sister Hope was quietly making some kind of basket by the light of the fire. “He says, ‘If it’s funny for one, it should be funny for everyone.’”
“And, ‘Make all the jokes you want, but never about things that people can’t change,’” recited Penny.
“Very politically correct,” said Emma.
“You’re surprised to find that here?” said Maddy. She was up and down a lot, bringing the remaining bowls and utensils back to the kitchen and returning with small treats. “Maybe you figured we hate the idea of equality or racial integration.”
“Well, um,” Jacob began, “I did kinda notice that everyone here is white…”
“And why is that, huh?” Maddy said. “Because we put a sign at the end of the road saying, ‘Whites Only’? Or maybe because people hear ‘backwoods’ and ‘preppers,’ and their minds only give them one possible picture: burning crosses, hollering rednecks in their pickup trucks, lots of cheap beer, and too many guns.”
“I gotta say,” Emma interjected, conscious that Jacob might have pushed Maddy’s buttons without meaning to, “it’s a lot more mellow here than I’d expected. Apart from, when we first showed up, I thought those four guys were ready to shoot at us.”
“Wouldn’t have been our first time,” recalled Jacob.
“But you’ve built something amazing,” Emma continued, keen to praise the little group for their achievements. In many ways, it was the opposite of the insular, close-minded community she’d initially worried that they’d find. “And everyone seems to get along pretty well.”
“Papa Cabot makes sure of that,” Penny said. “He tells stories about the people he worked with, you know, before the army and during his service. Folks from every possible background. He treated them with respect, and that’s how he brings everyone together and gets things done.”
“For example, right now,” Maddy said, taking over as Penny went to find more elderflower cordial, “if we were different people, with a different leader, we might decide it feels kinda good to just let you figure everything out on your own, and then laugh at you when you screw something up. I could let you go over there and put the moves on Max, without telling you that Penny is completely and utterly crazy about him, just to stir up some shit.”
Emma couldn’t tell if this was a “steer clear” warning or just an example of how life at the camp was better than life elsewhere, but she decided to go with it. “You could, sure.”
“But while that might entertain me, it’ll bring embarrassment for you, frustration for Penny, uncertainty for Max, and eventually, all those things will poison the air. We’ve seen it here before, and it’s honestly worth any amount of effort to avoid it.”
“People being pissy is just the worst,” Hope told them. “It makes us mad, in the actual chemistry of our bodies. And then that makes us pissy toward someone else, and they get angry and short-tempered, and so on, and so on.”
“Like I said, it’s a nice surprise to find you’re all doing PhDs in emotional intelligence,” said Emma. “Jacob and I will have to catch up.”
“It’s easy,” reiterated Hope. “Just don’t be pissy.”
“I’ll do my best,” Emma said. “Anything else I need to know?”
“Probably lots of things,” said Penny. “But I got a question for you.”
“Shoot,” said Emma, then decided instead on, “I mean, go right ahead.”
“Did you get some kinda special treatment for your hair? I mean, blond and mint is one hell of an experiment, but I think you’ve pulled it off.”
The day’s tensions gushed out as Jacob and Emma both burst out laughing.
24
The Russell Homestead D+ 3 (07:15, Day Three)
Half an hour of rain, just after midnight, left the camp feeling freshly washed, if a little damp. With their outdoor wooden furniture soaked, the group ate together in the dining hall, where general curiosity about the new arrivals meant that two timed breakfast sittings blended into one.
“Papa Cabot doesn’t know if we can get the generator working again,” explained Maddy as she arrived with a huge bowl of scrambled eggs, “so we have to use up what was in the fridge.” The result was a bumper breakfast, with Jacob thrilled to find Andouille sausage hiding under his eggs, and Emma deciding to give hers a fearless lashing of Tabasco. It was a better breakfast by far than any of them could have expected.
“Once the fridge food is gone,” asked Mary, “what happens then?”
Cabot joined them, his battered old metal coffee mug in hand. “We got all that worked out, don’t we, Maddy?”
“We got big bags of rice, endless boxes of pasta, and a few other grains. It’ll be carb-heavy,” she warned, “not a great choice for losing weight, but perfectly good for staying alive in a pinch.”
“And we’ll keep you busy enough that you’ll shed some pounds, whether you planned to or not,” Cabot advised. “Want to make a start this morning?”
The whole family was keen to get involved. Having found enough hot water for a shave, Cody arrived a little late but piled eggs on his plate with gusto. “You guys hear the rain last night?” he asked.
“Yeah, I think it woke me up,” said Emma, “but the sound was so comforting and mellow, it sent me right back to sleep again.”
“Didn’t hear anything. I feel like I slept for a million years,” said Jacob, eating quickly and hoping to be given a morning task. “And the air is different here.”
“Clean as can be,” said Cody. “That said, I guess the whole country is enjoying clearer skies at the moment.�
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Cabot stopped and set down his metal mug. “Actually, that reminds me. We got on the ham radio last night, managed to get through to a couple of people. One of them said he’d seen some kind of plane in the air.”
“Really?” said Cody excitedly. “What kind? Where?”
“He’s only about eighteen miles away, up near Binchmead. Reckoned it was a really old type, maybe a biplane.”
Cody laughed as he puzzled it out. “Most every plane that can fly these days is full of electronics. But it’s just like our truck, I guess. The people who conserve and repair old World War One planes must think their big moment has come.” Then he asked Cabot, “Any idea who was flying?”
“He said they came pretty low but didn’t try to drop leaflets or communicate. Maybe just a private plane that somehow still worked?”
Seated at the table opposite was another of the old-timers, one of four seniors among the group. He’d kept to himself since some brief introductions when the Russells had arrived, but now he felt the need to contribute. “Gotta be careful,” he said in a slightly incongruous Southern drawl, his voice as deep as the sea. “We dunno who’s in charge, or what that plane was doin’. Could be Russians, scouting our defenses.”
“In a century-old biplane?” countered Cody.
“You said it yourself. Those are the only things flying. And they must know that, too.”
It was a fair guess that everyone in the camp—perhaps everyone who knew of the incident—spent at least part of their waking lives wondering what the hell had happened three days before. Cody had already decided the right course: Wait and see.
But old Ezra Cobb had gone in his own direction. “Back when I worked for the city,” Cobb said, though the Russells couldn’t yet guess which one, “they gave us special training about Russian saboteurs. They told us, if ever things went from ‘cold’ to ‘hot,’ that there’d be Spetsnaz crawling all over the place, maybe in plain clothes.”
Protecting Our Home Page 13
