The Long Summer

by Rod Rayborne

  "Rabbit, don't do that again! Those animals bite. Especially when they're hungry."

  Rabbit looked at him and then back where the rat had been. He saw a glimmer in her eyes then. She was sad.

  ok, an animal lover, he thought. I get that. Got to watch though. Might be bigger things out there than rats.

  He grasped the rolling table and pushed it towards the grill where he could keep an eye on Rabbit. Then he looked at her firmly.

  "I want you to stay right here, do you hear me? I mean it! Do you hear me Rabbit?"

  Rabbit nodded and then held out her arms to be held.

  Hershel bent down to look in her eyes. "Ah now, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to sound like that, little bunny. Hershel's kinda rough sometimes, but I wouldn't hurt 'cha. You know that."

  Rabbit nodded again, her eyes full, lips pouting.

  "ok. I just want you to sit there and watch me cook this here meat. And I'm going to make you the bestest burger you ever did eat. I promise!"

  Rabbit looked at him steadily. Then she pulled her legs beneath her and glued her eyes on him.

  An hour later, the restaurant smelled of steak and chicken. Hershel first prepared a large burger for Rabbit with all the fixings, ketchup, pickles, and onions in a large bun. He was surprised but not unhappy when she finished the whole thing, leaving just a few tiny pieces of bun on her plate. She continued to watch him for a few more minutes before her eyelids began to grow heavy. Then she laid back on the hard metal and fell asleep, looking full and content.

  Hershel looked for something soft for her head to lay on. Finding a pile of clean towels, he took one to the table and gently lifted her head to push it underneath. Then he went back to his grilling. It was a large grill with more then enough room for most of the beef he had found in the walk-in.

  After two hours, he had managed to jerk nine pounds of the stuff, with a few chicken legs on the side. These he devoured as they seared, three chickens in all. He washed them all down with two cans of soda.

  When he had finished jerking the beef, he lifted the grill and put out the flames on the logs with a heavy duty squirt bottle sitting nearby evidently for that purpose. Then, remembering the rat, he wheeled the shorter table next to the large one Rabbit slept on. He laid down on it, his great arms and legs hanging over the sides and fell asleep.

  Chapter Thirty Nine

  R odriguez sat with his back pressed against the hard plastic auditorium chair. Around him were a group of other soldiers who, like him, had lived in the South Central part of Los Angeles before the Blow. Some had been enlisted men already but most, unlike him, were 'draftees' who'd been caught outside when a unit was on patrol and been compelled into service.

  Rodriguez didn't fail to recognize that all of the men and women in the group were of Mexican and black descent. He also noted uncomfortably that they'd been placed at the very back of the auditorium. He wanted to believe that there was a good reason for that but couldn't come up with one off the top of his head.

  Now, the auditorium was filled to capacity with more people standing in the aisles. As he absently rubbed the crucifix beneath his shirt, Rodriguez readjusted his weight in a failed attempt to find a more comfortable part of the chair. They had been sitting there for an hour already, listening to a firearms training lecture but the real fireworks was rumored to begin when Owen took the stage.

  Finally a door to the side of the stage opened and Major General Owen walked out with his entourage of a dozen men. He hopped up the short flight of stairs, walked to the podium and stood before an audience of more than a thousand uniformed men and women. Behind him, the men who had followed him from the room, all highly decorated, lined up. Most of them men Rodriguez didn't recognize.

  Outside, it was raining. He had ordered the doors to the auditorium thrown open, a cooling breeze blowing through the room, bringing sighs of relief, however brief, to those gathered there. Some had taken the risk of loosening their ties and even unbuttoning the top button on their shirts, an extravagance Owen magnanimously overlooked.

  He snapped his notes smartly on the podium and then looked up and out with the most solemn face he could muster. He stood there quietly for several seconds to give his first words the gravitas he knew they deserved. Then he cleared his throat and began.

  "For any who might be unaware, the former President was pronounced, after an extensive search and eventual discovery of Air Force One, crashed in a Nebraska corn field, dead as a result of that crash. Before we go any further, I think it appropriate to pay our respects to him now with a moment of silence."

  He stepped back from the lectern and bowed his head. Following his lead, the audience did likewise. When the minute was up, Owen approached again and clasped his hands on either side of the podium, staring out at the soldiers. Then, changing his tone, he smiled broadly.

  "As of midnight, every citizen of the New States will now be required to earn their status as a citizen by service to the state they live in. Citizenship is no longer a right one is born into but a privilege one must earn."

  A low murmur ran through the hall. Owen waited once more and then continued.

  "Most people in this country assume that citizenship at birth is a common right throughout the world. How many of you would be surprised to discover that out of the one hundred, ninety seven countries in the world, only the United States and Canada among all developed countries recognized the citizenship of children born in their country regardless of the nationality of the parents?

  "In fact in recent years, countries like the UK, Australia and France have actually repealed birthright citizenship. Among all countries, developed and undeveloped, only thirty nations recognize birthright citizenship. The remaining one hundred and sixty five countries around the world do not. The U.S. has been the exception. Now we're the rule.

  "Still, this new law only applies to births. It's not retroactive. Nevertheless, anyone of good health who fails to answer the call of their state when asked will no longer enjoy the benefits of citizenship. Moreover, because of the lack of manpower in the wake of the devastating hardships our country faces, there will be no opportunity for those individuals to redress their objections to the new laws. We simply do not have the manpower to field those individuals to outside borders, such as those leading to Canada and Mexico. Therefore, all who refuse to assist our country in its hour of need will lose their citizenship and be placed in internment camps until such time as they agree to reconsider their position on the new law, as directed by President Lowry."

  A much louder chatter ensued but this time Owen cut it short.

  "Those of us in the military are exempt from this law and will continue to be recognized as citizens in every sense of the word.

  "We of the military here in Los Angeles are now more than a thousand strong, but though that number sounds impressive in the wake of our general loss of population across the country, we have a long way to go. We estimate a loss of more than ninety percent of those who lived here in LA before the event. In some parts of the country, those numbers are much higher. Of those who have survived, less than eight percent are active members of the NSA armed forces. We must turn that around.

  "All healthy individuals between the ages of thirteen and sixty will be compelled to join our ranks and assist in the governance of our new state. Again, those who refuse to participate, regardless of age, will face the full penalty of the law.

  "Your unit commanders will brief you on what is expected from you in the short term as we prepare to implement these new directives. Long range plans are still being laid down. All necessary equipment will be provided to you. Again, talk with them. They're he to assist you in the furtherance of your individual duties.

  "One other thing. Colonel Beckman. I don't need to say much about this insidious criminal. He's been doing all that he can as a traitor to our country to foment an insurrection against our cause and in so doing, has incited weak minded individuals to take violent actions against us. As represent
ative members of the New States, it is incumbent on each and every one of us to do all that we can do to stop his cohorts and more especially to locate and capture this man before he can stir up more trouble. It is your special duty to do that with all haste. I'm depending on you.

  "Friends, now is the time to rebuild. We must not shirk this, our savage duty." He paused here and Rodriguez had the impression that Owen had lost his train of thought. As if to confirm that, he simply stated, "Let's get on with it." Then he turned towards the men standing somberly behind him and nodded. As one, Owen and his entourage filed off the stage. At this, the audience stood, stretched and left the room.

  Rodriguez stood and stretched his legs. Then he thought about Bennett again. Owen had doubled the patrol since his escape. Now instead of six teams, there were twelve, each consisting of not two men but four. All had been tasked with shooting not just any threatening civilians they might cross, but any among their own numbers who had thought to go AWOL.

  Dicey, some said, because the new directive could be seen by some as a way of settling old scores and simply claiming that his or her partner was trying to run. Alliances were formed between the soldiers to try to prevent that but when Owen heard about it, he put a stop to it saying it was undermining team unity. Safeguards were put in place to try to prevent abuse of the new system. Patrols were increased to five and if a death was determined to be unwarranted, the soldier in question would answer for the crime with his own life.

  No, Rodriguez decided, he would stay put. Go through the new training, become, along with the rest of them, even more efficient killing machines. Because that's just what this country needs right now, he thought, more dead.

  He turned then, the last in the hall and walked out.

  Chapter Forty

  I t all started with a seed. A grain, to be more precise. A grain of wheat. About ten thousand years ago. Around the end of the last ice age. I'm talking about agriculture, of course."

  Colonel Beckman looked at the dozen or so people gathered around the card table. On it, he had placed a number of now useless items, electronic gadgets and devices. A cell phone, an expensive watch, a TV remote, a GPS device, a camera, jewelry. A set of keys on a Volvo key ring. All his own.

  "These are just a few of the things that people have been living for, dying for. What I was living and dying for just a few days ago. Now just shiny piles of useless junk.

  "Wars have been fought for less. By some estimates, at least a billion people have died in wars since the first grain of wheat was discovered. Untold numbers of people have died in the battle for resources and land since that first grain was planted by the Sumerians all those years ago. Before that, we were hunters and gathers.

  Possessions didn't exist. There was nothing to kill for. That is, no thing. People simply wandered the vast open ranges of Africa and later the fertile hills and valleys of the Middle East.

  Then someone, some clever individual realized that seeds like these could be planted and later harvested, providing sustainable sources of food for his or her small band of people. No more wandering. No more hunger. A true revolution.

  The land was rich and vast. It provided more than enough sustenance for the few hundreds and later thousands of people who lived there to subsist on. It wasn't just that it could provide life's necessities right now, but it could also deliver them into the future. Food, water, shelter for ever. The land itself had value. And that's when the trouble started."

  By now several dozen men and women had gathered around Colonel Beckman's little table to listen to the big man talk.

  These were the people who had heard him speak on the radio or the hundreds more who had heard about him from those who had. He had been speaking with people on his radio long before the Blow, but few had the time then to listen. Now they had nothing but time.

  Risking life and limb by choosing to ignore the government's call for people to remain in their homes, essentially living under house arrest. Cut off from their family, their friends, with no assurance that the decree would be lifted anytime soon. If at all. So they came.

  First by the tens and twenties. Now hundreds sat on blankets on the once lush lawns of Exposition Park.

  Their numbers were growing faster than Beckman had anticipated. Freed from their old commitments to job, social media and television, they made time to hear the Colonel speak about survival, inclusion and the world as a community. Not of man, but of life.

  As a fringe benefit, they formed groups and collectives that moved around the neighborhoods gathering food, medicines and other like-minded people to join them. Thus, they were able to feed and clothe themselves and their families with less effort than the demands their former lives placed on them to achieve the same results.

  Of course, Colonel Beckman realized that, despite the seeming plenty the stores provided, given the substantial drop in consumers following the Blow, it wouldn't last forever. He was already forming plans to restart agriculture wherever they might, he hoped with the increasing help of others from the surrounding communities. For now, the only hindrance he could see in the future was Major General Owen.

  Dressed in a simple pair of slacks and white shirt, the Colonel had eschewed the uniform of his office for the apparel of the common man. Only the eagles of his former rank had stayed, attached to the frayed collar of the shirt he wore.

  He stood, just touching the edge of the table, should his prosthetic leg give way unexpectedly. It had done so in the past, dumping him unceremoniously to the ground in an undignified heap. It was an embarrassment he wanted to avoid, if possible.

  Despite that, he found himself being treated by the people with a deference he found uncomfortable. Nevertheless, he maintained the decorum of his former office with a dignity they admired. His large build, silver hair and kindness only added to his aura.

  "The problem was greed," Beckman continued. Often when people are handed enough, something in our psyche makes us want more. Maybe something in our genes remembers those lean times when we wandered and found only enough to get by but never quite enough to feel secure. A need for stability. It's the same reason why we hunted the mega fauna to near extinction. Because way down deep, we remember a time when they hunted us. Fear.

  So the land was staked out. Walls were built. Not just to keep those things we feared out, but also to keep us in. And to protect those things we had decided belonged not to all living things as had always been true before, but now only for ourselves.

  "Villages were founded. Armies formed. Weapons improved. Societies became stratified. Those who were in the right place at the right time became the important people. The decision makers. The rich. Everyone else their servants.

  "Their Golden Rule said that those who had the gold made the rules. That first village all those thousands of years ago grew to become a city, a state and then a nation. Eventually as populations increased, other nations were created. Allegiances demanded. Nationalism became a thing.

  "Inevitably as our numbers increased, resources shrank. What grew well here didn't somewhere else. Or water was more plentiful here, not there. Some wanted spices, others gold. And everyone wanted more room stretch. Land. They all wanted a piece of the pie. A taste of the good life. Even if what they wanted was located in someone else's territory. We hadn't realized yet that want and need are two different things.

  Our weapons got bigger, deadlier. Until we finally reached a point where the world was bristling with death. Einstein told us that we couldn't both prepare for and prevent war. Our greed, our fears, our primitive nature's prevailed. And so here we are. And it all started with this tiny grain."

  Beckman held the seed between thumb and forefinger.

  "Well, if there's anything I've learned over the centuries I've been alive, at least that's what it feels like..."

  There was a round of laughter at that.

  "Yeah, I'm old, but I have learned one thing well. There's no use crying over spilled milk. And so we won't. But dammit, let's
not spill it again. I propose we change direction.

  "Unfortunately, the important people, the power players, have no intentions of playing fair. Or reasonable. They see opportunity in our current disaster.

  "Now, I'm not suggesting we become hunter/gathers again, though that certainly may become our best option further down the road. It depends on what we do now.

  "But know this, those in authority have other ideas and they won't hesitate to protect their privileged positions with every weapon in their arsenal. And they have a lot of them. Direct confrontation will only lead to death. For the future of us all therefore, we must take the long view.

  "If through peaceful resistance we can win over the hearts and minds of our fellow men and women now, eventually our world may embark on a new course. One that respects not just ourselves but all life on this planet. Because in this Universe, there is no dearth of resources. There are worlds were it rains diamonds. Gold is universal. But as far as science knows, the one thing that's in short supply everywhere but here is life.

  "And before you start to thinking this old man is spouting a bunch of hippy dippy nonsense, know that those individuals loved their Volvos just as much as I did. I'm not talking politics here. Politics got us into this mess. We can't dig ourselves out of this hole with the same shovel we dug ourselves into it with."

  "We can't dig our way out of a hole at all, old man," a voice called from the back of the crowd. There was another round of laughter, Colonel Beckman laughing along with them.

  "You got that right, young man! You should be up here instead of this old fart."

  There were smiles all around.

  "The point is, we're all in this together. If we got to fight for something in this world, Life is it. Not this." He pointed to the things spread out on the table before him.