by N. C. Reed
***
“Seems to me someone of us needs to be there,” Gordon said firmly. “Someone people know.”
“Someone people know has been eating regular you mean?” Leon growled. “Someone who has pulled their heads in and sat things out, so far as the rest can see? That kinda people?”
“I never advocated for sitting things out, as you call it,” Gordon's voice remained solid.
“No, that was me and Clay,” Leon acknowledged. “It was a good idea in theory, but in the long run has shown us its weakness. We can't do that over, Gordon, but it ain't no reason to be stupid now.” The Old Man leaned forward.
“We got to be smart,” he said to the people assembled before him. “We need to reach out and start making some friends, building a network of sorts. Should o' been doing it all along, but again, that's on me, and it's too late to change it. So, we gotta start from scratch, mostly, and try to make up for lost time. We ain't exactly been idle here, and we can prove it. We done also got rid of a lot of trouble, too. Some might not see it that way but others is smart enough to know it, I imagine. What we got to do is expand our influence. We need to gain territory and make it and the people in it safe. At least as safe as we can. This is a start to doing that.”
“So we become the Citizen's Committee?” Gordon asked, skeptical.
“No, hell no,” Leon would have sounded more indignant if he hadn't been short of breath. “We ain't gonna be takin' nothin' from nobody! We done already got Ronny and Robert laying out near on thirty more acres o' garden right now! We've got canned goods and smoked beef loaded and ready to travel. We're not gonna force nobody to do nothing. We're just gonna try and help 'em along, and then maybe we can build at least some kind of community back, at least here close by. Them people out there has still got to live here, too, ya know. They won't take no kinder to people stormin' in here stealing than we will. And if we're making life easier for 'em, well . . . time comes, they just might decide we're the side to be on. Ever little bit’ll he . . . help,” Leon's breath caught and he had to lay back in his chair, scrambling for his mask. Janice Hardy was ready for that and helped him get it on, watching in concern as Leon gulped in air.
“I still think it should be one of us,” Gordon wasn't convinced.
“All due respect, Mister Sanders, this ain't the time for it,” Shane Golden said quietly. “You let who's doing the helping out be a secret for a while, build a little good will, and then let people know it was you when it will help the most. It’ll be hard for anyone to raise a fuss against you when they discover that it's you that's been helping them out all along. Sure, a few will still try, they always do no matter where you are. But people all over the world remember two things; who feeds 'em, and who protects 'em. People are still people no matter where you are.”
“You're awfully confident that you can protect this area,” Gordon mused.
“Not the area, just the people in it,” Shane shook his head. “This isn't an occupation. People can live just fine on their own without supervision. We've had an idea of doing patrols every so often to let people see us, and be able to flag us down and report something that needs our attention, things like that. We're still working on it to be honest, but we’ll come up with something that will work. We've used it before in more than one place.”
“Eventually we’ll have to let the cat out that we're responsible for the food and the patrols,” Clay took up the argument. “People will need a place to run to for help if we're not in the area. We've taken a lot of vehicles that we won't use, so we can spread them out if nothing else. Maybe offer to plow garden plots for people this year, even. It's late, but not too late for at least some things. There's any number of things that can be done to attract good will. Letting them get used to it before finding out it's us will hopefully remove some of the ill feelings people may have toward us, if there are any. I'm sure there will be some, if for no other reason than we're in much better shape than most if not all the surrounding area.”
“This will also give you an opportunity to evaluate people that might be good candidates for joining you here,” Brick noted. Xavier had not made the trip to Leon's house as he and his brother were not 'there yet', as both put it. Brick would not stray down to where Xavier lived and Xavier in return would avoid Leon's.
“More people here?” Gordon didn't seem to like that idea.
“Useful people,” Clay corrected. “Not just mouths to feed, but people who can be of real use. People with skills we need or people who can and will fight. People who aren't afraid of a little hard work or a little trouble if it means staying fed and cared for. Most people want to work for what they get. Not have it handed to them. We’ll find them, and give them a chance if we can use them here.”
“What if we can't?” his father asked.
“Then we’ll help them as and when we can,” Clay shrugged. “We've got too few berths here as it is to waste any. We’ll do the best we can, Dad. It's all we can do.”
***
“Everybody has the plan down?” Clay looked at the assembled group.
It had been a difficult decision. The three vehicle convoy consisted of the unpainted six-wheel Cougar, one armored Hummer, and the military looking school bus brought by Shane's group. Kurtis had made a few jokes about 'eviction notices' as he emptied his gear from the bus that had been his home for a month. He moved up on the hill and took a room at the finished Bunkhouse. He wasn't much older than the rest of the occupants and got along well with all of them.
Shane would be leading the convoy. The idea was to prevent others from seeing anyone that they would associate with the Sanders' family, at least for now. So it would be Shane and Stacey in the Hummer with Zach on the gun, Virgil Wilcox driving the bus with Tandi riding shotgun as their medic, then Xavier, Sienna Newell and Titus Terry in the Cougar, with Newell at the wheel. A Mk 19 was mounted on the Cougar while a BMG was mounted on the Hummer.
“We got it,” Shane nodded. “It’ll work out, Boss,” he added.
“Be careful,” Clay warned. “We need to make friends but not at the cost of any of you. If you have trouble, then run for it.”
“Of course,” Xavier nodded happily, his face clearly indicating he would oppose any such running if it deprived him of . . .
“Remember what I said, X,” Clay's voice cut Xavier's thoughts away.
“You wound me, Lieutenant,” Xavier actually clutched his heart dramatically. Or tried to.
“Wrong side,” Tandi stage whispered.
“You know, he might not have realized that,” Xavier told the small medic. “Perhaps next time allow him to wallow in his ignorance?”
“What about your ignorance?” Stacey Pryor asked as they all headed for their respective vehicles.
“Please,” Xavier scoffed. “Do you really think I don't know how to find the heart?”
“All right, knock that shit off,” Shane's voice filled everyone's ear. “Com check. Rattler is green, Hummer is green.”
“Willy is green, ODB is green,” Wilcox reported. ODB stood for Olive Drab Banana, a name that had stuck to the formerly yellow school bus like glue, much to the youngsters delight as they compared it to a rap artist. (This much to the older people's chagrin, of course.) The bus was also informally known as 'Odie'.
“Grey Ghost is green, Copper is green,” Newell was next. Whether Copper was for her hair or the fact she had been an MP, it was another almost automatic call sign, and she loved it. She had expected something overtly sexual and had been pleasantly surprised that the former commandos didn't think in those terms about people they worked with. Such was not the case among her previous co-workers, sadly.
“Move out,” Shane ordered. The Hummer started forward, the bus sliding into place and finally the Cougar, Xavier throwing Clay a perfect salute from the gun tub. Clay returned it, unable to keep from laughing.
“Idiot.”
***
“Okay, Stace,” Shane was talking even as he checked
the map once more, more from habit than need. “It's down the freeway to the next exit and then over and up.”
“Got it,” Stacey nodded, knowing that Shane knew that Stacey already knew that. Shane didn't like responsibility. He tended to double and triple and quadruple check everything. His teammates cut him some slack over it, knowing why he did it.
“Head on a swivel up there, kid!” Shane called out to Zach, who replied with a double thud on the roof of the Hummer. This wasn't his first trip into the wild, either.
“Well, let’s go see who's at home, then.”
***
“It's wrong to let her be around those children, Leon.”
Leon Sanders looked at Malitha George with barely restrained anger. 'Barely' in this case meaning he had managed not to lash out.
“Why is that, Malitha?” he asked instead. “What has she done?”
“She's a deviant!” Malitha exclaimed. “She's no right to be there! Franklin already spoke to Clayton about it and Clay apparently approves of it!” she sounded scandalized.
“Malitha, is that what Clay actually said?” Leon asked, his voice deceptively mild.
“He said it wasn't his business what they did in private,” she admitted.
“And it ain't,” Leon nodded firmly. “Ain't yours, neither. I get you don't like the fact that them two are homosexuals, but that's your issue. The two ain't done nothing wrong, and both are working hard. They may not like what they're doing, but they're still doing whatever job they're given. Now has that . . . Trudy? . . . done anything to the children? Has she harmed any of them? Any way at all?”
“Leon, that is hardly the point!” she replied instead of answering. “She's simply not the kind of person we need or want around our young people!”
“Why?”
“What do you mean 'why'?” she almost stood up.
“I mean you need more of a reason than just 'we don't want her',” Leon told her flatly. “What has she done to indicate she's unfit to be around them kids. And don't bother with her being a 'deviant', neither. I been keeping an eye on this, and her and her . . . girlfriend, ain't done a damn thing to be called down on. The little fat one . . . that's Trudy, right? She's got a mouth-and-a-half on her and that ain't no lie or trash talking but otherwise she ain't done nothing outta line. Now, you want her not working at that orphanage, I need something other than you don't like her life choices.” He sat back, cursing his old age. Damned lungs. Heart. Legs. Traitorous bastards all.
“I simply cannot believe that you of all people would condone-,”
“Allowin' folks to live as they damn well please so long as it don't hurt nobody else?” Leon interrupted. “Now what about me that you know indicated that? You should know that the one thing I won't never bitch about is people not buttin' into my business. And I try to return that favor. Until and unless their . . . lifestyle, becomes a problem, and by that I mean an actual problem they're inflicting on us personally, then what they get up to out of sight of the rest of us is up to them, I reckon. Meanwhile, if she ain't somehow a threat to them kids, she stays. We need the help, and right now them women at the orphanage is more of a guaranteed threat than she is. Her or her girlfriend. So she's gonna work there while them four try and earn a spot around here. We need ever hand, Malitha. Things is hard and ain't gonna but get harder. Stop addin' to that by makin' believe that things is still normal. They ain't.”
“You know this is wrong, Leon Sanders,” Malitha stood. “Even a heathen like you knows it.”
“Heathen?” Leon couldn't stop the shock from showing on his face. “Did you seriously just call me a heathen in my own damn house?”
“I apologize,” a chastened Malitha seemed to suddenly realize what she had done. “I meant that-,”
“I don't give a shit what you meant!” Leon was on the verge of shouting. “I am by God in my own house, the house that Elizabeth, angels sing her name in heaven, and I built and raised our children in! And you think you’ll just walk in here and call me a heathen in front of my own hearth?”
“Leon, I already said-”
“Get out!” Leon was on his feet, shaking in rage. “Get outta my house this instant!”
“Mister Leon what are you-,” Janice Hardy had run to the living room when she heard Leon shouting. “Mister Leon!” her concern came through her voice. “Mister Leon your face is too red and your lips are almost blue! Now you sit down and you put your mask on. This is bad!” She turned to look at Malitha George.
“I’ll have to ask that you go,” she said stiffly. “I think you've done quite enough damage today.” Without waiting for an answer she turned her attention back to Leon, helping him settle into his chair once more after getting the oxygen mask back around his head.
“Easy, Mister Leon,” she soothed. “It's okay. Just try to breathe that oxygen in deep, okay?”
Malitha George's last view of Leon Sanders was a malevolent glare coming over the top of his oxygen mask.
It frightened her.
***
“You know, most people will hide from a convoy like this,” Stacey said as he navigated the small back road that Zach assured them would end up in Jordan town.
“Well, our ultimate goal is to reach that church house and see about them people there,” Shane shrugged a little. “Maybe they won't run, at least.”
“May not be all that friendly, either,” Stacey reminded him. “Just a little something to keep in mind, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Shane sighed. “Welcome to Post Apocalypse America, huh?”
“Movement ahead, on the right,” Zach cut their discussion short. “I can see at least two little kids and an adult or older teen. And they aren't running.”
“All units, approaching civilians,” Shane radioed. “Be watchful on the surround. We are not in friendly territory here.”
“ODB copies.”
“Ghost copies.”
“Ease us to a stop, Edge,” he ordered Stacey.
“Coming up,” the driver nodded, slowing.
In seconds the trio came into view. A ragged woman with two equally ragged children. Forgotten back here on this small secondary road. Shane slowly opened the door and stepped out, conscious that the mask he was wearing was not conducive to good relations. But showing his face was out for the moment.
“Ma'am,” he nodded respectfully, not moving from the open door.
“What you want?” the woman asked tiredly. “We ain't got nothin' worth takin', but you're welcome to look,” she shrugged.
“Ma'am, we ain't here to take anything,” Shane assured her. “Fact is we're here to help a little, assuming we can. We can provide you a bit of food, ma'am, if you want. Do you have clean water?”
“Food?” the little boy at her side asked before she could speak. The little girl, a bit smaller than him, looked so hopeful that Shane thought he would cry.
“What you want for it?” the woman asked suspiciously.
“Nothing, Ma'am,” Shane tried to assure her. “It's just . . . what we can do, that's all. We have a medic with us as well if any of you are injured. I don't know that he can help, but he will try. If you'd be willing to step over to the bus, he can come down and have a look. And that's where the food is. It's not much, mind, but it's good, at least.”
The woman looked at him, clearly torn. She wanted to believe, that was apparent. Suddenly a look of resignation fell on her.
“Sure,” she said softly. “Ain't like we can stop you doin' whatever you want, anyway.”
“We only want to help, Ma'am,” Shane promised. “I know you probably don't believe that and I honestly have no way to prove it to you other than to actually do it. Step this way, please,” he motioned toward the bus with one arm while holding the other out to her.
***
Dottie Greer had somehow managed to keep her and her children alive through the winter, but it had been both tedious and terrifying. She had thanked her deceased mother and long departed grandmother a thousand time
s for instilling the need in her to have a garden and grow her own food. To can, dry and store that food deep against hard times. She had done it out of habit more than need but . . . when there came a need, she was able to meet it if only barely. It might have been boring, but it had also been lifesaving.
But things were thin and getting worse. She had planted again this year, doing the work by hand and using all of the seeds she had left. Where she would get more she didn't know, and would have to try and dry and save seeds from what she could harvest. Assuming she got a harvest.
She had watched with her children as the smoke from a huge fire had grown worse and worse, unable to do anything other than pray. She had drawn water from her well and filled every container, ready to douse her roof with it as the fire approached in hopes it would protect her home.
But her prayers were answered it seemed when a gentle rain settled in as the fire looked to be coming her way. A soaking rain that had wet the material ahead of the fire as well as blunting the flames themselves. By that miracle of rainfall, her home and the lives of her children had been spared.
Her husband, James, had been gone when the sky lights had come. She had heard the warning on the radio and so had prepared as well as she could, but . . . she knew there was no point in trying to travel anywhere. The whole world would be panicking and all she would be doing was placing herself and her children in the middle of it. That she would not do.
So she had done the best she could, gathering everything possible in the short time she was given. When her car wouldn't start the day after she had cried softly, out of sight and sound of her children to avoid frightening them. When the car had failed to even light up, she knew that her husband, a long-distance truck driver, would not be coming home any time soon. He had been out west on a two week circuit, and she had no way of knowing where he would be. She had been unable even to call him since as soon as the news had broken all she could get over the phone was an 'all circuits are busy' message.
The winter had been hard. Harder than she had imagined. She had fully expected things to return to normal in no more than two weeks, yet a month passed with no change. She was able to heat their home due to the wood stove they used to supplement their propane. After that month she had stopped using the propane heater and would only use the stove every three or four days, cooking multiple meals and then storing them in her carport in airtight containers to keep them from spoiling. Then she had stopped even that, saving the half tank of propane against emergencies and cooking atop her wooden stove. She silently thanked her husband's penchant for hard work and the massive pile of firewood in their small barn's side shed. She burned only what she needed to, she and her children spending the coldest times wearing warmer clothing and staying under blankets as much as possible.
