by G.R. Carter
*****
The tires of Colonel Walsh’s command Humvee whirred down the brick streets leading to Illinois University’s campus. Under the shade of hundred-year-old trees he could already see families headed out of their homes and towards food distribution centers. No one seemed in a panic yet; just moms and dads trying to herd their children, getting them to walk quickly without running off. These must have been the go-getters who left the courthouse early, or maybe the civilians too chicken to heed Walsh's summons.
Pulling up to the Student Union, Walsh was pleased to see the campus courtyard filling up in front of the stage set up outside the front entrance. The beautiful park-like setting stood shaded by oaks and maples planted generations ago. Wide sidewalks criss-crossed the grassy areas where college students played and sunned themselves in happier times.
Might have to dig those concrete sidewalks out. This area would be perfect for massive gardens and could be easily secured by filling in the passages between those massive brick buildings that make up the edges of the campus quad, Walsh thought.
The provost was finishing up the final part of her speech as Walsh's driver pulled up about fifty yards away. The engine shut off and Walsh tried to get a gauge of the mood of the crowd. As he expected, several were shouting and pumping their fists in defiance, but an equal number seemed to be listening intently to the message. Those will be my first recruits. As the provost gave her final instructions, the gathered students clumped into two distinct groups. The group that seemed most interested in what the puppet administration offered headed towards the young lieutenant that Walsh put in charge of the campus food storage.
The other group seethed like a mad bull looking for something to charge. As a precaution, Walsh had positioned snipers in upper-story windows in buildings around the courtyard before the assembly started. Orders to selectively remove any ringleaders causing too much trouble turned out not to be necessary, much to his relief. The group of malcontents appeared satisfied to blow off some steam by strutting and yelling. After sensing no will for a riot, a few at the back of that crowd began urging others to consider the food and safety available from the National Guard station. The students didn’t realize that Walsh planted some of his female troops in the group, posing as students. He hoped the women would calm some of the young men and provide an example to the younger female students to take his deal. Many still marched from the assembly area towards living quarters, unconvinced to join up with the authorities. But a surprisingly large percentage of those initially unhappy reconsidered and took the safe bet.
Student protesters aren’t what they used to be. Too soft. Still, we can shape most of these to do what’s necessary, Walsh thought.
Walsh assumed many more would have a change of heart over the next couple of days, especially the female students. Campus security was nonexistent outside of the National Guard safe zone. Without any protection and with food running scarce, the area beyond his control was about to descend into chaos. Whatever alcohol and drugs were available off-campus would fuel a nightmare of rape and pillage, engulfing those with no interest in joining willingly. He truly hoped most would escape the consequences of their delay.
Walsh and the provost agreed the on-campus dorms on the east side were best for their new recruits. These buildings provided the best defense against any mob action and were closest to his base if support was needed. To ensure calm and discourage any attempts to break in from the unsecured areas, he stationed a squad of men and two of his precious heavy weapon Humvees.
Confident that his men had the campus situation in hand, his driver took him to each food distribution center to make sure security was squared away. He knew it would be, but his men needed to see leadership more than they needed direction. Even trained veterans felt lonely in remote outposts, especially with the limited radio service his techs provided thus far. Emotions would be running sky-high with the sight of American citizens desperate and starving. The sight of their commanders let them know they were a key part of future plans.
Until he could get some kind of reliable communication system working, he would have to ride the circuit like this on a daily basis. Each day a different route; even zombies could pick up patterns. Satisfied with the progress his sector commanders were making, they headed back to base.
Been a long day, and there’s a very difficult conversation to have with the major's wife.
The entire base was like a family in close quarters; she would know what happened by now. But he needed to talk to her and let her know what her husband’s sacrifice accomplished for them. There would be a memorial service, and a chance for him to mourn this first casualty of a new society. He would figure a way to honor his friend, to truly immortalize him in same way. Perhaps he would name their first division of new troops after him. Only the best of the best will do. I’ll have to think of that soon.
The base was a hub of activity as they turned up the concrete driveway. Heavily armed guards opened the gate with a salute and a wave past transport trucks loaded with supplies. Most of the food would remain here, with just enough taken out to the distribution centers to pacify the new arrivals. Refugees possessing skill sets they were looking for would be brought here for training and assignment. Eventually, there would no longer be food in the distribution centers.
Those too dumb or slow to get there in time might just keep right on walking, hopefully never to come back.
