by Mike Mullin
“Alex,” he whispered, “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” I asked. “Impersonating a zombie when it’s not Halloween?”
He choked out a laugh. “No, for—” A coughing fit overwhelmed him.
“Just rest and get better, okay? I’ll go get medicine tomorrow. First thing.”
I left his bedside, thinking about the trip to the distribution center in Sterling. There were several possibilities. The distribution center might already have been completely looted. That possibility didn’t bear thinking on. The best but most unlikely case was that it was abandoned but still full of supplies. More likely, it might have collapsed under the weight of the ash and snow. If that was the case, I would need a lot of manpower to unbury the supplies we needed.
A fourth option occurred to me then—what if there were still people alive in Sterling, surviving on the gleanings from a million-plus square foot warehouse? If that was the case, I needed to bring something to trade. What would people who had been living on canned food for two and a half years want most? That was easy: fresh food.
I made my way across the room to our food storage area. We had put a bunch of old metal cabinets against the wall in the coldest corner of the longhouse. It was like a refrigerator, but it didn’t drain any electricity. I figured I would package up almost all of our stored kale and get it ready to take on my expedition tomorrow.
One of the newcomers, a guy a year or two younger than I, was standing guard at the “refrigerators.” “Hey, Deke,” I said, reaching for the cabinet.
He laid his hand flat against the cabinet door, holding it closed. “Director Evans says nobody but him’s to distribute food.”
“It’s me, Deke.”
“Director Evans says especially not you.”
Wait, what? I briefly contemplated kicking his legs out from under him. That would get his hand off the cabinet door. But it wasn’t his fault. “You know who built the room you’re standing in, right?”
“You did, sir. But Director Evans—”
“I know, I know. Where is he, anyway?”
“Out in the new greenhouse.”
I found him supervising a group of people lifting one of the rafters that would support the greenhouse’s glass roof. His idea of supervision was calling out directions. When I was running things, I made it a point to put my shoulder under the heaviest part of the beam.
“Welcome back,” he called out when he saw me, his face lit by a smile that looked genuine enough.
“We need to talk.” I pulled him aside. When we were out of earshot of the work crew, I said, “Why’s Deke got orders not to let me into the food supply?”
“We’ve got fifty-six hungry people here. Eighty-six now that you folks are back. It only seemed sensible to post a—”
“I’m not debating the need for a guard. What I want to know is why he was given specific orders not to let me into the food stores.”
“Just a misunderstanding,” Evans said smoothly. “I’ll get it straightened out. Your uncle got sicker right after you left. Someone had to step in. And the refugees look up to me—I fed a lot of them, or at least their children, in the camp in Galena.”
I didn’t buy the misunderstanding explanation. “How’d you wind up as a refugee anyway? Last time I saw you, you were in tight with Black Lake.” To be fair to Evans, I supposed he had no choice but to kiss up to the FEMA subcontractors who ran Camp Galena; they wouldn’t have allowed him to help feed the refugees otherwise.
“Not as tight as you thought, I guess. I used all my resources acquiring food for the refugees’ children. I had hoped FEMA would see that I got home. But when Black Lake pulled up stakes and abandoned the Galena camp, they left me behind. I’m just as homeless as you are.”
I was suddenly furious. “I am not homeless. This is my home.” I whirled and stalked away. I was afraid I would punch him the next time he opened his mouth.
I went to find Ben. He, Max, and Alyssa were loading up a Bikezilla with empty jugs, preparing to haul water from the farmhouse well almost a mile away. I hopped on the fourth bike seat and rode there with them. We really needed to dig a well closer to the longhouse.
As we filled and loaded the jugs, I told them about my conversations with Deke and Director Evans.
“Evans has been running things since your uncle got sick,” Alyssa said. “I figured it was okay, just a temporary thing until you got back, or I would have complained or something.”
“Sometimes,” Ben said, “a fast counterattack can accomplish more than a slower, more careful approach to the enemy”
“You can’t, like, shoot Evans,” Max said to Ben.
“You misunderstand me,” Ben said. “I’m talking about a political counterattack. Although really, war is a continuation of politics by another means, as von Clausewitz wrote.”
“That makes sense.” I thought about it all the way back to Speranta. By the time we had finished emptying all the water jugs into one of the greenhouse tanks, I knew what to do. “Thanks, Ben,” I said as I handed him the two empties I held.
“You are welcome,” Ben called as he and the others set off to make another trip to the well. I went to the long-house—I planned to spend the rest of the afternoon preparing my counterattack.
I dragged load after load of supplies in from the Bikezillas. After a couple of trips, Anna and Charlotte showed up. Charlotte had her eight-year-old sister, Wyn, in tow. Their eyes were dark and their cheeks tear-streaked. They’d lost their mother while I was gone. I hadn’t seen their father, Zik, since I’d returned. I gave each of them a hug, telling them how sorry I was but knowing how utterly futile and inadequate my words were.
“Heard you could use some help,” Anna said. She leaned in toward me and whispered, “I think they could use a distraction right now.”
“Thanks.” I was happy to have the help. I pointed out a row of plastic pots and sprouting trays I had brought in from the Bikezillas. “Fill all those with the best dirt you can find, would you?”
We worked all afternoon, filling pots and laying out seeds until nearly every counter and table in the long-house was full. Director Evans stopped by and asked me what I was doing. “Getting ready to plant the seeds we found in Rockford,” I told him. I didn’t want to give him any hint of the counterattack before it hit him.
“A fine idea,” he said. “How can I help?”
“We’ve got it, thanks.”
At twilight Max, Ben, and Alyssa came to help. The only seeds we didn’t lay out, ready to plant, were kale seeds.
When everyone filed in for dinner, they found the potting supplies. I raised my voice enough to be heard over the hubbub. “Before dinner tonight, I’d like to share part of the bounty we found in Rockford with all of you. Take a few pots or sprouting trays—however many you’d like to care for. Plant whatever seeds you wish. There are hundreds of choices laid out on the tables in front of you, almost anything you want—except kale.” A few people laughed. “I kept all the kale for myself.” More people laughed. If there was one thing I was sure of, it was that we were all thoroughly sick of kale.
“Keep your pots in the longhouse or one of the greenhouses and care for your seedlings. Whatever sprouts will form the core of your own garden, and every family will have their own plot of land in a greenhouse to raise their own vegetables.”
Director Evans started to say something, but I spoke over him. “And now, before we begin planting, could I ask Reverend Evans to say a blessing over these plants, to give thanks for the nourishment they will provide?”
“A fine idea,” Evans said and began his blessing.
We spent almost an hour planting. People chatted over the various seeds, oohing and aahing over the pictures on the seed packages, trading seeds until every pot we had was planted. Then we cleared off the tables and sat down to a meager dinner of roasted kale and tortillas made from greenhouse-grown wheat.
After dinner I rose and banged on my water glass with a spoon. Years ago I had seen someone do
that in a movie about a wedding. It worked—everyone quieted down and looked my way. I was nervous—not about confronting Evans, though, but about the next topic on my agenda.
“First,” I said, “I’d like to offer my thanks to Jim Evans for his service to Speranta in my absence. When my uncle got sick, Jim stepped in and ably kept things running. We owe our continued supply of kale to him.” There were several groans at the mention of kale—exactly the effect I was hoping for. I led the audience in a round of polite applause. Evans rose and started to speak, but I interrupted him, smiling to soften my words. “Sit down, Jim, I’m not finished yet.”
“I also want to thank the original settlers of Speranta.” I named them all, starting with Darla and ending with myself. “Without your bravery and hard work, we wouldn’t have this fine building sheltering us or the electricity that warms and lights our greenhouses. And we wouldn’t have been able to lend a helping hand to our neighbors as they lay bleeding and dying on the highway outside Warren. Thank you.”
The applause was considerably more enthusiastic that time.
“I owe thanks also to the twenty-nine brave souls who volunteered to accompany me to Rockford. Without their bravery and sacrifice, we wouldn’t have all the seeds you just planted.” I had to quit for a moment, the applause was so loud. “They also found the supplies that will enable us to build more greenhouses to feed ourselves no matter how long this winter lasts!” More applause.
“When there were only twelve of us, we could operate by consensus. Now with the influx of new people and new talents, we need a more formal organizational system. It has been my honor and privilege to guide this settlement, to lead Speranta through its founding and naming, but I couldn’t have done it alone. I owe my success—in fact, we all owe our success—to Paul Halprin and Darla Edmunds, without whose engineering and mechanical genius, we would have no electric lights, no greenhouse, and no food.”
The crowd interrupted me again for more applause. “And we owe our very survival to Ben Fredericks, whose military genius led us to this spot, and who designed the long-house and sniper platform system that will keep us safe in the years to come.” The crowd applauded again. Ben was oblivious, leaning against a wall and sketching something on a notepad that I had picked up in Rockford for him.
“But I recognize that with a new, larger population, we may need new leadership. That some of you may be uncomfortable with such a young leader, even one who has a proven track record of success. The original settlers are only a minority now, and all our new citizens should have a say in who governs them.
“Some days I wonder if America is dead. Why has there been no help for us from the East? When terrorists or hurricanes or floods threatened America, we pulled together. We helped each other. But the volcano seems to have blown us apart. If there is still a functioning government east of us, I didn’t find any evidence of it during our trip to Rockford.
“But even if America is dead, I am still enough of an American to believe in the ideals she stood for, to believe we can reconstitute America in some small way, here in this longhouse, in spirit if not in fact. I believe in the right of every citizen to have a say in who governs them, and to that end, I offer you a choice tonight—should I stay on as leader of our new community of Speranta or not? A vote ‘yes’ will continue us on the path we’ve started on. A vote ‘no’ will trigger new elections to be held two weeks from now.”
Jim Evans had risen to his feet. “We need a constitution, a primary, a campaign—you can’t just spring this on us all of a sudden.”
“I can and do demand that this be settled expeditiously. My uncle and our only doctor are gravely ill, along with dozens of your friends and family members. We will settle this question tonight, so that in the morning I can devote all of my personal resources to obtaining food and medical care for our sick.”
Jim started to interrupt, “But it’s not—”
“If I am retained as leader, it will be for a one-year term. During that time we’ll adopt a new constitution to govern our community and future elections. All citizens will have a say in this document. If you choose not to retain me, then whoever you do elect can deal with it, and good luck to him or her.”
Jim started to get up again, but one of his neighbors pulled him down, muttering, “It’s fair enough, Jim, fair enough.”
I hadn’t really been nervous up to that point. I mean, if I lost the election, they deserved whatever kind of crappy leader they chose. I wanted to win, but I didn’t need to win.
Now, though, approaching the next subject on my mental agenda, I was a wreck. My palms sweated, my heart raced, and I had to consciously slow my breathing to avoid hyperventilating.
“There’s one more thing I’d like to do while we’re all gathered here. A personal matter, if you’ll indulge me, please.
“I . . . every day I curse the volcano, curse this winter— like all of us do. But then I remember that it brought me to Darla. I’m not sure we would have met otherwise. Over these two and a half years, I’ve come to admire her immensely: her toughness, her indomitable spirit, her courage, and her brilliance with anything mechanical.” Was it possible? Darla was blushing! Or maybe it was only a trick of the light.
“I owe her my life. Several times over. We all do. Speranta would not have been possible without her inventiveness and tireless work. But more importantly, I’ve come to love her.”
I turned to face her. “Darla, I couldn’t imagine spending my life with anyone else.” I fished around in my pocket with my good hand until my fingers closed over the ring I had picked. Then I tried to kneel while simultaneously pulling the ring from my pocket. I tripped and nearly went face down, catching myself at the last second, my hook thudding into the wooden floor of the long-house. A couple of people chuckled, but they fell silent as I lifted the ring toward Darla. It was set with a nice-size emerald surrounded by tiny diamonds.
“Darla,” I said. I felt dizzy, and I paused to take a deep breath. “Will you marry me?”
Chapter 53
The silence was total. Everyone in the room had stopped breathing at the same time. Darla’s face was bright red, and a tear fell from the corner of her eye. She was crying? Oh, crap!
“Say something,” I whispered.
The silence persisted for a heartbeat longer, and then Darla finally broke it. “Yes,” she whispered. Her voice was uncharacteristically soft, but in the quiet room everyone could hear. We all started breathing again at once. There were sighs and cheers and relieved laughter. I held out the ring, and Darla slipped her finger into it. It was too big, so I moved it onto her pointer finger. It fit fine there.
I stood, and Darla launched herself into my arms, nearly bowling me over backward. We kissed, and I forgot about everything else, forgot about the election I had just called, forgot about the audience, and lost myself in the softness of her lips, the warmth of her body pressed against mine, the faint smell of bearing grease that clung to her only slightly less persistently than I did.
When the kiss ended, I was momentarily disoriented by the percussive noise. I looked around. They were applauding us. From the corner of my eye, I saw Alyssa slip out of the longhouse. Her hands were clenched over her mouth. Max left too, following her.
When the applause died down, I stood at the front of the room, holding Darla’s hand and grinning so hard that I figured my face would freeze that way, and I’d have no possible future other than as a pirate clown.
“One more thing, and then we’ll hold the vote. Reverend Evans,” I intentionally used his religious title, “would you do me and Darla the honor of marrying us, say a month from today?” I looked to Darla for confirmation of the date, and she nodded.
“It would be my honor,” Evans murmured.
“In addition, I wonder if you would be willing to establish a place of worship here in Speranta. A community—even one as small as ours—should have spiritual leadership as well as secular, wouldn’t you agree?”
“
Indeed,” Evans said.
I fixed him with a hard stare. “And in the finest American tradition, the secular and spiritual leadership should be separate.”
Evans looked away. He knew he had been beaten; I could see it in his posture. “As you say.”
Anna brought out the ballot box and paper ballots I had asked her to make earlier that day. I asked Evans and Zik to serve as election monitors. I needed to box in Evans completely, forcing him to acknowledge the legitimacy of the election, and I knew Zik would keep him honest.
Everyone able to walk filed up to the table to fill out their ballot. Then Evans and Zik donned masks and carried the box out to the greenhouse where the sick were quarantined, so they could vote without rising from their bedrolls. We counted the votes right there with everyone watching. It wasn’t even close: I won with seventy-six yes votes and ten no. For at least the next year, I had my job cut out for me. The fate of almost one hundred people rested upon my already sagging shoulders.
Chapter 54
Late that night, pressed together amidst the crush of people sleeping in the longhouse, Darla and I held a whispered conversation.
“I’m sorry I proposed right in the middle of slapping down Evans,” I said. “I just . . . I couldn’t bear the thought of waiting. I mean, who knows—” “What’ll happen tomorrow,” Darla finished for me. “I’m glad you didn’t wait.”
“Do you like the ring?” I asked. “I’ve got a bunch of others. One of them has an absolutely humon-gous diamond.”
“I love this one,” she said. “It’s perfect.”
“I liked the color. Green makes me think of spring. Of hope.”
We got up before first light to get ready for the trip to Sterling. I decided to take the exact same crew of thirty who had gone to Rockford. For one thing, none of them were sick. I’d kept them all out of the greenhouse where the sick people were isolated. I loaded about half of our supply of kale and a wide selection of seeds in case we found someone to trade with.
