The Red Coats advance at their slow, constant pace, keeping time with their war drums. Their steel bayonets blaze angrily in the mixture of smoke and sunlight, looking like the fangs of the many-headed Hydra. Their clean, bloodless uniforms, shiny black boots, spotless white pants, and immaculate red jackets, flap in the light breeze that has swept over the field. Their commander rides behind them on his majestic black stallion, not daring to get within musket range but instead ordering his men to crush the rebels.
The private thinks that there is no hope for victory against this machine of war before them. He was only thirteen when he enlisted into the Continental Army, not even as a soldier but as a flute player! Now here he was, days after his fifteenth birthday, standing shoulder to shoulder with the soldiers that he had once merely entertained with his music. The Army was running short on morale and men, and even flute players had to take on more martial duties. In a moment of patriotism and bravery, the young private had volunteered to be the flag bearer, a post that no one had wanted. The previous three flag bearers had all been slain in battle and it was considered a cursed responsibility. The private had felt a swell of pride as he had marched forward that morning with the soldiers, carrying no weapon, only his nation’s flag. But here on the front lines, where Death had the same free reign upon soldiers that God gave the Devil over Job, he was terrified. Looking left and right, he sees some men already abandoning their post. Surely flight is the only sensible option for the young private!
Suddenly, through the haze of the battlefield, riding down the front of the American lines, comes the Commander-in-Chief himself! General George Washington, looking like Perseus upon his Pegasus! He shouts loudly, and his commanding, baritone voice carries easily over the din of battle. The private becomes mesmerized by the general’s words, and those who had begun to flee now stop to listen. He speaks of bravery in the face of danger, of fighting to protect your family and your way of life, of liberty and a future that shines brighter than the rising sun!
“Tyranny advances upon you, gentlemen! It roars and bares its fangs and expects you to flee before it! But you are Liberty incarnate! In your eyes I see the fire that Moses witnessed in the burning bush, the fire of Almighty God!” shouts the general. A cannonball explodes right behind him, but he does not turn his head, nor does he even halt in his speaking. “Call it blasphemy, but that man is a god,” thinks the private.
“Now fight, brethren! Let every man among us put his shoulder to the task and blench not from the fray! Come life or death, we will drive these godless agents of wickedness from our land, and all the world shall know that we Americans will not, shall not, and cannot be bound by the iron chains of tyranny!” Washington’s horse rears up as he says this, and he waves his tricorn hat in the air, eliciting shouts of praise from his haggard men. The private hears someone shout very loudly, “For America!” Wait, it was his own voice that spoke so bravely!
Washington turns his horse and draws his sword. “Prepare to charge!” he bellows, but before he can urge his horse forward, the young private breaks from his place in the line and rushes ahead, eager to be the first American to hit the British lines. He raises his standard high and roars like an embattled lion, bidding his mortal defiance to the enemy! The Stars and Stripes waves gallantly in the wind, as bravely as did the Spartan flags at Thermopylae!
“Follow that man!” Washington declares loudly as he springs into action, and then the entirety of the American line issues forth a tremendous yell as they charge into battle. The Red Coats halt their advance and raise their muskets to fire. A deafening boom echoes across the battlefield as a volley is unleashed and their front line is momentarily shrouded in smoke. Musket balls scream through the air and slam into the incoming Americans, but they do not stop or falter. The private still leads the charge, and he is now joined by General Washington himself, still shouting out encouragements.
The Red Coats are given the order to halt and present arms; their bayonets await the grisly feast to come. They are confident that they will hold the field. What foolery is this, these farmers and postmen who think they can break the lines of the greatest army to ever tread upon the earth! The King had bravely protected these colonists during the French and Indian War and had sensibly levied them with a minor increase in taxes to make up for the bleeding in the Empire’s treasury that the war had caused. But how do they repay such graciousness? With rebellion and barbarism! By taking up arms against the British Empire, they have spat upon all that is decent and civil in this world, and now they must be culled into obedience.
The private gives a mighty shout as he prepares to kill or die for his country. His standard has rallied the Americans to him, and he is flanked on either side by his brothers in arms, all desirous for the glory that awaits them on the other side of the British lines. General Washington still stays in the front with the private. He does not retreat to safety as the British general already has. He does not merely command his troops; he physically leads them into battle, like the heroes of old.
The private’s bloodstained shirt, soaked with sweat, clings to his chest; the satchel that contains his flute and an unfinished letter to his sweetheart bounces against his surging thighs; his bare feet pound against the soft dirt and grass; his hair flows unceremoniously in the wind. “Liberty or death!” the private cries, hoping that he sounds like the great man that his father was before the Red Coats murdered him two years ago, and then he crashes into the enemy’s line.
“The President had this statue commissioned last year, and it was sent out here to be with us,” said Fernando as he noted Zach’s awestruck gaze. Zach turned suddenly as he was snapped out of his trance, and the images of brave colonial soldiers fighting for their right to live freely dissipated like a breath in the cold wind.
“The President’s a big believer in American history and symbolism,” Fernando continued, “and he thinks that everyone needs to remember what greatness we came from if we are going to beat this zombie crisis. Personally, I think he’s right. This statue gives me goose-bumps every time I see it. Now, the Mayor is right this way.”
Fernando led the way down a short hallway to the left that was lined on one side by several patriotic paintings: George Washington praying at Valley Forge, the signing of the Declaration of Independence, a portrait of Thomas Jefferson. The hallway ended at a large oak door guarded by a single man. He stepped aside as Fernando approached and opened the door, allowing them passage.
The Mayor’s office was a small, square room that had a royal-blue colored carpet. Two windows were on each wall that faced outside for a total of six windows, all of which were currently open. The far wall had more shelves that were overflowing with books, the Mayor’s personal library. To their left hung a large American flag on the wall, under which was a large display case containing an old Colt M1911 pistol, a folded up American flag, a Silver Star medal, and old black and white photos of what looked like American GI’s somewhere in Europe.
On the right side of the room sat a wood desk, in front of which were two chairs. Several papers were spread out over the desk, and behind the desk sat Mayor John Calvin. He looked old, probably in his mid-sixties. His pale, wrinkled skin suggested a man that did not spend too much of his time outside. What little hair he had left was as white as sugar and he wore a large pair of reading glasses over his icy blue eyes. He wore a white dress shirt with a dark red tie, and his black suit jacket hung on a hat rack behind him, along with a black trilby hat.
When the group entered, Mayor Calvin looked up from a paper he was reading and smiled warmly. He took his glasses off and set them down on his desk, and stood up, revealing the slight paunch with which age had saddled him. He walked briskly forward towards the newcomers with his hand outstretched and shook each of their hands in turn as he said, “Welcome! Welcome to Little America! I’m so happy to see so many of you! Come, sit down with me!”
He gestured towards the two chairs in front of his desk as he returned to his own s
eat. Diane and Amber took the two seats while Abby stood in front of Zach and Al and Ross stood behind the chairs. “So,” said the Mayor as he loosened his tie, “I assume you folks are looking to stay here permanently, am I correct?”
“Yes sir,” said Zach.
“Wonderful! It’s been several weeks since our last newcomers arrived. It warms my old heart to see y’all here, and especially so to see you have a child with you. What’s your name, young lady?”
“I’m Abby,” she replied.
The Mayor’s expression suddenly changed, but only momentarily. His eyebrows flicked up as if in shock, but any trace of surprise in his face fled almost as quickly as it had come. “Nice to meet you, Abby. And how old are you?”
“Fourteen, but I turn fifteen in September.”
“Well, you’ll enjoy being here! We actually have quite a few kids around your age, so I’m sure you’ll make plenty of friends at school.”
“You have a school here?” Abby asked excitedly.
“Yes ma’am! You’ll be learning things just like in the ‘Before Times’. It was actually only recently constructed, so this will be the first time in a long time that a lot of our children have had the privilege of getting an education. You arrived at a great time, too. The school year is just about to start.”
“Awesome! Zach used to give me school lessons, but it’ll be fun to learn with other kids again,” Abby said.
“So your name is Zach? And you are her father, I presume?” Calvin said to Zach.
“Yes, I am,” Zach said.
“I thought so. She looks very much like you. Now, let’s get down to business,” said Calvin. Zach thought his voice sounded a little flustered as he hurriedly shifted his gaze down towards the floor. He opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a manila folder marked ‘Permanent Resident Forms’. He pulled out six papers and then returned the folder to the drawer he took it from, pushing it closed with his foot.
His glasses went back onto his face as he retrieved a pen from his pocket and said, “Why don’t we just go down the line and you’ll tell me your names and what occupations you held before. We’ve got a lot of job openings that need to be filled, and if you have a specific talent, we’ll put it to good use. Now, why don’t we start with you, Zach.”
“Well, as you know, my name is Zach. I was an officer with the Chicago Police Department for a couple of years, but was in the Marine Corps for nine years before that.”
“Marine Corps? What was your job there?”
“I was in the infantry.”
“Splendid!” Calvin said excitedly. “We’ve got a number of people here with military experience, but you are the only infantryman we’ve come across. You’ve got experience that we could definitely use. You will be in charge of training the Town Guard.”
Calvin began to write something down on the papers, but kept talking to Zach without looking up. “You’ll work every day except for Sunday, from 8 AM to 3 PM. We have a fairly large guard force, and we’ll rotate two groups of forty to you each day. That should give everyone multiple days of training per week.”
“Sounds great,” said Zach.
“You know, my father was a Ranger back in World War II. That display case over there has his things in it,” Calvin said as he finished writing and handed Zach his form.
“I noticed the Silver Star,” Zach said, pointing behind him with his thumb.
“Yup. Dad was a part of Operation Overlord. He was at Omaha Beach. That’s where he got his medal.”
“I can only imagine what he must have done to earn that.”
“So can I. He never talked about the war, not even to me. Alright, next.”
“My name is Al. I worked in construction back in the day, but I don’t know if I’d be able to handle that job anymore.”
“Hm, very well,” Calvin said thoughtfully. “Tell you what, I’ll make you a foreman in charge of the new houses we’re building, and we’ll see how that goes. If it’s too much for you, we’ll find you something else,” said Calvin as he scribbled on a new sheet of paper. “You can start immediately on Monday morning, just report to the place and man that I’m writing down here for you.”
Zach spoke to the Mayor again as he wrote. “Sir, if it’s alright to ask, how exactly are things so…normal here?” Ever paranoid and not wanting to get too excited too soon, Zach was still skeptical of the apparently high quality of life here.
“Well it didn’t happen overnight, and it wasn’t easy,” Mayor Calvin replied as he handed Al his form. “You see, late last year, we were visited by a whole lot of military helicopters. They said that they came from a base nearby and brought good news: the government was coming to help. The President had been tracking large settlements such as ours and had selected three to receive benefits from his ‘Helping Hand’ campaign. They immediately got to work building us this very town hall, our school, and an apartment complex, those last two being just recently completed. Ever since then, we’ve been getting regular shipments, mostly via cargo helicopters, bringing us all the materials we need to live as decently as we did in the ‘Before Times’. As I already mentioned, we’ve already been able to establish a system of monetary exchange to replace barter and trade.”
“So supplies and contractors are regularly coming here? Couldn’t they just load everyone here onto helicopters and take them out of here?” Zach asked.
“That’s what I asked them, but here’s what they told me: the government needs us here for two reasons. One is so that survivors who don’t know that it’s safe out west can have settlements to go to that will provide them with the life they deserve. The other is that the government is already in the planning stages of a military operation to take back our country. Our settlement and others will be used as rest and resupply points for soldiers as they push East, making the whole country safe to live in again.”
“Really? There’s already a plan for that?” Al said in amazement.
“Sure is,” the Mayor replied. “Apparently, our government handled the Crisis fairly well, all things considered, and bounced back quickly. Word is the capital was moved to Utah, and everything west from there is still under control. Now, where was I?”
“I’m Amber, Al’s daughter. I used to be a nurse.”
“Hmm. Well, we’re not exactly pressed for medical personnel anymore,” Calvin said, “but I suppose having one more on hand couldn’t hurt. Our hospital, well, it’s really more of a make-shift medical building, is just up the road from here. You can have the rest of today and tomorrow to settle in, but you’ll start Monday. Who’s next?”
“My name’s Diane, and I was a teacher.”
“Well, you’ve certainly arrived just in time! I don’t think you’ve forgotten how to teach, so you can just jump right in at the school when it opens up on Monday. I’ll get a hold of the principal, Mr. Burke, and he’ll get in touch with you before then to let you know your schedule and what you’ll be teaching at our school. And now you, sir. Who are you?”
“I’m Ross. I was a basketball player by profession, but I did a lot of carpentry in my free time.”
“He’s also one heck of a shot with a rifle,” Zach interjected.
“That’s always a good skill to have,” Calvin said. “Plus, you’re a pretty big guy. But we sorely need skilled woodworkers at the moment. I think I’ll split your time between the Town Guard and working with Al in construction. Just go with Zach on Monday morning to start for now.”
“Thank you, sir,” Ross said.
After Mayor Calvin finished filling out all these forms and handing them to the newcomers, he said, “You all will be living in one of our two apartment buildings. They’re on the other side of town and are actually very nice, once they got fixed up by the government contractors. Fernando will show you where to go.”
“Yes sir,” Fernando replied.
“Alright. Do you have any final questions?” the Mayor asked.
“Just one: we don’t have any money, so how
are we to get things like food or clothes?” said Zach.
“Ah, yes. This is a common problem with new arrivals, I should have brought it up myself. Each of you will receive an immediate paycheck before you get to your homes, and from here on out you will be paid every Friday.”
Calvin took out five small slips of papers and began to write names and dollar amounts down on them. “Zach, because you have Abby to support, you will be getting a little bit extra than you would without her,” he said without looking up. He finished writing on the slips and then handed them to their respective owners.
“Take these upstairs. Fernando will show you to the Secretary of the Treasury. Her name is Mary, and she’s in charge of the distribution of money in Little America. Give her these, and she’ll get you your money,” the Mayor said.
They all thanked the Mayor as they stood up to leave, and he welcomed them to town one more time. Fernando led them back into the main hall and then up the stairs. Several people sat behind desks and all of them looked busy. Fernando introduced them to the woman named Mary and told her what Mayor Calvin had said. Mary took the slips of paper from the newcomers and then walked over to a large safe behind her. She unlocked two different combination locks on the door and then swung it open. She returned with a small stack of money and then handed out the appropriate amounts to Zach and the others.
Each of them received a small amount of money, much smaller than Zach would have expected, but he assumed that the American dollar had gained much more value thanks to its scarcity in the Crisis, and that the cost of living here was much lower than it had been.
With all of their affairs settled, Fernando led them out of the Town Hall and then over towards the shopping area of Little America so that they could buy a few essentials such as soap and fresh clothes. They did this quickly, eager to see their new homes, and then followed Fernando towards their apartment building. The building’s caretaker, an elderly black man named Howard, was waiting outside.
His Name Was Zach Page 19
