The Protectors

by King, Ryan

  Like the dogs, I thought, watching them patrol the edge of the goat herd. We'll need to patrol our perimeter. Even the Shriekers had gotten lazy and complacent, I realize. They weren't really protecting us at all.

  We can do it, I decide. Newton doesn't need any outside help. We have everything we need. Mother will help. So will Sarah and the other girls.

  Newton still gathers each night after dinner for the Remembering, but the nature of the stories is starting to change. Others talk besides just Broily and now some of the stories are remembrances of the Shriekers and the things they had done. It still surprises us sometimes that they are gone.

  "Polishing and cleaning their old motorcycles was somehow the worst," says Juliette, now without her Chit. "Most of what we had to do was to serve them or satisfy some urge, but taking care of the worthless bikes seemed like rubbing our faces in their complete control of us. I also think in some ways they missed those old days when there were able to ride on the roads."

  "They'd even make the Prospects spend time sitting on the bikes," added Tammy. "As if they could experience riding that way and become like the Shriekers."

  Victor stands suddenly and stares out over us. The room becomes respectfully silent.

  "You may have heard that I will be leaving tomorrow," he says.

  Although this wasn't news to most people, a murmur of dismay spread through the crowded room.

  "I'd like to tell you the story of the Knights of the Watch. Of simply the Watch as we call it and how it all began. Maybe it will help you."

  Nearly everyone looks at Broily at the mention of the Knights. Some surely feel guilt for doubting the old man. All are grateful for his sacrifice which made their freedom possible.

  "At the End," says Victor, "we didn't understand what was happening. Didn't know it was the end of everything. We were so accustomed to others solving our problems that we sat back and watched things get worse. The police and military and government simply melted away or took from us. We waited almost too late to act."

  Victor glances around the room and grimaces. "It may be hard to believe, but back then we didn't know all our neighbors, sometimes not even those directly around us. I was a senior in high school then, preparing to go to college on a football scholarship. My family got the early T-path vaccine, my father was a doctor you see. They died anyway. I never found out why.

  "By then there was no one to call for help. I nursed them at home as long as I could once the hospitals closed down and then buried them together in our backyard. I hid in our house, eating what food we had while listening to the sirens and watching the smoke from the fires. I tried listening to the radio, but it got too frightening. Wasn't long before the electricity shut off anyway."

  Victor shifts nervously and I realize the telling of this story is painful for him.

  "Armed men came to my door," Victor continues. "I didn't answer and they went away, but they came back. Again and again. I watched them through the windows for days on end and came to realize a curious thing. They weren't taking from anyone or harming people. I even saw them fight off a group of wild teenagers at the end of our street. Besides, I had to go out anyway by then, I was running out of food. You might not believe it, but back then I used to eat a lot."

  People in the room chuckle. Victor's appetite had taken on legendary status. I imagine that in the years to come when stories were told of him at the Remembering they would tell of how he ate whole goats at a single sitting and grazed among the kudzu vines like a cow.

  "I near got myself killed when I finally opened my front door," continues Victor. "Likely scared them to death as big as I am. They weren't expecting me and I thought they were going to shoot, but Mister Egles told them to stand down.

  "'Where you come from, son?' he asked and I told him this was my house and that my parents were dead.

  "'I've seen him around,' said another man with him. 'Good football player from what I hear.'

  "'Big as he is, damn well should be,' answered Egles. 'You okay, son?'

  "I didn't know how to answer," says Victor. "Of course I wasn't okay but the fact that someone asked me that and really cared changed everything. They took me in with them and I helped patrol our neighborhood. We linked up with other groups nearby and before long we were cooperating and trading and helping each other. Our community had a water tower nearby that we shut off before it could drain. Another might have a grocery or a drug store or a home supply store. We helped each other and survived."

  Victor shakes his head. "You have to understand that Before, the Neighborhood Watch was almost a joke. Men and women who called the police when they saw something suspicious or that they didn't like. When things turned bad at the End, the Watch fought and died and bled for those neighborhoods. They drove back the marauders. We set up barricades and took in refugees. We organized sanitation and planting and before long we weren't just a group of people hiding out and surviving. We had formed a community of people looking out for each other."

  Victor looks at Broily. "Word soon spread. Men came to join us and other communities asked us to help them. Some didn't think we should risk our lives for those we didn't know, but Mister Egles felt different. He sent us out to help other communities. Sometimes we were able to help. Sometimes those Men of the Watch never returned."

  The big man looks around at us beseechingly. "Do you understand? There is nothing special about the Watch. We're just normal people like you who decided to stand together and fight. That is the message and the gift that I bring. It is up to you to accept it. Realize that the Watch will never accept your call for aid again. It is now up to you to help others when they call on you for help."

  "But how can we help others?" asks a small voice. "We're just women and old men. Can we even help ourselves?"

  "Don't be mistaken," says Victor, "we're called Men of the Watch, but there are women amongst our number. Women can fight too, as well as men when needed. You've shown that. You are able. It is just a matter of choice."

  "But we don't even know how to fight," says one of the Old Ones.

  "You learn to fight by fighting," Victor answers. "It's as simple as that. You will defend what is yours or you will not. With any luck you won't all be raped and massacred. Maybe the next group that comes along will decide to put you and your children back in bondage. Either way, it's up to you. I sincerely wish you the very best."

  Abruptly, Victor strides out of the Meeting Room and everyone is left looking at each other in shock. The silence stretches out uncomfortably as people gaze around at each other.

  "Sounds like we have some work to do," says Mother loudly in the silence.

  Grandpa grasps her hand in his and nods. "Indeed we do."

  *******

  I got up early this morning, but Victor was already gone. I tried not to cry, but I did anyway. The big man might have been my friend or not, I was never sure, but I was glad I found him under that house. Simple and sweet Victor who was our salvation.

  His pallet is folded up neatly in front of the fire with his rainmaker resting on top. I pick up the long cylinder and tilt it first one way and then the other listening to the soothing sounds of rain. Finding the seam along one end, I carefully unscrew the cylinder cap, careful not to let any of the small smooth stones fall out. I feel inside carefully. No sword. Of course not.

  Yet he did leave me a gift, and I imagine what that act might mean. That he was my friend? That he was grateful for me taking care of him, even though he didn't need that help? That I reminded him of one of his daughters? That under different circumstances he could have been my father?

  Wiping the tears away, I pick up the rainmaker and the blankets to put them away and notice something on the bricks near the fireplace. It is a symbol drawn in burned wood ash. I recognize it and smile.

  Victor drew an eye. His message is clear to me. It is our turn to watch and protect.

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  If you wish to read more works by this author, please consider the following titles:

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  About the Author

  Ryan King is a career army officer with multiple combat tours who continues to serve in the military. He has lived, worked, and traveled throughout Europe, Africa, the Middle East, and Asia. King is married to fellow author Kristin King and they have four young and energetic boys who keep them constantly busy. Ryan King writes post-apocalyptic, dystopian, thriller, horror, and action short stories, short novels, and novels.

  http://www.amazon.com/Ryan-King/e/B0070D7BFW