by Darrell Bain
His other thoughts were orientated in different directions. He had gone over them again and again during his travels, changing and amending them as more survivors came together and finally setting them firmly in his mind as he sat with Wanda beside a smoky fire built from wet wood. He knew what would have to be done so long as he remained in command, but some of the group surely would not like his ideas.
George, Jr. dropped to his knees in the mud and threw up both hands just as soon as Burley burst upon the scene. Burley was scared and tired, and not in the mood for surrender in any form. He clubbed the terrified young man to the ground with the butt of his empty shotgun, then ordered the two women to provide him with food. He kept the empty gun trained on them as he ate, and began contemplating. He would take the younger woman with him just as soon as he satisfied his hunger, then look around for more displacement areas. Maybe he could find others who thought as he did, or perhaps a few of his cohorts had survived.
Just as he was finishing his meal, he noticed one of the women abruptly look up and stare into the forest. A shot sounded. The bullet skimmed past his head, causing him to duck. As he did, the young woman he had picked out to take with him stuck out a leg and tripped him. He went down, losing the empty gun he had used to threaten the group. He rolled and scurried off into the underbrush. Bullets searched near him, but miraculously he wasn't hit.
Lacking a target, the shots soon ceased, and Burley congratulated himself on once again escaping harm. He could come back; eventually someone would get careless. But night was approaching. He needed shelter.
Stumbling through the deepening twilight, Burley suddenly came upon a monstrous fallen tree. At the bole of the uprooted trunk, a natural cave had formed. Perfect, he thought. He crawled inside.
The great cat had been disturbed and agitated by the hurricane, though it's carnivorous mind was unable to grasp the concept of such abrupt changes in the weather. It only knew that it had taken it's unease into shelter and began licking itself dry while it waited out the storm. It was very hungry.
Burley was bounced to the floor of the cave by one swipe of a huge paw. He looked up in horror as needle-sharp teeth closed on his up flung arm, and screamed as fangs bit through bone and muscle as if they were wet paper. He let out a horrible curse then screamed as the cat raked knife-like claws into his belly. The cat batted his head with a forepaw, silencing his screams. Burley bubbled and cried softly as he gradually lost consciousness. The cat purred and fed contentedly, ignoring the dying moans of its prey.
* * * *
As Michael got up and began making rounds to speak with survivors of the various groups, a thought that had been trying to form finally jelled. He broke off from talking with Preacher Johnson and hurried to find Sheila. How could he have forgotten? If anything had happened to her—
He found Wanda with the teenage girls, assuring them that the fighting was over and the remaining convicts were either rendered helpless or were becoming allies.
“Wanda, have you seen Sheila?” A picture of the young woman with her bright red hair in pigtails formed in his mind. Surely not. Please, don't let her be dead, not after what she's gone through. The depth of his concern startled him. So many dead, yet Sheila was suddenly foremost in his thoughts. Why hadn't Wanda been concerned too?
The concern in Michael's voice touched Wanda's heart. “Oh, Mike, I'm so sorry! I forgot to tell you."
“Oh, God, don't tell me she's dead.” He clenched his fists as a sickness gathered in his belly.
Wanda smiled and took his hand. “No, she's fine. Come with me.” She led him off toward a group of prone bodies, the wounded, while the hammering in his chest slowed back to normal. Two of the figures raised up and moved over to another person who was moaning feebly. The hammering came back. There was no mistaking that red hair, even in the feeble light.
“Sheila!” he called.
Sheila looked up from where she was helping Peggy place a makeshift bandage on a wounded woman. “Mike!” She ran to him and threw her arms around him.
“Ouch!” Sheila's grasp included his wounded arm.
“Oh! You're hurt. I'm sorry.” Something more than concern about his wound tinged her voice.
“It's not bad. I'm glad to see you. Did—” Michael started to ask how much of the fighting she had been involved with then decided he didn't want to know.
“Sit down here,” Sheila said. “I'll fix your arm. Peggy has been showing me how."
“It can wait. I just wanted to—"
“No it can't! You sit down,” Sheila said possessively.
Wanda touched his shoulder. “Go on, Mike. Let her take care of you. I'll handle the camp for a little while."
Michael allowed himself to be convinced. His arm really was hurting and he was glad of a chance for a break. He didn't notice Wanda's parting wink at Sheila, nor the puzzled look on Sheila's face.
* * *
Chapter Thirteen
Wanda and Michael stood on the tarmac outside the entrance to the Livingston Wal-Mart. Preacher Johnson, Jason, Breedlove and Cecil McMasters flanked them. Behind Preacher stood the half dozen surviving blacks; Jason's remaining men stood in a half circle around him and the rest of the congregation were grouped behind the leaders. Off to one side, a dozen or so of Burley's followers were being guarded by a mixed contingent of representatives.
Michael made a quick count and noted that females outnumbered males by more than two to one, confirming what he had already suspected. Doris’ teenagers added to the disparity. What to do about the disproportionate ratio of men to women was one of the most contentious points of the discussions which had gone on almost constantly during the two days since their arrival at Livingston as he and the other leaders tried to decide on a form of government.
Michael was dead tired, and he carried his wounded arm in a sling. It had been a long, wet weary trek back to Livingston, a slow march with the burden of caring for the numerous wounded. Bickering and suspicion between Jason's men, the females, his own command and the few remaining blacks had compounded the trip. He had gotten them all to Livingston only by a constant reiteration that once there, he would take care of their problems. Now he had to deliver, and he just hoped that he could bring it off.
The other leaders had finally gone along with him on every matter except what to do with those of Burley's convicts being held prisoners. That problem was still in abeyance.
“This isn't all of us, you know,” Michael began, and his audience immediately perked up. That was the last thing they had expected to hear.
“We've really hardly touched all the possible areas of displacement. Out there, there must be many other people. They may be waiting where they are, or wandering around as we did looking for help or company.
“Most of you have probably heard by now that I have figured out the pattern of where the changes in our world took place. I think we are obliged to search the whole area of possible displacements and bring those others we may find into our group. At the same time, we can look for other resources besides what we already have to help build a viable society."
He looked over at Jason, then turned his glance to Wanda and on to Preacher Johnson, Breedlove and Cecil McMasters, standing with a new crutch under one arm and the other supported on Judy's shoulders. He glanced out over the crowd and saw that most of them were nodding their heads, agreeing to the proposal for a search for more survivors. His next idea might be harder to put across though.
He continued, “We've had a war. Some of us lost; some of us won. Before the war, some of you were being held as prisoners. Some of you were convicts, and some of you held these people in bondage. That has all been ended. What I want you to think about now is how to go on from here. Some of you may not like what I propose, but I think it's the only way to go."
There was a muttering within the various factions. What he had to say next might cause the fighting to start all over again, but he knew it had to be said.
“I propose an am
nesty, except for those few.” He pointed to the few seated captives, ones Jason had identified as the most culpable of Burley's gang. “I don't think there are enough people left in the world for us to afford any more fights. As of now, I want everyone to be free to start from scratch. Whatever your past, and this includes former convicts and everyone else who survived the displacement, let's start anew. Our past lives are over. We need to come together now. This is a brand new world, and we're going to need every able-bodied soul we have to make it work for us."
The convicts under guard looked up at these words, a sudden hope glinting in their eyes. Would they be turned loose? No, the man speaking had excluded them. The freed blacks and women who had been held captive muttered rebelliously while Michael was talking, but held their peace while he paused to gauge the crowd's reaction.
“It won't be easy,” he continued. “There are bound to be animosities. However, we are going to have laws, just as soon as we can formulate them. Everyone starts from scratch, as I said, but that doesn't mean anyone now has a free reign to do as they please. Anyone who misbehaves can expect retribution, and let me warn you I have here Preacher Johnson, Jason Deeson, Wanda Smith, Cecil McMasters and Deputy Breedlove to enforce what I'm telling you. If you screw up, expect us to hold you responsible, and don't look for a lawyer to get you off easy."
The last comment brought forth some chuckles and a noticeable easing of tensions, especially from the convicts. Michael had already consulted with the leaders he named. They were backing him, although Wanda and Deputy Breedlove had taken some convincing.
He had finally convinced Wanda, and through her, Breedlove, by the simple mention of the concept of gene pools. Simply put, a minimum number of humans of reproducible age were required to prevent gene drift, where the ultimate result is deterioration of the stock, unwanted recombinations of lethal or deleterious alleles, and ultimate extinction of the species.
Michael paused. So far he had carried his audience, but now came the hard part. “There's one more major consideration. I can look around me and see that we have another problem. I'll be blunt: as it stands now, we have more than twice as many females as males, not even including the underage girls. What do we do about it?” He got everyone's attention with that statement. The teenagers looked apprehensive; the older men and women showed a mixture of interest and puzzlement, wondering where he was going with this subject.
Michael went on, “There are no marriage laws now. There are no means of birth control either, after our pharmacy stocks run out. We have no ordained ministers nor anyone else to tell us what is right or wrong between the sexes under these circumstances. What we have here is a unique situation.
“I have conferred with my advisors.” He waved an arm to indicate the representatives he had picked to support him. “I have also talked with as many of you as there has been time for. I will tell you now that we will not allow anyone to be coerced into situations they are not comfortable with. On the other hand, I do not propose to allow anyone to prevent any other persons from living as they please, so long as no one else is harmed by it."
Michael could see that many of his audience still didn't quite understand what he was getting at. He would have to be blunter still. He wondered if he weren't taking too much on himself. Given the situation, though, he knew it needed to be brought out into the open, even if it ultimately caused his own deposition.
“So here it is. We are going to have to accept the fact that we will have multiple marriages, or lacking anyone to perform marriages, multiple groupings. Bigamy, if you choose to call it that, and in most cases, it will be two or more women taking up with one man. I know this will be a hard concept for some of you to grasp, but we just don't see any other solution, given the disparity in the numbers of male and females who have come together here. Let me emphasize, though, that no one is going to be forced into such arrangements against their will. Everyone will be free to live, marry or cohabit exactly as they please, and so long as I'm in charge we're going to formulate laws to back up that freedom. They will be stated plainly in the constitution we'll vote on soon.” He paused to give his words time to sink in, and then threw out a bomb.
“Sometime in the future this disparity in the sexes will no longer be a concern, but for now, it is, and will be for the next generation or two. You should be able to understand that point just by looking around and seeing how few children we have among us.” Little ten-year-old Melanie's face split in a grin at the mention of children.
Michael made his final point. “We are stranded here, in a world almost bereft of people, and there are too few of us to try living under rules which evolved from a vanished society. From this point on, we have to make up our own."
“There's still the rules of God and God's plan for us,” a woman spoke out from somewhere in the crowd. A few others nodded agreement.
Michael had little patience with anyone claiming intimate knowledge of God's secrets. “Ma'am, if it pleases you to think God doesn't approve of what I've just said, then get Him to tell me so. Or go somewhere else. Otherwise, that's how we're going to operate unless a majority of you decides not to elect me or fail to ratify our new constitution. Let me emphasize again, though, that no one is going to be forced into acting against their beliefs. Just don't try forcing what you believe on anyone else."
The woman who had spoken out sniffed and looked around at the plethora of females. “I suppose next you'll tell us that since there are so many women, some of us will have to become lesbians."
“No one will have to, ma'am, but if that's what you prefer, you certainly have my permission.” The roar of laughter, which greeted his remark, disarmed the woman as effectively as if she had been disrobed. Michael had spoken impromptu, but as soon as the words were out of his mouth, it occurred to him that the woman had voiced a concern he hadn't thought of yet. Or was it a concern? He decided to ask Wanda about it later.
“One more thing, then we'll take questions,” he said. “We're going to have to learn to be farmers and hunters. The food stocks we have now won't last long. Before they go, we need to prepare to replace them. That is going to entail hard work on everyone's part. We'll set up a committee to get this going, then designate work assignments.” He smiled wryly. “We'll be needing lots of advice from those of you who were involuntary farmers in your previous life."
All the convicts, including those still in captivity, laughed at this remark. The Texas Department of Corrections was notorious among the states for forcing their prisoners to grow most of what they ate.
“That's all I have to say. We'll take questions now."
The debate was long and interminable, dragging on into the evening. The freemen, as the convicts called anyone not in captivity, led the questioning at first, but gradually Jason's men and then the women began entering into the debate. Michael brought those he thought had the most to say to the podium. As the evening wore on, Wanda and some of the others wandered away. Preacher Johnson brought up the last subject.
Just before dark, he came to stand beside Michael and proposed that Burley's remaining men be freed. His suggestion was greeted by a mostly negative response until he made the salient point: “It don't matter what they done before, and it don't matter what they may do in the future. We say we're going to have law, don't we? If they go bad again, we got the strength to punish them, praise God. Let then go free and earn their keep."
A woman rose from the crowd. Her hair was in tatters and her clothes were still dirty, but she stood proud. She pointed. “I can see a man from here who I know did bad. Never mind. There wasn't any law then. Let him go now. If he does it again, I'll be the first one in line to put his chains back on. Let's start over!"
Her motion carried, though not without glares from a number of women and blacks. Michael nodded and Jason began freeing the prisoners. He helped each to his feet as he unlocked their cuffs and spoke private words to each of them. Preacher Johnson followed behind, adding his advice, which amounted to a
threat to break every bone in their bodies the first time they got out of line. A new society, born of battle, was being formed.
Once Wanda was sure that Michael was going to carry the day, she left. Also, once assured that Michael had come through the battle alive, her next priority had been Sheila.
There had been little time for them to talk since the epic battle at the river. She had been tied up in debate about the direction their newly formed society was to take and Sheila had been working almost to the point of exhaustion helping Peggy care for their wounded. In the brief intervals when she had seen Sheila over the last day or so, she noticed that something appeared to be bothering her. As soon as she left the meeting, Wanda searched her out.
She found Sheila sitting by herself, on one of the far benches by the food section of the Wal-Mart. She appeared to be deep in thought. Wanda sat down beside her.
“I wondered where you were,” Wanda said.
Sheila shrugged. “I needed to get away for a little while. All that talk this evening got me to thinking."
“What's wrong?” Wanda asked, concerned. She thought that by now Sheila had recovered from Dawson's assault. On the other hand, a lot had happened since then. Perhaps that was no longer a main concern, but she could see a hint of sadness in Sheila's expression, like a recently spanked puppy trying to figure out how to get back in it's master's good graces.
Sheila crossed her arms over her breasts, “Did you hear what Mike said about so many women?"
“Yes, I heard. But that's no problem for you, Sheila. You're young and pretty. You can have just about any man you want."
“Really? I don't think so."
Something was definitely troubling the girl. Wanda put an arm around her shoulder and tugged her close. Sheila leaned into the embrace. Wanda touched her chin and tilted it up. “What's wrong? Tell me."
Sheila's chin quivered. She cast her eyes down. “The only man I want is Mike, and you already have him.” Tears began to leak down her face.
