by Ryan King
"What happened to all the people?" asked Nathan.
Jack shrugged. "Lots took off, God only knows where. The rest stayed here and stuck together for a while. Then that first winter hit and things got bad."
Nathan nodded, remembering his experience with the first winter after the bombs fell.
"Then these men in camouflaged uniforms started coming around. At first, they were polite and helpful, even gave out some food. They were recruiting men to join them. Many did. A few months later, those same men from around here came back different. They went through rounding everyone up and started marching them away. The only ones they left were those who hid and old worthless farts like me."
"What do they do with all the people?" Nathan asked.
"Use 'em for workers, I hear. Got salt mines to the west. Also uses a bunch of 'em in the fields helping grow food. Anything they want done and don't want to do themselves I reckon. All the young girls go into the MA brothels I hear."
"Slaves?" Nathan asked.
Jack's mouth was full so he just nodded. When he had swallowed, he said, "Close enough word I guess. They come back around every now and then to search houses and buildings for anything worth stealing or to see if they can grab anyone new, but mostly, they just roll through. Us that are left know to keep our distance from 'em."
"Is that why you set up booby traps?" Nathan asked.
"One of the reasons," Jack said. "It's not just the MA. There are other predators out there that I would prefer stay away."
Nathan nodded and thought. "Where can I find the MA?"
"Find 'em?" said Jack incredulously. "Ain't you been listenin' to what I've said? You don't want to find 'em. You pray they don't find you."
"I'm afraid I don't really have much choice," Nathan explained. "I'm pretty sure they've got my son."
"Then you need to let 'em go," said Jack. "I know that's a hard thing to hear, but I'm tryin’ to help you. You got kicked out of Kentucky for tellin' the truth, so you must feel pretty strongly about that. So here's some truth: if the MA has your son, he's either dead or worse."
Nathan stared back at Jack. "I can't accept that."
Jack went back to eating. "Doesn't make it any less true. Also doesn't surprise me. You younger generations tend to run off into a blaze of glory. Comes from watchin’ too much of that damn television. People just don't stop to use their heads and think anymore."
"Okay," said Nathan, "so what do you think I should do? I've been exiled from the JP and my family. I'm stuck here, trying to keep from getting killed, and my son is a prisoner of some sort of predatory slave nation. What should I do?"
"Hell, I don't know," said Jack. "I didn't say I had any answers. I said you should use your head. Have you thought this through? What's the plan exactly?"
Nathan's mouth came open to retort and realized he didn't have a plan and closed his mouth again.
"You find the MA," Jack said, "and they'll either make you one of their soldiers or put you in the mines or fields. You ain't gonna find your son that way. The MA is huge. They've got a headquarters and a leader and such, but they're spread out all over southeast Missouri and northern Arkansas."
"What do you know of Vincent Lacert?" Nathan asked.
Jack shook his head. "Nothing more than what I've heard. Started this whole Missouri Alliance thing before the bombs fell. Charged businessmen to come out to his farm on weekends where he could teach 'em survival skills, let 'em shoot stuff, and put 'em through a boot camp. He was supposedly some sort of survivalist, in the Green Berets at one point I hear. One of those whack jobs that looks forward to the end of the world."
"So he had this whole thing going before N-Day?"
"Sure," said Jack. "When things went to shit, his clients probably thought it was the safest place to go with their families. Pretty soon Vincent had a little private army and realized there was no reason to go without anything when they had guns and could take what they want."
"And steal from the Army," said Nathan remembering the Humvee.
"Saw that, didja?" asked Jack. "Fort Leonard Wood. Went up there once myself when my grandson graduated basic training. Lots of stuff there they could use I'm sure."
"Anybody opposing him?"
"Not anymore," answered Jack. "In the early days, police and locals would band together to try to keep the MA out, but they just had too much firepower and too little to lose. Also, they made an example of any town that didn't give them what they wanted."
"Example?" asked Nathan.
"They'd torture and hang every man, child, infant, or even pet in a town if they didn't lay down for them," Jack explained, wiping his greasy hands on a napkin. "They took the women and girls. Word got around and people stopped fightin’. Probably thought it was better than seeing their families killed. Wonder if they still think that way now."
Nathan shook his head angrily.
"I can see it in your eyes," Jack said. "That righteous anger. That'll get you killed fast these days. The world's changed, son. You gotta narrow your focus and prioritize."
"Prioritize?"
"Yeah," said Jack tilting his head. "Focus on things like staying alive. And food and not catching some disease or getting sodomized by a gang of wild feral teenagers. Those sorts of priorities. Revenge or justice are way down the list, my friend."
"What if it were your son?" Nathan asked.
Jack's jaw tightened, and he stood from the table. He took his dishes over to the sink and the bucket of water from the well outside.
Realization dawned on Nathan. "Your son is with them."
Jack turned and shook his head. "Grandson. Conrad McKraven, the one I went to see graduate basic training. Served five years in the army as a combat engineer and then got out. Somehow, he got drawn into Vincent Lacert's weekend operation."
"Have you seen him since then?" asked Nathan.
"Only once," answered Jack. "He came up to the main house when I was living there. Told me the MA was coming through. Helped me pack up what I needed and come down here. Haven't seen or heard from him since."
"He might be able to help," Nathan said.
Jack was silent.
"Do you know how to get in contact with him?" Nathan asked.
Jack turned around and began wiping his plate off with a wet rag.
"Jack," insisted Nathan. "Come on now. You know this MA is bad business."
"I don't agree with my grandson or what he's doing," said Jack, "but I also don't want to see him hanging from a pole with a rope around his neck."
"That doesn't have to happen," said Nathan. "I'm very good at keeping secrets."
Jack turned and regarded him for a full minute before sighing. "He told me if I ever needed anything to leave a small note at the main house by the road. Told me not to put any names in it, just what I needed, and he'd come see me."
"Where at the house?" Nathan asked.
"Told me to slide it under the old fridge. Said he would fish it out with a stick and no one would be likely to find it there but him."
"Pretty smart," said Nathan.
"I didn't say he was dumb," answered Jack. "So what's your plan?"
Nathan shook his head. "Not sure yet. I think I'll sleep on it."
"Is that your way of asking if you can stay the night?"
Nathan smiled. "If you don't mind."
Staring at Nathan for a moment, Jack tossed his hands up in the air, "What the hell. It has been pretty lonely around here lately. You can take the couch."
"Thank you kindly," said Nathan, "for everything."
Jack smiled weakly. "Think nothing of it." He looked at Nathan’s brand. "Us truth tellers have to stick together, right?"
Chapter 4 - Cracks in the Foundation
Reggie was starting to get a bad feeling about this. He was trying to talk about the importance of people allowing their children to attend school even if just for a few days a month, but Tim Reynolds did not seem interested.
"That's all very fascinating, R
eggie," said Tim into the microphone, "but I'm sure you'd agree that preparing for the winter and gathering as much food as possible is also important."
"I certainly would," answered Reggie. "I'm simply saying that we have to ensure the next generation of children needs to be grounded in education. It's important to know how to read and do math, otherwise knowledge cannot be passed down to—"
"Speaking of food," said Tim, "I'm getting more and more indications that this winter is going to be tough."
"Yes," answered Reggie. "I've talked about this before. Everyone needs to plant a garden and put away whatever food they can. Although it's autumn, it's not too late, and some vegetables grow well this time of year."
Tim looked at a piece of paper nearby. "What do you think of reports that the government is seizing grain and feed? Some have even reported commandeering whole silos. Would you agree with the JP seizing private property for the public good?"
"Tim," said Reggie, "I have learned over the years not to completely accept first reports. I would find it very hard to believe any government, especially the JP, would do such a thing."
"But if they did," insisted Tim, "would you agree with it?"
"Certainly not," said Reggie. "One of the foundations of western civilization handed down to us from the Roman government was the sanctity of private property. Our forefathers recognized this and why they took such pains to preserve the right of ownership."
"Should the government have the right to take what doesn't belong to them without permission?"
Reggie felt like he was on a rocking ship in a storm just trying to get his footing. "During times of crisis in U.S. history, the government did resort to commandeering property, but to my understanding, there was always an attempt to reimburse the owner."
"But even in those cases, wouldn't you think there was a law or decree passed, and not simply someone seizing something? An official order or piece of paper at least?"
"Certainly," said Reggie. "Are we talking about something specific here?"
"Let's move on," said Tim, "to the shocking news we have just received about General Nathan Taylor's conviction for treason against the JP. What do you think of that, Reggie?"
Reggie took a deep breath. "I heard that also and am just stunned."
"You knew General Taylor well, did you not? Some even looked upon him as a hero of the last conflict with the WTR."
"I do know him," said Reggie, "and have the utmost respect for the man. I've always found him to be honorable and honest."
"Then how do you reconcile the charges and the fact he was exiled from the JP?"
"I can't really," flustered Reggie. "We don't yet know all the facts and therefore cannot say if it was justified or not."
"You bring up a very good point, Reggie. The fact that this trial was conducted in secret, and the sealed court proceedings does cause one to be suspicious of their legitimacy."
"I didn't say that," said Reggie. “All I'm saying is we are not in a position to say if the verdict was justified or not."
"But if it were justified," said Tim, "why wouldn't the JP, and President Campbell's office in particular, release the record of the proceedings?"
Reggie tried to give Tim a signal to cut the broadcast short, but the man ignored him. "Given Nathan Taylor's position as the Head of the SSA, it may have been a matter of JP security."
"That is a claim that regimes around the world throughout history have made," said Tim, "as they repress and destroy their population."
"Now wait a minute," said Reggie. "Don't you think that's a little over the top?"
"Maybe it is and maybe it isn't," said Tim. "All we know is that the spirit of transparency and cooperation and unity that was instilled in our first government is rapidly being replaced by one of totalitarian secretiveness. It is hard to give such a government the benefit of the doubt."
Reggie tried to get the broadcast back on solid ground. "The fact that we can even sit and talk about such things and criticize our government shows that we still live in a democratic open society."
"Yes," said Tim, "but for how long?"
"Excuse me?"
"How long will we be allowed to broadcast and criticize?" Tim said. "I received an order from the president's office this morning ordering me to stop your weekly interviews."
Reggie was speechless. He wasn't sure if he were more upset that the government had issued such an order or that Tim hadn't told him about it. "Why would they do such a thing?"
"Why indeed?" asked Tim. "Unless they have something to hide or something to cover up? The only thing we know is that this may be our last broadcast with former JP President Reggie Philips. If it is, friends, know that it because the JP government, your JP government, has shut us down. The question we must ask ourselves is if we will allow them to take away our rights. After all, isn't the JP us?"
"Let's just calm down," said Reggie.
Tim shook his head. "Until next time, this is Tim Reynolds, signing off. Don't just stay strong friends, stand up." He flipped a switch, and the broadcast light went from green to red.
Reggie stood abruptly and walked out of the booth.
Tim came after him. "Reggie, wait. Reggie."
He turned on Tim in anger. "You had no right. You used me. You kept information from me. It was wrong."
Tim sighed, but didn't look away. "Maybe you've got a point, but someone has to do something."
"By getting everyone riled up?" Reggie pointed at the broadcast booth. "That does no one any good. Do you really think the JP is corrupt? You know you don't have to repeat everything you hear on the air."
"I know these things are happening."
"Oh, really?" said Reggie. "Please explain how you know."
"Yesterday," Tim said. "Men came with trucks and guns and emptied out my father's silo. They also took the winter feed. No explanation other that it was a JP order."
"Are you serious?"
"Don't I look serious!" said Tim, near tears. "My parents will lose the herd this winter, if the JP doesn't take them too. Hell, they might not even make it through the winter. And they're not the only ones. This is going on all over."
"But why?"
"Come on now," said Tim. "You know why. There won't be enough food for the winter. The government wants to make sure it has enough food to keep the police and army and politicians fed, and if there is anything left, they will hand it out to the citizens who produced it in the first place. Wouldn't that be a perfect way to keep us in line?"
"I just can't believe they would do that," said Reggie. "Not here."
"Sir," said Tim, "you know I have the deepest respect for you, but you need to open your eyes. Things are starting to crumble. These heavy-handed tactics are getting worse, and people need to know about it."
"So what? They can revolt and we can have fighting in the streets?"
"I hope it doesn't come to that," said Tim, "but maybe it will. It all comes down to what type of government we are going to have. You always say that in a democracy the people get the government they deserve because they vote them in. Well, we need to take responsibility and do something."
"Has anyone tried to talk about this?" asked Reggie. "Maybe you should go to the county executive or the mayor or someone. This might just be a mistake."
"I did," said Tim. "They said they didn't know about it but would check into it."
"Well then, I'm sure they will. Give them time, Tim. Let those men do their jobs. Let them represent you in this matter. That's what you elected them to do. Have some patience."
"That's a hard thing to do," said Tim, "when you see you mother and father crying over someone taking what they have worked so hard to produce."
"I know," said Reggie, "but I'm sure it will all be straightened out."
"Do you?" asked Tim. "Do you really believe that?"
"I have to," said Reggie, "otherwise were all doomed."
Chapter 5 - The Huntress
Alexandra smelled and she reveled i
n it. She even had blood on her shirt from the deer she'd slain that morning and drug back to camp on a plastic sled. Shifting the crossbow to her other shoulder, she walked across the clearing toward the officers' barracks ignoring the various stares that always followed her.
They called her "The Huntress" and she guessed that was what she was. Before she and the other women and girls were rescued from that hellish slave camp to the east, she had never killed an animal in all her life. Now it was her job. She brought fresh meat to the camp and in return was allowed a level of nearly unheard of independence. Where others worked certain length shifts, Alexandra disappeared into the forest for sometimes days at a time. She liked the solitude and peace.
Cujo barked at her, and she smiled. Alexandra walked over to the big dog and spent some time rubbing his head while he sniffed all the interesting smells on her hands. Her family had owned a German shepherd named Prince before, but the men who murdered her family and enslaved her also shot her dog. Alexandra felt a dark cloud start to roll over her mind.
Pulling herself to her feet, Alexandra looked to the sky and closed her eyes while she composed herself. It wasn't good to go to the dark places, and the slave camp was as dark as they got. Unconsciously, she caressed the crossbow that Randy, one of the Hancock Prison guards and the man who had taught her to hunt, had given her. The crossbow meant she wasn't a victim...that she wasn't powerless to things and people around her.
Alexandra opened her eyes and looked around at the camp. She saw the one she was looking for and started walking to intercept David Taylor. So sanctimonious and cold he was, the opposite of his brother. The image of him blowing that woman's head off in the camp jumped to mind whenever she saw David, which was as infrequently as possible. This time, she had no choice. It wasn't like she could go to their mother.
David's eyes found hers when they were still some distance away. He altered his course to avoid her out of their mutual and traditional feeling of distaste, but she moved to intercept him.
