by Ryan King
"The bylaws?" Joshua asked.
As if this reminded her, she reached for a folder and pulled a few pieces of paper stapled together at the corner. "Oh yes, let me review the bylaws with you briefly."
"The bylaws for the end-of-the-world timeshare condo I'm now the proud owner of?" Joshua asked.
"Exactly," Meryl said, either oblivious to or choosing to ignore Joshua's sarcasm. "So, Section One. You are limited to two weeks per year based upon your allotted weeks.” She scanned a little and said, "I think we can skip Section One."
"I agree," said Joshua. "As a matter of fact do we really need to do—"
"Section Two. All Genesis guests agree to be bound by the attached bylaws. Failure to meet terms contained therein constitutes breach of contract, and Genesis shall not be subject to damages."
"Got it," said Joshua. "I can't sue. You can probably skip the rest of that section."
"Section Three," said Meryl with agonizing slowness. "All residents of Genesis shall in the interests of mutual security and safety of all other residents abide by the directives of the facility manager”—she laid her hand on her chest—"who in the event of a lockdown may decide to implement an alternative form of daily governance. See Annex C for examples and procedures." She looked up from reading. "I decided to institute a representative system. Each spoke elects someone and those representatives meet with the Genesis staff once a week. There they bring up concerns, and on occasion, we may vote on certain issues."
"Such as to go outside to fix stuff," Joshua said.
"Exactly," said Meryl, looking back down at the paper. "Section Four. All guests shall display courtesy and civility to each other at all times. Any infraction could result in a fine. Repeated infractions could result in a void of your contract or confinement if the behavior occurs during a lock down. Additionally, any activity deemed by the facility manger to not be according to the welfare of the whole could result in a fine, void of contract, or confinement if during a lockdown."
"Confinement?" asked Joshua.
"Very rarely used," Meryl explained. "We have cells in the lower levels. Mostly we put people in there for getting into verbal and occasionally even physical altercations, but by and large, we all get along very well."
Joshua nodded. "Sounds nice."
"It is," said Meryl. "Section Five. And please realize I'm summarizing these for you. You'll get an opportunity to read in detail when I'm finished. Any medical or physical sickness or illness must be reported to the infirmary within one hour of discovery. Failure to report could—"
"Result in fine, void of contract, or confinement if occurring during a lockdown," said Joshua.
"Yes, I see you are a quick study. Anyway, since we live in such tight quarters, an illness could run its course and infect everyone quickly."
"Totally understand."
"Section Six. Each resident during a lockdown will be assigned tasks in the best interests of the whole. The facility manager or their designated representative shall oversee the assignment of these tasks and may use a rotational or bidding method if they chose to do so, see Annex N for examples of typical tasks."
"Aaron already told me he had duty in the biofarm, whatever the hell that is."
"Yes," she said, "and doing a fine job from what I understand. The tomatoes in the soup you had for lunch came from our biofarm. We use synthetic light and fertilizer from the animal farms to grow all our fresh fruits and vegetables. It's really quite impressive."
Joshua raised his eyebrows. "The entire place is impressive."
Meryl smiled, "Thank you. Section Seven. In the event of a lockdown, the facility shall be sealed as per Annex B procedures. The facility shall not be unsealed except by an all-clear signal from the Genesis Headquarters or directive from the facility manager. Until that time, no one may leave the facility." Meryl looked up. "I'm sure you can understand this part. Much of our security rests on remaining hidden. If anyone were to depart, they could tell others where we are and compromise all of us. Section Eight. No resident—"
"Hold on," said Joshua. "You're saying we're stuck in here now?"
"That's a pretty harsh way to put it," said Meryl.
"Okay, we're your guests here, whatever you want to call it. You're saying we can't leave?"
"Not unless I say so," Meryl said, crossing her arms.
Joshua nodded. "Fine, just let Henry, Aaron, and me be on our way. We really appreciate all you've done for us, but this isn't our home."
"But this is our home," Meryl said, "and if you leave here and tell anyone about us, it could threaten everyone here."
"We wouldn't say anything," Joshua insisted.
"Really?" Meryl asked, pointing at his head. "Even if they were very insistent?"
"We won't get caught. We're good at this. It's what we do."
"You were already caught," said Meryl. "It was good of you to escape, but I can't take the risk of that happening again."
"But we have to go warn our people," Joshua pleaded. "Don't you understand that? The Missouri Alliance is much more organized and better armed than anyone realized, and they are right on our border. I have a responsibility. Don't you understand that?"
"I do," she said. "I also have a responsibility. To three hundred and eighty-six persons, including you and your two friends. This facility cannot be compromised. All these rules"—she lifted up the stapled pages—"may seem silly to you, but they are here for a reason. Smarter people than any of us sat down and wrote them out. We have to follow them even if they don't make any sense."
"But the rules say you can let us go," Joshua said. "I just heard that about the facility manager being able to let people out. You could let us go."
"I'm not going to," said Meryl. "I'm sorry you can't accept that, but that's my decision and it’s final." She walked toward the door and paced the bylaws in front of him. "Read the entire packet and sign the last page. Enjoy your stay."
Joshua sat at the table alone staring the pages before him.
Chapter 7 - The Union
Paul Campbell fidgeted nervously. Ethan had only come to the JP once and that was part of his swearing in ceremony months before. With all the allegations Nathan Taylor had made, Paul felt apprehensive being around Ethan, even if only the council had read Nathan's statement.
Sitting in his office fidgeting, Paul was surprised when his bodyguard opened the door and Ethan walked in. He would have at least expected his secretary to give him a warning. Pushing his frustration down, he put on a warm smile and held out his hand.
Ethan took it, pulling him in close to whisper in his ear. "Just talk about trivialities until we can determine the office is secure." He then stepped back and waved two men with tool boxes forward. "How have you been doing?" he asked as the men walked in the door and closed it behind them.
"Uh...," said Paul, watching the men pull complicated-looking electronics gear from their tool boxes. "Fine."
"Splendid," said Ethan, sitting at the chair across from Paul. "The trip up here went well, but I'm spoiled by the fact that you always visit me. I have to admit I failed to fully appreciate what goes into a trip from Jackson to Paducah or vice versa."
Paul watched as the men took small devices that looked like volt meters with metal wands attached and ran them methodically around the room's walls. He looked up to see Ethan staring at him expectantly. "Uh, yes. Heck of a trip."
Ethan rolled his eyes and sighed. "The dam is still working well, I trust. We've had no delays in electricity lately. My compliments to your people there."
"Thank you," said Paul, trying to ignore the two men working around him.
"It's clean," said one of the men to Ethan.
"Good," said Ethan, and the two men packed up their equipment and then walked out the door. Once it was closed, his face became serious. "Have you ever in your life had a casual conversation before?"
"Uh, sure," said Paul. "That was just weird."
Ethan sighed and put his face in his hand. "N
ever mind. Did you disband the Strategic Security Agency like I told you?"
"I did," said Paul. "All the records were confiscated and destroyed. The employees have all been let go or assigned to other duties."
"And what about that radio broadcaster?" asked Ethan. "What was his name again?"
"Tim Reynolds," said Paul.
"Yes, Tim Reynolds, voice of the Jackson Purchase himself. Seems like that voice got him into a little bit of trouble. Did you take care of him?"
"I have," said Paul. "He's under house arrest, but listen, Tim is popular. I've already received a number of questions and complaints about shutting him down."
"Ignore them," said Paul. "If anyone official gives you a hard time, tell them what I told you to say."
"That he was inciting public violence."
"Yes," said Ethan, "which from what my people told me wasn't too far from the truth."
"What about Reggie Philips?"
"It didn't seem like he was in on any of it," Ethan said. "The report I read said he seemed surprised and did his best to calm things down."
"So leave him alone?"
"For now," said Ethan. "If he gets out of line, we can always make him go away too, but letting him remain free shows how evenhanded you are. Is there anyone else that seems like a wildcard, someone who can't be dealt with?"
Paul nodded immediately. "Yes, this Brazen character. He's a total thug. A gang-banger. Only reason he has any power or authority is because he forced our hand."
"Yes, I've heard of him. Sounds like someone we could use."
"I don't think so," said Paul. "He's not a very likeable fellow. Gives me no respect."
"Likeability has nothing to do with it," said Ethan. "Someone like that I can work with. He recognizes power for power's sake and is not an idealist. Not like Nathan Taylor. Now with him dead—"
"About that," said Paul. "Nathan Taylor isn't dead."
Ethan stared at Paul until the JP President dropped his eyes. "I thought my instructions were very clear on that," Ethan said. "My heart was so set on someone dying. If Nathan Taylor isn't to die, maybe I could find someone else. Someone closer to home."
"It was out of my hands," Paul pleaded. "The council voted to exile him instead. Some of the members threatened to resign if he was executed. He's been sent west. Won't be trouble to us anymore."
"Which members?" asked Ethan.
"Butch Matthews and Harold Buchannan."
Ethan sat silently. "So. The head of the JP military and the county executive for the area that controls all the electricity threatened to resign over Nathan Taylor?"
"Yes," said Paul, "but they're okay now. Everything's fine."
"We'll see," said Ethan. "Let's keep an eye on those two, and keep me posted if they challenge you in anything else."
"Certainly," said Paul.
Ethan shook his head. "I still don't like the idea of Nathan Taylor out there."
"He's just one man," said Paul, "and now he's out there on his own. Hell, the Missouri Alliance will probably catch and kill him if what you've told me about them is true."
"Oh, it's very true," said Ethan. "Did you call a council meeting like I directed?"
"Yes," said Paul. "It's set for nine o’clock tomorrow morning, but...I still don't know the purpose of the meeting."
Ethan smiled. "There, you will introduce me. I'll make a full report of the WTR and our continued observance of the treaty provisions. I will then take that opportunity to present a petition from the people of the WTR."
"A petition?"
"Yes," said Ethan, "a petition that I will fully endorse and say has the backing of the Tennessee leaders."
Paul looked concerned. "What will this petition say?"
"It will propose that the WTR join with the JP and become one nation and one government."
The JP President looked at Ethan with his eyes wide.
Ethan took this opportunity to pour himself a glass of water from Paul's desk.
"Why on earth would you do that?" asked Paul finally.
"Doesn't it make perfect sense?" asked Ethan. "We share similar interests. We trade and share the same resources. We are all from a similar background. Other than our two peoples, everything else out there in the world is a howling mass of condemned madmen who don't know well enough to lie down and die. It makes perfect sense and allows us to pool our scarce resources."
"Yes," said Paul. "I see why it makes sense on the surface, but why do you want it to happen. Are you going to...be the new president?"
Ethan lifted his head back and laughed. "Of course not, Mr. President. That would be ridiculous. The JP defeated the WTR in a conflict and is currently superior in every way. You will remain president of a newer larger nation. You will make history as its first president."
"And what will your role be?" asked Paul wearily.
Ethan looked away and examined his fingernails. "I think in the spirit of fairness and unity, it would be reasonable for me to serve as your vice president, wouldn't you agree?"
The JP President thought this was a horrible idea, but was smart enough not to say so. "I think that would be excellent. Do you want me to work to win the council over?"
"Not at all," said Ethan. "As a matter of fact, your role in this is to be skeptical. My job is to convince your people of the merits of this plan. Let me convince them and then let them convince you. This should dispel any rumors that you are a puppet of the WTR."
"You don't want me to support it?"
Ethan sighed. "No, but I also don't want you to oppose it either. You are neutral in this argument, like Switzerland. Be skeptical, uncertain, cautious."
"Okay, I can do that," said Paul. "But let's say they agree to it, what then?"
"You leave that to me," said Ethan as he got up and left the JP President's office.
Chapter 8 - The Meeting
Nathan placed the note Jack McKraven composed for his grandson Conrad under the refrigerator in the main house up near the highway. Jack offered to come with him, but Nathan could tell the man really didn't want to. Nathan could understand. Too many memories. After making a quick check around the old property, and latching the back door that had come open and appeared to have let in some sort of animal, Nathan made his way back to the cabin in the woods. Now it was a matter of waiting. Jack had no idea how often Conrad checked under the fridge or even if he still did at all. Nathan tried to be patient and wait.
He spent the next week helping out Jack McKraven. He learned a lot about the old man and appreciated his self-reliance and attitude. Jack taught Nathan more than he ever wanted to know about booby traps. Nathan's job after a few days was to go emplace these and check old ones. Some of them were deadly, and Nathan felt uncomfortable putting them where an innocent person could get hurt or killed.
"You got to have a solid backing," Jack explained, "otherwise it could just sink into the dirt or mud under the pressure." He indicated a small flat board he had glued about a dozen old .45 shell casings on with their open ends facing up.
"Aren't you worried you might hurt someone?" Nathan asked. "I mean, someone you wouldn't normally hurt if you saw them?"
"Ain't nobody comin’ back here by accident," said Jack. "I'm too far back in the woods. Anybody comes here is up to no good."
"I came here," said Nathan.
"I rest my case," said Jack, drawing his attention back to his booby trap. "Now once the glue dries on the shell casings, you drop a thumbtack into each with the pointy end up."
"How do you remember where all the traps are?" asked Nathan. "Aren't you worried you might accidently stumble into one yourself?"
"All up here?" said Jack, pointing at his head with a finger. "If I ever get a little confused about that, I just stay off the trails and paths and bust brush. All my traps are on the trails."
"Like the one I took to and from the house?" Nathan asked.
Jack laughed. "Got a couple of nasty traps there."
Nathan stared at the old man
. "I guess it's just my dumb luck I didn't come back hurt. You could have told me."
Jack just shrugged. "Didn't think about it. Been by myself a long time. Besides, you know how to use your eyes; most people don't. Anyone uses their eyes can see a trap a mile off."
Sighing, Nathan took a sip of hot homemade chicory to calm his frustration.
"Now comes the good part," said Jack, and he actually chuckled. "You drop a .38 or 9mm cartridge, anything small enough to fit into the empty .45 casing. You see how the head of the thumbtack now rests on the primer at the bottom of the .45 shell? The thumbtack acts like a firing pin."
Starting to get an idea for where this was going, Nathan said, "And someone comes along and steps on it, getting themselves shot in the gut or ass or somewhere else unpleasant."
"You're jumpin’ ahead, son," said Jack. "That's the problem with you younger generations. No patience. That's why you’re all addicted to crack. Now, you can't just stick this in the ground and throw some dirt on it. Might work, might not."
"Because the mud or dirt or whatever might compact under the pressure."
"Exactly," said Jack. "As a matter of fact, I guarantee it will. You see all this space between are casings? The pressure will naturally push the dirt down into these spaces and out the side."
"So you need something solid on top like on the bottom to evenly distribute pressure," said Nathan. "Another board."
"Close," said Jack, "but these babies aren't going to get up much velocity coming up through dirt and not going through a barrel. You don't want to lower that velocity any further by making 'em punch through wood. I use"—Jack paused for dramatic effect as if he were a magician getting ready to pull a rabbit out of his hat—"cardboard!" he said with a flourish, picking up a small square the exact size as the bottom wooden board off the floor and slapping it on the table.
"That's pretty smart," said Nathan. "So you take this"—he pointed at the wooden base with the dozen or so loaded miniature firearms—"and go plant it in the ground. Then you lay this cardboard on top and cover the whole thing with dirt or grass to camouflage it. Then some unsuspecting soul comes along, steps on it, and blows his damn head off."
