Dark New World (Book 4): EMP Backdraft

by Henry G. Foster

  Cassy bit down, clenching her jaw, and turned to look at Michael with one eyebrow raised. He only responded by giving her a single curt nod, and Cassy’s heart sank. How could that be? These days, wasn’t racism low on the list of people’s priorities? Of course, she’d done it herself with Choony because he looked like the invaders did…. Damn. Better look in the mirror, exalted leader. She sighed.

  “I guess I can’t very well blame them,” Cassy replied. “As much as I’d like to, you do look a lot like invaders to most local folks. Life is pretty fragile right now. Too fragile to take chances, especially if you have a family.”

  Barry pursed his lips, nodded, but added, “I understand that, but it’s a logical fallacy. You don’t hold their racist views, yet you said they were good people. How good can they be if just hating Arabs isn’t racist enough for their tastes—they have to extend that to everyone with a ‘sandy’ complexion? Our ancestors were Hindus and Sikhs and Buddhists and a dozen other religions. Why on Earth would I put our children anywhere near people who hate them simply because they look ‘only a little not the same’ as the locals who are already in place?”

  Cassy found herself looking away from his steely eyes, staring at the ground. Not only was he right—Liz Town was indeed an ally, and now this?—but the memory of how she’d reacted to Choony when he first arrived felt like a neon sign that put her to the same shame as them. She wished she’d brought Choony or Jaz along, or both of them. They’d throw some perspective out for people who needed it—like herself and this Barry guy, clearly the leader of his group. She had a sense they should be friends, and neither of them was all that racist, yet race questions were trying to come between them anyway.

  Thankfully, Michael intervened without missing a beat, diverting attention from her for the moment while she collected herself. “First of all, we didn’t know they were banishing anyone the wrong shade of brown or pink, nor are we responsible for their actions. Secondly, they are good people despite that. They aren’t cannibals, they don’t raid other survivors, they work hard. They share what they produce and they trade with others, just as we all do. They stand with us against those who do awful things, sometimes at the cost of their own lives. Those are people’s friends and brothers, children and sisters, dying to protect not just themselves but all of us in these parts. So please, I would appreciate it if you could be a bit less judgmental of them and us both. We’re all just figuring out how to survive as we go. People make mistakes.”

  Michael stopped abruptly and simply stood there looking Barry in the eyes, neither challenging nor apologizing, but just waiting. Cassy felt that his nonchalance was almost eerie.

  Before Barry could respond, Cassy raised a hand placatingly, palm toward Barry. “Okay, okay, no sense getting mad at each other. Thank you for letting us know about that, Barry, and if we see any more people like yourselves we won’t be telling them to go to Elizabethtown. But that leaves a question that’s more important than whether Liz Town is being fair to strangers who haven’t fought and bled alongside them—what will you do now?”

  “You’ve already said we can’t stay here. We wouldn’t take it by force even if we could. We aren’t stupid, or lazy, or greedy. Just hungry.”

  “Barry’s an odd name for an Indian.” Cassy grinned. She turned to Michael and said, “Have some people bring a meal out to these folks, and refill their water bottles.” Michael nodded and motioned to his young messenger scout.

  Barry shrugged. “My name is really Barid, which means ‘cloud,’ but everyone in school called me Barry. I just sort of adopted it. Thanks for the meal. I guess in the morning we’ll move on and out of your territory. Some may be angry about it, but I understand and appreciate what help you could give us.”

  Michael’s head snapped toward Barry, and he stared for a moment before finally saying, “Hey, Barry. I see you have weapons, which is a needful thing these days, but are you willing to use them?”

  Cassy eyed Michael cautiously. What the heck was he up to? She trusted him though, so she kept silent and waited.

  “We’ve had to before, to my regret. Yes, we’ve used them to protect ourselves and our neighbors, or the friendly ones at least. But that can’t be a surprise—anyone alive and not in a bunker has had to do things they didn’t like in order to survive this far.”

  Michael glanced to Cassy, and then said to Barry, “You know, there are a lot of empty homesteads and farms just west of Clanholme. Their owners were killed, or moved, or teamed up with friends elsewhere while things shook out. There are enough empty farms for you all to find one and maybe beef up its defenses, raise food and animals this spring. Good neighbors raise everyone’s property values.” Michael chuckled. “If you did that, we could advise you on how we do things, and you see how well it works out by looking at that forest. You should see it in the spring and summer. It’s a wonderful stretch of something, not a farm, exactly, but it supports all of us. We don’t go hungry. Believe me when I say that we’ve had to protect it, but we’ve always had the people we needed to do that. And we’re making alliances as fast as we can with people like you, people who don’t think they have a license to raid and are willing to trade with us and protect each other.”

  For a moment, Cassy was irritated that Michael would suggest something like that without talking to her about it first, but then she stopped. This was the perfect timing to talk about such a thing, while the refugees were still hungry and looking forward to food. And still grateful. Her gut told her these people were decent enough. Everyone would do whatever it took to keep their kids from starving—that was something she’d seen often enough that her old notion of what it took to be basically good had long since gone out the window—but they seemed only to do what was necessary. That was important.

  Her gut also told her they weren’t the Raider type, and Michael must have had the same sense. Not to mention the fact that having them to the west as allies would put a buffer between the Clan and the unknown out west of the farm, in an area that was currently devoid of people, which made sense of Michael’s questions about using those rifles they had. She read a book once where the characters said the only questions you should ask an ally is whether they have guns and would they shoot them at an enemy. Michael was setting a higher bar than that, which was good. He wanted neighbors. Very well, she’d give these people a shot.

  Cassy said, “Absolutely. You need a home and seem like better neighbors than the cannibal gangs we had to clear out from these parts. Talk about it amongst yourselves, and you and I can get together on it tomorrow. For now, I think I hear your food coming.”

  As the food arrived and the refugees swarmed the Clan servers with hungry hands and grateful nods and smiles, Cassy looked to Michael, and he gave her one curt nod. He didn’t need to be told to keep an eye on these people tonight. Just in case.

  * * *

  It was shortly after midnight and the cheers and kissing were over. While no ball had dropped in Times Square on T.V., it was amazing how much fun everyone had with no T.V., drinking moonshine or hard cider, and bundled up like polar explorers against the biting cold. The festive mood continued and the party didn’t look like it’d slow any time soon—almost everyone was still there, except those on guard duty. Enough people had volunteered to stay sober for watches that they had shifts covered for the night, actually half-shifts so the volunteer guardians could at least enjoy one half or the other of the winter celebration. In the wake of their recent victory over yet another invading force, the celebrating was intense. Spontaneous hilarity could be seen breaking out all over the Complex whenever Cassy looked around.

  As Cassy refilled her cider—not the hard cider, she was staying sober what with so many unknown people encamped only minutes from the Complex—she caught movement from the corner of her eye. Turning, she saw that Michael was marching half a dozen of their former-military troops into the common area. Something was up. She was concerned at first, but then she noticed that Michael held little
Kaitlyn’s hand as they marched, and she wore a huge, anxious grin. This should be good, whatever this was…

  Michael called cadence as the troops marched into the clearing, and they stopped adjacent to the common area. The other Clanners quickly gathered to see what was happening. Michael cried an order and the “unit” turned smartly at once to face everyone. With his stern military voice on full-Marine mode, he called out, “We have a special presentation this evening.” He paused, then bellowed, “Jaz and Choony, front and center!”

  Those two had been watching from the sidelines with Grandma Mandy and were obviously surprised when Michael boomed out their names. But the sight of little Kaitlyn standing there with Michael, a grin on her face, told Jaz that whatever was going on, they didn’t need to hide. Jaz grabbed Choony’s hand and dragged him out to face Michael, Choony visibly resisting as the crowd called out encouragement and a few whistled at Jaz or made general catcalls at the two of them. Jaz waved to her admirers, but never stopped dragging Choony forward.

  Michael then escorted Kaitlyn to face them. “Atten-hur!” he barked to his Marines, who went into the “position of attention” with snap and pop from their heeled boots, standing ramrod-straight, rifles at their right sides. Then he addressed the crowd.

  “Our fellow Clanner Kaitlyn has a special request this evening. In the Marines, we consider it a responsibility to recognize heroic deeds in song and ceremony, and Kaitlyn here has reminded us of that duty. With Dean Jepson, the famous and admired Redneck’s Own Engineer, she has prepared appropriate medals of valor. These are the first Clanholme valor awards ever. And to go with what Kaitlyn has named the Clanhome Medals of Generator, she has prepared a commemorative song about our victory over the Adamstown raiders and the daring deeds of these two brave, young heroes.”

  Predictably, the Clanners cheered at this. And drank some more.

  Michael turned to the little girl and crouched so that he spoke quietly to her, face to face. “Ready, sweetie?”

  Kaitlyn nodded, standing as tall as her small child’s frame allowed, and speaking loudly enough for all to hear, she announced with a high-pitched, cracking voice, “I am proud to present Jaz and Choony with the very first two Clan awards of valor—the Clanholme Medal of Generator!” Her voice may have quaked with stage fright, but she grinned like the Cheshire Cat when the Clan began to cheer her.

  Cassy watched, smiling, as Jaz broke into a chortle and Choony laughed in his quiet way, but as Kaitlyn put one of the ribbon loops around Jaz’s neck, those close enough could see one little tear rolling down her cheek. Choony was grinning as widely as anyone had seen in the time he’d been with the Clan as he straightened up after receiving his own, fingering the neat little medal Kaitlyn had awarded him.

  Michael then broke into the crowd’s noisy cheers, his disciplined military voice easily piercing the din. “And now may we present The Ballad of Jaz and Choony.” The crowd yelled its approval as Kaitlyn, practically bouncing now with excitement, turned to face them. Cassy could see her visibly gulp with nervousness as the crowd quieted and attention focused on her, but the brave kid didn’t falter. Then her suddenly strong, sweet voice burst out of that tiny body, surprising everyone with its strength as she began to sing—

  Here’s Jaz and Choony, they’ll save the day!

  Coming in fast, driving goons all away

  And everyone here will jump up just to say

  Jaz and Choony! They’re saving the day!

  At the end of the first verse, the Marines stomped their feet once and then stood to attention again, brought their rifles from their sides up across their bodies to hold with two hands, then up to their right shoulders. They then brought their left hands across their bodies to touch the rifles with fingertips, just at shoulder levels. It was neat, in unison, and made a popping noise. Cassy hadn’t seen the Marines salute with rifles before, or whatever they were doing. It looked fantastic, and Kaitlyn beamed with pride.

  The process then reversed itself, until they stood again with rifles resting by their right foot. The laughing crowd shouted encouragement as Kaitlyn went into the second verse.

  Choony and Jaz are coming with gunny sacks

  Full of trade goods and hardware they bear on their backs

  The goonies they see them and run, making tracks

  Jaz and Choony! They’re saving the day!

  On the final words this time, the crowd joined in, shouting “saving the day” with more enthusiasm than talent. The Marines in formation then barked their bark and shouted “Ooh-rah!” in unison, going to Present Arms with their rifles again, then back to attention.

  The audience roared. Jaz stood and bowed to them, grinning, while Choony just looked painfully shy about the whole thing, but he wore a smile. The two of them turned to leave, and Choony put Kaitlyn up on his shoulders to march over and greet Grandma Mandy while their Marine honor guard fanned out to rejoin the fun and the merrymaking. The mood Kaitlyn and the Marines had set for them made the crowd boisterously happy for the rest of the night, as people talked and traded stories and celebrated the miracle of just being alive.

  Cassy marveled at the intense sense of community all around her, a feeling she had sought all her life. Just maybe, the loss of the old society would someday be looked back on as a blessing after the turmoil ran its course.

  Kaitlyn refused to be removed from Choony’s shoulders for the next hour, and no one tried very hard to make her until she started falling asleep and Grandma Mandy took over, walking with her to her mother and Ethan. Choony had worn a faint smile the whole time he carried Kaitlyn. Neither he nor Jaz took off their handmade Clanholme Generator medals until they finally had to go to sleep as the sun began to rise.

  It had turned into the type of great celebration that lasts at full roar until dawn, all noise and laughter and energy, and no fights at all. Later, it became known as the First New Years, and people would tell First New Year’s tales for years afterward.

  They were alive and fed and they felt safe for now. It was enough.

  - 13 -

  1000 HOURS - ZERO DAY +151

  CASSY SAT ON the recliner in her living room, elbows on her knees, leaning forward as she listened to the chatter. These informal meetings included representatives from various surrounding holdings who had managed to hold on without raiding others. Originally, Cassy had intended the meetings as a way to reach out to others though early attendance was sparse, to say the least—only someone from Ephrata had come to the first one, three months before, shortly after Clanholme had defeated Peter and his “goons.” Cassy had to smile at the way Kaitlyn’s “Jaz and Choony” song had entered their local lingo.

  Since that first meeting, the group had grown. Their individual names weren’t important but their titles were—each was there to represent their survivor group, at the invitation and request of the Clan. Soon it would be time to build someplace that could hold these meetings more comfortably as attendance grew, which it was sure to do as word of them continued to spread.

  For this third survivors’ meeting, the living room, small as it was, had begun to feel crowded. Frank sat in the other recliner, acting as the Clan’s rep. Cassy was present only as a neutral arbiter and meeting coordinator, her duty as the host. She had made Frank the Clan’s rep both to distance herself from any unpopular demands the Clan might make and to showcase Frank’s missing foot, which raised sympathy and reminded people of the Clan’s toughness—as did her own prominent facial scars. It amounted to a show of will and power. Plus, Frank’s easy, non-threatening, people-savvy ways made him a natural choice.

  On the couch, sipping tea, sat three reps, one each from Ephrata, Brickerville, and Liz Town. Brickerville’s rep had concluded the town’s status report, sharing what they had, what they needed, and what their current challenges were. It was the last status report of the evening, thank heavens. All the challenges had seemed difficult but surmountable, a blessing for everyone. Ephrata was fending off bandits and invaders but h
ad the manpower to do it. Liz Town was holding fine against Harrisburg now, and rumor had it that plague was running through that evil place. Brickerville had the toughest challenge now as migrating teams of invader troops brought violence into their area. Things had gotten so bad that the town, lacking Ephrata’s manpower, found itself essentially under siege.

  “…so we’re mostly cut off from the Falconry and the supplies they trade. I need to know if Clanholme would be willing to put up both our merchants and theirs, along with the goods we bring, and offer us protection in your territory so we can trade in peace. Other groups trade with us too, with our greenhouses growing surplus food the way they do. Without help, we could be in real trouble before too much longer.”

  Frank nodded as he used his cane to scratch at his leg stump. “Of course we’re happy to host traders. But we can’t guarantee their safety coming or going from here, just to be clear. That’d have to be up to the participants. And if trading sessions between you and the Falconry work out here, I bet they’ll grow. Setting up an open marketplace to everybody, inside Clanholme, needs more discussion. Maybe a better place would be along the border with our new neighbors to the west? It’ll take some thought. But for now, I don’t see why not.”

  “Thank you. That will take some pressure off of our northern flank, not having to run interference for wagon convoys coming in. Or whatever they’re called.”

  The visitors having finished, Cassy watched as Frank took his turn.

  “Pardon me for not rising to speak, but my leg is bothersome in this cold. The fact is, we’re doing well enough on our southern border. Mostly, now, the people down there are either in tiny settlements or are dead or dying off. There just was too much ruined by the ’vader’s gas attacks—with Lancaster wiped off the map and it’s people killed outright, we haven’t had to deal with floods of starving refugees like you all deal with from outside.”