by Angela White
Others felt it. Kyle and Neil did, and Doug too, but Tonya was the only one to pursue Adrian shamelessly and she was often humiliated by him and the camp as a punishment for it.
Kenn spied a flash of flame red and subtly watched Tonya come through the crowd of slightly drunk and unfriendly people with an air of haughty contempt that he admired.
Everyone shifted aside, whispering, staring at her, and she held her chin high, glaring directly at some of them when the whispers became too loud.
Each time, the person fell silent, aware that Tonya would back up her words with actions.
Kenn felt a bolt of desire for her. The skintight, black slacks caressed her long legs and her red net top made men consider breaking rules. It also caused the women here to hate her for making them feel plain, second best, and Kenn studied her from under lowered lashes.
He was disappointed when she slipped into her tent, and he almost had to force himself to stay where he was as the conversations resumed. These people had mostly accepted him, but they were still waiting for him to cross even the smallest line and be denied the position he was aiming (campaigning) for. He couldn’t make time openly with Tonya or any other woman yet, not until there had been a proper mourning period. Kenn wouldn’t ruin his chances here on a piece of ass, no matter how hot. It would be a betrayal of Adrian, but worse, of the wife back in Ohio that he’d spoken of. That would be unforgivable, thanks to Adrian’s strict but simple moral code: Do what you want and be shunned, or do the accepted thing and be welcomed. Both types of people lived here, but only one held any power, and being a cut above the rest was also a lure for the controlling soul that Kenn’s father had given him.
“You wanna hit this, man?”
Zack, a truck driver that the new doctor had patched up, was holding out a thick blunt. The man was unarmed, alone, and carried himself like a fellow controller.
Arm in a white sling, the driver smelled new. It took a while for that to fade, and Kenn assessed him. Like Adrian, he would also need a right hand. Was this it?
“Sure, thanks.” Kenn hit it hard, keeping it for a long moment, waiting, and wasn’t disappointed.
“I hear you handle the big man’s shit and your own. Interested in some backup?”
Kenn handed over the smoldering blunt, stubbing out the part of the cherry that had fallen and landed in the trampled needle grass at their feet. “I’ll get back to you on that.”
Zack’s green eyes darkened. It was clear to Kenn that the prematurely graying trucker was used to getting what he wanted, when he wanted it.
“And in the meantime?”
Kenn shrugged and turned away. “Anyone who wanted to watch my six would have to be an Eagle and in charge of his own team. That’s a deal breaker.”
Kenn was in his sleeping bag three hours later, cold, uncomfortable, and sure that his past was catching up to him. He could feel Angela hunting for her boy at night, searching the vast darkness for their location, and he was livid that she wouldn’t answer him, even though he knew she’d heard him calling to her. He was no stranger to what she could do. Kenn had done his homework before dating (trapping) her, but he couldn’t accept it with her in control. She couldn’t come here, not ever.
She’s already on her way, his mind insisted brutally. When she arrives, she’ll not only rock your boat, she’ll sink it. When Adrian finds out what kind of man you were before, how you dishonored the Corps repeatedly, you’ll be banished.
The voice was cruel, and Kenn hated Angela at that moment for the tiny worm of fear that was growing deep in his heart. If she made it to Safe Haven, he would lose everything.
4
Monthly meetings were mandatory for everyone except those on sentry duty, and after dinner, Adrian called his people together. It was held in the Mess, and Kenn was impressed with the tarp roof that gave extra room, the snacks and drinks, and the neat orderliness of it.
All the seats were taken as Adrian came under the awning, and another dozen men lined the corners of the gathering. These, Kenn knew now, were off-duty guards who were being trained to do their jobs even when not on a shift. Adrian explained it as civic service and from what Kenn had experienced here so far, it was succeeding, but it didn’t hurt that it also gained Adrian’s respect. That was something everyone wanted. What these people didn’t know was that it was a Corps standard.
The big crowd waited for Adrian to get himself a cup of coffee and a few of the cookies. He had a thick red notebook under his arm, and he made his way to the table in the center of the crowd instead of the one in front that had been left empty for him.
Kenn recognized the bonding moment as a clever political move, but he also recognized the danger. He instinctively kept his hand near his hip and noticed that a few of the others (Kyle, Neil, and Doug) eased closer to the boss.
Adrian remained standing as he got started, meeting their tense glances to calm them down, but he could smell the reeking rot of bodies in the towns around them, even over the odors of cooking and port-o-lets. This was still cold weather. What would it be like in July?
“This is the third meeting of Safe Haven Refugee Camp. We have ninety-one people.”
There was a pleased ripple at that, safety in numbers mentioned in the crowd. Few of them realized it was President’s Day. Those who did know the date didn’t care. That world was gone. Safe Haven didn’t need a president. It had Adrian.
“We also now have a doctor!”
There was a big cheer at that, and most people scanned the neatly organized mess, but not the Eagles, Kenn observed. Their attention stayed on their surroundings, doing their duty.
“We’ll sort out a schedule. For now, sign the sheet Neil has, and put your problem on it if you can. The doctor will use it to decide who needs to come in first.”
There was quiet chatter as the tall trooper passed the first clipboard.
Before Adrian could continue, an eager voice rang out from behind Kenn.
“You gonna run those tests now? The ones to see if anyone here’s sick?”
Adrian chose his words carefully as people gaped. “I’d like to, yes, but...”
“And we’re gonna kick ‘em out right? Just like we voted on?” Tony, a low-fare grease monkey, interrupted again.
Adrian frowned at the short, balding mechanic. “We won’t be so nasty, but yes. They’ll be asked to leave.”
People were talking quietly to each other, some sulking, some agreeing, and the drunkard sat down, satisfied.
Smothering a curse, Adrian turned the page. That hadn’t encouraged people to be checked out. “Our new crew of guards has passed into Level Two, and that means we need another twenty men to try out for Level One. Neil will pass around that sheet too, and I’ll let you know in a couple days. Also, our reserves aren’t growing, and I understand that’s because no one feels safe. While I can’t take away all the danger, I can give you some protection. Eagle Four and his team are hereby on loan to protect any supply mission of six or more people that has been approved a day in advance. They get their orders from me, though, and will not endanger their lives unless it’s worth it,” Adrian warned. “If they say no, it’s not safe, you pick a different site. If something does go wrong, the priority is to get everyone to camp. Next, schedule switches will no longer be handled by me. Kenn and Kyle will cover all changes. I’ll still make out the original and give a final approval.”
Adrian paused to light a stale smoke, and Kenn was almost positive that he was judging the reactions of the camp. They seemed fine with his choices, though there were a few words being exchanged between some of the Eagles over the order of the names. How important was that?
“As of tomorrow, there will be a third meal. The appliances Kenn and Doug hooked up run great, so from now on we get three squares, Monday through Friday. Saturday and Sunday will remain the same–lunch and dinner, with the truck open for coffee, toast, and cereal. A through L will be served the new meal first, M through Z thirty-five minutes later, s
hift to start at noon.”
He flipped another page, giving Kenn a motion of recognition that the Marine soaked up like a thirsty desert.
“Effective immediately, everyone is on full water rations.”
The cheer was much louder this time, and Adrian gestured toward his new right-hand. “Thank Kenn. His idea of searching trucks on the highway was great, and now we’re good as long as we find one a week.”
Kenn was being slapped on the shoulders and congratulated, but he didn’t miss the gleam of satisfaction in Adrian’s pale eyes as he witnessed his new man being accepted.
“We also have four new loads of clothes, shoes, blankets, and a lot of other gear we’ve been low on or out of. The trucks will be open right after this meeting, with M through Z going first and A through L twenty minutes later.” He paused. “We also have the photos from the Essex bunker and NORAD. They’re bad, and they blow the idea of finding help there. With this odd weather holding in some warmth, I say we keep hunting. If we haven’t found anything by the fourth of July, then we should go on and pick a place to try rebuilding on our own.”
“You mean in the mountains?” someone called out.
Kenn noticed the people here never really settled down, even though there were guards everywhere. Tense sheep, he thought, waiting for the dog’s bite.
Adrian was clearly reluctant and had to raise his voice a bit to be heard as the wind ran through camp, causing the tents to flap louder. “Yes. The bunker under the base in Montana won’t hold us all, but this country is full of tunnels, caves, and equipment to make them livable. I hope for something above, but if we had to, we could take a big set of caves and block them off, make it work temporarily.”
He waved a dismissive hand, demeanor calmer than his stomach as they muttered among themselves. “It’s something to think about. We’ll have a final vote on that in July. For now, we’ll stay here tomorrow and have our contest, then leave the next morning. Where? We’re picking that tonight, along with voting on some new rules.”
Adrian met suddenly nervous people with calm, reasonable words. “We have a lot of people here now, and we pick up more nearly every day. That’s great, exactly what we want, but it also means we need more volunteers. With no law that says they have to, people aren’t pulling their weight. The current rules say everyone has to help, but I’d like to be more specific. We need each person here to pull three shifts on sentry duty and one shift on any other chore of their choice. We all want things to be better, right?”
He waited for a reaction, their half-hearted agreement, faces a mix of trust and suspicion, and then continued. “Before, “better” was earning the finer things, the luxuries, but now, “better” means working to survive, to keep what we’ve got–this second chance. These things have to be done, and we have to be the people to do them. There is no one else.”
His tone had become scolding, and Kenn was impressed, sure there would be extra hands for at least the next week. No one liked Adrian disappointed or unhappy.
“I’d like to have more of us taking the gun classes. There’s a large group of guerillas moving up Interstate 25, as most of you know, and we need to be able to defend ourselves.”
“Do you think we’ll be attacked?” the reporter, Cynthia “Shark-Bitch” Quest, asked. She was sweating heavily because she’d insisted on squeezing into the front with the elderly, so she wouldn’t miss a single word or reaction.
Adrian shrugged, expression unreadable even though he knew her from before the war. She hadn’t placed him yet, might not if fate was on his side, but he hadn’t even considered refusing her entry, or worse, getting rid of her. And that was the difference between him and his father, why he was worthy to lead these people.
“I hope not, but it is a part of why we need more hands for guard duty. And, that reminds me. People are getting out of their cars in new places way too soon. Many times, the Eagles haven’t cleared or roped off the area yet, and I’m telling you now, someone will end up getting hurt because of it.”
Adrian proceeded to the beaded doorway of the Mess, to the cook. Hilda was a plump-faced German woman they’d picked up in central Nevada, another one he wasn’t sure about yet. Like the reporter–Adrian didn’t know where she fit into his plans for their future, but he had little doubt they both did. And if one of these two alert females discovered his secret, it was fate. They wouldn’t, though. He had faith. At least, not until these people were able to survive without him. Then, it would be open season.
“Can I get a Bud?”
The big-shouldered cook did it immediately, and Adrian made a mental note to talk to her later as he turned back to his audience. If Hilda wanted labor that kept her out of view, he had that, but he wouldn’t let her waste that sharp intelligence on serving trays.
“This area is bad, dangerous. We all feel it. We can’t stay long without getting sick. After the contest, I’d like to make some real miles and get away from here now that we know NORAD’s fate.”
There was no real response except darkening faces at the mention of the compound that many of them had hoped would be standing and willing to take in survivors, but the muttering was continuous. The large group wasn’t even completely silent while Adrian was talking.
Adrian took the towel-wrapped bottle with a nod. “Okay, any new business?”
“Yes.” Alex Ford, a young math teacher from Montana, stood up nervously. “Are we gonna... I mean... Can we celebrate the holidays? Some of the kids have asked and we’re not sure what to tell them.”
The well-dressed bald man sat down, and Adrian appeared to be considering, but this was easy. It was one of the things he had covered in his notebook over a month ago.
“Just the ones that matter, I think. The Fourth of July, Thanksgiving, New Years, for sure. Memorial Day.”
“What about Easter and Christmas?” Cynthia asked, hurriedly hand copying as much of the meeting as she could.
“Not as a whole camp. Hardly anyone believed in them, just used them as an excuse to indulge or buy off loved ones, rather than spending real time with them. I won’t even get into the money and stores, and what it did to our lives. Each person can do what they want, and I won’t be upset by kids hunting eggs or dressing up for Halloween, but I won’t let a few force it on everyone else.”
There were shrugs and scowls, again about evenly split, and Adrian took a moment to open his beer and take a healthy swallow. He was wisely giving his people a minute to settle in with the idea that even the holidays had changed for them.
“Guess we might all like Halloween a little more if one of you guys could do some magic.” His common joke drew chuckles, but he didn’t tell them how much he wished it was true. “All right, anyone else have new business?”
“I have some suggestions.”
The doctor’s voice was respectful, and Adrian waved a hand, liking the hard intelligence he read in the short, rounded man’s face. New and just out of a self-imposed quarantine, John had already made friends.
Adrian gestured with his bottle. “Suggest away.”
The aged healer stood up, sending a strong, menthol whiff of Ben-Gay over the gathered crowd.
“There should be more fruit and juice for everyone, along with daily vitamins. We’re being exposed to a lot of poisons, especially in places like this, and the antioxidants in the fruits and juice will boost our immune systems.”
Silence greeted his words, and John went on carefully, hoping he wasn’t about to step on anyone’s toes. “I’ve only been here a couple days, but I’ve been a doctor for a long time. I can tell you what illnesses we’ll face in the coming months and how to prevent some of them.”
Adrian gave him a barely perceptible gesture, aware and pleased at the man’s use of “we.”
“What kinds of things can we expect if we ignore your suggestions?”
“Scurvy, rashes, nasty colds, weak immune systems that will let the sniffles last for weeks instead of days. Migraines, vomiting and diarrhea th
at lasts for weeks at a time. The list gets bad after that. We’re absorbing the chemicals that fell with the bombs and those that were released in accidents right after the war. Once enough builds up, we’ll start getting sick, and dying.”
The crowd stirred uneasily, but Adrian did nothing to calm them, as most were expecting. All of you need a reality check, Adrian thought, remembering idiots catching rainwater on their tongues the last time it stormed. Just to discover if it would still burn. They knew less than nothing.
John noted Adrian’s motion and recognized the unspoken order. Adrian wanted to scare them. That was easy. He would use the truth.
“Our biggest threat is the radiation,” John continued. “It’s usually ninety percent fatal at high doses, but it’s the low doses we have to worry about. It’s a slow death that finds each person’s weak link. It wakes up dormant genes, like cancer and MS, and since exposure kills the immune system, we’ll be attacked from the inside. The immune system is the army, and though the radiation can’t be stopped, it can be slowed by an army that’s strong. For us, it could mean only thirty percent will die, instead of seventy.”
“But the bombs came months ago and the toxics soaked into the ground. Why are we worryin’? We ain’t even seen any radiation vics,” a slender, older woman in the front stated.
People immediately responded.
“I did.”
“We have.”
John held up a hand, and Adrian was pleased when the crowd’s talk fell off to mostly silence.
“Those who were exposed during the war are gone now. Our threats are coming from the weather dropping it on us and from the radioactive debris still on the ground where we sleep and need to grow food. It takes a long time for the toxics, as you call them, to go away. You know that layer of smog when its daylight, makes it feel like dusk all the time? It’s the toxins and dust. Until that dissipates, we’re not safe. Near the bomb zones, that’ll take thirty years or more.”
