by G. R. Carter
Even so, Tony and Nicole spoke little about the few things they disagreed on. Both preferred to spend their evenings discussing new projects for ARK and watching the noctilucent light shows from the roof of Renaissance Tower. Kelley, the person responsible for shielding ARK from GRAPEVINE’s shutdown, insisted that the generators only ran in the buildings in the evenings, from 6 p.m. to 10 p.m. every night. After 10 p.m. only essential hygiene, maintenance and defense functions were allowed.
By the eight-week mark, the violence and fires around the city died out. Surviving warlords consolidated their power over the remaining populace. Anyone not willing to submit was dead or gone. As ARK Peacekeepers made contact with each gang ruler, they offered a choice. Join ARK, or die. Most of the rulers, having made it through multiple circles of Hell already in their lives, told the ARK teams exactly what they could do with their choice. Once the ruler made that choice, a sniper’s bullet would end their reign.
If a gunfight didn’t ensue, the second-in-command received the same offer. Naturally, they often agreed to the terms. Some groups were too far gone and had to be wiped out. But enough joined to triple the population under ARK control within a short time. Survivors who lived in fear of the warlords often welcomed the sight of the well-uniformed ARK officers like rescuing heroes. The exhausted people received something to eat and fresh water. After regaining some strength, each then received their job assignment, usually digging potato fields. By the time the poor souls realized what serfdom meant, their spirits were crushed. Just weeks before these were spoiled, lazy Americans. Now they found themselves being forced into daily manual labor. The spark of life was drained; former people now more like farm animals. ARK supervisors called the peasant life “worked, fed and put to bed.”
Truthfully, most seemed thankful to be alive and not under the constant threat of violent death and starvation. The work was slow, and all had to be done by hand. But with so many now working the fields, soon there was enough ground prepared for planting. Anyone with farming or gardening experience was made a supervisor, with the promise of extra rations for themselves or family. After executing some who exaggerated experience they didn’t actually possess, ARK crews were able to find enough supervisors either from farms or who had been avid gardeners before the lights went out. Negotiations with outside farmers yielded enough seed and potatoes to get the first fields planted. Peacekeepers occasionally came back to the ARK with entire families no longer able to safely stay on their farms because of the increasing bandit raids.
Each of the experienced growers was assigned plots to look after, and hungry volunteers to do the work with. At Nicole’s urging and Uncle Jack’s agreement, Tony loosened the reins on some of the survivors who were “volunteering” to be the field labor. Sane people understood the stakes involved. The food would be for everyone regardless of rank, and those from the City Center were expected to pitch in to help grow. Tony even considered Nicole’s ideas for giving people their own plot of land to work. Everyone celebrated together when the first green shoots emerged from the torched landscape.
Living quarters outside the City Center walls were made from former semi–truck trailers grouped into a defensive circle, housing supervisors and workers with a fire pit in the center for evening meals. Small fortified barracks kept Peacekeepers close while on security rotations. The troopers stayed sharp; human animals still lived in the ruins of the city. Guards referred to them as “Rat-eaters,” though allegedly that wasn’t all the bandits ate.
Although not anywhere close to being efficient or perfect, within one month of the end of the modern world, Tony Diamante and the ARK were in the feudal farming business.
Chapter Fourteen – The Pullback
Shelby County
Two Months after the Great Reset
Phil Hamilton inspected an odd collection of old semis and rock trucks, as well as several grain trucks recruited from local farmers that had been assembled in the Shelby County highway maintenance yard. So far, about twenty trucks deemed road-worthy enough to make the 240-mile round-trip to the river port at Sweet Water were being fueled up by tank wagons. A group of wagons with the best tires were being pulled behind the trucks to provide refills along the way. The familiar smell of burning soy oil hung in the air like a blanket. Phil was used to it, but that didn’t mean it smelled good. Ever since the Wizards perfected the process for converting the old Greenstem ethanol plant into their own soy diesel refinery, everyone in the county learned to live the distinct and unpleasant smell. Not quite rotten, not quite burning, but very pungent either way, Phil thought.
No one complained, at least not out loud. Unlike most of the rest of the world, Shelby County still had electricity, although it was still very limited. Fuel to power tractors meant they were able to eat and that was very much unlike the rest of the world right now. So even though the smell clung to everything they did, survivors knew that the odor was all that stood between them and starvation.
“Clark, do you really think you’ll be able to find this port to secure more materials for the concrete plant?” Phil asked as the Sheriff finished topping off the tank on a heavy dump truck.
“I believe so. I wish Mike could go with us. He’s been there a hundred times. But he’s too important running that concrete plant to risk getting hurt. Though he did loan me one of his guys that has been to the plant… once.” He laughed and patted his sidearm. “I’m just hoping I don’t have to use this.”
“Me too. If I have to explain to Maryanne that you got yourself hurt over a load of concrete, she’ll blame me,” Phil said. Maryanne was the Sheriff’s wife and constant companion of over twenty years. As well liked as her husband, Maryanne organized the campaign years ago that got him elected to the county’s top law enforcement position.
Olsen’s mood turned serious again. “Listen, Phil. I need you to understand that we might not make it back from this. At least, not all of us. I’m willing to take the chance because I believe your fortified farm plans can be the difference between life and death for our people. I’ve been living with that balance all my life. But let’s not kid ourselves. We now know firsthand there are bad guys out there. I don’t think they’ll bother a convoy our size, but desperate people do desperate things.”
Phil stopped him. “Clark, let’s hold the legend of Sheriff Olsen until you get back. I don’t want you doing anything you think is too dangerous. We can figure out a different way that doesn’t require you going on a suicide mission.”
“That’s not what I’m saying, Phil. I don’t want to be a hero. And it is absurd to think about fighting for something we would normally take for granted. I mean, really…the Battle of Concrete! Crazy! But we have to be realistic about the world we’re in. If I don’t make it back, you have to be ready to lead the defenses.”
“Why me, Clark? I’m not a police officer. And I sure never served in the military. I’m not even that good with my shotgun. I’ve never even fired the AR 15 you don’t know I have,” Phil challenged.
“I’m going to revoke your gun license, you domestic terrorist!” the Sheriff chuckled. The laughter faded as he considered what to say next.
“I’m serious, Phil, the thing you have is the ability to see the whole field. I know you thought I lost my mind that first day when we went to get supplies for the refinery. But now you’ve got a better handle on this than even I do. I would have never thought of creating the biofuel refinery or the fortified farms. Even if I suggested using the schools and hospital as shelters for our people, you’re the one who figured out the system,” he said.
Phil held up a hand, “That was Anna’s doing, but I get your point.”
“Good, then it’s settled,” Olsen continued. “I feel a lot better about it now.”
Phil changed the subject, “How many men do you have gathered?”
“I’ve got twenty trucks and twenty-four men right now. I was hoping for more trucks, but at least this way several of us will be able to ride shotgun,” Olsen
explained.
He continued, “Each man will have a weapon, and I’ve got four deputies who have battle rifle training. They know how to handle ARs, so even if someone takes a run at us, hopefully we’ll be able to change their mind quick.”
Phil nodded. “I don’t envy you having to lead men into danger, Clark. I’ll stick with battling old equipment that hasn’t been used in years. Good luck, and I’ll see you before you leave.”
Clark nodded and headed back. Leading men into battle wasn’t something I’d planned on, he admitted to himself. He just wanted to pick up some concrete.
*****
“It’s been three days, Phil. Sheriff Olsen and the convoy should have been back by now,” Mayor Anderson of Tower Hill said impatiently.
Phil continued the “Morning Mayor Meeting,” as he jokingly titled the written agenda he handed out, even with Sheriff Olsen’s absence.
“We knew it would be at least a couple of days, Jim. And I imagine it was hard for them to find a loader that was working or hadn’t been stripped down. They might be loading everything by hand. That's leaving out a few guys for over watch, and considering how heavy the material is they’re working with, I have no idea how long it might be before they return. Clark said that no matter what, they would begin the trip back by the fifth day.”
“I hope they have time to find some more food stores. I don’t like the projection numbers from the schools,” Mayor Ed Newgarden of Findlay said with concern. “People didn’t bring in as much of their own food as I thought they would when they moved in.”
Each family was supposed to bring all food they had left in their homes when they checked into the school shelters. In reality, each family stayed in their homes as long as they could. When they came to the realization that the food stores weren’t filling back up with supplies, they gave up on independence and moved into the school shelters set up around the county.
Even though the county population plummeted after the Pullback, there were still thousands of people living in the small towns and farms. Shelby County had a good plan for handling the situation but the old saying was that no good battle plan survived contact with the enemy. Harvest was still months away, and for the second time they’d readjusted servings of rations in all the shelters. Phil and Clark privately discussed more salvage missions to the larger cities to see if they could find food, but that was going to make them have to answer questions they weren’t comfortable with yet. The concrete supply mission also served as a trial run to see if food finding expeditions would be worthwhile in the near future. Clark intended to send a couple of his deputies out on a search patrol to the area surrounding the port while they were loading materials.
“Have we searched all empty houses yet?” Anderson questioned. “At this point, people aren’t coming back for them.”
“Not yet…are we all in agreement that we violate our one millionth law and start breaking into absent citizens' houses?” No one laughed at the pointed joke. “Ok, then let’s do it. Each town appoints four people to start going house to house.”
“Phil, how are preparations going for our new fortresses?” Mayor Newgarden quickly changed the uncomfortable subject.
“We’re done with the first Fortress Farm,” he said, using the term in public for the first time. “Looks like Frankenstein’s illegitimate child, but I think we can secure it from a Ditchmen raid with just ten trigger pullers. If we move some townsfolk out to the farms, we’re going to take a lot of pressure off of the school shelters and give a great deal of security to the farms.”
Phil continued, “Now, I’ve got the equipment and the concrete forms on site for the priority buildings you each gave me. But I need to ask you another crazy question.”
“Can’t be any crazier than putting Americans into fortified farms,” Newgarden chuckled.
“Wait till you hear what I have to say,” Phil said. “I want to tear down any buildings and houses we’re not using.” Phil paused until the gasps finished. “Most important, I want to tear down all houses and buildings surrounding the schools and churches we’re using as shelters.”
“What’s the point of that? I mean, we’re talking about demolishing our own towns before bandits even have a chance to,” Anderson jumped in.
“If we believe it’s important enough to fortify these buildings, and to move our people into secure locations, then there is nothing too radical to consider,” Gordon Steinbrink, mayor of Strasburg, spoke for the first time in days. Gordon had always been quiet, but Phil felt concerned that he was disconnecting from the group the last few days.
Steinbrink continued, “I’ve been thinking about this situation we find ourselves in. We just aren’t moving fast enough. We’ve had families killed by some group, we still don’t know who they are, and we believe that major cities have completely collapsed. I agree we have accomplished a lot just keeping people from starving so far. But I fear the real crisis will reach us any day.”
He paused, looking down at hands scarred and nicked from decades of hard work in the machine tooling plant he started shortly after emigrating from Germany.
“What Phil is talking about is opening fields of fire around our shelters. If and when those shelters get attacked, those Ditchmen scum will have to cross open fields to get our people instead of hiding and sneaking up. Think about a prison. There are usually open fields all around prison walls. No sneaking out in that case…and no sneaking in, for our shelters.”
“That makes sense, I’m in. Give the skeptics something new to complain about. We can blame it all on Phil!” Newgarden said to break the mood just a little.
Honking horns broke the meeting, and each attendee of the Morning Mayor Meeting ran to the door to see what the commotion was about.
Relief and concern greeted the men as they walked towards a line of heavily laden trucks parked along Main Street. Some trucks had clearly been hit with bullets. Others were missing glass where a windshield or side window fit just days before. Phil was pretty sure there was at least one fewer truck then there had been when Clark Olsen led the convoy off on its mission.
Shelby County’s last remaining physician ran towards the passenger side of a truck that had obviously been hit with heavy gunfire. Two men helped an unconscious figure out of the truck, with a concerned Dr. Jack Wright already checking the limp man’s blood pressure. To Phil’s relief, the hulking figure of Clark Olsen climbed from the passenger side of the lead truck. Olsen's face held a swirl of emotions…exhaustion, relief...what’s that other look? I’ve never seen that before. The Sheriff headed straight for Phil. The two men had become friends in a short amount of time and there was a lot to talk about.
“Phil, I’m heading to see Maryanne, and then I think we need to talk,” Clark huffed out.
“Sure, Clark. Whenever you’re ready,” Phil said.
“I’m ready now. Will you just walk with me to the house? I’d like to talk in private. Things are even worse out there than we first thought.”
*****
Clark hugged a very relieved Maryanne for a long time. Long enough to make Phil really wish he had waited outside for a while. Finally, Maryanne went off to make supper and Clark snuck upstairs to wash up and change. The Olsens had made the decision to stay in their home for a while; they intended to move out to of the new fortified farms when the time was right, but for now they stayed put.
Clark and Maryanne joined Phil sitting in the study. The sheriff began to relay the story of the convoy's journey, and as they listened, they realized that they needed to completely reconsider how they imagined the outside world.
The convoy made the trip to the Sweet Water port along the river with little drama. The biggest problem came in negotiating their way through a couple of small-town roadblocks; some other communities had managed to stay organized, barricading themselves against dangers prowling the countryside. Once convinced the Shelby County men weren’t there to loot their towns, the townsfolk let the convoy continue on to their destina
tion. The concrete plant employee loaned by Mike guided them to the port with just a couple of wrong turns.
“The good fortune of finding a fixable loader tractor allowed them to progress at a decent rate,” Olsen told them. “I decided by the second afternoon to chance a food patrol. The small group managed to find a few promising locations to search. I told them to stay out of the buildings and, instead just mark the prospects on a map and bring the info back.”
“Did they run into any people?” Maryanne asked hopefully.
“None,” he said, shaking his head. “At least, that’s what they thought on the first trip. I was going to get the empty trucks together and send them out to check out the locations with the most promise. We only used about three quarters of the trucks for the concrete supplies. So if figured we’d leave most of the guys back to finish those up, and then take the empties out in one big group. Figured both groups would be large enough to discourage anyone we might run into from messing with us.” Then the Sheriff grew very quiet and stopped his story to stare at the table.
There’s something big coming, Phil thought. Something big that he’s having trouble telling us.
Maryanne sensed the same thing, and she spoke up. “Clark, what is it? What happened then?”
Olsen sighed and continued, “Unfortunately, the scout group brought back some unwelcome guests. They must have followed them back to the convoy. Whoever it was just started blasting us from all directions. Caught me and the entire crew by surprise. I’ve never faced gunfire before, and neither had any of the guys with me. Even that one deputy of mine who spent a few years in the Army spent his whole time as a mechanic behind the lines.”
