by G. R. Carter
The crowds surrounding the stage began to cheer as they watched the trio approach. Eric and Alex both smiled at the roar directed towards their hero. Clark Olsen had been like a father like figure for Alex in the absence of his own late dad. The pride he felt for the older man was genuine, and he also enjoyed seeing the look on the face of one of his closest friends at the adulation for his father.
Alex leapt up on the stage like a graceful cat, unencumbered by the dress uniform he wore. A natural born athlete, the constant physical training of the Self Defense Force had made him exceptionally agile. Few dared grapple with him in the Square, the arena where no-holds barred scores were settled among the young men and women of the Republic’s SDF. Alex insisted no punches be pulled just because he was their leader, and the next generation of Land Lords from the most powerful of Fortress Farms obliged him with brutal loyalty.
Upcoming generations believed large plantation-style farms, known as Fortress Farms in the Republic, were their birth right. Automatic seats in the Republic Senate for each of the Okaw’s original Fortress Farms helped solidify their place in leadership. Only the strong personalities, and exceptional fighting skills, of the Hamiltons and Olsens and the other old families gave them the respect needed to keep the Republic stitched together. Financial aid helped also, and thousands of Quarter-Bushels helped defray the cost of turning farms into fortresses. Each Quarter-Bushel, represented by a coin once minted by the United States government, could be redeemed for a tangible asset from the grain stores of the Republic. The Founder’s Chair had the power of the purse and celebrations like the one today served to remind everyone they were part of something bigger than themselves. Renaming the capital city after his father gave Alex the opportunity to remind everyone who was currently in charge of that something bigger.
“Citizens of the Republic,” Alex started, “I want to thank all of you for taking time out of your busy day to join us here,” Alex started. In reality, only a fraction of the city’s residents had time to attend such a thing. Maybe a few Land Lords or their representatives from local farms, also. But enough were present to spread the word throughout the Republic’s infamous rumor mill. By the time details of the celebration reached the frontier farms, the story would claim a hundred thousand people were here, with fresh beef brisket and pumpkin pie for each.
“We come to honor a man near and dear to all our hearts. A man who caused this Republic to be here today, without whom we would have succumbed to the chaos that so many others fell to. Knights in shining armor may never have really existed, but I can say with certainty that sheriffs in beat-up old pickup trucks do!” The crowd exploded in laughter and applause, delighting in the joke of the sheriff's original patrol vehicle after the Reset. That clunker was in a museum warehouse, replaced by the armored patrol trucks affectionately referred to as Snapping Turtles.
Alex continued. “Now we all know that Sheriff Olsen has spent his life in service to others. And since the Reset, he has devoted 100% to keeping us all safe from Ditchmen and Grays. So I also want to recognize Maryanne Olsen for loaning us her man for all those late nights and the weeks he’s had to spend away. Come on up here, Maryanne!” Alex waved his hand to a woman just off-stage. Maryanne had been known around town as the sheriff's wife since just after they graduated high school. Now she was a leader in her own right, serving the Republic as Director of Archives, providing priceless information from books and records gathered from every library salvage teams could get their hands on.
Alex helped her up on the elevated platform and escorted her to Clark’s side. Eric hugged his mom, but Clark kept his distance from her, awkwardly keeping his hands to his side, something Alex had never seen before. It took him back for a second, and then he went on with his speech.
“Now, so that Sheriff Olsen would accept this award, he insisted we make a deal. That deal was that since my dad wasn’t around to get embarrassed like this, we had to at least rename the city after him.” The crowd nodded and chuckled again, fully believing the sheriff would insist on such a thing. “I agreed, and Maryanne searched the Archives for a name that might honor Dad. Maryanne, would you be so kind as to tell the citizens what we came up with?”
Maryanne stepped forward and announced in her loudest voice, “We wanted to find a name with historical significance, but also one that reflected our own heritage and faith as a people. So, after careful consideration, our capital city will now be known as…Philippi!”
The crowd roared in approval, starting to chant the new name. After a while, Alex raised a hand for quiet and then continued. “This is being done not just to honor the cofounder of the Republic but to remind everyone that we live in a different world now. The old world is gone, it’s just not coming back. Our kids know that, and now we do too. We have our own music and culture in the Fortress Farms, we have our own capital city, and now our very first Hero of the Republic!”
More roars, and this time Alex didn’t ask for quiet. He turned and nodded to Eric, who opened an ornate wooden box. Inside was a Steinbrink crafted medal, shaped in a near-perfect likeness to the hawk symbol on the Republic’s flag. Once a college team’s mascot, the extended talons and outstretched wings reminded both friend and foe that the Red Hawks were fighters, and a force not to be taken lightly.
“Now, Sheriff Olsen, please accept the thanks of a grateful nation. Truth be told, we could give you a hundred of these and it wouldn’t match the number of times you’ve put yourself in danger for us. But at least take this token with you to your beautiful new Fortress Farm at Tower Hill and know that your people love you and appreciate you,” Alex said. He pinned the medal onto the Sheriff's uniform and grabbed the big man in a loving bear hug.
Olsen smiled and returned the gesture, then hugged his son as Alex did the same to Maryanne. More cheers and waves as they made their way off of the platform to walk to the capitol building for a quick reception. Even ceremonies like these couldn’t take too long these days, although he was sure everyone would Dance the Ring later tonight after evening meal. Alex had a stack of Land Lord requests to shuffle through and the Sheriff had to supervise another delivery of building materials for Tower Hill. The Fortress Farm there was built around huge concrete towers, but had now grown to encompass what had once been a small town.
The rolling hills and timber held fabulous riches for a person in this new world revolving around what came from the land. Fertile fields, though with more clay content than a farmer might wish for, surrounded the Olsen Fortress Farm for as far as the eye could see. This would be the western frontier for the Republic, though all new applications for Land Lord status would be granted in lands still further west. Another generation and Tower Hill would be in the heart of the Republic instead of on its outskirts. Until then, the Olsens had the right to expand as far as they wanted, even beyond the 640 acre maximum set for other Fortress Farms. Clark and Maryanne intended to make sure that Eric and future generations of the family had plenty to look after. The whole thing was costing them a fortune in Republic Quarters.
The Hamilton family had their own interest in the Olsens’ success. Lori Hamilton, Alex's sister, was engaged to be married to Eric. If the families hadn't been intertwined before, they certainly would be now. A force in her own right and a brilliant leader of the efforts to improve the livestock herds of the Republic, Lori was already adding to the economic assets of Tower Hill.
She met the group at the front steps of the former county courthouse, now the capitol building for the tiny nation.
“Sorry I couldn’t watch the festivities, but I figured the most important thing was to make sure the cake was ready,” she said with a smile while hugging Eric, and then her future father-in-law.
“That’s a young woman who understands priorities,” he said with a laugh. “How soon will you be moving out to Tower Hill?”
“Don’t ask me! Big brother has to let me go for a few hours now and then. Right now he has me working around the clock!” she said with moc
k offense.
“Yeah, right,” Alex replied with a roll of his eyes. “Lori, no one has ever been able to tell you what to do. Eric, don’t blame me for marrying a workaholic.”
The young woman shrugged and grabbed her fiancé’s arm to walk up the capitol steps. Inside, aides ran across the stone floors, all engaged in an important errand of some kind. Each was likely the child of an important Land Lord or tradesman, perhaps even a Tenant’s child on internship for the Self Defense Force. Each made a big show of saluting the group as they came by; seldom were the founding families of the Republic all together at one time, and this was an occasion that each would tell their families and neighbors about when they got back home.
Waiting in the capitol conference room were Anna Hamilton along with Julia Ruff and her daughter. Rebekah Hamilton smiled as Alex walked in, leaving her mother’s side to come and greet her husband. With her own duties at Old Main College, Alex and Rebekah often went days without seeing each other. Today was to celebrate Clark Olsen, but many of the busy couples that made up the heart of the Republic also used it as an excuse to grab a sliver of time with the ones they loved. While dangers persisted on the frontier and the borderlands, for a while today life for the Red Hawks was good.
*****
Hungry, bloodshot eyes peered out from under dense bush, tracking a small group of farmers herd sheep out to pasture. The animals looked young, as did the people with them. Inexperienced and setting up their first farm, these former Tenants were now fledgling Land Lords, a reward for faithful service and hard work.
But as new Land Lords, they received land on the frontier of Red Hawk Republic territory. Most of the prime farm and pasture ground near the capital was already claimed and tilled, so for a new Fortress Farm to become a Land Lord’s proper home, they had to go to the outskirts of civilized territory. That meant backbreaking work fighting against Mother Nature’s seven-year head start. She intended to reclaim what she considered hers. That also meant fighting back creatures who also claimed the land for themselves.
New hybrids filled the void left by man after the dying days of the Great Reset. Lions and tigers set free from personal collections and wildlife parks intermixed with the big cats that roamed the national parks. The climate of the Midwest suited them well, and prey was plentiful. The alpha predators were smart and knew to avoid humans in large groups. But a lone forager in the bush was an irresistible target, and a lot slower than the deer that made up the majority of their diet.
Wolves were also back, some having mated with domestic dogs that formed packs after their owners abandoned them. With no food provided by man, instincts quickly returned for breeds large enough to survive the initial die-off. Wild dog packs still roamed, but were now joined by full-fledged wolf packs hunting through the ruins of the mega cities and farmland left behind.
The hungry eyes tracking this flock were different and much more dangerous. Humans joined their pets in reverting back to primitive ways after the Reset. Packs formed and hunted the unprotected areas, looking for the weak to prey on. Sometimes for robbing and killing, sometimes for acts even worse. Most of these half-human, half-animal creatures had been run out of pockets of civilization like Red Hawk territory, hunted down with ferocity by Self Defense Force deputies and bounty hunters alike.
But out here on the frontier, where the fields were overrun with bush and saplings and the drainage ditches turned to meandering streams, Ditchmen could raid and hide. Survival required some honest hunting and foraging, but all would rather take then work. Any of the savages with an honest bone would have been able to work for their food, there was still way more tasks then able hands in the rebuilt areas. Off of their pre-Reset medications, or simply free to pursue their animal spirits, Ditchmen chose to live off the toil of others.
This pack’s leader was one of the few who still possessed some form of strategic thought. Once a small-town police officer, the collapse presented him with an opportunity to assume power always denied to him before. The power of life and death was now granted to the ruthless, to control the future of others, especially women. He once even struck a deal with an Army Colonel wishing to cause chaos. That arrangement ended, along with the lives of some of his family and friends, at the hands of the hated Red Hawks, who ruined his deal and made him run for his life.
Moving west to flee the rising tide of civilization’s comeback, he landed in the wild lands outside the ruins of Springfield. Once there, he carved out his own territory, with plenty of servants and bountiful prey. Most living in the bush were unable to think for themselves, and a few strategic kills had established him as alpha. He was master of his domain, unchallenged in ruthlessness.
He had new masters now. Strong men who possessed the ability to see things others couldn’t. They possessed an unlimited amount of Syn, the substance able to numb life’s pain with few side effects. Ever since he was introduced to the blue pills, he felt his head get a clearer focus. He fought against these men at first, flying their black flags with the white circles. His band was one of the last hold outs, but the Circle people were better armed and supplied. When he laid down his weapons, he expected death or enslavement. Instead he received a new mission – and an unlimited supply of Syn for him and all of his surviving tribe.
All that was required of him was to scout frontier farms flying the Red Hawk flag, figure out where new farms were being built and how strong each was. The only drawback was that he couldn’t attack any of them, at least not yet. His masters didn’t want the Red Hawks to know about the trouble brewing to their west. He hated the Red Hawks even more than his masters, but he would do as asked. Earl was my name he remembered for a moment. They told him that, and they knew things about him that no one could have known from before. They united the tribes of the wild lands under the Circle. He felt a loyalty to them he had never felt before. His newest tattoo reflected it; a simple circle across his forehead, joining the bluish vines already spreading across his entire body.
The Circle people promised him they would do the one thing he could never accomplish on his own: destroy the Red Hawks. So for now he would watch groups like these young shepherds, who remained blissfully unaware of the death that lurked just a few yards away in the bush. There was a storm coming for the Red Hawks. The time was coming soon, and then he’d feast on them all. Just as his masters promised, when they told him the story of how the Circle began.
Chapter Two – Red Hawk Rising
Springfield, Illinois
The Day of the Great Reset
(Seven Years Ago)
Jalen Jordan quietly slid from under his wife’s arm, trying not to disturb her deep breathing of peaceful dreams. He began the same ritual every morning, rising around 5:30 to get coffee started and run three miles on the family treadmill. He needed no alarm clock; three decades of routine developed a highly-tuned internal timer active no matter the day of the week or the artificial calendar holidays.
Jalen poked his head into one child’s room, and then the other as he checked the daughters who brought him so much joy. As he shuffled down the hallway of his 5000-square foot stone home, he noticed that the battery-operated emergency lights were lighting the open stairway leading to the great room below. That was not unusual; whenever there was a power outage the battery backup lights would illuminate the house. But that action was always followed immediately by the whir of the backup generator kicking in to revive his home’s internal power grid.
Slowly making his way down the stairs, he glanced out the two story windows framing the eastern wall of the great room. Jalen could see the daylight beginning to appear over the golf course running just beyond his back yard. But no man-made lights appeared in the neighborhood beyond.
Must be a bad one this time, Jalen thought. The power outages were more common each month, as the remnants of state government moved out of Springfield for good, making their way to the sparkling new Regional Capital facilities in Chicago. With no important government business to suppo
rt, the infrastructure of Springfield fell to the same priority level of that of any other small and medium-sized towns all over the United States. The Pullback legislation meant power, money and influence were all consolidated into the mega metropolis cities. Springfield held on longer than most, playing on the history of the 16th President, but eventually even nostalgia lost out to the desire of bureaucrats to be where the action was.
The loss of so many wealthy clients was bad for Jordan’s business. But one unexpected side benefit was his new roster of contacts in Chicago. He found it difficult to penetrate the huge market there before, but with some of the most powerful people in the Midwest on his speed dial, business was sure to follow their move three hours north. Jalen planned to spend the week in the city starting this Saturday. Once the kids got out of school, the family would hop the high speed rail to enjoy a mini-vacation while his executive staff met with some of their more powerful clients.
Instinctively, Jalen commanded the video screen to tune to the World News Network, cursing silently as he remembered the outage. The basement door swung open, and he heard more than saw a large man stepping into the kitchen.
“Morning, boss,” Jalen’s head of security said. “Sorry I couldn’t get any coffee going for you this morning. There’s not a single thing working in the house right now.”
Jalen sighed, dreading the thought of not enjoying his morning brew. “I’m sure I don’t have to ask you this, but did you check the backup generator?”
“Yup, and it’s dead as a doornail. No cameras or sensors working. Makes me and the boys nervous. You think it’s just us or everywhere?” Aldo Pavoni was a man who liked to keep an eye on everyone, all the time. Just like everyone else, he had become reliant on technology to help him perform his job of protecting important people. Since Jalen had hired him almost five years before, Pavoni never missed a minute. He was a man who never had time for a wife and kids, whose only hobby was multiple levels of martial arts and willing to live in his boss’s basement apartment.
