by John Hunt
“Sounds like Calvin’s Geneva,” said Louise.
“I don’t know of a Geneva around here, or a Calvin, and I wouldn’t go as far as to say that there’re no differences of opinion on the Council. But God has favored the believers. Pastor Elizabeth is the leader.”
“How do you run the place?” Dad said.
“The mayor wasn’t a believer, he was removed for incompetence, the Police Chief died. The Council’s taken over the administrative offices and organizes the work, allocating it to different groups. Its decisions are enforced through the militia.”
“A militia?”
“Discipline is necessary for law and order, for handling the dead, reducing disease, to keep food and water coming. We have to live off the land, and there’s not enough locally to support the population, so we’ve commandeered an area of around five hundred square miles, spreading down the Yukon River towards the coast. The militias control the supply of food, there’s strict rationing. It means everyone gets enough to eat. Heads of most households are a member of the militia, with a captain for each district.”
“Doesn’t sound like you’re leaving people with alternatives.”
“You think people should just be left to die? The old, the sick, the children? We look after them. We take our responsibilities seriously – police, hospitals, schools. There’s a price to pay for that. There’s no government, no taxes, we have to help each other. Everyone has to play their part.”
“What schools?” asked Louise. “Who are the teachers?”
“The youngest child in every family stays at a community school in Fairbanks, where they can be raised properly, by Christian teachers, and taught the Bible.”
“Like hostages?” Louise looked appalled.
“Of course not!” His composure was slipping under the questioning and he started to look irritated. “There’s no reason for anyone to object. It’s not really any different to a private boarding school, except there are no holidays.”
“What if they’re not Christians?”
“There is no room in our community for non-believers.”
“What else do you teach them?
“Well. There’s no need to, really, is there, with the Rapture coming. What would be the point? It’s only seven years away now.”
“What about older children?”
“They have to work, like the rest of us.”
“But you’re not working!”
“Some have been given the honor of spreading the Word. That’s why I’m here, to give you the choice of life.”
“Sounds like you’ve taken over the role of government,” said Dad, folding his arms. “Don’t you think there’ll be consequences for you when they get the power going again and regain control?”
“The government’s in the hands of the Antichrist. That’s why all this has happened.”
“So why has it disappeared?”
“You don’t think that the president and government can just disappear, do you? This is the greatest country on earth. That’s crazy. This country is blessed by God. We are His anointed people. But as the Bible says, He has let the Antichrist take control. The Antichrist is preparing for his war on Jerusalem, for the last battle of Armageddon. God is watching us to see how we deal with this situation, to prepare ourselves to join Him in the Rapture. Come and join the redeemed.”
“Perhaps we should,” interrupted Sue. “I don’t want to fight God.”
“Enough is enough,” said Dad. “Speaking for myself, if I was going to believe, it wouldn’t be on your kind of terms. I don’t think we’ll be joining you.”
“You should listen to your child here. From the mouths of babes… It’s not me you’d be joining, but God who you’re rejecting. He who is not with me is against me, Jesus said. You’re making a mistake. I beg you to reconsider over the coming weeks. I’ve done my duty in warning you, it’s you who’ll face the consequences. In the meantime, I must continue my mission.”
“I don’t think we’ll be reconsidering,” replied Dad, as we walked with him to the Land Rover, “but thanks for the warning.”
“Then I cast the dust of this place from my feet,” he shouted through the window, as he drove off.
THIRTY-SIX
Bob got back as it was getting dark, with an animal around his shoulders.
“Nothing in the traps today,” he puffed, out of breath. “But I shot this Dall sheep. Good meat on this, and we can use the wool.”
“We can’t eat that,” joked Matthew. “It’ll make us unclean.”
Bob furrowed his brows. “What the…?”
“Deuteronomy. It’s in the Bible. Eating animals with cloven hooves makes you unclean. It’s not allowed.”
“Crazeballs!”
That evening, we sat around talking about it.
“He was mad,” said my mother.
“No, he was logical,” Louise replied. “If the Bible is God’s word, then surely all of it is? And you have to accept all of it, not just the bits you like. But he’s dangerous, certainly. The fundamentalists are always the worst, no matter which religion. We could have guessed that this was coming – extreme times breed extreme people.”
“But what’s wrong with taking the good bits?” asked Mom. “Or the good bits from the scriptures of all religions? Doesn’t inspiration come in lots of forms, to people everywhere? Can we live without inspiration?”
“I agree with you, Mary. On one side of my ancestry, the Athabascans had their inspiration – they didn’t have writing, but they had their stories, their myths, which they told around the fire at night. You can go back tens of thousands of years, to the cave paintings, and you can see the importance of inspiration. Back then, it was the stories that brought people together.”
“But what’s the point of a story?” asked Bess. “Isn’t it something that isn’t true?”
“Told you, didn’t I? Reading’s a bad idea.” Bob gave a dry chuckle.
“Perhaps it’s a deeper truth,” Louise replied. “A way of explaining the world. Facts are one thing, truth is another. And even if the explanation changes, we still need a reason for living, for doing things together. You know, back when those cave paintings were done, there were still Neanderthals on the earth. Anthropologists have puzzled over why they died out and our species flourished. The Neanderthals had bigger brains than us, and they were much stronger. What they didn’t seem to have was a culture. Something that would bind different groups of them together. Stories, symbols, these are our glue, they give our lives meaning. We can imagine better ways of living them. Especially up here in the north – the world is harsh – Paul was right about that.”
“So why in the name of Heaven does someone like Paul think his story is right, and everyone else’s is wrong?” asked Jessie. “It’s only been around for a couple of thousand years and has splintered into thousands of cults and churches anyway.”
“Powerful stories are like two edged swords,” replied Louise. “They can equally heal and harm. Bind people together, and make them kill each other. Some stories are just wrong and bad in themselves, those of the Nazis, the colonialists, you can still see it here in Alaska in the white supremacists. But even good stories can be used to bad ends. Anyway, maybe there’s something true in what he said. Maybe it was a punishment, a warning. We became too arrogant, and it was time for a take-down.”
“That’s daft, Louise,” Dad interjected. “You don’t believe in God, do you?”
“Not that one, no. But the odds are something like this was bound to happen sometime. Could have been an asteroid, a virus, a nuclear war, one fact or another. But the truth is, underneath that, we’ve lost touch with Mother Earth, with how to live on our planet.”
“I don’t know what you’re on about,” said Bob. “But these Bible thumpers are getting everywhere. Here, have you heard the one about why God didn’t send Jesus to Alaska?”
“No.”
“He couldn’t find three wise men or a virgin.” He burst out la
ughing.
Mom looked shocked. “That’s disrespectful, Bob.”
“Maybe. But religions should stick to where they were born, like people. That’s what’s gone wrong. But, you know, this stuff doesn’t work anymore, anyway.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, Jesus couldn’t walk on water now, could he?”
“Why not?”
“Got holes in his feet.” He brayed like a donkey.
“Let’s simmer down,” said Dad. “I’m with Bess here. No point in forcing unbelievable stories on people. But I wish now I hadn’t started using the ham radio. They must’ve tracked the direction of the signal. They know we’re here now. He sounded like he was warning us to watch our backs toward the end there.”
“Wish I’d been here,” said Bob. “I’d have shot him.”
Mom shook her head. “Don’t be silly, Bob. You can’t descend to their level.”
The change in Bob was sudden. He stood up, his face taking on a tinge of purple, and slapped his hand on the table, making the plates and jugs jump and clatter. “Damn it, Mary, you just don’t understand what’s going on here, and what’s coming down the road. I’ve seen in ‘Nam what happens when people are at war. I’ve seen what soldiers can do. And that’s when they’re under orders – the bits of flesh and bone that are left. And these people here, they’re not soldiers, they’re fanatics. They’re the worst. They don’t know any levels.”
“What he said about the jail in Anchorage, that could be a problem as well,” said Dad. “How many prisoners does it hold, a thousand? Two thousand? If they were insulated from the cholera, there could be an army of them. And that jail holds murderers, rapists, pedophiles.”
“So we’ve got one army of criminals on our doorstep, and another of fanatics?” asked Jessie. “We don’t have enough guns to fight off that lot. How long do we have?”
“Bu–but we haven’t got much that’s worth their coming here and fighting over, surely,” Mom stammered. “The land’s of no consequence, we don’t have that much in the way of stores worth getting killed for.”
“Look, Mary, you have to start getting real,” Bob said, still angry. “I don’t like to say this in front of you all here, but we have women. And these guys have been locked up for years. I don’t know how to put that in more sensitive words. Even Sue here…”
“Bob, that’s enough,” Mom barked out, putting her arm around Sue.
“Maybe they’ll kill each other off,” Jessie chipped in.
“There’ll still be too many,” Bob said grimly.
“Then we need to make some alliances,” Jessie replied.
Sue had tears rolling down her cheeks. “Please don’t let them come here…please…?”
“Don’t worry, Sue.” Dad looked concerned. “We’ll all be looking after each other.”
Mom still had her arm around Sue. “But maybe everyone will just look after their own patch, even if they have been locked up for years.”
“Sorry to butt in here,” said Louise, “but people are naturally aggressive. You get some groups that really work hard to counter that, the Amish, Buddhists, Quakers, but they’re rare in these parts.”
“Louise is right,” Matthew intervened. “These people, all of them, doesn’t sound like they’re going to be happy staying where they are. Reminds me of the companies I used to work with. They’re like sharks, have to keep moving. They get bigger, or they get eaten. It’s the way of things.”
“Well, we can hope it works out better, but not much we can do about anything before winter,” replied Dad. “But you’re right, Jessie, about making alliances. We should look at that next year.”
“What’s wrong with starting now? Why wait?” I asked.
Dad hesitated for a moment. “OK, you’re right. Let’s do it now, before the snow gets too deep. I wish we’d picked up an old jeep…the truck’ll use up too much petrol, we’ve used up about ten percent already.” He stopped, a thoughtful look dawning on his face.
“Hold on, there were loads of Jeeps over at Whittier. Perhaps we should go back there. I’ll give Nat a call.”
“And we’ve all got to learn to shoot,” he added. “All of us, OK?”
THIRTY-SEVEN
I woke the next day with my stomach churning, dry mouth, thirsty. Struggling upright, I knew I wasn’t going to make it.
Beside me, Jessie stirred. “What’s wrong?” she asked, still half asleep.
“I’m going to puke…” I managed and promptly heaved up on the floor. Then I had to make a dash for the outhouse. My bowels loosened before I got there. I pulled my trousers down as a stream of watery poop came out. It looked like the leftover water after rice has been cooked for too long. I staggered in, guts still roiling, covered in sweat but shaking with cold. A few more minutes and it happened again. Eventually, I dragged myself back inside on rubbery legs. Jessie looked up from where she was cleaning the mess, her face worried. “What’s wrong, Jim?”
“I feel like shit.”
“Come on, let’s go see your mom,” she said, getting to her feet.
With Jessie’s help I hobbled over to the lodge.
Mom looked me over, I could see her concern.
“Jessie, I need a quart of boiled water, fast, and stir in six teaspoons of sugar and half to three quarters of salt.”
Then I had to get up and dash to the outhouse again.
When I got back Mom wiped my face with a warm, wet cloth. “You have cholera symptoms,” she said bluntly. “Drink this, all of it.”
Dad looked shocked. “Is this from when we went to Anchorage?”
“No.” Mom shook her head. “Jim would’ve had the symptoms before this. It acts quickly. You only get it by drinking or eating something that’s contaminated. It’ll be that fruit. I blame myself. We didn’t wash it.”
“So, he was bringing us disease rather than salvation,” said Louise.
Jessie paled. “Will Jim be all right?”
“Yes, it’s easily fixable, Jessie. He just needs to keep hydrated. He’ll be back on his feet in no time.”
“But how can you say that when all those people died back in Anchorage?” Jessie asked, almost in tears.
“Sewage, unclean water, they were probably drinking from the river,” Mom replied calmly. “Maybe there was no doctor, no one who knew what to do. Don’t worry, Jessie, Jim’ll be fine. But we need to watch each other for symptoms, and I want to see all of us drinking this.”
“I want to nurse him, will you show me how?” Jessie asked determinedly.
“Of course, Jessie dear. But it shows how careful we have to be,” she continued. “Washing our hands all the time, especially after we’ve been to the outhouse, is crucial. That’s rule number one now, OK? We’ll keep some water simmering for it. Jessie, you’ll have to be especially careful. You and Jim are in quarantine now, in your cabin, until he’s better. He’ll probably be vomiting. Bring that bucket over there. The main thing is to keep giving him this liquid, even if he throws it up. And, Donald, I know it’s a hell of a job, but could you add lime to the toilet now, and scrub down the seat with bleach.”
Jessie nursed me for a couple of days, in our cabin, keeping me watered, and, when I could hold it down, feeding me soup and some of Matthew’s fresh baked bread, washing me down, until I was strong again. I hated being sick. I hated being confined to my bed. But I purely loved the time Jessie and I spent together. Somehow that space drew us even closer.
“Are you still glad you came out here?” I asked her. I put on a woeful face. “Specially now you have to nurse me?”
“Well, Jim, let me think.” She frowned. “Back in Seattle I had a big bedroom with a walk-in cupboard, in a lovely big house. I could set the music to play in my room when I was still coming through the front door. There were shops, a great waterfront, bars, football teams, live music every night, loads of friends, hundreds of good looking guys around, money flowing, yachts, trips in the bay. Now what’ve I got here – I have to
figure this out, it’s hard to add up so many good things – one broken down kid in a shit hole of a cabin, whose ass I have to wipe. And if I wipe my own I have to clear the flies away first, and it stinks. And there’s not even any toilet paper.”
She scratched her head. “This is such a complicated thing to answer. It’s so difficult. I’m not sure I can decide.”
My heart sank. “Do you mean…” She closed my mouth with hers, her hair falling around me. “Jim Richards,” Jessie said, smiling. “Sexface, you seem to be getting a stiffie. Would you like me to go down on you?” I grinned like a jackass eating cactus. Seemed like my energy was coming back.
So I missed out on the trip back to Whittier. Dad went with Bob and Matthew and explained what had taken place when he got back.
“We’ve brought back two Jeep Wranglers. Old ones that can do without electronics. Now, we’ve got a few weeks before the roads around here get impassable. What I suggest is that we set out in two expeditions, one with Bob and Matthew heading south to Seward, one with me and Jim heading east.” He glanced at me. “If you feel up to it now, Jim. We’ll play it by ear, but see if we can’t link up with some people to talk about co-operating, some kind of informal self-defense league. There aren’t many ham operators around here, so we’re going into the unknown.”
“But how are we going to keep in touch with them later?” asked Mom.
“We can build some radios if they don’t have one,” Dad replied. “Ones that don’t need batteries. It’s really just an exploratory mission to see who’s around, who we might be able to work with.”
“What are your aims?” asked Matthew.
“I’m concerned about next year, that we might not be left alone,” Dad replied quietly. “There aren’t enough of us to defend ourselves. And even if we were safe, it’s not feasible to think that the nine of us could live here forever.”
