Calm Act Box Set (Books 1-3)

by Ginger Booth

  “Uh-huh,” Emmett said, with a grin.

  “Well, I’m glad!” Pam said. “Pussy-footing around was tiresome. So Emmett, Cam. Now that the Penn war is over, are you backing the Reconstitutional Convention?”

  Since Thanksgiving, without even a puppet U.S. President anymore, agitation was mounting across New England to open a constitutional convention of the Northeast – the recon-con. The Great Pumpkin blogger was especially strident.

  “I’m not convinced the Penn war is over,” Cam said apologetically. “More like a stalemate. Ohio and Virginia put peer pressure on Penn. But Penn still has all of the arms and supplies that were supposed to come to General Cullen and Link. And Cullen’s still a pretty soft target.”

  “You make it sound like a contest between generals instead of states,” I said.

  “They’re the military governors under martial law,” John said. “Penn’s Tolliver has just the one state. But he’s ringed by super-states – Cullen’s New York–New Jersey, allied with Link’s New England, Schwabacher’s Ohio–West Virginia, O’Hara’s Virginia–Maryland–Delaware. Sondi O’Hara is an admiral, by the way, not a general.”

  “Alright, a black woman!” Dwayne cried in enthusiasm. “Nobody ever said that. I thought the military governors were all old white dudes.”

  “You have a problem with white men?” inquired Cam dryly.

  “Yes, sweetie,” stated Dwayne. “I do.”

  “I have a problem with military dictators,” Pam said sourly. “It’s time for that to stop.”

  “Is Link willing to allow a constitutional convention?” Emmett asked her. “I wouldn’t, in his shoes. I know Cullen’s told him we won’t go along with it yet.”

  “We?” Dwayne asked. “You’re on team New England, too, Emmett.”

  “No,” Emmett said, looking at Cam. “Cam and I work for General Cullen. We’re New York Rescos now.” He pressed my hand gently as he said it.

  “I thought Long Island transferred to Connecticut,” Cam said with a frown.

  “I strongly suggest that you forget you ever said that, Cam,” Emmett said softly. “We don’t want an argument over Long Island coming between Cullen and Link. Do we.”

  This visibly didn’t go down well with Cam. But he sighed. “Sir,” he acknowledged.

  “Sir?” parroted Dwayne. “Emmett’s your CO now?”

  “Sounds that way,” agreed Cam.

  Emmett waggled a so-so hand. “We’re both Rescos in the Apple zone. I do outrank Cam.”

  Pam looked even more unhappy. “Emmett? You don’t think Cullen will join New England for a new constitution?”

  “Cullen’s already told Link no,” Emmett replied. “New York–New Jersey isn’t ready to emerge from martial law. Parts are. Western New York, on the Great Lakes – they’re in pretty good shape. But right now the focus is on Project Reunion. We’ve barely started on the Apple. South Jersey and eastern Long Island are isolated. Penn’s a threat. Cullen doesn’t think Link should drop martial law, either. Not until Boston-Prov is resolved.”

  “You agree with him,” John accused.

  “For New York, yeah,” Emmett said. “I was surprised that Mora didn’t censor what Cam said on his interview with Dee, about the social levels in the Resco manual,” he mused.

  “Carlos and I talked about it,” said Cam. “I felt it would help get us volunteers. To say that there is a plan. There is a model. We’re not just flailing around in desperation. We will proceed from level 1 to level 2 in an orderly fashion. Mora agreed.”

  “I’m not criticizing,” Emmett said. “Just surprised how well it worked. You framed the public conversation. In New Haven, DJ got a lot more cooperation than we expected on land use reform. People want to step up to level 8. I never thought that would work.”

  I scowled. Clearly I was in the minority, a ‘winner’ who didn’t like land use reform.

  “You lost me, Emmett,” said John. “How did we go from the recon-con, to Resco community levels?”

  Emmett frowned thoughtfully. “I wonder if that would work to reframe the recon-con question. Our goal right now is not to forge a new democracy. Our goal is to uplift devastated communities back to level 5.”

  “Level 5!” said Cam. “In the Apple zone? Ambitious much, Emmett?”

  “Aim high,” Emmett replied, with a crooked grin. “You’re more likely to reach it than I am, Cam.”

  Cam leaned forward intently. “Reach it,” he echoed. “For what, Emmett?”

  “I’ll be Resco for the Apple Core,” Emmett told him quietly.

  “The whole Apple Core?” John asked, horrified. “New York City?”

  Emmett tilted his head. “We’ll see. I have Project Reunion for now. But I guess that’s what I’m saying, Pam. I don’t disagree with you, or the Great Pumpkin. We’ll need a new constitution. It’s just, I have a job to do. So does Cam. What helps me more? I think martial law does. I think people in New York need food. Water. Sanitation. A chance to survive. Then rebuild. Basic needs first. Democracy? We don’t have the tools to hold elections. It’s too soon.”

  Cam nodded thoughtfully. “I watched elections in the Middle East – I’m sure Emmett did, too. It isn’t as easy as it sounds.”

  I was gratified that Emmett told me before them, about continuing on in New York after Project Reunion. Somewhat less gratified that business took over the Christmas party. After this little bombshell, the three SAMS roommates went deep into brainstorming mode. Dwayne and I left them to it, and shifted to sit at the dining table to socialize. Pam reluctantly joined us.

  But our group just got onto a different political tangle, as I shared my little farming distraction with Dwayne and Pam.

  “Sounds like they’re trying the model we used for Windham,” Dwayne told me. He’d been Coco for Windham township in Windham County, before leaving with his husband for Long Island. “Too bad you missed the local debates, Dee. I think you’d kinda like it.

  “The idea is stewardship, instead of private property,” Dwayne explained. “Even the houses. You get right of stewardship over the house, and a bit of land around it. But you have to manage it well, or lose it. Care for the land well, and you become steward of more. Take on too much, next year you get less.” He laughed. “I would have had 8 acres next year. Oh, well.”

  “I don’t know why they gave me so much,” I confided. “I only grew enough for us.”

  “Emmett used to help you?” Pam prodded.

  “Oh…” I said. “Zack and Alex managed the livestock, then Emmett and Alex. Yeah. I should probably give some land back. But I still feel obligated to at least try, you know? Come up with a plan. Though I don’t know how much livestock is appropriate, for Alex. He’s good. But he’s just a kid. Anyway. I’ll figure it out.”

  “You can do it,” Dwayne assured me. “Remember, you’re just the manager. You hire labor when you need it. It’s that manager part that you can’t delegate to a kid.”

  “When did you learn Emmett wasn’t coming back, Dee?” Pam asked gently.

  “Just the day before yesterday,” I said. “It’s been a rough couple days. We just kinda laid low yesterday.”

  “Welcome to the life of an Army wife,” Dwayne quipped.

  “Not a wife yet,” Pam observed. “There’s still time to escape.” She cocked an eyebrow at me.

  “Partners,” I said. “Lovers, too, but… We’re partners. Project Reunion, the farm, Amenac, raising Alex. After we talked the other day, Pam, I realized. I do like my independence. You know what I want? After, like, two years of being partners, when we can’t imagine breaking up anymore? Then I’d want to get engaged. But only engaged, you know? Then set a date to get married, like two years after that.”

  “That!” Emmett cried. I hadn’t noticed that the ‘husbands’ had stopped talking behind us. Emmett suddenly took a knee by my chair, and clasped my hand, with his happiest slow grin. “Dee Baker, will you do that with me? What you just said?”

  “What?” I a
sked, distracted. “Hang out together another two years, then reconsider?”

  “We’ve been partners a year in February,” he quibbled. “Say yes.”

  I laughed, and replied, “Sure. Why not.” Thus cementing my single-with-benefits state for at least another three years, it seemed. It felt strangely secure and liberating at the same time.

  Instead of a kiss, Emmett froze. “What was that?” Suddenly he bolted to the front door. When he opened it, Boris the billy goat barged right in. Emmett managed to tackle the goat before it could do any damage indoors, and dragged it back outside again.

  “Cam! Dwayne!” Emmett called. “Come meet your Christmas gifts!”

  The Niedermeyers and I hung out on the porch to enjoy the show, while Emmett gave Cam and Dwayne a crash course in goat herding. The teens must have left the trailer unfastened while they wandered off. The two pregnant nanny goats were easy enough to apprehend. Dwayne seemed to bond with them.

  Boris was another story entirely – 200 pounds of masculine menace, who could leap onto the top of my car in a single bound, then turn around to leer at the men. Fortunately, Cam enjoyed the male dominance games. I could have done without the hoof dents on my car.

  Leaving Boris with Alex had been a bit much to ask. Bunnies were more his speed. I explained to the Niedermeyers that I’d requested Emmett find a new home for the monster. These days, plenty of people in Totoket had billy goats to breed with our does. Alex and I didn’t need to deal with Boris.

  “Command presence, Cam,” Emmett encouraged, laughing at him. “Show him who’s boss!” And yet again, Cam was sliding face-first into the slush while Boris hopped nimbly away.

  Boris returned to gloat, flapping his long velvety ears in a tease. Cam finally caught the beast around the ribcage, and manhandled him into the trailer. Cam and Emmett shook hands in triumph.

  This adventure led to further present opening, once Cam changed into dry clothes. My favorite was a small package for Emmett, that General Cullen in New York had sent along. That was sweet all in itself, that Pam or John had arranged for a present from Cullen to be waiting here. Emmett read a couple pages of hand-written letter, then opened the package to dangle a cross on a chain. Unlike his father’s, this cross was the current military design, simple arms of stainless steel, battered and bent. Emmett took it in his fingers and read the engraving.

  “Kansas City to NYC, Love Dad,” he murmured huskily. “Cullen found it in the West Point chapel.” I hugged him, and he laid his head on mine gratefully.

  “Emmett’s dad was special forces. KIA,” John Niedermeyer explained quietly to Pam.

  Cam commented, “Follow a guy like that to hell and back.”

  “Uh-huh,” said Emmett thoughtfully. “Cam. You and I should talk more. I’m sorry about that. This weekend is crazy – Camp Upstate and Jersey do their first big refugee releases Monday. Let’s start next Wednesday?”

  “You’re on,” agreed Cam. “I’d enjoy that.”

  “What did you and Emmett get for each other, Dee?” Pam asked. “If I may ask.”

  I rubbed Emmett’s neck. He was sitting on the floor, leaning back between my legs, with me on the couch. “A quiet day yesterday. No presents. No family dinners. No New York. Lots of back-rubs and bath-tubs and quiet.”

  “It was awesome,” Emmett said, leaning his head all the way back. “Just what I needed. Monday… The big debut for Camp Yankee was incredible. Haven’t cried so much in one day since my dad died when I was twelve.”

  “How did you get time off now?” asked Cam. “Seems like a tricky time for it.”

  “I called Link a…never mind,” Emmett replied. “Cullen called back. Told me to take my time coming back to New York.”

  Cam laughed. “I’ve always wanted to call Link an expletive deleted. Did you enjoy it?”

  “Uh-huh. I really did,” Emmett confirmed with a grin.

  It was truly good to finally have couple friends, for Emmett and me as a couple. I loved Mangal and Shanti, and Shelley and Trey next door with Alex. But they weren’t peers like the Niedermeyers and Cam and Dwayne. Friends Emmett could depend on, and me.

  I saw Emmett off at the train the next morning, and got back to business on PR for Project Reunion.

  27

  Interesting fact: Pennsylvania was home to tens of thousands of Amish and Mennonite farmers, expert in low-tech sustainable agriculture, quite a prize at this time. They concentrated closer to Philadelphia.

  For most of the ride through Pennsylvania, Emmett was glued to the window, taking notes on his phone and taking photos. I found the view rather repetitive myself, after Philadelphia. Lots of trees and fields. Increasingly hilly. Occasional towns. Aside from the picturesque Amish now and then, Pennsylvania looked an awful lot like New York and New England. Eight hours of it was more than sufficient, and I dozed off half the time. We both grew more alert as we passed into the urbanized landscape of Pittsburgh.

  Suddenly we stopped. We were in a rail plaza of some kind, but with no passenger platform. It appeared to be an industrial district, possibly rail heads for coal and ore trains into the old steel mills. But those giant dinosaurs lay quiet, the smokestacks out of business.

  Emmett waited a couple minutes patiently, then raised his voice to prompt, “Report.”

  Captain Johnson, in charge of our train car of soldiers, replied, “Conductor isn’t sure why, but track signals told him to stop here, Colonel. He’s inquiring. No answer at Pittsburgh. Send out scouts?”

  “Not yet, Captain,” Emmett replied. He took out his phone and tried our local contact, but got no answer. “Stay here, darlin’,” he advised, and clambered over me to confer with the IBIS dining car.

  I studied Pittsburgh through the windows. Like the rolling Pennsylvania landscape, it wasn’t greatly different from a familiar New England mill town. Steep hills rose to either side beyond the industrial district, covered with deciduous trees and wood-frame houses. But where our train sat was the basic, standard-issue concrete, brick buildings, and gravel rail bed of Rust Belt industry, from a time gone by before I was born. Deserted.

  Someone in Army camouflage, with a rifle, scampered between two buildings. “Captain Johnson?” I called. When I had his attention, I pointed out where I’d spotted an armed someone.

  “Alright. Stay down, Ms. Baker. Look alive, guys. Shooter spotted.”

  From what I overheard, apparently the train conductor was leery of going forward against the signals without some kind of explanation. That was how rail collisions happened, and a number of lines converged in Pittsburgh. For all we knew, we were honestly giving another train right-of-way. And although our train carried passengers and a few container cars of produce, that wasn’t the norm. Most trains passing through Pittsburgh these days carried coal and fuel. A collision would be a disaster.

  That explanation didn’t seem to gibe with armed militia sneaking around behind the buildings, though. Not a single civilian was in sight, not even driving by on the bridge. I’d never seen a city this devoid of people. Barely one person in ten remained in Brooklyn, and it was downright lively compared to this.

  I jerked upright to the sound of gunfire, from down the train in the produce department. The door between cars shushed open and Emmett’s voice came up the aisle behind me, complaining over the phone. “Now got active shooters… Are you in charge of this militia or not?… We’re at…” I held up my phone showing our location on the map, and Emmett conveyed this information. “Could call in an air strike if I wanted. Seems overkill.”

  Emmett sank into the seat across the aisle from me, and gestured for me to scoot toward him, away from the window. “No, councilman. That was not a joke… Enough. Call me with an all-clear into Union Station.” Emmett cut the call. “Captain Johnson? Looters attacking the food. Help the transit guards kill them, please. Try to wing a couple for questioning.”

  “Sir, yes sir,” Johnson replied promptly. There was some typical grousing among the soldiers about how prot
ecting the food shipment wasn’t their job. Johnson shut them up and got them moving down the train toward the gunshots. Emmett gazed at me ruefully.

  “Never a second chance to make a first impression,” I quipped, with my best attempt at a cheerful smile.

  “Uh-huh,” said Emmett. “Joker on the phone seemed to think I was their new Resco. Commanding these people attacking the train was my job. Why does everyone want to make their fucking problems my problem today? Pardon my language, darlin’. This is just irritating.”

  “Emmett? You just ordered our guards to kill people,” I said. “Kill people in uniform. That’s not ‘just irritating.’”

  “Uh-huh.” I continued to stare at him, concerned, until he conceded, “It’s not ideal. Dee, I shouldn’t have brought you here.”

  “I’ll be careful,” I promised. Not because I was thrilled to be there. I felt as useful as galoshes on a fish. But there wasn’t any way to go except forward, and Emmett had enough to deal with at the moment. “Let me know if I can help.”

  He reached over and squeezed my hand. The level of gunfire increased markedly, with some yelling, maybe five cars back. Emmett asked me, “How far are we from Union Station? That’s where we’re going.”

  I swallowed and looked it up, trying to focus on the task and not cringe at each barking shot. “Only two miles. We could walk,” I reported wanly.

  “Uh-huh. I don’t trust the weather today,” Emmett quipped. The gunfire gradually died. His walkie-talkie pinged him with a report of mission complete. One non-serious injury, two prisoners in hand, and a green light from the conductor to continue. Of the attackers, a good dozen were bleeding or dead on the ground, the rest fled. “Good work, Johnson. Tell the conductor to proceed when you’re aboard.”

  “So this councilman at Union Station?” I inquired. “Did he arrange our hotel reservations?”

  “Uh-huh,” Emmett agreed. “Can’t wait to meet him.”

  Captain Johnson sent out our brace of prisoners first under guard, to kneel on the platform, fingers laced behind their heads. I was relieved to see that they weren’t bloody. Our reception committee stood uncomfortably before them while our troops fanned out to check security at the train station. When they gave the all-clear, I finally exited the train car with Emmett and the IBIS team, and a few soldiers reserved as our bodyguards.