Welcome to the Greenhouse

by Gordon Van Gelder

She turned back. “Bear, you hurt me very badly with your words. I wish they could have had the years I had and you had, of being a child without so many worries and so much hurt. But those times are gone.

  “Mira.” She shook her rifle. “We have this. Now a shotgun, thanks to you. And two pistoles, and plenty of bullets. That’s good, yes? We need all the weapons we can against los caudillos” The warlords. “Now look around and tell me. Besides you, me, Tomás, and Vanessa, who should handle such a weapon?”

  He looked across at the children’s faces and sighed. Babies, he thought. An army of babies, Orla.

  They set off shortly before sunset, down the rough gravel road of Bear’s driveway toward a farm-to-market road that fed onto Highway 93 about a mile and a half to the west.

  Everyone pushed, to start out. Once the wheels were rolling, the oldest four took their positions: Bear in front, Patty in the rear, and Tom and Vanessa flanking them.

  Privately Bear had thought that Patty’s plans were far too ambitious. The children would surely give up and she would have to stop. But he was wrong. The children strained and hurled themselves against the harness, time and again, till he thought his heart would burst with pride and anguish. They pulled the trailer over the bumpy road, up and down the hills, but no one uttered a sound, other than grunts as they struggled over the cracks and potholes in the asphalt. Even the infant and toddlers were silent (perhaps they slept).

  They’d reach 93 by twilight. Bear knew the road so well he could walk it with his eyes closed. And it was a good thing: Tonight would be a dark night. The moon, half full, would not be up till well after midnight.

  They paused for a rest. Sunlight’s last vestiges made a mauve smudge above the western peaks and a night breeze cooled their sweat. Patty gave Tommy Bear’s night-vision binoculars and sent him and Vanessa ahead into the hills, to scout for criminals and warlords. Then they got moving again. Bear walked ahead with Jonah and Margaritte, who led the team pulling the wagon. Despite Patty’s instructions, he helped haul. It was a clear, cool night, and the starlight gave them just enough light once their eyes had adapted to avoid the worst of the cracks and potholes.

  They reached 93, maybe three miles from the border. There they paused for dinner and a rest. The aurora borealis put on quite a show while they ate. Luminous purple and green veils of light rippled across the Milky Way’s pale white band of stars. The children gasped and Patty grabbed Bear’s arm. “What is that? It’s so beautiful.” Bear explained about the Earth’s magnetic field and how it created these lights. She said, “I’ve heard of these. But I think also it is a sign. We are very close!”

  They got going again. Soon, Tommy and Vanessa emerged from the trees and joined Bear and Patty, out of breath.

  “We found bandits,” Vanessa said. “Two men.” Tommy added, “On the hills above the highway. About a mile north of here.”

  Bear stood. “I’ll take care of it.” He handed Patty his shotgun. He stuck his Colt into the belt at his back and his hunting knife into his left boot, and then pulled a bottle of Jack Daniel’s Black Label out of the trailer. “Stay here till you hear from me or until you hear gunfire. If you hear weapons, hide the kids and the trailer. Gunfire echoes far among these hills, and lots of unsavory sorts might come around to investigate. Okay?”

  “Be careful,” she said. “Tomás, you show Bear where.”

  Bear had to give Tommy credit: He knew how to move quietly. They walked along the hill’s shoulder a good long ways, then crept up a slope at an angle. Soon they observed two men squatting on an outcropping that overlooked Highway 93.

  Bear recognized them. They were Lona and Gene’s sons, Arden and Zach. The Hallorhans had left Rexford ten years ago. Apparently they hadn’t gone far. Or at least, the boys hadn’t. They were in their twenties now: big strapping men who weren’t hurting for a meal. A two-way radio Zach wore spat occasional chatter.

  Bear and Tommy listened for a while. Most of their talk was about people they both knew, including a man they called the colonel, and grumbling about their rations and duties. Bear wondered if he was the same as Patty’s el coronel. He feared it was. They both had automatic weapons and belts heavy with ammo.

  Arden said with a heavy sigh, “Man, nobody’s ever going to come by.”

  “Yeah, I bet Marco and Jay got I-15 watch. They get all the big hauls.”

  They started joking about things they had seen and done to refugee convoys that made Bear feel ill. Enough of this. He looked at Tommy and pressed a finger to his lips. Tommy nodded. Bear pried the cork out of the whiskey bottle with his teeth. He swished a mouthful of liquor around to foul his breath, and sprinkled more on his clothes. Then he staggered noisily into their campsite. They came half to their feet, then saw his face.

  “I know you…” Arden said, and Zach said, “It’s Bear Jessen.”

  “Hey, Ardie—hey, Zach,” he said, slurring his words a bit. “Thought I heard somebody in the woods out here.” He sat down next to them and took a fake gulp of whiskey. “Didn’t even know you boys were still around! How are your parents?”

  The two young men looked at each other. Zach was the elder brother, and Bear guessed, the tougher. He was gazing at Bear with a puzzled expression that could quickly pivot to suspicion. “I didn’t know you were still around these parts.”

  “Oh, yeah. Hell, yeah. Orla and me, we didn’t really have any place to go. Figured we’d stock up and do for ourselves, once everybody left.”

  At stock up, he sensed both young men’s attention sharpen.

  “Back at your place?” Arden asked.

  “Yup. Thass right.”

  “Orla there now?” Zach asked.

  “Yup. Bet she’d make you boys a proper meal. Wanna pay a visit?”

  The two young men exchanged a glance. “I’m up for it,” Zach said.

  “Me, too,” Arden said. They stood, and started down toward the road.

  Bear said, “Nah, it’s quicker to take the trail over the ridge. Come on.”

  He led them up to the trail, and on the way he pretended to drink. The young men had military-issue flashlights. Bear walked in front and avoided looking at the lights, to keep his night vision. To deaden theirs, he offered them the bottle, and both young men partook heavily. Soon their own steps on the trail grew uncertain and their words grew slurred.

  By this point Bear’s house stood out against the ridge, a faint black shape in the distance. The house’s shape was wrong. He doubted Zach and Arden would notice.

  Bear ducked off the trail at a turn and moved behind a boulder. He pulled the knife from his boot and flanked them silently. The flashlight beams bounced around as the two brothers stumbled on, boots scraping against stone. Then they slowed to an uncertain halt.

  He thought, I’m nowhere near as agile as them, and not as strong as I used to be. Need to make this quick.

  “Bear?” they called. “Hey, old man!—Hello!”

  “We lost him,” Zach said softly. “Probably fell onto his drunk old ass.”

  “Shit,” Arden replied. “He’s onto us.”

  “Shut up, you idiot,” Zach said, but apparently decided the same thing. “Listen here, you old fucker! Come out now or I’ll cap your ass! Or I’ll do your old lady and then cap her.”

  Bear moved up from behind a boulder, pulled Zach backward off his feet, and slit his throat. Sticky, warm fluid washed over his face, neck, and arms. He got a mouthful of blood.

  Arden came around the rock and shone the light in Bear’s face.

  “What the—?”

  He opened his mouth in a scream of rage and raised his automatic. Then he toppled and fell over his brother’s corpse with a hatchet jutting from his upper spine. He twitched. Little Tommy stood behind him, a silhouette against the stars.

  Bear suppressed his gorge, looking down at his neighbor’s sons. When they were little, they’d climbed Old Lady Pine and picked wild strawberries on the back twenty.

  War makes us all monsters, he
thought, and slapped Tommy’s back. “Quick thinking. Let’s strip them of their weapons and supplies. We’ll get cleaned up in the stream and catch up with the others.”

  It was all for naught. They crossed the border unharmed but were stopped by the Mounties the next morning, about five miles in. The Canadians were not cruel, but they said little. They confiscated the trailer—all their food and water and medicines. Bear complained and the soldiers only shrugged. They locked them in a windowless warehouse at their border station, along with dozens of other refugees: people of all nationalities, all religions, all races. The world’s detritus, tossed up against a nation’s borders. Bear tried to doze on the hard concrete. His tailbone ached and the burn on his arm hurt like hell.

  They were there for about six days. They were fed, but the cramped and uncomfortable quarters and their own low spirits made time drag. Late one afternoon—or so Bear guessed from the slant of the sun’s rays on the wall—he heard noises outside. After a while, the guards brought them out into the sunlight, where a convoy of big military trucks waited. A Canadian officer turned them over to a group of men in a hodgepodge of American uniforms. Patty gripped Bear’s arm so tight she nearly broke the skin.

  “You know them?” Bear asked.

  She nodded. “I recognize that one.” She gestured with her chin at the officer who spoke to the Canadians. “He is el coronets number-three man.” Her skin had gone pallid. “The man whose camp we escaped in Denver.”

  She faded back among the others and kept her head down as the first lieutenant walked past. He wore Air Force insignia. The man stopped and looked Bear over.

  “Name?” he asked.

  “Bear Jessen. Lately of Rexford.”

  The lieutenant shouted over his shoulder, “Load them up!”

  They were hustled toward the trucks. They tried to stay together, but the trucks only held twelve or so. This did not bode well.

  Bear towered above the rest. He caught Patty’s gaze, and then Tommy’s and Vanessa’s. Somehow, they all understood what needed to happen—they each gathered the children nearest them, whispering, passing the word. Bear took the youngest six, the five-and-under set. Bear and his kids sat near the back of the open transport, across from a young soldier with a rifle across his knees. Land passed by; Bear recognized the road, and the miles and miles of wind power generators. They were headed over the Grand Tetons, toward Spokane.

  Penelope and Paul, the toddler twins, cried inconsolably. Bear pulled them onto his lap and bounced them on his knee making shushing sounds. The other little ones sat looking out at the scenery, to all appearances unafraid.

  That night they reached a military base. The sign by the road said FAIRCHILD AIR FORCE BASE. They passed a munitions dump and an enormous hangar, and rows and rows of military barracks. The trucks came to a halt at a roundabout in the middle of the camp. Soldiers unloaded them all from the trucks. Floodlights lit the concrete pad they stood on. They gathered the refugees in a circle. Two officers came out of the nearby barracks. One of them spoke to the lieutenant. Bear knew instantly he was the colonel.

  The colonel was a big man, perhaps six-foot-four. He wore a gun at his belt and Air Force insignia. He was no true military man, though: His hair was long and unkempt and he wore a bushy beard.

  “We need to resolve some questions,” the colonel said. He looked them all over, then walked up to Bear. “I understand that it was your group that had these…” He had one of his men spread out on the ground the weapons and supplies Bear and Tommy had taken from Zach and Arden. “I think you must be the leader. I want to know who the members of your group are, and what happened to my two men.”

  Bear merely looked at him. The colonel pulled out his gun and shot one of the other refugees in the head, a young man Patty’s age. Bear cried out. He couldn’t help himself. Not one of ours, he thought, heart pounding. Not one of ours. He felt shame that that mattered.

  “What kind of sick bastard are you?”

  “I do my duty,” the colonel replied. “And I look after my men. Anyone who harms them has to account for it. You people”—he gestured at Bear and the rest of the refugees—“may be useful to me. But only up to a point.”

  Bear opened his mouth to tell the man exactly where he could stuff his duty. That would no doubt have been the end of him. But Patty stepped out and spoke up.

  “He is not the leader,” she said. “I am.”

  Recognition bloomed on the colonel’s face.

  “Patricia,” he said. “Is it really you? Somehow I’m not surprised to find you mixed up with the disappearance of my men. Lieutenant, get her cleaned up and take her to my quarters. I want to question her personally. Take the rest of the refugees to be processed.”

  Another man strode up, saying “Excuse me, Colonel. Colonel!”

  Bear recognized that voice. He turned to stare. His old pastor!

  Des had aged. He looked as healthy as ever, though; even rotund. He wore his reverend’s collar and a cross. The military man watched Des greet Bear. Then Des turned to the colonel. “Colonel O’Neal, I can personally vouch for this man. He was part of my congregation for years. He doesn’t belong with them.” Des waved a hand at the rest of the refugees. He said more quietly, “He’s an engineer.”

  The colonel gave Bear a penetrating look, then shrugged.

  “Very well. If he’s of use… But I believe he is mixed up with the disappearance of some of my men. I’ll want to question him. Meanwhile, I’ll hold you responsible for him, Reverend.” He waved them away. Bear felt Patty’s gaze burning into the back of his neck, as he let himself be led away by his old friend.

  “Thank the Lord you are still alive,” Des said as he showed him through the darkened camp. “I’ve wondered about you over the years. Gloria will be so happy to see you. Orla?”

  Bear shook his head. “Lost her,” he said. “Lung disease. Cancer, we think.”

  Des looked up at Bear and laid a hand on his arm. “She’s with God now.”

  Bear’s molars ground together. But he tried to take the words as Des intended: as comfort.

  “Don’t worry about the colonel,” Des said. “Just keep your head down. You’ll do fine.”

  “Hard for me to do,” Bear replied, “keeping my head down.” Des seemed to think he was joking, and chuckled. “How did you end up here?”

  “Gloria and I never made it to Seattle. Fortunately we found this refuge. We joined Colonel O’Neal’s company a long time since, and we have been here doing the Lord’s work, helping to comfort the soldiers and succor the refugees.”

  Succor? Was that what they were calling it now?

  “Colonel O’Neal is building an army,” Des went on. “He is working with others across the U.S. to rebuild and reclaim our country. It’s a great endeavor! You must join us. We need you.” He showed Bear the barracks, the “soldiers” doing drills, the fuel and military vehicles. Obviously O’Neal had big plans.

  “The man doesn’t look very military.”

  “Well… technically, he’s not.” In fact, the remaining few U.S. military battalions had been disbanded twelve years ago. There might be a few companies here and there, in the major cities, but they reported up no chain of command. “But that’s going to change soon. He wants to reconstitute the U.S: reunite the entire northern portion of the country.”

  He went on like this for a while. Bear fell silent. Des eventually seemed to notice. He stopped and turned. “I know we parted on less-than-friendly terms, Bear, but that’s all behind us. I hope you know that. It’s a sign from God that you are here. I’m so thankful to see you.”

  Bear said, “Pastor, we were friends once, and I’m grateful for your help just now. But I have no intention of joining Colonel O’Neal in these escapades. I simply want to take my kids and go.”

  “Kids?” Pastor Des seemed confused. “You and Orla never had kids.”

  “I mean the kids I came in with. The refugees. I made a promise. I mean to keep it.”


  Des got a horrified look. “Oh, no, no, no. You have to let that go, Bear. There’s nothing you can do for them now. They’re destined for a munitions factory in Denver. We need all the hands we can get, to help us prepare for war.” “

  What?”

  “This is God’s plan! To make America great. We’re going to invade Canada.”

  Now it was Bear’s turn to stare, horrified. “Des… that’s insane.”

  “I thought so too, at first. But it’s a good plan. Let me show you.”

  He had brought Bear to a giant hangar. The hangar had big radioactivity warning signs on it, and Authorized Personnel Only. A guard stood outside. He glowered at them, but Desmond gave him a stern look and he let them through. Des must be in good with the colonel. Or he had something on him.

  Inside the hangar was a blimp—the largest airship Bear had ever seen. It was lit by floodlights. People, ant-size against its flanks, swarmed around working on it. Beneath its belly was a cabin the size of a 757, and numerous missiles. Nuclear weapons.

  “It’s nearly ready,” Des said. “It’s one of five military blimps that were built in the thirties and forties. Four are still in good repair. They’ve been moved to our northern border and are being outfitted for battle. The colonel is coordinating with other military commanders west of the Great Lakes.” You mean warlords, Bear thought. “We’ve uncovered this cache of nuclear warheads, and are going to use our blimp to deliver them to the other airships soon. I’m told they are even getting orders from Washington,” he said in a hushed voice tinged with awe. Unlikely, Bear thought, unless a tin pot dictator had set up shop in the White House. Which since Washington, D.C., was uninhabitable in the summer, like most of the U.S. south of about forty degrees north latitude, did not make sense.

  Des went on, “We’re shorthanded. We need engineers who can help keep equipment in repair. Here’s a chance for you to show your worth. The colonel will reward you.”

  Bear stared at his old friend. They stood beneath one of the few lights in the camp that was not burned out. Words wouldn’t come. Nuke Canada? The sheer delusional magnitude of the plan overwhelmed thought.