by Joe Nobody
Despite her fatigued state, Terri’s sleep had been troubled and restless the past few days. Beyond obvious concern for her husband, the uncertainty of life without him weighed upon her. The brutal treatment she had received at the hands of her kidnapper added more insomnia-baggage. Terri suffered.
She didn’t look up at first when the door to Bishop’s room opened. Nurses, the occasional doctor, or other medical professionals commonly plied the threshold, and she was too tired to care.
Something about the visitor’s pace grabbed her attention, the movement from the corner of her eye slower than the typical rushed caregiver. A glance showed the Colonel struggling to open the door while walking with a cane.
She started to rise, but the recovering man waved her off with a grumpy, “I’ve got to learn to do this.”
“As you wish, Colonel,” she replied in a cold, monotone voice.
“How’s he doing?”
“The same. He’s not regained consciousness since being in surgery for nine hours. The doctors are unsure if he ever will. He’s in God’s hands now.”
The Colonel shook his head and grimaced, not sure how to respond. After a pause, he switched his attention to Terri. “And you?”
“I’m fine. Thank you for asking,” sounded a practiced response.
“Terri, don’t bullshit me. I know you’re not fine. No one could be fine after what you’ve been through. As a matter of fact, you’re the real reason why I wanted to stop by. I can’t help Bishop, but I hoped I might lend comfort to you.”
Terri’s eyes turned to ice. She tilted her head and stared hard at the older man. “Colonel, I’m not in a place to be comforted. Actually, I don’t want to feel better. I’m enjoying my hatred… relishing in my acidic rage. I’m very content wallowing in a deep revulsion for my fellow man. ”
The Colonel lowered his head, chin practically resting on his chest. After a pause of contemplation, he stirred, making for an empty visitor’s chair using deliberate, measured steps. Gingerly lowering himself onto the hard plastic seat, he raised his eyes and studied Terri for a moment. “I don’t blame you. You’ve looked into the eye of the beast, and now you know him. It’s an experience that will change you forever. How you react to that exposure will determine the quality of your life from this point forward.”
“The beast? I’m not sure what you mean Colonel. I’ve just had a brush with power-hungry, self-centered men… human beings who possess an unquenchable thirst to achieve dominance over others and will stop at nothing to achieve status. You can call evil anything you want – it’s still evil.”
The Colonel shrugged at Terri’s response. “Evil is too simple a term. Besides, I didn’t come here to quibble over semantics. I came here because you and I now have something in common. A window was opened, and we both looked inside. We both have been repulsed by what we saw. It just so happens my glimpse into that portal occurred 25 years ago. Time and experience have allowed me to deal with it. I hoped I might help you to do the same.”
Terri’s demeanor changed with the Colonel’s words. After a deep sigh, she said, “You’ll have to forgive me, but I’ve got you pegged on the problem side of the ledger. You can see why, can’t you? Bishop and I would’ve never gotten involved in this whole mess if not for your relationship with the previous president.”
“Yes, I can see how easy it would be to connect those dots if I were in your place. Did Bishop explain why I had a relationship with the previous Commander in Chief?”
Terri shook her head, “No.”
“Let’s just say my reaction to staring the beast in the eye was to withdraw… to retreat.” A harsh look crossed the man’s eyes, his focus moving to the floor. “It might be more accurate to say I ran and hid.”
A man like the Colonel admitting to running or hiding from anything renewed Terri’s interest. While she didn’t know the man sitting across from her all that well, Bishop had always painted a picture of an ultra-brave, incredibly tough individual - a man who had never sampled the stench of fear.
“The man my husband has described would never retreat, Colonel.”
Grunting, he responded, “This enemy is all encompassing, young lady. It corrupts the stoutest of souls and weakens the most powerful of intellects. You can’t defeat it, only limit its scope. Even then, that resistance isn’t a matter of morals, muscles, or superior firepower. All of those things mean nothing when fighting my so-called beast.”
Pausing for a moment to adjust his cane, the Colonel’s gaze fell on Bishop lying in the bed. A shadow of pain crossed behind his eyes before he continued. “The person who holds the office of the president is the most powerful man on earth. That word ‘powerful’ is correct by so many definitions; military might, economic potential, social influence – it’s really the king of the human-hill… the pinnacle of accomplishment for mankind. In the history of our species, there have been other, similar positions. Their titles might have been different - King, Emperor, Kahn… it really doesn’t matter. When there is a single role for any human being that wields that much power, the beast raises its mighty head and lays waste.”
“Power corrupts, Colonel. Is that where you’re going with this?”
“No. Again, that concept is too single-dimensional for what really occurs. But, we can talk about this later. Right now, you look exhausted. Why don’t you go lie down on that couch for an hour, and I’ll keep watch over Bishop. I promise to wake you if he moves a muscle.”
Terri looked at her husband lying beside her. She reached up and brushed his cheek. “Okay, Colonel. I’ll take you up on that offer. Thank you. But be advised, I would like to continue this conversation after I’ve had some rest.”
“Of course we can.”
An hour later, Terri watched as the Colonel rose to leave, a new understanding of why her husband respected the man so much.
“Colonel, before you go, you said you could help me deal with this… this beast thing.”
“It’s very simple, really. You can either withdraw, as I did, or you can fight to limit the size of the beast – reduce its influence. It thrives on mass. If you reduce the size of the buffet, it can’t grow.”
The Colonel turned without further comment and made his way to the hall.
As her mind replayed the Colonel’s words, she sensed something was different. The monitor sounded the same. Or did it?
Sighing loudly, she rolled her feet from the couch and took a step toward Bishop. Her eyes were mainly concerned about the monitor, but movement drew her attention. His eyes were open!
“Bishop! Bishop, it’s Terri. Can you hear me, baby?”
The patient’s throat moved, his Adam’s apple bobbing as if he wanted to talk. Terri moved closer, her heart racing but afraid to breathe in case he said something.
“Bishop, can you look at me?”
Her husband’s eyes fluttered for a moment and then closed. Terri watched, her hands clasped as if in prayer. Time passed, and she was about to turn away when Bishop’s mouth moved… once… twice… and then he whispered hoarsely, “Water.”
Terri was overwhelmed for a moment, before ransacking the room to fill her husband’s request. The nightstand was void of liquids, and there weren’t any cups to fill. A single tear slid down her cheek as she kissed Bishop’s forehead and promised, “I’ll get you something to drink. Just hold on, Bishop.”
Hitting the call button hanging from the bed’s rail, Terri paused and then headed out of the room. Her intention was to race to the nurses’ station and get some water. She made it to the door where she smacked headlong into an RN on her way to answer the alarm.
“He’s awake! He opened his eyes! He said the word ‘Water,’” came bubbling from Terri’s throat.
The nurse moved to check the patient, but Bishop did not respond. “Okay, tell me exactly what happened,” the lady instructed a disappointed Terri.
Chapter 2
Alpha, Texas
January 10, 2016
Word of a
wondrous land filled with neon lights, culinary delights, and a functioning economy spread quickly throughout West Texas even though the collapse of the US economy had left a gaping hole in the communication sector. Prior to the fall, Americans were constantly pelleted with updates and salacious gossip via Facebook and Twitter and internet news. Citizens had been spoiled by the ability to be “in the know” every second of every day. Living through the most newsworthy event of US history without the benefit of cable-delivered updates created a vacuum that demanded to be satisfied. And so the news of West Texas’ move from simply surviving, to all out thriving passed through multiple venues, some sophisticated and deliberate, some accidental and “no tech.” Despite the low population density and lack of phone service, information managed to get around.
Without television, internet, or newspapers, people’s hunger for any sort of update was intense. Rumors, exaggerated claims, and false reports dominated most of the exchanges, but people didn’t seem to care. Any story from the outside world, even if make-believe, seemed to provide a break from a life that had turned into a mundane existence.
Two ranch hands, each riding fence for neighboring spreads, stopped to exchange gossip. It took a while, but one finally convinced the other that he wasn’t joking - Meraton had electricity, air conditioning, and frosty alcoholic beverages.
Another man stopped in to visit an elderly neighbor while on a hunt, the former anxious to see the excitement on his friend’s face as he told the story of Alpha’s streetlights glowing on the distant horizon.
The distribution of information wasn’t always haphazard. Alpha and Meraton were each home to a single surviving HAM radio operator. Both men’s equipment now glowed warm with energized tubes and charged circuits – all because of the wind. The capabilities afforded by the long-range communications reached far beyond an amateur broadcaster in Meraton being able to share updates with a comrade in Alpha. Signals were sent and received from all over the nation, and even a few voices from abroad were detected.
By whatever means, more and more people learned of the miracle of West Texas each day. Most were enamored with the story because of the sliver of hope it engendered. Desperate citizens who were barely hanging onto life possessed a deep thirst for a drink of optimism. Most people couldn’t muster the wherewithal to pick up and travel to the fabled paradises of Meraton or Alpha. Unless their current existence was unsustainable, most of the survivors deemed the risk of relocation too high. But there were many who had run out of options – many who felt they had nothing to lose.
Some people called them refugees. Others preferred the term immigrants. The influx started as a trickle, quickly building into a steady stream of new arrivals. While their method of transport varied, the virtual parade of horse-drawn, ox-powered, and conventional cars and trucks was inspiring, and occasionally comical. Some people hiked great distances while others drove into town via what appeared to be freshly detailed luxury sedans. A few surviving over-the-road semi tractors were part of the mix, their owner-operators pulling in with trailers full of every conceivable cargo, including human beings.
The deluge of humanity was unexpected, but initially caused little concern. Alpha had plenty of available housing, the community having suffered the loss of 80% of its population to a poison gas cloud followed by months of anarchy and conflict. As more and more travelers arrived, Deacon Brown realized the need for some sort of organization and administration to handle the growth.
Most of the new arrivals were disoriented; many were hungry, and more than a few suffered serious medical conditions. The church’s council of elders decided to set up greeters on each highway leading into town. The refugees would be directed to the courthouse where a welcoming committee would help everyone become acclimated. Housing was assigned, occupations and skills documented, and work assignments made. The town’s population swelled by 10 the first day, 26 the next, and over 40 per day after that. Meraton, not having experienced the same loss of citizens as Alpha, didn’t have any abandoned homes. Pete asked that all new arrivals that wandered into their little village be directed to Alpha.
“Nick, we are going to need more than a deacon of a local church to run things. This is getting out of hand. I have no real authority. I wasn’t elected to anything, and it won’t be long before my decisions are openly challenged.”
“Hold an election, Diana. Everyone here was raised on the democratic selection of leaders. Announce the formation of a government, and let everyone vote.”
Diana set aside the stack of papers she was browsing, a look of frustration on her face. “You make it sound so easy.”
Nick stood and stretched, his toned frame expanding as he worked the stiffness from his limbs. “It is easy. Make up some posters, get some ballots, and pick a date. Give anyone who wants to be the mayor one week to sign up. Set a date a week later for everyone to vote. Have a debate if somebody feels it necessary. There’s nothing else to do around here at night anyway.”
Diana shook her head, slightly annoyed at how simple her friend could make things sound. “And what? We’ll elect a dictator? What about checks and balances? How do we establish justice? It’s not that simple.”
Nick moved behind the woman he loved and rubbed her shoulders. “I’ve had some pretty extensive training in how to organize resistance forces. Maybe I’m oversimplifying things, but this is not insurmountable.”
After helping with the stress in her shoulders, Nick picked up a map of the town, the rendition created as part of the kit passed out to newcomers. Taking a pen and ruler, he divided Alpha into four sections. In the middle of town, the section with the highest population, he made a large circle.
Showing his artwork to Diana, he continued. “Each section of town can elect a councilman, or district representative. Those people sit on the council. Five districts equals an odd number of votes, so there’s never a tie. Simple majority rules. The mayor can veto any vote. It takes four council votes to override the veto. Plain, simple and fair.”
Diana scratched her chin, pondering Nick’s suggestion.
He continued, “The mayor is responsible for enforcement of the council’s rules or laws. Budgets, civic projects, and other efforts should be voted on by the majority. Once something is passed, then the mayor is in charge of executing.”
Looking up and smiling, Diana acknowledged the simplicity of Nick’s structure. “At worst, it’s a place to start. I guess we can always modify it as we grow.”
Nick nodded, “Even before the collapse, every city and state had unique methods of local governance. Organize something to kick start the process, and the people will modify it as we go.”
Diana stood and hugged the big man. After the embrace was over, she pulled back with a sheepish look on her face. “Should I run for mayor?”
“Of course you should. I’ve been impressed by how effective you are as a leader. The people respect your judgment, and they naturally sense that you have their best interests in mind as you guide them. Also consider that in many aspects, you are already performing the job right now, without the help of five council representatives or the Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval from the citizenry.”
Turning away, the former church leader hesitated. “But… but I make so many mistakes… so many bad calls.”
Nick squeezed the woman’s shoulders and said, “People don’t expect anyone to be perfect, Diana. They will demand honesty and transparency to trust their leaders. They will want someone’s heart to be in the right place. They need a real person to take charge – someone who is one of them. Not a plastic politician with a perfect smile who’s in bed with some special interest. Alpha isn’t Washington, and most of the folks who survived would tell you our old capital wasn’t working very well anyway. As long as you serve the people and put them first, then you’ll do well.”
Base Hospital
Fort Bliss, Texas
January 10, 2016
Terri’s sleep deficit worsened after Bishop’s brief
awakening. Next to her on the bedside table resided a full water beaker and several paper cups – ready at a moment’s notice.
While she possessed a desperate longing for the couch and rest, her mind found the concept of being away from her husband unacceptable. She was absolutely convinced that Bishop would need her the moment she wasn’t at his side.
Every hour that passed made the situation less tolerable. Reaching for Bishop’s hand, she finally whispered, “Bishop, I’ve got to rest. I’ll be over on the couch if you need me. I love you so very much, baby.”
“Okay. Love you, too.”
Terri’s head snapped around, thinking someone else was in the room and was playing a very bad joke. After finding no one, she leaned close to her husband and whispered, “Bishop, would you like a drink of water before I lie down?”
“Yes, please. I’m very thirsty.”
Terri’s hands came together as if she was praying, her face flashing a genuine smile. She was so excited, she almost forgot the patient’s request.
Quickly filling a cup, she coached, “Bishop, I need you to tilt your head forward and take a drink.”
Touching the vessel to his lips, she almost squealed when his head made a partial motion forward. His lips opened, and he managed a swallow. Another followed… and then another.
“Bishop, how long have you been awake?”
“I’m not awake. You’re dreaming.”
It took Terri a moment to realize the joke. It really was Bishop… he really was in there.
“In my dream, you want more water. So tilt your head forward again.”
He complied and managed several swallows. Terri pressed the call button again, hoping Bishop would manage to stay awake long enough to speak to the nurse. While she was waiting, his eyes fluttered and then opened, squinting at the brightness of the room.
