This last statement brought a hush over the crowd, with some mouths hanging open and others shaking their heads in disbelief.
“I know this is a lot to take in, and probably not what you expected to hear today. However, we are still a lawful town of good God-fearing people who watch out for each other. That won’t change. Those added to our town, whether temporarily or longer, will be expected to pull their weight, as we all do. I will get with our new Mayor, David Jenkins here, and of course Deputy Mayor Jason Davis,” pointing to Jason. “We will determine the best location for our new arrivals and work with local farms to rent land as needed to grow crops and to raise livestock on a large scale. When properly executed, we all will have something we can count on and be proud of in this Next-World. Only by working together with each other, our United States Military, and still intact Government can we hope to turn this great country of ours around and get her on the right track once again.”
Now James was getting head nods of agreement, and the crowd as a whole looked a bit more relaxed than when he was talking about the Chinese and Russians.
Every adult man in America has seen the movie Red Dawn, James thought, where the high school kids fight against invading Russians, leaving family behind, to head into the mountains. He wondered how many in the crowd had that mental image now.
“That’s all for now,” James added, “unless, of course, there are any questions.”
He expected a few but was surprised to see nearly every hand in the air, with people squirming like a classroom of children who all know the answers to the teacher’s question. One by one, James answered the questions as best he could, fielding a few off to Jason and David, who handled them well, James thought. The promised two hours turned into almost four before he thanked everyone for coming and promised to have another Q&A soon.
* * * *
“You like that stuff, don’t you?” asked Jason on their way home.
“The talking to people or the designated position?”
“Both, I guess.”
“Well, I do like talking to people, always have; but as for the position, it’s what needs to be done. I could be happy as any man just working on the ranch every day, without a care in the world about what happens beyond the front gates. But then Sheriffing would be someone else’s problem. Somebody has to do it, so why not me? At least I get to work with my friends.”
“You mean me?”
“Of course I mean you, Jason, and David as well. Together we can make real and lasting change in Weston, maybe even make this town better than it was before. I’m excited about the possibilities and we’ve already overcome a huge hurdle with Judge Lowry and Kate. Every day is a chance to improve the situation for our families and those in our town. With all of the other designated towns across the country, we have a real chance at keeping this country afloat.”
“Yeah. Honestly, I can’t remember a time when I felt truly more alive than now,” replied Jason. “Sure, I get stressed, but I got that before too, just about different problems. Lauren and the girls couldn’t be happier at your place, and we’ve got a still right on your property!”
James laughed, adding, “Yeah, that one got us in some trouble with the ladies for sure!”
* * * *
James was informed the next morning that the Colonel would be by the following afternoon for a progress update. He spent the day cleaning house—firing half of his deputies on the word of his lead deputy and longtime friend.
“Can’t start out new with a bushel of half-rotten apples,” he told David and Jason. “We’ll interview some of the FEMA guests when they get here,” he announced. “I want a solid crew and the safest town in the state, if not the country.”
* * * *
“What do we have, James?” asked the Colonel the following day, just before lunch.
“We have got a good group, sir. We’re in the process of replacing a few bad apples on the deputy team, and then we should be solid. Did you ever find the former Sheriff?”
“No, not yet, but I’m sure she will turn up. I hear there is a restaurant open in town—is that right?”
“Yes, sir. The Weston Grill and Tavern. I know the owner well.”
“Good, let’s see if they have a steak today—my treat.”
The Colonel sat with James, Jason and David, hammering out the specifics, although there wasn’t a lot of wiggle room in the discussion, James pointed out respectfully.
“I understand your concern,” replied the Colonel, “but we can’t have every Chapter doing something different. Did you ever see that movie…Krock, I think it was called?”
“I think it’s The Founder,” replied James, “and I only saw the preview since it never got released before the lights went out.”
“That makes sense,” replied the Colonel. “We got an advanced viewing when it was almost completed. Basically, an outside view of what we’re trying to do here, and I have to say it makes sense when you hear it. Anyway, there’s a part where Ray Krock is just getting started with franchising locations, and the most important part of the corporation’s success is to keep everything the same. So, you can get a hamburger at ten different locations and it looks the same, tastes the same, and costs the same. Then, one day he sees one of them selling other menu items—like fried chicken or barbecue, I can’t remember—and he goes crazy because they are not following the plan. That’s what we’re trying to do here. Every Chapter will have a Sheriff and Deputies, a Mayor, Deputy Mayor, and a five-person City Council.”
“We’re still working on that, sir, but will have it done in the next few days,” replied James. “And yes, I see the point of the story,” he added, with both David and Jason nodding in agreement.
“Great! So, we’re on the same page,” replied the Colonel. “You run the show, and if you get into any trouble, give me a holler.”
“We can do that—right, Jason and David?”
“Sure thing,” replied David, with a “Yup” from Jason.
* * * * * * *
Chapter Thirty
Southern Colorado Chapter
of the US Coalition
Two days later, the three sat outside the empty jailhouse, discussing town plans.
“Here they come,” announced James, only getting a heads-up yesterday about the newly arriving FEMA guests.
One by one, the trucks slowly passed, each lined with small trailers, all appearing brand new. Each truck carrying four trailers lumbered past, one after the other, as far as the eye could see.
“I hope we made the right decision doing this,” said Jason aloud.
“There was no decision,” said James. “It’s this or run for the hills. These people have a real chance at starting over, just like you did not too long ago, and like I did leaving Chicago. I wouldn’t have named my ranch Second Chances if I didn’t believe it fully. Everyone wants to help the homeless, but nobody wants to open their own doors.”
“I understand,” said Jason, feeling bad he had to be reminded.
Jason oversaw the placing of the trailers in predetermined rows, and without hookups it was just the Army maneuvering them into place.
By day’s end, just shy of 200 trailers were lined in rows of 20, with a dirt road separating each cluster.
* * * *
The residents arrived the following morning—on probably the same trailers, James thought, as they rolled slowly through town.
He would need to meet with them before day’s end. David and Jason would set the ground rules and interview for positions, including deputies, farmers, construction, food service, latrine duty, water and other sanitation, medical, mechanic, mediators, and teachers.
James didn’t know how long this situation would last and wasn’t about to guess. Still, it would turn out he would have a fair share of downtime as the new community mingled in with the townsfolk—slowly at first and almost like they had been here forever before the change, starting slowly like a hidden cancer and then as fast as a gunshot.
With James
’ and Jason’s help, David looked for a suitable place closer to town for his family, including Tina, Veronica, Suzie, Mark and Beatrice.
The commute, it was decided, was more than anyone wanted, and with Beatrice assuming the role of Head Chef at the FEMA camp, it was a quick decision. Tina would volunteer to oversee the one-room schoolhouse and David would soon ask the Government for the funds to expand it fivefold.
Mel and Tammie would stay on Raton Pass and lead the small group of now Westoners through the winter.
Not every Westoner would survive the first winter, but those who did, including both David and Mel, started to forget what it was like to fight for what they had. As harsh as the first winter was, with sickness and discontent, it would become known even years down the road as the “soft winter.”
* * * * * * *
Chapter Thirty-one
Northern Colorado Chapter
of the US Coalition
Leaving the MacDonalds’ place, I felt good. I knew we were about to crest the hill where, ironically, Drake or his brother killed Mac’s best friend Jimmy not long ago, and Drake’s brother was killed in return. Now I had the safety of my entire family, not only in my hands but both of theirs. I had heard where it happened and knew these woods like the back of my hand, and even Jax knew something was off when we paused just over the crest of the hill.
“What’s going on?” he asked in his still innocent-sounding voice, only I knew better. I knew what he had seen—all of it—from the teenage girl named Samantha being stabbed in the stomach right in front of our suburban McKinney home, to the fire that scarred our children. He saw Mike stalk the man who hurt him with the snake and survived a kidnapping with his twin brother. He saw his dog Ringo ravaged by bloodthirsty animals and those left for dead by Baker and his men, strewn down the highway like mile markers. Jax and other children overheard stories the adults talked about in whispers, stories no child should hear. His sweet-sounding voice somehow kept a shred of innocence in a new and harsh world.
The plain white cross pounded into the mountain earth said it all as Mac dismounted, paying his respects to an old friend. I assumed Drake had one for his brother somewhere down in the trees, but I couldn’t see it.
“Almost halfway there,” Mac announced, getting back on his four-wheeler.
The old dirt fire road, with deep ruts that had been carved deeper every year, wound around—just as I had remembered it. My body shook right before we hit the cold spot, like I had a hundred times before. Crossing a small canyon, the temperature dropped “at least a thousand degrees,” we used to say as kids. It was probably only twenty, but all of us noticed.
“It’s cold, Daddy,” said Hudson, sitting in front of me on my four-wheeler.
“Just for a minute, son,” I replied, as we started over the other side and hit the warm air again.
“Is that place haunted?!” he yelled out.
“I don’t know,” I replied, “but I always got through that part as fast as I could in all my years coming up here.”
The last hill had the most extensive deep ruts and used to be a bear on two wheels, but on four wasn’t so bad.
“There it is!” called out Hudson, taking his hands off the steering wheel to point, just as I turned left to avoid a monster hole.
“No!” I yelled, watching him slip off the right side of the bike so fast. Catching the bit of shirt I could grab was a miracle indeed, with only a split second to decide my next move—and I would have done it a thousand times over the same way.
I held tight as he swung right and the machine left. The loud pop in my right shoulder would have been sickening if it were not for the pain.
Letting go of the handlebars with my left hand, we were both off the back in an instant, but I didn’t let go. Turning my body, I had his back on my chest when we hit the ground. My arm felt weird, dangling down as if it had been taken clean off—but it was still there, hanging.
“Daddy! Daddy! Are you okay?” Hudson was asking me.
“Can’t talk,” I choked out, trying hard to catch a breath.
I knew my arm was dislocated, but not sure if any worse. It was a first for me, and I had a flashback of all the movies I had seen where they put a shoe into the guy’s armpit and pulled as he screamed. On film, at least, it always looked too painful at first but ninety percent better after.
It was Mac who offered—insisted, I mean—to do the dirty work. “Did you hit your arm on anything?” he asked— “like the ground or the bike?”
“No, I don’t think so,” I replied.
“Because if it is broken anywhere, this is going to really hurt,” he added, palpating my arm from just below the shoulder to my wrist, squeezing and asking if it hurt.
He heard what he was looking for, I guess, as he put his heavy workbook in my armpit.
“Have you ever had a boot in your armpit?” I remember someone asking me once.
It was almost the worst part, I would tell Mac later, with a sincere thank-you added in.
“Okay…on three,” he said. “One…two...” He pulled on two, and I should have expected it. My shoulder slid back in with a suction sound, like the last bit of water going down a drain.
“No way!” I said aloud… “It does feel better,” I announced, trying to stand.
“Whoa, now!” Mac replied. “It’s back in, but you’re done using it for a while.”
“Help me get on my machine,” I told him. “We’re almost to the top!”
“That’s not happening, either,” he replied. “Besides, you can’t run the throttle and steer with your left hand… I think we’ve seen enough for today.”
“Awe, man!” came the chorus from my boys.
We had talked about the camp a hundred times before the day, and I was sure they could describe it in detail without ever having been there.
“Can I talk to you?” I asked Mac, walking out of earshot from the others.
“My camp, my favorite place anywhere on this earth, is 100 yards up that road. Do you see that tree, right up on the Saddle, the big one?” I pointed towards it with my good arm. “That’s the spot, right behind it,” I added, not waiting for a response. “I’ve told my boys so many stories about that spot, and the way things have been going lately, I’m not sure we will ever get another chance to see it.”
“Yeah, okay. I get it. How about a compromise?”
“What did you have in mind?” I asked.
“I’ll tow you up to the spot. You stay there with your family while Drake and I make the hike to the top of the cliffs. I told MacDonald we would get him some info, and we need to see where the fire is anyway.”
“Deal,” I said. “And thanks. This means a lot to me.”
“Just a minute,” he told me, digging in his pack. “We’re going to tape that arm to your body. The tape will have to be cut off later, but it should hold it in place until we get home.”
Steering with my left arm, he towed us the last way up.
* * * *
“There she is!” I called out to the boys. The camp, and the most special place I had ever been, was now right in front of us. The shelter, once meticulously built and maintained, had been through dozens of harsh winters and still stood—not perfect but the outline remained like a woman who had seen 100 years of life and endured every year with confidence and grace. The rocks, ten of them in all, remained piled just as I had left them all those years ago, adding to it one at a time over decades.
It had been nearly 30 years since I had been up here. I felt a wave of emotion, which wasn’t like me. Joy had always joked before that I could win a mega lottery and not make a sound. I let Mac and Drake get halfway up the cliffside before asking everyone to be quiet.
“Why, Daddy?” the boys asked.
“Just listen. No words…just listen. I’ll tell you when to stop… Now!” I said, nearly five minutes later, and not all of it quiet. “Okay, raise your hand if you can tell me what you heard.”
“Me, me,” they squ
ealed.
“Okay, Jax. You’re first.”
“I heard nothing, Daddy.”
“Nothing?” asked Joy.
“Yeah, nothing but the wind blowing the trees.”
“And the birds and the squirrels?” asked Hudson.
“Chipmunks up here,” I said. “Basically, the same thing, only smaller. What else?”
“I heard Mac saying potty words walking up the hill,” said Hendrix, giggling.
“Well, it’s a bear of a hike, I know,” I replied, smiling.
“That’s what I love about being up here,” I continued. “It’s just the wind, birds, animals, and nothing else.”
Next World Series | Vol. 6 | Families First [Battle Grounds] Page 27
