“You can probably play every instrument I could actually name, and you sing, but again, I hear you dropped out of all the art classes at Washington High after a single year at most. Half the time, nobody knows where you are, but grown people, like, older people, sometimes seek you out looking for guidance or orders. Your phone buzzes pretty much non-stop.
“Henson, you are probably the strangest person I will meet my entire life. No wonder Gunny didn’t believe me about you. Something he said after telling me I was crazy was true. He said if someone like you really existed, they’d be on every talk show in the world, and be at least as famous as movie stars, maybe even in movies already. Yet while practically everyone in Steelton knows you, nobody else knows you exist. It doesn’t make sense.”
Noah just blinked. He didn’t know what to say. With everything laid out like that, it did all sound pretty fantastic, and also made him feel a little guilty. At least he had made the decision a long time ago not to use his second life selfishly, or the guilt would be a lot worse. Becoming world famous had never been an option, though–not when the Aelves might be looking for him.
Jamal’s tone grew introspective. “When I first heard about you during my senior year of high school, people were saying that over the summer, you fought three or four guys from Sidmore High and Creola Middle School who were picking on a kid in a wheelchair. I didn’t believe it at first, in fact I didn’t believe anything about you. I thought you were just a showboating glory hound with great hype. But then you did that thing with your guitar, and I saw those guys glaring at you from the other bleachers during the Sidmore game. I also heard you broke up a fight at a dance with practically no effort at all.
“I didn’t used to like you, Henson. The more I found out everything about you was true, the more I thought you were just an arrogant, rich kid showoff. I could never figure you out.
“But being a Marine now has given me a different perspective, and I can spot leadership easier now. I’ll never forget what you told me years ago at the diner. That was a bitter pill to swallow, but I grew up a little that day, and I grew up a lot at boot camp. I’ve also known some seriously deadly people now, and here’s the weird thing, I think you’re one of them.
“You are probably one of the most dangerous, most powerful people in Steelton, maybe even the state.
“I was just able–”
“You’re a weird guy, Henson. I don’t know what you’re trying to do. Like, warehouses full of water purifiers, with armed security? Weird combination locks? The company, Log Cabin had us do that crossbow training before too, and you also came along for that. I would bet money you were involved somehow.”
Noah raised his eyebrows and tried to steady his beating heart.
Jamal shook his head. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that nothing about you makes sense, but what people do means a lot more than what they say. You are obviously loaded and connected enough that you could just travel around and do whatever you wanted all year long, but for some reason, you drive around Steelton...solving problems and filling warehouses with canned goods, employing weird people. And I may not be a genius, but I’m not blind. I have my suspicions about the mystery scholarship I got for college, and my mom’s miraculous approval for her home loan last year. It would be rude to ask questions about it, but whoever that was, I am very grateful, just like I’m grateful if a gun safe magically turns up at my house soon.”
Noah was losing the battle against his flush. “Whatever breaks you caught, I’m sure you earned them,” he said.
“Darn right,” said Jamal, pride in his voice. “But that isn’t how the real world works, is it? Fairness doesn’t seem to have much to do with it, or my mom wouldn’t have been stuck raising two kids, working herself to death, and still barely making it even with food stamps. I earned everything I’ve gotten, but I still might not have ever gotten anything it if someone hadn’t been watching out.
“Thing is, I’m not sure I’m the only example in Steelton. I’ve seen the news reports. This city is doing great, and nobody seems to understand why. I’ll bet if some folks started investigating a certain sixteen-year-old kid driving around an armored pickup truck, who constantly practices archery in warehouses he owns and learns new languages for fun, they might find some leads.”
“Uhhh,” Noah said intelligently.
Jamal shrugged and said, “My dad taught us to fight, to stand up for what we believe in. I see that in you too, Henson. While I don’t know what your motivation is, I know you’re fighting for something. You’re a weird dude, but I’ve decided to believe in you. For everything I’ve seen you do for the community, and for everything I might not know about, thank you.”
In Noah’s entire second life, he’d only been completely at a loss for words a handful of times, and this was one of them. He felt deeply embarrassed, and Charisma wasn’t helping out at all, staying completely silent. “I don’t know what to say. That was...a lot.”
“You don’t have to say anything. Kiera kind of put me up to this, but she was right that I should say something. I’m a Marine now. Part of having honor, courage, and commitment is recognizing it in others.”
Noah shook his head ruefully. “You know, of all the accidental friendships I’ve made, I think I got really lucky with you. I won’t confirm or deny anything, but thanks a lot, man. I think I know what you’re trying to say, but I don’t do stuff for recognition.”
“I know, and that’s why people follow you.”
“People follow you too, Jamal. I work really hard, and some people notice that, but you are a natural born leader,” said Noah, and now it was the guard’s turn to look uncomfortable. Noah laughed and waved, “I’ll let you get back to work. Venu is waiting for me.”
As he turned to head deeper into the warehouse, [Listen] picked up Jamal muttering, “Venu. Yeah. Have fun with that guy. God, this job is weird sometimes.”
Chapter 20
Past the front office of this warehouse, where the Log Cabin security sergeant–currently Jamal–oversaw the entire industrial park, the warehouse was just a warehouse. Noah had set it up to have a long, winding hallway that switched back and forth with rows and rows of shelves on either side. When he’d first had the warehouses built, he’d opted for a simpler format, with a walkway down the center and multiple rooms built into both sides. However, the rooms had been difficult to check, and Noah had forgotten what he’d had at times without using [Memory Palace].
Now with a winding path, Noah could see everything he had in the warehouse, all neatly labeled. When he visited his warehouses, like this occupied command unit, they helped him plan on any additions or changes to what he had stocked.
Each warehouse he owned around the world had a variety of items, so even if only one survived in an area he’d seeded, they would still benefit the community in a serious way after the Shift. Over time, Noah had refined his communications plans. His post-Shift planning had been made easier now that he’d been delegating for the last two years. He had contingencies upon contingencies, and Log Cabin Security Company had come in handy too.
At night sometimes, when he was thinking and being honest with himself, Noah had admitted that he was kind of building a private army. Sometimes he felt weird about it, but he couldn’t deny that it made sense to do. In another year, he might even start training a quick reaction force in Steelton.
The artificial hallway wound through the warehouse, and Noah briefly scanned each section of storage. As in every other warehouse, the first area was full of honey, rice, and beans. To preserve the rice and beans, Noah had bought industrial freezers in Detroit and had created a process set up for distribution in the US. The dry rice and beans were frozen to kill any weevils or eggs, then they were all placed in special buckets, so the air could be vacuumed out. This made each bucket shelf-stable for a very long time.
Honey never went bad, so he just had it shipped directly to his warehouses in buckets from honey farms.
Noah kept walking, slowly scan
ning his storage. He noted boxes of knives, crates full of candles, racks of water purifiers of various sizes and types, extra filters, iodine tablets, and pest control products. Rats had gotten really bad in some cities, but Noah couldn’t remember which, so adding rat poison became a standard item to stock. He remembered the dog problem that some place had suffered too. Rat poison, while inhumane, could be used to kill dogs.
Noah hated thinking about stuff like that.
He noted hundreds of mini sewing kits, bottles of antibiotics…“Hmm,” he muttered. Each warehouse he’d stocked around the world had at least a few thousand pounds of salt, but maybe he should add to that. He made a mental note of it and moved on.
As he walked, he read the labels of boxes that contained thousands of lighters, thousands of ferro rods for starting fires, first aid kits, lanterns, lantern fuel, alcohol stoves, thousands of gallons of rubbing alcohol, hunting gear–including snares, supplies for tanning leather, basic fishing gear, crates of nails and screws, and plenty of other things to help people survive after the power went out.
Steelton would be much better off than any other town after the Shift in Noah’s first life, as would every other location he’d seeded with warehouses and safe houses. Actually, plenty of cities would have been able to survive on their own in his first life if people had cooperated with each other, but panic, disorganization, and greed had doomed millions of people.
Realistically, Noah couldn’t save the country, much less the world, just by filling warehouses, but he could give a core group of leaders a massive advantage. Tools to help people learn how to survive would be literally worth more than gold.
Further to the rear of the warehouse, Noah read even more labels, crates of wool blankets, plastic containers full of heirloom seeds for farming, barrels of cooking oil, bottles of bleach, spools of duct tape, and containers full of paracord.
There were some quality of life goods too, meant to be given out sparingly, like soap, basic spices for cooking, toothpaste, and sugar. Shelves of books, both fiction and nonfiction, lined the path, and boxes of Shift survival guides that had been written by Noah, printed and bound as spiral notebooks waited, ready to be passed out.
Quite a bit of each warehouse was devoted to storing alcohol. Whiskey, tequila, vodka, rum, and brandy, rows of bottles represented great wealth after the Shift. In fact, booze would become so valuable, Noah had actually filled several safe houses with alcohol, and had hidden distillery equipment in multiple places around the country.
At the rear of the warehouse, Noah paused before a solid steel box bolted to the concrete floor, anchored to ten feet of rebar deep in the ground. The box was secured with complicated combination locks, built into the steel itself, even more robust than on the warehouse door. Next to the box stood a large set of thick, steel doors with their own combination locks. Noah knew that the metal wall of the warehouse and the doors were surrounded by solid rock.
The young man grinned and thought, Let’s see people try to get into these things with no power and nothing but a hand tool! He quickly opened the box to check what was inside.
Every warehouse across the world that had been built or bought to prepare for the Shift had a steel box like this one. Noah called them his jam boxes. Every jam box contained two changes of clothes, a pair of shoes, a jacket, and a pair of boots–all sized for Noah.
Half of each box was devoted to bottles of water, and several kinds of non-perishable foods, including military MREs. A quality hiking pack full of camping and survival gear sat next to a belt knife, a machete, and a thick, canvas bag full of multiple steel weapons, oiled for storage. Last but not least, Noah checked the plastic case that held a compound bow, and a quiver of carbon arrows. He nodded, closed the box, and locked it back up again.
One of Noah’s only selfish acts had been to create the jam boxes for his use in case he was ever in a jam and needed to resupply.
Once the jam box had been secured, he unlocked and opened the massive steel doors in the wall, and entered one of the secret underground lairs he’d had built as armories. To prevent future raiders or enemies from getting ahold of any serious weapons he hoarded, Noah had ordered a number of secret, secure locations built. Not even Jamal or the other Log Cabin guards had access to this area. Jamal knew that Noah had someone working back here, but had never actually seen it.
Noah walked slowly through the tunnel, awed as always that such a thing existed and that he’d had it built. A single work crew, silenced by a non-disclosure agreement, had traveled all over the United States building these types of hidden, fortified locations for him. After the Shift, the number of people who got the combinations to open the doors would be limited.
In Steelton, Jamal was actually one of them–so were Noah’s parents.
At the end of the hallway stood another set of doors - normal wooden double doors. Noah heard the sound of buzzing from the other side and smiled. Venu must be working. He pushed through the doors, and his smile turned to a grin.
One side of the enormous, subterranean warehouse functioned as an armory. Racks of crossbows and sleek, compound bows lined an entire wall, hanging next to laminated recurve bows. A few of the compound bows had modern sights–Noah had chosen the toughest set available on the market. But he knew after the Shift, most modern bows had lost their sights, or they’d broken. As a result, most modern bows Noah stocked were designed to be shot like the recurves, using fingers instead of a mechanical release, and by archers trained to aim instinctively.
Past several boxes full of replacement parts for the compound bows, Noah had stacked ammunition. Arrows to feed the bows and bolts to feed the crossbows filled barrels, buckets, and crates. Ultimately, compound bows had to be sized for each archer, were difficult to repair, and needed special arrows, but they more powerful and easier to use than recurves. Ten years or more after the Shift, all of humanity would probably use recurves or longbows, but Noah wanted each area he’d invested in to have the initial advantage of the modern bows, even if they all eventually broke and became useless several years later.
Boxes full of oiled chainmail–several types and sizes–occupied boxes stacked the ceiling. Noah had commissioned thousands of sets of chainmail from Pakistan, giving several factories years of work. The two main types he’d began stocking were riveted aluminum hauberks for children or adults who needed lighter protection and welded steel sets.
Most modern, reenactment chainmail used butted links, where the ends of each small ring were just pressed together, but Noah knew from his past experiences that butted construction was next to useless against modern bows and crossbows. They required constant maintenance, too.
In addition to the complete chainmail armor, all of his hidden armories also held a number of loose steel rings ready for riveted construction, where both ends of each tiny ring were flattened and secured with a peened piece of metal. This process took a long time and was difficult to do, but created strong armor. After the Shift, the strongest, welded chainmail Noah had been stocking would no longer be possible to produce.
Sometimes, the fact he was in effect creating modern-day Mithril seemed really strange. Defenders of Noah’s settlements and forts would have the finest armor in the world.
A special box in this warehouse held unique armor, chainmail made with thick, welded steel rings, and solid titanium rings. The rings were thicker than normal, but the titanium kept the weight down. The result was a hauberk that weighed the same as standard steel chainmail but was twice as strong. Noah thought of this hybrid armor as Dragon Mithril.
He had spent years in elementary school researching armor, exploring ways to make the best protection possible for his people. Ultimately, he’d accepted the truth that people in the distant past had really known what they were doing. The best armor he could actually order produced in large quantity were ancient designs made with strong, modern materials.
Chainmail was not the only type of armor that Noah stocked, though, especially in Steelto
n. Brigandines, leather or canvas coats with steel plates sewn inside, hung from pegs above boxes full of gambesons, fluffy, stuffed coats that could stop a blade.
Containers of hardware and large free-standing parts waited, ready to build catapults, or ballistas, the giant siege bows that could launch arrows the size of spears.
Hundreds of swords and thousands of machetes lay neatly stacked in plastic containers, covered in oil and wrapped in wax paper. Kydex and nylon sheaths, tough and weather resistant, had been crammed into separate containers.
Racks of spears stood ready to be wielded, and crates full of greased spearheads waited for handles. Bucklers and various types of shields hung in specially-built racks. The entire warehouse had been filled with armor and weapons of war, as well as serious hunting tools. Racks of wrist-mounted slingshots and boxes full of rubber to replace slingshot bands had been Noah’s newest additions to the arsenal.
On the other side of the enormous, custom-built room was a workshop. A man who’d been working on wood with a power sander turned with a smile. “Hi, Noah. I was not expecting you today.”
“Hello, Venu.” Noah noted the thick layer of sawdust covering the Indian man’s apron. It read “Kiss the Cook.” Standing a bit shorter than Noah had in his previous life, Venu had become another of his luckiest additions to the Steelton crew.
Almost two years ago, when Noah had decided to start experimenting with new weapons after covering the basics, he’d put out an ad in the Steelton paper for someone interested in ancient weapons, with a basic understanding of engineering, and some woodworking skill. Venu Anand had recently been laid off from an IT job and worried about his Visa to stay in the United States. He’d answered the ad and after a series of admittedly bizarre interviews, had agreed to work for Noah if the youth could fix his Visa problem.
Even back then, this hadn’t been a problem, so Venu had become Noah’s weapon development research scientist. Their working relationship had started off surprisingly well, with Venu excited, actually getting a chance to be paid for his passion–ancient weapons. The man’s flexible mind and adaptability had helped. Most people would not be okay with signing non-disclosure agreements, working for a teen, or going to work in a secret, underground lair every day.
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