by Lopez, Rob
“Shut up, Clem.”
“You’d want to do it too, if you’d lost someone you cared about.”
Red shot Clem a menacing glare. “I said, shut it. Now get your ass moving.”
“We’ve all lost somebody, Clem,” said Ned sympathetically.
“Yeah, it ain’t all about you,” added Ralph a little more caustically.
“Goddamn you,” muttered Clem as he strode to pick up his pack.
They broke camp and Rick took point, moving ahead of the group. As they walked, Red fell in alongside Josh. “You’ve got balls, kid,” he muttered. “No way I’d have dared stand up to my pa at your age.”
“I don’t know,” said Josh, looking at his father’s defeated posture up ahead. “I might have made things worse. Once he’s had a rest, I’m going to get one of those lectures.”
“Nah,” chuckled Red. “He’s proud of you, kid. He just don’t want to show it.”
“You think?”
“Sure.”
Josh straightened up a little, and suddenly he felt good about himself. “I’ve got a responsibility to look after him,” he asserted.
“Well,” said Red doubtfully, “don’t get carried away with yourself. I don’t think anyone’s qualified to look after your pa. Except maybe your ma.”
“But I can try.”
Red shook his head. “Don’t go too far down that road. You’ve got enough on your plate looking after yourself and your sister. If I’m not wrong, I’d say things are set to get a little rougher around here, because I don’t believe that Connors fella has finished with us. Not by a long shot.”
6
At the edge of Asheville, on the banks of the French Broad River, lay the rail yards: multiple tracks, repair shops and numerous freight carriages strung out for hundreds of yards. Many had been pillaged for survival during the winter, but most carried ores, chemicals and industrial supplies that were of little use to anyone now. Alone on a siding, however, stood J-Class 611, a steam locomotive built in the 1940s. Long, sleek and worthy of an art-deco poster, she stood in fine condition. With the diesel locomotives stranded and unable to be started, 611 looked ready to resume her role as queen of the railroad.
“She’s beautiful,” said Connors, stroking the black boiler plate. “How soon can you get her running?”
The engineer was a sallow-faced woman with emaciated features. Connors had found her in one of the riverside slums when he’d gone looking for experts he could use. “She’ll run now,” said the engineer. “My pa kept her in good condition. She’s only here on account of the PTC rules.”
“What’s that?”
The engineer looked at the major as if he were stupid. “Electronic management of the freight. Ain’t nobody figured out a way to fit the system to a steam locomotive, and Amtrak wouldn’t let her run on a main line without it.”
“Doesn’t matter now,” said Connors. “Anything with electronics is useless to us, so your locomotive is in the right place at the right time.”
The engineer looked around at the yard. “Too much stock blocking the track. It’ll take a while to move it all.”
“That’s not a problem.”
“And I need coal.”
“I can get you that. There’s a train full of coal stranded outside Old Fort. I want you to bring it back.”
“Going to need help,” said the engineer.
Connors studied her, knowing full well what she was really asking for. Those who’d survived the winter had learned to hustle, and nobody was going to do anything without getting something back.
“You’ll get extra rations,” said Connors. “Same for your crew if you put one together. No more than three other people, but pick them well. I’ll leave you in charge of that.”
“You’ve got yourself a train, Mister. If you want, I can blow your whistle for a little bonus.”
She smiled, showing her uneven and missing teeth.
“Don’t push your luck,” said Connors. “I can still send you back to that shit hole you call home.”
The engineer’s face dropped to a scowl. “You won’t find anyone else who knows how to run this engine,” she said.
Connors smiled grimly and lowered his voice. “You’d better be right, or you’ll need more than a good dental surgeon to fix that face. Am I making myself clear?”
The engineer’s horrified look indicated that he had. Connors left her to contemplate the threat and made his way over to where his horse nibbled at the weeds. Fick, Leon and Taft waited on horseback nearby. Connors mounted up, and the four rode up the slope toward the community college perched on the hill that overlooked the river.
“Gentlemen,” he announced. “I think it’s time to send patrols into the mountains. See what we can find.”
“We should have done all that before,” said Fick.
“It was worth the wait,” said Connors. “I needed to see if Nolan would take the bait. The fact that he didn’t is useful intel. I don’t think he’s going to be that much of a threat to us now. Truth be told, I’m getting a little tired of him. I want to turn our efforts toward more profitable ventures.”
“Like trains?” suggested Fick dismissively.
“Sure. Infrastructure. Every functioning society needs it. The better the infrastructure, the better the wealth flows. What do you think made this nation great?”
“I thought it was killing the beaners and Indians that did it.”
“That too, but it takes more than that. We need enterprise. See, that there is the river. Gives us access to communities north and south. The train lets us expand east and west. Asheville here is the hub. Everything’s going to flow through here, and we’ll take our cut.”
“Our cut of what? From Colombia alone, I was making ten thousand a month from the cocaine dealers we protected, and that was chump change. There ain’t nothing here on that scale worth getting out of bed for.”
“Did you invest your cut in gold like I advised you?”
“Yeah, but it ain’t much use to me now.”
“Not yet, but it will be.” Connors looked to the mountains that surrounded Asheville. “How many meth labs do you think were hidden up there in the hills before all this happened?”
“Who cares?”
“I do. Even if every redneck chemist died in the winter, the equipment and the stored ingredients will still be there. And I’d wager not all of them died, so there’s still some knowhow left. But of course, we won’t know that until you start taking your patrols into the mountains and looking for it.”
Taft and Leon exchanged amused glances.
“Maybe we should go looking for moonshiners too,” said Taft.
“Maybe you should. It’s time to start looking for opportunities, gentlemen. If it’s legal, we tax it. If it’s not, we skim it. You know how it works. In the old days, I wouldn’t have had to tell you twice.”
“In the old days, we had cash.”
“And we’ll have cash again. Have a little faith.”
Leaving them, Connors rode into Asheville. Military checkpoints blocked every major street, and patrols kept an eye on the various communities in the city. Most of the militiamen were from Hendersonville. It was Connors’ policy to locate militia away from their home towns, to prevent insurrection due to local feelings. No militia would go against their own people, and might even join them in the case of a popular revolt. With Hendersonville, Asheville and Black Mountain in his hands, Connors was determined to keep a tight grip on them. His next move would likely test their loyalty to the limits.
He tied his horse outside city hall, next to the courthouse. A sandbagged machine gun nest had been built on the scaffold. The state senators were housed in the Renaissance hotel nearby, and snipers manned the rooftops in a ring around what was effectively the government compound. Connors had taken steps to ensure that the senators were taken care of and felt secure. With all the amenities exclusively available to them, they rarely ventured out of the compound, and when they did,
they traveled in armed convoys. In spite of their claim that they were there for the people, none complained about their separation, especially after witnessing their first lynch mob. Used to comfortable living, they didn’t question their profligate use of the generators, or where their food and drink came from. They even had a weekly disco. No doubt, they saw it as a fitting reward for all their hard work.
Governor Jeffries was at his desk, sifting through a pile of handwritten notes. “This is a logistical nightmare,” he exclaimed.
“Uh huh,” sympathized Connors, settling into a chair.
“There’s two farms we can’t find enough seed for. A shipment of seed was sent to the wrong location, and nobody seems to be able to find it now. I have one report here that says we have eight working tractors with adequate fuel stocks, and another report that claims we have only five working tractors but not enough fuel to run them all.”
“Sounds about normal.”
“The new tax system is a nightmare too. We’re stockpiling food that’s coming in, but it’s starting to rot because we don’t have enough people to dress and preserve it. The whole system is labor intensive, but if we hire more people to see to it, we have to pay them in the food they’re supposed to work with. Meanwhile, the people that need it aren’t seeing it. We don’t have enough transport to ship it.”
“The train will be running soon. That should help.”
“Can you believe I’m having to assign pay grades in terms of squirrel carcasses or their equivalent weight? It’s crazy.”
“I imagine it would be.”
“And a women’s group on the staff are demanding a female-only disco hour to provide a safe space against harassment. It’s causing arguments.”
Connors gazed out of the window.
“I wouldn’t mind,” continued Jeffries, “but they want to exclude Senator Cox because of her voting record, and we just can’t have …”
“Look,” interrupted Connors. “I have an idea.”
“About the disco hour?”
“No. We need an economy.”
Jeffries took a moment to adjust. “A financial economy? Well, in a sense, we kind of have one already, if we count squirrels as currency.”
“I don’t give a crap about squirrels. I’m talking about a cash economy. Bringing the dollar back.”
Jeffries looked perplexed. “That’s worthless now. Nobody will accept it, and I can’t pay anyone in dollar bills. It’s worth less than toilet paper, which, frankly, is pretty damned valuable now.”
“We create our own.”
“Toilet paper?”
“Jeez, Jeffries, wake up. I’m talking about creating our own currency.”
Jeffries narrowed his eyes. “How?”
Connors took a dollar bill from his pocket. “This is a dollar,” he said.
“I can see that,” replied Jeffries.
Leaning over Jeffries’ desk, Connors took the Governor’s seal, pressed it in ink and stamped it on the dollar bill.
“Now it’s a Carolina dollar,” said Connors, holding it up.
Jeffries frowned. “It’s still a worthless piece of paper. A government needs a lot of credibility to issue a fiat currency, and I don’t think we’re there yet.”
“I’m not talking about fiat money. I’m talking about a gold backed currency.”
This piqued Jeffries’ interest. “Go on,” he said.
“You sign a Gold Reserve Act, just like Roosevelt did after the Great Depression. Confiscate all gold, in return for Carolina dollars.” Connors held up his dollar again. “Now it’s worth something.”
Jeffries stared at him. “Are you serious?”
“Very much so. In return for people handing over their rings, jewelry and any other gold items, they get paid in the new dollars, at a fixed rate. Pretty soon, you’ve got the new currency circulating, exchanged for goods and services. You pay wages, collect taxes and encourage local enterprise. It’s a damn sight better than exchanging carcasses, and it’s easier to carry. We’ve got dozens of banks here, so you don’t need to print new bills, just stamp them. Declare all unstamped dollars the property of the government, which is what they are anyway, and back all new currency with a metal that doesn’t deteriorate and is still valued by people, both in the state and out of it. It’s the oldest system in the book, and it worked for a reason.”
Jeffries took a moment to digest this. “You’re suggesting we take rings and jewelry from people by force?”
“We already do a lot of things by force. You don’t govern by asking favors, and it’s all for the common good. Look at it this way. By signing the bill, you give people the opportunity to voluntarily hand over something that they probably weren’t using, in exchange for something they can spend on useful things. We’re not robbing them. We’re giving them a universal means of exchange. It also gives your government, and you, serious credibility outside our territory too. In the end, it could be the one thing that pulls the state together, and history will remember your part in that. There can’t be many people who get the opportunity to walk in Roosevelt’s footsteps. Call it the new New Deal.”
Jeffries whistled in appreciation. “That’s bold.”
“Boldness pays. And so will this new currency if we get it into circulation.”
Jeffries tapped his lips as he thought about it some more. “We can get stores running again, and generate capital. What about those people who don’t have gold, though?”
“They can sell their labor. Offer to cut hair or repair stuff. It won’t take long for the new currency to circulate into everyone’s hands. Incentives generate work and make people more productive, instead of sitting around and waiting for things to get better.”
“And for those who don’t have skills to sell? What about the old and the sick?”
“Run a welfare scheme. You’re already handing out rations. What’s the difference? Unlike rations, however, money can be stored. In the long run, people can have savings and pensions.”
Jeffries nodded slowly. “I like it. We can even fix prices to make sure things remain affordable.”
“How soon do you think you can get the bill through the assembly?”
“That could take a while. We’ll have to debate it. It’s a strong idea, though. And we’ll have to set up an independent central bank. I think if we make it priority legislation, we can push it through in a week. I think the senators will put in the time if they see the benefits.”
“I’ll leave it with you,” said Connors, getting up and shaking Jeffries’ hand.
Riding out of the city, Connors returned south to the Biltmore Estate, a grand Renaissance-style chateau built by the Vanderbilts in the 19th Century. The lavish grounds were now home to a militia training camp, running the new pressed-service recruits from Black Mountain through their paces. The shouts of drill sergeants carried over the Bass Pond, and the cracks of rifle practice echoed through the redwood and cedar trees of the preserved forests. Leaving his horse at the stables, Connors strode through the marbled entrance hall and into the vault-ceilinged banquet hall. He found Fick seated at the long table, nursing a glass of Biltmore wine.
“What are you doing here?” said Connors without breaking his stride. “I thought I told you to get into the mountains.”
“I want to see what the hell you’re up to,” said Fick, getting up and following Connors, wine still in hand.
“I told you. Setting up a cash economy.”
“You didn’t tell me shit. What kind of deals are you making with Jeffries when we’re not around?”
“No deals. I just convinced him to take in gold in return for a gold backed currency.”
“How’d you make him buy that?”
“As long as he gets to play the role of savior, he’ll buy anything.”
In the library, Connors pulled a levered book, opening a secret doorway in the wall. Entering, he descended to a locked vault filled with rifles, mortars and ammunition cases, and lit a kerosene lantern. At the
back of the vault were four wooden boxes. One had Connors’ name stenciled onto it. Taking out a key, he opened it, lifting the lid. Gold ingots gleamed in the light.
“I told you to have faith in me,” said Connors. “As soon as the gold rush starts, we’re going to be the richest men in the state.”
Taking Fick’s wine off him, Connors toasted him and drained the glass. “Now get out there and start looking for something to spend it on.”
7
“Why do people hate you so much?” said Eagleburger.
Lauren turned in her bunk to see the sheriff’s heavily bruised face looking at her through the door grille. She’d been examined by a doctor who checked her over and changed her leg dressing, and had been listening as the same doctor tended to the sheriff and his deputy outside her cell. The doctor had gone now, and she thought the others had left too, but clearly the sheriff had stuff on his mind.
“It’s not me they hate,” she murmured. She still felt subdued after the horrifying experience, and even as she said it, she wasn’t sure it was true. At least, she didn’t want it to be true, as being face to face with that kind of hostility was scary. For once she felt glad for the comforting walls of her cell.
“Well, if it ain’t you, then what is it?” asked Eagleburger. “Because I haven’t seen that kind of reaction in my entire career.”
Lauren gazed away at the corner. “We’re living in strange times,” she said quietly.
“For sure.”
The key turned in the lock and the cell door swung open. “Turn over,” said the sheriff. “Let’s remove those cuffs.”
“Are you letting me go?”
“Do I have a reason to? Just turn over.”
Lauren did as she was told, and the handcuffs were taken off. Eagleburger walked back to the open door and waved the cuffs. “You give me any trouble,” he said, “and these go back on.”
Lauren sat up and put her hands to her neck, feeling the abrasions where the rope had rubbed her skin. She shivered. “I’m not dangerous,” she said.
Eagleburger looked at her with his one good eye. The other was swollen and almost shut. “You don’t strike me as the criminal type,” he admitted, “but I wouldn’t have said that them people were the lynching type, either. Seems to me I have to reorder my thinking.”