by James Ryke
An awkward pause fell over the room that was only interrupted by the occasional cough.
Finally, Isaac stood up. “I think we already know who’s in charge of security. It’s Rick.”
“The Atriachs have not yet decided,” Kate Hensen interjected.
Isaac shook his head. “I don’t think there’s anything to decide. He’s by far the most qualified. His experience and knowledge far outweigh everything that anyone else could bring to the table. I’m surprised that we’re even discussing this.”
“He can be a little short-tempered,” said Kloe Hanson. “Actually, ‘a little’ might be an understatement. He already punched Anthony in the face for merely disagreeing with him. And then, I hear he killed a few of the Red Sleeves in cold blood. I don’t mean to be offensive, but he sounds unstable.”
“There’s no way we can have a murderer in charge of our security,” said Nicolette Brown. “We don’t know if he’s guilty yet, but everything I’ve heard seems pretty convincing.”
Ryan Brown shook his head. “If he’s guilty of anything, it’s of saving our lives. If he were not here, Isaac wouldn’t have called us together. If that did not happen, we would either be dead in the parks or on our way out of the city empty-handed. Of course, he should be in charge of our security—the guy is ripped.” Nicolette looked down and away from her husband, her face reddening with annoyance.
“I know Rick well,” Rosemary interjected. “He’s stable, but he’s not kind—he can even be downright rude. I don’t think selecting him will be doing us any favors. He sets a bad example for the children. The power could come back on at any minute, and what sort of example would that set for our kids—like we were willing to trust anybody that can shoot a gun. Why do we even let him carry a gun around in the first place? Someone could get injured. We’ve got to think of the children.”
Isaac shook his head, disbelief evident on his face. “Rosemary, the power isn’t coming back on. And he carries a loaded gun because he might have to use it at a moment’s notice—”
Rick opened the door and stepped into Isaac’s shrinking office, an assault rifle slung to his back. The air became instantly awkward as everyone avoided Rick’s gaze.
He sat down in a large chair against the wall. “Oh, a secret meeting. I guess I didn’t get the email. Don’t stop talking on my account, Isaac.”
Isaac turned towards his brother, unsure of how to continue. “Do you mind if the group has a few minutes alone—without you Rick?”
Rick frowned but showed no signs of standing up. “Why? What are you talking about?”
Awkward silence.
Rick let off a light laugh, his mouth curving into a sweet smile. “So, you were talking about me.”
Isaac spoke softly. “We’re restructuring the church into more applicable departments.”
“And you don’t know what to do with me. Let me help you; I’ll be in charge of security. I already run the sentry schedules and tactical training.”
“We were just discussing who should be assigned the Patriarch or Matriarch position of the Security Department,” Isaac said and then added quickly, “We haven’t made any decisions yet.”
“Well, we’ve got a lot to talk about, and we don’t have much time to vote,” Rick replied. “Let me make this easier for you: anyone opposed to me being the Patriarch—or whatever you guys are calling it—over the Security Department?”
No one spoke.
Long moments passed before Kate raised her hand, “Yeah, I’ve got a problem with it. He’s a jerk most of the time, and he intimidates people to get his way. He might be good at what he does, but he goes about it the wrong way.”
Rick stood up and took a deep breath. He stared at the faces around him, forcing people to turn away, “Anyone else?”
No one spoke.
“Oh, come on,” Kate said. “Not two minutes ago, there were several more people on my side.”
“I think we have a verdict, Isaac,” Rick whispered. “I elect Hector, Anthony, and McCurdy to be my Councilors on the Security Force. Any objections?”
Besides Kate, there were none.
Isaac smiled at his brother, a boyish gesture that one would use to acknowledge the actions of a mischievous child. “What is it that you needed to discuss with us, Rick? We each have new responsibilities now that I hope will adequately cover the workload.”
Rick nodded as he stood up. He walked around the room, meeting each person’s gaze in turn. “We don’t have enough food to last the winter. If we want to maintain our calorie intake, which we do, we’ll have to supplement our food intake with wild plants and game. We need to organize hunters and gatherers. We can’t send them outside the church until we see how the Mayor spreads out his forces, but we need to be ready to move when we get a chance.”
Isaac looked at Clint Moreno, who, in turn, spoke up. “Ok, we can do that. We’ll start looking through the plant books that we took from the bookstore.”
Rick continued, “The fledglings are all in a state of shock; we need to get someone to run them through the routine and get them up to speed.”
“Fledglings?” asked Doctor Brooksby.
Rick barely lifted his eyes to see who asked the question. “That’s what I’ve been calling the new people that we rescued from the city. Someone needs to get them up to speed.”
Rosemary frowned. “I can do that. I had planned on talking to them today already.”
Rick shook his head. “I think Isaac is better suited for the job; he is, after all, the Pastor of the church.”
Rosemary’s frown deepened.
Isaac nodded. “I’ll get it done.”
“The propane ran out this morning,” Rick said, “By the way, is there someone writing this down? We need someone to write all this down.”
“Yeah,” Isaac said, “That’s a good idea. I’ll see if Kylie Vaterlaus will be our secretary—she was before.”
Rick continued, “No more fires can be allowed—we can’t risk the Mayor or his men seeing the smoke in either the day or at night. We’ll have to deal without cooking fires for the moment—”
“For how long?” Kate interrupted.
“As long as the Mayor is a threat.”
“That could be all year,” Kate answered. “Some of the food we have has to be cooked. What about doing the laundry, washing plates, and basic sanitation? It’s hard enough getting some of the kids to take a sponge bath when the water is warm. People are going to get sick. And when winter arrives, it will be freezing in the church without a fire.”
Rick shook his head, his face clearly articulating his annoyance. “I don’t like the idea as much as the next person, but presently there’s no good solution. No more fires despite the time of day.”
“I have a solution,” Kate interrupted.
Rick folded his arms. “What’s that?”
“I’m the Energy Matriarch after all, and we could run a current through a tub of water. That should heat it up real quick.”
“True, but we don’t have a way to recharge the batteries yet,” Rick replied. “And if we put up windmills or solar panels, I think the Mayor might notice. So unless you have more ideas—”
“There are always more ideas,” Kate spat. “A gasifier.”
“What’s a gasifier?” asked Isaac.
“Back in World War II, when there were massive fuel shortages, people would sometimes run their cars off gasifiers. A gasifier is a tank that has wood inside of it and then is placed inside another tank that has a fire burning in it. It will be pretty easy to get our hands on a couple of water heaters.” The more Kate spoke, the quicker the words flowed until they were shooting out of her mouth like a machinegun. “That’ll give us a Pyrolysis product that we can use.”
“What?” Rick barked.
The room filled with curious expressions.
Kate blushed, but she continued to speak. “If wood is not directly exposed to flame, it pro
duces wood gas that consists of hydrogen and carbon monoxide, which we can use for fuel. The fuel acts like propane and burns clean—the only by-products are water and carbon dioxide. We can link together a series of small smokestacks that disseminate the carbon dioxide, so it doesn’t come out in one cloud. And, just to be sure that we aren’t revealing our position, we can create the gas in the dead of night, when it will be the most difficult to see the smoke; and we’ll only need it to run for an hour or two before we have enough gas for the next day. We can store the excess gas in an empty water heater.”
“Have you ever built one of these?” Rick asked.
Kate squared off with Rick, her arms folded tightly across her chest. “No.”
“Have you ever seen one of these before?”
She faltered ever so slightly, “No.”
Rick shook his head and growled. “I like the enthusiasm, but this is no science fair—there’s no blue ribbon for winning second place. We can’t risk our lives on something we don’t know will do the job.”
“Let’s put it to a vote,” Kate squeaked in desperation.
“Fine,” Rick said, “All in favor of creating an experimental device that’ll do nothing more than waste time and resources, and could possibly get us and your family killed by revealing our position, raise your hand?”
No one moved.
Kate narrowed her eyes as she stepped right up to Rick’s chin, “You might know a lot about a few things, but you don’t have all the answers. The gasifier will work, and you’ll look like a jackass when it does.” She stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
TWENTY-THREE
Day 20
It was early in the morning when Rick was called to the bell tower. He flew up the stairs in seconds, his hands hefting his M4. Old Pete was standing watch, and as soon as he saw Rick, he pointed a shaky finger through the window slats. “There’s lots of movement down there.”
There were a few dozen old semi-trucks staged at the south side of the city, their engines idling. Armed men were running all over the place, like a nest of fire ants, their demeanor organized but frantic.
“Let me see those binos,” Rick said.
Pete obeyed and handed them over.
Rick looked through the binoculars, his eyes squinting at the blurry image. “Damn, old Pete, how blind are you?”
“At least my face won’t stop an eight-day clock, like yours will, boy,” Old Pete replied. “I’ve still got one good eye, you prideful bastard. And even with just my one eye and shaky hands, I bet I can out-shoot you.”
Rick fiddled with the binoculars until he was able to focus them on the trucks below. He could just barely make out the faces of the Red Sleeves. They were heavily armed, most of them carrying a rifle and a sidearm. The weaponry varied greatly from hunting rifles to shotguns, but the majority of weapons looked like M16 variants. Most of them were dressed in black, but a few wore military fatigues. All of them had a red cloth tied around their right sleeve. The cabs of the semi-trucks had been reinforced with steel plating, and parapets had been constructed on top of each one, giving them the look of a medieval castle. The two lead trucks were painted entirely black and had massive plows welded to the front. Dozens of armed men stood on top of the trucks, their faces painted red. It had been over three weeks since the disaster had begun, and in that time, they had fortunately not been detected by the new Mayor or his soldiers.
Isaac appeared moments later. “What’s going on?”
“The Mayor is bugging out,” Old Pete said.
“Why?”
Rick shook his head. “Don’t know. What’s the closest city?”
“Hillsboro,” Isaac answered, “It’s just a few miles south of here.”
“Well, that must be where they’re heading.”
“What will happen when they get there?”
“Depends on the city,” Rick said. “Pete, I need you to run downstairs and get me three people that can concentrate and count. And make sure they each have binoculars.”
“I don’t run anymore,” Old Pete replied, “but I’ll shuffle as fast as I can.”
Rick had to laugh as the old man disappeared down the bell tower. Within minutes, three men appeared, all of them wearing glasses and sporting button-up shirts. One of them was Doctor Brooksby.
Rick turned to the men, “You gentlemen good at counting?”
“The old man sent us up here,” Doctor Brooksby replied in his slow, methodic voice. “He said you needed some nerds or something—rather a rude assertion if you ask me.”
Again, Rick allowed himself a laugh, “The Mayor is moving his forces out of the city, and I need you to figure out how many there are. I don’t have any idea how long their procession will be or how long it will take for all of them to leave the city, but keep your eyes on them until the last one disappears.
Rick turned to his brother. “No one leaves the church today, Isaac—not even to take a dump. Cancel all training and move all the children to the basement. No one talks except in whispers. Do you understand? If we’re discovered now, we’ll be the only thing that threatens the Mayor’s retreat out of the city.”
***
Four thousand, three hundred, and fifty. This number repeated constantly in everyone’s head the next day. No one, not even Jane or Rick, would have guessed the new Mayor’s forces could be so large. It had been quite an impressive feat. In seven days, the Mayor had seized control of the city, consolidated all of the supplies, and convinced the citizens of Norwich to turn on each other. Four thousand, three hundred, and fifty represented what was left of the bloody process.
With the Mayor gone, tactical and physical training increased in intensity, much to the disappointment of almost everyone on the Security Force. This “burn session,” as Rick called it, was more intense and challenging than all the other trainings. They began to train in mixed martial arts and knife combat. They broke into three groups and then rotated between stations of punching, wrestling, and Jiu-Jitsu. By far, the most difficult part of the routine was the Jiu-Jitsu, where Rick had each person go at full speed. After a while, they would gather around Rick to learn more combative maneuvers. They only had a few minutes to catch their breath before they once again were put through the rotation. The session lasted three hours. Only a few were able to keep up with Rick. The smell of ripe body odor and sweat filled the chapel, making the space seem much more cramped than it really was.
As each brow flushed red, almost everyone’s mind turned to one single question: What’s the point of training if the Mayor is gone? No one dared ask the question during the session; however, since asking questions had long since proven to increase the intensity of the workout instead of diminishing it. Despite their grumbling, people noticed that they were in better shape than they had been just three weeks prior, when the disaster first began. They no longer collapsed to the floor in feigned heart attacks, or took off their shirts in a panic because it felt like it was restricting their breathing. The fat parts of their bodies had not yet turned to muscle, but it did not jiggle as much as it did before.
The next several days were very much the same. Rick kept the Congregation on lockdown, refusing anyone to leave for any reason. By the fourth day of being cooped up in the church, people started looking forward to the brutal training regimen because it was their only release of their pent-up energy. More people joined the Security Force until nearly every person above the age of twelve had signed up.
On the morning of the fifth day after the Mayor left, Rick surprised everyone by a change in orders, “Groups Alpha, Bravo, suit up. Charlie, Delta, Echo, and Fox, you’ll be protecting the homestead.” These simple words put life into the Congregation as people sprang into action. Their training paid off, and just under five minutes, groups Alpha and Bravo were ready to move. The individuals looked pathetic in their mismatching weaponry and greasy clothing, but they made up for it with confidence in their movements.
> “Charlie Company,” Rick said, “You’ll be taking the bell tower. Watch our six to make sure we’re not tailed. Alpha and Bravo, we’ll be heading into the city. This is a reconnaissance mission, not an assault. Avoid conflict at all costs, but if you do run into trouble, make sure you leave it all out on the field. I want someone from each squad to take notes of any resources we find. We’ll be moving fast so we won’t have time to pick them up. Any questions?”
No one spoke.
“All right then, Alpha on me; Bravo, with Hector. Let’s move.”
With this, they ran out the back door and into the woods, their speed picking up as soon as they were outside. They reached the woods within seconds. They walked through the brush carefully, trying to make as little sound as possible, until they reached the closest point to the city where they were still camouflaged by trees.
Rick pumped his fist in the air, and the two teams took a knee. They waited. And then waited some more. After what seemed to be an hour, Rick finally gestured his hand forward. “Alpha on me. Bravo, provide support. When I give you the signal, follow suit.”
They moved quickly into the city and the closest building. They cleared the structure of possible enemies and then signaled for Bravo, which erupted from the tree line in a sudden surge of energy.
Then they began the long process of clearing some of the more prominent buildings and scouting for Red Sleeves. Initially, this trip into the outdoors was a welcome exercise, but it soon became a monotonous chore. They ran up and down stairs, carefully clearing out sniper roosts, all the while recording locations of possible resources. They then repeated the process several dozen times over. They came across bodies, most of them shot in the back, and massive heaps of reeking garbage, but everything seemed devoid of life. Several of the buildings had been gutted, and the furniture lay across the street like a ghetto estate sale. Twice they found a small cache of food that had been overlooked by the Red Sleeves. The air smelled like a mix of rotting meat and feces, but it was not overpowering as it had been a few weeks earlier. It was a constant smell, one that was only accentuated by a sudden gust of wind. It now seemed like part of the city instead of tainted by it.