Youngblood

by H. Peter Alesso

  Reacting to his grip on the reins, the horse appeared to nod.

  “You think that after all Kira has done for me, it was insensitive not to tell her more, such as waking in a hibernation chamber, or the location of a bunker full of technology.”

  He frowned. “Well, you’d be right, but all this is new and uncertain for me. I must take things slow. How can I be sure who to trust?”

  The horse whinnied.

  “You’re right. Kira’s a good person and we’ll get to trust each other, but we’re just not there yet. Don’t you see?”

  He took her silence as assent and continued heading west.

  Leaning his weight into the stirrups, he rode relaxed in the saddle and rode up the sun-soaked valley. The loud squawking of passing birds interrupted his woolgathering. The landscape was unchanging as he spotted a deer scamper in the distance. He climbed up a hilly slope along a cliff spotted with trees. At one point he heard the low guttural growl of a mountain lion and he instinctively touched the handle of his bowie knife. Now tense and alert, he cast his eyes about looking for gang members.

  A ravine sliced across his path and he smelled fresh water. Thirsty, he made his way down to the bottom where a small stream flowed. Leading his horse to the edge of the stream, he took off his handkerchief and dunked it in the water, then used it to wash his face. It was cool and soothing. He drank his fill.

  “We need to make camp before dark,” he said, patting Bella.

  At the end of the day, he drew back on the rein and dismounted in a single fluid motion. He unsaddled Bella and hitched her to a nearby tree, all the while rubbing his sore backside.

  Glad for the solitude of the woods, he gathered wood and kindling to make a fire. He made camp in a clearing near enough to a stream to collect water. Twilight was closing in and he was ill at ease. The trees were too thin to offer full concealment. Night creatures were beginning to come out and he heard the hoot of an owl. He ate some meat jerky and cheese and stoked the flames for a minute, but the heat and physical activity of the day had worn him out. His muscles relaxed and his eyes close. He slept undisturbed.

  ◆◆◆

  The next morning, Youngblood had a quick breakfast and headed out. He angled west through the sparse growth with the rising sun behind him. Picking his route, he rode through the underbrush which pushed him first to one side then another. The day was only beginning to warm up. In the early morning, he marched through the forest. A wind grew in strength and brushed passed him. He was soon hungry and thirsty, but he ignored those thoughts because he wanted to make progress.

  As he worked his way through the terrain, he came upon an outcropping of rocks that he recognized from his first-day journey out of the bunker. When he reached the summit of the hill, dust and ash pelleted his face as he faced toward the wasteland. But it took a while before he located the bunker hatch which was covered over with brushes. The nearby overgrowth of vines around the structure made it seem inaccessible.

  Cupping his hands around his eyes, he looked up at the darkening sky.

  “What do you think, Bella? Is a storm coming?” he asked as he dismounted.

  She didn’t move, but he could have sworn she had winked an eye.

  “A trick of the light,” he laughed. Unsaddling the mare, he tied her under a nearby tree for shelter. After giving her oats and water, he climbed down into the bunker.

  He entered a long dark passageway and turned on his flashlight.

  From the day he entered hibernation until this day so much had happened. What connected those two points was this bunker.

  The flashlight lit the way as he explored and poked into crevice’s he missed the last time. He went to the second closet full of boxes that he hadn’t opened and used his knife to break the plastic seals. He unpacked each box and organized the contents into stacks of items he would need and others he could leave for later. He found a cornucopia of items, medicine, garments, lighters, and tools.

  As he was finishing the last box, he noticed a metal panel on the back of the closet wall. It was an electrical panel of breakers. Opening it, there are several dozen breakers. Four were tripped. He tried the first two, but they are short-circuited and would not close. The third one closed and the lights throughout the bunker came on. The fourth also closed produced a distinct hum of machinery.

  With the lights on, he once more surveyed the rooms and investigated the diagram with the network of tunnels. The diagram was a map of an underground system connecting bunkers built before the nuclear war. He traced the path from his HB11 bunker to the one marked YO. The legend indicated that the distance was 52 miles northeast which would place it under the mountain range. Could YO stand for Yosemite?

  The SP bunker was halfway between.

  What could SP be?

  “I’ve got to get into these locked doors. They must protect something important.”

  But they wouldn’t yield.

  He decided to try the computer system. He found a tablet and plugged it into a power jack in the side of the control console to charge. After charging, he was overjoyed to find it worked and allowed him free access to a library of information.

  Newsfeed footage including videos from the political crisis Kira had described and the panic that ensued. He found a video of men and women, boys and girls, of every race and description. He lamented that he wasn’t awakened.

  Why not? Was it too late?

  “I’m going to power up some of the systems and get the AI working.”

  He tried the main computer, but the AI would not accept his login. He wrote malware code to break into the login, but the AI resisted.

  It’s going to take some work to get into this system.

  He disassembled a hibernation chamber and other equipment. He packed the valuable circuit boards and parts that might be useful in rebuilding Kira’s salvaged equipment.

  He said out loud, “Somewhere out there are survivors with advanced technology that can cure me. I’m going to find them no matter how long it takes.”

  After several days, he headed back.

  ◆◆◆

  When Youngblood returned to Kira’s homestead, he used the tools and parts he had cannibalized from hibernation chambers to rebuild Kira’s flyer. The jet-flyer’s engine was a computer-controlled, high octane rocket-fueled, multi-cylinder beast and he needed all the help Ben and Pyro could give him to tackle the job of refurbishing mechanical worn, or damaged, parts.

  Ben said, “Preparation is the key to a successful outcome.”

  He directed them as they cleaned an area of Kira’s stable to serve as a workshop and built a proper workbench fitted with their collection of tools. Together they inspected the frame and engine mounting plates. Using suitable containers, Pyro drained the machine’s fluids, disconnected the battery, and removed the fuel tank. Before long, he stripped and reassembled the engine, gearbox, and radiator. Youngblood spent his time working on the computer regulator control system. After a few days, the jet-flyer was starting to show promise.

  “How much longer? I can’t wait!” said Kira, with unbridled enthusiasm.

  At the same time, the men worked to refurbish a generator and a motor set.

  Youngblood was jealous when he saw the pleasure Pyro took in turning on the first working generator, and this success was swiftly followed by a running motor. As their inventory of functioning machines grew, they gained confidence in their workshop and their partnership.

  On one occasion, Youngblood asked Kira, “Why does Ben keep Lorrie with him when he travels?”

  “Lorrie’s parents are dead. Ben has sworn to protect that child with his life,” said Kira. Then with a troubled frown, she added, “When you’re taking care of a child—you can’t blink. She’s safer with him than anyplace else in this dangerous world.”

  Youngblood nodding his understanding.

  After a few days, Ben and Pyro were able to demonstrate the equipment in Jamestown to the excitement of the townsfolk. They sold several
items and asked people to bring them salvageable items in return. Before long, they had a long list of customers that kept them busy.

  Pyro said, “We should go to Columbia and Sonora and make deals for more repairs.”

  “It’s premature to look for more customers. We can’t handle all the work we have already,” said Ben.

  Pyro said, “You have to think big. We’re starting something terrific. We can hire help and train assistants.”

  Kira said, “I’m worried that if we do too much we’ll attract Jarod’s attention. Murdock and Kilgore are still in the area and I’ve heard that they’re looking for Youngblood.”

  Pyro said, “They’re too busy harassing the farmers and ranchers to worry about a few motors and pumps. Besides, I know some people in Columbia and I can get us a meeting with Mayor Fox. We can make a wide-ranging deal with him and be all set.”

  “I wouldn’t trust Fox,” said Ben. “He’s slick.”

  Chapter 7

  The Fox

  Columbia rested in the heart of Yosemite Valley. Its ghostly mine shafts sunk deep into the surrounding bedrock—apparitions of another era. It had once been a thriving gold mining community, but then the rich vein of ore played out. Left behind were the empty shells of buildings and mine shafts which littered the hillsides. Many of the structures were connected by an intertwined complex of dilapidated underground tunnels. The forfeiture of financial prospects and a toxic environment led to the replacement of the miners and their families by bands of less desirable characters. Even now, it was home to every cutthroat and villain in the region. They swarmed to its gates to reap ill-gotten gains through illegitimate transactions of a thriving illicit black-market trade. Under Fox, the town’s government turned a blind eye and benefited from graft.

  Fox’s large stately home was on a bluff overlooking the edge of town. Youngblood and Pyro went there to meet Mayor Fox to discuss a deal about setting up a repair shop to refurbish generators and pumps.

  Fox’s prominent nose, jutting chin, and bushy eyebrows along with his gray-streaked long wavy black hair gave him the appearance of an elder statesman. However, his squinty eyes and nervous twitch ruined any impression of distinction.

  Pyro walked on a thick woven rug into the library and extended his hand. “Mayor, thank you for seeing us.”

  “Pyro, how good to see you. I hope you’ve had an enjoyable day sightseeing in my town.”

  “Yes, thank you,” said Pyro. “This is my partner, Youngblood.”

  He nodded at Youngblood, but never took his eyes off Pyro.

  Pyro said, “I had a chance to look around the community and talk to several old friends. You’ve accomplished a great deal since I was last here. You’ve flourished despite the nearby gang activity.”

  Fox beamed, “Thank you. Thank you. Please be seated.”

  As they took their places, Fox opened his pinstriped jacket and made himself comfortable on the lounge chair behind a large mahogany desk. “I’m pleased with my success. I took a hostile situation and molded it to my will. My story is one of fortitude and triumph—against overwhelming difficulties. But, I’ve just begun. I can close my eyes and see so much more ahead. This is a thriving community ready to accept the responsibilities of a changing world.”

  “Is that the town’s story?” asked Pyro.

  “The town’s story is my story. My family has roots here. When I was growing up here, I didn’t have as many friends as I do now, but I worked hard. Something I’m sure you can appreciate.”

  He stopped, expecting approval. “We’re in hazardous times and I took advantage of my opportunities. In the last few years, this town has thrived. Thanks to a deal I’ve made with Jarod. The people of this town understand how important that it was to negate with the gangs. As a result, we live undisturbed.”

  Pyro said, “You are completely safe and protected behind your walls so long as you pay a tribute for protection. Does that extend to the businesses inside the town?”

  Fox said, “Don’t worry about it. You can even consider me your insurance policy if you’re within these walls. We need no assistance of any kind and would not welcome any interference.”

  Pyro raised his eyebrow. “You intend to be independent—independent of the other towns?”

  Fox exhibited a poker player’s sense when holding the higher cards. “We are already independent.”

  “I congratulate you on your hard-earned accomplishments,” said Pyro. “I assure you, we are not seeking to disrupt your way of life. We can accept your government’s arrangement and agree not to interfere with your internal affairs.”

  “Then let’s do business,” said Fox, rubbing his hands greedily.

  Pyro continued, “I want permission to open a shop to fix generators, motors, and other equipment people might welcome.”

  “There will be licensing fees, you understand. And taxes.”

  “We’re prepared to meet any reasonable requirements.”

  “I will have to confer with my counsel,” Fox scowled as if ready to end discussions immediately.

  Youngblood was becoming disillusioned with his prospects for an agreement.

  Then Fox shifted in his seat as if reconsidering his approach. He leaned forward, in Pyro’s face, and asked, “Are you an honest man?”

  “Sure,” smirked Pyro.

  “Then let’s be honest,” said Fox.

  Youngblood was sure Fox had no intention of doing so.

  Pyro said, “Yes. I’m eager to cooperate,” matching Fox ’s chicanery.

  Fox made a sour face. “This valley is fertile and rich with resources. We have much to look forward to without any great needs that you could fill, but you need manpower and salvaged equipment from our small community. What do you have to offer in return?”

  “Perhaps we could aid in developing the town’s technology? It would mean useful electrical power.”

  “That’s a promising start, but I want much more.”

  “What?”

  “Guns.”

  Fox’s demand finally became clear. The demand he had been dancing around.

  He added, “Weapons.”

  Youngblood wanted to scream.

  We’d be fools to agree to that.

  Youngblood gave Pyro a slight shake of his head.

  Pyro said, “Why do you need weapons?”

  “I’m trying to strengthen security. I need to develop forces to protect my government and my people.”

  “That is beyond what we are capable of doing,” said Youngblood.

  Fox gave Youngblood a caustic look.

  Then he turned to Pyro and said, “You’re smart. Don’t do something stupid—like walk out.”

  “We need to work together,” said Youngblood.

  “Who am I talking to you, or your partner?”

  “You’re talking to me,” said Pyro.

  “Are you saying, I have an obligation to provide you with your needs free of charge? Are you without any obligation for the sacrifice you demand of me?”

  Pyro said, “I’m not sure it would be possible to repair or manufacture weapons. Especially considering things as they are; the gang would charge-in the moment they suspected we were manufacturing weapons.”

  Fox led the discussion with his easy manner, but he did not smile. “Don’t jump to conclusions. If you compromise, we may help manufacture the parts you need, but as you can see, our small community has no industry,” he said, mimicking a humble and modest expression.

  “Compromise?”

  “Yes. You should understand we need the ability to defend ourselves, but we could postpone that manufacturing option initially and let you get started with less controversial equipment. So long as you pay a tax and are prepared to undertake weapon’s manufacturing at a time to be negotiated in the coming months,” said Fox.

  Fox frowned at Youngblood’s negative expression. “You’re not in a strong bargaining position. I’m being quite generous.”

  Pyro said, “OK.”
/>   Fox laughed, “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  Chapter 8

  Kira

  Youngblood said, “Everything is going so well, I feel like singing.”

  “Please don’t. I heard you singing once while you were washing up by the stream. That’s one delight I can do without,” said Kira with a broad grin.

  She was dressed in a linen spun lilac blouse with her buckskin vest draped over her shoulders, it drew attention to her curvaceous figure. Her wispy brunette hair was pulled back and cascaded down her shoulders. Though she radiated an appealing youthful vitality, her dark eyes exuded a mischievous boldness.

  He said, “The townsfolk thought the generator-and-motor set we delivered to Columbia was great. They keep asking for a refrigerator as we repaired for Jamestown. I’m telling you, people are clamoring for technology.”

  “When we reach the cabin with this wagonload of salvageable machines, we can get an update from Pyro and Ben,” she whipped the reins to get her horses to move faster. “I haven’t seen them for a few days. I was a little worried that the equipment wouldn’t hold up.”

  He pulled his hat forward to shade his eyes and said, “We need to keep finding more scrap and we’ll be fine.”

  She said gayly, “I’ll keep my fingers crossed.”

  The sky seems bluer when she’s near.

  He said, “Things may work out well.”

  He hoped that if their business was successful, he could follow the tunnel network from the bunker to find an advanced technology site. Someone there might have his cure.

  A light breeze drifted past them as the brightly colored landscape passed; the leafy green foliage of the trees, the red-brown of tree bark and branches, the tan-black rocky ground of the well-trodden road, all of which transformed the quiet, graceful, warmth of the day into a pleasant excursion.

  He asked, “Why are you always helping people?”

  “I’m paying it forward.”

  “No, it’s more than that.”