by G. R. Carter
“I…was a lawyer for a group that got caught selling Syn,” Marcus replied with an exaggeratedly defeated expression. Selling synthetic drugs was about as bad a story as he could come up with and still have people forgive him, even in this post-apocalyptic world. Drugs were still around; he had manufactured them himself and handed them out to the ditchmen and rateaters he used to attack the Red Hawk capital city. People, especially older people, still hated drugs and in particular the people who dealt them. This story was a risk, but a believable one, and one most people could live with if you had something to offer them.
“I see. That’s quite serious. You understand we execute drug dealers here in Grand Shawnee? There’s no jury trials or defense attorneys yet. A magistrate hears the case, and if you’re guilty, you hang.”
Marcus suppressed a shudder. Mrs. Olsen was clearly quite comfortable with the sentence and the expeditious nature of their legal system. “Yes, ma'am,” he replied. “I feel like I pay for that bad judgment every day. Even if I never touched the stuff or sold a single square of it, I understand I helped the people who did hide their money. That made me guilty, and I have to live with that.”
The answer seemed to satisfy something in Mrs. Olsen’s brain, as though admitting to wrongdoing meant she could now trust him. Marcus took a chance to keep the momentum of the conversation going in a positive way for him.
“If I may ask, ma'am? How did you come to escort Governor Olsen to Mt. Vernon? It’s my understanding that you’re from somewhere up north?”
“Yes, I am. When the Founder of the Republic…do you know about Alex Hamilton?” Marcus detected tension in her voice, but continued without waiting for his answer. “When Governor Olsen was asked to take over what was Little Egypt at the time, I didn’t have anything else going. My late husband was killed in the ditchmen uprising. Our home was the Fortress Farm at Tower Hill. With it in ruins and my husband gone, I decided a change would do me some good.”
“Now I can put the pieces together,” Marcus said. He knew this information already, having learned the details of how the Red Hawks defeated his attack on their capital through secondhand information in the camps. Adding what he knew from his perspective, he embellished a story that made Maryanne Olsen smile. “Your husband was Sheriff Olsen. I heard in the camps about his last stand and about how that turned the tide for the Red Hawks. Saved the capital city, right?”
Mrs. Olsen smiled. “Some don’t see it that way, but yes, I believe it to be the case. Listen, Mr. Nielsen…may I call you Marcus? Good. Marcus, I need somebody to help me put together a real legal system for Grand Shawnee. Would you be interested? I can’t spare many people; most of our workers are needed just to keep the citizens warm and fed. But a couple of others and you might be spared for such a task. Do a good job, develop a good framework, and I’m sure the Governor will have other projects for you. The pay is zero for now, but you’ll have a room and three daily meal tickets.”
“Of course, Mrs. Olsen. I’d be more than honored to help in any way. I won’t let you down. You spoke of a couple other staff to help me. Do you have them already picked out?” Marcus asked.
“A couple of people got my attention, why?”
“I met someone I think would be a great addition, ma’am,” Marcus said with earnestness. “Dr. Demetrius Renaldo. I believe he would be an excellent candidate, and he’s right here in this building, right now.”
Chapter One
Founder’s Day - Year 12 A.G.R. (After the Great Reset)
Okaw Conference Room
Red Hawk Republic Capitol Building
Capital City of Shelbyville
The Founder of the Red Hawk Republic felt his head throb. This time not because of nearly fatal wounds received in the Battle of Shelbyville five years before, but frustration caused by the critical functions of keeping a fledgling young country alive.
“What do you mean, ‘we’re running out of stuff?’ Can you be a little clearer, please?” he demanded.
“Fuel in particular,” Celeste Kuhn told him, her tone expressing non-too subtle frustration with Alex Hamilton in a way few could. Even though many in the room were prominent Land Lords, and therefore important in their own right, none of them were married to the Founder’s only brother. Celeste Kuhn was also the Chief Wizard, leading the group of engineers created by her grandfather right after the Great Reset. They were the ones that kept the Republic’s farms and factories running. The position gave more power than nepotism could have.
“It’s not that we’re running completely out of fuel, Alex,” she continued. “What I’m trying to tell you is that production can’t keep up with how much we’re using. The Self Defense Cooperative is burning thousands of gallons a week. Plus, we devoted some of the regular production to refining aviation fuel for the Raptor patrols, which is really inefficient. Now we’ve got land ship convoys and trains running supplies down to Grand Shawnee, plus subsidizing America, Mt. Horab, Lafayette, Peoria, Paducah, Evansville…shall I continue?”
“Why can’t we just produce more?” Alex half asked, half demanded. He shot a look at Paul Kelley sitting at the end of the long conference table. Paul was the driving force behind the original biofuel refinery used by the small town of Shelbyville to keep its citizens warm and fed. Their success became a beacon, setting off the chain of events let led a small farmer cooperative to become the founding core of a nation now covering millions of square miles across what had once been Illinois and Indiana.
Paul said nothing, unwilling to get into an argument over something he’d soon have no control over. He’d recently accepted an offer from his sister Nicole Diamante to join her at ARK, the Republic’s oldest ally. Nicole and her husband were the rulers of an empire that stretched from the former city of St. Louis west across the Great Plains. Alex couldn’t argue with the move to reunite family, though a small part of him felt betrayed.
The Founder suddenly felt himself in a very bad mood, surprise not being an emotion he enjoyed. “We’re supposed to be the clever ones of this world, remember? Because we can keep our homes warm and chase away bad guys!” he shouted, pounding the conference table that took up most of the conference room his father had used to create the framework for the Republic. “We’ve got these amazing machines and now we won’t be able to use them? Or run our generators? I’m trying to expand the Republic! I’m trying to keep the Caliphate out! Tell me how I’m supposed to do that with no fuel!”
“Here’s something else you probably don’t realize,” Celeste cut in. She wasn’t backing down from a fight she knew needed to happen. “I’m certain the growing seasons are getting shorter. For some reason, we’re just not getting the same amount of growing days we used to. That, along with the loss of hybrid crop genetics, means we’re getting smaller yields out of our crops. We’re planting more acres to get the same production, but guess what that means?” She stopped, staring and challenging the most powerful man in the Midwest.
Alex finally broke eye contact with her. “It means we use even more fuel to produce less, I get it,” he sighed, furious with himself more than with anyone else. I should have known that, we’ve more than tripled in size and I just expected the Wizards to keep up. He looked at Bishop Hart seated at the end of the table. The patriarch of the Unified Church said nothing, his face impassive yet comforting. Calm yourself, breathe deep, understand the person’s intentions, he told himself, attempting the techniques Hart taught him to control the mood swings he experienced since his near-fatal injuries.
He gathered himself and replied in an even tone. “Celeste, the Wizards are doing an amazing job. I’m sorry I yelled at you.” He gave her a small smile, accented by the wrinkles around the patch covering his bad eye. “I think we just assume you’re always going to pull a miracle out of your hat. Your grandfather would have kicked me for that. I appreciate you being more understanding and putting up with my expectations.”
Celeste nodded. Since taking over leadership of the Wizards, she
had witnessed Alex swing from fury to compassion in a millisecond more than once. The pressures of leading a quickly-expanding nation made up of little communities of survivors ground down even the strongest of wills. His injuries amplified some of his natural personality traits, not necessarily for the better. Celeste and the rest of the Founder’s inner circle learned to deal with the tides and save their input for the times it counted most.
“So give me some options. What do you suggest we do? Increase production or cut consumption?” Alex asked.
“First off, in a couple of seasons we should have some form of hybrid genetics back. Not like before, but at least we’ll be back on the upswing,” she said with satisfaction. Alex smiled and nodded, but Celeste wasn’t done yet.
“Hear me out on this before you say anything. Coming from engineers, this is going to sound weird…but we need to start thinking of alternative means of transportation.”
“You mean trains or bicycles? That doesn’t sound crazy, we're already trying to use those,” Alex said.
Celeste lit up with a grin. “I mean using horses.”
The look on Alex’s face almost made Celeste spit out the chicory tea she was sipping. Once he regained his composure, he arched his eyebrow.
“This is no joke, Alex. Lori has been working with folks who know how to handle the animals. Applied Science faculty from Old Main already has several hundred on pasture right now,” Celeste told him. Lori Hamilton was more than just Alex’s sister, she was the head of the Republic’s agri-science efforts. Her talents were critical to keeping their people supplied with a steady diet of protein.
“Next you’re going to tell me to start training Deputies in cavalry tactics. Do your Wizards have a way to produce swords and lances for my knights?” Alex asked sarcastically.
Still smiling, Celeste reached under the table and produced a slightly curved blade approximately three feet long with a basket-hilted handle. She chuckled, laying the weapon on the conference table in front of Alex.
“Actually,” she informed him, “that is precisely what we have in mind. Truth of the matter is that we can’t produce enough high-quality gunpowder fast enough to replace what you’re using. So, to answer your question…yes, I think we do need to start carrying simpler sidearms. I spoke with the Steinbrinks, they can produce what we need without interfering with production of the new Model 76 battle rifles. We’ll still have revolvers, but we need every ounce of gunpowder for the Raptors and Razorbacks. Interior patrols and guards need to use single-shot weapons and blades.”
“Celeste, there are still ditchmen and rateaters out there. Our Deputies are always outnumbered, and technology is our main advantage,” Alex challenged.
“And how many of them have you seen in the last month? What about the last year? According to Dr. Glenn, by now the ditchmen have been almost completely wiped out by tick diseases like Lyme. West Nile and other mosquito-spread illness seem to be spreading…sheesh, all those old pools and abandoned basements make perfect insect breeding grounds. We’re lucky we haven’t lost more people to the buggers ourselves,” Celeste told him.
“So biological warfare and cold steel will be our new secret weapons? Hardly the technological breakthrough I’ve been praying for. I suppose the Creator—and the Wizards—work in mysterious ways?”
Celeste smiled back.
“Who’s this horse expert? Why haven’t I heard about him?” Alex asked.
“He's outside waiting to see you,” Celeste answered.
A brief flash of annoyance, then acceptance as Alex simply waved a hand to retrieve the mystery guest.
Celeste opened the office door, said something Alex couldn’t make out through his still-damaged ears, and watched a tall man with a long gray beard enter in. He wore a wide-brimmed straw hat and a short-sleeved gray shirt held tight by black leather suspenders attached to his dark trousers. A sly grin belied a mind tuned to the genius of nature.
“Why ‘ello, Founder Hamilton. I’m Elmer Schrock and I’m helping your sister wit’ the horse breeding program for da Republic,” the man said with a widening smile. The hint of accent rounded out some of his words, the telltale sign of a community that still spoke their own version of German at home.
Alex blinked with surprise, at once recognizing a face from his youth. The man in front of him was older now than Alex remembered, but the sky-blue eyes brought back the first time he actually sat and spoke with someone from the Amish community face to face. “Mr. Schrock, of course I remember you. I’m glad to see you again, sir. I’m not sure how long it’s been,” Alex replied truthfully.
“Too long, but you English are always a busy lot,” he said with a chuckle and sincere smile.
“That’s a compliment coming from your folk. Without your help in teaching us how to really farm again, not just tell a computer how to do it, we would have never made it through the Reset,” Alex said. His father had come to know Amish folks living in the north part of Okaw territory long before the Reset. Hardworking and ingenious, their community had successfully survived both the technological explosion that left them behind and the fallout when that same world collapsed. Through the recent difficulties all the Amish, along with their Mennonite cousins, had banded together and tried their best to revive and maintain their traditions.
“Maybe we showed the way a little,” Elmer replied with sincere modesty. “Were it not for yer father’s Deputies them Ditcher demons would’ve had their way with my folk.”
“You’re too modest, sir. We act as one in the country, with the Grace of God,” Alex replied, crossing himself instinctively.
Elmer just nodded in agreement. Immediately after the Reset, the Okaw and then the Republic’s Deputies shielded Amish farmers and craftsmen to safeguard the pacifists and to preserve their knowledge of working without modern biotech and tools. Like a living library, the religious sect maintained techniques used by humans for hundreds of generations. Tech-worshiping pre-Reset societies had turned their back on the soil and tasks done by hand, preferring automation and ease. The Amish had changed only slightly in the past two centuries, allowing more commerce with the outsiders they called “the English.” Since the lights went out they had saved thousands of lives with their knowledge.
“Mr. Schrock, I’m truly grateful for everything you’ve done for the Republic. I apologize I’m not more up to speed on the disposition of your community. You’re not squeaky wheels, so I don’t bother you. I do know you’ve been a blessing to people all over the area,” Alex said. Confusion still lined his face. “But sir, this horse idea of Lori’s is beyond my grasp,” he said to the man, and then to his sister who had just entered the room behind him.
“Listen, you’ve been a blessing to us, Founder Hamilton. We know what’s lurkin’ outside the horizon of this Republic you all put together. We Amish don’t fight, ‘gainst our religion ya know. But we know you do fight, and that’s why wit’ the Grace of God we’re still able to live.”
Alex simply nodded his head. Amish believed in taking the peaceful road, regardless of outcome. The same argument was occasionally passed around the leadership of the Unified Church: when do we turn the other cheek and when do we fight? The question certainly hadn’t been settled, but for now they would fight whatever evil they faced and hope the Creator would understand.
The Bishop continued. “Now listen here. We Amish know how to make a crop running ole equipment, yah? And we know how to use horses, too. What we propose is that we help train yuns deputies to use horses to ride the countryside, keepin’ da demons out. That way you can use all yuns vehicles and fuel where the rest of the idol worshipers are trying to get into our land, yah?”
Alex considered the way his elder presented the idea. He heard Celeste say the same thing, Schrock made her plan clearer now.
“How will you farm if you loan us your horses?” Alex asked.
“We Amish can compromise a little,” he said. “I’ve been praying 'bout it a lot. We’re going to allow tractor
s 'cross our lands. So if’n you English can spare some workers to help us get our crops in and harvested, we can certainly spare the horses.”
All the “English” in the room exchanged glances. Forsaking modern tools such as diesel tractors was a key pillar of Amish faith. Alex recognized the tremendous compromise he was making.
Schrock sensed the doubt hanging in the room. “I got one more thing, Founder Hamilton. My young men 'er wantin’ to join your SDC. Ya know I can’t let them fight, yah? That crosses too many lines, even for me. But I will let them ride along with the Deputies, patrolin’ against the demons. Could be scouts even, ridin’ on their own. No weapons, mind ya, but they can be along to tend to the horses. Even good riders don’t know how to keep hoofs healthy without a lifetime of learning.”
Alex dipped his head in respect. “Sir, I can’t explain how much we appreciate the sacrifices you’re willing to make. I’m forever in your debt.”
“Ahh,” Schrock said with a playful wave of his hand. “We loved your father, Founder Hamilton. We love you, too. We know you got a good heart, for bein’ English and all. Just don’t ever ask us to hang the Green and Silver, yah?” He turned and gave a wink to Bishop Hart. “We got to hold on to da Faith. Now if I can be excused, we’ve got some roundin’ up of people an' horses to get at.”
Lori escorted the man out and then returned to the room where her brother waited with Celeste.
“This world surprises me more every day,” Alex admitted. “When I woke up this morning I did not anticipate having our own version of the Texas Rangers roaming the Okaw.”
“Or roaming the Shawnee, or America, or even Peoria territory. We’ve got so much ground to cover now,” Lori said. “There were thousands of horses out there for recreational use before the Reset. Even assuming most were eaten by something or someone in the months after, there must be more surviving in the wildlands. I’m not saying it will be next month, but I’m guessing we’ll be able to have mounted patrols in every remote corner of the Republic. The mounted scouts can find the ditchmen, and then armed deputies can stamp them out.”