by M B Wood
"Yes," Taylor said. "I wanted this, needed it. But--”
"Don't." Franny put her finger on his lips. "This is me, Franny, here and now. I came of my own free will to be with you. And." She paused, searching. "No regrets. Remember, it's me, Franny, I’m not a ghost."
"I’m sorry,” Taylor said. “It’s just that you're such a good person." He paused. "I like you, have liked you, for a long time. A lot."
"Thank you." Franny couldn’t help smiling. "I’ve liked you, too. You’ve been really good to me." She kissed him and pulled the blanket over them. She snuggled closer, not speaking for a while.
"I didn't know how much I wanted you until we kissed," she whispered. "Now, dammit, you've been playing with me for the last half hour. I want more, and you're going to give it to me."
With a laugh, she pushed him back onto the pillows, and then slid down the bed to lean over him. She lowered her lips and took him into her mouth, gently sliding her tongue over it. She paused to look at his face and smiled.
Taylor's penis rose and wagged a partial salute. She pushed him back and again surrounded him with her mouth.
"Oh, Franny." Taylor closed his eyes and arched his back. "Please." He let out a small groan.
"What's the matter?" She rose up. "Don’t you like it?"
"Yes, but--"
"Then let me. I want to." She took his full length into her mouth and used her hand to exert pressure at its base until he was fully aroused.
"Franny, please." He pushed against her shoulders and tried to rise. "Please, now.”
She leaned back, laughed playfully and rolled over, opened her legs and beckoned with her index finger.
As he mounted her, she guided him. She wrapped her legs around him, grabbed his buttocks with her hands and squeezed with her legs. She rocked her hips against his, forcing him deeper.
"Taylor." Her fingernails clawed his back as an orgasm seized her. He continued to thrust, hard within her. His breathing became rapid; his body grew slick with sweat.
Pleasure again swept over her with the intensity of overlapping bolts of lightning.
Taylor grunted, seeming to grow larger within her and then he shuddered. "Uh." He twitched and pushed against her in one final effort. He sighed and collapsed over her.
"Ow, roll over, you're crushing me." Franny pushed him to her side. "Ah, that's better." She felt so alive and yet relaxed she wanted to laugh out loud.
Taylor smiled and gently squeezed her buttocks. He frowned. "I should have known better."
"What? What should you have known better?"
"I think I took advantage--"
"Spare me; I'm not a little girl. Why are you feeling guilty?"
"It just feels so right I don't believe it."
"Believe it--I sure do." She chuckled. "I should've realized what would happen as soon as I put my arms around you."
Taylor touched her nose. "You look like an angel."
"Hah, I'm neither young nor an angel." Franny sat upright, put her hands behind her head and stretched. "Not too bad for a forty year-old mom, eh?" Her small breasts stood out, nipples erect; the muscles of her shoulders and stomach clearly defined, and every bone in her rib cage visible.
"You can’t be forty. You've got the body of a much younger woman." Taylor kissed the palm of her hand. "If I had to guess, I would've said you were the same age as me."
"Well, thank you. A year ago you wouldn't have said that. I've lost thirty pounds or more from tight rations and hard work. I bet I've got better muscle tone than I had before I had children. I thought I was in pretty good shape back then.”
"Really? I never thought our rations were tight.”
"You don't seem to have lost much weight, but then I seem to remember you were always lean. I'd guess I'm ten years older than you." She stroked his hair.
"Almost. I never really thought about it until you mentioned it." He kissed her nose and stroked her hair.
They talked awhile but soon sleep swept over them.
#
The following morning Taylor awoke and found Franny curled up within his arms. "Are you awake?" he whispered.
"Yes, sort of." Her voice was low, husky. She turned toward him. "You're still here. Good." Her eyes wrinkled into a smile. "I mean, good morning."
Taylor laughed. "A very good morning to you." As they lay in bed, they talked. Their conversation turned to the Clan's situation and its future. "I've been using a short-wave radio," he said. "I've tried to find if there's a government anywhere, but I’ve heard nothing."
"Then we're really on our own." Franny frowned. "What's going to happen to us?"
"I don't know. We'll survive, somehow, and multiply."
"You mean more refugees?"
"No." Taylor smiled as he ran his hand over Franny's belly. "I mean a baby boom is imminent."
"Oh, no," she said. "Not me. I won't get pregnant."
"Oh?"
"I had my tubes tied."
"Oh." He seemed disappointed. "Most women haven't."
"Yes, I know what you mean." She laughed. "Most of the younger women on the Hill seem to be pregnant.”
"I wonder why." He smiled and looked away.
"No TV," she said and laughed. "I figured we'd have a baby boom. So I got ready for it."
"Oh, how?"
"I made a roster of all the women who have any knowledge of delivering babies. You know, nurses. We’ve gathered supplies and prepared a birthing room."
"Good thinking." He nodded. "I wish more people would think ahead like that, it'd make our lives easier.”
Taylor realized Franny dealt with problems in a pragmatic and direct way, but knew little else about her.
"I was a public accountant." Franny told him about her life before the Collapse, which entailed juggling a career and raising two children. “It was a never-ending struggle to balance the demands of my family and my profession.”
#
They discussed plans for the Clan, things needed for survival. Taylor had focused on food, shelter, defense and sanitation, whereas Franny saw the need for government.
"Look, if we continue to take in refugees, make them full members of the Clan and give them housing and food, we'll become a magnet for every homeless person in Cuyahoga County, in Ohio.” Franny's voice rose. "It's welfare we can't afford."
"Well, yes," Taylor said. "What d’we do about it?"
"How about making those who come here pay for that right? You know, kind of an admittance fee.”
"Why?" Taylor's eyes narrowed in concentration.
"Look, we sweated our cobs off all summer long building this place. I got my trim figure back the hard way--warehouse laborer, cook, construction worker--all on short rations." She cocked her head to look at him. "So, what do you think?"
"Are you asking me about your ideas?" Taylor leaned back and smiled. "Or looking for a compliment on your trim figure?"
"You sexist pig. All you want is my body." Franny stuck her tongue out at him. "I was referring to the idea of refugees paying for the right to join the Clan." A smile crept across her face as she turned sideways, thrust her breasts forward and watched him out of the corner of her eye. "After all," she said. "They're benefiting from my past efforts.”
"Yes. I can see that." Taylor smiled at her double entendre. Her breasts were firm and pert. "Yes, a payment to establish property rights and the value of Clan membership.”
"We still need some form of government with the support of all Clan members.”
"What?" Taylor feigned astonishment. "You don't like my benevolent dictatorship?" His eyebrows rose.
"I do. Others don't.”
"You're right," Taylor said. "Sooner or later, we've got to establish some kind of government. It's time to give up the fiction the U.S. government will reestablish law and order. It just isn't going to happen."
"What about a medium of exchange? Y'know, money?"
"It must be tied to units of labor," he said. "It's the only way we'll get it acc
epted. Too many people came here with nothing and have slaved to make it a reality. They won't stand for someone who's done nothing ending up on top of the heap.”
"The medium of exchange has to have an absolute reference value," said Franny. "It's got to be something tangible, something everyone knows and understands."
#
Over the next weeks, Franny found to her surprise she had slipped into a relationship with Taylor. She felt like a teenager in love. She remembered how during the pressures of raising a family, sex was reduced to a hurried once-a-week event--at best. Now, it was all the time. She wasn't sure whether it was the hard work or being in love that made her feel younger. For the first time since the Collapse, she was happy.
#
Franny and Taylor proposed the Clan adopt a representative form of government. Some groups opposed the idea, because they believed it would imply they would not be going back to their former way of life. Others thought it was time.
Discussions among the Clan members pointed out the need to divide into districts based upon the existing groupings of Clan members. It was proposed that each District elect its own Clan Elder as its representative. Taylor nominated Chris Kucinski as the Elder to represent the defense forces.
"What's MacPherson doing, nominating that bimbo as an Elder?" Knobby Wilson asked. He was a recent arrival. "She's barely old enough to bleed."
"Oh, yeah?" Stolz said. "Have you risked your life fighting for the Clan the way Chris Kucinski has?"
"Well, no--."
"Then shut your damn mouth." Stolz's words came out like nails being driven. "Don't mess with her.”
Knobby's face still showed doubt.
"Why me?" Chris said upon being nominated.
"You're the right person," said Taylor. "You know how to fight and lead. I'm confident you'll do a fine job.”
The proposal for a single leader of the Clan, answerable only to the Council Elders, stirred up the most debate. Some feared giving that much power to one person.
"Look, let's resolve this issue by having the Clan vote on it," Taylor said. "If the majority wants it, we do it. If not, propose another system and we'll put it to a vote."
#
For the next two weeks, the bathhouse and streets of the Hill buzzed with people talking about the election and about who should represent them. In some Districts, there were active campaigns by several candidates for the position of Elder. In others, it was a foregone conclusion who would be elected.
Just before the election, Taylor called an assembly of the Clan members. "Many want to return to the way you lived before the Collapse," he said. "It's no longer possible. Civilization as we knew it has died. We must build a new life. It won't be easy. If we work hard, we'll survive. Let us preserve the democratic traditions of our nation and form a representative government. Every member has a vote.”
The elections produced a council of Clan Elders, who in turn, elected Taylor MacPherson as the Clan leader.
He presented his proposal that all Clan members be required to contribute one day of labor each week to the Clan. He proposed compulsory military training for all able-bodied members, both male and female, using the Swiss Army as a model for the Clan. After a long and bitter debate, the Council approved.
Some wanted power; others feared it.
#
More refugees arrived. Crime increased, prompting calls for a justice system. Former lawyers clamored for the right to run the legal system. At a Clan meeting, many expressed the opinion--sometimes crudely--that they did not want lawyers running society. Many feared criminals would again go free on technicalities. That wasn't their idea of justice.
The Clan could not afford jails for long-term incarceration, preferring instead to make the punishment fit the crime, with restitution for the victim. If a criminal could not make payment, he or she could enter into servitude until restitution was paid. If not that, the only other punishments left were exile or death.
Franny presented her idea to the Council that refugees should pay for the right to join the Clan. She argued new Clan members benefited from the effort of past and present Clan members. Her idea hit a responsive chord in those whose relatives had died defending the Clan.
The Council issued a decree all new refugees would pay the equivalent of one year's labor to become Clan members. They also legalized the option new arrivals could 'indenture' themselves to a Clan member who would pay their fee for membership. The decree set a value on Clan membership, and at the same time, chased away opportunists and freeloaders.
Chapter 23
The Forge of Winter
"Exile is cruel." Shel Weitzman raised his hand and made a chopping motion. "How could you banish Doyle and Chandler without any means of support? That's just not humane." He leaned over the park bench they used for discussions.
"Shel." Fred wrinkled his nose. "We can't afford to build prisons and we didn't hang them. So instead, we threw them out."
"They behaved after they came back."
"True." Fred scowled. "If we allow exiles to sneak back in under new identities, where do we draw the line?"
"They're sorry for what they did," said Weitzman.
"Oh, so as long as they're sorry, it's okay to molest children?" Fred flushed. "If it had been up to me, I'd have cut their nuts off before I threw them out."
"It's certain death outside for most people. How can we judge our fellow man like this?" Weitzman's jaw had a bulldog set. It was obvious he didn't want to concede the point.
"There're some crimes for which exile is a fitting punishment." Taylor saw by the color of Fred's face he was losing his temper. "Those crimes that threaten the community's safety or those committed against women and children.”
"Can you prove these are the same people we exiled?" asked Weitzman. "Are you positive of their identity? Did you check their documents? Do you have pictures of them?"
Fred's jaw dropped and his eyes opened wide. "Well, er, no, none other than the word of the molested child, no.”
"Is it possible the child could have made a mistake?"
"Well, yes, it's possible, but highly unlikely."
"What if years went by and memories grew even fainter, what then?" The smile on Weitzman's face grew.
Taylor raised his hands. "Shel, you've made your point. We need to address that issue. In the case of Doyle and Chandler, there was no mistake. Case closed."
#
As winter tightened its grip, Phelps reported every bit of grain and hay had been removed from the horse farms. Albert's hunting parties traveled ever further afield. Without antibiotics, pneumonia killed even the strong. The most frequent services in the House of Worship were funerals.
Taylor encouraged the Edgepark people to return to their homes since the danger from attack was remote.
While there, Pat Rice collected ashes from stoves and fireplaces to extract potash. After a number of trials, he made a liquid soap from a concentrated potash solution and tallow. At first, the soap was only good for washing clothes. Later, he refined it, adding pine balsam and lemon mint to make scented bath soaps.
#
Taylor learned over the winter Sam Wylie had developed a bow made of laminated wood and fiberglass using an epoxy resin he'd found on a scavenging trip. He began by making bows for Albert's hunters, but soon found there was a growing demand.
The horsemen preferred rifles but there was little ammunition left. When they tried crossbows, they discovered they were difficult to draw while on horseback. Long bows were too cumbersome and there were too few compound bows to meet the demand.
Those who tried Sam's recurve bows liked them so much they were reluctant to give them back. Taylor brought this to the Council’s attention, which appointed Sam Wylie as manager of the Clan bow-works. The Council decided archery would be a required part of the militia's training. It wasn’t long before the bow became the militia's primary weapon.
Taylor set up a facility to make arrows next to the mill. The arrow
makers cut flattened, steel highway guardrail into narrow, triangular arrowheads. They made the arrow shafts from straight-grained pine and used Canada goose feathers for the fletching. The stockpile of arrows grew.
#
"If we tattoo a criminal's face," Ted Callioux said. "He’s easy to identify.”
"That's for sure." Fred nodded.
"That's horrible," Weitzman said. "That's just like the Nazis. What're we turning into? A bunch of Fascists?"
"The difference," Ted said with some heat. "Is these people committed crimes. It has nothing to do with who they are.”
"It defaces their body, their temple," Weitzman said. "It's sacrilegious, disgusting.”
"Anyone who wants to be a part of the Clan must live the life. Anyone who commits a crime against a fellow Clan member doesn't deserve to belong." Taylor looked around the Council for any dissenting comments. "Those in favor, say aye."
There was a chorus of ayes. They all nodded agreement except for Shel Weitzman, who continued to shake his head.
"Ted, tell us how this will be done," Taylor said.
"Well, a criminal sentenced to exile will have a tattoo. I recommend the letter 'E' for exile in a visible location, such as on their forehead."
"Who's gonna do the tattooing?" asked Fred.
"It should be done under sterile conditions," Dr. Encirlik said. "We don't want to give anyone an infection from a tattoo."
"Figure it out," Taylor said. "Review it with Chris."
#
The Council room had a high ceiling and walls paneled in rough planking. It had an additional use as the court of justice. Weak winter sun came through tall windows on the south side. Spectators, muffled in heavy winter clothing, glanced at one another. Many people came to court, especially in the winter, for it provided much to gossip about.
"No, no, please, anything but that. I'm sorry, really sorry." Zack Steigerwald fell to his knees. He had been caught stealing drugs from Dr. Encirlik's office. "Don't exile me."
"Dr. Encirlik," Taylor said. "What drugs were taken?"
"Steigerwald took the last of my morphine.”
"Are there any substitutes available?"
"No, not at the moment. I'm going to raise poppies this coming season to make opium. I'll need help for that."