by Nathan Jones
Things were definitely going to change, and in some ways not for the better. Matt just hoped that in the long term the stability the new government provided would be worth the cost and Aspen Hill's loss of autonomy.
As for the Presidential election, it didn't take long to see that Lassiter's victory would be every bit as crushing as everyone expected.
In fact, by the end of the day the numbers had become so lopsided that the radio announcers were reading them out as a joke rather than to inject any tension into the race. Of the three real contenders, you could add second and third place's numbers together and multiply them by ten and the retired General still outpaced them. The announcers were already calling the man President Lassiter when speaking of events moving forward.
Since there was no current President to step down or new administration to transition to, nobody planned to waste any time before swearing Lassiter into office. There'd be a sort grace period while the votes were double checked, and for the military to transfer the civic duties they'd taken over back to a civilian government, but not a long one: everyone agreed the civilian government needed to get up and running as quickly as possible.
It wasn't just the President who'd been elected today, but also the other necessary officials in the United States of the Rockies: sheriffs, mayors, governors, and a much-reduced Congress and Senate. A whole government rebuilding itself out of tatters and trying to push itself forward into the future. It seemed inevitable that the process wouldn't be quick or easy, and there'd be plenty of stumbles and kinks to work out.
Still, considering everything the country had been through in the past two years, or even three if you counted the economic downturn and price hikes after the Middle East Crisis, Matt considered it a miracle that they weren't all living in the Stone Age trying to prevent the next village over from raiding their livestock.
He hoped it was a sign that the worst was past and things could finally start getting back to normal. The CCZ would complicate things, as would nuclear winter and trying to restore the level of technology and infrastructure they'd enjoyed before. But it was a start.
The next week was more hectic than Matt ever would've expected. With Lassiter assembling his cabinet, the governor building his administration from scratch, and even the county starting to pull itself into some semblance of order, Matt found himself reporting to dozens of secretaries, aides, functionaries, and contractors. Since he was completely unfamiliar with this aspect of being Mayor he had to learn as he went, and often felt like a person who could barely read who'd found himself being forced to work his way through an entire set of encyclopedias.
It got to the point where he had to delegate the bulk of the tasks to the new City Council. He also allowed himself to be convinced to hire a couple secretaries just to help him manage the seemingly endless flow of paperwork. And the irony wasn't lost on him that he had to requisition paper from higher up the chain just to have enough to keep up with it all.
It all seemed like an inefficient mess, and more than simply a waste of time. To be fair, Matt realized that with the government rebuilding itself like this there'd be plenty of people doing redundant tasks, and demanding the same tasks of others, until everyone figured things out. Once things settled down the workflow would ease up.
Of course, showing her usual brutal pragmatism Catherine pointed out there'd been plenty of inefficiency even before the Gulf burned.
Matt was so swamped in this new world of paperwork that he'd almost forgotten the real world existed. At least until late afternoon on the seventh day after the election, as he watched from across the town hall tent as Trev was pulled away from his own mountain of paperwork when he received word from his defenders.
His friend was nearly as busy as Matt himself was, and in many ways more stressed: as part of forming the Aspen Hill local government the defenders had been officially designated a militia unit, then promptly disbanded until such a time as they were needed. Trev had been appointed Chief of the Aspen Hill Police and given a budget that allowed for a few full-time officers, a coroner/forensic specialist, a secretary, and a caretaker/guard for the town's small prison, which was really more of a holding cell meant to detain criminals until they could either be moved to proper facilities in a larger town or post bail pending trial.
Trev had permission to use his new staff members to fill multiple duties, as long as he obeyed all labor laws and properly compensated them for work not specified in their contracts.
Yes, contracts. And even more complex duty rosters. And payroll. And handling the inevitable complaints, internal investigations, and everything else that came with an official police department. Matt knew Trev was just as out of his element in his new role as Matt himself was, but unlike Matt Trev didn't have the entire City Council there to help him muddle through it.
Although one thing they'd all agreed on, no matter what mandate came down from above: elections were all well and good, but they hadn't changed the world overnight. The defenders may have been disbanded, but that didn't stop the armed Aspen Hill townspeople who'd formerly been part of that group from just happening to be out walking their old patrol routes or manning their old sentry posts.
Since the town was allotted a portion of the budget for discretionary use, Matt's discretion told him he should be paying those volunteers for their labor. Trev filled as many sentry and patrol shifts as he could from the police department's staff, but for the extra the town gave what was needed.
Which was why defenders were out there able to notify Trev that over a dozen refugees were approaching the town, with some idea of settling in Aspen Hill. Trev was ready to bolt out of the tent the moment he passed the news on to the others there, obviously grateful for any interruption from the drudgery of his new duties. Matt only needed one look at the papers spilling over his own desk to decide the situation needed some Mayoral oversight.
They both bolted out of the tent together to meet the incoming refugees.
This had to be due to Lassiter's public praise for the town, carried across the radio to everyone in the United States. Matt should've expected people would be drawn to the town that “set the standard all other communities should strive to emulate”, or whatever the President's exact words had been.
They met Sam coming out of the barn, finished early with the evening chores. Since Olivia was with her Aunt April at the clinic Sam seemed happy to join them as they hurried through town.
Although Matt's petite wife had to practically jog to keep up with their strides; even Trev, who was average height, towered over her. “That's what I get for marrying the tallest man in town,” she said, huffing already after going barely half the distance. “Plenty of chances to exercise whenever we take a walk.”
This wasn't the first time Sam had complained about him leaving her behind with his long legs. Matt usually tried to be pretty good about it, but he'd been caught up in the excitement of the moment. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly, slowing down and taking her hand.
It turned out there was no rush, since they reached where the gravel path that formed the town's “Main Street” joined the road through the valley long before the new arrivals reached them. There they waited with a small crowd of curious onlookers, as a few of Trev's defenders escorted the refugees down the western slope.
To Matt's surprise Lewis was one of those onlookers. He'd barely seen his friend since the election, since Lewis was busy overseeing his reloading business, which he'd expanded by hiring several of the crippled veterans the town had invited in last fall. Between that and organizing the trips with the convoy down to Mexico, which had become a weekly occurrence, his friend was as busy as the rest of them.
Which was pretty obvious, since whatever the reason was that had brought Lewis to see the incoming refugees, once Matt and Trev joined him the man was all business. “We need to talk about long-term solutions for trade goods,” he said as soon as they were within earshot.
Matt bit back a groan. “There's a million
things people need to talk to me about. Is this urgent?”
“It's about to be,” Lewis replied grimly. “I realize that with order finally on the verge of being restored the town can stand to sell off a lot of its weapons, body armor, and other combat gear. The problem is we already have. We've blown through our spare electronics and precious metals, and even though livestock prices are at a premium we can't afford to sell any of ours if we want to build our own herds and flocks.”
“You've been able to send more reloaded ammunition down on these last couple trips, haven't you?” Matt asked.
Lewis snorted. “Not as much as I'd like, but yes. But those are my trade goods, mine and Trev's and everyone else's who's done the work with us, to buy things to benefit our families and the shelter group. Unless you want the entire town working for us that's not really a solution, and to be honest we're still struggling to pay our current employees while the business is getting off the ground.”
Trev patted his cousin on the shoulder gratefully. “It's nice of you to include me, considering I've barely had time to set foot in the reloading shed since the election.”
The reloading shed was in one of the houses left behind by Robert's people, which Lewis had rented from the town. Matt had barely set foot in there either, although he'd seen plenty of activity around it as Lewis and his employees worked to build more reloading benches and find ways to expand the operation with limited tools and materials. One of those ways was by keeping the work going around the clock so there were no wasted hours; a few of the veterans were night owls, and for a bit of extra pay had no complaints about taking the night shift.
Matt had no complaints either, since every reloaded bullet Lewis produced was a source of income that would eventually trickle through to help the whole town. Not to mention his friend now had to pay taxes on his business, another thing the man wasn't terribly pleased about. But it meant the more he made the more revenue he gave directly to the newly formed local government.
In fact, aside from Trent's window salvage business and a few other minor operations, Lewis had the only real business in town.
Matt was well aware that that desperately needed to change, and quickly, if they wanted to keep up their trade runs down to Mexico. He'd been encouraging everyone in town to find ways to be productive so they'd be able to afford their own food to survive the next winter. There were plenty of skilled, resourceful people in town, and now that they didn't need to devote those skills exclusively to survival, and more importantly now that they had a market to sell to, they had the opportunity to put their talents to use.
He, his wife, and the cousins talked the problem through as they waited for the group of refugees escorted by Trev's defenders to make their way down the slope and the final short distance across the valley to them.
One possible solution was firewood and seasoned logs, since the truck usually went down to Mexico mostly empty, carrying small, valuable trade goods, and came back up overloaded with food. Even though firewood and logs wouldn't sell for much, especially not woods like fir, spruce, and aspen, the truck might be able to carry a great enough volume to make the effort worthwhile. The town was still struggling to harvest the lumber it needed for its own needs, but with almost all the townspeople finally in their own houses that need would drop significantly.
Matt thought it was worth putting more men to work chopping trees. He could even talk to people about starting their own lumber harvesting operations, so the town didn't need to be directly responsible for organizing the work.
The refugees finally came in earshot. As expected, the people in the little group were all burdened down with possessions like they were here to stay. It was hard not to be reminded of last fall, when Matt had led hundreds of armed townspeople out to turn back the thousand men Rogers had sent their way. These refugees Matt allowed to come closer to town, since there were fewer of them and they seemed far less threatening. In fact, there were elderly and children with them.
Although Matt didn't completely ignore precautions, which was why he was meeting the group on the road so they didn't get any ideas about coming into town until he'd assessed the situation.
“Is this Aspen Hill?” an older refugee called. He didn't look too happy about the escort of armed defenders.
Matt nodded. “I'm Matt Larson, Mayor. My people tell me you want to settle here.”
“That's right.” The man stepped forward, offering his hand to Matt, then to Trev, Lewis, Sam, and several others nearby. “I'm Randy Nolan,” he said while shaking one hand after another. He motioned with his free hand to his companions. “My family, and a few close friends. We've come from the refugee camp just west of here.”
A woman who might've been Randy's wife stepped up to join him, speaking curtly. “Although we expected our welcome to be a bit more friendly, considering we were invited here.”
Matt frowned. “Invited?” he repeated. For a moment he racked his brain, trying to remember if any part of Lassiter's speech had included anything that could've been taken as an invitation to come crash Aspen Hill's party. But that didn't matter, and he continued firmly. “I'm sorry, you must be mistaken. We haven't offered any such invitation.”
The woman's face crumpled into a scowl. “Oh yeah? Then maybe you can explain why this morning we had a conversation over the radio with a man claiming to be the deputy Mayor of your town, and he specifically invited us and anyone who wanted to come with us to settle in Aspen Hill.”
What the blazes? Matt pulled his radio earbuds out of his pocket and popped them in, toggling the mic. “Chauncey?” he snapped. Without waiting for a reply he continued. “We've got some people here claiming someone on the radio invited them to settle in our town.”
There was a long pause. “Um, yeah,” the retired teacher finally replied, sounding sheepish. “I just got on shift and was getting a report from Derek on what he'd heard over the last several hours. I'm getting on his case about why he didn't bother to fill you in immediately, but he says it's because it didn't directly apply to us.”
“Didn't directly-” Matt began in disbelief. He'd been sitting just a few feet away from Derek, and the crippled veteran hadn't said a word to him. The guy had known about something like this and hadn't bothered even mentioning it?
Matt didn't care how swamped with paperwork he was, or that he'd asked to not be disturbed unless it was something important, that didn't fly. “You're saying he doesn't think it's our business that somebody on the radio is offering to let people settle in our town?” With a guilty start he realized the refugees were all staring at him, and he gave them an apologetic look as he stepped out of earshot.
“Uh, about that.” Chauncey coughed. “The person on the radio is Robert Paulson. It's the town he's building that he's inviting people to.”
Matt fought the urge to slap his forehead. Of all the . . . he really could've done without this right now. Or at any time, for that matter. “Since when?”
“He started sometime this morning, according to Derek. I must've missed the start of it coming off my shift. But it seems like Robert's offering to take in all comers.”
It took every ounce of self control not to say a few choice words right about then. “I'll want to hear all about it when I get back,” Matt said, then yanked the earbuds out of his ears and strode back over to the refugees.
Randy was looking decidedly worried, and the woman with him had gone from belligerent to uncertain. “Is there some problem?” the man asked. “We only came because you offered.”
Matt forced a smile. “No problem,” he said, “just a bit of a misunderstanding. There are two Aspen Hill locations, and your invitation is to the other one. A few miles east of here, down in the valley.” He held out a welcoming hand. “Please, come rest and get some water. I'll be happy to drive you down there in a few minutes.”
The refugees had perked up at his words, maybe relieved that their new home was at a lower elevation. “You'd give us a ride, even with fuel so scar
ce?” Randy asked, looking hopeful but also a bit reluctant at accepting the generous offer.
“I'd be happy to,” Matt assured him. “I'm headed down there myself.”
It looked like he needed to have a conversation with Robert Paulson, one that would be better to have in person.
* * * * *
Matt had Chauncey radio down to new new Aspen Hill, or new old Aspen Hill, or whatever they were ultimately going to call the place, with news of his impending visit and the presence of the invited refugees. Then he ushered them up into the back of the truck (which thankfully hadn't been loaded for this week's convoy down to Mexico yet), and they were on their way.
To his surprise, when they arrived at the new town the “deputy Mayor” greeted the new arrivals with open arms, and had some of his people escort them to one of the newly built longhouses to start getting them settled in.
Randy and his family and friends looked very relieved at the warm welcome, probably even more so after the reception they'd received in Aspen Hill, and gratefully followed their new neighbors.
The longhouses were one sign of the smart planning Robert was doing down here, one that Matt sheepishly had to admit had completely flown by him and all of Aspen Hill's other leaders when they'd started building their new town up in the mountain valley. Even Lewis and Lucas had failed to consider it as all the families got to work on their own little houses.
Simple geometry. Double the length of a building's walls and you got four times the square footage. While the people of new Aspen Hill were building houses for their families, most no more than ten feet to a side, and cramming into a hundred or so square feet, Robert was planning out longhouses that looked to be at least ten by twenty, with some twenty by twenty or even twenty by forty. Half again the materials for double the space, up to three times the materials for eight times the space.