by C. G. Cooper
Now he laughed. “Didn’t I tell you, Ryker? It’s off to boot camp for you.”
Chapter 9
Training wouldn’t start for a couple days, which was good and bad. It meant spending extra time with Jane and the kids. It also meant that I was stewing about being the low man again, a boot, a nothing. The pain and torment of my first time through boot camp came flooding back. Was I really going to do it again, at my age?
I didn’t have a choice, and when I told Jane about it, she took it in stride. She was more concerned about Sybil and Charlie, who were thankfully now awake and asking for more water.
Water. It seemed like such a simple thing, and it was for much of my lifetime. But my kids had never had the ability to turn on a faucet to fill a cup of water. We’d either reclaimed it from the rain or fetched a couple of buckets from the river each time we went down. Then there came the tedious boiling process, something Jane took seriously due to her background in medicine.
Now water was everywhere. We could shower in it. There were faucets and water fountains everywhere. There was even ice. Ice! I’d never thought I’d ever see ice again.
So, despite my imminent departure, Jane and the kids were happy and the two patients were well on the mend. I’d forgotten how effective real medicine can be. We’d survived on good old fashioned grit and the occasional herb cocktail to remain healthy. That, and avoiding the rest of the human race, kept us in fairly good health.
From what I’d seen on the transport over, in addition to the others we’d left begging near the underpass, my family and I were the lucky ones.
The doctor made occasional visits throughout the remainder of the night, which Jane appreciated and I abhorred. Sure, the guy said he was just doing his job, but he’d better keep his hands off my wife. He acted a little too comfortable with her, a little too familiar.
It was well past midnight when we finally curled up on cots beside Sybil and Charlie to go to sleep. They put us in a private room in the clinic, and the sounds of light snoring filled the room minutes after I turned off the lights.
I lay there for some time, thinking about what The General had said, and wondering what my role would be in the days ahead.
The next afternoon, Sybil and Charlie were pronounced healthy enough to go to our new home. They’d still have to take it easy for a while, but a bunk was better than a cot. We wheeled them down the halls, and Charlie waved like a prince to everyone we passed. After we each had taken a shower, we headed down to the cafeteria. If the kids thought the showers were special, the cafeteria was like heaven.
Fragrant fruit was stacked next to gleaming vegetables, and steaming soups sat adjacent to bins overflowing with sandwiches. It was another first for the kids. Jane and I had to remind them to eat slowly, and to only pick out those items they knew they would finish eating.
“They can have as much as they want,” said a woman wiping empty tables. “I remember my first day here.”
I nodded my gratitude and then I joined in on the feast. Not even Charlie said a word as we dug in like ravenous dogs, tearing at meats and slurping down soups. I never thought an orange could taste so good.
For the next couple of days, we enjoyed the frequent trips to the cafeteria and the twice daily showers. It was so pleasurable that I almost forgot about my impending enlistment—almost.
When the day arrived, I was ready to go before dawn. I say dawn, but for the duration of our stay here, we hadn’t been outside HQ. That might seem strange, but when you’ve gone without civilization so long, the outdoors suddenly doesn’t matter as much as it used to. Especially when you have fresh ice cream a short walk from your room.
I would be issued all the gear I needed when I got to boot camp. A messenger had delivered a vague itinerary the day before, and it stated that basic training lasted four weeks. Four weeks—I hadn’t been away from the kids for longer than a few hours since they’d been born. Just another price I’d have to pay for their safety.
I said my goodbyes under the dim overhead lights. Sybil wouldn’t let go, and I was afraid I might have to pry her off, but Jane magically appeared, as she always did, and she whispered something in Sybil’s ear that allowed me to slip out of her grasp.
“Well, when you see me again I’ll be fit as a fiddle,” I announced to tear-streaked faces. Nobody laughed and I had to bite my cheek to keep from joining in the grief. “I love you all very much.”
“I love you, Daddy,” Sybil said, though weeping.
“I love you, Dad,” said Andrew, the toughest of the three, at that moment, still trying to play the man and failing.
“I love you,” said Charlie, reaching for me from Jane’s arms.
One more kiss apiece and I left, casting a final look back at my uprooted family, hoping that they would be okay without me.
Like I said, it was my first time out of the complex since arriving, and holy cow had I missed the view during our nighttime travel. The peach glow on the horizon greeted me when I stepped through the enormous door to the outside. Now I saw the fencing, miles and miles of it, with yet another wall beyond that perimeter.
Where I remembered trees and buildings once being, it was now fairly level ground. You could see for miles. It was the perfect setup to spot someone coming. Probably very defensible, and I bet that there were anti-aircraft stations somewhere nearby.
Once again, there was a folding table sitting in front of a beefed-up convoy. Two clerks were checking recruits in. I felt exactly like a lowly recruit again.
“Name?” the clerk asked when I took my spot in front of the table.
“Ryker.”
He checked the handheld tablet, and he tapped what I assumed was my name.
“Vehicle three,” he said.
“Thanks.”
“You won’t be thanking me once Gregor gets his hands on you,” the clerk said without looking up. Typical military bullshit. Mess with the new guys. Whatever. I could take it. Been through it once; you know the rules.
Boy, was I wrong.
Chapter 10
Federal Hideaway
Location: Unknown
The secretary entered without knocking. There was no need. The president was nearly deaf anyway. He sat huddled in an old armchair, his withered form covered in an oversized blanket. He’d once been a sight to behold, one of those modern day monoliths that might have been memorialized by statues across the nation. But here he was, deep underground, wasting away, much like his country, and for that matter, the world.
He looked up from his book when he sensed his secretary’s presence in the room. She handed him the tablet, and then left.
“Ah, this week’s results,” he murmured to himself. He was doing too much of that now, like an old man. It made him remember how his grandfather used to talk to himself as he sat in a rocking chair. His grandfather who had died of Alzheimer's. He wasn’t as old as his grandfather had been, but he both looked and felt as if he were; time had not been kind. Where did the time go? Where had his health gone?
He perused the lists from The New York Zone, followed by those from The Oregon Zone and finally The Tennessee Zone. He almost missed it. It was just a blip, like a single digit out of place and completely unobtrusive to all, except for the president and his closest advisors.
The president zoomed in and rechecked the data. For so long they’d searched; it couldn’t be.
With an effort that left his legs creaking, he arose from the chair as quickly as his body would allow. He was out of breath by the time he reached the door. There was no need for desks and phones anymore. There was no need for so many things.
“Lena, could you please have Mortimer pay me a visit?”
The secretary looked up in surprise. She’d been reading on her personal tablet. Probably one of the many romance novels they’d stored before The Collapse.
“Sorry, Dad…I mean Mr. President.”
The president smiled at his oldest daughter. She was still getting used to her new role. T
here wasn’t much to do here, and she should probably be with her peers, but he felt like he needed her close to him now. Time was not on his side, and now that his wife was dead, who else could he count on?
“Have him come see me,” he repeated.
“Yes, sir.”
While his daughter went to fetch one of the last living members of his former inner circle, the president returned to his modest office, slumping back into his chair. He stared at the tablet screen and ran the possibilities through his head. Could this be the beginning? Could it all start in The Tennessee Zone?
Chapter 11
There were twenty of us lining the transport walls as we rode blind. Sometimes the huge vehicle’s wheels would encounter something too large for even its massive suspension to handle, and four or five of the recruits would tumble to the metal deck.
I’d clipped myself to the wall, an old trick I’d learned in my younger years. It could be dangerous if you forgot to unclip yourself during an insertion, or worse, if your vehicle was attacked, but it sure beat falling on the ground every time a driver or the terrain decided it was time for charge.
“How’d you know to do that?” the guy next to me asked, pointing to the clip. His southern accent was thick and every vowel came out stretched.
“Picked it up somewhere,” I said.
“Shit. We used to do the same thing in our deer stands. Never thought I’d need it in a high-tech baby like this.” He patted the inside of the transport admiringly.
The last thing I wanted was for anyone to know that I had prior military experience. It didn’t matter at that point. Hell, I was twenty years older than the last time in anyway. My experience might not count for a hell of a lot anymore.
But it did count in simple ways, like with the clip, and the fact that I knew to keep my mouth shut. There were some guys who just kept jabbering, like they hadn’t talked in decades. Sure there was some excitement to the whole thing, and like me, it was the first time in a long time any of us had enjoyed real showers and food, but this was the service. Better to keep your mouth shut until you were asked to open it. Hell, they’d find out soon enough.
My prediction came to pass just as I’d imagined. As soon as the back hatch creaked open, the screaming started. Men and women in pressed black utilities yelled like banshees, spittle hitting the occasional face as we rushed from the transport over to the manicured grass in the distance.
I moved along at the modest clip without effort, but some of my peers were bent at the waist, sucking in lungfuls of air when we arrived.
“I see they sent me a bunch of hillbillies again,” came the booming voice. The screaming from the others stopped, as if in respect, and out of the corner of my eye I saw a massive figure come into view. “Which one of you wants to be my demonstrator?”
No one raised a hand. At least they were that smart. Thankfully, I was in the very back row, because I watched as the trainer behind the booming voice picked a man from the front row.
“What’s your name?”
“Dillard.”
“Dillard? What the hell kind of name is Dillard?”
“I don’t know.”
“I don’t know, sir.”
There was a pause as Dillard tried to put two and two together.
“Drop and give me twenty,” said the large man.
“Twenty what?” asked Dillard. I heard someone laugh. To my surprise, the giggler wasn’t reprimanded.
“Twenty what, sir?” the big man said slowly.
“Twenty what, sir?” said Dillard.
“Twenty push-ups, moron.”
One moment Dillard was there, and then he wasn’t. I couldn’t see him from my position in the hasty formation, but I assume he was doing something wrong and I was rewarded with confirmation when the big man said, “Does someone want to show Dillard how to do a real push-up instead of humping the ground?”
He picked another recruit from the front row who joined Dillard on the ground. As the two recruits did their pushing, the instructor moved down the line.
“My name is Gregor, but when you address me it will be as sir. Do you understand that?”
“Yes, sir,” we said as a group. I hadn’t yelled like I knew I should, still wanting to remain in the shadows. No standing out.
“Okay, ladies. When I ask you a question, you better yell your answer as loud as you can. You got that?”
“Yes, sir!” we all yelled in near unison.
“Well, well. Maybe you’re not a bunch of morons. Maybe you can be taught.” He was still marching slowly down the line, and I could almost make out his features. “Like I was saying, my name is Gregor, and I am the commandant of this proud training facility. You will meet your instructors soon, and you will see me on occasion. If you see me more than occasionally, it means that you’re a screw up, and that, in all likelihood, you’ll be sent back to whatever hell hole The Zone recruiters found you in. You got that?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Good.” He turned the corner and was walking my way. My jaw tensed involuntarily when I saw his face. He didn’t notice, but I saw his eyes flicker with recognition. “Can anyone tell me why you’re here?”
“To eat as much real food as we can?” some smartass answered.
“Sure,” Gregor said thoughtfully. “You’ll have some good chow. But the powers that be back at The Zone have tasked me with making you civilians into soldiers. Some of you may not be up to the task, and that’s okay. Less mouths for me to feed. But for those of you who think you have what it takes…”
He didn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he stood—staring at me.
“Instructors, they’re yours.”
“Yes, sir!” the instructors yelled in unison, and then the yells turned toward the recruits.
“You, double time over to the flag pole. I have a special job for you.”
“Sir, yes, sir!” I yelled, and took off for the middle of camp where The Tennessee Zone flag hung limp from atop a wooden pole. The entire sprint I cursed under my breath.
It was a good five minutes before Gregor joined me. I was standing at a position of attention, ramrod straight, staring a thousand yards ahead.
“Don’t I know you?” he asked.
I hesitated.
“This recruit does not…”
“Holy fucking shit,” Gregor exclaimed. “It is you.”
I shifted my gaze.
“I’m not trying to make trouble. I just want to do my time and take care of my family.”
“But…”
“No. Please just treat me like everyone else.”
Gregor stared at me, probably thinking I was crazy.
“Your choice. But if you ever…”
“I won’t,” I said, my voice marking the finality of my decision like the stomp of a staff.
“Fine; fall in line with the rest of them. Oh, and before I forget, take that big rock with you. Wouldn’t want them thinking you were getting special treatment.” There was no malice in the command, just resignation and understanding.
“Thank you, sir,” I said, heaving the fifty-pound rock up to my chest.
“Don’t thank me yet, recruit. This shit doesn’t get easier with age.”
Chapter 12
Gregor was right. Even though I was in better shape than most of the others, when they finally let us go to bed that night, my muscles ached and my throat was sore and hoarse. I guzzled water straight from the tap, and then I stuck my head under the tap, letting the frigid water rinse the day’s layers of salty sweat from my face.
“Hey, hurry up, would you?” asked someone behind me. There were only a few spigots, so I quickly moved aside to let the next man have his turn. He gave me a dirty look that I ignored. The guy’s name was O’Mack. I had no idea if that was a real name or not, but the instructors didn’t seem to care. O’Mack was all sinewy muscle, like he’d spent the last ten years doing gymnastics.
He was by far the most fit of all the recruits, including myself,
but he already had a habit of rustling up trouble with punchy remarks. I’d have to steer clear of him.
Before bed, we were shown how to tuck in our sheets and then our scratchy wool blankets. They could’ve been the same bedding I’d used twenty years earlier, one of the millions of recruits who had used it over the previous centuries.
When the last recruit in the squad bay had their shot at making a bunk in front of an instructor, we were told to get in bed. No ceremony. No position of attention or prayers. I figured they understood that we’d had enough, or at least the others had. When you spend hours learning how to put one foot in front of the other while marking cadence with an instructor barking orders, your brain gets a little fried.
I slipped into bed with thoughts of Jane and the kids, already eagerly anticipating the next time I could see them, and hoping with fervor they were safe. I still didn’t know where I was exactly, or what my newest home was called, but I knew information would only be provided at the instructors’ behest, and not a second before.
I closed my eyes and willed sleep to come. Tomorrow would be another long day.
+++
The place was called Camp Cumberland, and it was named after the mighty river that cut through The Tennessee Zone. It was once a favored boating destination for Tennesseans. While we sat in neat formations on the parade deck, Gregor told the story of how Camp Cumberland came to be, and why it was one of the most important assets held by The Tennessee Zone.
“I was one of the lucky ones,” he explained. “When The Collapse happened, I was on active duty. I wasn’t lucky because I was on duty, but because I just happened to be in the right place at the right time. I’m sure you all understand what I mean. Millions of our fellow Americans weren’t so lucky, and billions around the world got the same raw deal.”