Dark New World (Book 3): EMP Deadfall

by J. J. Holden

“Thanks,” Cassy said, “I appreciate it. Anyway, I don’t know what to make of this guy. Choony is pulling his weight for now, but it’s only been a day, and he knows we’re watching every move he makes. Let’s see how it goes after a week, and then the three of us will talk again.”

  There was a rustle at the entryway into the kitchen, and Frank glanced over. Mandy walked in with a smile for each of them. “Talking about the Asian man, Choony?” she asked, though obviously she knew they were. “I don’t know why you don’t like him, Cassy. Your best friend growing up was Korean, too, wasn’t she?”

  Cassy frowned. “Yeah, her name was Faith, Mom. Did you forget, after all the time she spent at our house? Her parents were immigrants too, and they ran that little shop by the tire place.”

  Frank shrugged and cut in. “So what’s your problem with Choony, then?”

  Cassy looked uncertain. “Well, I mean, I guess it’s the circumstances. We’re being invaded by Arabs and Koreans, so they’re not high on my trust list.”

  Michael interrupted and said, “Well, to be fair, Cassy, no one is these days except us in the Clan. I gather you used to be the trusting sort, but a couple bad run-ins after the collapse have you doubting people. I get it. Keep it up—that’ll keep you alive more than trust will.”

  “I disagree,” said Mandy. “If you show people distrust, they won’t be trust worthy. People live up to the expectations of the people around them, but they also live down to them.”

  Frank watched Cassy’s face closely, but she was closed off and unreadable. Then she furrowed her brow, grimaced, and pinched the bridge of her nose with her thumb and index finger. “This all gives me headaches,” she replied. “Alright, Mom. I’ll try to keep an open mind. And we’ll meet back in a week to discuss, like I said. In the meantime, Michael, keep him under watch like before, but maybe pull back a little. As time goes on, if he doesn’t screw up, we’ll pull back a little more and then some more. And if any of the Clan says anything about him doing something wrong, find me immediately. I guess that’s it. Anyone else?”

  No one else offered anything, and so Cassy broke up the meeting. Grandma Mandy was looking at Cassy with obvious concern, Frank noticed, and he was full of heavy thoughts of his own as he walked toward his current work detail.

  * * *

  An hour after their meeting, Cassy watched as Michael approached her. He wore a slight frown and held his head high with eyes darting around, which she knew was the man’s sure sign of stress. “What’s wrong now,” she said with a smile that she hoped would set him a bit at ease. It didn’t work. She saw Ethan following a short distance behind, and he too looked tense. Cassy prepared herself for whatever latest emergency had come up.

  Michael replied, “We have a situation. One of our people couldn’t hold his shit together and got drunk last night. Gary, I think is his name. He’s one of the people in the tent enclave, he and his wife, Marla. Apparently they got to arguing, he pushed her, and she fell and jammed her wrist. Amber bound it up, but figures it’ll be three days before his wife is fit to work with her hands again.”

  It was Cassy’s turn to frown. “What the hell. I have nothing against drinking, but I have plenty against pushing each other around. And then there’s the issue of her being unable to work the farm. We have too much to do and too few hands as it is.”

  Michael said, “I agree. It doesn’t just affect the two of them, it affects us all. So, what do you want to do about this?”

  “You talked to other people in the tent enclave, and the wife, Marla?”

  “Yes,” Michael said. “The story is pretty consistent. Guy’s guilty.”

  Cassy inhaled deeply, then let it out slowly. “Okay. Clearly we have to do something about this, but what? Got any suggestions?”

  Michael shrugged. “Flog him in public. He’ll behave, after that. Or confine him so he can’t hurt anyone else.”

  “Michael, we don’t have the resources to jail anyone, much less guard them. Confining will only mean we have two people who can’t work, but who still have to be fed.”

  Ethan interrupted. “I’m not okay with whipping someone anyway, Michael. We’re our own thing here, we can try something besides violence against our own citizens. I didn’t care for it before the EMPs, and I don’t think we should repeat the mistakes of the past. Let ’em fix their own relationship.”

  “Damn hippy,” Michael said. “This guy cost us a lot of man-hours of work. That affects us all. We’re on a deadline, literally. If we aren’t ready by winter, some of our people won’t make it.”

  Cassy said, “Let’s go get Frank and Grandma Mandy. We have to figure this out now, not later, and they may have some ideas.”

  A few minutes later, the five of them stood together in Cassy’s living room. Cassy repeated the problem and the suggestions she’d heard so far.

  Mandy shrugged. “Why are their family issues our business? We don’t have time to babysit everyone. I say leave it to them to figure out. What he did isn’t right, but he didn’t beat on her. It sounds like her falling was an accident, though a predictable one.”

  Cassy shook her head. “No, Mom, we have to do something because what he did cost us, what, thirty-six hours of work? Even if I were inclined to leave drunken assaults to them to solve—which I’m not—the fact that this Clan is supporting them and Gary’s wife can’t work is our problem, clearly. We have to set a precedent.”

  Frank, who had been quiet up to this point, spoke up. “Well shoot, let’s get some of the Clanners together to be a jury, and Cassy can be the judge. He broke the law and beat up on his wife, after all.”

  Ethan rubbed his chin and said, “No… That won’t work, Frank. Firstly, those were laws in the old world, with old world punishments. The only laws we have now are what we decide they are. And more importantly, where there are laws there is injustice. Law is about law, not justice. Ask any district attorney.”

  Cassy asked, “So what would you do, Ethan, ignore it completely? We can’t. Got any better ideas?”

  Ethan paused a moment. “Prison’s not an option. We can’t afford the people to guard it. Exile and whipping sound overly harsh for a squabble that got out of hand. Forget a jury or laws. I think the core of any law ought to be ‘don’t hurt anyone else’ and ‘don’t be a burden to others.’ Who needs laws for that?”

  Michael snapped, “Then what would you do? We’re running out of options.”

  Ethan replied, “Getting to that. We’re small, right? Not a lot of people. But we have enough different views and personalities here in this room to fairly judge any situation. We can be like a panel, the five of us, reviewing Clanner complaints and judging based on fairness and the good of the Clan as a whole. You know, ‘judge each situation on its own merits and rule for fairness and justice’ rather than some minimum sentencing law.”

  Cassy considered that. It was fast, it was personal, and it didn’t require trials and appeals and all the other things the old society had resources for, but which the Clan didn’t. Much of the time, Michael and Frank would probably agree with each other, as would Mandy and Ethan, so having five people made sense. “Right. Ethan, you’re a genius. But although I’ll be there with you at the trial—or tribunal, whatever we call this—I won’t cast a vote unless you four can’t get a majority going. I’ll be the tiebreaker and otherwise just keep things orderly.”

  An hour later, in front of anyone in the clan who cared to watch, they’d questioned everyone involved and decided he was responsible for the hours his wife was unable to work. For the good of the Clan, Gary would have to make up those hours diligently and without complaint unless he decided to give up the Clan. Exile.

  Later, Ethan said he was happy that it set the precedent of “the good of the Clan” outweighing the good of an individual, even the victim. “The victim always seems to want to either sweep it under the rug or get their pound of flesh,” Ethan said, “so focusing on what they’d cost the Clan seems like a great limit to state power.�
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  Michael chuckled. “State power? What are we, the government?”

  “Actually, yes,” Mandy said. “You don’t realize it, maybe, but what we’ve done here today is turn a homestead full of refugees into a real community, with rules and our own ways of justice. I don’t know where all this leads, but I’m sure interested to find out.”

  They chatted for quite a while, and all in all Cassy figured it went as well as could be expected. It set the scales even with Gary for the Clan’s loss and put the onus of staying or leaving on Gary himself. All that from a ten-minute conversation. The world was changing, and she resolved to change along with it, if she had to, for the good of her people.

  * * *

  1230 HOURS - ZERO DAY +23

  Chihun sat with the others on their lunch break, and his tired muscles welcomed the relief. Lunch was a laden plate of potatoes, fresh bread, eggs, bacon, and sliced-and-spiced tomatoes. He didn’t like to eat meat, but it wasn’t a violation of his philosophy as it was with some of the monks he’d known. It just made him uncomfortable. He could deal with that. Even if it had been against his beliefs, the protein was needed, and animal meat was all that was available. Idly, he wondered what he’d have done if eating animal meat was in violation of his philosophy. Would he be strong enough to starve for his convictions? He toyed with the idea as the smoky taste of bacon melded with the sharp tang of spiced tomato, and he realized the complex flavor mix greatly pleased his tongue. He shrugged. His body knew what it needed.

  Then his thoughts shifted to the situation he was in. He’d done everything asked of him and more, without complaint, and knew the others all did the same tasks he was given. Unpleasant chores were rotated. Some of the Clan seemed to avoid being around him, but that didn’t bother him. It was like that even before the North Koreans destroyed America. Sure they watched him constantly, which at first irritated him to no end because, dammit, he was no spy. But he wasn’t abused, singled out, or even given short shrift on the farm’s unpleasant chores.

  Since being watched irritated him, he decided to work on his perspective. He consciously tried out what he thought must be the “Clan” point of view and found that their caution made sense. Chihun also reminded himself that the “problem” was not so much the situation itself but his own pride and resistance to that situation. Once he let go of feeling indignant and, as his monk teacher put it, got “off his high horse,” he felt centered again. The chores and constant supervision became a much lighter burden. He also then realized he could count himself lucky that the Clan treated him as well as they had. Other groups of fellow Americans had tried to kill him. Yes, perspective was the key to finding peace here, as in most places, he mused.

  Once the all-too-brief lunch break was over, everyone took an hour of time to themselves. Most used it to mend or wash clothes, work on the house now under construction, or to do other useful tasks. Some simply took a nap, which was Chihun’s preference. He began to walk up the hill toward the livestock paddock, which he found a great place to nap. It was warm, sunny, with a nice breeze, the lingering animal smells were comforting, and best of all it was quiet. But then he remembered that going up there would require someone to go with him, to keep an eye on him. That didn’t seem fair to the other person, so instead he turned toward one of the various trees just beyond the market garden. It would be shady there, at least, and serene.

  He saw that one of the Marines followed at a respectful distance. His afternoon escort, he mused, smiling. Then he reached the tree, a late-fruiting apple tree on dwarf rootstock, surrounded by comfrey, clover, and string beans that grew up the trunk of the mid-sized tree itself. A couple bees buzzed nearby, but they were more interested in the flowers than in the human invading their space. He settled down, leaning against the tree, and closed his eyes. The warm blanket of sleep gradually covered him. He dreamed of digging up potatoes, surrounded by smiling children.

  Then one of the children walked up to Chihun, making a lot of noise. The boy shouted at him. “Get the fuck up,” he screamed.

  Chihun smiled at the boy and said, “But child, I am up. See? We’re digging potatoes.”

  The child said, “What the fuck are you talking about, chink? Get up!” Then the boy kicked Chihun, and he fell to the ground clutching his ribs.

  But when he opened his eyes, it was no boy standing before him. No, it was a man in a red t-shirt pointing a hunting rifle at him. Also, he was nowhere near the potato fields. Understanding came to him, and he muttered, “Dreaming…”

  The raider bared his teeth and hissed. “No dream, gook. Get up, and be quiet if you want to die quickly instead of slowly. Tell me now, where are the others? What’s the best way into the compound right now?”

  Chihun saw that, behind the man with the gun, were a dozen others with rifles, pistols, even one guy with a nail-embedded baseball bat. He wondered where the Marine guarding him was, and hoped the raiders hadn’t killed him. Martinez was his name, Chihun recalled, and he had been both diligent and polite, friendly even.

  Chihun quickly replied, “They are on personal time. Some sleep, some wash clothes, some—”

  “Shut up,” interrupted the raider. “So they’re scattered?”

  “Yes,” answered Chihun. He hated to tell this truth to the raiders, but lying wasn’t something he could bring himself to do. Still, he didn’t volunteer any information… And they hadn’t asked where the Clan members were, after all. He was pretty sure the omission would leave his personal harmony intact. “Why do you attack now instead of at dawn, as in all the movies?”

  “Talk again and I’m gonna break your damn jaw, gook. Here’s what’s gonna happen—you’re gonna lead us through the maze of bullshit jungle they got growing out here, and if you be a good little zipperhead, I might not eat you when this is all over with. If you do anything to alert those assholes, I’m gonna ventilate your cranium. I hope we understand each other,” growled the raider, prodding Chihun with the barrel of his rifle.

  “That is actually not jungle, it’s all food, or plants that—”

  “Shut the fuck up,” snapped the man, and he shoved the barrel painfully into Chihun’s ribs. “Turn around, and move. I won’t say it again.”

  Chihun obeyed and hoped that if he died today, his soul would decide his karma was in balance; it would determine in part the circumstances of his birth when the next cycle of life began for him.

  They reached the outskirts of the market garden. The foliage was high and dense enough to block the view, so the paths were all that could be seen from inside. Those paths started out narrow enough that the raiders had to walk single-file behind him.

  Ahead, he saw a small open circular area; other narrow paths like this one branched from it, and a single slightly wider path extended out of sight toward the homestead. It was beautiful how all the paths of the garden mimicked the veins of a leaf, branching and narrowing as they extended out from the homestead itself.

  He wasn’t sure whether the Clan meant to plant things in that way, but it made perfect sense. The pattern maximized crop area, minimized ground taken up by the paths, directed the flow of energy and the needed work in a peaceful and efficient way, and of course it was zen-like in its simplicity. How much else on this odd farm copied the patterns of nature? He would have to investigate, if he survived. Dying now would be a shame, with so much yet to discover about this interesting place.

  As they approached the circular area ahead—a hub of branching paths—Chihun silently prayed: Buddha, Dharma, and Sanha protect me if you will, and protect these good people of the Clan…

  Chihun entered the circle, a simple dirt-and-gravel affair, and turned toward the thicker of the five paths that branched from it. That was the path that headed toward the next circle, which would lead to a thicker path, and again, until eventually they’d come out in front of the buildings of the homestead. But there was more in the circle than dirt and gravel. He’d overheard others talking about the traps and warning devices Mic
hael had hidden at these hubs. He frantically looked around, all the while keeping his head still and his body relaxed, yet poised.

  There! A thin length of fishing line stretched over the entry to the thicker path, all but invisible unless one looked for it. He prayed this was one of the alarms, rather than something lethal, but it didn’t seem likely the Clan would place lethal traps in a place like this, where work had to be done and children ran. If he was right, then the Red Locust would kill him, but the Clan would be alerted. If he was wrong, then the trap would kill him, and the Clan would be alerted.

  In either case, his probable last act would be the protection of these innocents. Any people who could make a garden paradise like this, and treated a one-time prisoner like him with kindness—if not exactly trust—deserved to stay in this lifetime as long as their own natures allowed. Chihun thought about the karma this would bring to his soul, but that was a secondary benefit.

  * * *

  Cassy relaxed in the shade of the house under construction along with Frank and his wife, Mary. Cassy and Frank had spent the morning working on the house and were already covered in dirt and sweat. Mary had worked in the makeshift outdoor kitchen they’d built, getting lunch ready for everyone, and had brought food and plastic bottles of well water to the workers.

  “So tell Mary how the defenses are coming, Frank,” Cassy said between bites of stew, more for small talk than anything. She already knew the answer from their weekly meetings. It was amazing how small talk had changed so much in so little time. She only half-listened as Frank summarized it for his wife. The long-term defenses would mostly be “living fences,” which were thorny, dense bushes planted along the perimeter. There would also be some willow trees that eventually would be coaxed to grow interwoven with each other, creating a durable fence. Right now they were only saplings, though, and the hedges would be solid long before. Still, Cassy noted wistfully how much the defenses were in keeping with the rest of the design philosophy of her farm, with everything impacting everything else in a dense web of life.