After the Fall (Book 2): Catherine's Tale (Part 1)

by David E. Nees

  He left her alone to ponder what he said.

  Donna was beginning to understand what Leo wanted. He hadn’t violated her, but she feared that was to come. For now, in the weeks since he had released her from the basement, he had only given her instructions on how to behave, how to dress, how to wait on him. It seemed to Donna that she was being put through an obedience course. One that had an ending that she didn’t want to imagine.

  Thankfully, Leo’s other duties kept him busy enough that she had time alone. But during those periods she was weighed down with worry and sadness about how their lives had come undone. What had Jim been involved in to warrant such harsh treatment? She sensed that she would never be allowed to go free. No one was looking for her. The best she could hope for was to protect her son. What would happen to her was secondary. She began to steel herself to that reality.

  Leo relaxed into the cushioned chair in Joe’s office, smiling at the crystal tumbler in his hand. Joe always had an appreciation for good bourbon.

  “Tell me about the armory. Everything go okay?” Joe asked from behind the desk.

  “We had some resistance, but we managed to eliminate them before they could put up a defense. We were lucky we surprised them. They had some heavy firepower in their inventory.”

  He reached into his coat pocket and put the list on the desktop. It started with dozens of M16 rifles, twenty-four 9mm automatic pistols, fifteen .45’s, and six M110 sniper rifles with scopes. There were five M60 and two M2 machine guns. Further down it listed thousands of rounds of ammunition: .45 caliber, 9 mm, 7.62mm, 5.56mm along with .50 caliber rounds for the M2. There were ten M224 60mm mortar tubes, and a hundred rockets to feed them. There were boxes of A67 grenades, M83 smoke grenades, and M47 riot control grenades. In the haul were also six Mk 153 rocket launchers with attendant rockets and six Mk19 grenade launchers.

  Joe picked up the sheet of paper and looked at it. He was already smiling, and the smile only grew as he read through the list. Leo understood why. It made Joe’s organization one of the best-armed groups in the state. It was what Joe had needed to completely secure Hillsboro and his position of power.

  “We lose anybody?” Joe asked.

  “Only one guy.” Leo sipped his whiskey. “On the way back we ran into some local police from Hickory—”

  “I told you to stay away from Hickory.”

  “We did. We were on some back roads that kept us five miles north of the town. Didn’t expect them that far out of town. They were coming back from pursuing a small gang that had robbed their rationing center. Killed a guy, they said.”

  “You have any trouble?”

  “No, we had more men, all armed. They tried to be official, ask us where we had come from, where we were going, that kind of crap. I told them we were from Hillsboro and we were coming back from chasing some gangs of our own. They couldn’t see in the trucks, but I don’t think they believed me, being we had three trucks. Not what you use to chase thieves.”

  “It doesn’t matter. If it comes up, if they check on the armory, we can always say we were securing it from the gangs.”

  “With the Guardsmen all killed?”

  Joe looked at Leo, his smile fading for a moment. “You didn’t leave them lying around, did you?”

  “No. Took ‘em with us. Nice quick shallow burial an hour out of town.”

  “Well, there you go. The gangs murdered those poor boys. We just rode in and saved the day”. Joe grinned. “And another reason it won’t matter is we’re going to take over Hickory soon. I want them under my control too.”

  Leo gave him a sharp look. “What do we gain from that? It could cost a lot of lives.”

  Joe got up from his desk and went over to the liquor cabinet. He brought the bottle back and refilled Leo’s glass. “It gets us more power and control. And it means I don’t have to look over my shoulder and worry about them. We need a regional organization, a collection of cities and towns, and a combined militia. Places like Charlotte—or maybe even Washington, D.C., eventually—are going to come around some day and want to put us under their thumb. All this,” he waved his hand around the room, “could go away. Or at best we’d just be their lackeys. I’m not gonna be anyone’s lackey.” Joe sat down and leaned back in his chair.

  Leo took a sip of his drink. “Gotta hand it to you. You think big.”

  “We don’t know what’s going to happen over the next couple of years. Hell, we may wind up with a bunch of regional powers. I plan to be one. And if a national power shows up, I want as much leverage as I can get. I want to be a force they have to reckon with.”

  Leo relaxed and listened.

  “Taking over Hickory, getting them under our control, will only help Hickory in the end. They can’t see the big picture like I can. They think they’re just going to maintain, waiting for the government to show up, whatever that means. What will they get? Maybe nothing but more rules. I can see what’s coming. That’s why I made it this far. I grabbed the supplies right away and everyone had to deal with me. Who thought of that? Not Frank or Charlie. I’ll do the same regionally and no one will push us around.” The big man lapsed into silence, his sharp eyes looking past Leo, looking, it seemed to Leo, at the future. “This is not about greed, Leo. That’s not the focus. Power is the key. And power means resources, lots of resources.” He leaned forward over his desk, smiling, “And all that power gives us control over the wealth.” Joe’s eyes grew bright with enthusiasm. “You see? First the power, then the control, then the spoils.”

  Later that day, Frank stopped by Joe’s office to talk with him.

  “These farmers, I think they’re going to be trouble,” Frank said. He was seated in a chair in front of Joe’s desk. “Especially that guy, Jason.”

  Joe thought about that for a moment. “You may be right. They could set a bad example for people in town.” He was taking the concern more seriously than before. He had heard the stories from the remnants of Big Jacks’ gang that had found their way to Hillsboro. He had placed them in the militia to help further his control over that organization. They told lurid stories about the deadly farmers which sounded exaggerated to Joe, but they clearly didn’t want to have anything to do with them.

  “It’s more than that. I tried to run the idea by them of trading us some of their seed. They wouldn’t go for it.”

  “Why’d you do that?”

  “It would make us independent of them. We could grow our own crops. Then we could ignore them and not let them into town.”

  Joe sat up. “What are you talking about? Can’t we just find seeds of our own…in a warehouse somewhere?”

  “They wouldn’t work after one season.”

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “Cameron explained it. Apparently commercial seeds don’t work the second year.”

  Joe stared. This didn’t make any sense to him at all. It was the craziest thing he had ever heard. “How the hell does that work?”

  “The problem is with the seeds you harvest. You can eat it, the corn or wheat, but you can’t use the kernels to replant the next year. They won’t produce a productive crop. Apparently it’ll be stunted and there won’t be much to harvest. The first seeds are fine, but what they produce is no good for replanting. You’re supposed to just buy more seed.”

  “Damn seed companies,” Joe muttered. “How the hell do those farmers do it?”

  “They’ve got some special seeds. Non-hybrid ones that work year after year.”

  “Then maybe we go get them. We raid the valley and take a bunch of seed. Hell, take it all. We grow our own. We got the militia to protect the crops. Screw ‘em. Let them make it on their own.”

  “That’s what I was thinking. The more the valley interacts with the town, the more they may become a symbol to use against you. They already have a big reputation here. Bigger than we thought. We don’t want the citizens energized by some outside characters.”

  “So we just raid them.”

  Fran
k’s face reflected a cautious look as he weighed Joe’s declaration. “They wouldn’t give the seed up without a fight,” Frank said slowly.

  “So?”

  “They’re pretty well armed and good at defending themselves. Plus they have the support of the army here in town.”

  “Screw the army. We’ve got more men and more firepower than they have. And it won’t even come to that. We got Roper covering for us.” Joe paused to pull out a cigar. “No, the army won’t interfere.”

  “It would have to be successful, if we raided. I mean, we could forget about them ever trading with us again.”

  Joe laughed. “Who would care? We wouldn’t need them, which means we won’t need to be careful to leave them intact. Or leave them with anything at all.” A thought struck him. He stared hard into Frank’s eyes. “Is there any reason at all that we wouldn’t be able to do the farming? Once we got the seeds?”

  Frank spread his hands. “How hard can it be?”

  Spoken like a true politician, Joe thought. But Frank also had a point. How hard could it be? And there had to be someone in Hillsboro who knew about farming. He leaned forward, warming to the idea of self-sufficiency. “Then we do it,” he said.

  “Well, we don’t know where the seeds are kept.”

  Joe ignored the comment. “Here’s what we do. You, Charlie, and Leo go to the valley and talk with them. Use some excuse, like you want to see their operation to make sure they can meet our production needs. Or you want to settle the tax issue. Maybe they need more workers, we can supply that. Figure out where the seeds are kept and how they’ll be defended. Then we’ll know what we’re up against.”

  Frank looked doubtful. “I’m not much for spying. I wouldn’t know what to look for.”

  “You don’t have to. Leo can do that. You’re his cover.” Joe stood up. “Just get this ready to go. I don’t want to have that Jason guy around if we can get him out of the picture.”

  The six met in an abandoned office building, up on the fourth floor where the windows let in the moonlight that was their only illumination. There were no flashlights, they had no candles, and a fire was out of the question. The risk of someone seeing the flicker of light could bring the authorities. So they sat at a table in the soft light of the night.

  Steve Warner was the unelected leader of the group. They were a mixed bag of professionals and technicians—a mechanical engineer, a welder, a mechanic, another electrician like himself, and a chemistry teacher from a local high school. They were meeting because Jim Bishop had been captured. No one could know how much Jim had told them. They all felt threatened. Some of the group had already gone into hiding after learning of militia inquiries about them. They had chosen to live in the dangerous under-culture that still existed in Hillsboro, scrambling for food and shelter, always moving to stay ahead of the militia, and watching out for others in the same situation who would rob or kill for food or weapons. It was a precarious existence, but they had concluded that it was better than torture and death at the hands of Stansky’s thugs.

  “We’re not getting anywhere. We’ve agreed not to become a terrorist group and sabotage the development in town. But we’re not getting any reforms,” Steve said.

  “Not all the other engineers are supporting us,” Stan, one of the men who worked in the wire shop, said. “They can see the abuse going on. Why don’t the rest stand with us? We could shut this town down and demand reform.”

  “And as we get power and communications back, people will get more comfortable and not want to upset the status quo,” another said.

  “We’ve got to get all of the technical community to go on strike. Maybe the medical staff as well. Demand changes or we don’t help rebuild the town,” another said.

  “We’ll be labeled as extortionists or terrorists,” Steve replied. “And we’ll never get everyone on board. Some people are happy with how things are run and willing to keep helping with the rebuilding.”

  One of the welders spoke up. “The more important someone is, the less they want to buck the authorities. Seems like they just want to be part of the power structure, no matter how the rest are treated.”

  “We have to do something dramatic. I don’t care if everyone won’t follow our lead. If things get too much better, no one will buck the system,” one of the mechanics said.

  “So what are you suggesting?” Steve asked. “You want to start a revolution?”

  “Maybe. We’re running out of time…and out of options. You know that. When we get the power restored, you think anyone will want to stand up to Stansky? We’re helping to solidify his authority.”

  Steve Warner signed in frustration. “I know time is not on our side, but I can’t support a revolt. We don’t know if anyone outside of our small circle will support us,” he said.

  “Then we better find out pretty soon,” Stan replied.

  Steve knew the meeting was ending with everyone frustrated. As a group they held some of the keys to normalization for the city, but they couldn’t figure out how best to use that leverage.

  Chapter 15

  Lori Sue knew her effect on men.

  Before the EMP, she had enjoyed it. She loved the country western bars and had often driven over to one or another of them after her shift at the K-Mart was done. She couldn’t remember ever having had to buy a drink. She had even tended bar sometimes when they had needed extra help. She enjoyed it; it had been fun and, being very popular, she sold a lot of drinks,

  Now the taps were all dry and the bars were closed. The K-Mart had been stripped and left empty. Lori Sue had no special skills beyond cashiering, so, when the Hillsboro authorities had thrown together their emergency work details with desperate haste, she had been assigned to manual labor. Young people had been particularly valuable in the frenzied rush to build the town wall. She had helped to pull houses apart, and her dead Honda Civic was now part of the wall’s base, its rear bumper visible on the inner side.

  Lori Sue lived with her mother before the attack. Her parents had divorced when she was six. She loved her mom but was often left on her own as her mother went out to the honky-tonks with a string of boyfriends. When her mother was home she drank a lot and Lori Sue had to keep their small house in order. Shortly after the attack, Lori Sue’s mother ran off with a man who had a gun and some food and promised to take care of her. Lori Sue never saw her again.

  The hard work and poor diet meant that the workers on the wall were constantly being worn down and used up. After a year on the wall, Lori Sue knew she needed another way of surviving. She had to get out of that job.

  It hadn’t been simple. Every able-bodied person in Hillsboro got a ration card every month to use at the food centers. There were occasionally cases where people had no current work assignment, and could pick up their ration cards at City Hall, but those cases were rare and extremely brief. If you could work, you were given work. Your team boss gave you your ration cards. If you quit working, the cards stopped.

  Quitting meant starvation.

  Lori Sue had three days left on her ration card when she quit the wall. She thought about what she could do to survive for two days. On the third day she washed up, changed clothes, put on what makeup she had left, and headed downtown to the militia headquarters.

  The militia offered possibilities. They had their own separate rations, and they seemed to have a little more of everything. Joe Stansky’s gang, headquartered downtown, near the militia also seemed to have extra resources, but they had a reputation for being dangerous. Lori Sue avoided the gang’s territory. She would pin her future on working around the militia’s block of office buildings.

  Lori Sue was quite thin from working on the wall, but she still exuded cuteness. She had dishwater-blonde hair which now hung naturally, without benefit of styling gels. She had full lips, an upturned nose and green eyes that flashed when she smiled. It was the smile that got them. Once, a hopeful young man who had been buying her drinks had told her he was going to write a cou
ntry song about her. Lori Sue had appreciated the compliment, but she had never gotten to hear the song. The attack had occurred instead.

  That third night, she had begun to loiter outside the main entrance of one of the militia buildings. When the guards had looked at her inquiringly, she had smiled at them.

  That had been the beginning.

  Exchanging sex for ration cards, and other goods was a whole lot easier than slaving away at the wall. She had never gone back to her work site after that evening. She had immediately moved into an unused apartment in another neighborhood in case anyone official came looking for her.

  Now she was twenty-one. Her figure had filled out and was again trim and shapely. She was one of only a few women in the business. With a no-money economy and only the ration cards and work assignments, few women saw any advantages in pursuing it.

  Fulfilling men’s desires worked well for Lori Sue. Along with the ration cards, she traded for clothing, shoes, wine and liquor, and jewelry. She would collect anything she thought could help ensure her survival. There were still gaps between meals sometimes, but nowhere near as often as she had feared. As her clientele grew, she could be selective; she turned down many more men than she accepted. Sometimes she would turn down a man even if it did mean skipping a meal. The militia were a rough bunch; she sometimes thought there wasn’t much difference between them and Joe’s group of thugs.

  As time went on, she was amassing a cache of supplies—storable food and medicine, bandages, and even a weapon. In a drunken, debauched evening with a militia supply clerk, she had secured a 9mm Glock, with fifty rounds of ammunition to go with it. Afterwards the clerk had been terrified that she would let it be known how she came to have the weapon. Lori Sue had assured him that if he looked out for her she would keep their secret safe. This leverage only helped to improve her income. She kept the gun hidden in the heating duct of her apartment. Citizens were not allowed to possess weapons, but Lori Sue was not going to be caught defenseless again by any catastrophe.