The Directives

by Joe Nobody

  “She’ll tell them where we are,” one of the other boys sounded off.

  Shane maneuvered slightly, trying to find an angle to aim his rifle at Bishop. He was almost there when Missy decided to take a drink.

  The small girl moved a few feet forward, and without taking her eyes from Bishop’s face, put the water tube in her mouth. “You bite the end with your teeth, and water will come out,” Bishop instructed.

  Shane couldn’t shoot, Missy’s body between the stranger and him.

  For a moment, Missy’s eyes opened wide with surprise, and then Bishop saw her swallowing. After several mouthfuls, she popped the tube out and almost yelled, “That’s the best water I’ve ever tasted. Can we get more like this for the rats?”

  “Rats?”

  She didn’t answer at first, her mouth busy at the tube. While she drank, Bishop keyed the microphone on his other shoulder. “Grim? Kevin? I need you guys over by the first silo - right now. Bring as much bottled water as you can carry. I’ve made contact with the locals.”

  It took a moment, but Kevin’s voice finally sounded through his earpiece. “Sir, did you say you needed as much water as we could carry?”

  “Yes,” Bishop responded. “I think I know where the citizens of Riley are hiding. But hurry. My new friend thinks we’re about to be attacked.”

  Missy again pulled the tube out of her mouth, a smile brightening her face. “Are you hungry?” Bishop asked.

  “You have food, too?”

  Bishop dug in his pouch, producing a small bag of beef jerky, courtesy of the Beltran Ranch. “Here, eat it slowly... chew it up real good. You’ll like it.” Bishop took a bite himself, hoping to convince the suspicious girl that it wasn’t poison.

  “Damn it!” Shane hissed. “I can’t get an angle on him without hitting Missy.”

  “Wait, Shane,” Jimmy warned. “He’s giving her something to eat and drink. He’s not hurting her.”

  “He’s just doing that so she’ll tell him where we are.”

  Bishop watched Missy chew the jerky, pleased when a smile crossed her lips. “Want some more?”

  “Yes! That tastes yummy.”

  Letting her reach into the bag to fetch her own piece, Bishop said, “So are we friends now?”

  His answer came in the form of a hug, the girl’s tiny arms wrapping around his neck. Bishop scooped her up and then stood. “My friends are on the way with water,” he said. “I don’t want them to scare you.”

  Missy wanted more water, and then more jerky.

  A minute later, Bishop heard his team approaching, their arms full of water and faces full of curiosity. Bishop held up a hand, warning them to keep their distance. “Hi guys, this is my new friend Missy. From what she has told me the rest of the kids are in real need of water. Can you nice men set that down right there and then head on back to the truck?”

  Grim didn’t like it. “How about I stay here with you, Captain Ranger? That way, if the kids need any help carrying all this water, you and I can give them a hand.”

  Bishop shook his head, “Thanks, Uncle Grim, but I think Missy and I can handle it. You might go high though, just to keep an eye on things.”

  Grim understood, the rest of the team backing away slowly.

  After they had departed, Bishop turned to Missy and said, “Okay, now there is a bunch of water here. More than you can carry. What do we do with it?”

  Missy, between bits of jerky, managed to point to a gap in the pile of cinder blocks. “It’s okay. Shane and the other boys can carry it down to the catacombs.”

  Bishop realized they were probably being watched. It had never occurred to him that the grain elevator probably had significant underground machinery and storage spaces. That’s where everyone had been hiding – right underneath their feet.

  “Missy, do you think Shane and the others can hear me?”

  Even though her concentration was on the water tube, the girl still managed to nod her head.

  “Listen up,” Bishop said loudly toward the gap. “I told you all once we didn’t mean any harm. I wasn’t lying. I’m going to let Missy go and walk away. You can have the water. I only ask one thing. Send someone out to talk with us. You don’t have to hide and suffer. If you’ve got sick among you, at least send them out. We’ll try to help them.”

  Bishop bent over, gently setting Missy on the ground. “Come out and visit me again, Missy. I like having new friends.”

  “Thank you, Mister Texas Ranger. Can I have some more of that meat?”

  Bishop gave her the whole bag and then stood up.

  “I’ve got him,” Shane whispered, his finger tightening on the trigger.

  “Shane, no!” Jimmy shouted. “He’s not a raider. Don’t!”

  Bishop could hear the low voices, but wasn’t sure what was going on. He began stepping back toward the truck without giving the suspected opening a second glance.

  Shane lowered his rifle, throwing a dirty look at his second in command. “Why did you stop me?”

  “Because he could have taken Missy. He could have hurt her or killed her if he wanted to. He could have ordered his men to start searching for the opening, but he didn’t. He left water and asked that we talk to him. I think he is a Texas Ranger, and if you won’t go out there, I will.”

  Shane glanced at the other boys gathered in the entry, trying to read their expressions. About then, Missy appeared at the opening, her arms toting a couple of bottles of water. “Look, Shane! Look what the ranger gave me! There’s a lot more out there. He’s a nice man.”

  Thirty minutes later, Bishop looked up and spotted Shane approaching the truck. The local looked like shit, but still held his head up high. “So what do you want?” he opened.

  “I know you guys have seen your share of bad men. I know some of them probably hurt your town and the people who live here. But we aren’t here to harm anybody. We’re here to take all this corn and distribute it to farmers and ranchers so they can grow more food and feed millions of starving people.”

  “You can’t take our corn… we’ll starve to death without it,” Shane protested, his eyes getting wild.

  “No,” Bishop reassured. “We won’t let you starve. As a matter of fact, our intent is that your lives will improve… Riley’s survivors cannot possibly consume all the corn in the silos, nor is it healthy for that to be your primary food source over time. You need so many resources that the Alliance can provide. No doubt the lives of the little children will be better. How many orphans do you have?”

  Shane almost didn’t answer, still hesitant to share too much information. “There are about 30 of them.”

  “And the adults?”

  “All dead… but me.”

  Bishop stepped up to Shane and extended his hand as well as a sincere compliment. “Well, young man, you deserve a reward for that kind of community service,” the Alliance negotiator proclaimed. “I have a newborn at home, and my wife and I struggle to keep up with him sometimes. I cannot imagine assuming responsibility for so many youngsters by myself.” After a pregnant pause, Shane finally accepted the gesture. Grim, Cory and Kevin approached, each introducing themselves and shaking hands.

  Twenty minutes later, the Alliance team was helping the residents of the catacombs climb to the surface, passing out water and small bits of food. Cory gathered the sickest to one side, the man showing a natural affection for children as he cleaned scraped knees and listened to coughing lungs.

  “What now?” Shane asked, after they all were on the surface.

  “Go home,” Bishop replied. “Go back to what you were doing before we got here. In a few days, some more of our people will start arriving. I’ll be right here until the details are all worked out. We’ll bring food, a doctor, and others. Work with us. We’re good people. We can help you.”

  Bishop watched the seemingly endless line of trucks cued to fill their beds with corn. Motioning for Shane to follow, the two men walked for a bit, eventually arriving at the quieter res
idential area.

  “You look like you’ve put on weight?” Bishop said.

  “Yeah… probably a few pounds. The fruit and beef your people brought was the first I’ve had in almost two years. The kids are loving it.”

  Bishop was about to warn Shane to stay away from Pete’s bathtub gin when the doctor sauntered over.

  After exchanging greetings, the physician announced, “I have good news. We finally figured out why the adults all lost their sanity. There are no diseases or viruses hereabouts. It appears as though they were all suffering from Pellagra.”

  “What’s that?” Bishop asked.

  “It is essentially caused by a niacin deficiency, sometimes associated with a diet heavy in corn consumption… or at least corn not treated properly. Something in the maize inhibits the body from absorbing the B vitamin, and that can lead to mental instability. After the Civil War, the southern United States suffered epidemic waves of Pellagra. Another big outbreak occurred in 1907. In some adults, it can cause mental instability. Often, violence is associated with the condition.”

  “Never heard of it,” Shane responded, “But how come I didn’t come down with it? Or the kids?”

  “It doesn’t affect everybody. And, as an adult, you were probably eating alternative food sources, so you probably got enough niacin to avoid it. Children rarely suffer from it.”

  “So there’s nothing contagious we have to worry about?” Bishop asked, wanting to go home and avoid being quarantined from Terri and Hunter.

  “Nope, nothing to worry about. You’re free to go,” the doctor replied.

  After the physician had continued onto his next task, Shane and Bishop strolled a bit more toward downtown Riley. It was a remarkably different place than when the Alliance team had arrived just 15 days before.

  An Army-provided generator was humming in the distance, its electric output powering the town’s water well and a few key buildings. Bishop grunted, remembering the day when the life-sustaining liquid had become readily available again. One of the Alliance engineers and he had proudly marched to a corner fire hydrant and opened the valve to help flush the rusty, grungy pipes.

  Before long, a crowd of small faces had appeared, watching the fountain of shooting water as if it were some sort of religious miracle. Bishop had handed his rifle to someone, gathered up Missy, and then stepped into the waterfall of gloriously cool refreshment.

  Missy had squealed with delight, quickly demanding to be put down, and then running back and forth through the shower. In less than a minute, all of the children were soaking wet, laughing, splashing, and playing. Now that’s what a neighborhood should sound like, Bishop had thought.

  As Shane and he continued into the small business district, the men noted the activity surrounding the church.

  The parking lot was filled with school buses. Homeless, desperate people were being relocated from Dallas. The military commander there had been instructed to post “life skill openings,” for residents of the Big-D who had previous experience such as law enforcement, childcare, gardening, and civil engineering. Special priority was given to young couples who wanted to adopt.

  Anyone who was willing to work and wanted a fresh start away from the city was welcome to sign up. The response had been overwhelming.

  So the Alliance had organized buses for transportation to the small village and begun the process of repopulating Riley, Texas. The bustling church now served double duty as the local welcome center.

  The imports had started arriving a few days ago, the tops of the buses covered with suitcases, bags of personal items, and even a few small pieces of furniture. Ropes crisscrossed the rooftop cargo, eager faces peering out the windows at their new home and hopefully a better life.

  “It’s going to be weird around here,” Shane noted. “All these new people and activity. I guess it’s good for the kids though. Now they won’t have to raise themselves.”

  Bishop nodded, pointing with his head at a young man and woman having a picnic with Missy and another small girl – a first step in the process of gently pairing up adults with the town’s orphans.

  “You did a great job,” Bishop said, putting his hand on the local man’s shoulder. “I don’t know anyone who could have done any better. Those kids you helped keep alive will be tough as nails, smart and perceptive. They will be the next generation of leaders and help make sure nothing like the collapse ever happens again.”

  As the two men studied the bonding-picnic, a voice sounded out from behind. “Mr. Mayor? Mr. Mayor?” One of the Alliance volunteers called, seeking Shane’s attention.

  Bishop grinned at the young man’s reaction, a shy frown, and flush of red at the title.

  “Accept it,” the Texan whispered as the volunteer approached. “There’s no one better for the job. You earned it.”

  “The candidates for town marshal are ready for you to begin the interviews, sir. We have them seated over at the school,” the Alliance coordinator informed Shane.

  Turning to Bishop with a face full of helplessness, Shane shrugged and said, “No rest for the wicked. Any advice as to what I should be looking for in a lawman?”

  Bishop grinned and shook his head, “No clue… but, if any of them are named Grim, I’d pass.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to be a general?” Terri asked, watching her husband check himself in the mirror for the tenth time.

  Bishop grunted, flashing a shy smirk. “I haven’t earned that rank. Matter of fact, I probably haven’t earned the rank of captain.”

  Terri couldn’t help herself; seeing Bishop in a vulnerable state was so rare. “How about Admiral Smarty Pants? Commodore Manly Man? Field Marshal Bishop? That’s it! Field Marshal Bishop! You could hang a ton of medals and ribbons across your chest like all those tin pan dictators used to do before the collapse.”

  “Terri! Stop. Besides, I don’t think the Texas Rangers had such ranks. Captain was about it.”

  Deciding she’d teased enough, she stepped beside him and toyed with the shoulder of his new jacket, her voice becoming low and sultry. “You know… I find a man in uniform incredibly sexy, regardless of his rank. After the ceremony, you could be Mark Anthony… I could be Cleopatra. You know, your butt looks great in those pants, Mark.”

  Bishop looked down at his adoring wife and smiled. Formally taking a knee in front of her, he bowed his head and tried his best to quote Shakespeare, “Finish, good lady; the bright day is done, and we are for the dark. I love you, my queen.”

  It was Terri’s turn to be embarrassed. Flushing red, she lifted his head with a hand at both cheeks and looked into his eyes. “I love you, too.”

  He scooped her up in a blur, effortlessly carrying her to the nearby bed, ignoring her protests. Setting her down gently, he kissed her passionately, eventually pinning her to the mattress with his weight.

  Terri responded to the embrace, but soon sensed an urgency building inside him. It wasn’t the time. “Bishop… Bishop… the ceremony. We can’t be late.”

  Nuzzling her neck, he whispered, “They won’t mind waiting. The delay will be for a good cause. No one will blame me.”

  “Bishop. Stop,” she giggled. “That tickles, and I have to get Hunter ready. Later, my love. I promise to be Cleopatra, and so much more - but later.”

  He relented, raising off her with an expression that made it clear the decision wasn’t easy. “This is all such a farce,” he started, reluctantly returning to the mirror. “I don’t see the need for all this pomp and circumstance.”

  Terri stood, straightening her dress and checking her hair in the mirror. “Oh, stop being such a spoilsport. Nick and the military guys believe they owe you a debt of gratitude. I think they feel a little guilty about doubting you over that massacre. Then what happened at Brighton just deepened their remorse. Smile, be happy and enjoy the festivities.”

  “It just seems like a waste of resources. Instead of having a party, we should be out helping the rest of the state recover.
We have a ton of work to do. Riley was just the beginning.”

  Terri put her hands on her hips and tilted her head, a clear indication that she wanted to be taken seriously. “We’ve been through this a dozen times. The people in the remote areas want and need organization. Your little white lie in Riley worked, and it got everyone to thinking. Most people respect the Texas Rangers. We’ve already proved rolling into those towns with force doesn’t work. But the Rangers showing up… then folks might listen for a few minutes before they start shooting.”

  Bishop frowned, not buying the argument. “So just give me a little tin star, and let’s get on with it. Why all the hoopla?”

  Terri exhaled in frustration with his stubbornness. “We have to play the role. People desperately want to see their leaders succeeding. It shows progress and optimism, a chance at a better future. The ceremony today isn’t for you, my husband; it’s for them. While I love that wonderful humility of yours, now isn’t the time. The people need this acknowledgment of service and reward. They want you to be honored. They need to see good deeds are indeed valued and appreciated. Like it or not, we’re part of leadership, and we have to act like it.”

  But Bishop didn’t like it. “Look, all I wanted to do is head back to the ranch and take another shot at a garden. Mr. Beltran said he’d give us a few head of cattle in trade. We could start a herd. I could play with Hunter in the evenings, and maybe even start gathering the materials to build a proper house. We’ve done our part. We’ve helped as much as anyone with the recovery. I’ve even got the patched up holes in my body to prove it,” he protested, gesturing at his injuries.

  She moved close to him again, standing on her tiptoes and kissing his cheek. “I share the same dream with you, but we’re committed. You should know as well as anyone that this… everything we’ve worked for… could all go south on a moment’s notice. There’s so much left to be done. I promise, swear on my mother’s grave, that I’ll step down, and we’ll retire to the ranch as soon as I see the recovery sustaining itself.”