As it approached dinner time, it was clear to Tanner that it would be more than an overnight encampment but there was no sign they would be venturing out in the dark that night. So, they did not post a look out.
In the morning, Jason and Tanner went back out to the lookout because they would be the most likely to spot any changes from the previous night. It appeared that the main encampment was at the golf course while the Bell Rock parking lot was used to store all the peripheral vehicles. By mid-morning they observed a jeep leave the encampment and then appear again on Jack’s Canyon Road. It had a loudspeaker mounted on it and they detected a voice, but could not determine what it was saying. They drove all the way to the burned out Pine Valley community and then retraced their route back. Because a lot of the view of the Village was obscured by the mesa, they couldn’t see where the jeep went next, though it kept reappearing in their line of site at irregular intervals. Tanner informed Bishop what they were seeing and Bishop, without being there, deduced that whoever they were, they were sending out a scouting party with the intention of seeing where people were living. As if to prove his deduction, a personnel carrier headed out of the camp, apparently toward Verde School Road and a half hour later returned with a half dozen people debarking at the main encampment.
Jack suggested this must be one of the convoys the President had mentioned in his last radio transmission almost five years earlier, and they were searching out survivors to evacuate to one of the relocation centers.
“I guess we ought to go hear what these people have to say,” offered Bishop.
“I’m not so sure,” responded Travis. “Not based on what I know about the government.”
“Well,” said Tanner, “the folks who came in on the truck did go back out as well, so it’s not like they’re holding anyone captive. I think we owe it to our community to hear what they have to say.”
“Okay,” responded Bishop, “here’s what I propose.” And he told them.
Right after lunch, Tanner, Travis, Jessie, Jason, and Bishop, left in Tanner’s jeep. Bishop felt that Jessie, who was young and attractive, would help in deterring any aggressive behavior the unknown soldiers might have toward them and Jason would stay back, not entering the encampment with them, and keep an eye on things through his binoculars—and his rifle. Bishop’s eyesight was now down to only a pinpoint of light, so he was accompanied by Dolly who Tanner had equipped with a collar and leash made from some the tack at the horse ranch. She was now at least a year old and well-trained to remain by Bishop’s side and help keep him out of trouble. Though he was visually challenged, he felt he was still the leader of the Duwanians and should be present to hear what the soldiers had to say.
They parked the Jeep near the burned out Wild Turkey condos and walked from there. Bishop wanted to have the vehicle unseen by the soldiers but close enough for a quick escape if they needed it. He had one of his aluminum hiking sticks in his left hand for balance and Dolly’s leash in his right hand.
As they approached the encampment, they observed it was set up in a semi-circle with the open portion of the circle facing where Chapman’s used to be. In the middle of the tent line was a tent flying an American flag, and they determined that was probably the location of the head honcho. There were sentries posted at the approach to the camp, but no one accosted them. They did eyeball them quite closely, however—especially Jessie.
Before they had to decide how to knock on the doorless tent, a man stepped out in full uniform. He had one star on his collar, his uniform was freshly pressed, his shoes were spit-shined, probably someone else’s spit, and his posture told everyone he was in command. It appeared that, even in the field, one star had its perks. As he stepped forward with his hand extended toward Bishop, a low rumble started deep in Dolly’s throat, and the General stepped back. “Easy,” Bishop said quietly to Dolly. She stopped growling but stayed alert at Bishop’s leg.
“Welcome,” the General said. “Are you here to join our relocation caravan?”
“Well,” said Bishop. “Could be. But we’d like to know what we’re buying into. I assume it’s voluntary,” he added.
“Absolutely,” replied the General, “but there’s no reason not to improve your living conditions and relocate to a place that has plenty of food, water, medical attention, and opportunity. And, of course, security,” he added.
Obviously, he has no idea what our living conditions are or he would have couched his sales pitch in a totally different way, Bishop thought, but did not say.
“Well,” continued the General, “I’ve been authorized by the President to transport any people we find, up to Flagstaff, where you’ll board a train to Kansas City. There we have developed large communities of folks just like yourselves where the government has set up infrastructure, like water and sanitation. The residential areas are gated to provide the maximum of security.”
“What kind of housing would we live in?” asked Bishop.
“Well, for now,” the General responded, “we have large barracks with accommodations for families and single people. You won’t be separated from your friends unless you want to be.”
“And, how do you feed us?” Bishop asked.
“That’s a good question,” the General said, with a broad smile on his face. “We have large herds of cattle assembled, with acres and acres of pasture. We also have immense acreage under cultivation and have accessed the country’s strategic fuel supply to run mechanized farm equipment. We have milk cows and chickens, goats, sheep, and hogs, and even some fruit trees. You see,” he said, “we’ve provided for all the essential food needs.”
“Well, that sounds quite interesting,” Bishop replied, using a voice quality that seemed to convey real interest in the General’s information. “What do we do with our time,” he asked.
The General smiled and, as if giving deep thought to his answer finally said, “Well, of course there’ll be plenty of work in the agricultural sector to keep you busy and, for those that have other specialized skills such as construction, welding, woodwork, food preparation and cooking, there will be ample places to use those skills. There will be tasks in the sanitation sector to be done regularly, as well,” he added, again with some thought.
“How about security, management, and leadership?” inquired Bishop, ”will there be opportunities there, as well?”
“Well, there may be,” responded the General, “but I’m sure you can appreciate that they’d be limited, what with the military and U.S. government personnel in charge,” he said, as if that was meant to reassure Bishop and his entourage. “You know,” the General continued, “we have a large group of your community out by Red Rock State Park who have already agreed to join us. They’re getting their things together and we’ll be picking them all up in our trucks tomorrow morning. There must be 30 or more of them, and they were sure in bad straits. Surprised they even made it this long, given the conditions,” he added. “We sure hope y’all will join us, too.”
“Well,” said Bishop, looking around at the rest of his group, “I think we’ll need to discuss your generous offer with the rest of our group, nowhere near the size of the State Park group, and then let you know. We certainly appreciate what you’re doing and some extra food and water and a train ride sounds real interesting,” he said with faked enthusiasm. “It’s hard to imagine what your relocation communities must look like but, well, I guess that remains to be seen.”
The General puffed up, knowing he’d most likely receive some more ribbons or something for his chest if he sent a loaded train back to Kansas City.
“Well, don’t wait too long,” he said. “We’re only going to be here for two more days and then we head to Cottonwood and Prescott. We have a lot of country to cover while the weather’s still good.”
“I can see your point,” Bishop replied. “As I said, we’ll discuss it and take your deadline into consideration.” With that Bishop gave the General a crisp salute and the General, caught off guard, returned t
he salute. Bishop turned, followed by the others, and walked casually toward the exit. Dolly looked over her shoulder and gave another low growl and then heeled to Bishop. They didn’t look back until they reached where Jason had been positioned, and he assured them they weren’t following. With deliberate speed they reached the car and headed home, looking in their rearview mirror frequently.
When they got back to Duwa, Bishop called everyone together, because he knew they all wanted an update. Bishop gave them the information.
“You know,” said Travis, “it’s just as I said back when we heard those early broadcasts, they’ve created labor camps they call relocation centers and paint this pretty picture about life in the new suburbia. But they don’t fool me—it’s still a labor camp.”
“Granted,” replied Tanner, “and what concerns me is what happens when the food supply is outstripped by the mouths to feed? They can’t possibly build enough relocation centers to feed and house the potential number of refugees, and that’s what they’d call us, especially in the winter. Are they going to impose quotas on the number of refugees they’ll let in? What then? And how about births? Are they going to prohibit sexual relations and pregnancy?”
Kiera, who was now 10, giggled, as did most of the other children. She and the others were well aware of the import of that idea.
“All right,” said Bishop. “Does anyone have any questions?”
“Can we take our cats and dogs and Burrito with us?” asked Kiera. “And what about our chickens?”
“Well, I don’t rightly know,” responded Bishop, containing a chuckle, knowing that his granddaughter was absolutely serious.
Carly spoke up. “I know that a fair number of us are reaching the age that we’ll have fewer and fewer seasons ahead of us. But, many of you, still have your whole lives ahead of you. I think we old folk should have a vote, but I think it’s the younger ones who really have to make the decision—to stay or go.”
Jessie responded. “You are my family and Duwa is my home. In fact, it’s the only real home I’ve ever known. I vote to stay.”
“So do I,” echoed Jason. “I know we will have our crises here, but we’ve had them before and we’ll survive like we always have—as a community.”
“And, if we’re going to have to work so hard in Kansas City, doing all the same kinds of things we’re doing here, why exchange our Duwanian lifestyle for that of a relocation center, work camp, or whatever?” said Philip. “At least here, we have a say in our future and we help each other because we want to, because we’re family. I vote to stay.”
They held the vote and there was no dissent. Even the children, who feared losing their pets, voted to stay.
At dinner the only conversation was about the relocation center—and no one’s opinion changed—they all wanted to stay put in Duwa.
Following dinner, Jack scanned the air waves, as he still did from time to time, just in case, and he caught the end of an Emergency Alert System broadcast. It caught him by surprise because the radio had been silent for so long.
The announcer was saying: “…Acting FEMA Director. Ladies and Gentlemen. On behalf of the President, I want to assure you that, though you have not heard any broadcasts from your government for many years, we have not been idle in our attempts to restore order and normalcy to life in these United States. We now have resettlement centers in all the regions of the United States, and your fellow countrymen and women have been moving to these centers in record numbers.”
“That’s wonderful,” said Travis. “Anyone moving into one of the centers is a record. What do they have to compare to?”
“We have military units scouring the countryside to inform you of the resettlement centers, to invite you to join us, and to provide immediate food, water, and medical assistance, and then provide for your transportation to the closest center. I, and the President, hope you will avail yourselves of this wonderful opportunity provided through FEMA, and help us to restore the greatness we formerly experienced. Working together we will rebuild America. Thank you for your time and attention.”
The announcer concluded by saying, “This has been a broadcast of the National Emergency Alert Service. Good night and God Bless America.”
The entire group broke out laughing.
“He’s a little late getting the word out,” said Travis, “and I wonder how many actually can hear it. I did notice that it was the Acting FEMA Director, whoever he is, and not the President. They must have one of the golf courses operational again.”
And, everyone laughed again.
For the next two days they kept an eye on the activity at the encampment and, on the second day, true to the General’s word, the soldiers broke camp, loaded the trucks, and the convoy drove back toward Sedona and the highway to the other communities to the west. Bishop wondered whether the General ever gave a second thought to Bishop and the community he represented, other than maybe “those damned fools.”◘
Chapter 46
Permanency and Change
It was as if a large weight had been lifted from their shoulders when they made the decision three years earlier not to go to a resettlement community and to make Duwa their permanent home. Life in Duwa was now, more or less, routine.
From time to time they would see small groups of people moving through the Village and, based on firelight that could be seen at night, figured that some of these people were actually planning on staying. That was all well and good with the Duwanians and, maybe, someday they would get acquainted. But, for the present, Duwanians would stay to themselves.
◘ ◘ ◘ ◘ ◘
Instead of using the cotton to make cloth, which was very time consuming and, at least for now an unnecessary use of the limited amount of cotton available to them from Hauptman Farm, Celeste taught them how to make quilts using swatches of various fabrics they had collected from the mansion and other homes, as well as their own. The enormous amount of curtain fabric they had salvaged over the years, under Celeste’s guidance, made beautiful quilt patterns, which they backed with sheets and stuffed with cotton batting. The quilts were in high demand from the other farms and constituted a major portion of Duwa’s trade goods—along with honey and applebutter pots. The women also made colorful patchwork shirts and jackets that had become the current generation of Duwanians’ distinctive trademark. Other farms wanted them, but Celeste and the other women agreed they would not trade with these items—it set them apart from everyone else.
The popularity of Travis’ fresh honey inspired Elle to design and manufacture little lidded pots for the honey, and the demand for the “honeypots” was almost more than Travis and Elle could keep up with. Because of the iron in the clay Elle had found, and the firing technique she used, the pots had a beautiful polished auburn finish, engraved with the silhouette of the sun with an inset “D” that was the Duwa logo. To her delight, Elle found that her daughter, Kathleen, was interested in learning to do pottery, as were Kiera who was now 13 and Olivia, Colby’s daughter, who was now 19. The young men gathered the clay she required, and Kiera and Olivia helped fashion the pots. For now, Elle was in charge of the firing, but was instructing the girls each time it was done. Travis, on the other hand, with the assistance of Jason and Tate, was dividing the hives approximately every two years and now had eight working hives: four in the greenhouse and four in the open field beyond the old parking lot, which bloomed with wildflowers every spring. In the future, as the hives grew and were divided, they would expand the hives in the field and put some in Duwa Valley, as well. Keeping up with the honeypot production was more the responsibility of the bees than it was of Travis and Elle. Once the apple orchard was producing fruit, still several years away, they talked about creating their own form of unsweetened applebutter or applesauce, as well, that could also be put in ceramic pots for trading, but for now, the honeypots kept them plenty busy.
◘ ◘ ◘ ◘ ◘
It was the beginning of spring. In fact, had Carly consulted her journa
l calendar and told them, it was April 8, 2024, only four months from being 8 PSE. But she had passed away of pneumonia the previous winter, despite Mel’s prodigious ministrations and the use of aspirin and yellow rabbit brush tea; the only medicines available to her. Carly was the first resident of Duwa to die. She was buried in the wildflower field with the ceremony and respect a founding elder of Duwa deserved. There was no headstone or other adornment on the grave, as had been decided in a village meeting several years back. Marking the grave, they felt, simply alerted others to its existence and possible desecration in the future. She was not buried with any personal adornments, but wrapped in a sheet with some flowers picked from plants in the greenhouse placed on her chest, and buried deep enough to discourage coyotes. Bishop, with Dolly by his side, presided in the very short remembrance—it was winter and cold, and what could be said that everyone living in Duwa did not already know about Carly?
“She was my companion, my friend, and my wife for 46 years. She was my rock when I needed it and my conscience when I needed grounding. She was a wonderful mother, grandmother, and here in Duwa, an Aunt. I see her in my mind’s eye as she was the day I married her, and I give thanks for all the wonderful years we had together,” he said, and then turned and slowly walked back to the village with Kiera holding his hand and Dolly walking dutifully beside him. Carly’s journals were wrapped in plastic and placed in the gun safe in the Meeting Hall where future generations could benefit from the day-to-day history of Duwa she had written.
Sinagua Rising: A story of survival after a worldwide catastrophe Page 55