by Hannah Ross
Miller shrugged. "Whatever you choose. Nobody is forcing you to go. Human rights and all, you know. Those who don't like taking risks are welcome to stay at Copperstone and eat three meals a day at federal expense for the next twenty years."
There was a sudden loud noise as one of the prisoners slapped his thigh. "Damn it all. I'm gonna do it! I'm gonna go across the Boundary, and grab one of them empty houses there, and I'm gonna fish and hunt and grub for food somehow. And I'm gonna get myself one of those wild chicks who have nobody proper to tame them. It'll be a life. What we have here is no life at all. I have twenty-five years to go in Copperstone. I'll be sixty when I get out. You might as well shoot me dead now as keep me here all those years."
Miller smiled. This was just what he thought he would hear. "I'll put you down on the list, Clay."
* * *
A week later, a bus left the gates of Copperstone Top Security Prison. It held fifty passengers in orange uniforms, and was headed toward the Boundary. As the bus passed through the Boundary gates, it was met by temporary barriers and a large contingent of well-armed men.
"What's going on here?" the driver yelled out window.
Thunder Cloud walked forward and asked the driver to open the door so he could speak with him and the passengers. When the driver hesitated, the warrior raised his voice and said, "Either you open the door so I can speak to the newcomers or you take them back to prison."
Those on the bus heard and began shouting for the driver to open the door.
A minute later, wearing an enigmatic smile, Thunder Cloud stood at the front of the bus. After introducing himself, he said, "We're all here to greet you and explain how things work out here.
"From what we've been told, many of you have led… hard lives. You've all done things that got you locked up for many years, perhaps with a life sentence. Whatever it was, I don't care and neither does anyone outside there. If you decide to step out of this bus, you're choosing to join those who prefer the freedom to shape and live their own lives to suffering under a dictatorship that preys on the many to benefit the wealthy, powerful families who've ruled the Boundary for generations.
"If you choose to join us, you'll find life can still be hard out here. Not as hard as it was ten or fifteen years ago, but there are no shortcuts. You'll be free to go off on your own, or join one of the many camps, or…" He shrugged. "Out here is freedom. But if you think you'll carry on the way you did to get yourself locked up, you best stay on the bus and go back. We don't have jails or prisons out here. We have graves. And the surest way to find yourself six feet under is to cheat or steal or rape or kill. Any questions?"
"Yeah," said a man a few rows back. "Where do we get clothes to replace this orange prison stuff?
"If you have money, you can make your way to Resurrection Town and buy some. If not, you find work and earn the money or trade labor for clothes. Personally, I'd just keep wearing them since they're sturdy and will last a good long while. Nobody will care who you are or what you did if you're polite and respectful and willing to work.
"There's a food tent outside for those who are hungry. There's also some flyers with the names and locations of folks who are looking for help. Most of the places offer room and board in exchange for work with some small wage. Some might turn into a partnership down the road if you stick with it, learn, and work hard. But let me warn you. Everyone out here has friends and we all look out for each other. If you were to partner up on a farm or mine or whatever, and some unfortunate event befalls your partner, you can pretty much count on a similar event befalling you. Understood?"
27
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Ben rubbed his temples, staving off a headache that threatened to creep in. Though he was a camp leader for years, being on the Council of Leaders was quite different. It seemed that, even doing as much task delegation as they dared, there was always some decision to make, dispute to settle, or regulation to set in place.
If it weren't for Priscilla, he would probably have thrown up his arms and walked off, but his wife helped him keep things in perspective. They both found it ironic that the girl who grew up in Silver Oaks and stealthily observed all the political intricacies of the White Tower now helped run a settlement of the Freeborn.
This morning the Council had to settle another neighborly conflict that got out of hand. Two farmers stood before them, both seething, one of them sporting a brilliant black eye, the other a bleeding lip.
"Out with it," said Sidney, who had very little patience for that sort of thing.
"This one trespassed on my land," said one of the men, making the other snort loudly.
"Your land? It ain't your land!"
"I marked it!"
"I don't care if you sprinkled it with holy water. You and your two sons can't work two hundred acres."
Ben let out a long, exasperated sigh. "Did you two think of bringing this here before lashing out with your fists?"
The two adversaries had the good grace to look abashed.
"Look, we aren't making any very complicated rules here on the Council," Ben said. "There's plenty of land to go around for everyone, but we won't tolerate land-grabbing. You're not going to get any workers anytime soon, not under the current system. People are working together now, not hiring each other, and there's not nearly enough manpower. So no, you can't claim two hundred acres to call your own."
He had a few more things to say, but to his astonishment, Thunder Cloud broke into the hall, herding at gunpoint two men in dirty orange overalls. "It's a lucky thing my people and I haven't gone home yet."
"What's going on, Thunder Cloud?" several voices called out.
"Caught these fellows here trying to break into the food stores on the outskirts of town."
Andy Steel got up. "Are you kidding me? After you warned them?" He came closer to the convicts and looked at them with an expression of distaste. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"
One of the men gave an ugly leer. "We're same as you. Just people going about their own business in a place the government can't stick its nose in.They was givin' us a lift over here, but when they stopped at a gas station so's we could use the head, they took off without us. Took us a week to walk to the crossing point. Nobody would stop to give us a ride."
He glanced at Thunder Cloud's gun and said to Sidney, whom he evidently considered to be the most reasonable person of the lot. "Would ya tell that fella to put that down?"
"Let's try to talk without pointing guns for a minute or two, Thunder Cloud," Sidney said. "So, you're saying you didn't cross over on the bus with the others?"
"That's what I just said."
"Okay. Well, now that you're here, what do you plan to do?"
The man stared as if this were obvious. "Why, whatever we feel like, right?"
Ben turned to the men. "What's your name?"
"Bart."
"And how did you get to be in Copperstone, Bart?"
"Chanced to get a few bullet holes through some dick in a bar. He had the bad luck to die."
Ben nodded. "Well, guess what, Bart. We have plenty of illegal weapons around here too. And we've got no problem using them, either... when we need to."
Bart and his companion stood silently, but it was clear Ben had their attention. "I don't care if you robbed a bank or murdered your grandma in her sleep back in the Boundary. None of us care. Around here, we don't keep White Tower records, and we don't play by the White Tower rules. We have our own rules and they aren't too many or too complicated, but we expect you to abide by them, or you won't like the consequences. You with me so far?"
Reluctantly, Bart nodded, as did his mate.
"Right, then. It's very simple. You don't bother your neighbors. You don't molest either men or women or children. You don't take over land or pasture actively used by someone else. You respect other people's property. When raiding the abandoned cities, you don't grab and hoard more supplies than you can realistically use. Basically,
you live and let live. Use your common sense. If you prove to be good neighbors, you're most welcome to stick around. If not..." Ben shrugged, "We don't have a complicated legal system like in the Boundary. You can't hire a lawyer to muck around for you. Around here, if you bug people, you might just find yourself put to bed with a shovel, and nobody gets the blame. Do I make myself clear?"
"Crystal clear, boss," said Bart.
"I'm not your boss. Nobody is your boss now. So how about you make the most of this change in your circumstances. Have a seat over there and someone will get you some food and water and we'll find a place for you to sleep tonight. Tomorrow, you can start looking for work or head out into the wild to see what you can do on your own."
Ben walked over to confer with Andy, Sidney, and Thunder Cloud.
"That was one impressive speech," Sidney said.
Ben closed his eyes. "Remind me. What do we have written down in the criminal rehabilitation program?"
* * *
Priscilla had a fit when she heard about the two stray prisoners. "We can't allow this, Ben. We have women and children around here. We can't have thieves, rapists, and murderers wandering around."
"What are we supposed to do?"
"I don't know! Just get them to leave. Go away from here. We can't allow them to remain here. It will bring down all we've been trying to build."
"People used to think the same way about us, you know."
"You know that isn't the same, Ben. These are convicted criminals we are talking about."
"We can't force them to go. And we do need the extra labor force. We need it pretty badly, Pris. And we're going to have armed greeting parties at all Boundary crossings to lay out the rules, just like Thunder Cloud did with the bus those two were supposed to be on. We might as well give them a chance."
Priscilla snorted. "If anything keeps them in line, it will be your promise to shoot them on the spot if need be. You know, Ben, I sometimes wonder whether trying to keep up Resurrection Town isn't more trouble than it's worth. Maybe it would be better for us all to retire to camps and homesteads."
Ben looked at her in surprise. "You were the one who convinced me that such a model isn't viable."
"I know." She leaned her head on the palm of her hand. "If we can keep up a town, we can be so much better organized, especially since we don't have established Internet or cell phones or radio, or any of those things the people in the Boundary take for granted. But when I see those convicts... Those men have no laws or limits, Ben. They're dangerous."
"As a matter of fact, they did obey some kind of law. The law of the criminal world. No one lives in a vacuum, you know, and everyone follows some sort of rules. If we can get them to follow ours, it might work out in the end."
"I don't know, Ben," she murmured, shaking her head. Both fell silent, listening to Ian's sleepy breathing from the next room. They were staying in a small house in Resurrection Town whose owners moved back into the Boundary in panic, leaving almost all of their possessions behind.
"I think we'd better turn in early," Ben said, stifling a yawn. Seconds later, there was a knock on the door.
"Strange," Priscilla said, "who could it be at this hour?"
"Hi, Pris," Elisa said when the door opened. The shadows brought on by their friend Tom's death were still clearly visible in her face. "There's someone here who wants to see you."
"See me?" Priscilla was surprised. It was usually Ben people bothered at all hours. "Well, thank you for showing them the way, though we were just about to go to… Tilly!"
Astonished, Priscilla stepped forward and threw her arms around the older woman. "Oh, Tilly, this is just incredible! I've been so worried about you, but had no idea how to contact you."
"I was going out of my mind with worry too, Prissy," Tilly said, wiping her eyes. "And so were your mother and sister."
"How did you get across the Boundary?"
"Well, permits come easily these days."
"Still, it's one heck of a journey. You must be exhausted."
"Don't you worry about me, Prissy. A special vehicle drove me here."
"A government vehicle?" Ben frowned. "What's it doing here? They—"
"Why did they drive you here, Tilly?" Priscilla asked.
"Your mother arranged this, Prissy. She was desperate to get in touch with you, and could think of no other way. And I... I agreed to do this, because I longed to see you, and also because... because I knew I had to carry Mrs. Dahl's message. It really is the end now, Prissy. Your father is about to die."
Priscilla looked away and bit her lip. Her face was contorted in a strange grimace. "And I suppose Mother wants me to come?"
"Yes, and I think you should. The same car that brought me here is waiting to take us back."
Priscilla caught her husband's eye. "It's your father, Pris," he said gently. "If you feel you need to go, you need to go."
Priscilla, however, appeared to make up her mind. She shook her head. "No. I have nothing to do there with them. My place is here."
"But Prissy…"
"No." The tears that filled her eyes finally spilled over to run down her cheeks. "My father has been dead to me for years now. I'm sorry for my mother and Stephanie, but it's Steph's precious husband who is trying to stir up trouble for us again. I'm through with that family, Tilly. I'm staying put."
28
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Eleanor Dahl looked like the quintessential image of the well-bred lady as she stood by the large French window presenting a splendid view of the Silver Oaks grounds. She wore a flawlessly pressed dark blue suit and a crisp pearly white blouse. Her hair, dyed light brown with blonde highlights, was sleek, with just the right amount of flip at the ends. Her nails were expertly done. Nobody but those who knew her best would guess her husband was on his deathbed.
Stephanie seemed a lot more perturbed as she walked in. "How is he, Mom?"
"Much the same. I ordered them to increase the dose of morphine, and now he appears as comfortable as can be."
Stephanie bit her lip. "Are you sure it's a good idea to keep him here? Maybe in a hospital…"
"There's nothing the doctors can do for your father. He's dying, Stephanie, and he made me swear months ago that I would allow him to preserve his dignity. He didn't want to die in a hospital bed. He wanted to stay here at home until the end. I owe this to him."
Stephanie nodded. "I hoped Dad would be awake for a bit. I haven't talked to him in a while."
"He'll be awake for an hour or two in the afternoon, I think. He usually is. He'll be glad to see you."
Stephanie bit her lip. "And Prissy?"
Eleanor looked aside. "I sent a car after her. Tilly volunteered to go. She got back yesterday, but your sister wouldn't come with her."
Stephanie looked incredulous. "She wouldn't… But did Tilly explain?"
"Yes, dear. It's crystal clear to Priscilla that if she doesn't come now, she will never see her father again. Still she would not come. She's chosen her way, Stephy. Chose it a long time ago."
"This is cruel."
"I'm not so sure, Stephy. Your sister sent a letter back with Tilly. You can read it if you like. She's not without feeling. She's sorry for us, but says she can't think of anything she might possibly say to her father. I... I can't claim that is so very unreasonable."
"It is! Yes, it is! Prissy's whole life is unreasonable. That rebellion when she was a teenager, that illegal man she lives with... I don't understand. I will never understand. But I guess that's beside the point now. Mom, do you think we could have a look at him?"
Eleanor nodded. "If we go in quietly. Be careful not to wake him, Stephanie."
The women crossed a corridor, mounted a flight of stairs and opened the door leading to the room which, in better days, had been Alexander and Eleanor's bedroom. It looked more like a hospital room than anything else now, full of beeping monitors, IV drips and trays of medical equipment. A nurse, currently on lunch break, wa
s ready to be called in at a moment's notice.
In bed lay the man who was once President of the United States and had aspired to conquer the world, time, and death itself. Now he was no more than a shade of a man. His cheeks were hollow, his face pale and lined. His eyes, framed by dark circles, were closed and sunk deep into their sockets. His body was thin and frail. One bony hand lay on top of the blanket. His chest rose and fell with a visible effort. Such was the end of Alexander Dahl, the man who had once fancied himself an emperor.
The sight was too mournful. Having looked in for a few seconds, Eleanor and her eldest daughter turned and tip-toed out.
"Maybe it's a good thing Priscilla didn't come," Eleanor said. "Alexander said the less people see him in his weakness, the better. You know he and Prissy never did get along. Do you have time for lunch or are you in a hurry?"
"I could grab a quick bite."
"Come on, then. I'll tell the maid to fix us a couple of sandwiches and a salad."
They went downstairs, nodding to the nurse who was just coming up to resume her duties.
"Ned is becoming impossible," Stephanie lamented to her mother between forkfuls of arugula. "I swear he doesn't see one inch beyond his work. When I try to talk to him about something that isn't office-related, his eyes just sort of glaze over."
"That's the effect of the White Tower. It consumes men who are determined to reach the top. Your father was just the same in his day. And the higher they climb, the worse it gets."
"These days Ned is obsessed with his Reproductive Allowance Act. He gathered a committee of statisticians and financial experts and demographic experts, and they all agree that some population growth would be good for a long-term economic boost and repopulating the northern regions. So Ned thought that if he managed to push it through, it would massively raise his popularity quotient and ultimately help him when he runs for president. But the surveys say people aren't really interested in having more children, and Ned can't wrap his mind around this, not after all the mess with the illegally born."