Fortress Farm Trilogy: Volumes 1, 2 & 3 (Fortress Farm Series)

by G. R. Carter

  “Ok, that’s the end of our municipal maintenance programs, gentlemen. Phil and Clark, those vehicles are now officially on your budget instead of ours,” Anderson said.

  Everyone chuckled nervously. What they were doing was so far from legal it wasn’t even worth discussing anymore. Survival took precedent over rule of law, even though the idea of fighting for your life in your own hometown still seemed absurd. Americans always expected the government to show up at some point and help, even rural Americans who had been let down by the government time after time. If people couldn’t get their minds around the fact that no one was coming to save them, though, they soon wouldn’t have to worry about what was legal.

  Olsen needed Phil to understand how important he thought this was. This was a glimmer of hope for the group and now the sheriff wanted to make this fort project his mission.

  “Phil, I appreciate all the work you’ve done getting the biofuel plant up and running. And what you and Anna have done to bring the county farmers on board with our food plan is unbelievable. But I need you to ramrod this castle project. Paul and The Wizards can handle the Greenstem refinery, and everyone knows Anna is the real brains behind your family.” Olsen smiled at Phil. The way to truly get to this man was to compliment the woman that he adored. Phil wasn’t fooled, though; he knew what Olsen was doing.

  “I understand, Clark. If we can protect our food supply and give our people a place to call their own that will go a long way to keeping morale up. We’ll make this work,” Hamilton assured them.

  The mayors filed out of the room one by one. No one spoke it aloud, but people noticed a certain confidence carried lately by the group. The time for real leaders was back and finally someone was answering the call.

  Chapter Twelve – The Pullback

  Silicon Valley

  One Month after the Great Reset

  Rowan opened his still stinging eyes, taking in the familiar surroundings of his meditation room. Bright sunshine washed over the sparkling white walls and he felt the solar warmth on his skin. Too bright for his pounding head, he instinctively reached for the dimmer switch to activate the automatic tint feature built into the triple-layered windows. Of course, nothing happened, forcing the painful memory of the power failure back to his mind.

  How did I get here? If the power is still out, how did I get through the door? He would have to find the answers, and find that traitor Angela. She was going to pay for this, hard. He walked to the auto-slide door, but nothing happened. He pressed the manual override button, but still nothing. He pounded on the door, yelling for security or anyone. At this point in the day, there should be dozens or hundreds of people in the corridors outside. Everything in the meditation rooms was soundproofed, but occasionally he thought he could still make out the sound of human voices above the sound of his heartbeat. He put his ear up to the door. Can I hear them now?

  The complete lack of sound caused a painful ringing in his ears. No white noise, no people noise, not even the whir of the air conditioning system. Regardless of the millions he spent to make this chamber devoid of sound, he always swore he still heard the air exchange units kick in while meditating. He fired three HVAC contractors because of it. But not now. The units must not be working at all, because he could feel the temperature rising in the room. What can I do now? He returned to the large dentist-style chair that served as his meditation station.

  Too much had happened in the last twenty-four hours; I think it’s been twenty-four hours, anyway…there were no clocks in his sanctuary. Need to process my thoughts and focus on a plan. As he reclined in the chair, he stared out the picture window to the trees and hills out around. He could make out buildings peeking above the tree tops, but no movement. A slight wisp of black smoke arose from about a mile out. He couldn’t tell if that was a house, a car or something else. Hopefully nothing serious. California continued to suffer a drought that had been dragging on now for about thirty years. Vegetation surrounding this arid landscape was kept alive mostly by diverted rivers and desalinization plants working 24/7. His mind wandered. What would happen if they didn’t get water up here? Would all the vegetation die off? Wildfires might come right up to the base of The Spaceship; if they dried out, the landscape plants would made the area a tinderbox.

  Time drifted away as he stared off into the tan and brown mottling of the hills around. His mind continued to race, suffering the withdrawal of a brain still used to receiving outside stimulus every nanosecond. The headaches pounded again, and he closed his eyes and drifted back to sleep.

  *****

  Rowan placed his forehead against the window of his meditation room. He estimated about two weeks passed since GRAPEVINE shut down the world as he knew it. The world as I created it. That realization came to his mind a few days ago. The real world really wasn’t a bunch of wires and silicon. GRAPEVINE existed as a mask over the real world, trying to keep humans from facing the realities existing for thousands of generations. Had it been for the good of mankind that he attempted to shelter the world from those realities? He thought so at one time. I think my intentions were good, but now I’m not so sure.

  He munched on a protein bar he took from the plastic cooler sitting in the back corner. That mysteriously appeared the morning he awoke trapped in this room. Rowan hadn’t noticed it for two days; he was too busy beating on walls and crying on the floor, begging for help. Someone left him enough water and food, if you can call it that, to take the edge off whenever he was hungry or thirsty. The mystery benefactor also left him what appeared to be a type of modern chamber pot. The seal on the lid kept the stink from his waste to a minimum in the small room. But without any constant air exchange, the odor still lingered after the lid was opened.

  During all his time trapped here, he witnessed only one person wandering around the grounds below. Hard telling where everyone went, Rowan thought; even he didn’t actually live in The Spaceship itself. He owned a multi–million dollar condo a few miles from here, though he hadn’t set foot inside for almost a month before the power went out. Assuming that most people stayed at home the day after the Old World died, he began to run through the scenarios that probably happened.

  Funny, he never considered what might happen in his employees' lives before now. He didn’t know who might have families near or far. Even ages or backgrounds were a mystery to him. He knew their religious affiliations, but mostly because they were followers of the Continuity Path. At least, that’s what they professed. For sure it’s what they all practiced; Rowan and the other business leaders in the Valley made sure of that. There was no written policy excluding other faiths, of course. No need to mess with some lawsuit from an old religion type. Everyone just knew the key to getting hired and staying employed meant completing the Progressions and building an elite Profile.

  Had Continuity itself been a failure? How could the Profiles live without electricity? Would the main hubs of the Network still be functioning, even now? He thought about the small nuclear reactor sitting ten miles away from here, hooked directly into this building. Who was maintaining that? Would it melt down?

  Rowan wasn’t concerned about the safety of the reactor itself. It was almost a mile down, encased in concrete, and The Spaceship sat outside of what nuclear engineers insisted was the estimated blast zone. But what about the constant source of power that was promised? Five hundred years without refueling, and near-perfect environmental impact. The space-age system seemed like a dream come true when first proposed and functioned so well everyone forgot how much electricity the Network used. They tried solar for a while, but the conversion rate just couldn’t keep up the gigawatts needed to keep modern life functioning.

  Rowan’s wandering mind was interrupted by sudden movement on one of the paths below. People! One, two, ten, now twenty figures emerged from the brush and trees surrounding the Spaceship campus. I might be rescued!

  Wait, what if these were the looters I warned Angela about? He told her they would be coming…did they
look friendly? Intentions were difficult for him to determine from ten stories up in the air. But he could tell they were carrying something. Behind the group, a tractor slowly crawled up towards the front entrance. Rowan lost sight of the group as they made their way around the building.

  Why would they bypass the main entrance? The only other place to enter the building was the loading dock area hidden at the back of the building. The hardware, food and office equipment needed to run modern corporations, or small cities as they had become, were received in the back. Even companies that dealt in the virtual required some physical items.

  Interesting, so this group intended to enter the building, but probably learned from previous experience that back doors were easier to breach than the reinforced front door. That’s quite intelligent, he thought, must be quick adapters.

  A more sinister and disturbing thought crept like a shadow into his mind…if groups were so brazen as to drive a tractor right up to the headquarters of the most powerful corporation on the planet there must be zero law enforcement in the area. Panic pumped adrenaline into his veins, filling Rowan’s mind with terror. Similar to his experience the night GRAPEVINE died, but this time more primal. And much more immediate.

  What happens if they find me? What will they do with me…will I be offered the chance to join the group? He certainly doubted it. Rowan never once experienced manual labor in his entire life. He only knew how to work on software; the idea of hardware to him was a bank of servers in the basement. What good would a skill like that be to the group? Maybe they’ll at least kill me quick, I couldn’t take torture. His thoughts raced – now he wasn’t worrying about escaping from his prison room, he was worried about how he could keep others out.

  Rowan looked around the room again for anything he could use as a weapon. Nothing. He tried to remember any fighting moves he had seen on movies. What good would that do? These beasts breaking in probably have guns. What could I do against that? What could I do against anything? He was worthless as a man, simply a control interface plugged into the Network. With the Network gone, he was obsolete. The panic in his mind melted away. At least it’s settled. No more worrying about how to get out of the situation. He was caught in the trap, and the predators were on their way. Without some way to fight and to survive, and with no tribe of his own to help him, he was at the mercy of the monsters on the way.

  He moved over to his meditation chair, staring at the beautiful blue sky facing back at him. Not a bad place to meet my end, actually. Had to happen sometime. Perhaps I can meditate deep enough to escape most of the pain. Rowan worked his way through meditation techniques taught to him as a child by his transcendental guru parents. In his mind’s eye, he sat as a child at the foot of the master. New visions of the Progressions formulated in his mind.

  He now understood. I have to be torn down to be rebuilt, he thought. How can one experience ecstasy without knowing agony? Why am I smiling? Certain death is heading my way, yet I’ve never known peace like this. The sun’s rays penetrated his body.

  The sun lights my Path, Rowan thought. We must follow the sun’s energy to where our Profiles will live on.

  His only regret was that he wouldn’t be able to help others see the True Path now. Perhaps Angela had understood this truth on that night, a night that now seemed a lifetime ago. If I set the true believers on the right course originally, even if I strayed myself, some good has come of my life. His Profile wouldn’t live on through the Network, but at least theirs would. That’s more than something, that’s everything, Rowan thought as the deepest sleep he ever felt washed over him.

  Chapter Thirteen – The Pullback

  Downtown St. Louis

  One Month after the Great Reset

  Four weeks after Tony Diamante first proposed shutting and locking the gates to the outside world, he was regarded as a savior and a genius. While the outer city of St. Louis died a fiery death, the people inside the City Center, now known simply as The ARK, lived a comfortable life. Emotions remained a bit on edge with the future still unknown, and everyone experienced quiet withdrawals from a life built on gadgets and gizmos. “But better in here than out there,” was the end of many conversations.

  Peacekeepers, the ARK security officers under the command of Tony’s cousin Bobby Costello, experienced a different world from the relative safety of the ARK. Waves of desperate refugees tried to flow over the barricades built up in the streets between the high-rise buildings. ARK personnel died in some of the clashes, giving Tony the perfect opportunity to conduct state funerals and speak about their sacrifice for the greater good. The somber ceremonies drew the community closer together quite nicely.

  Organizing the first funerals, Tony’s consigliere Uncle Jack noticed that no priest or rabbi had been invited to join the ARK, so he chose the mayor to preside over the services. She provided an effective and heartfelt speech about the sacrifices the fallen made for the safety of her family and others gathered in the ARK. Since the former city police force was now a part of the Peacekeepers, her words had authority with all people living in the ARK. The faces of the fallen were painted on a wall facing the City Center fountain with a brief biography.

  Without Vid screens or any other form of electronic stimulus, people found other ways to pass the time. Live music was a constant source of entertainment, and so were short plays held down by the fountain. Police and fire department bagpipes turned out to be a surprising hit, the sad wailings a musical reflection of the dark world they now occupied.

  Many took to the tower roofs with binoculars or telescopes. Through the looking glasses, the voyeurs watched battles for survival rage through the city. Huge fires consumed any still standing neighborhood, engulfing any flammable material left. Citizen volunteers watched the streets, using flags or mirrors to alert Peacekeepers to dangers approaching the barricades.

  No one ever asked who was in charge. The entire food supply rested securely in vaults at the bottom of Tony’s Renaissance Tower headquarters. Getting in and out of the building was a very difficult proposition, and was completely impossible if the Peacekeepers didn’t want you there. Upon entry, security personnel escorted visitors to their destination. No one roamed freely through the halls and visits were short and to the point. Other Firms kept some food supply of their own when they first moved in, that was no secret. Tony didn’t mind; they couldn’t store enough to last long if someone made a move on him. Besides, the Peacekeepers kept all the guns, and they worked for Tony.

  Tony’s time was occupied with plans for the city after the destruction was over. He intended to use all of downtown as his capital with the City Center remaining the hub of activities. Knowing that human beings are the most resilient animal, he assumed thousands of survivors still roamed out there in the rubble. He needed enough to be alive and safe to farm once the Peacekeepers secured the surrounding blocks. I hope some of the gangs are still together; those are people I’ve worked with in the past. They were businessmen at heart, and would understand his vision.

  Uncle Jack once again busied himself with human resource issues. Once they established contact with surviving groups and ensured that the rest of the city was no longer a threat, he’d get rid of a lot of the government bureaucrats who entered the ARK. They’d keep the mayor, as she was a real asset in building the structure of the new city. Community organizing held zero interest to Tony or Uncle Jack.

  On the other hand, most of the city council needed to go. The old police chief, too. Uncle Jack figured he figured he could clear about a hundred deadweight residents with no problem. That would be a nice reminder to the others about pulling your own weight – a brutal business, but sometimes you could affect addition by subtraction.

  Maps reflecting different sectors of the city covered his office walls. Colors identified blocks leveled by fire, still occupied, no movement detected, and first priority for pacifying. Small labels dotted the map holding the names of gangs that once ruled the neighborhoods. Peacekeeper patrols alr
eady searched for the leadership of surviving groups. Rooftop observers helped by providing invaluable information about areas holding visible survivors.

  The burnt-out blocks would be farm fields very soon. Tony knew he had to get his own food production started as quickly as possible. Many ARK invitees arrived in older vehicles unaffected by GRAPEVINE or the infuriating Solar Storms. Upon arrival, these vehicles were donated for Peacekeeper use. Tony already had small scout teams out of town to reestablish contact with farmers who once shipped him illegal food. The hand that holds the food holds the power. He didn’t want his city to be beholden to anyone.

  Scavenging abandoned buildings around the city, ARK Peacekeepers secured over six months more food supplies for the group. As long as the population stayed steady, they could make it a year and a half without facing real hunger. Those supplies along with whatever they could get from surviving farmers outside the city should allow them to get their own crops established. ARK’s entire engineering staff worked on that important task right now. Anyone who could be spared from the essential repairs needed for the City Center towers or barricades was assigned to food production.

  A spinoff of that was rainwater capture. Although they had pumps to bring water up to the storage tanks on the roof, Tony’s group had not anticipated the lack of water pressure coming from the mains. Now he had people working on devising a system that would pull water from the river. But in the meantime, fresh water for sanitation hung like a specter over ARK’s engineering staff.

  Nicole Kelley kept watch over the engineers for Tony. She knew what his plans for the city were; he didn’t hide anything from her. She was just as candid with him, repeatedly making it clear she wasn’t happy about Tony’s callousness toward the ugly parts of survival. Nicole didn’t offer any better ideas for keeping their group alive. But to her Tony still seemed too calm with the idea of letting other human beings starve and kill each other off. Assigning survivors to work for ARK personnel in a kind of feudal farming system struck her as medieval and cruel. Or at the very least un–American.