by Joe Nobody
“I’m working on my first new city ordinance, and it is one complex issue.” Dianna announced. “I want very few laws for the citizens of Alpha, but I think all our folks have to participate in food production. While we all know that starvation is simply unacceptable, even the potential of a food shortage could destroy everything we’re trying to build.”
Terri agreed, “Hunger can be a negative influence on law and order, too. Desperate people do desperate things to avoid starving. But how are you going to legislate how food is produced?”
“We’re not. We have to leave it up to the individual to determine if they want to hunt, gather, or grow – perhaps some combination of the three. What is absolutely critical is that everyone produces enough at a minimum to feed themselves and their family.”
Terri’s finger found her chin, her mind clearly processing information along her mental neuro-highway. “I think the biggest issue is going to be a lack of knowledge. Take me, for example. I was a city girl. I’d be unable to do any of those things to produce food for myself.”
Diana replied, “In fact, the first formally sponsored training organized is going to address this topic. We’re going to establish ‘continuing education classes’ on how to garden, hunt, or identify edible foodstuffs.”
Terri grinned, “Bishop needs to attend the gardening class. His little patch back at the ranch was faring poorly when we left.”
“I’ve been surprised at how many green thumbs we’ve got around here. Some residents have already planted oversized gardens that will eventually produce more than required by their families. They saw the need early. On the other hand, we’ve got a few people who are not naturally inclined to produce calories by any method. They represent a challenge to contribute to the anti-hunger initiative.”
“Alpha should follow Meraton’s model. For those who don’t want to hunt or grow, gathering and bartering can be the answer. We can organize family trips to the valleys and gather food there. Bishop and I took a little hiking vacation up into the mountains a while back. It was like one of those old television commercials were they talk about harvesting nature’s bounty. I bet there are some citizens who can act as tour guides and nature experts. If they can show people which nuts, berries, nettles, and greens are okay to eat, I bet your citizens would line up to attend a class like that. You might even be able to find someone who has knowledge of using herbs to promote health and wellbeing.”
Diana nodded, “Yes, you are right. The classes need to address the need of our residents to promote attendance. But what do we hope the classes will accomplish? I initially thought we need to set food production quotas based on the number of family members, but that wouldn’t work. Big framed men eat more than thinner individuals. Older people don’t require the calories that growing teenagers consume, and our elderly are never going to be able to cultivate crops and hunt like our younger population groups. I’ve decided the best method of enforcement would be a results orientated measurement with occasional consultation. The rule would be simple: If you approach the council with a need for food, you better have a good excuse for drawing from the community chest and putting everyone else at risk.”
Terri laughed at her friend’s phrasing. “Garden plots will be the norm. Seeds should be readily available to everyone. Folks will need fertilizer as well.”
Diana laughed, “You should attend our council meetings. Fertilizer isn’t in short supply there.”
Laughter broke the tension caused by the serious nature of the conversation, and the new mayor became serious again. “Insecticides are going to be a problem. We’ll have to try to keep the pests under control by using natural substances. One of our best growers said there are some plants that are known to deter hungry insects and damaging diseases. I want practically every occupied home in Alpha to have a plot of veggies growing on the premises. With our hot climate, we should be able to support a year-round growing season.”
Terri was thinking ahead. “You can organize contests and have competitions for the best produce. They can be like the pre-collapse 4-H fairs. I remember going to those as a kid; whole towns would gather to show off the juiciest tomatoes or prize winning green beans. People even exchanged recipes, canning tips and shared growing and cooking tips.”
Diana continued, “Domestic animals are also going to play a role. Goats, pigs, chickens, rabbits, and even a few dairy cows would contribute a bunch. I’m going to use some city funds and buy some goats at the Meraton market soon – I want it to be a common sight to see them grazing in city parks. Besides, their appetites can keep the grass down. We don’t have the gasoline to power lawn mowers. Producing eggs, milk and meat… it can all work.”
“I want to contribute too, Diana. Tell me what I can do to help.”
After Diana gave her a quick briefing on all of the activities, Terri volunteered to help the welcoming committee.
The guys had taken off early this morning, Nick wanting to give Bishop a tour of his security arrangements. Diana pointed Terri in the right direction and then rushed off to attend a meeting on healthcare.
Terri was assigned to a table that had been set up on the courthouse lawn, a large sign declaring her area as “Station #4.” As travelers arrived on the outskirts of town, they were directed to the courthouse after a brief screening to keep troublemakers and random rogue elements out of Alpha.
Once the refugees made their way to the courthouse, they answered a single page questionnaire. Based on their responses, the newcomers were then directed to a station where detailed acclimation could begin.
Terri was informed that Station #4 handled families with minor children, her on-the-job training being provided by the three kindly ladies who served as Terri’s co-workers. She was also warned to expect the worst. As one soft-spoken volunteer put it, “Most of these folks have traveled a rough road after living on the edge the last six months. Be prepared to have your heart broken.”
It wasn’t long before Station #4 received its first customers. Terri noticed a family approaching across the shady lawn, the middle-aged man and woman apprehensive, and the children sluggish and shy. As they ventured closer, details of their individual condition shocked Terri to the point where her stomach began to churn.
The parents were dressed in rags. Previously a respectable outfit of blue jeans and polo shirt, the father’s combo was now threadbare and tattered, the cloth so filthy it was difficult to identify the fabric. The mother’s clothing was only a slight improvement, her tennis shorts and short sleeve blouse in complete disrepair. Stringy, filthy hair accented the sunken, hollow looking expression on the adults’ faces. The stench of body odor was strong even in the outdoor environment.
Terri would guess the three girls ranged in age from four to eight years old. Their condition and demeanor caused Terri’s eyes to water from emotion. Skinny, stick-like legs extended from under the soiled skirts. The children’s clothing had seen far better days as well, but was at least recognizable. It was the girls’ expressions hiding under layers of grime and filth that evoked such deep feelings inside of Terri. Most of all, it was their eyes that disturbed her; they were dead.
Of all the suffering children she and Bishop had encountered on their trip from Houston, nothing could have prepared Terri for the lifeless appearance of the children standing in front of Station #4. Despite working with her share of unwashed, hungry kids, she was horrified. She had interacted with young ones who were in danger, or sick, or without parents - none of those comparing to the state of these girls. It was as if they had withdrawn to the inner reaches of their minds and died, leaving their bodies to walk around like mindless, numb robots.
“Terri,” whispered one of her co-workers, “you’re staring.”
Shaking herself out of the trance, Terri nodded. “Sorry.”
“Welcome to Alpha, Texas… Mr. and Mrs. Hendricks. Please take a seat. I assume you’ve been offered food and water?”
The man hesitated before answering. “Yes, yes we hav
e, and thank you.”
“Where are you originally from?”
Mr. Hendricks seemed to have trouble remembering, finally answering “Houston” after a long pause. The response focused Terri’s attention even more. These people might have been her neighbors less than a year ago.
Mr. Hendricks managed to expand on his history. “We… we were driving to my parent’s home in El Paso and couldn’t find gasoline anywhere. We stopped at every station for 50 miles, but no luck. We finally checked into a hotel. I don’t remember which one anymore. We ran out of gas the next day. Then some men came along in a truck and robbed us of everything we had. We wandered for two days and finally ended up at Fort Stockdale. We’ve been living at the labor camp ever since.”
“Labor camp?” asked Terri.
“That’s what everyone calls it,” interjected Mrs. Hendricks. “I think it was more of a concentration camp to be truthful.”
Each of the women working Station #4 was taking notes while trying to keep the visitors at ease. As the Hendricks’ family story unfolded, Terri found it almost impossible to write anything, so troubling was the experience of the people sitting in front of her.
At first, the people of Fort Stockdale had been helpful, kind, and welcoming. Much like current day Alpha, more and more stranded travelers wandered into the small town every day. When the delivery trucks stopped arriving, the locals began to worry. When the power wasn’t restored after two weeks, some of the natives became restless. When the grocery store was completely barren, things got ugly.
It was the county’s district attorney who took control. An educated, commanding woman, the DA had stormed into town with a handful of deputies, three cases of food, and a signed court order giving her control via declared martial law.
The town’s single hotel was requisitioned to be used for official business. Tents were collected from local citizens and pitched by a creek that ran along the edge of town. All non-citizens were ordered to take up residence in the tent city. Its occupants dubbed it “Shantytown.”
At first, the water level in the nearby stream provided for the transplants. As the hot summer wore on without rain, the creek dried up. The men living in the tent city took to foraging for food and water – anything they could find. This activity was quickly stopped by the local law enforcement officers, a few of the stranded travelers being shot while arguing their cases.
The DA’s promise to provide rations for Shantytown was never fully implemented. Despite every able- bodied adult being put to work plowing fields, chopping wood, and harvesting crops, it seemed like there was barely enough food and water delivered to the tent city for the residents to survive.
Terri noticed one of the girls scratching the back of her hand and realized the child was injured. “What’s wrong with your hand, sweeties?” she gently asked.
The kindergartener, upon realizing someone was addressing her directly, immediately ducked and hid behind her mother.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. She’s not been very social since she was stamped.”
Terri tilted her head, “Stamped?”
The father interrupted, showing some emotion for the first time. “Branded is more like it. They branded my daughter for stealing food the children found. Those… those self-righteous animals.”
The girl’s mother pulled the young child around to face Station #4, softly brushing her tangled hair. “Show these ladies your hand, Carla.”
With great hesitation, the girl complied, extending her right arm for the women and causing Terri to inhale sharply. There on the back of the dirty, tiny little hand was a deep scar in the outline of a “T.” The sight reminded Terri of pictures she had seen of ranch brands freshly burned into calves.
“She and two other youngsters found a box of apples that had fallen off a truck. They brought the container back to Shantytown and shared the food. When one of the enforcers found the box and began asking questions, the children were accused of being thieves and stamped for punishment.”
Terri’s outrage caused her to respond a little too sharply. “Who did this? Who ordered the branding of a child?” she demanded.
The mother and father both responded at the same time. “The DA did, of course.” Mr. Hendricks continued, “She runs the town and meters justice. If an adult is caught stealing, they are banished to the desert. First offender minors are branded, but if a child is caught a second time, the whole family is banished from the city.”
Terri had to stand and walk away, her fury overwhelming the need to stay and help process the Hendricks family. As she blindly turned the corner, she ran headlong into Bishop, Nick, and Diana.
“Hey there, darling,” Bishop began, “How’s it go….” The expression on his wife’s face instantly telling him something was wrong.
“Bishop,” started Terri, her finger pointing at his chest, “I want you to go get our rifles right now. We are going to go kick some ass.”
“Whoa there, young lady. Slow down. What’s wrong?”
“Bishop, there’s some asshole who is branding children and starving adults. She’s running some little town not far from here, and it has to be stopped – right now.”
Placing his hand on Terri’s shoulder, Bishop tried to steady his wife. “Terri, please calm down. What the devil are you talking about?”
Terri began sobbing and buried her head in Bishop’s shoulder. Diana sighed and attempted to explain. “I think your wife has just encountered some new arrivals from Fort Stockdale. From what we have heard, the woman running the show up there apparently uses some unjustifiably harsh discipline. We started hearing similar stories a few days ago.”
Nick looked puzzled. “She’s branding people? Like using a hot iron to burn a ranch’s mark on cattle?”
Diana nodded, “Yes, from what we’ve heard, they use it to identify and deter criminals.”
Terri managed to gather herself and pulled away from Bishop’s shoulder. “Go around the corner and talk to that family sitting over there. Those Fort Stockdale animals branded a five-year-old girl whose only crime was finding a box of apples. She sure as shit doesn’t look like any criminal to me.”
Diana soothed Terri’s shoulder. “I know you’re upset, Terri. I was too when I started hearing what was going on up there. We’ve had quite a few people show up from that hellhole this week.”
Again, Terri looked at Bishop with hatred burning in her eyes. “Come on, Bishop, I want to go and set those people free. I want to go right now.”
Bishop pointed to his arm and sighed. “Terri, I saw some pretty ugly stuff when we went to Fort Stockdale to turn on the electricity. I know how difficult it is to handle things like that. But I’m not ready or able to fight anyone. I can’t even put on my own pants right now.”
It took Terri a few moments to digest Bishop’s words, but eventually his meaning registered with the irate woman. She nodded, sighed, and rubbed her eyes. “I’m sorry, everyone. The story I just heard from those people reminded me of being a hostage. It hit a little close to home. Besides, I guess being a hormonal pregnant mess is causing me to get a little more emotional than usual where children are concerned.”
Bishop looked at his wife, “You okay, babe?”
Nodding, Terri sniffled and then replied, “Yeah. I’m good.”
The foursome proceeded back toward the newcomer processing area just as the Hendricks family was finishing up. Diana approached Alpha’s newest residents with her hand extended and introduced herself as the city’s mayor.
“Miss Brown,” stated one of the workers at Station #4, “Mrs. Hendricks is a registered nurse.”
“Outstanding,” Diana declared with a smile. “I’m sure these ladies told you we’re trying to improve our medical capabilities. I just returned from a meeting on that very subject. Your experience will be welcome here.”
A golf cart pulled up, the volunteer driver approaching the station. One of the workers handed him a slip of paper containing an address. “1201 South Oak Street,�
� he repeated. “I used to live on South Oak years ago. It’s a fine neighborhood.” With that endorsement still hanging in the air, the family was shown to the waiting cart and escorted to their new home.
Diana watched as the newcomers sped off in the electric transport. After a bit she turned to her friends and declared, “There will be a ‘Welcome to Alpha’ box at their new home. It will have a few basic commodities like toothpaste, soap, and a few cans of food. There are instructions on where they can go to find clothing and other supplies. We’ll give them a few days to get used to things and then try to integrate them into the work force. It’s the best we can do right now.”
“Those people looked pretty shell shocked to me,” Bishop said. “How long is it taking the average refugee to become productive?”
Deacon Brown sighed, “That’s part of the problem. Most of these people are barely walking, and many of them have severe health issues beyond malnutrition. We have to feed and care for them, and it’s becoming a drain.”
Bishop understood. “You can’t turn them away. We’ll just have to figure out how to make it through somehow.”
Fort Stockdale
January 24, 2016
District Attorney Patricia Gibson looked at the dusty diploma hanging across from her desk. The document had once generated extreme pride for the small town girl, a significant achievement surpassed only by her election as the county’s top legal authority just over a year ago. The sheepskin proclaimed her award of a Juris Doctorate from the University of Texas School of Law. Not an insignificant honor for the first member of the Gibson family ever to attend an institution of learning beyond Central High School.
Hardly a morning went by that Pat didn’t think to take the damned thing down. It was a reminder of a better time and a full life – thoughts that now could anger her to the point of making bad decisions. Lord knows there have been enough bad decisions already, she thought. Glancing one last time at the “To Do” list penciled in the open calendar on her desk, she stood and brushed a few breakfast crumbs from her blouse. It was time to get to work – the men would be waiting on her.