A few of the men wore faded and patched overalls like Amy and her father, while a few had on worn fatigues. Mostly, however, homespun wool and coarse woven flax had replaced these as the standard dress for the men of Freedom Ranch. The men wore pants and shirts of oak brown, and the women long dresses in green or yellow. All three colors represented readily available dye materials.
A few of the men still had short military haircuts, but most had gone the route of crude shoulder-length haircuts and thick beards.
The women wore their hair long. They kept it out of their way in long braids, as Amy herself did, or up in buns. The fashion of Freedom Ranch could be described in one word: practical.
Amy sank down into an Adirondack chair next to her father, who was perched nervously on a tall stool. Luke, finding most of the seats taken already, sat on the arm of Amy’s chair as Amos banged his gavel and yelled, “Order! Order!”
Amos, Minister Posch, and Isaiah Hall all sat together behind a card table. Minister Posch rose as everyone grew quiet. They all rose as he intoned a short prayer. Then everyone recited the Pledge of Allegiance.
Afterward, everyone sat again. Amy glanced nervously at Luke. He was watching Amos intently.
“No point beating around the bush, people,” Amos said. “I called this meeting to let everyone know some bad news. There’s no way to sugarcoat it, so I’ll just tell you. Last night’s storm got the solar array and the freezer. Both are beyond repair.”
There was a moment of stunned silence. Then the whole room broke out in a dozen separate conversations. Amy heard her father’s name mentioned several times. Her head darted around trying to catch what they were saying about him. But there were too many separate conversations coming from too many directions. Nothing made any sense.
Her face burned crimson. She could guess well enough. Twenty some years of loyal service, and they would be grumbling, “Why can’t he fix it?” Twenty years of doing his best, and they would merely wonder why he wasn’t doing better this time.
Amos’s gavel banged for silence. “Listen up everyone. I know what a lot of you are thinking. Marlin’s gotten us out of a lot of bad spots before. He’s done his best, better than we could have hoped for.” Amy felt a flush of gratitude for Amos’s support. “We’ve already burned out one unit of batteries. This was our backup. There is nothing he can do. Marlin, do you have anything to add?”
Marlin shuffled to his feet. He stared pointedly at them. He was painfully self-conscious under everyone’s gaze. “Some of the panels are still producing a charge. We got no battery, but we can run the well pump during the day and fill one of the cisterns. That gets us water, at least.”
“Can we run the freezer during the day?” Larry asked from the back. “It should stay cold enough at night, I would think.”
“And risk half-frozen meat?” someone asked.
“No, the freezer unit took part of the strike. Even if I could repair it,” Marlin answered, “where on earth would we find Freon these days?”
Marlin’s pronouncement was taken as the final word. No one even asked what Freon was. Again a dozen conversations started up, and again Amos banged his gavel.
“All right, let’s not lose our heads. It makes life a little harder, but we’re used to that by now, hey?” he chided them. “Here is what we are going to do. Every family gets a share of the remaining meat. There’s not much left anyway, and we could all use a spring feast. Whatever you can’t use up, can. This summer we clean out the old smoke house and can more food. We get by.”
“No, we can’t,” a woman moaned toward the back.
“We did it once,” Amos growled. “We’ll do it again.”
“No,” the voice pleaded, firmer now.
Amy craned her head to see. She was shocked to discover that it was Rebecca Hopes talking. That’s the last person I would have expected to lose it, she thought.
Rebecca was one of the hardest working women at the ranch. She had organized the harvest for many years now and had a reputation for being able to make even the most recalcitrant of the boys pull their share, at least for a day or two.
She rose as she spoke. “I am sorry, sir, but we can’t. Theresa told me earlier about what happened, and I have been thinking about it ever since. We did manage for a while, but that was years ago.
“The canning jars we have are reusable, but the gaskets wear out eventually. Some jars get broken, people drop them or whatever; it’s inevitable.” There was a note of hysteria in her voice. “We haven’t got even half what we had at the beginning. And that was barely enough.”
“Smoking more meat?” Isaiah Hall asked.
“We stopped doing that years ago, for a reason,” she answered sharply. “It needs salt. We can’t get salt to preserve things anymore.”
“So what do you suggest?” someone asked.
“I don’t know, I don’t know,” she replied wringing her hands.
“Leave it to the men, missy,” Liam O’Malley called. “We’ll hunt all winter, put fresh meat on your table every day.”
Isaiah Hall scowled and glanced across the room at his daughter-in-law Jaime. A momentary silence fell. “Hunting in the dead of winter on the mountain is too dangerous,” Isaiah said coldly.
Amy flushed, as did most in the room, at the reminder. She had been twelve the winter when Richard Hall had fallen to his death hunting bighorn sheep in the cliffs above the valley. That was the same winter her mother died.
“Besides,” Isaiah went on, “more hunting means more ammo, and we ain’t got much of that left, either. I was hoping we could start relying on the deadfall traps this year, but I don’t relish checking them in deep winter.”
“I remember a time when we could just run down to the Get-N-Go and buy a stack of deer slugs,” Horace said.
“Well, why don’t you just run down and get us some then?” Liam O’Malley jeered. “And pick me up some whiskey while you’re at it.” His two sons laughed loudly at their father.
“That may be our only option,” Amos said. “It may be time to send an expedition down to see what remains of society and find supplies.” He stood quickly. “For the moment, orders stand. Everyone gets a share of the remaining meat. Make the most of it. The council will consider this situation some more and get back to you. Remember, ladies and gentlemen, that we are still in a state of war. Keep your calm and keep your discipline. That’s all for now.” He banged the gavel again and the meeting was over.
“And that is how the infidel nearly ended the centuries-long role of white man’s glorious civilization,” Minister Posch panted. He wiped ineffectively at his brow with a dull white handkerchief.
It had been quite a lecture. Even the youngest of the children knew it well enough. They had heard it from every one of their teachers in one form or another. Their parents told them about the collapse on long, winter nights by the wood stove.
Today, however, Posch had put an even greater zeal into it. Their current plight, coupled with the possibility of an expedition out of the valley, had no doubt fueled it. He had gone to great lengths to impress on them how corrupt society had become. Racial mingling, women’s liberation, even rights for perverts and deviants were all considered progress. Such a society sowed the seeds of its own destruction.
The Aryan Nations had already been busy countering these menaces. They were recruiting and pulling together people ready and willing to fight for their religion, their race, and their moral values.
Then America made its fatal mistake. It allowed itself to become involved with the infidel. Muslim states had held the United States hostage with oil for years. They had destroyed the World Trade Center in one of the worst attacks on the American people.
Even in face of all this, America tried for peace. America fought to give the Muslim people the freedom Americans had long possessed, overthrowing dictators in Iraq and Iran. What thanks did that earn for the United States? More hatred, more terrorist attacks.
Finally, the ultimate
retribution: a nuclear bomb set off in downtown Chicago. Millions killed in one fell attack. If ever there was a time to repay hatred with hatred, it was then.
The Nations and many others had done so. America would have been—could have been—cleansed. The dangerous element within could have been eliminated. The citizens of this great nation could have risen up and thrown off the shackles once and for all.
The government would not allow it. Martial law had been declared. Hundreds of members were arrested. Hundreds died in vicious street fights, first with police and then National Guardsmen.
Arguments began about how it had happened, who had set the bomb, and what should be done to them. It was in these arguments, in the slow disintegration that the leaders of the Aryan Nations began to see the true threat, the deeper evil that lay in wait.
Powers deeper and broader than even the American government were at work. The New World Order, a shadowy organization of the world’s powers, was manipulating the government. It was pitting whites against whites, Christians against Christians, using them as cannon fodder in their war for power.
The leaders of the Nations were wise and had planned for this eventuality. Camps had been prepared where a few chosen men and women could bide their time, waiting. Let them tear down America. When the time was right, they would be there, ready to rebuild.
Freedom Ranch was but one of these enclaves. Amos Deaton and Adrian Posch had left their homes in the Deep South and had come to these mountains to prepare the way.
They would have failed if without the help of locals. Men like Larry Gatlin and the Zacharys had grown up in these mountains. They were raised on the militiaman philosophy. They were not of the Nations, but they knew the truth when they heard it. They helped build and, later, man the ranch.
Minister Posch had delivered the tale at full tilt today. Sweat had beaded on his forehead and wetly punctuated much of the lecture. His face had gone red, and more than once, Luke feared he would convulse.
Next to Luke, Kurt sat dazed, his face reflecting Luke’s feelings well enough. On his other side, Amy had her hand up. Luke groaned. This could not lead anywhere pleasant.
“Yes, Miss Beland?” Posch asked. Amy hated being called Miss Beland.
“My dad says the Muslims didn’t do it,” she said.
“Of course they did,” Posch said dismissively. “Who else would do such a thing?”
“The Chinese possibly,” Amy replied, “or Africans. He is not sure which.”
“Chinese? Africans?” Posch huffed. “What an active imagination. Why would they do such a thing?”
“On account of the environment,” she said.
“What, like the trees and things?”
“Yes, and oil and all that. Dad says we were using up too much of it. The rest of the world was mad at us.”
“No commie is going to tell America how much oil we can use,” Minister Posch declared. Most of the class sniggered.
They probably think she’s talking about cooking oil, Luke thought. Amy was not about to give up yet.
“Apparently they couldn’t tell us how much to use,” she agreed. “Which is why they bombed us. Anyway, Dad says it was all falling apart anyway. Oil was running out, cities were being destroyed, and people were starving everywhere, on account of the environment.”
“I think the trees can bloody well take care of themselves, don’t you?” Minister Posch answered. Amy went bright red. Patrick whispered something to Shawn, and they both snickered.
“The bomb was Chinese made,” Amy pressed on. “That much they knew before Dad came up here. He says we even went to war with China, but he doesn’t know if anything ever came of it. And there were other attacks that were claimed by African terrorist groups. But most of the collapse was due to people right here in this country turning nasty toward each other.”
“That’s a lie, girl,” Minister Posch said.
“It is not!” Amy insisted. She was standing now. To everyone else she may have looked angry and defiant, but Luke could see that she was close to tears. “My dad has been trying to tell you this for twenty years. You just don’t want to listen.”
“Now, girl . . .”
“No! I don’t care if you would rather listen to your own lies instead of the truth. But you are going to send people down there, and they need to know the truth! They need to know what really happened.” She turned and stormed out the door.
“Well, really,” Posch murmured after a long pause.
Luke shrugged the heavy bag, trying to make it rest more comfortably on his shoulder. He stared up at the ridge. Excitement ran through the line of young men. There they were: the barricades.
Something was up, that much was sure. Since the meeting, everyone had been talking about it. Amos, Minister Posch, and Isaiah Hall met daily. They spoke little, and encouraged no rumors. They didn’t need to. The rumors ran wild.
Already there were clear signs of what the leaders were thinking. Jacob Clayton, Matthew Hopes, John McKurtz, and William Jones were all out of camp on various errands in the mountains. It didn’t matter what excuses Amos gave, everyone could guess the real reason. They were checking out the passes, seeing if they were clear. Any expedition would have to leave as soon as the passes cleared. Otherwise, they could get trapped down in the lowlands when fall closed the passes back up.
And now this. Isaiah Hall showed up at combat training and announced the first ever overnight “field training” session at the barricades.
The barricades were midway through the eastern pass out of the valley. Across the remains of the old road, the ranch had constructed a three-foot-high, three-foot-thick stone wall, to stop vehicles and give defenders some protection. There, they had held the pass against local militiamen no less than three times.
Once upon a time, it had been manned by armed guards. They had radio contact with the ranch. It had been years now since there had been any sign of enemies. Manned patrols had slowly fallen off as work back at the ranch seemed more pressing.
It was said that Amos and Isaiah still came up here regularly and watched for signs of human activity. Isaiah certainly picked the way with confidence, even in the failing light.
The boys had never been allowed up here. As teenagers, they already carried a lot of responsibility. Luke gathered wood from neighboring valleys, fished the high mountain lakes and rivers, and went on weeklong hunting trips. Always it was to the west, deeper into the mountains or occasionally to the north.
To the west, three or four mountains away, there was an Indian reservation. Liam O’Malley Sr. claimed to have been in a firefight with one of them once, long ago. “Don’t believe a word of it,” Luke’s father had said. “Liam’s just looking for an excuse because he wasted too much ammo. Never been any danger to the west.”
The east was another matter entirely. The road that the Barricade Pass blocked led down out of the Rocky Mountains. It was down there that society had fought and died. In just moments, they would crest into the pass, and Luke would see for the first time where his uncles, Henry and Gerald, had fought and died protecting the ranch.
“This is it, boys,” Isaiah informed them. It was not much of a sight: a low, stone wall crudely constructed. An abandoned pickup truck pockmarked with a few bullet holes gave it the feel of an old battle scene.
Luke clutched his rifle closer to his chest. He felt as though the battle had been fought just yesterday, not years before he was born. In the deepening dusk, it was easy to imagine enemy eyes peering out of every shadow.
“If,” Isaiah was always very careful to stress the ‘if’ whenever discussing this, “if we send an expedition down there,” he pointed down the far slope, “we will be manning this pass at all times. Given the manpower, you may well be doing this duty. Whoever goes down there may be stirring up a hornet’s nest. That’s why we are starting to train you guys up here.”
“When out this direction, fire is a luxury you cannot afford. You could see a fire up here for miles. We
’ll be cooking on oil stoves and keeping them out of sight. Daniel and Jerome, you can cook tonight. Luke, Kurt, Shawn, Robert, you guys set camp just back there in that grotto, out of sight of the barricade. Patrick, you come scouting with me.”
“Yes sir!” Patrick snapped.
“The rest of you guys, don’t be jealous.” It was well known that Patrick was Isaiah’s favorite. “You will all get a chance. That’s what this whole trip is about, teaching you to spot signs of enemy activity up here. Now get going.”
“Think there’ll be an expedition?” Luke asked Daniel as the others waited for Luke to get the oil stove out from the bottom of his pack.
“Matt wouldn’t say before he left,” Daniel replied, “but I am sure that he was supposed to check out how the passes are higher up. They’re just waiting to see how things are before setting out.”
“So they’ll go?” Kurt asked.
“You can bet on it,” Daniel replied. “Ever see my mom like that?” Rebecca Hopes was his mother. “She has never been that upset. She’s sure that we will starve if we don’t get that freezer fixed before winter.”
“Amos has to listen to her, doesn’t he?” Jerome asked. “I mean he’s the leader, but she’s been doing the harvest for how long?”
“He’ll listen,” Luke said. “He’s no dummy.”
The next day, they took turns walking the approaches to the pass with Isaiah so he could explain what to watch for. He taught them how to distinguish the broken branches where he and Patrick had walked the night before from the natural deer trails that crisscrossed the pass.
Afterward, they took turns crawling up the approaches while the rest tried to spot them. The first to spot each man was given a point. The one to get the closest before being spotted was given ten points. The winner had no further responsibilities for the rest of the trip.
Not surprisingly, Patrick won. He got within twenty feet of the barricade by climbing high up one ridge and coming down at them from above. Luke had spotted him just moments before he rushed down. Luke came in second.
Children of a New Earth Page 3