Arks of America

by D A Carey

  ARKS OF AMERICA

  D.A. Carey

  Arks of America

  by D.A. Carey

  Copyright © D.A. Carey 2018. All Rights Reserved.

  Cover art by Deranged Doctor Designs

  Editing by Felicia Sullivan

  Formatting by Kody Boye

  Proofreading by Jessica Meigs

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronically, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the proper written permission of the copyright owner, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events and situation are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental

  Dedication

  I want thank each one of you reading this for your time and interest in this story. My hope is that we can find common ground on a vision of what could be and you’ll feel entertained and see it in your mind as I do. I’ve always felt a bit of a kindred spirit to those people with an interest in these types of stories and situations. I love writing and telling stories, but I also love using this as an excuse to spend more time and interaction with you all. These characters and places are so alive and close to me that I’m excited to share with you.

  For my family, friends, and workmates, I thank you so much for the times you have sat around a campfire, dinner table, or workplace and listened to me spin a yarn. Your patience and positive support is why this story came into being.

  Special thanks to Felicia A. Sullivan, who gave me encouragement and direction when I really needed it. She is the difference between a great story in my mind and one on paper. Her support and advice went well past the scope of what I could have expected.

  Steven C. Bird and Chris Pike who are both great authors and people I look up to, who were kind enough to offer feedback and support at different points in the process and it meant more to me than they probably know.

  An Idea

  “The world is a dangerous place to live, not because of the people who are evil, but because of the people who don’t do anything about it.”

  - Albert Einstein

  NEWS BULLETIN ON AM RADIO DENVER:

  “As Denver enters the twelfth day of the sanitation strike, commerce and travel in the city are being ground to a halt. Striking sanitation workers, along with sympathetic parties from other unions, have virtually stopped access to many businesses in the metro area. Workers trying to cross the lines to go to office buildings have been pelted with rocks and bottles. Police spokespeople advise they are too undermanned to stop the protests and are unable to locate the individuals responsible for the attacks. A representative from the mayor’s office stated they are negotiating with sanitation workers but are at a fiscal impasse. They say there is not enough money in the budget to hire more workers to accommodate ten weeks paid time off for each worker as they demand. The twenty-five percent pay increase would make each sanitation worker’s average salary with benefits worth over $150,000 annually. A fiscal outlay of this magnitude would either mean cuts to school funding or increased taxes. State law does not allow for more tax increases for two years.

  “In related news, there are reports of both city water and sanitation service interruptions. It’s unclear if those outages are related to the sympathetic strikes of other city unions. They could be common service failures to the city’s antiquated utilities system or an act of sabotage.

  “City officials are still investigating. As of yet, no one has claimed responsibility.”

  Susan Willis was trying to hold back tears as she spoke to her boss at Cavanaugh Corp. “Mr. Clark, I’m sorry, I won’t be able to make it in today.”

  “I understand, Susan. Is everything okay?”

  “Yes and no. I’m so sorry. I know I was supposed to help with the presentation Mr. Cavanaugh is doing today. I tried, I really did,” Susan poured out in a rush. “Everywhere I turned there were striking workers and riots. I tried to get around, and they threw things at my car and broke my windows.”

  “Are you okay? Is there anything I can do?” Louis asked.

  “I think I’m okay. The policeman took my report, and an EMT bandaged my face. All I want to do now is go home. I’m so sorry.”

  “Susan, you need to focus on taking care of yourself. We’re fine here. If there is anything I can do, please let me know. Take the rest of the week off and don’t worry about using your PTO. You’ve been through a lot.”

  << Dave >>

  “Chaos, destruction, and division are instruments and the calling card of evil. Order, community, and cooperation are the embodiment of good,” Dave said aloud, pausing to look over the panorama of beauty. He was lost in thought, unaware if the silent companion behind him noticed or heard.

  Dave Cavanaugh was a thinker and a planner. In a different era, he might have been called a philosopher. This hike was to remind himself why he felt so driven to do this thing. Things that should be simple and obvious, many people tried to make more complex.

  To a casual observer, Dave resembled a weather-worn hiker in his fifties. Few would guess he was closer to seventy. Tanned from years in the sun and a shade over six feet tall, he still had most of his hair, although it was a silvery gray now with only a hint of the sandy blond it had once been. He was lean and trim, with the wiry muscles of a hiker and outdoorsman, not the bulk of a body built in the gym. At his age, he was proud he still had the strength to climb mountains.

  The view from this vantage point was breathtaking. Dave sat on the side of a mountain overlooking the valley of South Park, Colorado. He could see the town of Fairplay in the distance. The cattle herds that dotted the plains of the valley were only small moving dots from this distance. He reveled in the unspoiled beauty of the valley. This area always reminded him of an old B-grade movie he remembered from the seventies about someone’s vision of Shangri-La. It didn’t look the same; it just felt the way Dave imagined it would. To him, this was Shangri-La. The mountains circling the valley protected it from the worst of people and elements in a timeless way much as he imagined Shangri-La might have in that mythical valley.

  Mt. Sherman and Horseshoe Mountain rose in the distance, and nearer to him were woods, streams, pines, and sycamore trees. Dave never understood why more people didn’t come to this valley. Then again, it probably would have ruined it if they did. The air was crisp, and the clouds crowned the ring of mountains surrounding the huge valley. The towns below hadn’t changed much in the last hundred years. The old western feel of a small town that supported cattle ranches and silver mines across the west remained. The roads were mostly paved in town now. Some buildings were still made of wood, others brick or stone.

  The cattle herds were still there. At this time of year, they probably had newly born calves, still gawky and playful like a twelve-year-old boy. They could have been descendants of cattle herds driven into the valley more than a hundred years earlier.

  Dave let out a sigh of contentment. The feel of the high mountain air in his lungs made him feel younger, more invigorated, and complete. At this stage in his life, he pondered that although change was inevitable, bringing construction to this valley was akin to desecration of a sacred site.

  When being honest with himself, he had to admit that this valley didn’t exactly fit his model for the aggressive new phase of his business. Yet his mind and desire kept being drawn back here. He could allow a bit of vanity to enter into this one part of the business venture. This was a place he came to before he made his wealth. He hoped to be here a
t the end of his journey as well.

  In a way, Dave saw these towns as freeholds that he envisioned as part biblical ark and part old western fort.

  He turned to Levi, as he found himself doing more often of late. Levi didn’t try to offer much in the way of business advice and didn’t try to persuade or dissuade. Although many years younger, he was turning into a good friend that enjoyed the solitude of the mountains as much as Dave and was a solid sounding board. Levi knew when to talk and when to listen. That was a rare skill set.

  Levi stood nearly six foot four, with massive shoulders and dark hair. Although his stature may have been atypical of his Jewish heritage, aside from his height and bulk, his face, hair, and general features fit in so well with a family line that could trace his culture back hundreds of years on both sides of his family.

  Still looking out over the valley, Dave mused. “Levi, would you consider yourself a student of history?”

  “Yes sir, but my people have a different view of history than many Christians, or even the average American. While I was born in the U.S., as was my mother, my father and all my grandparents are either from Europe, or more specifically Germany, before the war.”

  Dave was deep in thought, turning over things in his mind. Levi knew him well enough not to press the conversation. While any student of history knows that no nation stands forever, very few people stopped to think about the other important factors in that equation. Dave viewed a nation or corporation like a person. All entities go through childhood, puberty, then on to maturity, and eventually old age and death. Each nation, corporation, sports team, or any entity went through the same stages, even if the era of that life span and the appearance and feel of the stages were different. While one nation might go through that cycle in a millennium, another might go through the same cycle in a scant two hundred years. The trick was to be able to accurately and dispassionately see and understand the signs of where a business venture or nation might be in a life cycle and not apply a human lifespan to that thought process. Sometimes the change from stage to stage wasn’t violent or even that noticeable. In any given year, a college basketball team could return many of the same players from a previous year. That team could mature into a great last second team or a great decision-making team this year when they had not been previously. The instinctive knowledge to see and predict those changes helped Dave be ahead of the curve in industry trends, contract negotiations, and strategic plans.

  That was the secret to Dave’s success. In addition to providing an excellent service at a good rate on a scale few others could, Dave knew people, companies, teams, and nations. He knew them instinctively on a level few others did. It was that knowledge and skillset that had Dave so convinced he was right in his current and most audacious plan. This would be his biggest venture yet and maybe one of the most important in this country’s history if he was right.

  The knowledge that change was coming was growing in popularity, not only in the U.S., but in other countries as well. Dave believed it too and was convinced he was the right man at the right time to make a difference.

  There would be profit to be made as well. There was nothing unethical in providing people with goods or services they wanted at a reasonable price. That was the system America was founded on. The ace in the hole that Dave thought he had was time. Most people had a hard time wrapping their minds around the lifespan of a country. He was convinced this country was in the stage of old age, with corruption eating at its bones like a cancer. The symptoms were many, and that meant the things that could bring down an old and brittle body were many more than when the country was young and healthy. Things like race riots, natural disasters, infrastructure failures, wars, EMP strikes, terrorism, or even political plots from within were just a few.

  It was frustrating to know that the country should have been able to last for a thousand years. Like an alcoholic, Americans had abused and overindulged to the point where their national lifespan was shorter than it should have been. Now, after two hundred and fifty years, the country was old and brittle beyond its years and susceptible to all manner of maladies. The trick of time for a nation was that while any malady might befall the country today or tomorrow, it might also totter on for another fifty to a hundred years as well.

  “Levi, my friend,” Dave said after rousing himself from his reverie, “I’ll admit my heart is heavy. The village we have planned up here will be unobtrusive and fit in with nature and this valley in every way possible. Yet, at the same time, I’ll always feel like I’m spoiling this place. I have reconciled myself and am quite comfortable with the business side of this venture. I’ve no doubts about its ethics and profitability. In addition to the homes and village, it will be like a mutual fund that focuses on the kinds of goods that have more value after a global catastrophe. In some instances, we will own parts of the company, and in others, we will own the entire company. When possible, we will move those factories near one of our charter towns, except for here. I will not bring industry to this valley. We’ll use some of the old silver mines I bought up here to expand into massive warehouses of goods both for ourselves and our other towns.”

  “Mr. Cavanaugh, your judgment has always been sound. This business will make money, you know that. You’ve said you see these towns as gated cities for people with shared values, like a lifeboat prepared for an event that brings the nation to its knees. All of that makes sense to me, and it will to a lot of people who follow you as well. If this location is giving you heartburn, then limit the guest list here to people you genuinely like and who will love this valley the way you do. There will be plenty of other charter towns to go around.”

  “Thank you, Levi. Once again, you’ve helped me work through my thoughts and settle this in my mind. Let’s stop the shop talk and have a bite to eat before we make the hike back. What’s for lunch?”

  “Let me guess, you have a couple of Kind bars, some beef jerky, and some trail mix in your pack,” Levi teased.

  “Am I that predictable?”

  “Only in some things.” Levi pulled both an apple and an orange from his pack. He cut into the apple with an Israeli Special Forces knife. Dave knew the knife was an Ari B’ Lilah, not something you could simply walk in to a store and buy. In Levi’s hands, it resembled a paring knife going through the apple, yet Dave wondered what else that knife had seen or gone through in years past. Levi didn’t talk much about his war experiences. Dave respected that and didn’t press. As close and he and Levi had become, he sometimes envied the way Levi and his own nephew Vince could share things they wouldn’t with anyone else. They shared a mutual bond the way only two warriors could who had seen and shared some of the same terrors.

  The men finished their food in silence, enjoying the mountain. They put their garbage back in their packs to carry out in order to preserve the beauty and purity of the mountain. With a nod, Dave started hiking. Levi followed like a huge mountain cat following his prey like a shadow, silent, deadly, and protective.

  “Mr. Cavanaugh, I received a communication a moment ago directing us to divert the chopper to Colorado Springs when we leave. The corporate leadership team has suggested a temporary move of key personnel from the corporate office in Denver to the backup facility in Colorado Springs,” Levi said after reading a message on his satellite connected device.

  Pausing on the narrow dirt path, Dave turned. “Really? What’s going on?”

  “Apparently the sanitation workers’ strike in Denver has expanded. They’re blocking roads and access to businesses by claiming that anyone who goes to work is a scab crossing their lines. There has been violence as well.”

  “Idiots.”

  “Furthermore, we’re getting reports of sympathetic strikes and work stoppages by the water and sewage utility workers. Those are creating work and travel interruptions as well. The communication says they have advised most workers to telecommute and some key personnel to come to the Colorado Springs remote location for a week or two.”


  “Okay. Please make sure they know I want that option extended to their families as well. We will, of course, reimburse hotel or apartment rental for those who need to leave their homes,” Dave said, his whole posture switching into full CEO mode.

  << Vince >>

  The gravel crunched under Vince’s tires as he rolled into the place where he planned to meet Greg for hunting a few minutes ahead of schedule. The dogs were restless in the carrier in the back of the truck. It was nice to relax for a few moments and take it all in. He was reveling in the quietness of a chilly December morning in Kentucky. He loved the country here. It was comfortable, like the way a man who knows his house can walk through it in total darkness because he knows every corner and piece of furniture. Vince loved this time of year with the crisp breezes that promised a threat of real cold. The crunch of the frosty grass and the gurgle of the narrow creeks that hadn’t yet frozen created a visceral sensation and memory that stayed with him much like the perfume of his wife or the smell of his grandmother’s kitchen when she baked. This resonated with some men in their soul in a way that was hard to put in plain words but brought a sense of contentment and “rightness.”

  Sitting here contemplating this reminded Vince of the feeling of comfort and joy he used to experience in seeing the silhouette of his wife or daughter walking in the distance. He knew their shape and movement with only the briefest glance. It didn’t matter if he could only see their shadow with the sun behind them. He couldn’t explain why or how, he just knew his home and family the way a wolf knew his pack.

  Vince was a strong man and wide through the shoulders, with piercing blue eyes that ran somewhere a shade between ice and ocean water and could bore right through a man. He was about six feet tall and had recently put on a bit of weight around the waist he needed to work on. His hair was a sandy blond color that he liked to say was a lighter color of mud. He kept it short and trimmed. His father’s family was from the Rocky Mountains in Colorado. By the time Vince was born, they’d moved to the suburbs of Denver. His family in Colorado hiked and owned a cabin in the mountains. They loved and communed with nature; that was fulfilling and yet different than he was doing now. The Colorado branch of the family even boasted a billionaire outdoorsman, Vince’s uncle Dave.